by Ed Robinson
“Your little trip to the islands didn’t make you homesick?”
“For the water or the mountains?” I asked.
“For your old boat,” she responded. “Your old way of life.”
“I gave it some serious thought,” I said. “I decided that I’d rather be here. There was a time when that would have been impossible to imagine.”
“That day when you told me you wanted to buy a cabin in the woods shocked the shit out of me,” she said. “But I’ve got to tell you; I’m very happy here.”
“Me too, baby,” I said. “Me too.”
Nine
We received a strange phone call a few days later. It was from the Charlotte Area Paranormal Society or CAPS. Our friend Loon had called them about the Moon-eyed People on the New River. They wanted us to guide them to the place where mushroom boy had claimed to see them. I’m not much of a believer in ghost hunters and paranormal phenomenon, so I didn’t commit. I told them I’d think about it and get back to them. I also informed them that our time wasn’t free. We weren’t in the business of donating our time, especially for something not related to law enforcement.
As soon as I hung up, Brody got on the computer to check them out. Their website claimed they used all sorts of scientific technology for their investigations, like thermal imaging, digital audio recorders that could detect electronic voice phenomena, full spectrum photography, video recorders, and electromagnetic field detectors. It all sounded like bunk to me. We went back through their archives looking for any solid evidence that they’d discovered in the past. The only thing that came close was a video of the Brown Mountain Lights. That got my attention, but it didn’t seem like a paranormal issue to me.
I sat on my decision until they called us a second time, offering a thousand bucks for one day’s work. All they wanted was for me to lead them into the wilderness and show them the rock wall and where these little people had been seen. I explained that we had taken canoes down the river to get to the camping area and that we had walked a good way to the spot in question. They weren’t deterred. I pointed out that there were no facilities, just a place to pitch a tent. That didn’t bother them either.
“Just lead the way,” the lady said. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”
I tried to remember the conditions on the night our mushroom eater had freaked out. The sky was clear, the moon was shining, but it wasn’t full. The weather had been stable for days. I suggested they pick a day that mirrored those conditions.
“Round up some canoes and call me when you’re ready,” I said.
“Can’t we take a small boat?” she asked.
“Too shallow for anything but canoes or kayaks,” I explained. “Hard to carry gear on a kayak.”
“I understand,” she said. “How remote is this place?”
“It’s in a state park,” I told her. “You can drive on the blacktop to the lower parking lot where the canoe launch is located. Paddle a mile or two and beach the canoes. Set up camp then hike to the spot.”
“Sounds a little rugged,” she said.
“You said you’d do whatever it takes,” I said. “I’ll show you where it allegedly happened.”
“You seem skeptical,” she said.
“Extremely.”
“How many people witnessed this event?” she asked.
“One guy tripping on mushrooms, or worse,” I answered. “It’s a thin thread you’re pulling.”
“We’ve heard other reports from different locations,” she said. “The legend is well-rooted in your part of the state and all the way down to Murphy.”
“We saw the sculpture at the museum there,” I said. “It almost made the myth seem possible.”
“We don’t need you to be a believer,” she said. “We just need a guide.”
“For a thousand bucks I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” I said. “But I might want to stick around and watch what you people do.”
“You’re more than welcome,” she said. “We might surprise you.”
“I made a promise recently to be more open-minded about this sort of thing,” I explained. “That’s why I’m agreeing to help.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Let me check with my team, and I’ll get back to you.”
Brody was conflicted about our new mission. She was thrilled that I wanted to participate, but not much looking forward to spending the night in the woods. I offered to go alone, but she wouldn’t allow it.
“I prodded you into just this type of thing,” she said. “I can’t make you do it by yourself.”
“I agreed due to your prodding,” I said. “I thought I was doing what you wanted.”
“You were,” she said. “That’s why I have to go with you.”
“It’s just one night,” I said. “Red won’t even miss us.”
“We should take him with us,” she said. “I’d feel better having him along.”
“You going to let him sleep with us?”
“Didn’t think of that,” she said. “Can we get him his own shelter?”
“A pup tent?” I asked, laughing out loud. “Hey, Red, you want a pup tent?”
My hound dog cocked his head sideways, trying to understand what I was asking him. He loved the woods. I’d be happy to take him with us; I just needed to find a little doggie-sized tent for him. Should I buy him his own sleeping bag too?
Within the week, the weather and the moon phase looked right to go hunting the little people. All the arrangements were made to meet up with the CAPS crew at the lower parking lot in the New River State Park. Brody and I brought enough in the way of supplies to make ourselves comfortable. The ghost hunters brought lots of equipment and little else. They planned to stay awake all night long, so they didn’t bring tents or sleeping bags. They filled two canoes with people and gear anyway. Brody and I teamed up to portage our canoe to the launch area. Our customers used one of the campground wagons to wheel their two vessels. It was an awkward operation. We beat them to the launch by fifteen minutes. We had the rest of our stuff in backpacks.
Red was well-behaved, but he knew something special was up. He kept his ears perked and looked around constantly. I prayed he didn’t see a squirrel or a rabbit and run off after it. He wasn’t sure about getting into the canoe, but I managed to coax him aboard. He took a position on the bow so that he could see where we were going. As soon as the rest of the crew were ready, we began our paddle up the river. Instead of stopping at the same place we’d camped before, we continued on to get closer to the rock wall and the supposed home of the Moon-eyes. It didn’t matter where we camped; there were no services beyond the sites close to the parking lot.
We beached the canoe and began to set up camp. I could see that the CAPS folks would have a hard time getting all their gear to the search area. Brody and I could travel light once the tents were set up and our food and water stored. Red took to his little tent right away. We brought his favorite blanket from home so it would feel and smell familiar. The paranormal team wanted to get going right away, but I made them wait while we collected firewood and secured our camp.
When we were ready, we began the trek to where I’d found the naked mushroom taker hiding in the trees. Brody and I had to help lug some gear. I had a tripod in one hand and an equipment bag in the other. Brody had a smaller bag. The extra weight slowed everyone down and made the hike much more difficult than it needed to be, but eventually, we landed on the spot. I gave them a little background so they could decide where to set up.
“I found the guy here,” I said, showing them the low hanging pine that mushroom boy had hidden under. “Up this hill, where it levels off, is the rock structure. He said they all made multiple trips back and forth from the river carrying rocks.”
I led them up the hill to the rock wall where they deployed various Star Trek looking devices. Lights blinked, and beepers beeped as they examined the structure. It was a pile of rocks for crying out loud. What could it tell them? It wasn’t alive. It was n
othing more than a pile of rocks. They conferred and whispered like they’d found the Holy Grail.
“Up and down from here,” I said. “To the river and back.”
“Any idea what time this action took place?” one of them asked.
“Not really,” I said. “Late at night, maybe even towards morning.”
Red sniffed the rock wall, then cocked his leg and pissed on it. He was not impressed. He made no indication that it held any interest to him, other than to mark this new territory. The ghost hunters frowned. I found it amusing.
“This is the place,” I told them. “Knock yourselves out. We’re going back to our tents to build a fire and get something to eat. We’ll come back to check on you later.”
They all looked at each other in silent communication. I believed that they wanted us to stay with them.
“We’ve done our job,” I said. “We’ll get you home too, but for now we’re going to get comfortable. You’re on your own.”
The hike back was much easier without the added weight of ghost hunting paraphernalia. Red was having a great time tromping about the underbrush, sniffing and pawing to his heart’s delight. This was doggie paradise. He settled down once I got the fire going, assuming his place at my feet. We still had a few hours before dark, but it was good to be prepared before it arrived. We ate a decent camp meal and provided our hound dog with water and Purina. All was well at remote camp Breeze.
“You want to go back later and see what they’re doing?” Brody asked.
“I’m game,” I said. “But remember we’ll be moving in the dark. I’ve got a mark on the GPS so we can find them.”
“You don’t have much confidence in their techniques, do you?”
“None,” I said. “Unless I see little white people with big eyes carrying rocks, I won’t be convinced.”
“Yet here we are,” she said. “Facilitating those who believe in the supernatural.”
“Why does it have to be supernatural?” I asked. “Either the Moonies exist, or they don’t. No one said they were ghosts.”
“The Moonies were something entirely different,” she said. “Some kind of religious cult.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Moon-eyed People,” she said.
“The naked freak didn’t think they were ghosts,” I said. “He thought they were real.”
“Who put those rocks on top of that rise?”
“Who knows?” I said. “The rocks may have been there for centuries. Maybe the little people put them there hundreds of years ago. Doesn’t mean they are still here.”
“That particular formation isn’t documented in any of the research that I’ve done,” she said. “You would have thought that someone would have seen them before now.”
“We’ve brought the experts to check into it,” I said. “Let’s see what they find.”
“You won’t believe them unless you see it with your own eyes.”
“That’s pretty much how I operate,” I told her. “You know that.”
“Allow for a little magic, mountain man,” she said. “Let’s rest up and then go watch what’s going on.”
I threw some more wood on the fire and stoked it up good and hot. I sent Red to his little tent and zipped him inside. He whined for a minute but soon settled down. Brody and I zipped ourselves into our tent and took an early evening nap. The woods were quiet but for the call of the katydids. The peace lasted for several hours until Brody poked me in the side and told me to get up.
“Let’s go watch the ghost hunters,” she said.
“Okay, hold on,” I responded. “Lights, GPS, and some water. Wake up, Red. Going for a walk.”
We had to get away from the dying fire to gain our night vision. We kept our flashlights pointed at the ground. Red seemed to know where we were going. He led the way but stayed close enough for us to see him. We ended up following him more than the GPS until we came upon the CAPS team. They were all huddled over various instruments, but no Moon-eyed People were in sight. It was after midnight; the moon was up and half-full. There was no wind. I was given a whispered command to come take a look.
Brody and I had done some research into the tools that this group was using in the field. I didn’t understand how any of them would detect a ghost, but I was willing to play along. The first device I was introduced to was a thermal imaging camera from FLIR. That meant forward-looking infrared. It showed heat signatures in the dark or through walls and objects. It was currently displaying no anomalies. The second device was simply a digital audio recorder that was supposed to record electronic voice phenomenon. The idea that you could interpret static as voices from beyond the grave or from another dimension sounded like a hoax to me. The director of CAPS called herself a parapsychologist and assured me that it was standard practice in this type of endeavor. It wasn’t alerting us to any paranormal activity either, but the recordings would be listened to and studied back at headquarters later.
They also had a full spectrum HD recorder and camera on separate tripods. Nothing was happening. Each member of the team was monitoring his or her device in silence. It wasn’t much to look at.
“Four kooks in the woods at night,” I whispered to Brody.
“Let them do their thing,” she whispered back. “You never know.”
We found a place to sit down and observe. In the silence, I was able to tune into our surroundings in my own way. I began to pick up subtle sounds like a slight rustling of the leaves above us. There was a light breeze that didn’t penetrate the canopy over our heads. We couldn’t feel it down on the ground. There was a synthetic smell coming from the equipment and the cases it had been carried in. The director smelled of shampoo and girly soap; the men of deodorant and aftershave.
I heard the skittering movements of a squirrel in a tree. Red heard it too. His ears came to as much attention as a hound dog can muster.
“Stay,” I whispered.
I wasn’t deep into a Zen state, but I could feel the vibe of the woods around us. In my opinion, it was devoid of little white-skinned people hunting for rocks, or any other people for that matter. We gave it an hour before I signaled for the director. She left her machine and came to us.
“We’re heading back to our camp,” I told her. “We can lead you out of here at first light.”
“We’ll need some help with our gear,” she said.
“No problem,” I said. “Happy hunting.”
I gave Red a pat and waved my hand in the direction we wanted to go. He faithfully led us back to our tent and was happy to do it. I poked at the remnants of our fire until some embers glowed. I added more wood and got a blaze going before we retreated to the tent. I produced a saved steak bone from my pack and tossed it into Red’s pup tent. That would keep him busy until he fell asleep. If anyone approached us in the night, he’d hear them and alert us. All the hiking had worn me out, so I had no problem turning in.
I considered the CAPS folks and what they were trying to do. If I was of the same mind, what would I do? If I believed in their hocus-pocus, how would I catch the Moon-eyed People in the act? I mulled it over for a few minutes when it dawned on me. Mushroom boy had been hiding. He was well concealed and presumably as quiet as he could be. The little people didn’t know he was there. The ghost hunters were right out in the open; spread out on the hill between the rock wall and the river. No little person worth his salt would show himself under those conditions. The researchers would need to hide and hide well. They would need to remain silent. They would have to hike in well before dark and get set up in advance. I decided to bring up my theory when we picked them up in the morning. It made as much sense as anything else about this mission.
Red whined and clawed at his tent before sunrise. It was enough to wake us up. He wasn’t alarmed about anything, other than his bladder. The fire was out, but I took a leak on it just to be sure. Red chose a nearby tree. Brody went behind the tent. We had water and granola bars for breakfast, before breaking down
our stuff and making it ready to carry out. We left our packs there and went after the CAPS team at first light. They looked like a miserable bunch when we arrived. None of them had slept, and they had failed to detect any signs of paranormal activity. They had already broken down the tripods and packed their gear.
I walked alongside the director on the way back. I explained my theory to her during the hike.
“I don’t know that we’ll want to invest the time in that type of approach,” she said. “It’s not what we normally do.”
“You just walk into haunted houses and start monitoring your devices?”
“That’s how we do it,” she said. “With widely varying results. We want the spirit to know we are there, hoping they will contact us.”
“Allow me to play along,” I said. “The Moon-eyed People aren’t spirits. They are living creatures, hiding underground during the day. Their ancestors were attacked and driven out by the Cherokee or the Creek. They’ve found this isolated place to continue their lives and their line. They ain’t volunteering to make contact with you.”
“Interesting hypothesis,” she said. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“We’ve been researching them,” I said. “Reading what we can find. It’s all myth and lore, of course.”
“There is still room in this world for myth and lore,” she said. “We try to use science in our investigations, but we have to allow for a little fantasy.”
“If you don’t believe you won’t see?”
“Something like that,” she said. “Most hard science is filled with skeptics. It’s in their nature. Parapsychologists have to be open to the most fantastic of possibilities, or there is no point in the search.”
“I have to admit that I’m a hardcore skeptic,” I said. “No offense intended.”
“But you took the time to think about this particular mission and explain a better way to succeed,” she said. “Why do that if you don’t think these people exist?”
“Giving you the most bang for the buck, I guess,” I said. “I’m your guide. That’s what I would do if I believed.”