Ghost Tracks - The Spooky Journey

The stretch between Winton and Lynhurst passes almost soundlessly, with only my own feet creating disturbance. I do not notice a single bird, bug, or break in the silence. Everyone must be dead asleep, or maybe just trying to avoid the strange person in the trees. Lynhurst is much welcomed however, its pavement supporting several cars, a sign of civilization that I’ll be desperately desiring later on my path. I cross the street at a quiet gap in traffic and then head into the brush on the other side.

With a fourth of the hike complete and nothing strange, I continue walking expecting the worst ahead. As I push forward, I hear a sudden bird’s call. I quickly shine the light upward but find nothing. While I am catching my breath (my heart skipped a beat or five), I set the light on my shoulder and let loose a long exhale. The sudden bright white puff of air makes my heart quit a second time. Once I regain my bearings, I walk on, eventually arriving on a large tree that blocked the track’s path. Returning to elementary, I notice I can not get through, over, or under the log, but a small side path rests to my left. So I head around the dead tree and find myself on the path again.

Re-entering the forestry after a brief stint of space near Lenard Park, I feel a cold chill slowly tickle my spine. I spin around, half expecting to find someone. There is nothing and no one behind me, so I continue forward. The chill, however, remains, causing my thoughts to waver. What am I really doing out here anyway? As the darkness closes around me, I begin whispering pleads that no spirit or creature harms me. This is the third section of the tracks that I will travel, the clock reaching 10:15 p.m. Looking to the left I see a little boy near a tree. My eyes widen as I swing the beam of light to his location.

A white cloth, a Halloween ghost that served its purpose better than any would have expected, shone in the beam of my flashlight. I walk farther, this time noticing a woman in a home also to my left. Before bring the light to her face, I take a closer look. This woman is real, watching television in her quaint home. The chills grow colder as my silent whisper grows louder. I see a sudden bright light ahead of me. Quickly, I crouch to the ground, my flashlight turned off. As the light passes and I wait, I notice my hand is shaking. The car passes by and my heart rate returns to normal. I slowly cross the small road into the last and worst section of my journey along the tracks.

My breath has become shallow, my fear clearly visible. This stretch of my trek is densely covered with trees and other shrubbery, but I push it aside or weave out of its path as I press on. I shine the light left and right often, checking for signs of anything living. Suddenly a black creature appears in the circle of light to my right. I freeze, focusing the light and my eyes on the figure. Nothing stares back at me. A shadow had played tricks on me once again. After another block, what seemed like a mile, the light reveals another fallen tree in my path. There is no trail to the sides, but I do manage to leap over the dead twigs. Several times my own breath startles me more than any of the other sights or sounds of the woods, but my only hope rests in the steadily increasing sound of cars in the distance.

Quietly chanting all along, I suddenly emerge from the darkness that held me for so long. I slowly walk to the river’s edge, taking a picture. I stay for a moment, staring at 465, just a few hundred meters away; never had the noise pollution been so welcomed as it was then. I glanced at my watch and note the time of 10:30 p.m. Time was running out so I began jogging. Before long, I reached a steep hill which I descend in a quick sprint. I continue this sprint through a block or two and then slow to a light walk. I march forward in the unknown territory, trying to return home.

As I begin to find my bearings, I notice a lone car stop feet away and then back up. Without breaking stride, I watch the car pull down a side street and then turn at the first corner. I begin a jog again for several blocks. As I round a corner, the same rustic vehicle pulls out, quickly rounding another bend behind me. My feet quicken. My turns come more often and more sporadic. Why did I ever start this? What forced me to ask the questions? When did it become my job to be a ghost hunter?

A large street suddenly unfolds before me. Cunningham. Familiarity floods my senses. I glance down at my watch once more. Almost ten minutes have passes since my last check. I sprint down the curb, passing the eye doctor and avoiding as many cars as possible. Within a few minutes, I arrive at a turn off to Lenard. As I turn the corner into the actual park, my heart sinks in my chest. The one group I wanted to avoid most turns onto the street I was just traveling. The police officer makes a sharp right turn on 16th St., so I head into the park. I check the time again; just over 20 minutes until curfew. My foot hits asphalt and I notice I am in the police/fire parking lot, a perfect place to loose the cop...

Just as I reach the main building, the officer pulls his car into the parking lot. Keeping a parked car between us, I speedily walk to the light. After crossing Lynhurst, I jog past the Jr. High and onto home. My life was sent into shock and disarray because of a fear that should not have existed. Do the ghosts really exist or was my mind loosing its vitals? All I know is the rush of adrenaline was like no other. Silence, darkness, and solitude lead to paranoia. Unfortunately a flashlight, goggles, and strange kid did not lead to ghosts. Sorry but this research is inconclusive at best.