Musings of a Wandering Writer: August 2007

A Novella by Ron Boyer

“The night was eerily silent as it cloaked the small party of determined filmmakers—shrouded in near-total darkness—making their way stealthily up the long steep road. The only sounds Eva heard were an occasional night bird calling out from the dense forest surrounding them and the muffled footsteps behind her as she labored up the abandoned road, sweating intensely in the cool night air. I hope we arrive in time, she thought glancing down at her watch. Midnight fast approached on the eve of the spring solstice and, feeling the urgency, she pressed on through the night ahead of her intrepid crew, now setting a faster pace up the logging road that slashed vertically through old- growth Great Lakes forest and ended at a near-forgotten graveyard resting somewhere in the darkness atop the hill. Around her, an unfamiliar, thickly-forested landscape was dimly illuminated by the rising full moon, still hidden behind the great trees that crowned the approaching hilltop—and by the single lamp of the kerosene lantern swinging in her guide’s shadowy hand a few yards ahead.

Eva followed close on the heels of her lanky young guide, Buddy, as he sat the pace, moving gradually up the great hill with long, easy strides. A local boy who had grown up here on the shores of Black Wolf Lake, Buddy was personally familiar with the legends and lore surrounding this allegedly haunted ground. Earlier this evening, he reluctantly volunteered to guide this party of near-total strangers up to the cemetery he last saw as a frightened teenager years before. That night, he now recalled with a sudden chill, had changed his life. He and his friends fled this very ground in horror, vowing never to set foot here again. I was just a kid then, thought Buddy, increasingly anxious with each step: It won’t be the same this time around.

Behind Buddy and Eva a small band of strangers, bound only by this late, secret quest for an otherworldly experience and their love of making film, followed quietly in the dark. Led by the director, Sergey, a handsome young Russian filmmaker who stole courage from the Stolichnaya vodka he kept in his coat pocket—contained in a small silver flask—the intrepid crew included a pair of middle-aged cinematographers, Stewart and Sophia, lovers and co-owners of a small video production company in Manhattan, both carrying professional caliber shoulder-mounted cams, and a pretty empty-handed girl named Taliya with long raven-black hair who no one knew a thing about, since Taliya had simply showed up at the last minute as they loaded their gear, preparing to depart for the night’s adventure. Apparently, or so she said, the girl had overheard someone in the party mention their unusual excursion in the hotel bar a few hours before and invited herself along for the thrill. Swept up in the excitement surrounding the spontaneous expedition, no one objected. The more, the merrier, Eva told herself at the time, comforted by the thought of having as many companions out here as she could muster, strangers or not, just in case things got a little too interesting. When the lions chase the herd, thought Eva, it’s not bad to have as many targets as possible …

Her thoughts turned now to the uncanny events leading her and the crew into the deep forests that now surrounded them, blanketing the large hill for miles in all directions. It all began, Eva now recalled, with still vivid first impressions of the long-abandoned Grand Hotel built more than a century ago on the shores of Black Wolf Lake, a longtime popular summer tourist attraction located in the densely forested and lake filled region of Upper Michigan where it approaches both the northern border of Wisconsin and Canada’s southern boundary. Eva recalled how the car, in which she rode in the backseat, had picked her up from the airport and, as they drew near the hotel, had suddenly turned onto a long straight boulevard lined on both sides by great trees so high they nearly shut out the sunlight, immersing the car in cool shadow in spite of the unseasonable heat on this brightly sunlit afternoon. She recalled now with a shudder the moment the gigantic old hotel first revealed itself—looming there behind the trees—mere fleeting glimpses viewed through the great treetops as the car moved slowly up the narrow driveway toward the large and popular lake. Eva’s first impression of this ramshackle fortress of a building, its former glory long since gone, was the faded but monumental character of the place. It reminded her instantly of the hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s classic horror film, The Shining, the building itself being larger than life and seemingly possessing a personality and a life of its own. With her first clear view of the building, Eva’s eyes were abruptly drawn up to the tattered roof top, where she spied a sort of gabled turret and, for an instant, imagined she had seen a figure staring down from the heights, watching and awaiting their arrival. She stared again intently at the turret, but no one was there. Was I imagining things? she asked herself as the car pulled into the hotel parking lot, or did I catch a glimpse of something—or someone—out of the corner of my eye?

Suddenly, her imagination sparked, Eva felt inspired. Noticing the sensation of uneasiness now gripping her tummy, an unconscious thought took shape: We should make a horror film! With an extremely limited budget, and only two days—a mere 48 hours—to shoot this short film from concept through completion—you have to make the best of whatever you have on hand, she told herself. Tasked to her by the mysterious, once-famous producer whose brainchild this filmmakers’ weekend “boot camp” had been, Eva’s job was to come up with the basic concept for the shoot, a premise for a story that might get the creative ball rolling for the few dozen serious film students arriving the following morning. The trick was to come up with something interesting but, at the same time, actually “doable”. In a place like this, with a building like this, she told herself, scary is completely doable. It occurred to her that the building itself was the story, or at least the principal actor. We’ll just shoot it from some interesting angles, do lots of night shots, and make up a legend to work around it, she thought. It occurred to her that the best thing about Black Wolf Lake, besides the name of the place, was this magnificent old hotel where the crew would be staying during the shoot. How fortunate, thought Eva, that their temporary new home itself defined the mood and genre of the film. One glance up at the rows-upon-rows of broken and boarded windows, the heavily weathered white siding begging for a fresh coat of paint, the tattered shingles of the high gabled rooftop and torn strips of dangling paint, she concluded, and everyone would get the idea. This won’t be a hard sell, she smiled to herself.

Abruptly, Eva’s memories of her arrival this very afternoon evaporated as her attention snapped back to the present. Now, here she was, at least two miles from the nearest house, approaching midnight, accompanied by five total strangers making their way secretively up a steep road through a dense forest, waiting for the full moon to rise above one of the oldest—and allegedly most haunted—cemeteries in North America. Her thoughts turned now with anticipation to the cemetery, the goal of their present journey, which she’d only learned about earlier today, a place rich in history at once fascinating and frightful. Founded by European pioneers settling on the ancient lands of the Ojibwas and Chippewa near the Canadian border some years before the American Revolution, this ground—and the Grand Hotel, with which it was clearly linked—formed the central foci of local superstition. Stories about the allegedly haunted site abound among the young locals she had questioned earlier this day, who knew little about the cemetery’s centuries-old history, but knew a great deal about the fabulous and often frightening phenomena that collectively formed an occult legend that now drew her irresistibly here—under cover of darkness—as inexorably as a moth to flame.

Suddenly, Eva’s reverie ended. Her breath caught in her chest as she glanced ahead—about a hundred yards up the dark path—and froze. There, on the side of the road, a blanket of what appeared to be greenish mist slowly descended from somewhere out of the black forest towards them. Immediately she recalled the words told to her earlier that day, when Buddy’s childhood best friend Sam said: Sometimes, people have reported seeing a green mist covering the cemetery grounds. On nights like that, anything can happen up there. Eva shivered inside as she recalled the warning and alerted her companions.

Buddy, stop, she ordered, tugging at her young guide’s belt from behind. Buddy stopped and turned to her, raising the lantern to her face. She pointed uphill, behind him, indicating that he should turn around. Look, up there … up ahead. Is that what you were talking about? asked Eva. Buddy turned around. Having been lost in his own thoughts moments before, focusing his eyes on the ground to follow the light cast by his lantern, he hadn’t even noticed the spectral fog advancing to meet them.

Shit! That’s it, gasped Buddy, whispering loudly: That must be it. I’ve never seen it with my own eyes, but Sam knows a lot of people who have. Son of a bitch! said Buddy, shaking his head: It’s green alright! I’ll be damned.

We all might be, replied Eva, anxiously turning to address the director and crew behind her. Everyone stopped and peered through the darkness following the direction of Eva’s finger, pointing up the road ahead. The luminous blanket of mist had already crept visibly closer thought Eva as she surveyed a dense sea of green fog in which countless tree trunks now floated. So it’s true, she thought, the appearance of the mist validating one of the wilder reports she heard earlier today. But there was more: something about the phosphorescent green fog reminded her of a distant memory, just beyond reach and almost forgotten, that had frightened her terribly in her youth.

As she watched, an elongated tip formed out of the fog nearest them and advanced toward them from the nearby trees, clearly visible against the black road beneath. The green smoke-like mass, which floated a foot or so above the dark road, descended on a straight line towards them, approaching swiftly. Eva’s jaw fell open in wonderment as the mist nearest her swirled unexpectedly into a dense knot, forming a large green fist, out of which, in turn, a set of knuckles formed as what appeared to be a gigantic green skeletal hand suddenly took shape before her. As she watched the steady, increasingly rapid advance, at the very tip nearest them a malevolent bony finger formed then extended as the fingertip itself stretched into a sharp point—like some monstrous claw now pointing directly at her.

Suddenly, Eva realized what the specter reminded her of, vividly recalling that eerie scene in Cecil B. DeMille’s epic Easter classic, The Ten Commandments, where Moses and the Jews huddle inside their homes for Passover as the God-given plague of green Death glides ominously through the empty streets, passing by the homes whose doors are marked with blood, slaying the children of the Egyptians one by one. She recalled now that when that plague of Death first appeared, the clouds around the brooding moon took on a green glow, then formed a giant hand with a finger just like this pointing the way, descending vertically from the moon to the earth below where it slithered poisonously through the accursed streets bringing death on all sides. How frightened she’d been at the time! Don’t worry, honey, she heard her father say as he often had, addressing her as a little girl while watching the film each Easter. It’s just the hand of God, he’d say, come down to earth to destroy God’s enemies.

Out here in the late-night forest, with that malevolent green hand taking literal shape now before her eyes and closing fast, Eva yearned for her late father’s lap and comforting voice. God’s hand? she wondered, Or is it … the Devil’s?

As Eva recoiled, Sergey, a less reflective soul, stirred forward into action. You getting this?! the director shouted at the camera crew.

Sure am, croaked Stewart. But I don’t know for sure if we have the camera speed to catch it. Never heard of ghosts being captured on digital!

Sure of your settings? said Sergey, turning to the woman.

Looks good, Sophia replied, but I’m not sure how clear it will record. The green shading may be too subtle here. We’ll see if we can get it.

Give it some more contrast, Sergey whispered loudly. We can always enhance the image later.

The crew watched from the road as the green hand rolled out inexorably towards them, followed by a thick giant’s arm of creeping mist that now completely enveloped the forest floor and the road ahead. But as the long fingertip with the claw-like nail seemed about to touch them, not ten yards distant, something equally inexplicable happened: the vaporous green hand abruptly lost its anthropomorphic shape, dispersing instantly. Drifting and swirling about in all directions, the giant hand evaporated in a matter of seconds, transformed into a shapeless mist. In moments, thin ribbons of gray were all that remained—the once menacing shape nothing but a memory. Eva felt a warm rush of relief sweep through the party, starting with herself, as she watched a sea of now harmless fog recede back into the forest.

Let’s get going, Sergey ordered. It’s a quarter to 12. I need to be in that frigging cemetery when the clock strikes Midnight!

Buddy, gently swinging the lantern again, strode quickly up hill in the direction of the fast-receding mist, which lost its greenish hues as the fog thinned, assuming a normal grayish cast. Eva followed close behind him, followed by Sergey who, being drunk, couldn’t help stumbling from time to time, and behind him, the straggling crew with the inconspicuous, silent latecomer Taliya still guarding the rear.

As she walked, Eva noticed, for the first time, her own heartbeat pounding audibly in her ears. She had also broken out in a cold sweat without being conscious of it. As she shook her blouse to pull the cloth free of her sticky skin, she drifted back into reverie, thinking back on the day’s curious events. In her mind’s eye, the stories she’d heard earlier now assumed a more ominous meaning. She thought back now on, what seemed at the time, the uncanny and frankly unbelievable stories related by frightened, impressionable local kids who, having graduated from high school, worked at the Grand—young adults who had visited the cemetery as kids and teens, or at least heard first or secondhand the tales of strange happenings reported by their friends over the years. These tales were legion.

One particularly fascinating story concerned the alleged crypt—apparently hidden somewhere in the cemetery—of what at least some locals considered a legendary vampire. The large crypt—or so Eva had been told by several witnesses—had been covered years ago with concrete and steel to imprison this alleged Queen of the Night forever beneath the ground. Eva didn’t believe in vampires; at least she thought she didn’t. But that didn’t mean something interesting hadn’t happened up here. Even if she didn’t believe in vampires—or rather refused to believe—the sheer number of supernaturally-inspired tales she’d heard today added up to something worth investigating.

As her mind free-associated from story to story, Eva thought now of other uncanny events claimed earlier by the locals: stories, for example, of bloody rites of animal or even human sacrifice conducted in the cemetery on All Hallows Eve; one alleged eyewitness claimed to have found traces of dried blood on a stone slab, hidden in the forest near the graves, the following day. She heard stories about plagues of toads raining on the cemetery grounds … stories of large roaming bands of feral cats that would attack humans on sight … stories of policemen too scared to leave their patrol cars near the cemetery, who called out with bullhorns, warning kids to leave the grounds from the safety of their cruiser with the radio switched on to emergency dispatch. And stories, of course, of the mysterious green mist—just witnessed with her own eyes—and of the even more uncanny phosphorescent orbs that sometimes appeared floating above the alleged crypt of the vampire, which some locals argued was not a vampire at all, but rather an infamous witch said to haunt the cemetery since pagan times. Stories, too, of witchcraft and haunting that stretched back to the community’s founding two centuries before, about which little was apparently known—especially stories surrounding the village’s founder, a man called Emil Saxton, an alleged warlock murdered by the villagers, his cabin burned to the ground—the very ground upon which the Grand Hotel now stood—and who, according to some, was buried in the very cemetery they were now approaching.

But it was when Buddy’s childhood friend, Sam, who seemed to know more about the cemetery than anyone, told Eva that the graveyard had been featured a year before on the TV series America’s Most Haunted, that she knew she had to go there with a crew.

They took a Geiger counter of some sort in there, Sam told her, built specifically to detect spirits. According to what we heard, they were searching for ghostly presences or something, and the gadget registered a reading that went off the charts. So the crew got scared and ran away.

Really, so what happened? asked Eva. I love that show, and don’t recall it ever being on TV.

Sam grew silent, uneasy: Some folks say that something followed them out of the cemetery that night. That’s just what people think. But things happened. That’s for sure. Some of the crew – later some of them even died.

Died?!!! asked a stunned Eva.

Before they left town, continued Sam. There was an article about it in the local newspaper. The police looked into it briefly, and said it was just coincidence, that they died of natural causes. Then everything went back to normal.

Natural causes? said Eva. Such as?

They all died in their sleep, said Sam.

She noticed that Sam, who had seemed so bold, so self-assured until then, quickly changed the subject to the story of a “crazy woman” who reportedly still lived at the base of the road upon which they were now walking. They had snuck quietly past her house to get here, about a half-hour before. The long road to the cemetery led directly up hill from its source at the crossroads beside the mysterious woman’s home. Sam told Eva that the old woman, who must now be nearly 100, had lived there all her life, and considered herself to be the cemetery’s protector and guardian.

She used to come out and scream at us kids! said Sam, if we even dared venture anywhere in sight of her house. She used to chase after us, waving an old broom. Once she threw rocks at me, and I tossed them right back. I hit her right on the shins once, he said unrepentantly. She screamed at us when the rock hit her: Goddamn you wild Indians! That’s how she got her name. Her name was Birdy. But after that, we all called her “Birdy Goddamn”. So we’d just sneak around and walk through the woods, then cut back. The woods were too thick to walk through and too steep without the road.

And finally Eva recalled the tale, the one that gave her shivers, told by Sam and Buddy, of their last visit to the cemetery as teenagers:

We all grew up with this stuff, the boys excitedly told her. Everyone knows about the cemetery, said Sam. So one night, on Halloween, Buddy and I took a couple of girls we wanted to make out with up there. We figured if they got scared maybe we’d get lucky, you know? But one of the girls got this bright idea and brought along an Ouija board.

Eva grew anxious as she listened. She knew more than she wanted about Ouija boards from personal experience. She didn’t even want to think about the bizarre events she’d experienced years before as a teenager playing Ouija board with her girlfriends. Strange, inexplicable things had happened—the kind of things that made her shudder now as she remembered how she’d stored the board away in the depths of her bedroom closet, under piles of old storage boxes, never to be seen again. Hmm, Eva told Buddy and Sam, biting her lip, an Ouija board … this doesn’t sound good.

It wasn’t, Sam added. We found the vampire’s crypt, you know. It’s easy to find ‘cause it doesn’t look like an ordinary grave. It’s a large plot of ground, covered over with a thick slab of cement. So basically, it’s a big flat, concrete rectangle. With very thick steel bands crossing over it from side to side, and top to bottom. It’s all anchored in there, so no one can possibly get out.

Get out? Eva asked, her fear and curiosity fully aroused.

Whatever is buried there, said Sam. There used to be a very old crypt, large enough so you could hide in it, where we played hide and seek as kids. It was great, but really old and creepy. Now it’s just covered with cement and steel bands in the shape of a cross, like Buddy said. But then it was open and we and the girls … we found it that night. And I suggested we have a séance. It was on a night much like this. It was solstice, the fall solstice—All Hallows Eve—not the spring solstice which everyone forgets because we think it’s just Easter. Anyway, we got out the board. And a few minutes later, we got the message …

The message? asked Eva. What message?

Buddy shifted nervously as he looked at Sam: It spelled out the word “L-E-A-V-E”.

That’s right, added Sam. It told us to leave, just like that.

Eva recalled now how Buddy and Sam became distracted at this point, finishing the story in quick strokes, telling her only that they’d been frightened out of their wits, left in a hurry, and swore never to return. And how, she now recalled, when she asked Sam to join them tonight, he grew nervous and begged off. I think I have to work a late shift tonight, he said, and walked away.

Eva awoke from her reverie and glanced ahead at Buddy’s back. She felt greatly comforted now by the small patch of light thrown off by the swinging lantern in his hand as it fitfully illuminated a patch of ever-changing ground beside him as he walked. She remembered how Buddy told her they ran all the way down this hill, on the very road upon which they now walked, in the opposite direction, approaching the summit—reportedly the highest point of ground within a hundred miles—and the destined graveyard that they would find there.

I wonder if we should be doing this, Eva suddenly heard a small voice warn inside her head. I wonder if I should have talked this poor kid into bringing us back! She wondered, too, if the green mist were only the prelude to an even eerier adventure that lay up ahead. And if so, would they capture whatever appeared on film? The more she thought about what might lie in front of them, the higher grew the imagined stakes. Eva’s thoughts turned darker: Would they – would they even survive the night?

II

Eva’s thoughts fell away as a few hundred yards up the road the small party of filmmakers came upon an opening where the steep rise suddenly flattened out at the crest of the great hill. There, at the summit, the crew members caught their breath as they gazed out with growing wonder at the eerie scene now confronting them out of the night. Buddy raised the lantern high, the light instantly illuminating a thick, gigantic arch of leaves just above their heads, formed from the low-hanging branches of two ancient trees—one each to the right and left – bordering the cemetery’s entrance. Standing beneath the leafy arch, they peered out on the abandoned graveyard where they saw what appeared to be hundreds of old gravestones scattered in the tall grass as far as the eye could see. Before them, three long overgrown dirt paths branched out in separate directions, one each to the far right and left, and a third, heading due east, running straight through what appeared to be the center of the cemetery.

The director, Sergey, drunk on vodka carried in the flask he now held in one hand, was the first to notice a row of intriguing old gravestones peeking out through the grass along the path to the left, to the northern side of the cemetery. Let’s go this way, he shouted to the crew and, ahead of the lantern light, charged off into the shadows in the direction of the graves. We can get some great shots over here! he yelled plunging headlong into the darkness. Eva followed quickly, crashing through the underbrush after losing sight of the trail in the dark, followed by Buddy with the lantern with the rest of the crew trailing behind. Shit! she heard Sergey curse from the darkness ahead as he fell headlong over a fallen tombstone into the tall grass. Shit! she heard a small voice echo inside her head, beginning to worry as she tried to catch up: This is no way to behave out here!

Bring that frigging light over here! shouted Sergey, defying the darkness. Buddy arrived an instant later, passing by Eva who now stood a few yards up the path, her ears straining hard against the night. Here, put the lantern closer, she heard the director tell Buddy, behind her: Yeah, right there! As the excited crew huddled around an old headstone, Eva turned and faced south, looking into the dark heart of the burial ground surrounding them. I got them into this, she told herself. After all, this was my idea. Suddenly, taking this responsibility seriously, Eva saw herself as a kind of spiritual protector of the group. If anything happens to anyone up here, she thought, I’m to blame. The rest of the boot camp production crew won’t even arrive till tomorrow, she thought, and if anything went wrong out here, she knew that the fault would ultimately rest with her … and would likely ruin the entire film shoot for everyone. Alarmed, she moved even further from the crew—preoccupied taking shots of rare old headstones—and walked a few more yards up the dirt path that headed due east and bordered the northern boundary of the cemetery, which now lay immediately to her left. Behind her, she heard Sergey shout again: Hey, look over here! This one says the guy was buried here in 1801 … born in 1764! Hell, this guy died just before the frigging American Revolution! This is frigging great! …

Buddy, now close beside him, held the lantern high in the air where the light not only illumined the headstones they were shooting but cast out its wide circular beam for hundreds of feet into the depths of the cemetery. Her back to the crew and the lantern, Eva stood alone and apart on the dirt path, and looked out on scores upon scores of old headstones, some almost completely hid in the tall grass, some knocked over by the wind or vandals, still others broken or lying about. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was haunted, she muttered under her breath. This graveyard impressed her as a frightening place, and it brought the Blair Witch Project readily to mind, a film that both terrified and inspired her. This is exactly the kind of setting for a short horror film, she thought as the writer in her regained the upper hand. If we can just construct a story that takes us back and forth between the cemetery here, and the haunted hotel—based on the stories I’ve already heard about Emil Saxton—we can easily come up with something really scary that we can shoot in a few days. And given the excitement she heard behind her as the director moved from grave to grave, dragging the lantern and camera crew with him, she knew it should be easy to convince her colleagues to agree.

But suddenly, Eva’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sergey tripping over yet another headstone. Shit! Goddamn it to hell! she heard him curse. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me! Sergey cried, the abrupt shift in tone and volume instantly shocking her. Once again, worry reared its head. This is just an accident waiting to happen, she mumbled to herself. Then Eva felt a chill creep up her spine; the hair rose on the back of her neck as she glanced again into the depths of the graveyard, the shifting oasis of light surrounded by shadows. This time, she thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye—there, at the dark margin of the field of light, to the east in the direction she was headed. Eva unconsciously held her breath and searched the shadows at the moving edge where light and darkness danced. For a second, Eva thought she heard something move out there. What was that? she wondered. Most likely deer, or something like it. But now, all she heard was the rhythmic beating of her own heart, pounding loud above the intrusive noise coming from the direction of Sergey and the equally oblivious crew now far behind her.

Something told Eva to ignore them, to focus her attention on the cemetery itself. As she watched and listened closely, the graveyard—at least that part of it she could see within the shifting sphere of lantern light—seemed to come alive around them. She felt now as if the entire cemetery was watching her—watching them. Perhaps the dark spirit of the place had been awakened, she thought, by this disrespectful invasion of a site that desired no human visitors, especially tonight on solstice. Eva tried to control her breathing, struggling to relax, consciously slowing her breath to quell her mounting fear. She imagined herself sending, as it were, a telepathic message to the spirits all around her. We are sorry for disturbing you! she said in her mind, projecting her thoughts silently into the cemetery itself: We mean you no harm. We will only visit for a brief time here, and then we’ll leave, and never bother you again. For several minutes, she telegraphed these hopefully pacifying thoughts silently in the direction of the graves at the center of the cemetery. As the shadows danced fitfully around the changing borders of light, she imagined spirits rising from the graves in all directions, watching her intently from the tall grass as a predator watches its prey. In spite of the spine-tingling fear that now gripped her, Eva raised her hands calmly, open palms held outward towards the spirits, then pressed her flattened palms together bowing respectfully to the place as if it were a sacred temple. In the background, far behind her, she heard again the raucous drama being played out entirely beyond her control and thought: We’ll be lucky to get out of here, if we keep this up.

Eva felt a sudden intuitive tug to her left as something seemed to move in the wide darkness beyond the range of light. Turning to face east, in the direction of the dark forest that approached her further up along the path, her sixth sense spoke to her, warning that something waited there, calling to her in the distance. Leaving the crew and light far behind, she crept cautiously forward along the path. Ink black shadows completely cloaked her now as she moved slowly into the night, all senses straining for the slightest sound or movement, taking deep breaths as she walked, the only sound now the small stones crunching beneath her feet as the noisy crew faded out of hearing range.

Perhaps a hundred yards up the path something in her tummy warned Eva to stop. There she stood, wrapped in opaque shadows, having completely disappeared from the distracted crew left far behind. Whatever it was, this thing that beckoned her was directly in front of her now, at the end of the path just up ahead. As her eyes grew accustomed to the pitch black, Eva observed thick new-growth forest consisting of young trees rising out of what appeared to be a deep, wide depression in the ground. She realized now that she’d followed the path as far as she could in this easterly direction and that she stood where the road turned sharply to the right, continuing its path to the south along the outer eastern rim of the cemetery. Her hair began to rise again on her tingling skin. She listened, and heard—in her mind—a silent wordless warning coming from the trees just ahead—then from all around her. Not quite a voice, but simply a thought: Do not come over here! She heard this warning clearly.

Suddenly, Eva heard something move behind her in the darkness, approaching on the path. Then something brushed her sleeve and, panicked, she leapt to one side. A shadowy figure moved past her shoulder, then stopped, mid-air, and stepped back, standing right beside her. Whoa! This is a hot spot! she heard Buddy’s voice speak from the shadows next to her. She could barely make him out although he now stood not a foot away. Together they stared into the dark woods just a few dozen yards ahead, their senses alert and straining. Eva sighed and whispered loudly without turning her head: Buddy, you just scared the hell out of me! Where did you leave the lantern?

I gave it to Sergey, Buddy replied also whispering: He’s busy shooting gravestones back there. Some of them are really old, even before the Revolutionary War. I thought I’d come this way. Something told me I should.

Tell me, honestly, whispered Eva with a shiver, what you’re —what you just meant about this being a “hot zone”.

I mean, he said, something’s happening here. Right here. I didn’t even see you … didn’t know anyone was here till I brushed against you. And the second I did, I felt this incredible force up ahead there, like some kind of psychic high tension wire or something. It was like: Shit, don’t go one step closer. You know what I mean?

Yeah, replied Eva, that’s why I’m standing here, too. You’re right; it’s like some kind of electro-magnetic field, right there in those trees. And as they watched and listened intently, the tension grew even stronger, driving Buddy and Eva to the edge of panic as they stood silently together in the dark, afraid to move forward.

Buddy pointed straight ahead in the direction of the trees where the warning came to Eva just moments before. It’s like right over there! said Buddy. I don’t know what it is, but I think we should probably leave.

I think you’re right, replied Eva fearing she might further offend the spirits of the place—now seemingly watching and warning them from the surrounding forest—if she continued her advance towards the trees that rose from the dark vale. I’m getting the same vibe, she continued, now hearing voices approach behind them, the dim light thrown off by the lantern suddenly revealing Eva and Buddy clearly to each other, nearly blinding them and casting shadows all around. They turned at the same instant to see Sergey and the rest of the crew approaching about 30 yards behind, still talking excitedly and apparently ignorant of what was happening all around them. Some people, thought Eva, are just too dense to get it.

Then she turned around once again facing east in order to see what lie ahead as the space where she and Buddy stood now filled with light. Immediately to her left, at the side of the path only a few feet away, stood a thick evergreen bush about ten feet tall. Strangely, in the lantern light the bush itself seemed to emit an ominous and foreboding presence. Something about it frightened Eva. And in front of her, in the direction she’d been walking, in the direction from which the warning had come, the path turned sharply south, to the right. And beyond the path, straight ahead, hundreds of young saplings rose up out of the great depression. She realized now that the depression wasn’t a valley at all but the steep eastern slope of the great hill where it descended beyond the graveyard’s perimeter … and that the cemetery itself was apparently built on the relatively tiny zenith of the hill and beyond which it sloped downwards in all directions. Here the path swerved sharply south, to her right, and followed the tree line bordering the slope back towards the center of the graveyard. Here Eva turned to interrupt Sergey and the crew, as Buddy approached her again now carrying his lantern.

Okay guys! she heard herself shout as they came within hearing range, then lowered her voice as they neared: Let’s be a little more quiet over here. And, whatever you do, don’t go off into those woods over there! As she spoke, she pointed in front of her, indicating the area that lay beyond the sharp turn of the path, the area she and Buddy felt was forbidden—the hot zone. But Sergey, still clueless and jabbering away excitedly, just took another swig of vodka and passed it back to the camera crew.

Buddy and I will follow the path here, she added not knowing if they really heard her. She glanced at the dark silhouettes of the crew still mostly hidden in shadows behind Buddy’s lantern. Something is missing, Eva told herself, but dismissed her premonition instantly and addressed them: You hang back for a minute, ok?

Ok! she heard Sergey reply. Then, ignoring her, he jabbered at the camera guys as he had all night long.

You lead the way, she told Buddy quietly, turning to the path ahead, and I’ll be right behind you.

You better be! he replied half-jokingly, then reluctantly led the way south along the eastern rim of the graveyard, the sloping hot zone now to his left and slightly behind. Immediately, the mostly overgrown path grew thick with tall grass. Then just ahead of them, the lantern revealed the long heavily-arched boughs of an ancient oak tree hanging low over the path, almost obstructing it. Buddy bent low, lantern in hand, and slid beneath the heavy limbs through a small opening between the leaf-laden branches. Eva followed close behind, practically in his footsteps. It felt to her as she entered the narrow passageway as if she were crawling through a dark tunnel, and when she emerged soon thereafter into the open air on the other side of the tree, she felt as if she’d passed over some sort of threshold into an another world.

Buddy, she begged quietly, emerging on the other side of the leafy wall, why don’t you go back and get the rest of the crew? Buddy glanced nervously to the right and left and without saying a word returned through the portal and disappeared, except for the thin darting shafts of lantern light as he passed beneath the great branches.

Alone again now, a hundred feet or so in front of the others, Eva turned and gazed westward into the dark depths of the cemetery. High above, she noticed the clear night sky, filled with glittering starlight. What happened to the rising moon? she wondered. Then lowering her gaze, Eva realized she was standing at the far end of the central path they had seen upon their arrival. If she was correct, she now stood near the path exactly opposite the entrance of the cemetery. She caught herself wishing they were still there at the entryway and took a deep breath. Her eyes gradually adapted once again to the darkness until, finally, she saw the wide path that cut straight through the center of the graves. It reached a dead-end about 20 feet to the south, right at the eastern edge where Eva now stood—where the forest and slope began. At the sight of the dirt road she relaxed and breathed more easily. At least this westward path, she thought, should be the fastest route back to the entrance. Then she noticed that the southerly-directed path she was on continued but a short distance ahead, running along the border of the woods on this far side of the cemetery until it too turned sharply to the right—to the west—where it became the third path, the path that at first sight, from the entrance, had veered off to the right. If we continue south then turn west, thought Eva calculating her escape route, or if we take the central path … either way it will take us right back to the entrance … and out of here.

But just as she plotted their escape, Eva was again interrupted. There, about 20 yards in front of her, right near the central pathway as it led into the depths of the graveyard, was the very object of their quest—that which she came hoping for yet feared to find, that which she hadn’t really dared expect to see with her own eyes. There, hovering in the air a few feet above a large tombstone—in the midst of several graves—was a small brightly glowing, phosphorescent green orb. At first, Eva couldn’t believe her eyes. This is either too good to be true, she thought, or too bad. Darker thoughts now gripped her. Instantly, she thought back to her conversation earlier that afternoon with Buddy and Sam, who told her that several of their friends had seen these orbs and which they themselves saw on one occasion – on the very night, more than five years before when, as teenagers, they had tempted fate by taking the Ouija board into the cemetery on Halloween. As she watched the orb float above the ground and waited expectantly for the rest of the crew to catch up, Eva again recalled Sam’s story and how Buddy had filled in the details later on.

You won’t believe this, Buddy told her, but Sam and I and a couple of girls went up there on Halloween several years ago. We were out raising hell, got drunk and loaded, and one of the girls thought it would be fun to bring an Ouija board up there. We thought we might get lucky if the girls got really scared, so we went along with it. So we climbed the hill to the graveyard even though the cops had chased us out before. That crazy woman—Birdy—the one who lives at the base of the cemetery hill road, she thinks she’s like the guardian of this place, and is always going off on the kids for coming up there and disturbing the spirits and stuff. So, that night, on Halloween, she called the cops on us. But no shit, the cops were too scared to get out of their patrol car. They drove up to the entrance and parked. And one of them got out his bullhorn and yelled at us. The cops had heard too many stories. No way were they gonna get out of the car. Anyway, they chased us out, but we came back later, with the Ouija board.

So then what happened? Eva now recalled asking him.

Well, just as we started asking the board a question, one of the girls saw this green orb, like a little bubble of light, you know, like the large bubble Glenda the Good Witch rides in like a magical chariot in The Wizard of Oz. But this was really small, about the size of baseball, or maybe even smaller. The orb was floating over this tomb, the one where they used to say the vampire was buried.

Vampire?! Eva asked, startled.

Yeah, a vampire … or a witch … or something. I think I saw her one night while I was alone at my uncle’s house, up along the river that feeds Black Wolf Lake. She was floating outside my window, trying to get in. Did you see Salem’s Lot? Remember that scene where the vampire floats outside the window? You have to invite them in, you know?

Right, so then what happened? asked Eva.

You crazy? Well, I sure didn’t let her in! said Buddy. Anyway, there are lots of stories about her. And finally, a few years back, somebody came up here and covered her tomb with concrete, made a big concrete slab, and put thick metal straps over the top like a cross—one from top to bottom, the other from side to side. And they were bolted and soldered shut so nothing could get in or out. And that, Buddy concluded, is where the orbs appeared on Halloween.

Eva now recalled the shiver of excitement she felt, mingled with fear, upon hearing this story. She had been researching the legends and old news accounts concerning the so-called vampires of New England in preparation for writing a horror story of her own. And one of the legends had it that, over the years, countless witnesses had reported seeing small orbs of light floating above the most famous vampire’s grave. Further research revealed to Eva that orbs of light were common occult phenomena, frequently reported in cases of haunting and apparitions of all sorts, but were most commonly associated with reports of vampires and witches. Hearing this account from Buddy added a degree of weight to reports from other locals that helped convince her that, perhaps, there was truly something unusual about Black Wolf Lake Cemetery after all.

Now, she stood alone in the dark and watched the luminous green orb float above the grave with her own eyes. As she did, Buddy, again without the lantern, came crashing through the branches, appearing at her side.

Where’s your lantern? she asked just above a whisper.

I gave it to the camera guys, Buddy replied. They’re reloading over there, and will be here in …
Buddy abruptly grew silent as he glanced in the direction in which Eva still gazed and now pointed limply.

Do you see what I see? he asked.

I think so, replied Eva. What do you see?

It’s – it’s what I told you about.

The green orb?

Yeah, it’s the green orb. And this gets totally weird.

What do you mean?

You see where it’s floating?

Yeah, right there, she said indicating the direction.

Well, that’s it, said Buddy. That’s the place.

The place?

Where the vampire … where the witch or whatever is buried.

You’re kidding, right? a stunned Eva replied. Tell me you’re kidding.

No, its right there, said Buddy soberly. That’s where we saw the tomb that night with the Ouija board. That’s exactly where it told us to leave.

Buddy and Eva turned around suddenly, distracted by Sergey’s shouts. He was still a good 30 yards behind them, back on the path on the far side of the overarching limbs. Hey you guys see this!? yelled Sergey: Frigging Jesus Christ! Look! Look over there!

Through the trees and shadows, Eva noticed Sergey pointing excitedly in the direction of the orb. The film crew beside him scrambled to set up and shoot. Get this on frigging camera! Sergey screamed at the camera guys. Shit man, we gotta get this on record! It’s what we came here for! …

And with that, Sergey leapt forward from the narrow path and charged recklessly into the cemetery, the camera team following him from a safe distance with cameras and light. But Sergey quickly outpaced them. Still drunk and stumbling amidst the gravestones, and upon the graves themselves, he raced at the tomb where the luminescent orb now began to multiply. In the few seconds it took for him to trample some gravestones, Eva stared in wonder as the orbs replicated, forming a sort of protective circle above the crypt.

Shit! thought Eva paralyzed with fear. Sergey, you fucking idiot! Don’t go trampling on the graves! Jesus! This is so …

She turned to Buddy: You have to get him! Hurry! Instantly, Buddy shot forward toward the orbs, intent on catching Sergey before he reached the tomb. Try not to step on the graves, she cried from the path behind him: But run! Get the hell -- stop Sergey from fucking this up!

She watched helplessly as Buddy joined the foot race with Sergey, advancing quickly in the direction of the orbs, which by now had grown in number--about a half-dozen small orbs, all linked together into what looked like a glowing oval-shaped horsehoe, forming a luminous semi-circle a few feet above the alleged vampire’s grave. As Eva stared at the gravestone, panic rising at this latest affront to the spirits, the orbs continued multiplying. In a few more seconds, they formed a perfect circle—a dozen or more orbs linked in a mythical fairy ring, a numinous halo or necklace made of phosphorescent green pearls on a string. Her heart sank as Sergey won the foot race, his foot breaking roughly through the magical ring of orbs …

Instantly, Eva got the shock of her life. At the very second Sergey’s foot penetrated the ring, she heard a loud and ominous voice from somewhere shriek: GET OUT! She shook her head, afraid that she was hearing things. Did I really hear that? she mumbled aloud. Yes, came her answer, I did. For Eva had clearly heard an old woman’s voice croak harshly, as clear as if she were speaking from inside Eva’s own head, the words: GET OUT!

Startled, Eva strained her eyes against the darkness to see if someone was there. She felt the voice had somehow come from the direction of the entrance, but from a very long way off. It could only be, she thought, the voice of that crazy old woman! It’s her … it must be … the one who lives at the foot of the hill … the one they call “Birdy Goddamn” … The voice of her devil’s advocate then challenged Eva’s thoughts: How on earth can she see us from so many miles away? How does she even know we’re up here? This is absurd! Still, to Eva, the voice sounded as if it had come from Birdy’s home …

Eva’s thoughts were silenced yet again by the voice of the crone, much louder this time, as it snarled a second warning: GET OUT!! Eva started at the sound. She quickly surveyed the dark landscape of the cemetery, but no one was there. Then she glanced helplessly at the orbs which were quickly disappearing. Buddy, who had reached Sergey just as he arrived, was yanking the director back through the graves in the direction of the crew—still on the path on the other side of the oak’s arching branches, where they had wisely lagged behind. The cameras were still rolling, aimed at the orbs. Buddy, now lifting the weak-kneed Sergey, carried him out of the graveyard like a soldier pulling a wounded comrade from the field of battle. Eva’s mind raced … the orbs … the old woman’s voice … Buddy escorting the stricken Sergey …

Eva thought hard now about the crazy woman, straining to understand the source of the menacing voice: Birdy’s house was at the foot of the hill, some two or three miles down the road from where Eva now stood. How can she throw her voice two … three miles away so clearly? wondered Eva. Does she have some kind of bullhorn or …

GET OUT!!! the voice screeched hoarsely for a third time, so loud this time it shook the air, and more menacing than before. It seemed the voice had become no less now than the voice of the cemetery itself. To Eva, the cemetery that formerly seemed like a single conscious being watching the intruders was now, with a single unmistakably threatening voice, warning them to leave.

Buddy, lantern now in hand, came crashing through the overhanging branches behind her. The rest of the frightened crew, including the shaken Sergey, came fast upon his heels.

Eva, did you hear that? Buddy asked, panting and struggling for breath. In the light of the lantern, his face grew pale with fear.

I don’t know what you heard, she replied just above a whisper, but I definitely heard …

Buddy finished her sentence for her: Get out!

Yeah, exactly, said Eva after a long pause, closely watching Buddy’s face. And I think we better do what she says.

Eva turned back to Sergey and the crew as they drew near, now gathered together for the first time since they entered the graveyard.

Guys, she addressed Sergey and the rest, I think we need to just get the hell out of here. Ok?

The entire crew looked worried, even Sergey, his face also pale in the dim light. They all nodded in assent.

Eva, holding Buddy’s free arm, led the way along the central path, the shortest route, eyes darting to the left and right for any signs of movement. The night grew suddenly still. As they crept past the tomb where the orbs were seen—which had now completely disappeared—she noticed, in the dancing shadows and light, that it was nothing but a large slab of concrete, about 6 by 10 feet, unmarked and covered with thick bands of flat steel, belts that ran from top to bottom and side to side just as Buddy and Sam described. Why on earth would someone do that, unless what we heard was true? she asked herself, struggling to remain calm and forcing herself to look straight ahead. Eva hastened her pace. One foot ahead of the other she kept telling herself. One foot ahead of the next …

No sooner had they passed the grave where the orbs had circled than they lost the light. Suddenly, at the worst possible moment, the lantern went black.

Shit! cried Buddy, as the companions gasped and disappeared, cloaked now in blinding near-total darkness. How the hell …?

What the fuck is happening? Sergey demanded, stepping ahead in the dark to join Buddy and Eva. Stewart and Sophia closed quickly behind.

This is great, just fucking great! Eva cursed, losing her composure. It was now too dark to even see each other’s faces. In the pitch black shadows, the presence of the place grew thickly malevolent around them. Everyone shuddered involuntarily against the gathering night.

It seemed like hours had passed, but within a few minutes the shaken crew found themselves again at the entrance of the cemetery, looking down at the dark road descending steeply through the forests, leading back to town and safety. A collective sigh of relief broke the silence. Eva, maintaining her cool, had gathered them together in the dark, everyone holding onto someone, and in a tight formation they had moved forward together as a single being through the shadows, as quickly as they could. Time had stopped as, for seeming hours, they walked in formation, glancing warily from side to side as they went, expectant of danger yet hoping that no more surprises awaited them: no green mist, no crazy woman at the bottom of the hill, no green orbs floating at them through the forest …

Sergey, sobered by the ordeal, was the first to break the silence, whispering from behind into Eva’s ear. Eva, did you hear the warning? he asked, uncharacteristically subdued.

Eva was relieved he heard it, too. I’m not totally nuts! she thought, then formed her reply: Yeah, only I don’t know how she projected her voice so far!

She told us to get out! the self-absorbed Sergey continued as if not hearing her. He looked around at the crew. Everyone nodded affirmatively. They’d all heard the old crone’s voice. Then Sergey noticed something missing: Has anyone … has anyone seen Taliya? Where is frigging Taliya?

Eva’s heart sank as she turned and counted heads: Buddy. Sergey. Sophia. Stewart. But, no … no Taliya in sight.

Taliya!!! she shouted at the darkness behind them. Taliya!!! she heard the chorus of her fellow travelers shout in echo. For a few minutes everyone yelled the vanished girl’s name at the top of their lungs. But no one answered their call. The forests around them stood silent and, once again, foreboding.

Think she’s still up there? Sergey whispered to Eva. She didn’t even want to think about the implications, but struggled to marshal her thoughts. Come to think of it, she replied, I haven’t seen her since we arrived, since we first stood at the entrance.

I thought she was right behind us, guarding the rear as she did all night long, added Sergey. Hey, said Sergey addressing the others, have any of you seen her? When did you see her last?

In a moment it became clear that Taliya had mysteriously disappeared sometime shortly after their entry into the cemetery.

I’m freaked out by this! Sergey soberly proclaimed. We gotta find her. Don’t you think? Don’t we need to …

Screw that! Buddy replied. You can go back there, if you must, but I’m not taking you. We don’t know her from Adam. She’s a total stranger. So who the fuck really knows who that girl was?

At the thought of now retracing their steps, of reentering the cemetery to search for the silent, mysterious stranger who’d accompanied them, Eva’s guts froze with fear. Get out! she heard the malicious voice warn repeatedly in her memory: Get out!

I’m not going back either, said Eva. I’m sorry. You can think I’m a coward or a selfish bitch, or whatever, but … I’m really, really scared. I’m scared, and I’m sorry, Buddy’s right. We don’t know her, not one thing about her. She just came out of nowhere, and this is what you get, right? She wanted to go … for the “thrill”, and I guess she got what she was looking for. Because I don’t care what you all are planning, but I’m going home as fast as these nice legs of mine will carry me. You’re on your own, gang. I’ll pray for your safe return.

With that, Eva turned away and walked a few yards down hill in the dark. There she paused and turned back to them. Buddy, you coming?

Buddy, still carrying the now worthless lantern, looked sheepishly at the others and followed Eva. In the silence, one by one, Sergey, Stewart and Sophia followed. Soon enough the adventurers were a couple miles down the road and approaching Birdy’s house at the bottom of the long decline.

You think she was the voice in the cemetery? Eva heard Sergey ask from just behind her in a low voice.

You mean Birdy? she asked as they walked.

No, said Sergey, I mean Taliya.

I don’t think so, she replied after a thoughtful pause. When I really think about that voice, it wasn’t outside at all. It was inside my head, but at first it sounded like it was outside. It was very strange. I know now it was inside of me, but how did we all hear it then?

Sergey nodded: Yeah, it wasn’t outside. You’re right. It was inside my head, too—but really loud, not like the voice I always hear.

Right! Not your voice, in other words. Not my voice either, she replied.

I forgot to tell you something before, interrupted Buddy, overhearing them and slowing down. He turned to Eva who was now moving up alongside him: About the night we left—the night with the Ouija board.

What now? asked Eva. I’m not sure I want to know …

I forgot to tell you what the Ouija board told us, you know, right after the orb appeared on the vampire’s grave. The message …

It told you to leave, said Eva. I already knew that.

What message? What did it say, exactly? asked Sergey from behind them. I think we need to know …

It didn’t say “leave” like I said before. Not exactly.

Well, Eva shot back, what did it say, exactly?

It said, “Get out!” That’s the message it spelled. Not L-e-a-v-e, but G-e-t-o-u-t. I didn’t remember it exactly till just now. It scared the hell out of us. And it was years ago, so I almost forgot. I mean, it means the same thing, right? But still …

Eva’s heart leapt into her throat as she listened. She felt sick.

Buddy continued: Oh yeah. The moment the message appeared, a cold wind blew out of nowhere through the cemetery. It was like some evil spirit came alive, rose from the grave, and passed by us. She touched us all—every one of us. We all felt it that night. And we ran like hell, as fast as we could. I’m ashamed, because I let the girls fall behind, just like we’re leaving Taliya right now. But I was too scared to even think about them. Of course, they did get out eventually, and none of us ever went back. And that was five or six years ago, and I haven’t been back since. Not till tonight.

For a moment Eva felt as if she might vomit. She realized, now amazed at herself, how she had conceived—automatically, without thinking—the extraordinary notion that some crazy woman had been yelling at them from the bottom of a hill three miles in the distance. She recognized that this ridiculous explanation had made perfect sense to her at the time, perhaps because, as crazy as it was, it was also more comforting than admitting the truth: that the warning had come from the spirit of the cemetery herself … that the place itself had spoken. And that it spoke to everyone in her party—not objectively, but subjectively, within their own minds, in the form of their thoughts, and all at once—only it was so loud it seemed like it came from outside. They had all heard the warning, not someone shouting from miles away, but speaking inside their own thoughts. It could not have been Birdy—nor could it have been the voice of the missing Taliya either, she now concluded: No way!

I don’t want to use this story premise anymore, said Eva suddenly to Sergey as they approached the crazy woman’s home and beyond that--they all hoped privately--the comfort of their beds--beds that at this point, no one seemed to mind, were housed in an allegedly haunted hotel.

After another long pause, Sergey responded soberly: You’re right, Eva. In a sense … anyway. This story won’t work for a 10 minute clip like we’re planning for this boot camp shoot. It’s a feature film now, he said with a cunning smile: Don’t you agree?

I don’t like where this is going, she replied curtly, warily observing Birdy’s house as they passed by without incident. A flood of relief passed through Eva as they cleared the old woman’s dark lot, emerged under the first streetlight, and headed down the paved sidewalk into town.

Maybe … for the rest of the group, said Sergey ignoring her, we can still work with the hotel motif … by turning this premise of yours into a kind of scary comedy, you know … going against the grain, laughing at the ghosts and what have you. The Shining … only funny!

Yeah, a comedy, she rejoined sarcastically: I like that better. Taliya disappears mysteriously in the haunted cemetery. That’s very funny, Sergey. You know, we have to stop by the police station on our way back and fill out a missing person’s report. This is far from over …

As for what happened here, Sergey continued as if talking to himself, and the rest of your premise … I’m sure it might work as a feature film. Maybe you and I can collaborate …

At that very moment, a cold sharp breeze stirred nearby, rustling the leaves noisily, kissing Eva's skin with its icy tongue and sending shivers down her spine. Did you feel that, Sergey? she interrupted, I don’t really want to …

That’s it! Eva, I’ve got it! he shouted, unable now to contain his excitement. We tell the story of a group of filmmakers, just like us, right? They come together for a weekend film workshop, but for the protagonists, who get there ahead of the rest—for us, in other words—it gets all too real.

It’s certainly “all too real” for me, said Eva, glancing warily at the shadows and trees beneath the streetlights, struggling to keep pace with Buddy’s long strides. She couldn't help recalling Buddy's words about the night he and Sam fled the cemetery: as if some spirit had arisen from the tomb ...

So, try this, Sergey added, his imagination now flowing manically: Only, in the movie, it’s not enough that they get out, like the witch—it’s a witch, not a vampire—like the witch orders. When they get back to the hotel, they begin to discover that … something has come with them. Something has followed them back. Or maybe it was there, waiting for them all along. Anyway...

Oh great, that’s just fucking great, said Eva. At this point, I just want to get home safely and hope I can get to sleep tonight. The next two days are gonna be so intense. We need some rest …
But in the movie, said Sergey, when they go to sleep, that’s when the trouble really begins, because there’s a curse … the witch begins to haunt their dreams, and everyone begins to have nightmares, and they wake up with scary presences in their rooms, but they can’t move, because they’re paralyzed with fear, and then the witch begins to knock them off, one by one … and when they are found in their beds, they are lying on their backs, mouth wide open as if crying silently for help, eyes frozen wide in stark terror. And they are all lying on their backs …

Sergey, said Eva, did anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole? I truly don’t want to hear …

And one by one, the excited Russian continued, the witch knocks them off, mysteriously dying in their sleep. They all die of literally being scared to death! They have heart attacks and die, right there in their beds, one after another, and what starts out to be just shooting a horror film becomes a terrifying reality, as the witch comes to life in their nightmares and kills the filmmakers, and everyone around them … and they can only get rid of her curse if … ”

III

Eva sits the empty shot glass down hard on the bar, the sharp crack of the glass on wood breaking the story’s spell. The two men whom she’d just met earlier that night—partners in a major Hollywood film production company—look at her in awe.

That’s a great story! says the Producer after a long silence. You scared the hell out of me for awhile there.

Yeah, says the Director, I can’t believe someone hasn’t thought of this angle before. That’s good stuff. I think I can … we might be interested, you know. Do you have a treatment, an outline—anything? He glances at his friend, the Producer, who smiles and nods affirmatively, and continues: Horror is a great genre, especially for an aspiring screenwriter like you. And forgiving. Not like a drama, where the plotting needs to be tight, the dialogue snappy, A-list actors and such. With horror, you’re either scared or not. Right?

It’s fairly cheap to produce, adds the Producer, and can make a killing if it’s done right. Even cheaper … shit, we should do a reality show! Hell, maybe we can get Gary Busey or some other washed up B-list actor to host it.

He was great in Silver Bullet, says Eva with a shrug as they move towards the door.

They continue talking as they leave the Venice Beach bar, going out into the night. It is nearly 2 a.m., just before the bars close. The streets are quiet and mostly vacant at this hour. At the corner, Eva offers her hand goodnight. They stand beneath a single glowing streetlight.

Hey, before you go, says the Director, you forgot something important.

Important? asks Eva. What’s that?

You forgot to tell us the punch-line ... How does it end? The curse, I mean.

Ah, says Eva, thanks for reminding me. The nature of the curse, you know, what brought the witch out with them, I mean us … into our lives …

Our lives? asks the Producer. You mean …

It’s only by telling someone the story, Eva continues, that the curse is lifted. I’m certain of that now.

The Producer smiles at her, then at the Director: That’s a nice twist. I like it. I like it … a lot!

Oh, it’s not a twist, says Eva, now looking them both in the eyes, lowering her voice. That’s the real part. Nearly everyone on that crew that night … They’re all dead. Everyone but me … and Buddy … at least as far as I know. I'm sure he told his girlfriend, 'cause she’s dead, too. I just know that Buddy talked ...

You keep saying ‘us’, ‘we’ … the Director says nervously.

That’s a good one, says the Producer, chuckling awkwardly: Damn! That’s great. Shifting to first person now … I must admit, you sure know how to tell a story!

You sure can sell it, that’s for sure, adds the Director, smiling nervously. You ought to think about becoming an actress!

No, I mean it, says Eva sharply, now dead serious. You don’t understand. They’re all dead. She pauses, looks each of the men squarely in the eye searching for an indication they are taking her seriously before she continues: Sergey ... Sophia ... Stewart, most of the film crew that night … And that strange girl, Taliya. No one has any idea what became of her. And the “Eva” I’ve been talking about all night, the one who was with them, who lead the party that night – do either of you even remember my name?

The film partners stare awkwardly at each other, then at Eva. She told them her name when they first met at the bar a few hours before, but hadn’t mentioned it again. They hate to admit it, but they can’t recall. Sorry, says the Producer, I'm not so good with names.

Eva is me! I’m Eva. I only told you in third person to make it interesting, more like a story. But the fact of the matter is, we never even made that 10-minute clip! We found Sergey dead the next morning … mouth open, lying on his back, eyes wide as if he’d literally died of fright. Everything Sergey came up with as he made up the plot for that feature film ... It's like it all came literally true. We all started having bad dreams. Something did follow us out that night ...

I seriously hope you’re kidding, says the Director.

Sorry, replies Eva, I’m not. It all happened just like Sergey imagined … I was there when the doctor finished examining him. He didn’t know what happened, but he said he’d seen the same problem before, back in the '70s around the time he first moved there. They had a whole mysterious epidemic break out near Black Wolf Lake, just like this one. More than two dozen local residents died, just like this, all in their sleep, eyes wide in fright, all sleeping on their backs …

So what was it? asks the Producer. Does anyone know?

The doctor said Sergey died in his sleep, Eva replies, and that he only had a theory. He thought, though it’s never been proven, that Sergey, and the others … they probably died of SUNDS.

SUNDS? asks the Director. What the hell is that?

“Sudden Unknown Death Syndrome”. It’s like the adult variety of SIDS—“Sudden Infant Death Syndrome”. You know? The thing that mysteriously kills babies in their sleep? Anyway, I looked it up. I think it’s associated with Sleep Paralysis, a surprisingly common psychological condition that some call “night terrors”. But it’s a medical mystery that reaches far into the past—in recognizable form, in many countries. Just about everywhere. Epidemics periodically erupt the world over, and have been associated since ancient times with witches, vampires, demonic apparitions, nightmares—that kind of freaky stuff. The World Health Organization last reported an epidemic breaking out in the Philippines in the ‘90s.

No shit! says the Producer. One of my relatives had this when he was younger. But it went away and never came back. He’s fine …

You ever see, Eva interrupts, the famous painting by Fuseli? Of the demon? You know, the succubus sitting on the woman’s breast as she sleeps? Sleeping on her back? Some say that demon is the witch’s helper. In Newfoundland, they apparently call her the ”Ag Rog”. That’s the witch’s name. And she has a million names, guys. Some call her Lilith, or Lilitu, Queen of the Night—the first vampire. The first wife of Adam, God’s big mistake, the one most people don’t know about ‘cause they think Eve was Adam’s only wife. In Latin America, I think she goes by the name “La Lloronha”, the Weeping Woman. And if you know what you’re looking for, you can tell by their descriptions that a lot of the best horror writers of all time were probably inspired by these “night terrors”, too. Like Bram Stoker. And according to his housekeeper, the great French author Guy du Maupassant may have died wrestling with the invisible “Horla” he wrote about—presumably as fiction—just before his death at a young age. Anyway, as you can imagine, we all got the hell out of there that night as fast as we could. But it was too late, at least for Sergey and the others. Not just the crew that night, but other people in the village of Black Wolf Lake died—and in exactly the same way. And the Producer we worked for. Someone must have told him when we got back to the hotel, and he must have kept it to himself, because he’s dead, too. As far as I know, I’m the last survivor. And maybe Buddy. He was the talkative one. And he must have told Sam, 'cause Sam died, too.

And what became of Buddy? says the Producer.

I don’t know, says Eva soberly. He was so scared. He couldn’t help thinking about how narrowly they’d escaped that night in the cemetery when they were kids. Then, when his girlfriend died, and Sam died, like the rest … that’s when he disappeared. I haven’t heard from him since.

The men are listening nervously now, mostly staring down at their shoes or warily surveying the dark streets of the neighborhood as she talks.

I guess I might be the last one alive, continues Eva. I don’t know why. I think – maybe she was kinder to me, because at least I had some respect for her. I don’t know, but maybe that’s why she let me live. She came to me again, just last night—in my nightmares, as usual—and told me I had to get the movie made or else. At least I had to tell the story. So I guess that’s the only way I can escape her curse: to tell it to others. I was scared to death. But I woke up with her voice—the same voice by the way we all heard that night telling us to leave the graveyard—ordering me to share this or die. And so, I’m sorry, but just now, I’ve told it to you. Honestly, I feel better already. I didn’t mean to tell you. It just came out. You seemed like the perfect audience for the story.

I – I … so, now what happens? asks the Director. You’re creeping me out.

The Ag Rog—that’s what I call her—didn’t’ say for sure, says Eva. But I have the distinct impression that once I’ve told someone else, the curse somehow passes to them, and leaves me alone. I think … I hope that’s how it works. You’re the first who’ve actually heard my story. I’ve been afraid until now to share it with anyone. Especially when I found out so many crew members had died since we split up. Not just the folks that came with me to the cemetery, but others from the larger crew assembling to shoot the boot camp clip that next day. I know that Buddy talked …

So what are you saying? The Director asks. Everyone died?

Basically, but no … for some reason not everyone. But lots of people. It’s really creepy. It's like some kind of plague. You know, how some people are just carriers, but others they come into contact with get sick and die? But once again, the local police dismissed it as natural causes. Some mystery disease, an epidemic … they probably are afraid that if news gets out, it will ruin tourism and their whole economy.

And what about us? the Producer asks impatiently, growing angry. I don’t exactly appreciate …

I think, Eva interrupts, an evil smile now forming on her lips, that it must work the same for you. I mean, I’ve told you, so she’s no longer my problem, right? I can go home …

What about us?!! the Producer demands. You think she’ll come after us? Is that what you’re saying?

Yeah, I guess that’s the gist of it. Tag, cackles Eva, you’re it! I know I shouldn’t kid you about this, but if it works for me, it should work for you. I wouldn’t worry about her too much if I were you, come to think of it.

Sorry, too late, says the Director. I am worried …

No problem, says Eva. All you have to do is share the story with as many people as you can. That should be simple enough for you guys, right?

For us? the Director asks.

Why us? adds the Producer.

Don’t act stupid, guys! You’re filmmakers. Just make the film. The rest is your audience’s problem. I mean, you can probably just tell a friend, or better, an enemy. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of them, right? But in my dream last night she clearly warned that she wants the whole story told, and to the largest possible audience. I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you. Just look at it this way. Make it good enough and millions of people will fork over their money just to lift your curse for you. And you can do it cheaply enough. Just take a live crew in there like I did. I’ll even draw you a map. Eva pauses, reaches into her purse, finds a hand-drawn map on a piece of pre-folded notebook paper, and hands it to the Producer: Here, take this. Go escape the curse and make a lot of money in the bargain. Sounds like a win-win for you guys. I mean, how much did Blair Witch make?

A lot, says the Director, a slight smile forming, an awful lot of money …

So what’s your end of the deal? says the Producer. You want points on the back end? What kind of credits? You want a contract, right?

You can keep my part of the profits, Eva answers. I’m not after the money, or the credit. Just glad to get my life back, you know? It’s your story now. Think of it as … as a gift. A gift … from a stranger.

Eva turns and begins to walk away. A few yards later, she stops and turns to address them one last time: Oh, I almost forgot. You know the place where we stood when we were feeling the hot zone up ahead of us? Well, I went back up there, in broad daylight, just a few days later … after Buddy disappeared. I stood there at that same spot in the road where he and I froze that night. Someone at the hotel told me that the graveyard had been built right next to an ancient Indian burial ground, and that if I looked to the east from the path in the daylight, I could still see the burial stones and mounds along the slope. They were right. And then, when I looked behind that 10 foot shrub and pulled it away slightly from the tree beside it, I found something I never suspected. There lies one of the cemetery’s very first gravestones. And on it is the name: Emil Saxton. Eva looks closely at the faces of the two men, watching for their reaction. They’ve become more ill at ease. You know, the warlock who founded Black Wolf Lake? The one the villagers murdered and burned his cabin down, right where the Grand was later built? Both men are stunned and speechless. Oh, and one more thing, adds Eva before she goes: Until the movie is screened, I wouldn’t recommend sleeping on your back anymore. She winks, turns her back to them, and walks away.

As she strolls down the dimly lit side street into the night, a great weight lifts suddenly from Eva’s shoulders. She laughs for the first time in weeks, since that fateful night in Black Wolf Lake Cemetery not long since past. Now she breathes more easily. She has come to know her supernatural visitor well these past few weeks, and while she still mourns her ill-fated companions, whom all died mysteriously in their sleep just as she described, Eva is also if nothing else a survivor. At some level, it suits them right, she tells herself. All that disrespect. At least I had the good instincts and humility to honor … to try to appease the waking dead … I’ll sleep better tonight, she tells herself as she unlocks her car door and sits behind the wheel, convinced now that her story will be told. Funny, she murmurs to herself with a sense of irony: I finally have a story worth telling, that might become a blockbuster like The Blair Witch Project … and it won’t make me a dime. And no one will even know my name.

The car engine revs as she turns the key in the ignition. Behind her, in her rear view mirror, Eva notices her two new acquaintances, the Producer and the Director, still stunned and standing at the corner under the stop sign where she left them moments before. They watch her warily from corner as she drives past. For a few seconds they catch a final fleeting glimpse of Eva …

Was that her driving? asks the Producer, rubbernecking as he strains to see her. But all he can see is the back of her head as she disappears into the night.

I’m … I’m not really sure, the Director replies. For a moment there …

Silently, each man wonders if it’s the darkness, the late night exhaustion, the heightened imagination, the strong drink – or perhaps a combination—that makes Eva, for a fleeting instant, appear to be someone else.

If I didn’t know better, adds the Producer, I’d say …

What? asks his colleague anxiously. What did you see?

She looked … for a moment … she looked the way … the way I would imagine that old crone … this Ag Rog she spoke of … might look.

The perfect casting for a scary old witch ... Is – is that what you mean?

Perfect, yeah, says the Producer: Perfect casting for the part!

That’s not what I saw, the Director replies, shaking his head.

What did you ...?

I saw a pretty young woman with raven-black hair, the way she described the missing girl ...

It doesn’t really matter what the filmmakers see. Unconsciously, they’ve already decided to make Eva’s movie, to tell the story just the way she told it to them, and to the largest possible audience. They are taking no chances. Their decision is neither aesthetic nor economic, but simply a matter of life or death.

We need to tell someone, says the Producer as Eva’s car disappears around a corner a few blocks away. The Director looks deep into his partner’s eyes, swallowing hard. He doesn’t want to believe the curse is real, but something in his guts tells him he can’t afford to take that chance.

We need to tell somebody, he tells the Producer, their eyes grown large with fright. And we … we need to tell them now.

THE END

Musings of a Wandering Writer

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Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Film/DVD Review: "Pan's Labyrinth"

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

GET OUT! (or The Curse of Black Wolf Lake)