The Campfire Stories
"There's no more haunted place in the United States," said Freddy. "When my Dad was a Counselor here 25 years ago, he saw the Red Eyed Dogs. Walking with two friends near the old iron works just before dawn, over by the dam, they heard an unearthly wailing. They watched four huge canines with flashing fangs attack a large stag that was crying from pain and fear. Dad said the monsters were as tall as ponies and they were ravenously eating the unfortunate stag alive. Their eyes glowed redder than the coals of a hard-wood campfire. The eerie light transformed their bloody mouths into gaping Jack-o-Lantern smiles.
So intense were the creatures, at their ravaging, that they took no notice of my Father and his friends. Dad never again saw the horrific dogs. Mainly due to the fact he and his pals decided to never again walk the swamp in the dead of night!"
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The wind picked up and pushed smoke from the smoldering fire into the eyes and up the noses of the campers. Bill Ricci coughed, wiped his eyes with a red bandana and asked the history expert a question.
"What do you think, Mr. Markens? Is the Hockomock Swamp haunted?"
He thought for a moment, lifted his glasses from his nose and slid them back to the top of his head, cleared his throat, and finally spoke......
"Well, as a teacher and a student of this region, I can tell you that for hundreds of years, this area of Massachusetts has been the site of thousands of reports of shaggy half-men, half-ape creatures. There have been dozens of accounts of flying birds that seem to be prehistoric pterodactyls. They are extinct flying dinosaurs. Thunder Birds have been spotted. Abnormally large Snakes have been sighted. Snakes, or serpents I should say, as big around as telephone poles! For myself, I have never seen anything in these woods that I cannot explain."
Bobby Butterfield had been anxious to speak, and jumped in when Markens cleared his throat, a nervous habit the teacher had - akin to some people's frequent injection of 'you know' into almost every sentence they utter.
"I've been a camper and a counselor here for quite a few years you know. I have never seen anything like what you guys are describing, you know. But I will tell you what I did see. And mind you. I have seen it three times you know! It is just before or just after sunset.It happens near Rusty Pond, you know where they used to dump old cars and trucks, and the water has turned a reddish brown."
"Yes we all know where it is Bobby. What did you see?" asked Mr. Markens.
"Glowing trees. Entire trees lit up from the base right to the highest branch. Not lit up like by a light bulb, but lit only with a faint, cold glow. They were not even as bright as a fire fly. They looked like giant versions of those glow sticks that people carry; but not the bright ones, you know. They looked like dim glow sticks that are just short of going out. There would be as many as 40 trees, on either side of the path, shimmering in the darkness with that faint, spectral light."
"I've heard of that phenomenon," remarked the history teacher. "There can be several natural explanations for it."
"Well Mr. Markens, that doesn't make it any less scary, you know," Bobby affirmed coldly.
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It fell to Bill Ricci next, to take up the tales.
"It's my first year as a Junior Counselor but I have been a camper at Wild River for four years. Also, my parents’ house is only a few miles away. Our land backs right up to the 'High Tees' - that long swath of land that has the high tension wires that run from Boston to Providence."
"Hey Bill, everybody knows about the 'High Tees'," Bobby Butterfield interjected. "It’s a sixty mile green strip that is supposedly used as an expressway by ghosts and creatures that wander from Massachusetts to Rhode Island."
"You are correct Bob. I've never seen anything weird, either in the 'High Tees' or in the area around the Camp. But I know there are plenty of bizarre creatures in the swamp. My uncle and my Father have seen things, but they refuse to go into details. They will only tell me that they have seen and spoken to some people they called 'wild men'."
Entrance to the High Tees in Raynham, Mass.
"Really Bill," an excited Mr. Markens interrupted. "I've never heard this before. Please go on."
"Well, I really don't know much. They simply refuse to tell me any more than I already have told you. My Uncle, walking in the High Tees, has seen a wild man at least twice. He talked to it. The more I asked him about it the less he wanted to discuss it. Finally he said that it was just an old drunk passing through that he spoke with and he made it a closed subject. The same thing happened when I talked to my Father. Clearly, they have seen something - Something that scared them into silence."
"I know your father and his brother a little bit," said the school teacher, "and I don't think there's too much on earth that could scare either one of them. Their spirit and bravery is well known around Southeastern Massachusetts. There's another reason why they will not talk about their experience."
"What could the reason be?" Bill asked.
Mr. Markens thought for a moment, cleared his throat, and moved his glasses back down to his nose before he spoke.
"They are both conservationists. Your Dad and Uncle have been against every building project that's ever been proposed for the Wild River area. Perhaps they fear that if it were known for certain that there are half-wild men living in the swamp; it would bring unwanted publicity that could lead to the capture and destruction of the primitive creatures."
"You could be right about that," I admitted, "The both of them are always rescuing turtles or injured animals and nursing them back to health before releasing them back into the wild. My Dad always says that the Wild River area should never be developed."
"He's right about that, of course", agreed Mr. Markens, "because the 60,000 acres of swampland around us, act as a Rhode Island-sized sponge. The swamp swabs up excess rain and moisture from storms and stores it, so that we never experience flooding or flood damage in our towns. If there's too much development, the sponge won't be big enough to stop the torrents of water during hurricanes and such. Massachusetts could literally sink into the Atlantic Ocean!"
The moon was more than half full and cast a decent amount of light on our camping spot. Mr. Markens threw some more wood on the fire while Freddy Simpson placed an old aluminum coffee pot on a patch of hot coals.