Los huecos y las colinas

Parte 1

A menudo me preguntan cómo me interesé en el género criminal real. Este es el tipo de preguntas que recibo con frecuencia en convenciones, firmas de libros, reuniones grupales y entrevistas, pero la respuesta es bastante mundana. Lo que me parece más interesante es la fuente de esta pregunta, Por qué la gente espera una respuesta convincente. Supongo que estamos acostumbrados a la idea de que tenemos cine y televisión, donde los personajes a menudo pueden etiquetar una cosa, un evento singular que actúa como el catalizador de toda su vida ficticia. En realidad, la verdad es mucho más simple; Algunas cosas tienen un atractivo natural para usted. No podía decir exactamente por qué encontré el tipo de crimen real tan convincente por primera vez, o por qué lo convertí en el trabajo de mi vida durante más de dos décadas. Sin embargo, puedo decir que lo que encuentro tan atractivo sobre el género es lo que tiene que decir sobre el estado de la humanidad en general, y cómo nos edifica. sobre los curiosos puntos ciegos de la sociedad y el comportamiento humano. En mi juventud, solo estaba satisfecho con los detalles macabros del crimen, casi nunca reflexioné sobre la naturaleza de los seres humanos involucrados en estos horribles dramas, y no fue hasta mis veinte años que he comprendido completamente la dimensión social de todo esto.

Gran parte de mi fascinación por el género en realidad proviene de la frustración con el crimen ficticio, el género que ves en las películas y en la televisión. Crecí en los años 70 y 80 viendo repeticiones de programas como Colombo y Hawaii Five-O, procedimientos policiales y dramas policiales con estrellas de las estrellas y visiones exclusivas del crimen moderno. Después de ver la enésima vez que el drama de una sociedad de tejer asesina o una rivalidad profesional salió mal, me sentí frustrado por la idea de que el crimen podría ser tan mundano pero tan exagerado en su origen. Por otro lado, el crimen real, aunque aparentemente menos interesante en su configuración o ejecución, realmente resalta las regiones remotas del tejido social que los programas de televisión o las películas rara vez parecen reconocer. Pero lo que encuentro más convincente es cómo un crimen atroz y atroz puede contrastar un contraste tan marcado con una realidad mundana y comúnmente aceptada. Cuando pienso en lo que los seres humanos pueden hacer, pienso en casos en que un hombre asesina a su esposa, pero es tan convincente en sus actos de inocencia y pena que incluso la familia de las víctimas puede mantener su inocencia durante años. años. Es difícil imaginar que esas personas puedan llevar una vida normal al aire libre, sin traicionar a su verdadero personaje, mientras que otros de su clase pueden cometer fácilmente crímenes bárbaros al aire libre. Puede haber algo que decir sobre lo que nuestra sociedad realmente aprecia y cómo nuestras expectativas pueden ser fácilmente derribadas.

Fue a principios de mis veinte años cuando comencé a abordar el tema con gran entusiasmo, incluso si, en esta etapa, es cierto que mi interés aún no había madurado más allá. del nivel de fascinación decididamente juvenil. Pasé mis años universitarios y unos años después de recorrer los bosques de Pensilvania (mi estado natal) y el oeste de Nueva York jugando a ser un detective aficionado, sin preocuparme nunca por dinero o responsabilidades de los adultos a través de mi gran fondo fiduciario. Sí, era un niño rico, y durante esos años dorados, el dinero nunca fue un obstáculo para mis pasatiempos. Crecí en Mount Lebanon, un suburbio rico al sur del área metropolitana de Pittsburgh, y mi familia era bastante rica incluso con estos altos estándares. Mi juventud era una de las escuelas privadas y clubes de campo y otros signos externos de los ricos, pero me gusta pensar que estaba razonablemente sensato con respecto a este contexto. Estaba viajando por todo el estado en busca de casos no resueltos en el corazón rural, comiendo en restaurantes, bebiendo en bares de buceo y durmiendo en moteles, como si estuviera viendo cómo la otra mitad de La vida fue como una gran aventura. Me establecería como una molestia amigable en estas ciudades y fingiría que no era solo otro niño rico que lo dejaba perplejo con el color local, mientras hacía el detective junior con muchos interés pero sin gran habilidad. Con mi "equipo" de amigos de la universidad, nos divertimos muchísimo viajando por todo el estado en busca de estos horribles misterios, a veces bromeando que éramos como una versión clasificada R de "La pandilla" por Scooby doo.

Suena un poco tonto cuando lo pienso ahora, a pesar del enorme placer que tuvimos al hacerlo. Más tarde supe que investigar delitos, especialmente crímenes viciosos y atroces como el asesinato o el secuestro, puede ser un negocio muy peligroso si no estás preparado y eres irrespetuoso totalmente el tema. Después de todo, uno no puede sorprenderse demasiado si un asesino conocido puede reaccionar de manera homicida si se siente atrapado, especialmente si su fiscal es un civil. Durante esos primeros años, no estaba completamente consciente de estos peligros, nunca tomé todo en serio. Fue una lección que estaba destinado a aprender por las malas, pero cualquier experiencia que me haya aterrorizado hasta la fecha, casi me alegro de que haya sucedido. En cierto modo, así es como mi aprecio por el tipo real de crimen realmente maduró y cómo aprendí a mostrar el respeto que exige el sujeto. Hasta entonces, nunca había estado realmente apasionado al respecto, a pesar de que lo apreciaba antes como un hobby. He vivido mi vida creyendo que hay una clara diferencia entre simplemente tener una "pasión" contra ser realmente apasionado sobre algo, y la verdadera diferencia es ese sentido de respeto. Y recuerdo claramente el caso extraño y exteriormente increíble que realmente golpeó esta lección con respeto. Fue a finales del verano de 1989 cuando investigué el misterio del holandés Hollow.

Tenía veinticuatro años en ese momento, todavía relativamente fresco de mis años universitarios, continuando mi búsqueda de aficionados tan enérgicamente como siempre. Estaba algo alejado de mi antiguo equipo de amigos de la universidad, aunque todavía estaba en contacto con ellos. Mi viejo modelo de trolling en los bosques de Pennsylvania todavía ocupaba la mayor parte de mi tiempo, y con mi gran fondo fiduciario, mis actividades innecesarias podrían haber continuado para siempre. De lo contrario, todavía tenía lo que los chinos llaman un "cuenco de arroz de hierro", un trabajo bien pagado garantizado en el negocio familiar; No estaba demasiado preocupado por perder mi posición a este respecto, ya que era el hijo más joven y, por lo tanto, no heredaría el trono de todos modos. Tenía una pequeña colección de diarios criminales y recortes de periódicos viejos que escaneaba regularmente en busca de nuevas pistas, y cuando me encontré con la mención del misterioso Dutchman's Hollow, me sentí como el detective junior más afortunado del mundo. mundo entero. Los casos que rodean este lugar, aunque están bien documentados, no han sido bien explorados ni estudiados. En otras palabras, fue un terreno fértil para alguien como yo dejar su huella, y el hecho de que se sabe tan poco sobre estos casos fue muy atractivo para una mente curiosa. y no tan cuidadoso como el mío.

El nombre "Dutchman’s Hollow" se refiere a una extensión remota y aislada de bosque en el Bosque Estatal Susquehannock en el centro-norte de Pensilvania, lejos de los caminos trillados, incluso para esta región. Está en una región montañosa en el extremo norte de los Apalaches, y cualquiera que haya cruzado esta región sabe cuán densos y frondosos pueden ser los bosques. En esta época del año, los árboles todavía eran densos y exuberantes con hojas, y todavía brillantes y vibrantes verdes en las semanas previas al comienzo del otoño. Pasé estos días conduciendo a lo largo de tramos distantes del camino a través del bosque, con densos rodales de grandes olmos y robles que se alzaban a ambos lados del camino, como las murallas de la ciudad. Una fortaleza primitiva. Puedes mirar hacia los árboles pero solo verás unos treinta metros antes de que el crecimiento del bosque y la falta de luz oscurezcan la distancia. La oscuridad del dosel del bosque es lo que lo hizo particularmente preocupante, como mirar a la boca de una criatura enorme. Dutchman’s Hollow está bien ubicado en este bosque, sin caminos directos que conduzcan a él, y un explorador determinado debe desviarse de algunos de los caminos para acceder incluso a él. Difícilmente podría imaginar llegar a un área específica en un bosque tan denso y parecido a un laberinto, especialmente cuando la visibilidad en todas las direcciones es muy pobre, y esto es parte de lo que hace que los casos alrededor del Hueco sean tan especiales.

Para un área tan remota y escasamente poblada como esta, podría ser difícil imaginar que un lugar así podría ser un hervidero de delincuencia, y normalmente estaría en lo cierto. Pero de acuerdo con antiguos registros policiales que datan de décadas, el bosque que rodea el Hollow es el escenario de un número realmente anormal de desapariciones sin resolver. De 1910 a 1980, hubo 136 desapariciones conocidas de personas en esta región. Con solo mirar el bosque, puede inclinarse a pensar que las personas se perdieron entre los árboles, los excursionistas o los errantes que vagan demasiado lejos y no pueden encontrar una salida. Esto podría explicar algunos casos, pero incluso entonces podrían haberse encontrado restos humanos. Sin embargo, en casi todas las 136 desapariciones, nunca se ha descubierto un cuerpo humano, a pesar de los esfuerzos de grandes grupos de investigación bien guiados que investigan la región. Cubrirían grandes áreas de bosque durante varios días, pero no se materializaría ningún rastro de las personas desaparecidas. La mayoría de las personas desaparecidas ni siquiera eran locales, ya que pasaban automovilistas, autoestopistas o exploradores curiosos, y su desaparición generalmente pasaría desapercibida durante varios días. Aunque esta área del bosque es relativamente pequeña, solo tiene alrededor de cinco o seis millas de ancho en algunos lugares, nunca encontrarían ninguna señal de lo que les sucedió. Y este archivo solo muestra el número de desapariciones hasta 1980 o después de 1910, y hay muy pocos casos de desapariciones antes de esa fecha o hasta que explore la región en 1989 Pero hay un caso, uno de cada 136 documentados durante este período, en el que no solo se encontró a una persona, sino que se la encontró viva. Este sería el caso de un Raymond Hess, un caso extraño que solo se vuelve más extraño a medida que avanza.

Raymond Hess tenía veintiséis años en la primavera de 1977 cuando desapareció mientras conducía por la carretera entre los pequeños pueblos de Cross Fork y Galeton, Pennsylvania. Él era originario de Altoona y un manitas itinerante que terminó encontrándose en diferentes profesiones. Recientemente fue liberado de la Fuerza Aérea de los EE. UU., Donde trabajó como técnico de radar en Alemania y Turquía, y recientemente comenzó a trabajar como pintor de casas mientras aprendía a ser electricista. El domingo 6 de marzo de 1977, cuando se dirigía a un sitio de construcción en Clearfield, Pennsylvania, cuando desapareció. Aunque se informó tarde para trabajar en Clearfield, no se consideró inusual para los trabajadores sin hogar como él. No fue sino hasta el miércoles 9 de marzo que su ausencia fue notada por su familia en Altoona, que lo estaba esperando esa mañana. El 10 de marzo, su incapacidad para continuar mostrando o contactando a su familia, fue oficialmente reportado como desaparecido a la policía. Sin embargo, las autoridades policiales estatales tenían relativamente poco que hacer en función de los hechos conocidos. Había dejado Galeton y no se había presentado a trabajar en Clearfield, pero sin dejar rastro de él a lo largo de este largo tramo de carretera, el área de búsqueda potencial era bastante grande.

El 14 de marzo, más de una semana después de su desaparición, su vehículo fue descubierto * dentro * del bosque fuera del camino entre Cross Forks y Galeton. El vehículo, un Pontiac Tempest blue de 1969, fue encontrado a unos 40 metros sobre la línea de árboles y aparentemente cubierto de ramas y hojas. Este descubrimiento, aunque algo alentador, fue considerado bastante extraño por los investigadores. Se consideró muy inusual que un automóvil no solo se encontrara tan lejos de la carretera en un bosque denso, sino que también se camuflara conscientemente a plena vista. La suposición inicial era que podría haber escapado accidentalmente de la carretera y haber sido herido, deambulando por el bosque aturdido, pero el automóvil estaba en gran parte en buenas condiciones. Un automóvil de alta velocidad que se adentra en el bosque a esta profundidad seguramente habría chocado contra un árbol y se habría dañado gravemente, pero el automóvil en gran parte intacto parecía haber sido conducido cuidadosamente a través del bosque. Además, no había sangre ni signos de lesiones físicas dentro del automóvil, lo que probablemente habría estado presente si hubiera sido un accidente. . Sobre esta base, la suposición cambió que Hess condujo deliberadamente hacia el bosque y entró más por una razón que creían que podría haberse suicidado. Aunque Hess era conocido como un hombre solitario con pocos amigos, nadie en su familia informó que estaba deprimido o suicida. La extraña desaparición de Raymond Hess continuó desconcertando a las autoridades durante otra semana cuando llegó a una conclusión inesperada y extraña.

El sábado 29 de marzo, un joven fue encontrado vagando al lado de la carretera en el área donde Hess había desaparecido dos semanas antes. El hombre fue encontrado en un estado de "desnudez general" según el informe, así como deshidratado y sufriendo de hipotermia. Traído por las autoridades locales, fue rápidamente identificado como Raymond Hess, el hombre desaparecido. Los investigadores estaban a punto de abandonar el caso y se sorprendieron de que llegara con vida. Estaba bastante mareado y delirante por su experiencia, pero se recuperó bastante rápido de su terrible experiencia. Sin embargo, cuando se le preguntó sobre sus experiencias durante esas dos semanas, dijo que no tenía * recuerdos * de todo lo que sucedió durante su ausencia. No podía decir cómo terminó su vehículo dentro del bosque, dónde había estado durante esos días, o si alguien más había sido responsable. Cualesquiera que sean las buenas noticias de su reaparición, los investigadores se sintieron frustrados por esta deficiencia significativa en su memoria que impidió una verdadera conclusión del caso.

Sin embargo, la historia de Raymond Hess no termina ahí. Su vida posterior estuvo marcada por dificultades personales y otros desarrollos inesperados y sombríos. En julio de 1978 estaba en Pittsburgh para trabajar como aprendiz de electricista cuando fue nombrado posible sospechoso de la desaparición de una mujer local. Se sabía que conocía a la mujer, otro vagabundo como él, y de hecho habría sido la última persona en verla con vida. Lo que quedó se encontró en una zanja cubierta de vegetación al lado de un basurero. Los restos habían sido desmembrados y quemados, con una serie de gubias profundas en los huesos, como si le hubieran cortado porciones de carne. Fue identificada por los registros dentales de una pequeña mandíbula quemada encontrada en la pila. Hess tenía una innegable cercanía con el crimen, y aunque la policía lo interrogó varias veces e incluso lo detuvo brevemente, hubo poca o ninguna evidencia física que vincule el crimen con alguien en particular. Hess dejó bruscamente Pittsburgh poco después, incluso renunciando a su prometedor trabajo como electricista. Volvió a aparecer en Columbus, Ohio, al año siguiente, cuando fue reelegido como posible sospechoso de una desaparición y asesinato similares, esta vez de un hombre con el que también estaba al tanto. Una vez más, a pesar de su proximidad al crimen, no había evidencia real que sugiriera su culpa, y desapareció de la red nuevamente. Este proceso se ha repetido dos veces más en Ohio e Indiana. Luego, en septiembre de 1980, dejó repentinamente los Estados Unidos, dando solo una leve indicación de que se estaba mudando "a algún lugar de América Latina".

El extraño caso de Raymond Hess sería un punto focal de mi investigación, pero decidí comenzar con las ciudades alrededor del Hollow del holandés. Hice el largo viaje en coche desde mi casa en el Monte Líbano a una ciudad en la región llamada Renovo, una ciudad bastante pequeña de alrededor de 1,500 habitantes en la rama occidental del río Susquehanna, un viaje que Me llevó unas tres horas y media. Había un largo camino por recorrer para una aventura, pero fue a fines de los años 80, cuando el gas era prácticamente más barato que la tierra, y la oportunidad era demasiado tentadora para mí. 39; ignorar. Hice el viaje en mi Cadillac De Ville azul de 1975, el descapotable de dos puertas y una de mis queridas posesiones. Renovo, a solo seis millas del comienzo del camino al holandés del holandés, parecía un buen lugar para basar mi investigación. Claro, parece una tontería ahora que trato de explorar un área tan remota conocida por extrañas desapariciones, pero era un joven robusto que todavía estaba convencido de mi invencibilidad juvenil. y tampoco lo haría solo. Mi amiga Clarissa, que formaba parte de la antigua tripulación, se uniría a mí en unos días, y * seguramente * entre nosotros dos, estaríamos a salvo.

Llegué a la ciudad un viernes por la tarde y comencé la rutina típica que había formulado a lo largo de los años, que comenzó con una visita a la cuchara de grasa local. Para mi gran deleite, vi que la cena también estaba poblada por dos viejos, "buenos viejos muchachos" locales que podrían ser una excelente fuente de información. Me presenté como de costumbre, y en el transcurso de una hamburguesa con queso e innumerables tazas de café, conocí a estos dos hombres, Ernest y Jed. Hablamos durante horas sobre leyendas locales y folklore, y no podría haberle preguntado a alguien más conocedor de las actividades locales. Sin lugar a dudas, estos dos viejos muchachos se divirtieron bastante porque el niño rico errante estaba tan interesado en el sabor local, pero creo que hemos establecido una buena relación que podría ser invaluable. Me sorprendió gratamente descubrir que sabían todo acerca de la reputación que rodeaba al Hollow de Dutchman, y que el ciclo de desapariciones era una parte integral de las leyendas locales más antiguas. Dijeron que no muchos jóvenes nuevos en estas leyendas eran principalmente el tema del mito en este momento. Pero estos dos hombres todavía creían firmemente en las historias sobre la región.

"Nunca me atraparás, no por el millón de dólares que no ganarás", dijo Jed.

"Los viejos aquí te dirán lo mismo. Los jóvenes no saben mucho, pero de todos modos no llegan ", dijo Ernest.

Aprendí mucho de Ernest y Jed, y estaba feliz de haber causado una buena impresión en las instalaciones antes de comenzar mi investigación. Más tarde esa noche me mudé a una habitación en un motel local y seguí estudiando informes e historias sobre desapariciones en el vecindario, pero todo el tiempo las palabras de Ernest y Jed volvió a mi mente. Según ellos, las leyendas locales que rodean la región eran un fenómeno más antiguo y pocas personas aún lo tienen en cuenta. Al principio, fue tranquilizador, porque si las historias eran tan antiguas y habían desaparecido desde entonces, podría significar que podría explorar el área de manera segura. Al mismo tiempo, comenzaba a sentir una creciente aprensión por toda esta aventura errónea, y tener la confirmación de los lugareños de que había algo extraño en el área hizo que esto se sintiera más pronunciada. Sin embargo, había decidido que haría mis propias exploraciones antes de la llegada de Clarissa en dos días. Tuve una ruta difícil a lo largo de una ruta de senderismo marcada y, con algunos arreglos moderados, estaba físicamente bien preparado para el viaje.

A las diez en punto de la mañana siguiente, estaba parado en el borde del bosque que conduce al Hueco, y mis sentimientos anteriores de aprensión regresaron mientras veía el camino que conducía. Sabía que los bosques de esta región eran densos y salvajes, pero estar de pie inmediatamente al borde de la observación era una experiencia ominosa. Los árboles y los arbustos estaban muy separados, las copas de los árboles formaban un dosel particularmente denso que bloqueaba casi por completo la luz solar. Más adelante, pude ver que la maleza no era demasiado gruesa, pero la pendiente ascendente y los árboles cercanos limitaron la visibilidad hacia el frente a un máximo de treinta metros. Desde el exterior, solo podía sentir la oscuridad ligeramente debajo de los árboles, pero cruzar la línea de árboles cambió completamente la atmósfera. Cuando entré en el bosque propiamente dicho, casi parecía que la hora del día había cambiado instantáneamente de media mañana a tarde, un cambio sorprendente que apenas esperaba. Ahora estaba empezando a ponerme nervioso y a repensar mi compromiso en esta investigación, pero la alternativa era sentarme en la ciudad por dos días hasta que Clarissa aparezca y me devuelva la confianza.

Por falta de mejores ideas, comencé mi camino en la pista. No sabía si iba a tratar de llegar al Hollow, pero ir un poco lejos y sentir la tierra parecía apropiado. El camino que seguí no estaba bien mantenido, obstruido en muchos lugares por el cepillo en ambos lados, así que tuve que ir lo suficientemente lento para mantener mi orientación. Pensé que toda la caminata sería de aproximadamente cuatro millas de ida y vuelta, lo que no fue un gran desafío para mí, pero el terreno era más empinado de lo esperado. Seguí religiosamente la pista, dejando solo mis ojos para escudriñar mi entorno. Conociendo la reputación de este lugar, me mantuve alerta y me detuve con frecuencia para buscar algo sospechoso. El bosque estaba sobrenaturalmente quieto, con solo una ligera brisa moviéndose entre los árboles, susurrando las hojas de arriba. Se me ocurrió en ese momento que probablemente debería haber traído un rifle conmigo, aislado ya que estaba en un área conocida por ser peligrosa. Este logro tardío fue otro ejemplo de mi planificación decididamente pobre para esta expedición. Todo lo que tenía sobre mí era un pequeño cuchillo utilitario, una herramienta multiusos de la que me había sentido extremadamente orgulloso anteriormente, pero sería una mala elección para la autodefensa. Supongo que fue mejor que nada, pero luego me di cuenta de que no estaba nada preparado si me encontraba con algo alrededor del Hollow del holandés.

Decir que sentía que me observaban sería quedarse corto. He escuchado a personas describir este extraño sentimiento antes, pero nunca han hecho justicia a la profundidad de este sentimiento desagradable. Caminé por el sendero sintiendo que este sentimiento se hacía más fuerte cuando me acercaba al punto donde el camino hacia el Hueco se rompe con el sendero principal. Cuando llegué a este punto, me detuve para mirar a mi alrededor y posiblemente considerar seguir adelante. El "sendero" que se dirigió en dirección a Hollow casi no era un sendero, se parecía más a una cadena de puntos desnudos en la maleza que conducía al suroeste. No sé si solo éramos yo y mis nervios, pero podría jurar que el bosque a lo largo de este camino era aún más oscuro y perturbador que los demás. El silencio en particular me molestó; un bosque en esta época del verano debería haber sido más activo y ruidoso, con zumbidos de insectos y pájaros y todo tipo de criaturas forestales. Parte de ella estaba presente, pero a un volumen extrañamente bajo, apenas audible por encima del sonido de los árboles susurrando en el viento.

Después de unos cinco minutos mirando en dirección a Hollow, decidí dar la vuelta y dirigirme a la carretera donde había estacionado mi auto. Tuve suficiente de este extraño bosque por un día, y estaba casi desesperado por dejarlo atrás. Antes de darme la vuelta, decidí tomar una foto del sendero hacia el Hueco, una foto que no fue particularmente bien debido a la poca iluminación en el bosque, pero yo No estaba interesado en quedarse para conseguirlo. derecha. Regresé por el sendero ya que llegué a un ritmo mucho más brillante que antes, sin molestarme en buscar una señal de peligro esta vez. Continuando, me llamó la atención una fuerte y ansiosa sensación de que podría perderme en este bosque, de que nunca podría encontrar mi camino debido a la poca visibilidad en todas las direcciones. Hice todo lo posible para mantener mi nariz en la tierra en la pista, y después de unos quince minutos me sentí aliviado de ver finalmente el borde del bosque y más allá, el Hombro al costado de la carretera donde estaba estacionado mi auto. Sin ceremonia, salté para devolver mi auto a Renovo.

Lo primero que hice en la ciudad fue visitar este acogedor y antiguo restaurante. Mi miedo y ansiedad disminuyeron enormemente cuando crucé el umbral, feliz de estar de vuelta en un lugar protegido y familiar. Como antes, Ernest y Jed estaban estacionados en su puesto habitual, hablando sobre sus interminables tazas de café, y me acompañaron mientras yo estaba en la puerta. Recuerdo lo feliz que estaba de ver sus caras y los saludé con gran calidez. Aunque era la hora del almuerzo, pedí un plato de tocino y huevos, para deleite de mis compañeros, pero no me avergoncé. Mi experiencia en el bosque me había dejado completamente hambriento, y tocino y huevos eran lo que quería. Durante mi "almuerzo", les conté a Ernest y Jed sobre mi viaje al bosque, lo que causó que su buen humor habitual se disolviera instantáneamente. Se sorprendieron de que haría algo incluso después de sus historias y veladas advertencias sobre cualquier cosa que tuviera que ver con este lugar. En palabras de Jed, fui un "maldito tonto" por hacer esto, y Ernest tenía algunas palabras sobre cómo los jóvenes no escuchan lo suficiente cuando se trata de asuntos serios. como esto No puedo decir que no estoy de acuerdo con ellos; Estaba en este bosque y sé exactamente lo que se siente estar cerca del holandés del holandés.

A pesar de sus advertencias, Ernest y Jed siempre me tranquilizaron y me alentaron, y aunque sus advertencias fueron claras, decidí regresar al bosque al día siguiente. Tal vez fue la sensación de bienestar que sentí cuando regresé a la ciudad, o tal vez fue una extraña emoción de sentirme justificado al caminar por estos bosques, pero yo & # 39; Estaba decidido a descubrir todo lo que pudiera durante mi viaje aquí. Je n'ai pas dit à Ernest ou Jed que je comptais retourner là-bas, mais avec leurs avertissements frais dans ma tête, je voulais être plus prudent. Dès mon départ, je me suis rendu dans un magasin de matériel de chasse pour m'acheter des moyens d'autodéfense plus impressionnants. Cette boutique a effectivement vendu des armes à feu, mais je me suis contenté d'un grand couteau de chasse qui devait avoir deux fois la taille de mon couteau utilitaire d'origine. Avec le reste de la journée à tuer et n'ayant pas l'intention de rentrer avant demain, j'ai décidé d'essayer de visiter une bibliothèque ou une société historique de la région pour faire plus de recherches sur l'histoire locale. Ernest et Jed étaient de très bonnes sources de connaissances générales, mais je pensais qu'une histoire plus détaillée de la région pourrait faire la lumière sur ce dans quoi je marchais exactement.

Une chose que j'aime dans les petites villes: elles se soucient de leur histoire locale d'une manière que les citadins plus cosmopolites n'ont pas. Dans la bibliothèque du sud de Renovo, j'ai trouvé toute une section sur l'histoire du comté de Clinton et des environs qui remontent à l'époque précoloniale. Il y avait des livres sur les tribus indigènes, les colons notables, le paysage naturel et toutes sortes de sujets. Dans un livre, j'ai finalement trouvé des informations sur les origines de la légende de Dutchman’s Hollow. En 1656, un colon hollandais du nom de Wikus van der Heide et sa famille sont arrivés dans le Nouveau Monde par le port de New Amsterdam, qui faisait alors encore partie de la colonie hollandaise de Nouvelle-Hollande. Il s'est installé à l'origine sur les rives de la baie de Chesapeake, qui fait aujourd'hui partie de l'État du Maryland, où il a prospéré en tant que commerçant de tissus et de peaux. Lui et sa famille y vivront pendant près de vingt ans, jusqu'en 1674, lorsque, au lendemain de la troisième guerre anglo-néerlandaise, la nouvelle colonie des Pays-Bas fut cédée aux Britanniques. Wikus et sa famille, possédant une forte antipathie envers la domination britannique, ont quitté la colonie avec dégoût et se sont dirigés vers le nord, dans la nature sauvage des montagnes des Appalaches du nord de la Pennsylvanie moderne. Lui et sa famille s’établiraient dans une étendue de forêt très éloignée, loin de l’autorité britannique, dans une région qui porterait le nom de Dutchman’s Hollow du nom de ses premiers habitants.

Bien que la région dans laquelle ils se sont installés soit encore peuplée par une tribu indigène, la famille van der Heide était toujours déterminée à appeler la maison de la forêt. Les premières frictions entre les indigènes et la nouvelle famille sédentaire ont finalement cédé la place à une compréhension mutuelle et à une paix provisoire qui durerait bien plus d'un siècle. Dutchman’s Hollow était situé dans une partie de la forêt qui avait une grande signification spirituelle pour la tribu locale, qui craignait et détestait la région et la considérait comme une demeure d'esprits puissants et anciens. Bien qu’ils aient évité la région, ils se sont opposés à la décision de van der Heide de s’y installer, craignant que cela ne provoque la colère des esprits qui habiteraient le Hollow. Cette opposition à la colonisation alimenterait une grande partie de la violence entre les indigènes et les colons, mais finalement les indigènes ont été chassés de la région par une autre tribu, qui a permis à la famille van der Heide d'y vivre tant qu'ils évitaient le contact les uns avec les autres. Wikus van der Heide appellerait cette région la maison pour le reste de sa vie, tout comme ses descendants, qui y resteraient pendant des siècles, dos au monde extérieur.

À part cela, on ne savait pas grand-chose sur les premiers colons de la forêt. Personne n'a vu la famille depuis des centaines d'années, et on pense qu'elle a peut-être péri pendant un hiver rigoureux en 1806, qui était la dernière fois que quelqu'un les avait vus. Les étrangers ne savent pas grand-chose à ce sujet, et ceux qui l'évitent généralement par habitude et par déférence pour la légende locale. Armé de cette connaissance, j'étais maintenant déterminé à retourner dans la forêt le lendemain pour poursuivre mon enquête, ma curiosité l'emportant sur ma peur et mon appréhension. D'une manière étrange, il était en fait rassurant de savoir que les autochtones d'origine partageaient mes propres impressions effrayantes de la forêt, qu'eux aussi étaient intimidés par son atmosphère sombre et menaçante. Dans mon esprit, j'ai rationalisé mes peurs comme étant le produit de cette atmosphère, que malgré le nombre anormal de disparitions dans la région, le sentiment effrayant de terreur était dû à ma propre imagination qui se déchaînait et qui dominait ma raison. Je pensais que rien ne se passait vraiment mal, je serais plus préparé et prudent la prochaine fois, et rien ne pourrait me laisser tomber tant que je serais vigilant. Ayant complètement rationalisé mes peurs, j'ai retrouvé mon courage retrouvé et je me suis préparé pour un autre voyage dans la forêt, dans l'espoir que mon courage retrouvé se maintiendrait.

Le lendemain, je me suis de nouveau retrouvé debout au bord de la forêt, me rappelant soudain pourquoi j'avais eu peur de cet endroit auparavant. Pire encore, aujourd'hui était principalement couvert et maintenant encore moins de lumière a traversé le couvert forestier jusqu'au sentier ci-dessous. Mais je maintenais toujours ma justification précédente selon laquelle mes craintes étaient exagérées et rien n'arriverait à un jeune homme courageux comme moi si j'étais préparé et extrêmement prudent. Une fois de plus, j'ai franchi le seuil des arbres et j'ai continué mon chemin le long du sentier. Je me souvenais bien de la piste et mon rythme était beaucoup plus rapide que la dernière fois, mais le sentiment d'être observé était encore plus prononcé qu'auparavant. Le fait que la forêt était encore plus sombre qu’hier n’a certainement pas aidé à me rassurer. I pushed on regardless until I reached the point where I had stopped the last time and regarded the spotty, unclear trail supposedly leading to Dutchman’s Hollow. To this day I can still remember quite clearly the powerful feeling of dread that struck me while I gazed into that dense forest, a feeling that nearly forced me to turn right back around. It felt like I was trespassing in a powerful, inviolable place, and I felt terribly exposed, like somebody was watching me as I crossed the boundary. But there wasn’t any decision to be made. I was determined to get farther than I had yesterday, and so I took a deep breath and stepped forward onto the trail to the Hollow.

At first I felt relief when I made that first step, relief that nothing dreadful had happened immediately, that the forest around me seemed unchanged. I tried to keep my eyes riveted to the sparse trail ahead of me, a trail that was much choppier and less clear than before. The path mostly consisted of short clearings in the underbrush arranged in a general line, requiring short stops at each to spot the next one in the sequence to stay oriented. Now my pace was much slower, giving me time to appreciate scenery surrounding the trail. As I went on, the forest canopy seemed to get even more dense and came to a lower height the further I proceeded. The forest became thicker and more claustrophobic at every point, and now very little daylight penetrated to the forest floor. Thankfully the trail was now going down at a gentle slope, but the underbrush only seemed to get thicker and more tangled, consuming the energy I would have been saving going downhill. I had no idea just what I would find at the end of this trail; maybe an empty patch of forest, or the ruins of a old settlement, or even the remnants of a village littered with corpses of the people who have gone missing up here. Around this time my common sense was finally starting to regain control, and I thought better of pushing my luck further than I already had.

I came to a bend in the trail that led around the side of a hill into a short hollow that I assume was my destination. I stopped and crouched down to get a good look at the area before deciding whether or not to go any further. The wind was picking up, creating that eerie whistling as it blew through the treetops overhead, but this time there was a strange undertone to this ambiance. It now took on a strange cadence, almost rhythmic like people chanting something unintelligible. That feeling of being watched was more powerful than ever, and I was utterly pinned in place by my nerves. Without warning, the wind suddenly died down and left the forest absolutely calm and quiet, the same unnatural stillness as before. Now every single rustle of leaves and brush was clearly audible around me, and I stayed frozen in place, wary of every slight sound that stood out in the silence. Off to my right was a gentle rustle of bushes that I hardly paid attention to before, but now it seemed to grow louder and less rhythmic, like something would briefly scramble forward and pause, and I knew that this wasn’t because of the wind.

I hoped that it was just an animal, maybe a deer or a fox, but a wild animal like that wouldn’t just rush in the direction of a human being, or so I thought. I snapped my head in that direction, and I could swear that for a second I caught the faint outline of something moving between the trees some forty yards away. Whatever it was I couldn’t see, but I knew that there was some kind of animal off in that direction, something pale and hunched over. My nerves gave out at that point. I turned tail and began a brisk trot back in the direction of the main trail, this time convinced I was about to become the victim of an animal attack or God knows what. Fishing my new hunting knife out of my pack, I rapidly scanned the forest all around, that insistent rustling now getting quicker and closer to me. I wasn’t quite in fight-or-flight mode, but I was gripping the handle of my knife so firmly that my knuckles went white. By now I had escalated to a run, tearing my way through thickets along the path without caring how badly I got scratched up. To my dismay, whatever was moving through the forest off to my right was keeping pace with me the whole time, getting closer than ever to the trail I was following.

I accelerated to a sprint, or as close as I could get to a sprint while pushing my way through brush and low-hanging branches, and whatever was chasing me kept up without any trouble. Frantic as I was, I began tearing up, ready to cry out if whatever was giving chase finally caught up with me. Now I wasn’t even consistently following the trail ahead, sometimes charging off into the brush to cut a bend or corner in the trail. Finally, as I rounded one last bend, I saw the junction with the main trail, and to my incredible relief I heard the rustling quickly die off. Whatever had pursued me had now broken off from chasing me, and I just about dove across the threshold of the main trail. I just about collapsed there, overcome with relief and coming down from the fear-induced adrenaline. Regaining my awareness, I saw that I wasn’t necessarily out of danger yet, and I got up and quickly retraced my steps back along the main trail to my car. As I went along, I wiped the tears from my eyes and the snot from the nose, hoping it would look as if nothing happened when I got back to town. At this point I my relief gave way to mild embarrassment over my minor breakdown and the thought I had nearly gotten myself attacked by a wild animal through my own stupidity. It isn’t that stupid when I think about it now, but at the time I felt foolish over the whole misadventure in the middle of the woods.

Part 2

I made my way back to my car to see that right behind it was parked a brown and white sedan with sirens on top, marked with the symbol of the Clinton County Sheriff’s Department, and a Sheriff’s deputy looking around the area. He waved at me when he saw me come out of the trees, and I waved back and went over to him.

“Afternoon, sir,” he said mildly.

“Uh, hello, there,” I responded, now somewhat nervous; I’ve always been nervous around authority figures. “This your vehicle here?” he said, pointing at my convertible.

“Uh, yes. Is it far enough off the shoulder? I was just hiking up there and…” I said meekly, pointing in the direction of the trail.

“No, it’s fine. Saw your vehicle here, wondered what it was doing here. You said you were, uh, hiking up there?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. It’s not off limits, is it?” I replied, now worried I was in trouble.

“No, it’s an open trail. Just wondering what you’re doing there. Not too many people go up there,” he said.

“Just… curious, really. Wanted to see what was up there.”

“Well, some folks in town heard a young fella was going up there, and they were worried.” I smiled a bit at that. I guess old Ernest and Jed really were concerned about me; they’re good guys, those two.

“Well… I’m fine, pretty much. I was just on my way back,” I said dismissively.

“Alright. Well, I’ll follow you back, make sure you get there okay,” he said with brisk nod. I didn’t object to that. I was still pretty rattled from the whole experience, and I suppose having another friendly face around might settle my nerves. Before we left, I took one last look into the forest, and for a brief second I thought I could see a vague outline of a man in the darkness under the trees. I rubbed my eyes emphatically, and when I opened them the outline was gone. I got in my car warily and the two of us drove back into Renovo, the deputy close behind. We both turned into the parking lot of the familiar old diner, and the deputy, one Deputy Shane Hale, got out and went inside with me.

“Good coffee here,” he said cheerfully as we went inside. As ever, over in the corner booth were Ernest and Jed, and to my great surprise, I saw my friend Clarissa sitting with them, chatting them up enthusiastically. She was part of our old crew of friends, and she knew all the same tricks that I did when it came to pumping the locals for information. She waved me over with excitedly, and I quickly wiped my face in case there were any tears or snot still on my face. Deputy Hale took a seat at the counter while I piled in to the booth next to Clarissa and greeted them with as much excitement as I could muster in my rattled state. As I thought, Ernest and Jed were the ones who told the Sheriff’s deputy to check on me up at the trail to Dutchman’s Hollow, worried I was still going up there. Clarissa had been there for about half and hour before I showed up and got into a conversation with those two about the same things I had asked about two days before. She wasn’t planning to arrive until tomorrow, but she got time off work a day early and decided to show up then.

I joined in the conversation but with less enthusiasm as I might have had before. Knowing that they were worried about me, I decided not to tell Ernest and Jed about what happened up there at the Hollow, as I was still a bit embarrassed about the whole thing. They told Clarissa many of the same things they told me days before, I told them a bit about my own impressions of the forest during my brief excursions up there. She was actually excited about what I told her, the fear addict that she is, and it took a lot of effort to convince her not to go up there right away. I said that we should spend the rest of the day doing some research before we even think about going up there, and to my relief she finally agreed. I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to go back up there. I know that I had thought the same thing the day before, but this time the threat was abundantly clear, and I wasn’t sure that I could rationalize it this time. I resolved that I would tell Clarissa the truth about it once we had a moment alone to discuss our next move. We palavered with Ernest and Jed for another hour or two, with occasional input from Deputy Hale, before we decided to head out. I directed Clarissa over the library for our research efforts, and I was sure that I hadn’t read the full story about Dutchman’s Hollow or any of the people that lived there.

I poured through the local history section, looking out for any books that I missed or skipped over in my previous trip. In one book was a whole section on early settlers in the region, and in it I read that the van der Heide family were not the only ones who come to settle in Dutchman’s Hollow. In the year 1699, a Scotsman named Wallace MacDuff made the journey across the Atlantic, arriving in the Port of Boston. He was a woodsman by trade, nursing dreams of settling the virgin lands of the New World, and he would come to this part of it in the summer of 1700. By this time, the vast land had been granted to William Penn, after whom the colony of Pennsylvania was named, and like the van der Heide clan, he would opt to settle in the remote forest. He brought his family to the region of Dutchman’s Hollow, where the van der Heide clan still dwelled, though old Wikus was long dead by this point. His eldest son, Christiaan van der Heide, was the patriarch of their family at the time, and despite some early friction between the two families, he grudgingly permitted MacDuff and his family to settle there. These would be the only two families who would ever settle this region, and both would live in almost complete seclusion, almost never interacting with the outside world.

For decades, few were aware that anybody had ever settled the area, and those who did were deeply suspicious of the reclusive families who lived in those woods. They would become the target of many unsavory rumors, some accusing them of witchcraft or devil worship, others saying that they engaged in disgusting, perverted, and decadent behaviors in the privacy of Dutchman’s Hollow. Indeed, nobody could ever prove such rumors, but the seclusion of the MacDuff and van der Heide families didn’t help their case either. They would live this way for over a century, being so reclusive that some speculated that the two families might have decamped for greener pastures or simply died out. With only two families living in that area, the only way they could produce any progeny was a constant cycle of intermarriage, and to do so for a whole century, they likely would have quite a few kissing cousins in their family tree. After all, inbreeding wasn’t exactly uncommon in that era, and during that time, more than one royal dynasty in Europe had virtually died out because of it. If that was the case, then it might explain the virtual disappearance of the two families by the early nineteenth century. The last confirmed sighting of a member of either family was in 1806, and the rather harsh winter was speculated to have killed them off. But rumors of their continued survival still persisted, and some of the disgusting rumors about them only got wilder and more far-fetched over time.

“Could’ve done the Donner party thing,” Clarissa jeered irreverently. I chuckled at that for a second, but then I was given pause. Cannibalism…. it was a bit far-fetched, to be sure. But then again, something like that wasn’t strictly out of the question, either. Clarissa meant it as a joke, so I thought I was reading too much into it, but that thought still stuck in the back of my mind. All we really know for sure is what we read in the history books, and that there have been numerous disappearances in the area going back several decades. I know that I was chased by something in the woods only a few hours before, and that there was something definitely off about those woods, and it only got worse the closer I got to Dutchman’s Hollow. I did my best to stifle these wild theories and put them out of my mind, but one chilling fact still remains: nobody can say for sure what happened to the van der Heide-Macduff clan, or whether or not they are still alive. I suppose nobody would really know for sure unless somebody explored the Hollow itself, and I was fairly sure that I wouldn’t be the one who did it.

To my chagrin, Clarissa was not so deterred. She was quite insistent that we go all the way to the Hollow, convinced that was the source of the mystery and all would be laid bare once we had a chance to investigate it. We went to the motel that evening, and I tried many ways to dissuade her. I finally told her what happened that day up in the woods, that I had gotten near to the Hollow and been chased by something unnatural the whole way out. I don’t know how much she believed about my story, but she could see quite clearly that I was deeply disturbed about my experience. This time, she took a turn trying to persuade moi instead, saying that what happened might be a clear evidence that there really was something to these stories and legends about the area. She’s clever like that. I thought I would never budge on this issue, but her insistence began to sway me. After all, she had come all this way and taken time off work to investigate this with me, and saying ‘no’ to her at this point didn’t feel right. I was torn between this and my own fear of going back up there, because now there seemed to be a definite danger lurking in those woods. Eventually I caved, and I promised to bring her up to the trail and take her all the way to Dutchman’s Hollow. In my mind I was still opposed to the idea, but I came to realize that she would go up there without me if I refused to go, and I felt responsible for her safety.

I slept terribly that night. It was the kind of sleep where you keep waking up with a start for no apparent reason, and even though you know that you were asleep, you don’t ressentir like you’ve actually been asleep. After the third or fourth time waking up, I decided to stay up for a while and think, hoping that I would become drowsy enough to sleep all the way through the night. I was sitting in a chair idly gazing out the window to the highway when I saw something unusual next to the road. I thought I was seeing a human shape wandering out in the darkness, but I couldn’t be completely sure. But that outline would reappear every few seconds, and I was riveted by this unexpected sight. Next to the road was a street lamp that cast an orange glow on the ground, and I could see this human outline approaching it. Now this figure had my complete attention. From what I could see, the figure was a man, an extremely tall man, wearing strange clothes and quietly sidling along the side of the road. When he reached the glow of the street lamp, I was able to see this figure clearly. It was indeed a man, a very tall man that I think must have been nearly seven feet tall, and extremely thin, with his joints bulging out noticeably. He must have had pale or ruddy skin, though it was difficult to tell in the orange glow, and he had a large, tangled mop of remarkably pale blonde hair on his head and a bushy beard of the same color on his face. His clothes, if you can call them that, seemed very crude and filthy, as if he had cobbled them from sacks or strips of cloth and leather. His torso was covered by short sleeved tunic, and his legs clad in a pair of shorts that looked like burlap or some other type of cloth.

I didn’t know why at the time, but the sight of this man gave me unbelievable chills. I assumed that maybe he was a vagrant given his crude manner of dress, but this man didn’t even wear shoes, and I can’t imagine any vagrant going anywhere without at least shoes. He just stood there under the light, examining the sky and the small town around him, as if he hadn’t been there before. With a sudden start he quickly turned his gaze to my window, and I swear to God that he locked eyes avec moi. I shrank back into the room a ways, now fearful about what this strange man might do. I stayed glued to my chair, hoping that the man would go away if he couldn’t see me for a few minutes. After a while, I peeked out the blinds again, and to my horror he was not only still out there, but had crossed to our side of the road and stood at the edge of the parking lot, with eyes still fixed on the motel window. I snatched the hunting knife out of my pack and stayed back away from the window, wondering if I was about to be the victim of an attack by a roaming vagrant. Again, I hung back for a few minutes, silently praying that this horrible figure would leave, until I finally worked up the courage to check the window again. My heart sank when I saw his too familiar outline outside, still staring at the window, but he only looked for a few seconds when he did a swift about-face and strode off down the road and into the night. I almost panicked at this gesture, thinking he was moving towards me, but to my relief he disappeared into the darkness.

I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep after that, but I woke up early the next morning in the same chair, knife still clutched in my hand. In my mind I hadn’t connected this vagrant with anything to do with our project, but I was starting to wonder about this as I greeted the dawn. A few hours later, Clarissa came to my room door for a wake-up call. She was bright and chipper as ever, clearly eager to get on with our investigation. Over coffee and donuts, we talked a bit about our plans for the day. She was still insisting that we should go all the way to the Hollow, and I knew that I couldn’t persuade her otherwise. Getting a bit of food in my stomach didn’t restore any courage this time; if anything, I only got more queasy. At nine-thirty the appointed hour came, and we loaded our supplies into my car for the trip up to the trail. The whole drive she was talking about her own theories regarding our case, not seeming to notice that I was hardly replying. At this point I was just resigned to what was going on. Maybe if she saw the forest for herself, experienced the ominous and unpleasant aura that lingered about the place, she might think twice about her determination. We reached the pull-off and I parked the car in the usual spot just off the shoulder of the road. I was disappointed to see that she was enthralled by the sight of the dense, dark forest, and now she seemed more determined than ever to take the plunge. I could hardly stop her from taking the lead on the trail, while I followed behind pointing out different things along the trail.

She was quite energetic as we trudged through the woods, keeping a solid lead ahead of me, hardly needing directions from me. Like yesterday, the sky was largely overcast, and forest beneath cloaked in shadow. With her enthusiasm we made good time getting to the turn-off for the trail leading to Dutchman’s Hollow, where we paused for brief spell. I pointed in the direction of the Hollow, hoping that she might think again about our excursion when she saw the forest beyond. She was indeed starting to waver a bit, but she was as hard-headed as she was determined, and she urged me on after a very brief but noticeable hesitation from her. This time, I insisted on taking the lead on this trail, hoping that a slower pace might make her come around. Again, I was mistaken. That all-too-familiar feeling of being watched took hold as we set out. Having Clarissa with me was mildly reassuring, but I knew what we might be walking into. The wind stayed at a moderate strength, just quiet enough so that I could have a chance to hear anything that might come after us out here. We finally reached the last bend where I had given up last time, and I paused to point out to Clarissa that the hollow beyond was likely our destination. Now I could see she was definitely having second thoughts, that she must have shared my feeling of being watched. But damn her, she still insisted on going forward. After some hesitation, we proceeded around the bend and got our first good look into Dutchman’s Hollow itself.

The Hollow was set in between two closely spaced and steep hills, with trees on both sides looming overhead with a slight curve, like the entrance of a cave. There was a clear path leading down into the Hollow just past the bend, with a small clearing being faintly visible down the way. We made our way down the path much more slowly and cautiously than we had before. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of awe and dread of being in that place, that sinister place surrounded by so much mystery and dark legend. The trees in the Hollow were more dense and ominous than anywhere on the trail leading up to it, with very little light breaching the treetops, making the path feel like we were in the twilight of the day instead of near the high point of the morning. Along the path were small piles of stones arranged in a pyramid; they were cairns, definite signs of human presence. The path itself was rather long, but after a short while, we finally emerged into the clearing that marked the exact spot of the legendary Dutchman’s Hollow.

The clearing was situated in a steep gully with the forest close in on all sides, so that the forest canopy extended over most of it, but with slightly more light visible. Around the edges of the Hollow were the long abandoned ruins of two houses that had long since rotted away, leaving behind only their foundations covered in ivy. In the center was a pile of stone rubble, probably the remains of a well, though the pit of the well had long since collapsed inward, leaving only a small depression in the ground. We were so awestruck by the scene that we almost forgot why we were there in the first place. We began examining all around the perimeter of the Hollow, trying to find the exact boundaries or any other structures we missed. I noticed for the first time the entrance to the Hollow was marked by two cairns, one on each side of the path, clearly meant to indicate the threshold of this place. I stepped into the foundation of one of the houses, trying to see if any there was anything like a basement, which I found out when the ground beneath me gave way and I was plunged about six feet into a lower part of the foundation. I was relieved to see that this new part of the house was relatively shallow, and Clarissa was able to help me out of the hole. It was apparently the basement that I had fallen into, a sod basement with no remaining overhead supports.

The first house turned up nothing, with the basement being completely empty and the above ground section being completely rotted away. The second house was a bit more promising. It was in a similar state of decay as the first, but there was still a clear entrance to the basement of this one. We lowered ourselves inside and were briefly overpowered by the musty stench of it. It was incredibly clogged with spider webs that crossed the whole room, with some webs still populated by their current occupants. We had look around with our flashlights, seeing that this basement was somewhat more intact than the other, when we spotted yet another small cairn against the back wall of the room. Without needing to be asked, Clarissa approached it, looking it over carefully, then began dismantling it. We cleared off the stones to find that underneath was a narrow but very deep hole, almost like a shaft, not large enough to fall into but certainly deep enough that I could barely reach the bottom with my arm. At Clarissa’s urging, I reluctantly rolled up my sleeve, shined the light down the hole, and probed it with my hand. Thankfully there were no bugs crawling about in the hole, which I had expected. I slowly reached down further and further into the hole when I felt my fingers brushing the bottom. I didn’t know what exactly I was looking for, but at the bottom I though I could feel string or bits of straw. Reaching down a bit further, I managed to get a good grip on the object, and I pulled it up out of the hole to examine it.

I was surprised to see that the object was actually a doll. It was a rag doll, stitched together from bits of what I assume was burlap, with bits of straw and feathers forming the “hair” on the head, which had been crudely stuck through the cloth. The doll had no eyes or a face, but was definitely of a human form, and strangely heavy. It felt like it was filled with small hard objects, like rocks, but irregularly shaped with some sharp edges. I turned the doll around to see that some of these edges were actually poking through a stitched section on the doll’s back. I pulled the stitching apart a little bit and shook out of some these objects. A few spilled onto the ground, and I could see that they were white in color, with pale brownish-yellow streaks. As I weighed them in my hand, I suddenly realized what exactly I was holding: bones. The doll had been stuffed with bone fragments. I was utterly taken aback by this revelation and threw aside the doll, laying out the bones where Clarissa could see them. These were only bone fragments, so I couldn’t tell what kind of animal the bones were from, but it must have been something big if the fragments were the size of small stones. Clarissa was as shocked as I was by this find, which I was sure was evidence of something bizarre and probably quite fucked up going on in this place. We made a hasty exit from the basement and decided not to enter any more dark basements while we were here.

At first I was glad to be back in the fresh air outside, but the ugly atmosphere of the Hollow quickly dampened my spirits. The wind was starting to pick up again, making the forest more noisy and bringing back that ominous howl of air passing through the treetops. It was that same howl as before, the one that sounded almost like chanting voices, and I didn’t associate that sound with anything good. Clarissa insisted that we stay a little while longer to cover all of our bases while we were here; I think she didn’t want to make a return trip to this place, and I agreed. We went back to surveying the perimeter of the Hollow, poking through brush at the edges to see if we missed anything. Clarissa called out excitedly from someplace behind the second house, well inside the brush at the edge. I ran over to see that she was shining her light into a small cave obscured by the brush, straining to see what was inside. She wanted to look around à l'intérieur that cave, convinced there was something worth finding in there, even after what we found in the basement before. I really didn’t want to go inside, but it’s hard to argue with someone as enthusiastic as Clarissa. I followed right behind her as we shimmied into the low cave entrance.

The cave was unexpectedly deep, reaching into the ground nearly ten yards before opening up a bit. After the narrow bit, we found ourselves standing within a larger cavern, the ceiling about seven or eight feet high, and the room about twenty feet across in any direction. It was almost totally round with few stark edges, and a small depression in the center that was filled with something dark that we couldn’t see clearly. Some amount of outside light came down from the shaft leading to the entrance, but this inner chamber was totally dark, and we only saw its dimensions when we explored with our flashlights. Looking up, I could see there was a small, narrow opening in the ceiling that led into a long vertical shaft that actually had some daylight far above. I wondered how something like that could have formed naturally, and I realized that it couldn’t; everything here had to have been built or dug by human hands. I looked into the pit in the center, and examining it I saw that it was filled with ashes and bits of charcoal, almost like a campfire was burning there. Someone had to have lived in this place at one time or another if there was fire burning in here. Clarissa called out my name again and directed me towards another alcove that we had missed on our first survey of the room, which showed yet another small tunnel opening. Without warning, Clarissa crouched down and went forward into the tunnel, and I had no time to protest this.

This tunnel was quite a bit shorter than the other, less than five yards, and it led into a smaller chamber of a more rectangular shape with a lower ceiling. The first thing I noticed about this new chamber was the stench, a horrible stink of guts and rotting meat like you’d smell near a slaughterhouse. I was alarmed by this powerful stench, which was undetectable anywhere else in the cave and came on so suddenly upon entering this new chamber. At this point I decided we had explored quite enough and I tried to urge Clarissa to leave this disgusting place before we found something we really regretted finding. She didn’t reply at first, but only continued to stare at some remote spot on the ground in front of her. I went over to see what exactly she was so fixated on. I approached her from behind and saw that she was staring at yet another pit in the ground, again filled with some dark substance that I didn’t want to examine too closely. I tried getting her attention, but she only stared and pointed at the pit on the floor, urging me to take a closer look. I bent over and saw that this pit was not full of ashes, but some dark red substance that I almost immediately recognized. Blood. This pit was the apparent source of the horrid stench, and I leaned over to see that I was not mistaken and this pit was indeed filled with blood. I dabbed my finger in it, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t as I expected, but it was: this blood was fresh. I smeared easily on my hand and didn’t even seem coagulated. This was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, fresh blood neatly pooled into a small pit.

This was as clear a sign as any that we had stumbled upon something that we were clearly not prepared to face. The two of us, amateur sleuths with a lot of curiosity and not much actual sense, were now confronted with proof that something bizarre and horrific was clearly afoot, and we had semi-wittingly placed ourselves right in the middle of it. In our years of junior detective work we had never come upon anything quite like this; indeed, we had never really found anything truly substantive before. This finding left both of us feeling extremely vulnerable in that moment, now finally grasping the depth of our situation. We were deep inside a mysterious cave in the midst of a dense and remote forest, a cave with only one discernible entrance and exit, where something clearly still dwelt. I hardly needed to persuade Clarissa that we should try to make a quick exit from this place before we made any more disturbing and unwelcome discoveries. We immediately turned back and made our way through the narrow tunnels to the long, sloping passage that led up to the cave entrance. As I looked up to the entrance through the long passage, I thought I saw a very flicker of a shadow at the entrance above, and for a brief second I caught a faint whiff of a putrid odor wafting down the tunnel. I thought for a second that maybe this was the same stench from the lowest chamber, that distinct smell of rotting meat, but this smell was different, more like offensive body odor than anything. The foul odor and the brief shadow across the entrance made me hesitate for a moment, but I had even less desire to remain here than to venture back into the forest.

Clarissa and I made our way up to the entrance and emerged into the relatively fresh air of the forest outside, glad for a moment to be outside of that horrible place, even if Dutchman’s Hollow was the immediate alternative to the cave. To our dismay, the sky was now completely overcast, casting the forest outside in an even more dim and forbidding shadow than before. The wind had now become a stiff breeze that made considerable noise as it rustled the treetops overhead. Without pause we gathered our packs and immediately set our sights on the trail leading out of this place. Despite our fatigue from scrambling through the cave tunnels we set a brisk pace along the trail, now eager to be out of this place before anything else made an appearance. As we crossed between the cairns marking the ‘entrance’ to the Hollow, I once again detected that foul odor I had first picked up near the cave. This time the odor was noticeably more powerful, enough that I actually halted for a few seconds trying to waft it away with my hand. The wind suddenly died off and the stench dissipated, which was a relief at first until I perceived the unusual stillness of the forest around us. I ventured a look into the woods on both sides and turned around to give Dutchman’s Hollow one last parting glance before leaving this place for good. I regarded it cautiously for a few seconds and prepared to turn my attention back to the trail when I saw a vague but disturbingly familiar outline among the brush at the edge of the Hollow. I recognized it instantly as a human outline, standing straight up, with some streaks of pale skin visible among the foliage. I froze in place, every nerve in my body prickling with acute fear as I fixed my eyes on what appeared to be a man standing and staring along the trail, staring at us. Clarissa noticed my startled posture and with a worrying expression demanded to know what I saw behind us. I broke out of my trance and simply urged her to keep going, hoping that what I saw was somehow only an illusion.

We increased our pace and kept following the trail, hardly pausing to keep our bearings on the patchy, unclear trail leading through the brush. It was then I heard that only too familiar sound of something sprinting and leaping through the brush around us, a sound that got closer with each passing second. My heart just about plummeted from my chest to my stomach when I recalled where I heard that sound before, and staving the urge to groan in terror I pressed Clarissa to pick up the pace even more. I worked up the courage to turn around and look for any sign of our pursuer, and off to our left I could see the same figure of a man standing partly obscured by a tree, a figure that I recognized instantly. It was the figure of the man I had seen the night before, the extremely tall man with long and bushy pale blonde hair and a scraggly blonde beard to match, with light skin covered by a layer of dirt and grime, sparsely clad in rags and animal furs. Clarissa paused again to ask what I had seen when she caught sight of him as well, clapping her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. I grabbed her by the shoulders and we both crouched behind the brush at the edge of the trail, hoping that this might obscure position to our pursuer.

"Don’t run,” I said quietly into her ear. “We’ll just keep walking, real calm, and we’ll be left alone.” I didn’t quite believe those words as I said them, but I needed both of us to stay calm and not panic. At that moment I had the idea that the reason I was chased the day before was due how I panicked and sprinted off, like I had ignited some primordial ‘chase’ instinct in this man. I still believed somehow that this man was a local vagrant, probably high on something, and clearly he felt his ‘domain’ was violated by the likes of us.

“This guy obviously doesn’t want us here, so we’re just leaving. He’ll respect that,” I said reassuringly. Again, I don’t know if I believed this either, but I needed to keep my eyes on the trail and I couldn’t have either of us panicking and getting lost. With a few more reassuring words, I got Clarissa to get up and keep moving, our eyes still fixed on the man lurking behind the trees, glaring at us. We walked as slowly as we felt comfortable, standing as tall as confident as we could, as if we were hoping to stave off an animal attack with our proud posturing. At first I was relieved when I didn’t hear him following us as we moved on. We felt confident enough that we took our eyes off the man, instead fixing our gaze to the trail ahead. Then I heard that shuffling sound of the man yet again giving pursuit, this time with a slower, more rhythmic cadence, like a trot rather than a sprint. We froze again and spun around to spot this man once again standing perfectly still, a bit further back than before but still visible behind the trees, seemingly undeterred by our display of ‘courage’. I whispered harshly to Clarissa to keep going, thinking that our slip in vigilance was to blame for his continued pursuit. This time we got off to a slight trot, not even bothering to work our way carefully through the underbrush along the trail.

For a second the man appeared to be hanging back and disappeared from my view, and I once again turned my eyes to the trail. This time I couldn’t quite suppress a groan of fright when I again heard that shuffling in the forest to our left, this time much quicker, like a brisk jog rather than a trot. My eyes were starting to burn and get cloudy with tears as we increased our pace even further, no longer caring if a our running was only encouraging this man. That rustling in the bushes came closer and closer, and Clarissa was now gasping in terror with every step she took. Just as I was about to panic and break into a full-on sprint, the movement in the brush stopped. I almost stopped as well in astonishment. We slowed down a bit, frantically glancing around us for any sight of the man chasing us. For a moment, we saw nothing. We kept trotting along the trail, hoping that perhaps this man had finally given up his pursuit, noticing that the wind had increased a bit from the earlier stillness. I entertained some vague hopes that we had finally evaded our pursuer, believing that if we got back to the main trail we would effectively be in the clear, as had happened the day before. That foul stench from before once again invaded my nostrils, but this time the smell seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead of us, in the direction from which the wind was blowing. We paused for a second, wondering just what was about to happen.

I crouched and shuffled forward intending to push Clarissa to keep going when she spun around gave out a blood-curdling, ear-piercing shriek of mortal terror and sprawled backwards away from me. As a turned to see what she had screamed at, I was violently thrown forward into the dirt, as if somebody had just tackled me, gasping from having the wind knocked out of me, and I felt something strike my backpack with incredible force. I rolled over in a panic to see that, to my complete and utter horror, the man was standing over me as I lay helpless on the ground, gripping a long shaft that I saw was a spear that had pierced right through my backpack. The horrendous stench of this man was unbearable this close, and I finally got a clear, close look at his face. He was gritting his teeth, showing off a set of crooked, yellowish-brown teeth with numerous cracks, snarling like a wild animal. I could see that his eyes were a remarkable pale blue, but lifeless and dead in expression, like a doll. As I spun around I managed to get free of my backpack and shuffled backwards, giving a harsh kick directed right at his knee. The blow connected, but with startling reflexes he absorbed the blow and leaped back a short distance, giving a soft, rasping grunt. I scrambled to my feet and shouted to Clarissa to run.

3e partie

We abandoned all pretense of confidence and just sprinted along what we could see of the trail leading out of this place. Clarissa was now screaming continuously as we ran, not caring to save her breath for running, but I couldn’t exactly blame her. She stayed ahead of me, gradually getting farther from me until I was afraid I might lose sight of her. As we ran over a small dip in the trail I stumbled a bit, and right as I began to stand up again I heard a sharp, low whiz as something flew past my head only a scant few inches from my right ear at incredible speed, burying itself in the brush a few feet ahead. Had I not stumbled at that exact second, I am confident that object would have connected with the back of my head and probably pierced right through my skull. I didn’t pause to consider how lucky I just was, and kept sprinting after Clarissa, my heart hammering almost painfully against the inside of my chest. Now we were starting to stray off the trail as we ran, never pausing to stop and regain our bearings. I charged around a bend and caught sight of Clarissa only a few yards ahead of me, hearing the man swiftly leap through the underbrush behind us and off to the right. I heard another of those objects come whistling out of the forest, striking Clarissa’s backpack and spinning her around with its impact, sending her tumbling into the ground. I ran up to her and firmly dragged her to her feet, seeing that the object that struck her pack was actually some kind of dart, a large dart carved from stone and wood and nearly a foot long, which had nearly gone all the way through pack.

Now we had gone completely off the trail and strayed into the deep underbrush among the dense stands of trees. We just kept sprinting in the direction we thought our trail led, hoping that we would eventually stumble upon our destination. The shuffling of the man chasing us had changed into a long, loping sprint, as he were jumping through the brush and between the trees rather than simply running. Whoever he was, he must have known of plenty of hidden trails and paths leading through the forest, having no trouble at all keeping up with us. Despite the adrenaline, I could feel my energy starting to wane, and I was struggling quite a bit to keep up my speed running over such rough ground. I was now convinced that I was just about to die, caught by this man and subjected to God knows what at his hands, presumably like all the others who had disappeared in this dark place. I pulled out my knife, hoping that maybe I could mount some kind of final stand if I was caught, and I was shouting to Clarissa to keep going when that horrible odor descended upon me and felt an enormous weight plow right into the small of my back. A fierce, searing sensation of a harsh scrape suddenly covered my neck and the back of my head as I collapsed forward into the ground, the weight now pinning me firmly to the ground, and in that moment my mind went utterly blank as I waited for what I thought would be death. Clarissa had frozen in place in complete horror as the man stood over me once again, and I could barely manage to roll over and regard him before the end. He crouched low over me, grunting loudly, blowing hot, foul-smelling breath in my face. He quickly snapped his attention over to Clarissa as she screamed in terror, and with a sudden start he leaped astonishingly high in the air, landing neatly on his feet and sprinting off towards Clarissa.

She sprinted off into the forest, no longer caring to follow the trail. I struggled to my feet and called Clarissa’s name plaintively, although now she and the man had now disappeared from my sight. I wanted to run after them, hoping that I could somehow save her from all this, but I hesitated for a few seconds. To this day, I lament the cowardice I showed in those critical few seconds, where I seriously contemplated taking advantage of this distraction to make my own escape instead. I stayed put for a few seconds calling her name helplessly. I got to my feet and started walking in the direction they had gone, though at a much slower pace than I would have needed to catch up to them. For several minutes I stumbled through the woods in the direction I thought they had gone, now wracked with guilt over having brought my friend out to this place to die like this. Painful as this guilt was, it did spur my last reserves of energy and increased my pace. I could no longer hear Clarissa’s screams, a fact that made my heart sink precipitously. I came over the crest of a short hill and saw that I was overlooking a broad, flat gully with steep sides and thick brush along the entire slope. Wondering what I should now, I followed the top edge of the gully down a short ways, hoping for any sign of where the two had ended up. I finally sank to my knees and for a few despondent minutes I lost my courage and resolve completely. All of this was my fault. Clarissa had insisted that she come this place, but I felt I hadn’t done nearly enough to discourage her from coming here, especially after yesterday, when I knew for a fact that something dangerous was probably lurking out here. I buried my face in my hands and broke down in tears.

For several minutes I stayed in this state, convinced that Clarissa was probably dead and that I myself was going to die, and that I probably deserved it for bringing us out to horrible place. I was startled to suddenly detect a familiar scream- Clarissa’s scream- coming from the woods on the other side of the gully. Hearing this restored my spirits tremendously, even given our still terrible circumstances, and I started calling out her name again. Her screams came closer and closer until I finally saw her emerge from the forest on the other side. I shouted her named at the top of my lungs and for a moment she turned her attention and caught sight of me, visibly relieved. Clarissa’s relieved expression suddenly became blank and she pitched forward violently, completely limp, and tumbled face-down over the edge of the gully and all the way down into the brush below. I was shocked and utterly petrified by this. I gazed stupidly at where she had landed in the brush and disappeared from sight. Barely comprehending what just happened, I screamed her name in horror, clinging to some vague hope that she was still okay. I was about to jump over the edge of the gully and go down to her when I saw, standing in the forest just beyond the opposite side, the tall man. He just glared at me without moving, his hateful gaze pinning me in place for several seconds. I slowly backpedaled away from the gully, never avoiding his gaze, and I just sprinted in the opposite direction, leaving behind my faithful friend and companion to whatever fate this hunter had in mind.

I am ashamed now of what I did, leaving Clarissa to this man’s mercy like that, but I have never claimed to be a particularly strong or brave man, and I was filled with such terror that I could only think of getting out of this place. With newfound energy I tore through the forest in the general direction of the main trail, never taking my eyes off the area behind me for more than a few seconds. Before too long however I heard that same shuffling cadence behind me, knowing that the hunter was clearly intending to catch up to me as well, but now I was resigned to death. As I ran I suddenly tripped over a small rise that to my surprise and brief joy was the edge of the main trail; we had strayed some ways off the trail, but not as far as I had feared. I paused for a second, hands on my knees, exulting at this favorable sign, hardly paying attention to the footsteps in the forest rapidly closing in on me. I turned in that direction, standing in place with complete resignation, no longer caring to run anymore. I saw the hunter slinking and leaping through the brush many yards distance, quickly closing the distance, when he paused in what seemed like confusion. I think perhaps he didn’t expect me give up like this, or that the fact I wasn’t running anymore didn’t trigger his instinct to chase. Instead, I shouted in his direction, bellowing profanities and saying that I didn’t care if I lived or died, and challenging him to take up the pursuit again. I gripped my knife tightly, fully intending to put up a fight this time, while the hunter just slowly approached me, his eyes fixed on mine. I don’t know if he even understood a word of what I yelled at him, but I just kept yelling and carrying on, hoping that his confusion might give me an opening. When he was about five yards from me the hunter slunk into a low stance, like a wild animal preparing to pounce.

For a few seconds we glared at one another, clearly not sure who would make the first move. Then, with another rasping grunt, he sprung up and charged at me with all his might. At that moment time seemed to slow down to a crawl, but even with this illusion he appeared to cross the distance with remarkable speed. My inhibitions now gone, I did the first thing I could think of and raised the knife over my shoulder and pitched it like Rambo, and the knife streaked through the air and caught him across his stomach. He gave a powerful yelp that startled me out of my petrified state and clasped at his stomach, glaring at me more hatefully than ever. For a few seconds I thought my idiotic gambit had failed, that I had only angered him and left myself without the knife in the process. He seethed and spat between his crooked rotten teeth, that awful stench seeming to get even worse than it had been before. With a furious wail, he suddenly turned around and loped back in the direction from which he came, giving off those animalistic grunts as he went. I was stupefied by this for several seconds, hardly believing that this had worked after all. I inched forward to where my knife had landed after skidding across his stomach, and I saw that I indeed had drawn blood with my well-aimed throw. I snatched it up off the ground and backed up towards the trail. After his sudden retreat, I considered if perhaps I should go back to the gully where Clarissa had fallen, hoping that maybe I could find her and be sure of her fate.

I couldn’t. I had been lucky three times now, narrowly escaping death by mere inches, and now that I had more or less returned to my senses, I was now sensibly afraid again of trying my luck for a fourth time. Instead, I decided that I would leave the forest, return to town, get help, and hopefully come back with a small army at my back. After all, I had been attacked in the woods and my friend was probably badly hurt and in serious danger. With this rationale, I ran down the trail to where I parked my car and returned to Renovo as fast as I could. I pulled into the nearest Sheriff’s station in town and went, startling everybody inside with my ragged state and frantic demeanor. Fortunately my local reputation had preceded me and the deputies at the station were quite attentive to my report, however frantic and disorganized it was. They advised me to stay put while they put together a search party and investigated the forest, but I was adamant that I accompany them. This they denied, saying that I should instead try to get the scratches on my head and neck looked at by a doctor. The scratches had been deeper than I realized, with some amount of blood having trickled down and around my neck. I don’t know what exactly made those scratches, if it was some kind of weapon the man carried, or if he had possibly done it with his long fingernails.

I begrudgingly did as they asked and went by the local clinic. In addition to these scratches I had a lightly sprained ankle and numerous other cuts and bruises, as well as a sore back from where I had been tackled twice. The scratches on my head had become quite tender and painful, and according to the doctor, the wounds were absolutely filthy, lodged with dirt and grime, and he was curious just how I had gotten them. All I could say was that I had been attacked out in the forest, but I did not say by what; this seemed to satisfy his curiosity for a time. The doctor cleaned the wounds as best he could, and even had to put in some stitches on one of them. I got a prescription for some antibiotics in case an infection developed, and the idea of contracting an infection from that man’s filthy fingernails made my skin crawl. After this I returned to the station to await further news about what had been found in the forest. I would wait there for several hours, anxious and despairing over what had happened to Clarissa and hoping beyond all reason that she was okay, despite what I had seen. At around seven o’clock in the evening the deputies returned to discuss what they had found. To my confusion and disappointment, they had uncovered nothing. They knew that the two of us had indeed gone up there, but they had found no trace of Clarissa or the man who chased us anywhere.

The rest was a blur to me. I was despondent over the deputies’ lack of success and furious that they didn’t seem to really want to search those woods, as if they too heeded the local rumors about what happened in the forest. Even though a group their size should have been relatively safe, the legends surrounding Dutchman’s Hollow had such a grip on the locals that even a large search party didn’t bolster their confidence. With nothing substantive found to support my story, I was shocked to find that suspicion now fell on me. After all, a young woman was missing, and I had been the last person to see her alive. According to them, the numerous wounds on my body could have been the result of a struggle between the two of us, not necessarily from a third suspect, although nobody could say for certain just what had happened to her. I stayed in town for another few days while they wasted their time accusing me of having something to do with her disappearance, a deeply distressing experience that nearly ruined my interest in being a true crime investigator. After four days on searches, they finally found out exactly what had happened to Clarissa all those days ago.

She was dead. I don’t know how I could have expected anything else, but she was definitely dead. According to them, she was found at the base of a steep slope in the forest, her body in such poor shape that it took some time to identify as her. Her body was missing substantial portions of flesh on the legs and back, a fact that was attributed to predation by scavenger animals. The cause of death was determined to be a severe head wound on the back of her skull, presumably the result of stumbling down the hill and hitting her head on a rock or log, inflicting a fatal injury. That was it, apparently. Despite my story, the official cause of death was “death by misadventure” and the file was abruptly closed on the whole thing. Her remains were recovered and delivered to the care of her family, who as I expected blamed me for what had happened to her, even if they didn’t accuse me of foul play. I can’t say that I blame them. I wasn’t even invited to attend the funeral. I don’t think I could have, anyway. Thinking of my close friend being in that state, ripped apart by “scavenging animals”, was just too much for me to bear. As for me, I was exonerated by this hasty and abrupt conclusion to how she officially died. After all these years, I still don’t fully understand why my story was ignored by the authorities, why they just brushed me off after she was found and examined, even when they seemed to believe me wholeheartedly in those first few hours. For years I nursed thoughts of a grand conspiracy to suppress any stories about what happens in those woods, a conspiracy that encompassed generations of locals and the authorities, but after some time I abandoned this thinking. Now I think they just assumed we were stupid kids who got lost in the woods and one of us got themselves killed by accident, or that it was just a wild animal attack, nothing nefarious whatsoever. I don’t deny that we were just dumb kids way in over our heads, but I know just what we found in those woods. Whatever they say, I know that it wasn’t just an animal attack, a nightmare, or a wild fantasy.

Thirty years later, I like to think that this experience, horrifying and soul-crushing though it was, helped me mature both as a person and as a writer of true crime. I am no longer the silly kid who pursued it as a morbid hobby, crusading across the country in search of cheap thrills at the expense of real human tragedies. I learned the respect the subject demands, and I know what it truly means to serve the public interest, profit or not. But in between my researches for new cases and book material, I still periodically renew my investigation into the mystery surrounding Dutchman’s Hollow. By now, I must have a file four inches thick about it. To this day, people still do disappear in abnormal numbers in the region: travelers, hitchhikers, loggers, campers, all types that pass through. In all that time, nobody else has ever shown interest in investigating it besides me. Few people ever reference the history of it. I still think about what happened in the forest in those grim days of 1989, and I wonder how it all connects to the history of the region. I think about the original settler families, the MacDuffs and the van der Heides, and just what could have happened to them all those years ago. Did they really die out in the winter of 1806? Had anybody even bothered to look for them in the time since? Who was the last living descendant of those two families? Were any of the grisly and salacious rumors about them true? Could one of their descendants survive to this day? I remember that passing joke about cannibalism that Clarissa made that day in the library, and I remember how they attributed her ravaged remains to being eaten by “scavengers”. I think about these things, and I can’t help but think that a descendant of the original settlers still lives, that maybe they had to resort to drastic measures to stay alive all those harsh winters. Maybe they developed a taste for it, and so did their children, their grandchildren, and their great grandchildren on down. I think about these things, and I remember the tall man with pale blonde hair and the scraggly blonde beard, and my stomach turns when I consider what he planned to do when he caught us.

But I have other reasons for writing this down now. For thirty years I have uncovered precious little new evidence surrounding what happens in Dutchman’s Hollow, but all of that has changed in the last few days. I have already told the story of Raymond Hess, the only known survivor of all the people who have ever disappeared in the region, about how his later years were marred by accusations of involvement in several murders, accusations never proven. For years I knew nothing about what happened to him or where he went when he left the United States in 1980. Recently, I came into possession of information revealing this exactly. He floated around different countries in Central America, first in Mexico and then Belize, before eventually turning up in Chile several years later. In 1987, he arrested, charged, and convicted of a string of twelve murders in central Chile, a region he terrorized for years as a widely feared serial killer known as the “Vampire of Valparaiso”. In 1988, while serving a life sentence, he granted an interview to a Colombian psychiatrist named Heriberto Zayas, an interview that was videotaped but kept confidential for several decades. I have seen this video. I can’t tell you how I managed to get a hold of it, but be assured that I did, and it cost me dearly. What follows next is a transcript of the interview, which Hess gave in English, and he describes what exactly happened to him those two weeks he was missing in Dutchman’s Hollow. The tape was rather poor in quality even for the time, but after several viewings I am confident that I have transcribed it in its entirety. I can’t tell you what you should make of what you read; you’ll just have to form your own conclusions.

Partie 4

(Interview Start)

Zayas: This is Doctor Heriberto Zayas, interview with prisoner designated CF-1855334, name Raymond Hess, from United States. Convicted 19/11/87 for murder, sentenced to life term. Ah, can you speak into the microphone please, Mr. Hess.

Hess: Euh, ouais. Bonjour.

Zayas: Ah, good. So, Mr. Hess, I have some questions for you here, but I may ask some others as we go along. Is that alright?

Hess: Sûr.

Zayas: Excellent. So Mr. Hess, you are from the United States, verda- uh, correct?

Hess: Yes, that’s correct.

Zayas: Where in the United States? I mean, where did you live?

Hess: Uh, I’m originally from Pennsylvania. Altoona, actually.

Zayas: Je vois. It is a nice place?

Hess: Yeah, good place. I kinda miss it.

Zayas: Ah, I’m sure you do. You grew up there?

Hess: Oui.

Zayas: Do you wish you could go back?

Hess: Yeah, all the time. I can’t, though.

Zayas: Why not? You have family there, right?

Hess: I just can’t. Can’t go back to America at all. Some shit happened back there, and I just can’t go back.

Zayas: Qu'est-il arrivé? Could your family help you?

Hess: They can’t help me. I… I just can’t go back, not to them, not to anybody.

Zayas: But why not?

Hess: (Silence)

Zayas: Uh, Mr. Hess?

Hess: (Sighs) I can’t go back because… because for the same reason I’m in jail right now, in this country.

Zayas: You… have a criminal record in America?

Hess: Ouais. I’ve been accused of stuff, but I never got put in jail for anything.

Zayas: What were you accused of?

Hess: Same stuff I’m jail for right now.

Zayas: You were accused of murder? Of… cannibalism?

Hess: Something like that, yes.

Zayas: Je vois. Ahem, well, I have some other questions as well, about you personally. Is that okay?

Hess: Yeah, sure. Doesn’t matter.

Zayas: Okay, well… Can you tell me about your childhood? Your parents?

Hess: What about them? They were okay.

Zayas: So they were good to you? Caring, loving…?

Hess: Yeah, they were fine. Never hit me or anything, except when I really had it coming.

Zayas: And the rest of your family? How were they?

Hess: Uh, good, I guess. I have an older brother.

Zayas: Were you close to him?

Hess: Yeah, sure. Usual brother stuff.

Zayas: What sort of ‘brother stuff’?

Hess: Usual stuff. Walk me to school, help me with bullies, playing catch, that kind of stuff. Wasn’t anything fucked up, if that’s what you’re getting at.

Zayas: No, it’s fine. I see what you mean.

Hess: Sure you do.

Zayas: Well then… let’s talk about your school. How was school?

Hess: Okay, pretty much. I wasn’t that good at it.

Zayas: You had difficulty in your classes?

Hess: Sometimes, sure.

Zayas: Were your ever, ah… mocked? Made fun of, for not doing well?

Hess: No. I don’t think so.

Zayas: You mentioned bullies earlier?

Hess: Sometimes. Nothing too bad.

Zayas: Je vois. Well, uh…

Hess: It was all pretty normal.

Zayas: Come again, Mr. Hess?

Hess: I said it was normal. My childhood, I mean. I didn’t have a fucked up childhood or anything, it was normal. Above board. Nothing weird or sinister or anything like that.

Zayas: Uh… I see. So, ah…

Hess: Look man, I know you’re trying to get into my childhood and all that, but there’s nothing there. I know I’m in jail for some bad stuff, but I’m not Ted Bundy or the fuckin’ Zodiac or something. I’m a normal guy. Well, I used to be pretty normal…

Zayas: (clears throat) I see. You said… you said you utilisé to be normal?

Hess: Yeah… I guess I did.

Zayas: What do you mean by this?

Hess: (silence)

Zayas: Mr. Hess? Should we continue, or…?

Hess: Ouais. (Sighs) I could tell you about it, maybe. I can’t say you’re gonna believe it, but I’ll tell you. But don’t you go telling anybody else about it, huh? They’ll just think you’re nuts or something.

Zayas: Um… okay, Mr. Hess.

Hess: I’m serious, man. If you’re just gonna write me off as nut job, then I’m done here.

Zayas: No, that is not what I am suggesting, Mr Hess.

Hess: I’m not a real bad guy, okay? I’m not a psycho or anything. I’ve done some nasty shit, but none of it’s really about me.

Zayas: I understand how you feel, Mr. Hess. But, you say these things, but your crimes… they speak for themselves, no?

Hess: (Raises voice) What did I just say, huh? I ain’t a fuckin’ lunatic! I said, none of that stuff is really about me!

Zayas: Please, calm down. You say… it is not about you? What do you mean by this?

Hess: I… look, I’ll explain it, but you gotta listen real close, you know? I mean, look… imagine, like, a coyote or something. You got coyotes here, right?

Zayas: Yes, we do.

Hess: Droite. Well imagine a coyote, and he’s real hungry, so he goes out catches and kills a little baby bunny. That’s sounds bad, right? At face value, I mean. Kills a little bunny, and eats it. But we don’t get all pissed off about a coyote eating a little bunny, do we? He’s gotta eat, too. And everybody’s gotta eat. I gotta eat. That’s life. You just take what comes to you, what you catch, and you end up living another day, ’cause the alternative to living is even worse.

Zayas: I understand your meaning, Mr. Hess, but…

Hess: Mais quoi? You don’t sound like you get it.

Zayas: I understand. But you say that you must do these things because… you must eat?

Hess: Ouais! That’s not so fuckin’ hard, is it?

Zayas: Mr. Hess, you are in prison because you killed and ate many people. You say you must eat, but why like this? There is other food, is there not? These people, they have lost family, you cannot understand why you are here?

Hess: You think I don’t know there’s other food out there? You think I don’t at least essayer eating it? Because I do. And it ain’t the same. It just ain’t. I couldn’t live only on rib-eye steaks any more than I could live on eating only dog turds. And I fuckin’ try. Back home, I tried with pork chops. I heard that’s almost like eating people, you know? I would take these pork chops and just whale on them with a meat tenderizer, tryin’ to get ’em real soft, you know? And I thought I was getting real close, too. But it just didn’t work.

Zayas: pero why? Why do you have to eat only human flesh? You can’t live your whole life this way, you would have to kill a man every day to live on only that.

Hess: I try to get by on what I can. Don’t think I don’t try. I tried the pork chops, I tried steaks and chicken and duck… I found a guy in Valparaiso who can get all kinds of meat, even that African bush meat, like monkeys and that kind of shit, illegal stuff. And it was close, man, but there ain’t nothin’ close enough to live on forever. That stuff could get me by for weeks, maybe a few months, and when I couldn’t stand it no more, I just had to have the real deal. You don’t get it, man. I feel like if I don’t have that stuff, I’ll just die.

Zayas: You mean to say… you are addicted to eating it?

Hess: It ain’t quite like that, man. It ain’t like drugs. Junkies can just quit that stuff for long enough that they get over it. I tried, and I couldn’t, not even after six months. It’s not an addiction. It’s the Hunger.

Zayas: The… Hunger? What is that?

Hess: What it sounds like, man. It’s the Hunger. You can’t fight it forever. Once you get it, it doesn’t go away. You always get hungry for that one thing, and nothing else fills the hole. If you can’t have it, you starve. Well, you feel like you’re starving, but only worse. You feel like you’ll just turn inside out if you can’t get it, like the whole god damn universe will cave in on you if you don’t feed it.

Zayas: You… you think este is why you must eat human meat?

Hess: I don’t think I have it, I avoir il. I got it, years ago. Nothing makes it go away. You feed it for a time, and it goes down inside you for a while, but you always know it’ll be back.

Zayas: What caused you to get this ‘hunger’?

Hess: Shit… I know. I think I know.

Zayas: What was it?

Hess: It wasn’t always like this, man. I was normal. I was a good person. Shit like this shouldn’t have happened to me.

Zayas: It happened back in America?

Hess: Ouais. Eleven years ago, now. Almost a third of my whole life.

Zayas: Go on.

Hess: You know… not a lot of people can say there’s one moment, one exact moment, where absolutely everything in your whole life changes. I was just driving down the road late one night. A normal thing, something I’ve done a thousand times or more. Just driving through one of the state forests up in Pennsylvania, on my way to my next job. And I was happy, you know, I didn’t give a damn about anything. A job here, a job there, spend some dough in the local bar… that was my life. Now I can’t even remember what it felt like. (Sighs) I was driving along the road, and I saw this guy just… lyingthere on the side of the road. Looked like he was dead or something. Kind of a dirty guy, long hair, scruffy beard, so I thought he was just bum or something. So, I figure, I’ll be a good guy today. I’ll stop and see if this guy is hurt or something. If I was down on my luck like this guy, I’d want somebody to help me out. I pull off the road to go check on him, and I’m leaning over him, and pow! Something just knocks my lights out, I didn’t see what. I come to maybe a minute later, and no shit, I’m hogtied, being dragged by my feet through the woods, face in the dirt. I had no idea just what the hell I walked into. So I start yelling and carryin’ on, trying to get a good look at who’s doing this, but it’s dark, and I can’t lean up to get a good look. Then I start thinking about what’s going on, I mean, I got ambushed, I’m getting dragged through the woods all tied up, I don’t know where I goin’. So, I’m thinking I’m about to get roped into to some kind of shit from Deliverance or something, like I’m gonna get raped or tortured by some fuckin’ hill people.

Zayas: You were kidnapped?

Hess: Well, yeah, I didn’t volunteer to go with this guy. And this guy was walking real fast too, and I feel like my face is gonna look like an old tire by the time we get where we’re going. Eventually we do. I get chucked into this cave or dugout or something, and I’m just left there, still tied up. I’m like this for days. For days, just pissing and shitting in my own pants, not that I had much to piss or shit, ’cause I wasn’t getting food or water. Every couple of hours this guy, that same bum I found on the side of the road, comes in and just… kicks the shit out me. He doesn’t say a word, either. He’d be in there for close to an hour, just throwing rocks at me, or pouring water on me, and then he’d start kicking me and hitting me with this long stick. He does this routine for days.

Zayas: Torture is a very traumatic event, I can imagine you still have some issues from it…

Hess: All that was just the warm up. One day he comes in, and I’m expecting more of the same, except he picks me up and drags me off somewhere else. This time it’s a shack or something, kinda wedged in next to hill, looked like some place a witch would live. He takes me in there, and I’m expecting he’s gonna kill me, rape me, something like that. Instead, he shows me something looks like a… like slaughterhouse or something, just full of meat hanging on hooks, dead animals, all kinds of dead things. And it fuckin’ stank, también. Felt like I was sticking my head down an outhouse. He props me up against the wall, then he takes some kind of meat off the wall and starts hacking away at it with this big cleaver, except its made out of sticks and rocks or something, like something a caveman would use. He’s flinging this stuff everywhere, getting little bits of blood and flesh all over the place, even on me.

Zayas: You say it was full of meat?

Hess: Ouais. See where this is going? Anyhow, he’s making me watch while chops this stuff up, then he pulls me over and cocks my head back. Then he picks up this bit of meat he’s been chopping, and he stuffs it right into my mouth. God, it was fuckin’ gross. You ever eat raw meat? It’s nasty. And I don’t know what the hell kind of meat that was, either. I try to spit it out, because I don’t know what he’s trying to do. That just pisses him off even worse. Pretty soon, I’m getting the usual treatment, beaten half to death for not eating what this guy’s trying to make me eat. I get thrown back in the dugout, and the next day, he repeats the same thing. Every day he’s got some new kind of meat he wants to me to eat, and at first I try spitting it out. But you know, I was there for days without food or water. By this time I’m getting real hungry. Maybe not hungry enough to actually eat that shit, but now I’m thinking about it. So every day I’m in there, he makes me eat some kind of disgusting meat, and kicks the shit out of me if I put up a fight.

Zayas: But you ate it eventually?

Hess: Yeah, I did. Anybody whose gone hungry a day in their life knows what I felt. When you’re that hungry, you don’t really think straight. So one day, he gets me to actually chew and swallow some of it. So that was a slight improvement, according to him, because he didn’t beat the hell out of me afterwards. Then one day, he tosses me back into the dugout for the night. But this time, he leaves me there for days, again, except now he doesn’t turn up at all. I keep figuring I’m gonna take advantage of this, try to make my escape, but I’m tied up so tight there’s no way I work something out in time, even after a couple of days.

Zayas: But you did escape, no?

Hess: Sorte de. I got out of it, anyways. But after a couple of days, he shows up out of nowhere and drags me back up to his little slaughterhouse, and I’m starving at this point, so I don’t put up a fight. Instead, when I get in there, I see… I see…

Zayas: Are you alright Mr. Hess? Do you need a moment?

Hess: No, no… I’m fine. He sets me down, and I see this… this young girl, maybe fourteen years old, tied up just like I was, sitting right across from me. But she’s awake, so she sees what’s going on, and God… she was just petrified. Crying, moaning, but she couldn’t talk because she had something stuck over her mouth, like… like some kind of transparent… like, some kind of animal guts, but it was stretched out so you could see through it. And this man, this fucking butcher, he comes in and she just loses it. So I got no clue what he’s planning, but I might have some idea. I think he’s just gonna do the same thing as before, making us eat more meat. But he doesn’t. He just stares at both of us for a few minutes, then he takes the girl and slam her head down on his carving board. This time I put up a fight, because I know he’s going to something to this girl. He could kill me for all I gave a shit, but I didn’t want something to happen to her. He leans over and kicks me in the stomach, then he takes his giant cleaver, and… God… he starts in on her, chopping her head off. He’s really sloppy, too. He didn’t take her head off right away. He just… hacks away at her neck, and she’s screaming as much as she can, until the cleaver chops through her throat. Must’ve taken him ten swipes to do it.

Zayas: That’s… horrible. I can’t imagine how you felt, seeing that.

Hess: No, you can’t. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He’s starts chopping all over, taking off bits of meat right where I can see it. Do you understand? Now I can actually see where the meat is coming from. This time it isn’t that mystery meat he was giving the last few days. He pulls off a big strip right from her back… skin and everything, and he… he… he forces it down my throat. I can’t spit it out. He holds my mouth shut. I have to swallow a chunk of meat right off the girl he just killed, the girl I saw killed. Then he takes a piece and eats it in front of me. We do this, back and forth, for hours. He lit up a fire at one point, started roasted the bits he cut off. He’d eat some, then he’d force me to eat some. For hours. Until there wasn’t anything left. Just a body with all the meaty bits stripped off. Not a skeleton, you see. Like a skeleton that still has all the tendons, the cartilage, all the bits of meat that can’t be eaten, and some of the organs, too.

Zayas: Good God… this is true? This actually happened to you?

Hess: I wouldn’t just make this shit up, man. You think I’m just telling stories, trying to fuck with you? No. You asked for the truth, and there it is. I told you it was hard to believe. I didn’t think things like this happened. I sure as shit didn’t think it would happen to me. But it happens to somebody, I guess.

Zayas: How did you get out of this?

Hess: Well, he chucked me back in the dugout, leaving me to digest it. I tried to throw it up. J'ai essayé. I thought for sure I would vomit after seeing this. But I couldn’t. I was just too hungry. He left me shacked up for days, remember. That was the first thing I ate for days. I can’t help if I was fuckin’ starving. But he left me there after that. I guess he was satisfied. One day I wake up, and the ropes are off me. I think it’s some kind of trick, but I look around and I don’t see him anywhere. He’s gone, and the ropes are off me. And god dammit, I still wanted to live. So I ran out of there. I just ran and ran, until I found myself wandering along the side of a road. That was where the cops picked me up, and I found out people were looking for me.

Zayas: You didn’t tell anybody what happened? You could have saved some lives if a killer was on the loose…

Hess: I was out of my frickin’ mind when I came out of there. I didn’t want to talk about any of it. I wasn’t even sure it really happened. And even if I did, what would I say? I mean… they might have believed me. Maybe I didn’t have anything to lose by telling them. But time kept passing by, and by the time I was ready to talk, I don’t know if anybody would have listened. I’ve got some trust issues. I was afraid they’d think I made it up, especially if I waited so long to tell anybody. I already told everybody I didn’t remember what happened. And that was around the time I first started feeling… il.

Zayas: “It”? You mean, these tendencies….?

Hess: Yeah, the Hunger. That’s where I got it. You know, I thought it was all bullshit, all those stories about people eating human flesh and getting obsessed with it. But it happened to me. It wasn’t bullshit after all. That… fucking freak in the woods turned me, man. He gave it to me. And I’m pretty damn sure he did it on purpose, too. Like, he wants other people to get it. Pourquoi? Why does somebody want that? He… he ruined my life. The Hunger ruined my life. The only life I’ve got. And now I’m here in this hellhole, and I’ll never get to feed it again. I can’t possibly live like that. I’m tainted. Now I can’t do the only thing that will keep me alive.

Zayas: Don’t lose hope, Mr. Hess. There is treatment available for your condition. It’s purely psychological. You don’t need to eat human flesh to survive. With treatment, this condition will not control your life.

Hess: No. I’m not worth it. I’m pretty damn sure there is no cure for this. Doesn’t matter anyways. I’m gonna die in this place. Unless you think the judge believes otherwise…

Zayas: Any illness is worth treating, Mr. Hess. You don’t have to lose your quality of life, even in these circumstances.

Hess: Look, I’m tired. I’m tired, and I’m done. I don’t want to talk anymore. C'est la vérité. I’m just tired. Just… think what you want. I’m finished with all of it. You got all this on film, don’t you? Just watch it again. I’m done. I’m… I’m just done. That’s all, folks.

Zayas: Ah, Mr. Hess, are you sure abou-

(tape ends)

The next day after this interview, Raymond Hess, an American citizen convicted of multiple murders and incarcerated in a Chilean prison, was murdered by a fellow inmate, ostensibly in “self-defense.” According to this inmate, “El Americano” attacked him without provocation in a prison corridor, attempting to bite him before being stabbed and beaten in return. So ended the sad, sorry life of Raymond Hess, devoured whole by the silent suffering that would drive him to claim the lives of many others. Few would mourn the passing of the “Vampire of Valparaiso”, but prison legend would keep his memory alive, legends of a vicious cannibal that once stalked the halls, threatening to feast upon the flesh of any unfortunate enough to cross his path. Few would ever know the true origin of this legend. Fewer still would believe it. But this world has dark corners that few would expect, and I sincerely hope that one day I will live to see the legend of Dutchman’s Hollow come to its end.