Off Season (6 page)

“You mean you have to be eighteen years
old to get in the park?”

Dan laughed. “It doesn't matter how old or young you are, you're not allowed into this section of the park.”

“Ever?”

“Just until there's enough rain to reduce the fire risk. Most fires are caused by people, so no people, no fires.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I agreed.

“Matter of fact, that's why we're here. There was a report of some people heading in this direction.”

“Doesn't look like there's anybody here.”

“Not that I can see, but there's a lot of park. You'd be surprised how hard it is to find somebody in here even if they want to get found.”

“And harder if they don't want to get found,” Ned added.

“Why wouldn't somebody want to be found?” I asked.

“There are lots of reasons,” Dan said, “but if they're here we'll find them … tomorrow. We should probably be turning in for the night.”

It was starting to get dark. The sun was just visible over the hills to the west of our campsite.

“What time is it?” Kia asked.

“Almost nine-thirty.”

“Isn't that awfully early to go to sleep?” she asked.

“Not if you're tired. Are you two tired?” Dan asked.

I nodded my head. I could have practically fallen asleep sitting up. We'd already set up two tents — one for Dan and the other for the three of us. I was looking forward to climbing into the tent, into the sleeping bag and going to sleep.

“Couldn't we stay up for a little bit longer?” Kia asked. “Even though we don't have a camp- fire or marshmallows, we could still do my favorite camping thing.”

“What's that?” Ned asked.

“Ghost stories,” she said.

“No stories for me,” I said. “I just want to go to sleep.” I was tired, but even if I wasn't, I didn't want to hear any ghost stories. I never wanted to hear any ghost stories.

“I don't like ghost stories,” Dan said.

“Are they too scary for you?” Kia asked mockingly.

Dan shook his head. “It's not that they scare me, it's just that made-up stories can't compare to the real thing.”

“What do you mean?” Kia asked.

“I mean that the things that are real are much more strange and scary than any pretend, made-up story,” Dan explained.

“Like Bart,” Ned said.

“Bart? Bart who?” Kia asked.

“Bart was somebody I once knew and — ”

“Dad, you're not going to tell them about Bart, are you?” Ned sounded worried.

“You're right,” Dan said. “It probably isn't wise — especially not out here.”

“This sounds interesting,” Kia said. “Come on, let's hear the story.”

“That's it, Kia. This isn't a story. It's true.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I guess if I hadn't been there … if I hadn't known Bart for fifteen years … I wouldn't have believed it myself. But I saw it with my own eyes … and I'll never forget.”

“Dad, I don't think you should tell this story,” Ned said.

“And I think you should,” Kia said.

Dan turned to Ned. “They want to hear it,” he said.

I didn't know where he got the “they” part from. I didn't want to hear anything.

“You can tell them if you want to,” Ned said, “but I'm not going to sit here and listen.
I know if you tell the story I won't be able to sleep tonight.” Ned got up and went to the tent. I had to fight the urge to join him, but I couldn't. I both wanted to hear the story and didn't want to hear it. My only hope was that maybe Dan would decide Ned was right and he really shouldn't tell the story.

“I first met Bart over fifteen years ago,” Dan began, and I knew I was trapped.

“I remember that day well,” Dan continued. “It was a hot summer day … very much like this one … that I first met Bart.”

“I can't help thinking about Bart Simpson,” Kia said and giggled.

“Bart Simpson?” Dan questioned.

“From TV,” I explained.

“Oh … TV … I haven't watched TV for at least ten years,” Dan said. “Actually his last name was
Slaughter
.”

“Slaughter?” Kia asked. “I like where this is going.”

I didn't like where it was going, where it was or where it came from.

“I first met Bart when I was in training to become a park ranger. I looked up and saw this man — big thick beard, broad shoulders, standing head and shoulders above everybody else there.”

“That sounds like you,” Kia said.

“Come to think of it, he does look a bit like me … only bigger.”

“Bigger than you?” I gasped.

He nodded his head. “Bigger than me. At first I thought that was why he gave me such an uneasy feeling — I'm not used to being around people who are bigger than me — but eventu-ally I found out there was another reason.”

“Probably something to do with his name,” Kia said.

“Not just his name,” Dan said. He stopped and took a sip from his coffee cup. “Most of us — the rangers — were university educated and city raised. Not Bart. He was a mountain man.”

“A mountain man?” Kia asked.

Dan nodded. “Born, raised and educated in the wilds. Matter of fact, on the weekends, when we had time away from our studies, most of us rangers-in-training relaxed and went to town for some fun. Bart never joined us. He grabbed his pack and headed out into the bush, living off the land and showing up again Monday morning.”

“Was he doing terrible things out in the bush?” Kia asked.

Dan looked confused. “He was just living off the land. He wasn't used to being around
people and I think he just needed the time to go into the woods and clear his head.”

“Well that's boring,” she said.

“You have to remember, Kia, this isn't a story, this is
real
.”

Kia gave me a look like “yeah, right.” I had to admit that it did seem like every second scary story in the world started with something about “this really isn't a story,” but Dan didn't strike me as the sort of guy who made things up.

“We all graduated and became rangers, and I lost track of Bart. He was sent to a park in one part of the country and I was sent to another park. It's a big countr y and there are lots of rangers. Then, seven years ago, I was transferred out here to this park … to replace Bart.”

“Replace him?” Kia questioned. “Where did he go?”

“That's the thing,” Dan said. “Nobody really knows. He lived in the ranger house — the house where we live — for almost seven years. But what seemed to happen over the years was that little by little he had less and less to do with the other rangers. It got to the point that he stopped answering the radio calls or going to meetings. Finally they
sent somebody out to look for him. When they got to our house, it was obvious that nobody had been living there for a long time — maybe years.”

“Then where had he been living?” Kia asked.

“In the bush somewhere, in the forest. They tried to find him. They used air search, sent out rangers, even used dogs, but nobody could find him.”

“He was never seen again?” I asked.

“If he'd just stayed missing it would have been mysterious enough, but he didn't. There'd be sightings of him throughout the park.”

“Sightings?”

Dan shook his head. “A hiker would look up and see him moving through the trees. Campers would see a shadowy figure standing there on the outside of the halo of light thrown out by their campfire. He'd just appear and then disappear, slipping back into the bush.”

I started to slowly scan the trees that surrounded us.

In the dim twilight I could see hundreds of places where somebody might be standing. And my mind couldn't help but pick out a rock or a bush that looked like a person standing or crouching down, watching us.

“And then the sightings stopped,” Dan said.

I sighed in relief and the objects in the forest once again became trees and rocks and bushes.

“And that's when the actions began,” Dan continued, and I felt a tingle go up my spine.

“At first it was little things. A group of campers had to come back early because they couldn't find the matches they knew they'd packed, or the propane tanks were empty — tanks they'd filled just before they went out. Maybe food that was tied up in a tree for safety just vanished. There always seemed to be something that would happen that would force those campers or hikers to come back early — to have to leave the forest. And then things got worse.”

Dan paused and I held my breath.

“It was awful. Campers would wake up and find themselves looking up into the morning sky.”

“What's wrong with that?” Kia asked.

“What's wrong is that they were in tents. Sometime in the middle of the night, while they were sleeping, somebody had taken a knife and cut away the entire top of the tent.”

A shiver went from the tip of my toes to the top of my head.

“Or the bottom of their sleeping bag was
missing … the sleeping bag had been severed, cut off, only a few inches from their toes. Coleman stoves sat on the ground in pieces, packs were shredded, ropes and lines cut into lengths no longer than your hand. And nobody ever saw or heard anything.”

“But they knew it was Bart,” Kia said.

“They didn't know anything. They just thought. Everybody knew that Bart didn't like people being out here in the woods. He never liked tourists, campers, city folk being out here and it was like he was trying to drive them out of the park, out of
his
park.”

“It would have driven me out,” I admitted.

“It did most people. But not all of them,” Dan said. “And that's when it got
bad
…
really
bad …
evil
bad.” Dan paused again and then stood up. “Maybe Ned was right. I shouldn't be telling this story. Especially not here.”

“Why not here?” Kia asked anxiously.

Dan didn't answer.

“Why not here?” she pressed.

“Because … because this is where it happened.”

“Where he cut the top off the tent?” she asked.

“Where he cut the top off the
people
… with a chainsaw.”

I gasped.

“I was the one that found them,” Dan said. He started pacing around the campsite. “They'd been reported missing … overdue two days … I was sent out to try and find them and—” Dan suddenly stopped mid-sentence. He looked all around. Even in the dim light I could see the look of fear on his face.

“Do you hear it?” he asked.

“Hear what?” I croaked.

“Listen.”

I turned my head. I couldn't hear anything except for the crickets and the hooting of an owl … and then suddenly the night exploded with the roar of an engine — a chainsaw engine!

Kia and I jumped to our feet. He was here! Bart was here with his chainsaw and he was going to — the engine noise died, replaced by the sound of Dan laughing.

“Come on out, Ned!” he yelled.

Ned walked out of the shadows. In his hands was the chainsaw. On his face was a goofy smile.

If I hadn't been so relieved, I could have killed somebody myself.

“I hope you're okay about us tricking you like that,” Ned said.

“I'm okay. We're both okay,” I said.

“It was just a joke.”

“I know it was just a joke. I knew it last night, and I knew it this morning, and I knew it all day when you kept apologizing,” I said. “It's okay, Ned. You can stop now. Honestly, it's really okay.”

“It was better than okay,” Kia added. “That was simply the best. When did you and your dad work all that out … you know, you coming out with the chainsaw?”

“Yesterday when we were hiking. We talked about it when you two were walking behind us.”

I wasn't thrilled with the whole thing — actually I had been really, really close to wetting myself — but looking back it had been pretty good. The best story I'd ever heard. And last
night, even when I knew it was just a joke, I still had difficulty going to sleep. When I woke up I was happy to see that our tent still had a top.

The walk back to their house was obviously the same distance the walk away from it had been. But somehow now it didn't seem as bad. Maybe it was because I already knew how far we had to travel, or maybe because I was thinking that once we got back I could sleep indoors in a bed.

As far as camping was concerned, I took after my father. He said his idea of camping involved a soft bed, cable TV and a good restaurant where he could get breakfast in the morning.

“Do you know where we are?” Kia asked Ned.

“I have a rough idea.”

“So if we were separated from your father, could you get us back to your house?”

“I could … I'm pretty sure I could.”

That wasn't really too reassuring. Somehow it now seemed even more important to keep Dan in sight.

“This was a long trip for nothing,” Kia said.

“I don't understand,” Ned said.

“You know, we walked all this way to look
for some people who weren't there anyway,” she explained.

“But we got to go for a hike and go camping,” Ned said. “That's always good.”

“I don't know about always, but it was good this time,” Kia said.

We moved along through the forest. Dan was out in front, scouting a path, and Ned, Kia and I followed behind in single file. The mid-day sun had passed and it was already cooler — or at least not as hot. I couldn't help thinking how different this was than taking a walk in my neighborhood — how different life was for Ned. This was okay for a vacation, but I couldn't imagine living like this, away from everything and everybody. I liked my parents, but I wouldn't want them to be my only company 24/7. It was just so strange to be so far away from other people all the time.