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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact poet@light-cards.com
"A Camper In Paradise "(Halloween Tale) by Joe DiMino
Camping has been a longtime passion of mine. I can't begin
to count the times when, directly from the brokerage, where I'm
employed, on a Friday evening I've hopped into my van-always kept
ready with camping equipment and some non-perishable food supplies-and
set out for one of my favorite' campgrounds, my intention to spend
a quiet weekend in close harmony with nature.
If one has ever worked and lived in a thriving metropolis, for
any protracted length of time, one's passion for the outdoors,
in particular, the solitude that such natural settings offer is
quite easy to understand. Though large cites are mentally stimulating,
culturally innovative and prosperous when stars align, the price
one pays for the lack of solitude, and recuperative quiet, can
be deadly to the mind as well as the body, the Immune System's
negative response to stress.
Delighting the lungs, a rural environment is far less smelly.
No exhaust seeping into one's bedroom at night. No police or fire
sirens screaming through the streets to startle a soul from a
pleasant dream-oh Mary! Had I known at 14 what I know now
sadly,
I was too much a child for your throbbing beauty. But I digress.
Back on topic: Yet, to be fair, though the wild outdoors can be
much more beneficial to health for the lack of irritating bustle,
quiet can be just as disconcerting for the novice. If one is not
accustomed to sleeping under the stars, with crickets chirping,
the owl's eerie call-a host of other invisible nocturnal jostling
one hears but never sees to identify as familiar-can be unsettling.
However, most wild creatures really are quite timid. Except for
the new mother-bear fearing for her cubs' safety; not to foolishly
exclude the infrequent mountain lion with a hunger-ache in his
belly, attracted to human scent. And one must not relegate the
wolf, our darling best friend's canine ancestor, Riding Hood's
nemesis as well an injured hikers worst nightmare, to the realm
of the mildly incidental. All that having been said, most woods'
critters are quite harmless on any chance encounter, when compared
to a ravaging night in a multifaceted city. Along with the joyful
theaters, and rapturous dance-halls, common human predators, praying
savagely on the weak and unsuspecting also come out to stage their
array of bloody scenarios. None-the-less, the cold wind of a shooting
star's spirit-like passing can keep a Green-horn tossing and turning
restlessly in his sleeping bag all the longer for the sensed,
unnerving, fearful chatter of near clouds, causing the camper
to imagine his self somehow fallen from Heaven's protecting favor.
As for myself, the nightly-buzz of a forest has become a serene
lubricant for city-chafed eardrums. And that particular evening,
as I drove across the George Washington Bridge, in route for the
Jersey Alpine, I wanted especially to get as far away from the
hectic New York Rat-race as was practical to do. With the Jersey
Palisades just across the Hudson River, and with only a weekend
excursion of allotted leisure, my course seemed predetermined.
When the sun had fully set, I was already at a campsite, with
my tent set up, dinner on the fire-beans and franks the traditionalist
I am-and a lantern lit, alongside a good novel which I had been
trying to get to for ages-"The Wilderness Murders."
However, as I settled down and began to read my thriller, with
a chilling breeze seeping into the tent causing the kerosene lantern
lamp to flicker appropriately, I had no way of knowing that the
mental patient, escaped this past Tuesday from Pilgrim State Mental
Hospital on Long Island, while eluding authorities undetected
had made his way to the Jersey Alpine. And was thwarting capture
by remaining within the limits of the dense park' preserve, the
demented being meagerly subsisting on wild berries and roots.
Now the patient in question, was by no means a typically disturbed
personality. To the contrary, the extraordinary circumstance leading
up to his first being committed, some ten years prior were quite
unique, and had been of great interest to the medical community
at large. His bizarre, criminal behavior, grotesque carnage had
been discussed at length in the medical journals as the very public
trial unfolded; horrific details associated with the case all
the more intriguing for their supernatural aspects.
Rodney Runninggrave, the name of the accused, had been employed
for fifteen years as a Preserve Ranger for the County of Onondaga.
He was well respected and liked by the entire community. And one
need only imagine the shock of all concerned when following an
unsolicited confession by Runninggrave forty human skeletons were
dug from the soft earth surrounding the lone Ranger' Station where
he worked and lived in isolation.
Thus started one of the most complex cases ever to transfix the
entire nation, no less the rural community where the grizzly crimes
had taken place.
Runninggrave, a full blooded American Indian, was born and raised
on a local reservation. From his first encounter with school it
was clear to educators that he possessed above average intelligence.
He excelled throughout grade school, and upon completion of high
school had earned himself a scholarship to Radcleft University.
His tribe feeling certain that their beloved son was destined
for great things in the world outside.
Runninggrave chose for his major, Political Law; and as expected,
upon Completion of his first year at the university, he was top
of his class. However, the following semester he began to experiment
with drugs and alcohol. Naturally, his grades suffered, though
his average still reflected remarkable potential.
Drunken brawls became common place. And after one particularly
violent episode, Runninggrave seriously injuring a fellow student,
he was arrested. Through the grace of God, the injured student
quickly recovered-his Christian Nature speaking to his heart he
petitioned the court to be merciful, while also begging the school
to show leniency. Thus, the university prescribed only a leave
of absence, Runninggrave told that he would be allowed to return
if he sought medical help and adhered to the required therapy
outlined by his physicians.
He returned home soon afterward largely due to the intervention
of County' Advocacies, in particular, the court responding positively
to the heartfelt appeals of the group that had first sponsored
his scholarship. After extensive medical evaluation, it had been
determined that he was suffering from Bipolar disorder, the consequence
of a rare form of organic brain disease. Sadly, the progressive
nature the infirmity would ultimately lead to his complete mental
obliteration, an unavoidable consequence. However, with the pressure
of school no longer upon him, medicated seeming successfully,
Runninggrave soon regained equilibrium and once again appeared
his more than rational self, no longer to be feared.
After a year he showed no indications of his ever having been
ill, and the town determined to let the unfortunate part of the
incident sink into the annals of bad and best forgotten history.
Soon after, Runninggrave was offered a job with the forest preserve,
as a ranger-a post which he accepted-and functioned so well at,
that in several years he was once again a pillar of society-at
least, so it appeared on the surface. However, the county soon
experienced a series of mysterious disappearances exhibiting certain
elements of Primitive Mysticism. It was the circumstances surrounding
each bizarre case that aroused supernatural speculation. Take
for instance the first disappearance, back in the fall of 1964.
Two Albany business men were suspected to have fallen to foul-play,
when reported missing by their families after they were late returning
from a short excursion into the wilderness.
Authorities tracked them to the vicinity of the Onondaga Preserve.
And after an extensive search, their camp was located; and it
was apparent that the two men had left in an unprecedented hurry:
Expensive camping equipment found scattered about the area of
their camp. A full pot of dried, bug infested beans sat on the
cold remains of a campfire, valuable personal items discovered
in disheveled bed rolls.
More doubts for their safe recovery increased when not far from
their camp, in a small clearing, two stakes were found standing
upright in huge ant-mounds. More terrifying the fact, large pools
of blood were apparent at the pylon bases, the length of the wood
stakes themselves thoroughly saturated with the same precious
substance.
After an extensive search, an investigation that lasted for several
months, the two men remained missing; and as a consequence, their
case went into the ominous file of The Unsolved. Now during the
entire investigation, Runninggrave had been of great help to the
local authorities, guiding them in and about the wilderness skillfully,
for doing so, rewarded with praise. Add to that Runnnggrave's
always exceedingly normal appearance, not to overlook an obvious
lack of motive, rendered him above suspicion. Thus gave opportunity
to a potential Serial Killer. A short time afterwards an entire
troop of Boy Scouts vanished from the same section of wilderness.
Again authorities were led to an abandoned but undisturbed campsite.
At intervals in the near woods, pairs of trees were found stripped
of branches and their bark till all that remained were strong
yet highly flexible trunks. It appeared that the trunks had been
tied together at the tops with rope, and then cut loose, tearing
apart whoever had been bound between. Blood and body parts were
splattered everywhere. Globs of human reticular hung from nearby
trees; autumn ground-cover profusely speckled with blood, the
gruesome signature of primitive but highly effective execution.
However, again after extensive investigation, the authorities
remained baffled, and once more the case went into the now growing
file of unsolved murders. And so the mysteries mounted, for a
total of fifteen years and 40 campers who were unaccounted for.
Till one spring afternoon when Runninggrave walked into the Local
Sheriff's Office.
The sheriff said that Runninggrave, looking unusually calm, as
he stood in the doorway-with the sun behind him, an angelic glow
about him as if a benevolent spirit and not the deranged maniac
that he apparently was-proceeded to confess his guilt. later,
seated calmly with the Sheriff's Secretary taking his statement,
Runninggrave, with that same sereneness, began a broader narrative
of his crimes, with special attention paid to the torturing of
his victims. He informed the sheriff that the charred bones of
the missing campers could be found shallowly buried in soft earth
surrounding his Ranger station, having scattered their ashes to
the wind for good fortune and protection against demons. Thus
started one of the most sensational trials ever to be followed
by the Press. Upon its completion, Runningdove was handed over
to Pilgrim state hospital, to be confined in the ward for the
Criminally Insane where he would live out the remainder of his
twisted life. And on that April evening, as I settled back in
my cozy sleeping bag, absorbed in my novel, safely wrapped, as
I thought, in the arms of mother nature, how could I suspect that
at that very moment a crude arrow fashioned from a tree branch,
drawn back in a bow of similar construction, was aimed directly
at my head.
As I said, I was reading a gruesome tale of horror, "The
Wilderness Murders." To give a brief summary: The tale is
about a demented killer stalking unsuspecting victim's though
campgrounds of the semi-wild North Alaskan Highlands. And it just
So happened, as I approached a part in the text where it states,
"and he heard an ominous moving about in the near darkness,
which reminded him of the slithering human reptiles who had sought
his extinction in the jungles of Nam, I too began to sense a foreboding
stirring emanating from bushes close on my left. "And out
of the same confounding darkness," the tale went on, "he
became aware of heavy breathing
." Myself damned certain
that there was something out there, near to the touch-hyper-ventilating,
salivating; its long black tongue moistening equally hideous lips-whose
ice cold stare tightened upon my flesh, the vice-like grip of
rabid teeth soon to be applied. With that last thought, I sprang
to my feet in a fury of anticipation, just in time to hear a projectile
wiz past and my ear and tear into my sleeping bag where my head
had rested an eye blink before. The arrow was directly followed
by a wild hoot; and then a disheveled creature bounding out of
the bushes appearing more like a nightmare than a human. His clothes
were tattered, hanging more off than on, and fluttered in his
dash toward me giving the illusion of some spider-like apparition
or mythical beast. As for his eyes-those horrible orbs of torment,
those wretched windows of madness-they added to his tortured expression
the manifestation of a screaming Banshee.
We struggled for quite a length, knocking over and kicking most
everything in sight. The flaming lantern shattered upon a boulder,
after just missing my face, having been heaved in my direction.
The campfire dislodged by feet in the scuffle, spewed fiery logs
and hot coals in all directions, the ground appearing as if a
scene out of Dante's Infernal. At one point, when Runninggrave
was about to dent my head with a huge rock, lying wasted on my
back at his feet, to my bewilderment he froze in his motion. His
head began to tilt oddly from side to side. It appeared as though
he were listening to something. Perhaps listening to some strange
voice or enchanted music coming from far off, a time and dimension
that only he could communicate with. In the next instant, he threw
the boulder to one side, to my relief, abruptly rose and dashed
off into the woods.
Several hours afterwards he was apprehended by the authorities
while doing-get this-a rain dance in a cave; and I was none for
the worse, barring a few cuts and bruises. However, I must confess,
one stigma has since remained with me.
On several occasions I've tried to finish that novel-in the safety
and comfort of my apartment. But it seems when I approach the
part in the story, "and he heard heavy breathing coming from
somewhere in the near darkness,
"
The end
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