He was just there. Now, I suppose it would be the more accurate
way of referring to the thing. It was just there, kind of half
sitting or sprawled all about. It wasn't sitting upright as you or I might,
and it sure wasn't standing. It looked as if it was lying on
the sofa, except there wasn't a sofa. I don't recall if I've ever
seen a sofa big enough to have hell that thing. On occasion, it
would look over in my direction, not at me, because for the moment
there was no way for it to see me, at least at the time.
I hope that to be true. It would just look over in my
direction and smile as much as was possible. I'm not sure that it smiled
often. It didn't look as if it had the capability, but it was
sure giving it a good try. One thing I am certain of is that
it was proud of itself and what it had done. That's why it kept
looking over while trying to smile. I'll tell you what it reminded me of.
It reminded me of the way my father used to look when he would
park his mowing machine in the garage after he had finished with the yard each
week, and then go walk around on us long. My father was always
so proud of the job that he had done each week after mowing the grass.
He loved the way it looked when every blade of grass had been cut
and all were the same height. Again, how everything in that moment was
just as it should be. That look on my father's face each week when
he had finished was unforgettable and unmistakable. Well, that thing had the same
prideful look on its mug each time it would look over in my direction.
I can only tell you of what I was seeing at that moment, and
I couldn't see all that well, but I could see better than I wanted
to. In all honesty, I wish I had never seen any of it
at all. That thing was horrible. I don't think it to be out
of place to call it an abomination, something that never should have existed in
the first place. A talking like that will likely make some folks hot under
the collar at me, But guess what, I don't care. The folks
that would raise came with me were never in a position that I'd been in.
So until you've walked in my shoes and all that now I've watched PBS,
and I'm not a complete dullard. I know the all creatures, great
and small thing and the sentiment behind it. Everything has a reason for being,
and each one is special and unique and should be revered in one form
or another. But this thing has no more business being around than mosquitoes or
fire ants. And in my opinionion, and it's just my opinion, the
world would be better off without some things in it. And the thing I
watched that was one of them. Sprawled out on the ground as long as
some of those tiny electric cars that some people drive. Now that probably weighed
more than those cars too. It wasn't just long. That thing was beefy
and solid. It wasn't long and leaning like a college basketball player. It
was built, I mean like an NFL pass rusher, big thick rope muscles
flexed and quivered each time it moved. You could see them all pumped up
under its fur. This thing was bigger than Figno had been when he had
been playing the Incredible Hult, much bigger, and Forigno was stacked when he
had been doing all that, covered from crown to ankle bone with filthy,
matted, coarse looking hair that was knotted up in a dozen different places,
like an old stray dog's hair would look before it thins out and sheds its
winter coat and the spring. And its stunk worse than an old dog too.
Smell like garbage that you had let sit inside the can too long before
taking the bag out, that rich, sweet smell of meat that had gone
south, that when you smell it, it really isn't too bad, but
the longer you're around it, the worse it gets. That's the way this
thing smelled. And trust me, it wasn't something else that drifted across me
on that breeze. I know how right that thing was, but I'll get
to that in a minute. Thinking back on it as I'm writing this,
I can still smell it in my memory enough that I can almost taste it,
and when it comes that strong, I easily end up gagging. A
couple of times. I've even had to heave up my breakfast. It's been
months since the day I was there, and I can still see it clear
as day. It's lounging around, just looking a out, sometimes directly at
me, though it never knew I was there, or you wouldn't be hearing
this story. That thing had no problem with killing. Also know that better
than I want to. You could see it in its eyes, and that
thing didn't take a lip from anything. They were hard eyes like everything it
had ever seen was ever gonna see was beneath it or inferior to it,
big and dark, yellowing, some as if it was old. Maybe it
was old. I don't know how anyone could tell. You couldn't go by
how it moved, because it was spry enough. It didn't move its arms
to waste something with old, worn out joints moved. If it had an
edge, it scratched, real limber like, no matter where it had to
reach, and some of those places were best forgotten, along with the smell.
Now this thing had no shame. What it did have were hands,
a big, strong, leathery looking hands that were covered with that nasty hair
on the back sides. Its feet were the same way. It may have
gotten shorted on looks, but it made up with the foot size. Now
I feel a pretty big shoe, but its feet were at least twice as
white as mine and maybe twice as long. But out of everything that was
so horrible but hypnotizing to look at, I think its teeth or what held
my attention the most. The four in front corners of the top and bottom
were sharp and long like dog's teeth, and the rest were short and thick
and blunted, just right for grinding against whatever meat or flesh Those sharp ones
had ripped from something. Each one seemed about the size of my thumb.
Before you say anything, no, all wasn't close enough to see them that
well. One of its teeth was missing, and the space between the ones
that remained looked about the width of my thumb. And I'm fine with guessing
at it like that. If you want to know them more precisely, then
you go find one and peel its lips back and you can take a look.
That'll be your affair, but I won't be going with you. I've
had my share and that was enough to do me. Now you have a
fair idea of what it looked like. That was what I was trying to
accomplish, and I've described it as best as I could without drawing you a
picture on paper. And yes, I have done that a couple of times.
I haven't shown my drawing to anyone, mainly because I have no ability
to draw. It looked like something an elementary school student might have drawn.
But when I look at what I'll put on paper, I can see exactly
what I was trying to draw, and it sends shivers up and down my
spy. Anyone else might think I was doodling, but when I look at
my drawings, they scare me to death. I bet you're wanting to know
how I came to see one so well without it seeing me. Well,
that's what I'm going to tell you right now. Now. I'm not especially
bright, not as dumb as some, but not as smart as a lot.
I can't ever remember how to tell a joke, and I never have
been much counted telling stories. But I'm not a liar, and I'll tell
you what happened to me, and it'll be up to you if you want
to believe me or not. Of all the things i'll lose sleep over being
believed about, this isn't one of them. This is what happened, and
I know it did because I was there. I'm not what you might call
a regular nine to five guy. It's not that I don't believe in working
for whatever I want or might end up having. I just don't like being
told what to do. There is something about following orders that I could never
get beside now work, And to tell you the truth, I think I
work harder than most because I'm always out hustling up something to do. I
just don't go to the same job and do the same thing every day.
I don't answer to anyone for the most part, and if I go without
supper or a pack of smokes or new shoes when I need them, then
it was all my fault for not trying a little harder. I don't take
orders, but I don't blame anyone but me for my situations either. I'm
as likely to be painting a house as I am to be chopping saplings out
of a fence row. I've dressed stiffs in the basement of the mortuary,
and the next day I handed out flyers in front of the Pigly Wiggily for
a beauty salon. It's not the easiest way to put dough in your pocket.
But if I have enough to get bone, I don't have to work.
If I don't feel like it now, I can go fishing instead.
People locked in a cubicle can't do that whenever they feel like it, can
They not without getting fired. I mean a while back, I was doing
some work for the Italian man who owned a nurve. He's a real nice
man, and he throws work at me whenever he gets these big pushes.
He knows I work hard that I don't get bent when he says he doesn't
need me any longer. If he had hired someone to do what I was
doing, he would either have to find them something to do when the job
played out or fire them. And with me, he just rills off a
few bills and shakes my hand until the next time. It works well for
the both of us. He had called me and said that he had two
tractor trailer loads of rose bushes coming in, one trailer one week and another
the following week. Eight thousand rose bushes on each trailer that had to be
pulled from one gallon pots and reset into two gallon pots so they could keep
growing bigger. You ladies might think that roses are the best things since indoor
plumbing, but after twelve or fifteen thousand, you won't care if you never
see another god dang rose. The work was, but it paid well,
so I was on the fence about it being my last day doing that job.
A bunch of us were sitting around eating a sandwich in the midday stoppage
when mister bigg and Zoli came walking through with the man who was his foreman
for the nursery. They were talking as they walked. Actually, mister big
and Zoli was talking and James was listening. I wasn't eavesdropping, but I
did hear him, and it was not hard to hear. Mister bigg and
Zoli. I really like him, but I'd never take him fishing. He
even says good morning at the top of his lungs. So what do you
think he was talking about, Well, he was talking about bat guano,
that's droppings from bats. He had some plants coming in the next few days
that really took to bat Guanoh, it's supposed to be really good fertilizer,
but for the load of plants he had come and it was the very best.
According to someone, he was warning a good bit, really badly.
But the stuff was so expensive that he would lose money on his plants if
he bought the bat stuff. They were almost out of the shed we were
all sitting in when I slid off of the work bench. I was sitting
on and ran down to catch up with them. I got them stopped,
and I told them that I was sorry for interrupting them, but I could
get them some batpoop if they really wanted some. It wouldn't be all nice
and neat in bags like if they had ordered it, but I felt real
sure I could get them ten or twelve five gallon buckets full if that would
help them out. They looked at me like I was crazy, but I
just stood there. Well. We talked a bit, and they asked me
where I could go get so much, but I wouldn't tell them that.
And mister bigg and Zolie and James were both nice men, but if I
told them where the stuff was, they would have sent a couple of guys
and they could have gotten it for themselves without needing me at all. I
had just found a new source for cash, and I was keeping it to
myself. James kept mumbling about how what I would bring would be pure and
not mixed with filler and sand, how sixty gallons would be equal to twice
or even three times at a bag they could buy, how it would go
further and be a lot cheaper. In the end, we settled on a
price per bucket, and that the nursery would supply the buckets and the shovel.
I promised to work through the weekend and bring them the stuff the monday
coming up. Those were two happy men walking away. I knew it was
going to be kind of a nasty, gross job, but I was feeling
pretty good myself as I went back to work on those damn rose bushes.
Now, before I tell you the rest of this, I'll say one thing.
I didn't tell those men where that backcrap was because I didn't want them
going in and getting it, and that's what they would have done, and
I wouldn't blame them if they did. For my own good, I kept
the location to myself. It's the same reason I haven't said the name of
the town where I live in, and I'm not going to that's for my
own good and yours. I listen as often as I can to Cam's program,
and I like it, and that's why I sent this to him.
But I read the comments from y'all sometimes, and I don't want to turn
on the local radio one day and hear about some stranger from Oklahoma or Pennsylvania
getting torn to pieces or killed if one of you curious types knew where the
story took place, you'd be wanting to come and do some poking around.
I don't need anyone in and up in the graveyard on account of what I
saw, so trust me, you're better off stand right where you are and
just listening to how things happen. Now, I'll get back to the story.
As I mentioned earlier, I like to fish. That's how I relax,
and come Saturday night, there isn't much anything better than a plate full
of fresh fried fish with onion rings and iced tea. I have this place
where I like to win the hook because I always have the pond of myself,
and I never leave out from there without a stringer full. It's real
dark there, trees all around keep most of the water shaded out of the
wind, and it's my kind of place. But it's as hard as pushing
a chain to get there, and that's why no one's ever there. Anyone
with a fishing rod knows of it, but it isn't worth the hassle for
them to get there. But I have a four by four square body that
won't ever win a beauty contest, so I don't mind getting there back before
Hector was a put the brains in the Highway department decided that a tunnel was
needed to get from here to somewhere else faster, so they figured that going
through a mountain was better than going over or around it. What they didn't
figure on was that the mountain wanted know part of it. Those crews didn't
get more than halfway through before someone realized that they were spending more time fetching
out all the mountain bits that had fallen during the night than they were spending
on the actual digging and boring. The machinery they kept having to throw away
because of being crushed by fallout didn't swallow easily either, and the sixth man
to die in that hole really tied the bow on all of it. They
stayed long enough to shore everything up inside like they were going to continue the
next day, and then everyone just split and never came back. Nature has
been taking it back ever since. And the entrance to that tunnel that goes
to nowhere isn't more than a couple of hundred yards from where I like to
fish. I expect you wouldn't have been able to hear yourself think down there
when all the construction was going on, but it's quiet now. They closed
up shop, chewed up the road on the way out so no one could
go mess it around down there and set audios. But they hadn't counted on
me, and how much I liked to fish. I don't guess they didn't
figure on me being the nosy type, else they would have sealed that great
hole up. The first day I found that pond was also the first day
I went snooping around inside. And that's how I knew about the bats.
I can take or leave. Snakes and spiders and rats and wasp I may
not like them, but they don't bother me. But bats are a different
thing altogether. I'd never cared one way or the other about bats, because
I'd only ever seen a couple. But inside that tunnel, well that'll change
your mind, all right, thousands of them hanging there, quivering and twitching,
and the derned floor of that tunnel near covered with their droppings. The
first time I went in there, the smell was soul rank that it made
me sneeze, And I guess the racket woke them nasty devils up. They
dropped off the roof and swarmed around, flying about one hundred miles an hour,
not out of the tunnel, just around and around until they calmed down
and they roosted again. I just squatted down and covered my head. While
it was going on. It had been like standing in the middle of a
pile of leaves and someone switching on a leaf blower from every direction, except
that the leaves and the tunnel could bite if they wanted to. Now I
don't care if bats do eat mosquitoes. I hate the creepy little things,
and I couldn't wait to get out of there. I only went back in
a couple of times after that, and not very far either. I really
didn't care if I never went back inside again. They could have the tunnel,
if I could have the pond. But then the idea of making good
money for not a lot of work came up, and I started talking myself
into going back in and staying in while I worked. It hadn't seemed so
bad an idea when I was talking to James and mister Bigg and Zoli,
But the more I thought about it later, the more I wished I had
said nothing. But still, a deal is a deal. I went that
Saturday morning to shovel up sixty gallons of that mess. I tried to be
smart about everything, but trying was about as far as I got. If
I had been on the ball, I would have left all my buckets at
the entrance in the daylight. I could have filled up a couple and brought
them out and got new buckets and some fresh air. But I was in
a hurry to fill them and have done with this place. I knew the
whole time that if this worked, mister beg and Zoli wasn't going to hush
until he had me bringing him buckets full every week. But I wasn't going
to worry about that until later. Instead of doing as I should have,
I stacked all the buckets inside each other and slid the handle of the shovel
through the wire loops, and I put that shovel on my shoulder. I
would have everything I needed. Once I got in deep where that stuff really
covered the ground, I would have to make a half a dozen trips back
in and out, but I could go as fast as I wanted because the
buck would be full by then, and I would be done when I started
fetching them back outside. I had new batteries in the spotlight that's attached to
my ball cap that I wear when I go coon hunting or catfishing. I
was hoping that the light wouldn't bother the bat, since it would be pointed
mostly straight down. The biggest part of the time I was going to have
the light, and this seemed the best way to see in there. I
wasn't worried about noise either. It wasn't like I was going to be digging
through hard dirt. I was just scooping up bat droppings. It was my
plan to have those buckets filled and sitting in the back of my truck by
early afternoon, and my reward for a job well done was my cooler with
two sandwiches and three high life sitting on ice beside my favorite rod and reel
in the truck. Twelve buckets of bat crap and me catching a few fish
was going to make for a good day. The shoveling went better than I
expected. The stuff was nasty and it made my nose burn, but it
filled the shovel easily and fell into the buckets quietly. If I moved my
head wrong or too quickly, I could hear the bats above me getting agitated
at being disturbed, but I would face the light towards the ground and they
would settle down again. And I stayed nervous the whole time, But as
time passed, I learned how to operate in there sort of live and let
live situation. Everything went so well that after I had the buckets filled,
I picked up one and used it to really mash the guano down and pack
the other buckets as tightly as I could with the stuff so I could put
more in each one. The buckets weren't heavy even after being filled, so
I tried to give mister Biggins only his money's worth. Finally, when I
couldn't pack it in anymore, I reached down to get the first two buckets
so I could haul them out. That was when I heard the noises.
It was a racket like I had never heard before. If you ask me
while I was standing there in the dark what was going on, I'd have
guessed that a pack of dogs were really having at each other the most awful
growling and yelping you've ever heard. And there I was so deep in that
tunnel that I couldn't see the outdoors light or anything else. A ceiling full
of bats were hanging over me the most got awful fight up ahead of me,
and there all was sitting in the dark with twelve buckets of bat droppings.
I was figuring out what I was supposed to do next, and a
scream came from up ahead, and then a roar, like from an animal
in one of the old Tarzan films. It took everything I had not to
add my own droppings to the collection, and then everything went quiet. And
if the bats had been disturbed by all the growling and bellowing, they weren't
showing it. The only, and I mean the only reason why I picked
up two buckets and started out was because I knew I didn't want to be
in that tunnel come dark. When the bat started waking up and leaving,
I didn't want to go back out, but I didn't want to stay either.
I didn't even want to go fishing any longer. I just wanted to
go home and sit quietly with every damn light in the house on. I
took ten or more minutes just getting back to where I could start seeing daylight
again, even carrying a bucket in each hand. That I should have been
back in five minutes or less, but I was doing some slow walking because
I was really afraid. I didn't know what I was afraid of exactly,
but I was sure that I should be. The ground was soft thanks to
the bat droppings covering everything, so I wasn't making any noise with my steps,
and just as soon as I saw the first signs of light, I
turned off the light attached to my cap. I didn't know if anything was
up ahead, but if there was, I didn't want whatever it might be
to know that I was in the tunnel. Even slower than before, I
continued to walk. I saw the hump against the tunnel wall, but it
didn't register with me that it was anything, just a big, dark hump
on the side of a dark tunnel. The light from outside spilled in,
but only just so far. I could see shadowy outlines, but not any
details. Like when the sun is first coming up in the morning, you
can see but not all that well. The difference was that the sun was
already up as high as it was going to get, but it wasn't going
to get any brighter inside that tunnel, at least not back where I was
standing. So I took a deep breath of that file smelling air, and
I started walking again, creeping. I inched my way closer and closer to
the entrance of that tunnel, and I could feel the sweat rolling down my
back, and there wasn't a sound to be heard. Not even birds or
breeze from outside was making any noise, and I just kept walking, seeing
a little better with each step. I began to feel better because I wasn't
seeing anything moving up ahead. Well that doesn't mean that I was skipping and
whistling. I was still more scared than I had ever been, but seeing
nothing up ahead was making me feel a little better. Whatever had made those
terrible noises must have had their fracticing gone on, and nothing could have made
me happier. I didn't care what had made all that terrifying racket, and
I didn't care if I ever knew or not. All I wanted was for
the way to be clear so I could get finished and get out of that
tunnel. If mister big and Zoli like what I brought to him, I
would be glad to tell him where I had gotten that stuff. Now,
and I wasn't planning on ever coming back here again. No amount of money
was worth this. As I neared the opening and could more or less see.
Movement caught my eye. Everything was still mostly shadows and dark, but
the light was making it possible to see outlines of things, and one of
those outlines moved. I stood very still and I watched, but I did
not see any more movement. It finally dawned on me that what I had
seen was like when you stack a big pile of cloth or tarps up in
a heap. Eventually a bit here and there is going to shift as the
pile settles. That is what I believe to have happened. Something had been
piled up in a heap while I was deeper in the tunnel, and it
was beginning to settle. That was what I had seen. Feeling better,
I moved closer to see what the pile was. The pile of whatever it
was stank worse than the bat droppings. As I drew near to it,
I sat my buckets down and I pulled the collar of my T shirt up
to cover my nose and mouth. It wasn't going to help, but I
did it anyway. I looked to the tunnel entrance and I studied it carefully.
I wanted to make sure I was alone before I switched my cap light
back on. As bad as I wanted to be done with the work and
away from there. I was awful curious about the huge pile that I couldn't
see any details of. I switched the light on and bent my head down
so that the light wouldn't shine on it, and then I stepped back,
holding a hand over my t shirt covered mouth to keep me from screaming.
It was an animal, not just any animal. It was the biggest thing
I had ever seen, like something in between a man and an ape,
and it had huge patches of blood matting down its fur in a dozen different
places. Its mouth was wide open, like it had been trying to holler
when it died, and blood was staining its yellow teeth. Big gougers were
torn in its body, and you could see dark blood pulled up on the
ground from where it had dripped from the fur. I watched its chest and
I saw no movement at all, and there were no sounds of any kind
coming from this thing. The eyes were still glassy. Whatever this thing was,
it was dead, and it was obvious that it was. The First
thing I wondered was what could have been strong enough to kill something so big?
And then I remembered the carrying on that I had heard. Whatever this
thing had been scrapping with had beaten it. I don't know if the sound
made me look to the tunnel entrance, or if I looked and then I
heard the sound. But as I looked toward the light, while wondering about
what had taken place, I heard the scrapping and rustling of something moving in
the bushes and deadfall just outside. I stood there, frozen, but I
did have enough sense to switch off my light. Nothing ever terrified me as
badly as when I was plunged back into darkness again. I've been on my
own for many years, and that was the first time I could recall praying
that someone would come and get me. I was so scared that I was
having trouble breathing. It was as if I couldn't remember how. And then
a giant silhouette ambled into view. It looked as though it could fill up
the entire entrance to the tunnel. It couldn't. I mean, it was
big, but it wasn't that big. It just looked that way to me.
It came walking in like it owned the place, but it was favoring
something a hurt leg or a foot, or maybe it had some pain somewhere
high or up. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I was
guessing that it had been hurt during that fight. I was guessing about the
fight too. What I was seeing was the only thing I could imagine being
la enough to have taken down that thing at my feet. It might have
won the fight, but it had suffered in the doing. So. You
could tell by how it was moving. It was looking deep into the tunnel,
directly toward where that thing lay dead, and the next thing it was
going to eventually see would be me. And I knew I didn't stand a
chance against something that size, so when it turned its head to check behind
it, I dropped immediately to the ground, and I used the dead thing
as a shield or a barrier. I lay there on the ground that was
covered in bat droppings, and I huddled up against that stinking animal for a
long time without making a sound. I was listening to hear what the other
one was doing, but no sounds came from it. After a while,
I crept up onto my knees and I peeked out over the dead body and
the one that had come in had laid itself down in between where I was
and the tunnel entrance, and it was just sprawled out there. I didn't
know if it was tired or hurt bad or just guarding its trophy after the
kill. All I knew for sure was if the thing didn't know I was
there, at least not yet, And that was the only good thing that
had happened all day. I was guessing that I had enough of that bat
smell on me from working that the thing up ahead couldn't smell me for three
or four hours or so. I laid there. Every now and then I
would hear it breathe loudly or growl or rumble, and it would shift its
position now and then, but for the most part, it just sort of
sat there or laid there. I kept wanting to sneeze, but I would
pinch my nose until the feeling went away. My throat and eyes were burning,
and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get out of that
tunneling back to my truck. At some point I began asking myself if the
thing up ahead might actually eat the thing that I was laying beside, and
if it came back to do that there was no way I could remain hidden.
I couldn't slip past the thing up ahead, and I couldn't go anywhere
but further back into the tunnel. But that was a dead end filled with
thousands of bats, and I really was starting to come unwound. I couldn't
stop my hands from shaking, and honestly, I really wanted to cry.
I was so scared and frustrated. And then I heard the thing up ahead
of me began to grunt, and I watched as it rolled over on to
its knees and heaved itself off the ground until it was standing again. And
when it moved forward, that is to say, it moved toward the dead
one that I was hiding behind, I was sure that my life was about
to be over. I didn't have any regret spring to mind, but I
remember thinking that I would like a few more years, and that I didn't
want to leave this world ripped apart, with all of my pieces scattered around
for bats to crap on. That big thing up ahead looked toward the dead
end and bellowed or roared so loudly that I ducked my head, and I
prayed that it would stop the sound bouncing off that tunnel wall was not just
terrible, it was deafening. I don't know why it stood there and yelled
some animal thing I'll never understand, I don't guess. But when it had
gone quiet again, it turned and began limping toward the entrance. I watched
it until I couldn't see it any longer, and then I listened until I
couldn't hear anything. That was when I finally stood for the first time in
hours, and I started toward the entrance. I didn't run, but I
didn't poke around either. I walked as fast as I could while listening.
For all I knew, that thing could step back in the tunnel at any
time. I reached the edge of the opening, and I squinted in the
light, even though the sun was starting to fade a little. Only then
did I remember all those buckets of bat droppings. As far as I know,
they're still sitting in there where I left them, because I didn't go
back for a single one of them. When I saw nothing outside, I
ran like the devil was after me, and I didn't stop until I reached
my truck and I climbed in, and I tried three or four times turned
the key before I could control my hands enough to start the engine, and
I backed up so far and so fast that I set a pretty deep ding
in my truck bumper against a tree. But when I shifted into Ford,
I wasn't caring about a dent and a galvanized bumper. All I cared about
was getting home. I never ate that night after making it home. I
didn't drink as many high lifes as I thought I might. All I did
was sit there and tremble. After three showers, I could still smell the
bat crap and that thing I had hidden behind. It was Monday morning before
I started to getting an appetite again. I stopped where I often did.
I ate a bite before driving over to see mister bigg and Zoli. He
was all smiles until I told him that I didn't have anything for him.
Now. I didn't lie and make up a story about why I had failed
to come through. I just didn't say much of anything. He was quiet
when he took the thirty dollars that I offered him for the shovel in the
twelve buckets that I had not come back with. He didn't seem all that
mad, but he hasn't called me about any other work since that day.
I guess he was disappointed that I let him down, but I can live
with that. The fact that I was alive at all was enough for me.
Haven't been back to my favorite place to fish since that day either.
I don't know if I'm ever going to go back there. I thought about
reporting what had happened to the wildlife people or the Sheriff's department. I didn't
think they would believe me, not even enough to go in there and see
for themselves. But if they did, I didn't want to take the chance
of someone not being as lucky as I had been. I guess someone could
happen up on that place and do that bit of poking around, but I
had never seen much sign of anyone going down there, not much around the
pond and none around the mouth of that tunnel. So I just stayed quiet
to everyone until I decided to write it down and send it to Cam's program.
The listeners here are about the only ones I thought might believe me.
So that's my story. Think of it what you will. I was not
brave when it happened, and I was not brave enough to go back to
try to hunt it down. I was scared, and I don't mind admitting
it. You can all say or think whatever you want, but I know
that you would have been scared too,