Dear Reader, beware. A Hallmark story this is not. Everyone doesn’t stay warm and safe in his or her bed at night. There is no storybook happy ending. No exaggeration of the facts or poetic license has been used — not with this story. The facts found herein are indisputable and true.
Like most folklore, this story has its feet firmly set in reality. It’s the reality of anyone who grew up on Flamingo Street long ago and kids who still live there today. Ask any and they’ll all profess: The dark forest above the swamp and beyond the great lake is indeed haunted.
There, in the deepest part of the forest, was where the death of an innocent and the birth of a ghost occurred. The ghost can still be heard screeching each night. Winds carry its cries across the great lake and down Flamingo as a warning to all, “Stay away or the same fate awaits you.” That is, if you are brave enough or foolish enough to wander near the forest after sundown.
Few have been courageous enough to follow the winding pathway past the swamp, up around the great lake and plunge deep into the forest. But only one has been so foolish as to spend the night.
Soon after entering, even if during the day, the darkness, almost alive itself, swallows the pathway along with any unwelcome guest. Shortly after midnight in the very center of that dismal place where the path finally ends is where it all happened.
I should know. I was living on Flamingo when it first materialized. Though only a young boy at the time, I would never forget the birth of a ghost — one that still roams that forest to this very day.
Some folks say there are no such things as ghosts. That perhaps this story is nothing more than the result of an over-active imagination or of childhood memories blurred by the passage of time. I might agree if not for two things.
First, I’m just not that good a writer. Second, the ghost appeared before me not once, but on three separate occasions. Each time the encounter was so disturbing, if I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget.
The second time the ghost appeared in front of me was 2 in the morning. The thin pane of glass separating us gave little comfort. Brief breaks in the cloud cover that obscured the full moon that night were only enough to confirm the dark outline attached to the pair of yellow glowing eyes. It was the ghost all right.
From my vantage point, looking out the bathroom window, I had witnessed the glowing eyes making their way across our backyard. Without warning, they changed direction and came straight at me. With inhuman speed, they reached the window and suddenly the ghost grew from three to six feet in height.
Dashing back to bed, I pulled the covers over my head, knowing full well sheet and covers could never stop any attack by a ghost. Luckily, the attack never came, and I eventually fell back to sleep.
After I told Dad in the morning what had happen the night before, he offered no comfort, only laughter. He said what I had seen was our dog, Duke. Duke was a Weimaraner, a breed of dog with a gray coat and yellow eyes.
My third and last encounter with the ghost came a week later. This time the ghost visited my bedroom. Back then I shared a bedroom at the end of a hallway with Twin Brother Mark. We slept in twin beds with a mound of toys and dirty clothes occupying most of the floor.
But it wasn’t the weather that woke me that night. Nor was it the scraping of branches against the windowpane. Rather it was what touched me on the shoulder. Or I should say whom?
Looking up I recognized the dark shadow of a boy around 11 years old. I felt him as he touched my shoulder. I saw the outline of his face. He didn’t say a word, and I could neither speak nor move. I watched as he floated across the room without tripping on any of the obstacles below. His progression only slowed at the wall. There he paused and glanced back at me.
With his glance, warmth washed over me along with a feeling that everything would be all right. He passed right through to the outside and back to the forest from which he came. I presume that’s where he went; I really don’t know. After seeing him go through the wall, I sought the security of sheet and covers once again as I cried myself back to sleep.
It’s been over 50 years this week, and I’ve never spoken of this sighting to anyone. Blame what happened that night on the shadows created by a thunderstorm or a visit from a ghost or perhaps, just perhaps, an echo of someone who had recently passed. In any case, it happened just as written.
My first encounter with a ghost was at the end of that pathway in the center of the Haunted Forest. Yes, Dear Reader, I was the one who was brave enough to venture into the forest and foolish enough to spend the night there. I was chased in by Down the Street Bully Brad and for fear of him coming after me, I continued to the forest center.
There, shortly after midnight, I witnessed the death of an innocent and the birth of the ghost — a ghost that still roams the forest and Flamingo Street to this very day.
So when your children can’t sleep at night and they wake up crying saying there are monsters or ghost in their room. Please listen to them. They could be right.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
