This Beautiful Place

Holding my breath, I cracked open the heavy metal door and peered inside. Light filtered in through large metal grates near the ceiling, illuminating the surprisingly spacious chamber holding the tall metal toilet and wall-mounted toilet paper holder. There was plenty of paper and the place looked clean enough. Nothing like that one I stopped at in New York, almost full to the seat with shit and soiled paper.

I wasted no time taking care of business. Outside, the air felt fresh and cool, the sunshine warm on my face. A quick walk around the campground wouldn’t take long. Perhaps get rid of the sciatic nerve pain that had been plaguing me since Missoula. Regal Ponderosa Pines and Douglas Firs shaded the empty camp sites I walked past. The stillness and quiet of the afternoon was broken only by the muffled sound of my footsteps in the dirt, and the rush of water over rocks and downed trees in the creek by the road.

Hearing the sudden distinct clucking call of a Pileated Woodpecker, I looked up and searched the evergreen foliage of the trees. Soon I spotted the pair of large black and white birds with their bright red crowns swooping down and landing on a large pine. I watched as they hopped up and down and around on the tree trunk, peaking at the bark.

So engrossed by the comical behavior of the foraging birds, I was startled at the sound of a man’s voice behind me. I gasped and swung around. It was an elderly man; his hair and beard both long and white, curling over his shirt collar and spilling down his chest. At the sound of his voice, or perhaps, my very audible gasp the woodpeckers had quickly disappeared into the trees.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you. I noticed a car down by the toilet. It must be yours. Am I correct?

“Yes, is everything okay?”

“Of course, of course. This campground doesn’t get many visitors. I was surprised to see a vehicle. I have a summer cabin just over the hill there and walk here most days. It’s quite lovely, don’t you think?”

I smiled, thinking of the woodpecker. “It is. I needed a break. It’s great here. I can’t believe there aren’t any campers.”

“There used to be. But we had a nasty double murder here a few years ago. People believe this campground is haunted by the tormented spirits of those poor young women.”

Fear shot through me through me and despite the warm sunshine, I found myself shivering uncontrollable. Great, I’m alone in the woods with a complete stranger who’s talking about the murders.

The man was watching me carefully. With concern or suspicion? I couldn’t tell.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking like a leaf. Come with me, there’s a picnic table just ahead.”

After what seemed an eternity, my shivering stopped. The concrete picnic table was in the shade and the bench felt cold on my bare legs below my shorts. I stared across the table at the old man sitting there. If he was going to kill me he could have done it already. He doesn’t seem like the murdering type. He’s giving off a pretty harmless vibe. I need to find out what he knows about Traci and Kelly’s deaths.

“I know about the murders, but I didn’t know this is where they happened. Those girls grew up in the same town as me. I went to school with them.”

“Then, I guess you know they never caught the guy that did it.”

“Yeah. I’ve been living in New York for the past five years, but my parents have kept me up-to-date on any news. What makes people think the campground is haunted?”

“At first, there were a lot of looky-loos and amateur detectives showing up here. Then the weather changed. People got scared and quit coming around.”

“What do you mean the weather changed?” It seems pretty nice right now.”

“It is, isn’t it? There’s nice days, but there’s also terrible storms that blow through. Ten times more than we used to get. Twice this summer, it’s snowed here. Snowed! And I mean just here, in this campground. Not at my cabin or anywhere else around this country. The creek has topped is banks twice this year following record rainfalls. Rain I didn’t see at home. Did you notice all those downed trees in the creek? And look at the hillsides,” the old man said turning and waving his hand at the hills behind him.

I could see at least a dozen Ponderosa Pines and other trees, strewn across the slopes like match sticks. Most were completely uprooted. Their massive roots, many still covered in dark soil, were sticking out helplessly in the air. They looked like the snakes on Medusa’s head.

The old man continued, “wind storms you wouldn’t believe have swept through here. It’s feels like these girls are trying to tell us something. You knew them, what do you think it is?”

I shrugged my shoulders, trying to stay expressionless. I don’t know this guy nearly well enough to tell him the truth. About how the three of us were tighter than identical triplets. How we could read each other’s thoughts. How I knew, that cold, rainy autumn day in New York the exact time each of them died. And now? Dead but not gone. They’re here and mad as hell too. I expect that’s why they’re messing with the weather. I should have known this was the place. There was no good reason for me driving two miles off the highway just to find a toilet. But what do they want from me?

I said to the old man. “Thanks for everything you’ve told me about my friends. I need to get going but I have one more question. Do you know exactly where they died?”

I could see my question made him uncomfortable. “What difference does it make? Isn’t it enough knowing it was in this campground? Seem ghoulish, that question.”

“Maybe, but they were my friends. I need to grieve their deaths in my own way.”

I could see a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Come on, I’ll show you. There’s nothing left to see anyway, after all this time.”

He slid out off the end of the concrete bench, picking up a sturdy wooden cane laying on the ground. I hadn’t noticed him carrying it earlier. Seeing me eyeing it, he joked. “I use it to scare off the bears when they catch me harvesting their berries. Thought I lost it. Must have left it right here yesterday. You know, this place may be haunted. But it doesn’t bother me any. It’s more peaceful now than it ever used to be.”

As we walked down the road toward my parked car, the old man pointed. “Behind the toilet. That’s where they found them. He’d slit their throats, first one, then the other. What kind of monster does such a thing?”

He shook his head. “I need to go. My wife will worry if I’m not back soon. You too, must go. I don’t like the idea of you alone in this place. You’re welcome at our cabin. The turn-off to get there is just a quarter mile up the main road. You can’t miss it. My name Andrew, by the way, my wife’s Cheryl.”

I shook the hand he stuck out. “I’m Denise. I’m going to spend a little time here with Traci and Kelly, and then get back on the road. My parents are expecting me today or tomorrow. Thanks for everything.”

I watched the old man until he disappeared over the ridge, then hopped in my car. I had passed a gas station and country store not long before I turned on the road here. Hopefully, I could get some food there. My friends had brought me here for a reason. I wasn’t leaving until I understood what it was.

Later, as I drive back into the still deserted campground, I thought about Andrew saying how peaceful it was. It’s peaceful because it’s Kelly and Traci’s home now. They love it here and don’t want the living around disturbing them. It all made sense to me. As kids, no matter what the weather was like, we were happiest when outside together. We lived in our backyards and the school grounds as little ones and in the woods hiking, biking and camping as teenagers. I was excited at the chance to see my two besties again.

I set my tent up in the site closest to the toilets and right next to where they died. I busied myself for the rest of the afternoon, organizing my camping gear and supplies in the tent, collecting kindling and building a fire using the split wood someone had carefully stacked near the fire pit. As darkness began to fall, I sat in my camp chair, sipping wine and thinking about my friends. Every single day following the news of their deaths, memories of our lives together had often and always unexpectedly popped into my mind, followed, invariably, with denial. I can’t believe they’re dead.

But not now. Not here, in this place. As darkness deepened around me and stars appeared in the patch of open sky above, what happened to my friends played in my mind's eye like a movie on a big screen TV. I could see the man, a knife in hand, creeping up behind Kelly, the metal blade glinting in the sunshine. Before she knew he was there, he had one hand over her mouth, the other holding the knife to her throat. He dragged her behind the toilet and in one quick motion, slit her neck. Bright red blood spurted from the gaping wound, soaking her shirt and jeans. I could see the light in her eyes fading. Hearing the clanging of the metal door, the killer let Kelly’s lifeless body slid to the ground. He sprinted around the corner and within seconds reappearing on the other side with Traci. Seeing Kelly, she quit struggling – only for seconds – but long enough for him to slit her throat too. Dropping her almost lifeless body on top of Kelly’s, he took off running toward the creek.

Again, I was seized with uncontrollable shivering. I dropped my wine glass. It shattered on the metal edge of the fire pit. Grabbing my five-gallon bucket of water, I doused the fire and stirred it with a stick. I stumbled into my tent and crawled in my sleeping bag, not bother to remove even my tennis shoes. And I slept. When I woke, it was morning and beginning to lighten up outside. For a while I lay there enjoying the warmth of the sleeping bag and thinking about what had happened the night before. What now? Did Traci and Kelly want me here just to see how they died? Am I supposed to track down their killer, now that I know what he looks like? I could do it. And I will. But right now, I want to see my friends. Is that not going to happen?

That idea made me sad. I turned over and stared at the wall of the tent, watching it as the morning grew lighter. Inside the tent, the light seemed especially bright. Did I leave the tent flap open? Puzzled, I rolled back over and raised up on my elbows. And I saw them, enveloped in a brilliant white light; the light of a million stars. Their presence filled the tent and both looked exactly the way I always remembered them, smiling and happy. Like the wind in the trees, I could hear them talking to me. Did you really think we would bring you here and not let you see us? We have missed you and we’re bringing you home. We will live together forever in this beautiful place.



It was Andrew who found my body later that day. The bear had dragged me out of the tent, her jaws clamped down on my shoulder and neck, puncturing the artery. I was sorry the old man was the one to find me. He seemed genuinely sad. As he sat there, looking at my face I could hear the thoughts in his head. Just yesterday, I met her here, so troubled she was about her friends. Today, she looks at peace. And happy. He shook his head as he reached in his pocket for his cell phone. I laughed inside as I heard him again. The light must be playing tricks on these old eyes of mine. I swear she’s smiling now. She must have died fast. Maybe even while still lost in some beautiful dream about her friends. That’s a blessing, at least.