There were seventeen boys on that Boy-Scout hike -- only twelve returned, and I was watching. The Scoutmaster said that the five boys had slipped away from the group to explore some old mine shafts and never returned, but I know better.
Another time when that red-haired girl disappeared in the woods -- I think her name was Gail Stevens, I say was because I know what happened to her. You see, I was watching. Now don't get the idea that I'm some kind of nut or a peeping Tom. I had to be there and I had to be watching.
Both of the events I referenced happened about sixty years ago. My father was Scotch and Irish, a practical man who spent both time and energy training me to survive in the industrialized world that was blossoming in the thirties. However, my mother was more earthy. She was Mohawk, born on the reservation and schooled in much tribal tradition.
In keeping with one of those traditions, much to dad's dismay, she insisted on teaching her son to survive in the wild and to live off the land. At the time, we lived in the heavily wooded area of Michigan, and as a reward for good grades in the third grade, mom decided to take me on my first back to nature trip. We took two knives, a hatchet, a coil of rope, a magnifying glass, some fishhooks, a large ball of kite string and two bedrolls....NO FOOD!
In the local woods, there were two lakes and one sizable creek that turned the paddle wheel on the old mill. I soon discovered that there was plenty to eat in the forest if I was willing to work for it. Fish, clams, and crayfish were plentiful. Dandelion greens, sassafras root, wintergreen tea, and huge wild leeks were abundant.
We whiled away most of the time in lessons on building snares for small game, building safe sleeping platforms, and her teaching me how to become invisible. She repeatedly warned me that the only danger to me or her would be from other human beings. She said, she knew I was only eight years old, but next year I would be coming to the woods alone for a month. And if she knew I'd learned my lessons and distrusted every human in the woods, she wouldn't worry.
She knew I didn't really believe her, so we started night stalking trips. We'd sneak up close to parked cars in remote areas and listen to grunts and groans coming out of the cars. I could smell the booze and sometime people would get sick and puke in the bushes. Mom and I would be watching from just a few feet away. It started to be fun. Sorta gave me a feeling of power -- the power of invisibility. I practiced never letting the moon show my shadow, never making the slightest sound even walking through the leaves, and poking tiny holes in my clothes, so I could lace leaves and vines into my clothes. I learned to never open my eyes wide because of the reflection.
One time we were in a tree. It had heavy foliage and so the four guys who stopped down below couldn't see us, even if they had flashlights. Suddenly, three of them started beating the one guy. They knocked him down, kicked him for a long time, then one of them said,
"Well Charlie, What do you want to do? If he ain't dead, he will be soon. You wanna leave him here or dump the son-of-a-bitch in the river?" The one called Charlie decided to dump him in the river, so they grabbed him by both ends and carried him off into the night.
When they were gone, mom once again warned me never to reveal my presence even if someone seemed to need help. She stressed that my invisibility was my only protection from humans like that. She didn't have to repeat herself -- I was so scared, I could hardly climb down from the tree.
Mom had been making a mark on a stick for each day we had been camping out. When there were thirty marks on the stick, we cleaned up our campsite, so that no one could tell that anyone had been in the area. We covered our fire pit, raked dead leaves over the entire area and backed out brushing our tracks with some willow branches. When we got home, dad was real glad to see mom. I don't think it was her cooking he'd been missing 'cause I was watching!
She warned me about telling the teachers at school how I spent my Summer vacation or telling my school chums about any details other than it just being a camping trip. I didn't have many chums at school, so she really didn't have to worry. The only boy I ran around with was Bob Chidner and the only thing we had in common was sports.
Fourth grade flew by rather quickly because inside, I was dreading going into the woods alone for thirty days. The day I brought home my report card, I asked mom if maybe, Bob Chidner could go with me? I'd take care of him and that way I'd have someone to talk to. She shook her head, indicating No, and explained,
"Son, I've given you the knowledge and the skills to survive, but I can't give you the strength. The strength comes from within. The reason these people herd together in these foul cities is because they are afraid to be alone. The reason they flock to their churches and pray to their Gods is because they are afraid of being alone after they die. The reason they are unhappy is because they are not at ease or at peace with themselves. I want you to get to know yourself and be sufficient unto yourself, and then I will have given you the greatest gift a man can possess -- and that is peace of mind."
So, off I went into the forest at the tender age of nine to learn to be self sufficient. Survival was no problem. I had learned my lessons well, but after ten days loneliness set in and I found myself seeking out humans to spy on. I'd creep dangerously close, just to hear their conversations. I almost became over confident because of my invisibility. It was what happened to that pretty red-haired girl that brought my back to my senses. Remembering back, it took getting scared nearly out of my mind to put the world in proper perspective and prove mom right.
There was a full moon that night. I was being extra careful because the moon could cast my shadow in sharp contrast if I moved into open areas. I could see the back of the dark panel-truck, but I couldn't see who was in it. Angry voices, then a scream. The door flew open and the girl with red hair ran toward me. Before she crossed the clearing and reached the safety of the brush, this guy in a dark coat and the white collar turned backwards ran after her and caught her. He had a knife in his left hand, and as he grabbed her hair in his right, he stuck the knife against her throat. He made her do an awful thing and when he stopped grunting, he cut her throat. There was blood everywhere. I wanted to puke. I wanted to run and scream, but mom had her hand on my shoulder -- whispering in my mind. You're not here, you're invisible, keep quiet and you'll be safe. He -- Oh yes, I know who he is -- he chopped her up into little pieces and then buried the pieces, the knife and his black coat in a deep hole. Then he left. I wanted to run home and tell mom, but I still had seventeen days to go.
As I lie in my sleeping platform later that night, I thought long and hard about what mom had told me about the savage animal that killed for pleasure, tortured for sport, molested their own young and spoiled everything they touched. I made the decision that would shape my life: co-exist as peacefully as possible with these humans, avoid confrontation, avoid participation in any activities...just watch and stay invisible.
I was eleven and a real pro at living off the land and being totally invisible to the human predators that invaded from time to time. For amusement, I was following this troop of Boy-Scouts through the woods, getting a big kick out of seeing them overloaded with camping gear, crashing through the brush; while swatting away at clouds of stinging gnats. They were wearing short pants and half of them were already scratching their bare legs on the patches of stinging nettles. The Scout-Master was sweating so much his glasses were all fogged up, and he kept tripping over tree roots and falling. They finally got to where there were some old, copper-mine shafts and set up camp at the entrance to one of the mine shafts.
When they got this big roaring campfire going, I was able to get closer because the glare from the fire kept them from seeing into the darkness. I spotted several kids who were in my fourth-grade class and felt truly superior, as I watched them struggle to get their camp set up. I was tempted to get above them in the rocks and drop a few, so the stupid scout-master would be warned about camping under overhanging rocks that could come loose, even when a small animal scampered across them. He'd never heard about rock slides, I guess. He didn't even notice when five of them sneaked into the bushes to go exploring.
From the sounds they were making, I figured they were heading toward Cranberry Lake. It was a small lake surrounded by a huge bog. The bog was made up of small bushes growing up from the bottom and lacing their branches together to form a sort of matting over about six or seven feet of water. It was actually a much larger lake than it appeared, and it was filled with hungry bullheads. Bullheads are like a stunted catfish . They grow to about 6 to 8 inches in length and stop growing. They are a lot of work for very little meat because you have to skin them. However the ones in Cranberry Lake were so hungry, they would bite on a bare hook or a bare finger or toe if you didn't keep moving. I used them for an emergency food supply.
I stayed watching the main group because it was like watching the circus clowns -- especially the fat, helpless scout leader. In about ten minutes the screams for help started coming from the lake. The scout leader told the boys to stay put. He didn't want to spend the whole damn night looking for lost brats in the woods. He took his flashlight and headed off in the direction of the lake. I followed. When he got to where the screams were coming from, he waded into the bog until the water and weeds were up to his knees. He shined the light out over the bog. Those dumb kids had been chasing frogs, I guess, because they were out about fifty feet and had sunk through the loosely woven branches. The bullheads were probably nipping chunks of meat out of them and the more they struggled and thrashed around, the deeper they sank.
He took two or three quick steps toward them, and that's when the first fish bit him he screamed like a woman and slapped at the water. That attracted a hundred or so, more bites, and he ran screaming out of the water. He pointed the flashlight at the nearest boy; and when the boy raised his bloody arm out of the water and begged for help, he turned out the light, so he wouldn't have to watch and sat in the darkness, crying.
When I got home that summer, mom asked me what had happened to the five boys. She knew that if anything happened in the woods, odds were that I was close by. I told her exactly what had transpired and told her what I wanted to do. She told me to think it over very carefully because, if I did it once, I'd be tempted to do it again and again until it became "what I do."
I knew I had to do it and words can't describe the feeling of satisfaction I got -- when the scout-master woke one morning to find five small skeletons lined up on his front lawn. He went back into his house and blew out his brains with a shotgun.
Since then I've been lucky enough to witness many other crimes and lay the evidence at the feet of the criminal. And so far, no one has ever seen me
-- I'm Invisible, you know.
End