Listen as I tell you a tale. In the Eastern Kentucky hills there lives a monster, a being, a hunter. In the fall, the season of change, he can be briefly seen. Few live to tell about their sightings, for these witnesses disappear into nothingness. I saw it. Let me tell you about it.
One fine fall day, I went into the woods with my dog and my camera. Oh, it was a lovely day, the leaves were turning into hues of gold and red, swirling about in the breeze. The sun was warm and glowing, though starting to lose it's friendliness. I moved into the treeline, leaves and twigs crunching beneath my feet sending out grasshoppers jumping on stalks of thistle and queen anne's lace. The birds were beginning to gather in the treetops, talking about their plans. I watched them dart and dash about, swarming together in dances, shooting upward toward Heaven and low into the brush, their wings carrying secrets beyond my understanding. I heard low sweet calls from thrush and sparrow and loud screams from jays and crows. I steadied my camera to capture these scenes in the waning sunlight eager to capture such visions. The forest today is at peace with itself, nature is telling us that soon it is time to shut down for the winter. In the low brush, I heard footsteps. Unafraid, I think nothing of the crashing up ahead. Hurrying forward, my breath starts to come in quick gasps, goosebumps rise: and stay. I part the brush in front of me, expecting to see an elk or maybe even a bear. I see an old woman. She is dressed in rags and tatters, mumbling to herself. As she spies me, her eyes enlarge as if she is enraged that I have disturbed her. "Leave!" she commands. "Go!" she demands! Something in the tone of her voice alarms me, and I turn without question. As I backtrack out, I hear her singing softly, "Hush little baby, don't say a word." I am unnerved, sudden in my desire to be in my own home with my dog. Wait! Where is he, where is my dog? "Murphy" I call, calm at first, then panicky, "MURPHY!". With a sudden snap in the twigs, he's by my side, a big ole stick in his mouth. As I begin to calm down, I tell myself that once again my imagination is playing tricks with me while realizing that the birds have quietened down, the woods aren't as noisy as before. The sun is a bit lower in the sky, night is beginning to seize control of the day. I shouldn't linger, photo ops will have to wait, for my focus isn't as steady as earlier. I begin the long walk back to the car. Murphy is bouncing about, chasing leaves and picking up pine cones and stray bits of nonsense. I begin to feel silly for letting a weird old woman throw me into such a panic. Surely there's a reason for her behavior, for her being out here. The reason is probably just craziness, Lord knows there's enough of that going on around these days! So I begin to relax and gaze upon the sudden brilliant hues of the upcoming sunset, the pinks and oranges of the fall sky. The sky is again filled with birds, their anxious flitting about renew my faith in all things good. Pulling my camera up, I shoot a few beautiful shots of the sunset, amazed at God's creativity. That's the way photography is: you never know what nature has in store for you when you go out and explore. As I begin to relax into my camera, changing settings and views, zooming in and out on sun and sky and earth and wings, I hear a noise. Low and growling, I suspect that Murphy has found a chipmunk to spar with and I pause to look about. Murphy is beside me, actually he's on me, climbing my frame, hackles up, afraid. The growling, once low, is now louder and appears to be all about me. Terror fills my soul and I feel my blood drain and my legs began to shake and quiver. I was certain that I would have no ability to walk, let alone run. Once again I hear the silence of the woods. The birds and bugs have silenced themselves as if they have stopped in mid flight. Turning slowly to my left I see the faint glow of two yellow eyes. They are slitted and cold and hot at the same time. Menacing. I instantly am aware that he is crouched in the brush, he is much taller than I. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck are standing at alert sending signals to my brain. A faint smell of sweaty muskiness fills my nostrils. I am frightened into stone. Murphy has quietly slunk under my car and I can hear him whimpering and I am relieved to have hope that he is safe, at least for a few moments. I've walked in these hills for my entire life, and have heard indian legends of a being. They call him Grubsnot Serp. Legend say that the Grubsnot Serp is a backward being. He hibernates most of the year and comes out in the fall, close to Halloween. He walks on two legs with feet as big as logs. He has big brown teeth with a wicked grin, and evil yellow eyes that can see for miles. He lives in the small caves that dot the mountainsides of Eastern Kentucky and seems to roam from town to town. They say many years ago he was taken in by a woman who helps, keeps him calm and safe. My mind whirls and all these tales and legends and stories from my childhood suddenly spring forth making my knowledge complete. Instantly he also realizes and we both understand: we can read each other's mind. I know who he is: Grubsnot Serp and the woman is his keeper. He needs to feed, to fill his craw for he is hungry. I know I have little time, I know that I will never outrun him, I know he has a keeper - a woman nearby who will likely do anything to help him. Suddenly he moves, quick and powerful, straight up in a maneuver no human could best. I hear a scream leave my throat at the same time that I press down my shutter release. My flash is strong and bright and lights up his full frame as I snap. How did I live to tell this story? Every being has an Achilles Heel. Grubsnot Serp's is that he has very weak eyes, he cannot stand bright lights. My flash, though involuntary, blinded the hill monster, sending him shrieking back to the old woman, both of them snarling and cursing me, their anger and wrath and hunger unfulfilled today. My ears are filled with the sounds of brush and timber and rocks skittering, growing faint until quiet. A low chirp of a sparrow, a cricket's song and the distant hoot of an owl slowly start to fill my ears. I look toward the sky and watch as a V of geese head toward Dewey Lake to find their home for the night and my mind fills with relief as Murphy runs from underneath my car and leaps into my arms. Slowly I start to walk out of there,camera in hand, and peace in my heart. Some things you can tell your family and friends, your dream especially. It's tougher to tell them of your nightmares. Grugsnot Serp is often in my head, nightly in my visions. We're in that time of year again, a time not safe in the hills of Prestonsburg. Grugsnot Serp is out there. And he's hungry. Oh, and one day, maybe I'll post that picture.
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