Legends

LEGENDS

By Noel Laflin

December 26, 2001

“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight . . .”

Opening lines from Alfred Noyes’ Highwayman

“It was a dark and stormy night in the Ahwahnee Mountains.  The Scout Gang was seated around the campfire. Suddenly, one of the Scouts cried out: Akela, Dear Leader, tell us a story!  So, the grizzled old Scoutmaster began: It was a dark and stormy night in the Ahwahnee Mountains.  The Scout Gang was seated around the campfire. Suddenly, one of the Scouts cried out: Akela, Dear Leader, tell us a story!  So the grizzled old Scoutmaster began ...

“ENOUGH ALREADY!” Timmy screamed.  “I hate that one.  And you’ve screwed it all up anyway.  It’s ‘Robber Gang,’ not ‘Scout Gang.’   Jeez, can’t you come up with something new?”  He punctuated his thought by viciously kicking a pine cone off the narrow path, clear into the darkened woods. The sound echoed through the forest.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired of that one too, Chris,” David confessed. Let’s talk about something else; you know, something less 'dark'.   Looks like rain too. Some dark and stormy night we got.  Wish we had taken the road.”

The three figures trudged up the winding path in relative silence for a bit.  Their trip to the Wilderness Camp took place hours earlier, during broad daylight.  They had brought some needed supplies to the troops and stayed for dinner, but had misjudged the sunset before starting the long journey back to the mother camp.  They were only half a mile into the walk when it suddenly dawned on all of them that it really was dark without a flashlight on this old logging trail.  The full moon had dodged behind dark clouds again. It had been playing this game of peek-a-boo since its spectacular rising a short time ago, giving and then taking light from the boys since the hike began.  The wind was beginning to sing through the trees.  Rain was in the air.  Chris was getting itchy to talk again. 

“OK, since you’re both tired of that other one, how about this; ever heard the legend of Mazuki?” he teased.

“Ah, what’s Mazuki?” David asked, taking the bait.

“Don’t fall for that one, Davey,” Timmy spat.   

"It's a stupid story about some wild guy who kidnaps campers while they sleep and hauls them off to his cave or cabin or whatever and eats them for dinner.  I heard that one my first summer here.  Stupid story!”  He looked for another pine cone to kick.

“Besides, Chris,” Timmy continued his haranguing, “I heard you promise Freddy that you wouldn’t tell that dang story anymore.  It scares the little ones.”  At the ripe old age of thirteen, Timmy no longer saw himself as one of the young campers.  He was staff now.  Another pine cone went flying off his boot into the forest. One more echo ricocheted through the woods.

“Naw, I don’t think I want to hear that one either, Chris.  This is getting spooky enough for me, as it is,” David said, glancing nervously about him.  David was ten, the youngest son of the camp commissioner, Bill.  Bill was also Chris’ boss.  He had inherited David that summer, apparently, as an unwritten obligation of his staff contract.  At fifteen, Chris was charitable toward the boy.  David was downright loyal to Chris.  He had become his unpaid aide for twelve weeks, and the little brother he’d never had.

“Yeah, it’s really a dumb story anyway,” Timmy added.  “I mean, how would this geek be able to hide out in these mountains in some old stupid cave or cabin or whatever and not be found after all of these years, huh?  You’d think the cops or rangers or someone would have found the place by now.  It’s really lame.”  He looked behind him to make sure Chris and David were still near him.

“Well,” Chris started, bringing up the rear, “maybe Mazuki is just really smart - for a crazy guy, that is.  I guess there are a lot of places to hide up here, when you think about it.  And he only comes out at night, you know, stalking each victim carefully, before GRABBING him with his claw-like nails and running off with the poor kid, before he even has a chance to scream.  He only goes for the really bad boys, you understand. You two are safe.”  The younger boys took little comfort from the thought.

“Not that I really want to hear this, but who is Mazuki anyway and how did he get up here?  Why does he go killing people?” David finally asked.

"His innocence is going to kill me," Chris thought. 

“Ah, good question,” is what he answered instead.  “No one is really sure when or how he got here, but he’s been here a long, long time.  I was told by one source that he’s been here since the old logging days and that’s why he knows the mountains so well.  He follows the old logging trails and narrow gauge cutouts you still find around here.  Isn’t this one of those old trails?  I think the train used to follow this bend up ahead, too.” 

David and Timmy stopped in their tracks and peered into the darkness.  Chris pushed the one into the other and breathed a deep, creepy laugh.  The kids backed away.

“Others think that he went crazy down below or was it up here?” Chris continued.  “Hell, I don’t really know.  Wherever it was, something terrible happened to his wife and son and he’s been seeking revenge on the rest of mankind ever since.  Maybe he steals Scouts as a way of payback for what happened to his own boy, whatever that was.  But it was terrible, of that I’m sure.”

“All right, this stinks,” Timmy finally said.  “I know what you’re trying to do by scaring us, but it ain’t gonna work.  I don’t believe in ghost stories.”

“Mazuki is no ghost,” Chris whispered.  “He’s flesh and blood, same as you and me, only he’s old and bent and smells really bad.  He’s incredibly strong, too.  There’s a kind of rotten, moldy stink to him, they say.  His old lumberjack clothes are nothing but tattered rags now, smelling to high heaven.  His teeth are black and jagged, what’s left of them.  I guess he still has enough in his head to eat human flesh though.”  

As if to add credence to what he’d just said, an owl swooped low over the boys.  The squeal of a rabbit was heard a moment later as the silent winged predator nailed him with his sharp claws.  The silhouette of the owl, with his limp prey clutched tightly in his talons, crossed the large moon.  A dark cloud quickly obliterated the light once more. 

The three boys watched awestruck. 

Timmy crossed himself and muttered a small oath.

David nearly wet himself.

“Owls,” Chris thought to himself with some unease.  Their passing, this close, could be interpreted as either a good or bad sign, he mused.  “Where’s an Indian guide when I really need one,” he wondered aloud.

“What?” quivered David.

“Oh, nothing, kiddo - nothing,” Chris said in as reassuring a voice as he could muster at the moment.  “Now where was I about this Mazuki character?”

“I don’t want to hear anymore about Mazuki,” David pleaded. “I’m telling my dad on you if you say one more word about that creep,” he threatened.

“Yeah, Chris, and I’m telling Freddy too,” Timmy chimed in.

“Well, what a couple of little tattle tales you two turned out to be!” Chris bellowed.  “All right.  Fine.  Just go on without me.  I wouldn’t want to scare you ladies anymore tonight.  Lord, no!  Go on.  Find your way back on your own.  I don’t care!”  With that, Chris stopped yelling, did an about face and started back the way they’d come.

He went around a sharp bend and quickly ducked behind a large Ponderosa Pine.  He waited for their footsteps on the dark path.  He giggled with anticipation.

“OK, OK, Chris . . . you win.”  Timmy’s voice drew closer.

“Come on, Chris, I was only kidding about my dad.  I won’t tell.”  David’s voice had a new highness to it.

As the two youngsters rounded the bend in search of their pal, Chris jumped out and roared with all his might: “MAZUKI'S GOT ME!”

“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” cried the two youngsters as one, turning tail and sprinting up the trail.  Timmy and David didn’t stop until they hit main camp with its bright mess hall lights and warm bodies within to welcome them.

“Oh, God, that was GREAT!” Chris swore, as the two boys performed their disappearing act.  He was laughing so hard, remembering the absolute look of terror on their faces that he was bowled over again in sadistic merriment. 

“SUCKERS!” he yelled to the two small vanishing forms now well up the trail.  He rolled on the ground with uncontrolled giggles. 

“Oh, man, that was good! I will never hear the end of this one, I bet - can’t wait to see their faces when I get back.  Betcha they both peed their pants.  Oh, man,” Chris shook with laughter.  He finally started up the trail himself and promptly tripped on a large and nasty unseen pine cone in his path. 

Falling to the ground, the youth was still shaking with mirth, when he heard a small branch snap behind him. 

Wondering how it could be, he was suddenly lifted off the ground in one quick move; sharp claw-like nails digging into the pits of his underarms.

Chris felt a warm trickle run down his own pant leg as the moon passed behind a very dark cloud.  Large raindrops began to fall.

It was a distinct smell of rot, with just a hint of old mold, perhaps, which wafted past his flaring nostrils as he heard an ancient, raspy voice whisper in his ear: "Sucker ..."

There was the unmistakable sound of something being dragged on the old logging trail that evening. 

It was a dark and stormy night in the Ahwahnee Mountains.   Some legends die hard.  Others just pass silently into the night.



                . 

Young David still on the run some 44 years later...