JAN'S TALES
Back in the early 80’s
I worked at an all night gas station close to the Kentucky Dam. You may have
guessed already, that yes, this story takes place during the midnight shift, and
it was the same business I worked at when first hearing about what the
Beast of LBL had supposedly done to a unsuspecting family while camping between the lake
area. (Scary stories always sound better when they take place at night, but
this was not my choice mind you, it just happened this way.)
These incidents
happened before and after the knowledge of the Beast, but keep in mind that
knowing of a creature that could possibly exist in the surrounding area did not
perk my imagination, nor spark hallucinations. Whether they merely happened by
coincidence or by chance, they happened nonetheless. The following events added
to my already established genuine, abiding regard concerning those mysteries
that are left undiscovered and unapproachable, out in the dark of night. To
this day I carry a healthy respect for things that go ‘bump’ in the forests, and
treat other’s similar stories with the same consideration.
Several times during
the midnight hours of my first summer working there I would hear what seemed to
be a woman screaming. This echoing sound would come from the marshes that
surrounded the gas station and would continue into a slow rolling roar that
would have sent chills up the spine of even a deaf man. Many people told me it
was just a bobcat, which had been spotted in the area before and to be cautious
when crossing the parking lot to use the restroom, pick up litter or do some
general cleaning outside at night.
I never got used
to that lonesome curdling shriek that would erupt the silence of the early
mornings. Sometimes it would come from way off in the distance, out of a line
of trees that ran along the borders of a large creek. Other times it was
closer, coming from the blackened swamp areas, and sometimes it was too
intimate; like it was just behind the building I was working in at the time.
There was never any warning to its beginnings; the shrillness of the volume
would fill the humid air in the summer time and hang on like an eerie floating
adhesive, sticking to everything it could adhere too and continue reverberating
like the rasps of a beached whale. When the bellowing outcry was within the
boundaries of the parking area it would make my legs shudder
and grow weak. There was no getting use to this animal’s selfish display of
needed attention.
What ever it was it
could not be seen as the outside light poles only illuminated the four corners
of the lot. The land up to the concrete curbs that squared off the property was
lost in the darkness of nature. From down the road or from the nearby
interstate the service station looked like a small four sided box with lights in
the corners and a tiny building in the center of the lot.
The closer the outcries
were the more distinguished the tones and I couldn’t help but compare the sound
to what an old biology teacher of mine would do to get the class’s focus at
times. He would take these fist-sized geode rocks that had been busted in half,
revealing large protruding crystals from the inside, and scrape them across the
blackboard, one in each of his hands. The ear piercing screeching did not cease
until he had run the length of the 8-foot slate. It was a hideous torture to the
senses; enough to make your teeth hurt, put Goosebumps on top of Goosebumps and
make you squeeze your bladder in while a trembling of microscopic marbles shot
up your spine. The effect left everyone in a quivering state on the verge of
momentary lunacy. Besides being quite deafening, it produced separate tones of
raucous discord; some crystals formed a variety of high-pitched abrasive sounds
while the larger ones created cantankerous, lower, gravely vibrations. All of
them mixed together in some insane symphony. This was the sound that the unseen
animal in the marshes would broadcast through the stifling heat of the summer
nights.
Its secret invisible
visits happened with great frequency at first and then the events would die down
and then disappear all together, not revealing its intolerable cries for months
at a time. The next spring it started up again, but further away this time in
another section of fields that lay beyond the marshlands and closer to a
government tree farm. It wasn’t long after it made its presence known again
that the two officers came into the station with the tale of the campers found
torn to pieces in
LBL.
Myself, having been
born and bred in a large city up north, did not want to fancy the notion of the
alleged ‘beast’ being a Bigfoot or a werewolf, but
fashioned my opinion around more logical explanations; bobcat, bear or wolves.
Blaming an unknown hairy creature in the forests for being the culprit was not a
fathomable answer to someone who grew up in the concrete and steel jungles
around ‘real monsters’ called murderers and rapists. Even though several years
prior while visiting one summer in Kentucky, not far from the Kentucky Dam at my
aunts house, there was an encounter with a very unexplainable life form that
knocked my ‘logical thinking’ into the ground. This particular event left me
more confused then afraid and I had to change my way of perceiving certain
‘hairy beast legends’ in a new light. But that is another story. (Soon to be
written, just hold your horse’s…smile.)
Nonetheless, the idea
of a bobcat, beast or a stereotype movie monster, doing that amount of damage to
a human being sparked my uneasiness over hearing a possible relative lurking in
the shadows around me where I worked. Besides, I knew that the typical murderer
or rapist usually didn’t give out a war cry quite as unnerving as this one did,
so I knew it had to be in the animal category of the food chain. (Speaking of
the food chain…isn’t it ironic that even though we as humans think of ourselves
as at the top of the chain, we still fear that which is below us? Not much to
brag about is there? Hmm…)
Summer passed with the
occasional screeching howls in the background of the quagmires. They would
still send me into an instance of cowardice and anxiety but knowing the being
was so far away gave me a hollow sense of security. It wasn’t until the late
autumn, when the thick fogs began rolling in off the boggy mires, that a
foreboding panic would invade me to the very marrow of my bones and create
within me a lasting impression of authentic terror.
I had somehow made my
way through the dense mist, mostly by memory alone, to the restrooms that were
on the back of the lot to replenish the supplies and do some regular cleaning.
Because the weather made it impossible for travelers to drive and see at the
same time more then a few feet in front of them, I saw it as a great opportunity
to get some work done knowing I would have very few customers if any.
It was well into the
early morning, around three AM, and I was inside the women’s restroom slinging a
mop when I heard a new sound, very different from the one of the bobcats. This
one was like someone was riding a bike outside that had playing cards attached
to the wheel spokes with clothespins along with balloons rubbing along the same
turning tires; riding slowing, methodically, creating a sort of rough clicking
growl. ‘Maybe it’s a car with a really bad muffler’, I thought to myself,
wondering how it had found it’s way through the lot, or even found the drive way
for that matter.
Just as I was putting
the mop into the bucket to squeeze it through the wringer that old familiar
scream was heard once more. Right outside the small building I was presently in
at the time. The bucket turned over from the jerk I gave the mop after being
startled over hearing the animal at such a close range. The bleach from the
spilled water climbed through the air and stung my eyes but I couldn’t blink,
couldn’t move any part of my body at the time; I just stood there staring at the
door, waiting, listening.
The beating of my heart
seemed so loud I thought that the animal outside might hear it. I really wasn’t
aware of how much time had passed as I kept that paralyzed stance, trembling as
if freezing from a wintry breeze. After awhile of listening to it’s grumbling
low stifled growls outside the door I heard a police siren in the background,
coming from the road. I could tell the vehicle was going at a slow pace, and I
could just imagine it trying to creep through the cloudy atmosphere towards an
accident no doubt. The animal’s commotion ceased from the other side of
the door and all went quiet except for the wailing of
the sirens that seemed to be coming directly from across the station out on the
road.
A few more moments
later I heard another scream from the same animal but this time it was further
away, like it had retreated back into the wet bogs. This was my queue to get
the ‘hell out of Dodge’ and back inside the safety of the front office
building. Hastily I mopped up the mess on the floor, grabbed all the cleaning
stuff and made my way back through the thickened clouds using my internal
compass to the main building, locking the door behind me. The police car was
still going down the road but it’s sirens seemed further away by now.
About thirty minutes
later, after calming down a bit from the encounter and while taking some
inventory I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye run past one of the windows.
It shook me up a bit and I turned to concentrate on any more movement from
outside. Again the shadow ran past but this time in front of another window.
(The building I was in was surrounded by three sides of glass windows, and was
actually quite small compared to other gas stations. It was all self-serve and
there were no garages attached. There was room inside for a few candy racks and
a couple of large coolers to keep sodas and sandwiches in. There was also a
back storage room but it was more of a walk in closet size, and then there was
the cubicle up front surrounded by bullet proof glass where we conducted all the
money transactions and stored cigarettes.) (NOTE:
A photo of this station, now long closed and unused, is below.)
The shadow was very
tall, way taller then the average man and was rather large in stature and moved
in a bouncing motion as a man of sizeable bulk would move when trying to jog,
and it appeared to have a coat on or at least something bulky. I heard a trash
can turn over, heard the debris scatter across the concrete, (empty glass soda
bottles, used oil cans and the rattling of other things) then heard the same can
crash into one of the gas pumps outside as if something had picked it up and
hurled it. This was no bobcat. This was someone having some fun outside at my
expense.
Anger began growing
within me as I was thinking that this was not a very humorous practical joke and
I actually yelled out loud my dislike of the whole scenario, “This isn’t funny
you @$$#&*%!!” Laying my clipboard down on the counter I began looking out the
windows straining to see the mischief-maker again, all the while double-checking
to make sure the doors were locked. (It was standard procedure to lock the doors
after 10 PM and serve the customers through a sliding drawer, much like a bank
tellers at a drive through service lane, inside the bulletproof cubicle.) While
peering through the middle window, that same methodic grumbly growl introduced
itself once more from outside. I was momentarily confused, ‘Was the bobcat
back? Could the idiot outside hear it? Was there danger in store for the
stranger who was trying to tease and terrorize me?’
The grumbling sound
traveled around the corner to the back end and then the building shook from a
massive hit to a wall. I could hear some stored items fall off their shelves
and deposit themselves all over the floor in the storage room. There were no
windows in the storage area, thank goodness, but there was a back door. I raced
back there and started stacking cases of soda and boxes of oil against it to
secure it even more. There was a low mumbling on the other side of the door and
the sound came from up high; what seemed like around the top of the doorframe.
A low and deep toned breathing could be heard also as I just stood dumbfounded
staring at the grayish brown steel door. Two deliberate solid ‘thumps’ met with
the door from the other side like someone who had just pounded on it with their
fists and along with it came that unceremonious squall.
‘This was no bobcat!
Nor was it some intimidating prankster!’ my mind screamed. In those few seconds
a parade of memories sped through my brain, each of them crashing into one
another as they raced to the finish line to see who would win, sanity or
insanity. The image of an upright wolf like creature that I had seen years
before at my aunt’s house, howling on top of the hill, was fighting for position
with an overly large bobcat, and then the vision of a Bigfoot was lumbering
along side of them. All the words from the two officers stories from a few
months before echoed inside my head as these pictures within me created a
macabre movie. Dizziness overtook me and I fell backwards onto some other
cases of stacked sodas.
I remained there for
the longest time, not knowing what to expect next, not really wanting to know
actually and definitely not wanting to go back into the other part of the
building where I or ‘IT’ could possibly get a better look at each other through
one of the many windows. That terrifying thought was brewing when through the
open door facing one of the candy racks I could see a shadow moving along the
right side of the building, slowly through the fog. It was like not having your
glasses on and trying to make out what something looked like through the entire
blur of an unfocused silhouette.
Then briefly, ever so
quickly a considerably large hand materialized and reached out from its secret
form in the mist and touched the window. My first thought was ‘gorilla’, as in
just that glimpse I saw the darkened nails, the blackish brown leathery skin,
along with long dark hair hanging from behind the knuckles, spreading up the
wrist, and up part of the arm that seemed to be floating in the whiteness of the
fog. Then it was gone, replacing the horrifying scene with silence for the
remainder of the morning.
I dared not move, or
maybe I didn’t think I was actually capable of motion, either way, I remained on
the stack of sodas for the few hours I had left on my shift. About an hour
before the next crewmember was due to arrive the newly dawned sun began burning
off the fog, making it retreat back into the marshes, back into the pores of the
earth, like the ghosts of the undead. It was only then that I cautiously made
my way outside and cleaned up the mess from the thrown trash receptacle. My
mind was still trying to rationally explain the hours before but unconsciously I
had already decided that the events would remain hidden within my memory, never
to be discussed, only to stay buried under the clouds of my own inscrutable
mystical fog.
That decision did not
last very long as within a few weeks I had transferred to the afternoon shift,
with a new guy taking the midnight shift. (Thank goodness for
seniority…smile.) It wasn’t a few days later after this change that the new guy
started telling me about the ‘sounds and howling’ he would hear from the night
before. I re-assured him it was probably just a bobcat, and his reply was,
“Yeah, right. I’ve lived around here all my life and I never heard no bobcat
ever sound like that!” It was then we struck up a conversation about local
Bigfoot stories and I then confessed as to what I had
experienced a month prior. Needless to say, it totally freaked him out and he
started having a friend come up and keep him company during the midnight hours.
He never actually saw anything but the squalls would continue every so often
about once a week and then it died out all together by the time winter rolled
around.
I believe that in these
days and times of the world, that the ridicule endured for these types of
witnessing tales is not as straining as it use to be. It is acceptable now for
people to come forward and tell of things they have seen or heard that are
completely foreign to a logical explanation. The truth is out there, and most of
us know it or have witnessed something to help substantiate the basis for the
truth to be honestly believed.
Here on San’s web site,
witnesses can come forward without fear of being pointed at, laughed at, mocked,
scorned or sneered at. We here are family and support one another’s strange and
often unexplainable occurrences. To all the non-believers, we leave you an
open door to exit through, but will welcome you back if and when you ever have a
hard to define experience and need some reassuring to let you know you are not
imagining things.
In the words of a great
woman, “You can’t tell me there’s no such
thing!’
-Jan Thompson.
(NOTE: Jan
enclosed the following description with this photo...)
(Below is a photo of the gas station mentioned in the
story above. It is an abandoned business now and had been several other
business's after the gas station sold it years ago. You can get the feeling of
the distance between the restrooms which are sitting in the background on the
left to the main cubicle which is under the canopy. You can see how small an
office it was, and how wide the lot was. The land around it is still somewhat
swampy but has been built up over the years and sections of the land are
actually in crops now. The back door to the cubicle is not shown in the photo,
it is around the other side. There was a 6 foot chain link fence and locked
gate preventing me from getting any closer to get a better picture.)
-Jan.
