Bodies by the lodge

“The most horrific thing I’ve done? I don’t know, I didn’t think we’d talk about this again.”

“It’s in the schedule.”

“Fine. I’ve tried myself around one or two haunted by local lore places, but they were junkies who knew me just playing cards and a wounded dog in the basement of a rebuilt house. In fifth grade we went on a trip and found in the forest between four big oak trees this little grave surrounded by stones, three candles burnt out in the middle, but I think it was someone’s pet. There are a lot of pets buried there, like they’d reconnect with nature. It’s kinda selfish don’t you think?”


“That people return animals to their natural state of freedom, giving them their birth right after they’ve used them their whole lives, like things they owned. It’s sad.”

“I have a dog…”

“I’m just saying things. What are you writing there?”

“What you say. It might help.”

“Cope with the real scary time I had?”

“That’s the idea.”

“We drove around, one night in October, just fooling and blasting music. We were bored, so this one guy, George he suggests we go visit this asylum supposedly located in the outskirts of town, so we do that, knowing it’s stupid and not real. I stepped out of the car when we got to this community village and man I asked people if there was a looney bin nearby and they stared at me like “what the fuck is this kid talking about”. Stupid I told you.”

“This is something, a new start. Then what happened?”

“George was saving his grand idea for later, when it got really dark and cold. He told us he and his brother had once found this cabin up a dirt road where some hobo guy died.”

“And you went there?”

“Why else would I be here? We took off again leaving asylum bedtime stories behind and soon enough here’s the dirt road way away from city lights and any living soul and then it kinda got real, because if the road was there what were the chances of the cabin too. George did this thing to scare  girls, turning off the lights and slowing down. He’d say “Hey did you hear that? I think there’s something outside”, and then he’d suddenly switch the lights back on and the girls would scream. He did it that night. It was fun as always. But then…”

“You got to the cabin.”

“We got to the cabin. George parked the car and all five of us stepped out and walked the small parking. It was a hunters lodge actually, a big stone building with broken windows and boarded up doors. George jumped up the stairs and banged on the door, yelling “hello” and “is anybody home?” and we all thought it funny and laughed. I took some photos with my phone of the lodge and us in front of it. I sat on the hood shivering the cold away, looking through the photos on my phone.”

“What happened then?”

“I saw…”

“It’s alright.”

“On the photo of George and the others there were spots, round, grey, yellow and white spots. They were all around them, next to them, behind them, above their heads, so many tiny and larger ones clustered there. I looked then at the other photo, the one with only the lodge on it and they were there too, only not as many. They were just around the building, five or six maybe. Then I took another photo of the girls laughing about. There must have been at least twenty spheres. I showed the photos to George and told him we have to go, but he just laughed and called the others to see how cool that was, that there were ghosts. George went to the back of his car and fumbled in his backpack for his camera. He made two or three shots and reviewed them. The first showed the amount alright, and he thought it was sweet, but the second one was smudged, like looking at the lodge and its grounds through a filter. I realized it wasn’t any filter but a sphere and it had been just floating or whatever before George when he took the photo. I think he realized that too because he stared into air for a few and then we were all back in the car in no time and driving lights on down the dirt road. I tried my phone when we stopped at a gas station and the picture was clear. Nothing, not a single speck.”

“I remember you telling me in previous conversations that later on you learned two escaped convicts were hiding in the lodge at the time of your visit.”

“Yeah, George had read about it in the newspaper, how these two serial killers kept quiet there for two months before someone spotted them. There was one more thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“There was a statement issued later that the two prisoners were involved in a series of missing people back in the days. Some bodies were found scattered in the woods behind the lodge. Many remain missing.”

“Interesting. Do you believe that? That those spheres were spirits of the deceased?”

“I saw something. I can swear on that. That sphere that came close, I think it was a ghost. We never went back. I didn’t want to. I felt claustrophobic standing there with the wind blowing from all sides. I want to forget it even happened.”

“We could  do that. Also work more on your imagination. I think your memories of that night are intensified. I could partially blame the excitement and trustworthiness of the event on your friend George. He made a mistake taking you there, knowing you were fragile and sensitive, did he not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s hope neither did he, because otherwise you’d have him to blame for being our patient at this asylum.”

11 thoughts on “Bodies by the lodge

    • Precisely the idea, David, and its mostly wanted & needed to be so, because parts of the happenings are real and they were shared in the same manner this story is told. Definitely secrets best kept quiet. Thank you for commenting!

  1. The very first line put me in mind of something I read in a book entitled “Ghost Story” by the author Peter Straub…

    “What was the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
    “I won’t tell you that, but I’ll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me… the most dreadful thing…”

    That sentence still sends a shiver down my spine.

    I really liked the authentic feel to the narrative in this Cindy, and agree totally with David G Shrock’s comment.

    • Never read Straub’s “Ghost Story” though I am intending to; only know his craft by his collaborative work with Stephen King. That line is definitely chilling so I should hurry up and read the book!

      I had absolutely forgotten about that happening and never even thought it might end up in a story, but it begs to be told authentic. At least I don’t see it in any other way, so glad you liked, Steve!

  2. I love how the matter-of-fact tone in this allows the MC’s subjective experience, but then sort of tries to obliterate it… and then fails.

    The therapist or whoever it is, they’re missing an obvious trick. Where are the photos?

    • Good eye, Katherine! Where are they indeed? Has he got them? Has he seen them? Or maybe he’s the one that made them up and invented this whole story, inducing it to his patient?

      It’s very much in the twilight zone this conversation between them. I for one don’t believe it exists fully, or in the state it’s been delivered here, and that faulty aspect is made clear exactly where you pointed it out. So I’d say the whole happening is a subject to individual interpretation.

      P.S. I have the photos…somewhere.

  3. Oh mercy, if this well written story is what I think it is—and I can be incredibly daft and entirely miss the point—then you’ve created a very subtle, clever masterpiece. Slap me if I’m wrong, but the psychoanalyst saying, “This is something, a new start…” means this is one of many sessions to progress the patient to the point they finally get to the real story, namely the story of the patient having killed all the bodies by the lodge. Now if I’m wrong, that’d entail another comment altogether!

    • I like the interpretation you’re going with Miss A! No one is wrong and nothing said can be wrong about this mumbo-jumbo of a story. All things possible, all things accepted. I can totally believe that scenario, even play with it, because it falls more sinister and scary for dear patient. In another session perhaps there’ll be some hypnosis going on, get to feel emotions and fears in real time.

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