~ Spooky Child Marchers in the Woods When I was young, in the Boy Scouts, I went to summer camp in a remote spot on the Mason Dixon line. It was fameous for being on the route of the South’s retreat from the defeat at Gettysburg. There was a story that there was a lost patrol that still marched through there, on moonless nights. Anyone they noticed would be conscripted to join them. It was one of many campfire stories we told, and I might have forgotten all about it, except for or one night. I woke up to the sound of drums in the woods. The camp was silent. I cracked open the flap and froze. On the path a troop was marching through a low fog. Most were wounded, all wearing civil war uniforms, rucksacks, carrying muskets slung over the shoulder; as they marched a single drummer ticked off the time. I tried not to even breathe as they marched by. Finally the last soldier came into view, and something about him really sent a chill through me. Just as they were about to go out of sight his head whipped around, and I thought our eyes met for a moment. Soon after my family moved far away from Pennsylvania, and I convinced myself it was all a bad dream. I moved back here last month, and have been hearing drums late at night. The new moon is soon, and I figured out what was disturbing about that last soldier. He wasn’t wearing a Civil War uniform. He wore a Boy Scout uniform.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Jun 2013 06:01:23 +0000
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