Mouse tales from the dark side
A true story from the AT.
After a long twenty-five miler to Paul Wolfe Memorial Shelter, Raindog, Bramble and yours truly set up shop and had a welcomed dinner and some chitchat about who put in that nasty re-lo back there. We ate and read for a few and then crashed, freezing cold and dehydrated. Moans from the sick and dying filled the woods…oh that was yesterday. Some where around 12am I heard Raindog calling me, “Jon”….”What?”…JON!”…WHAT?!”, “Something bit me”. “Okay?!?”. “No, something bit my hand and it’s all wet”. “You’re dreaming”. Bull@#$%, my finger is wet, turn on a light. I slowly rolled over, it wasn’t like I was warm and asleep or anything and turned on my headlamp. Raindog was sitting up with this red faced freaked out look about him. He was obsessively squeezing his right index finger and watching the gushing blood running down his hand. “Vampire bat?”, I said, amused at what my friend had gotten himself into this time. “ Oh God, now I have rabies!”. Raindog squeezed even faster and harder. “Seems to me you cleaned your pot with your finger didn’t you…and you didn’t wash your hand after?” I poked at him. “That would just waste time and energy, give me an alcohol swab and shut up.” We cleaned his boo-boo and saw two tiny teeth marks. “You know, right before this happen I was like having this dream that my family was dying what’s up with that?” Dogboy looked more confused than normal. We all looked at each other. Bramble then sat up and said the same thing. We looked at each other again and then slowly got back into our bags and lay there the rest of the night listing to the blood sucking mice and wondering what nasties were crawling over us. In the morning we read the register and would you believe that other hikers that have stayed here had the same weird dreams and odd supernatural goings-on? The Shelter of the Dammed. Stay here one night and maybe live to tell about it. Walk away and turn your back and it’s gone
Bushwhack