The Legend Unleashed. L.S. Strange
so desperately needed, food, blankets, oil, and such.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, deliberately stalling to heighten the tension. They all knew a creepy part was coming and eagerly listened.
“When she went into town, she went to the assayer’s office. Well, the second it was out about what she was doing, a mob formed outside. Going into that office was her big mistake. She should have run away and started over somewhere else, but she didn’t! The crowd grabbed her and headed over to the jail.”
Scott continued to describe how they manhandled her. As he did, he grabbed the arm of each person sitting next to him, which was John and Ron. The unexpected action caused them to jump. The boys thought it was cool that even the adults were getting into the story.
“It was decided that death would be Lorene’s punishment for her actions, so they tried to hang her, but the rope broke! This terrified the people of the town. They figured she must be some kind of demon, and the only way to deal with demons was to—”
“Cut their heads off!” Michael shot in.
Scott was smiling an evil smile, and in the reflection of the campfire light, he looked absolutely fiendish.
“Yes! Cut her head off. Then to make sure she would not return to harm them, they buried her head and her body in two different locations.” He hissed out the last of the sentence, while at the same time, making eye contact with every one sitting around the campfire.
“This was their biggest mistake. Lorene could not go peacefully into the afterlife. Instead, she roams the earth carrying a lantern to light her way while searching for her head. She is better known as the Lantern Lady!” Again, he deliberately paused to heighten the suspense. He was a terrific storyteller.
“A sudden fog usually precedes her appearance on a calm night, so don’t think that rustle in the bushes is an animal, or that the cracking of a twig was some bird. It could be the Lantern Lady! She glides on the back of the fog searching for her head. It is rumored that if she catches someone, she will take their head!” He paused and discretely reached down and picked up a small rock at his feet. He was going to divert everyone’s attention away from him and then toss the rock to create a noise. Scott made a terrified face and shouted, “Look!” He pointed across the campfire at the spooky dark forest and was ready to throw the stone when a doe burst from the brush and ran across the meadow, then back into the forest.
“Aaaaahhhhhhh!” the audience screamed and jumped back in fear.
Scott too was startled and dropped the rock. This effect was much better. Even the adults were scared and watched the deer with mouths gapping and pulses racing. Fear was intoxicating, and after it was over, you wanted more, and that was how the campers felt. It took them a few seconds to get over their shock, and then they were all grinning.
“That was great, Dad!”
“You’re a fantastic storyteller,” Ron complimented after he had regained his composure.
The others shook their heads in agreement.
“Do another one!” Noah pleaded. When something is good, it is in demand.
“I already told one, so it’s someone else’s turn.” He looked over at his brother, wanting him to be in the limelight. “John, you do one.”
John sheepishly looked around and sputtered, “I’m not good at making up stories.” His excuse was protested with loud groans and pleas to continue from the boys.
“Come on, Uncle John!” Michael begged. “Do one!”
“Yeah, John,” Ron encouraged. “You’re the smartest one here. You could tell a great one.” The encouragement made him feel a little less nervous, and he consented to tell a story.
“This one is real and not a yarn of fiction.” He stared in a flat monotone voice.
Everyone felt this as a relief after the drama of the last one. Once again, the storyteller had the undivided attention of the audience.
“This supernatural entity has been around for many centuries.” He was speaking as though he were reading facts from a file, which gave a chilling undertone to the account.
“The name of this specter is Stickman. The name was derived from the organic form it takes on to occupy this place. It takes many different shapes, sometimes a tree, sometimes a bush, then other times a vine. Forms we know to be stationary and harmless. It transforms into mobile things. Trees moving swiftly, forging through the soil from one place to another, sometimes leaving a shallow rut, while other times leaving huge craters in its wake. Vines that do things previously only known to be the ability of vertebrae life forms. Vegetation has a simpler matrix, exploitable on limited energy. For satisfaction, this contorted beast hunts humans.”
The last sentence sent a shiver down Ron’s spine. He wasn’t terrified of things he could control, such as a robber. It was this supernatural stuff that rocked him to the depths of his soul because he couldn’t control his feelings. The reaction was common throughout the group. Mankind’s inherent instinct is to hunt, not be hunted, so this feeling was quite unnerving.
“Each time it slaughters a human, the thirst for blood increases, very similar to a human’s appetite for animal meat. The monster gains strength from the proteins and carbons contained in human flesh. These compounds are not found in soil, plant matter, or other animals. If it consumes enough of these proteins, it could continue the killing spree from a great advantage, growing stronger with each murder. From each victim, Stickman absorbs some of their features. At any given time, it could have fangs, speed, agility, claws, or display a frighteningly human visage and intelligence. Many times, it has been caught and attempts were made to kill it, but you can’t kill Stickman, for he is not of this earth. This inhumanly evil thing does not die.” His eyes became glazed, and he appeared to have mentally removed himself from this setting and into another world. His horrified audience remained captive to his every word. John went on in a slow, flat, soft voice.
“It only becomes dormant until enough strength is regained through further consumption. Stickman begins with insects, a pure form of low-grade protein, and then proceeds up the food chain to the supreme cut humans. It is theorized that Alfred Packer was actually Stickman in human form. Upon scientific examination, Alfred Packer was in peak condition, perfect physical health, which was quite unexplainable for someone who was stranded in the harsh clutches of winter with no food supply in the late 1800s. The population concluded that he had devoured the other men on the winter expedition in the Rocky Mountains and convicted him of cannibalism, punishable by death. Mr. Packer continued crying his innocence insisting that something had attacked all of them on the expedition, and that he was the only one to escape alive. He kept up this declaration even after many years in jail and then was pardoned by the governor decades later. Right up to the day he died, people always believed he was Stickman in human form.”
John took a deep breath. The others had become silent. By now, the fun titillating fear had vanished, and they were gripped by a stark terror that penetrated every part of their being. The only audible sound was the crackling of the fire, which no longer appeared to be a warm glow but took on the characteristics of the cruel inferno of hell.
“After his death, he was placed in an unmarked grave. His depravity was not to be commemorated with a headstone. Only a barren flat stone was placed there to warn others to keep away. The grave was placed outside of the cemetery, in unconsecrated ground, a precaution so the evil could be confined and stay a dormant prisoner forever. Some primitive cemeteries will house such a crypt.”
Scott began to feel uneasy. The events of the morning jutted to the front of his mind, specifically their stop at the Central City Cemetery.
“However, if Stickman was not Alfred Packer, their safeguards were in vain. The last time people claimed this killing machine to be incarcerated it lay dormant for almost 100 years. A tree had sprouted next to the tomb, and the roots had grown enough to get into it. This provided an escape for Stickman, and once again, it is out. Every rustle of the leaves could be Stickman reaching out. Each time a twig