When I was 13, I started at confirmation at my family's church of choice, and began to become a member. I know right? What story could possibly be scary that starts out like that. Well... this one IS! :D It was about this time of the year, 1983, when I started Confirmation Class. 1983 was big because horror movie production was just beginning to hit full-swing. Jason and Michael had both made entry, and re-entry, to the screen but Freddie had yet to raise his ugly mug. Even still, there were tons of scary movies to make the hackles on any teeny-boppers raise, and I was no exception. Having hit the precarious age between young-adult and childhood, I was a fairly standard version of the mid-west teenager, as well as the rest of my class which means that we were ALL susceptible to the terror of cheesy horror movies.
We took a trip to Lake Geneva, having a long school weekend (I can’t remember why we had a school holiday, I just remember that we were leaving right after school on Friday and not coming home until Monday afternoon) and extra time to be out away from the home and the parents, I was eager to hop the bus and head up to the back woods of the lake and enjoy camp fires and hanging around the in-crowd who mostly made up the class. We talked all kinds of things on the way up. Politics, sports, books, who liked who... the standards for a group of teens and a few adults sent to chaperon us, along with our church pastor. At about the half-way point, the pastor stood up and made an announcement that the caretaker's son had passed away a few weeks prior to our jaunt. He told us that during a recent set of storms on the lake, the young man had been attempting to tie off the boats that belonged to the camp we were headed to and that the lake had become rough, the boat capsized, and he drowned, and to make sure that we were respectful if we saw the caretaker at all. The rest of the drive up was more of the same with stops for bathroom and burgers since it was past dinner time and being teens, we were hungry. Infact we stopped at a Culvers, it was the first ever stop there for me, and my first taste of butter burgers. At dinner the Pastor gave us another news flash. He proceeded to tell us that he had just been on the phone with the caretaker, who told him that there had been some break-ins and petty vandalism at the camp-ground. He told us that we would need to stay together in groups and to not wander off. We passed it off as an adults standard warning to behave.
As we were loading the buss to continue to the camp, one of our Confirmation Teachers/Weekend Chaperones, stood that front and conspiratorially looked over his shoulder and began to tell a creepy story.
“What the pastor hasn’t told you, what no one has mentioned before is that there is a legend about this area of Lake Geneva that we are going to. Legend tells of a horribly scarred World War II Veteran who retired to this area to live a life in quiet peace. He never got that peace. He was teased and reviled where ever he went and drowned in the lake while trying to save the very teens who had teased him for so long. They say he returned from his watery grave to protect his land and try to find the peace in death he sought in life. DON’T GO OUT ALONE!”
We laughed it off with yah-rights and knew that he was just telling us this to get us to stay together and not wander the camp alone.
The bus arrives, unpacking begins. Everyone has brought sleeping bags, pillows, suitcase for the weekend, blahblahblah. The instructors and pastor have brought along food, as the lodge we are staying in has a full kitchen and cooking apparel and they plan to cook for us over the weekend. So we unload the food and store it anticipating the S’mores that we can readily see the ingredients for. The Pastor takes me aside and asks me to run back up to the bus, and bring down the communion chalice, he’d forgotten it. The camp itself is situated about 5 miles off the main road, and about 20 minutes from town. If you walk a mile or so around the shore of the lake itself, you come to Williams-Bay University, and its Observatory. The area where the bus was parked, was some two hundred yards up a path, through a few trees. At night, as it was, there is little light there, only what is welling up from the lodge area and down from the parking area. I got to the bus, fished around for the chalice, then started back. As I got to the edge of the trees, I heard a rustling in the bushes at the edge of the path. And, worried that a 100 ft tall grizzly (Im a kid) was about to step out of the brush I shone my flash light in the general direction. At first I didn’t see anything, and the rustling quickly died. Thinking it was some ground critter, I shut off the flash light and tried to sneak by without disturbing it further. A few more steps down the path, now totally in shadows, and the rustling started again. Only, bigger. And then the trees moaned. And not the sound of the wind in its branches kind of moan either, but an all too human-sounding moan. The flash light came on, almost of its own accord and I pointed it at the trees and path behind me. Expecting the 100 ft tall grizzly, I nearly wet my pants when something worse stepped out and turned towards me. It was the stuff of nightmares.
There behind me on the path was a human shaped individual. He wore raggedy clothes, was covered in muck, mud and what was obviously plant life from the lake. His skin was green and, while I only took a second to look, I could tell from the smell and the pallor that he was not alive. I screamed with all the power of a terrified 13-year-old boy dropped my flashlight and the chalice and took off sprinting towards the lodge and the safety of the light. I have heard of people capable of incredible feats of strength when confronted with horrific moments. Read tales of people lifting cars off of trapped family members and what not or moving the 1000 ton tractor back off the body of someone trapped underneath it. Mine manifested itself in the amazing sprint of about 150 yards in 3 seconds. I had never run that fast in my life, and never since. Let me tell you however that no matter how long the actual running time was, there is no way in hell that it was fast enough.
I arrived breathless at the door to the lodge, a group of girls out front, and stammered out as best I could “..I saw him…I saw him…” Eventually I was able to communicate that I had seen the dead guy, that there really was someone wandering the camp and that we needed to leave. NOW. Not believing me, a group of the girls, two other guys, and one of the chaperone’s walked back up to the parking area with me. There, not far from my flash light was some of the plant life from its body and large foot prints. Even more important, we could clearly see that the hood of the bus was up, and there were muddy hand prints all over the front of the bus. It was clear that the “something” I had seen had tampered with the bus.
“Ok kids, listen up, “ the chaperon clapped her hands to get out attention. “Gather up the remnants of the communion chalice Paul. Everyone else! You don’t know what you are seeing here, so don’t leap to any conclusions. Its obvious that something has been at work here, but we can’t be sure what, and I don’t want ANYONE saying anything until I talk to the rest of the group leaders and the pastor.”
We returned to the lodge as a group. The chaperone takes the other adults aside and talks to them in whispered tones. Her husband and the pastor quickly leave the lodge. They return about half an hour later with news that the bus isn’t starting at all, and at the moment, there is nothing to be done about it. Someone suggests the caretaker, and having him call for a tow truck. No, the caretaker has left for the weekend to visit other family. The rest of the weekend that follows, is a blur of horror movie-like activity. No longer are we all sleeping in separate rooms, but we have pulled together in one mass area, so that no one is alone. There begins to appear further proof that something or someone is out there. Other kids report seeing “it”. Stuff starts to go missing or be messed up, as if someone had riffled it, but so far, no one is hurt. We are all terrified at this point, because now we have all seen “it” or “him”, and we know we are AL going to die. I am so terrified I begin to carry an axe with me at all times. Eventually the Pastor takes it away, but I think you get how I, and the others, are feeling.
By Sunday afternoon, we are all ready to walk out to town together, but a male chaperone goes instead. Within a few hours (nervous hours of everyone in some way or other commenting about how he is dead and sliced to bits somewhere) he returns with a mechanic from town who repairs the bus. We begin the process of closing up and getting the HELL out of there. The Pastor grabs our attention as the last of things are being cleaned, and begins the process of distracting us from our anxiety about leaving, while the adults finish closing up the kitchen. As the pastor is leading us in a good by song, the door to the kitchen SLAMS open! Out pops the monster! Kids jump up and begin screaming and running for the door! The monster grabs the top of his head. And PULLS… his skin stretches.. then slides.. and… It’s an adult form our group. OUR CLASS LEADER!!! The one who had hiked out to get the mechanic! It had been a setup all along.
And THAT is my tale of wasted adrenaline. :D
As to the Pastor and how he could participate in this, there is a moral to the story, a short one about getting us to learn to accept one another, to work as a group to accomplish goals, to learn to band together. And yes, we were NOT the first class this had happened to. And YES, our parents had previously agreed to the whole thing.
