The Tent, 1971, pt. 4

Photo Credit: slenderman.wikidot

We didn’t sleep out for a while; when we did go back under canvas, we avoided the woods – not that we ever actually discussed it. The whole topic was a good case of the less said the better.

So we went to town – or at least we went to Tim Horton’s. We had figured out that a person under the age of 18 wasn’t in violation of the curfew – technically – if they were going to or coming back from a specific destination. The 24 hour Ranch supermarket always made a good neck verse, but the best excuse of all was Tim Horton’s downtown.

If we got caught, the scenario played out like this:

Cop: “What are you boys doing out?”

Us guys: “We’re sleepin out, sir and we’re going to Tim Horton’s to get a dozen donuts.”

Cop: “And then you’re going right back?”

Us: (in unison) “Yes sir.”

Cop: “Well, don’t let me catch you out, running around.”

Us: (in unison) “Yes sir.”

Sometimes we did go to Tim’s, if we had money, but, even if we bought twelve assorted, we ate them whilst running around the early morning streets.

Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons

On this particular evening, we had smokes. Export A. We found seats on a bench outside the public piss pots in Forster Park and lit up, me doing my very best not to start coughing.

“Hey, man,” Rickie jeered, “you’re not going to barf again, are ya?”

“Smoking never made you feel ill?”

“Naw.” 

“Bullroar.”

And all the time, we were trying hard not to talk about what we had seen that night on top of Hog’s Back ridge…but Rickie just couldn’t stay away from it.

“What d’ya think happened? Did they attack somebody?”

“There was nothing in the papers,” Stash said.

“Yeah, but they still coulda attacked someone.”

“Give it a rest, eh?”

From our vantage point, we could watch any cars passing along the road in front of the park; not surprisingly, there was very little traffic, even though this was a three shift factory town. We were looking in particular for cop cars, Ford Galaxies with their distinctive rectangular tail lights. Two or three vehicles drove quietly past, when we saw a vintage car I instantly recognized.

“Stash,” I whispered, “do you recognize that thing?”

“Eh,” boomed Rickie.

“Sssh…it’s that guy from out at the Silo.”

“Put the butts out,” I said quietly.

“Why?”

"He can see them glowing in the dark." 

We watched as the black 51 Buick crept into the curb at a funereal pace, stopping at the foot of the path leading past the tennis courts into the interior of park…and us. After a moment, the driver-side door opened and, by the light of a nearby street lamp, we could see a tall, thin man dressed entirely in black, get out and begin to look around, cocking his head to one side, as if he was sniffing the air. 

As he looked around, I caught the reflection of a pair of red eyes.

“It’s him alright,” I said, as quietly as I could. “He was at St. Mary’s too.”

“You sure,” Wimp asked, keeping his voice as low as mine.

“Positive.” And I was.

Satisfied he was alone, the dark man strode purposely towards the gravel trail into the darkness of the trees. We remained hidden from him for the moment, but, eventually he was bound to become aware of our presence.

“Let’s go,” I mouthed, standing up as lightly as possible, in preparation for slinking back into the shadows, but Stash touched my arm and said “Let’s wait and see what he does.”

I already knew what he was going to do and I had no desire to see it, but, still, I sat back down.

The man had come up to the Bocce courts, close enough for us to have pegged a stone at him – and hit him. As our eyes were adjusted to the darkness, we could see him clearly as he moved about in the half-light.

“Let’s take him,” Rickie breathed.

“No,” I said and it was my turn to put a restraining hand out to stop him.

“What’s he doin,” Wimp said, and, even though his voice was low, I could hear the tone of apprehension.

The thin man had taken off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head and off; as we watched, he began to unbuckle his belt.

We didn’t wait to see more; without a word, we all got up and began to run as noiselessly as possible towards Riverside.

We might have made it without being seen, but Wimp chose that exact moment to trip and fall, colliding with Rickie, who bellowed “Shit” low enough to wake the whole neighborhood.

And that’s when the running really started.