Scary Story

Two years later, I returned to the place that had haunted me with memories of disembodied voices, ghostly figures, and odors from a battle that had taken place (at that time) 142 years ago that I knew would be impossible to smell, yet left my nostrils burning with the pungent, sulfury smell of gunpowder.

My stomach lurched as we exited I-75 and I read the brown sign which pointed the direction to Chickamauga National Battlefield. This was a place I had sworn to never return. Yet here I was, two years later (and now 144 years after the battle), finding myself starting down a trail through the dark woods after sundown. In these same woods, which thousands of men shed their blood and took the lives of their enemies in the second grisliest battle in the Civil War, second only to Gettysburg. I jumped at every sound, not because of the knowledge of what happened upon this land but because of the images and sounds that embed my memory from my last trip here. Not even the comfort of three other friends—Red, Super Villain, and Sue--could console my palpable fear.

After taking a wrong path or two, we finally found ourselves approaching the familiar clearing of the gently sloped field of Snodgrass Hill. Fear mounted inside me and I felt my throat close off and my breaths become more shallow and rapid. It was as if a pair of invisible hands were closing in around my neck. Still, we marched forward into the clearing. I did not want to look, yet I could not tear my gaze away from the areas that I had previously witnessed so many frightening sights. Somehow, I unknowingly had walked almost upon the same place as I stood before when I had heard a disembodied woman’s voice crying miserably out an indecipherable, one-syllable name.

Suddenly we all noticed and commented on an orange light resembling candlelight moving about the trees atop the hill. It reminded me of the woman’s voice and I reflexively brought my hands to my ears, covering them with hopes of blocking out, or at the very least, muffling her voice. However, we (thankfully) never did hear her voice crying out. We stood expectantly and transfixed when only a short time later we did hear a noise. And it was right behind us.

All four of us nearly jumped out of our skin. We quickly fell to the ground. I could see some type of lights moving along the trees. I held my breath in anticipation, listening to the blood rushing through my ears. And then it happened.

A loud voice rang out over the night, “State Police! Do not move!”

Crazy thoughts ran through my head... Are you kidding me? All the other times I have done some breaking and entering or trespassing on historical sites and this is how it’s all gonna end? Oh my god! I hope I won’t get a huge fine for this. OH MY GOD! I hope I don’t get arrested! I am a teacher! I can’t get arrested! Who the hell will bail me out anyway?

Luckily, the rangers were extremely nice and even shared a couple of stories of paranormal terror among the battlefield on our ride back to the car. That’s right. They gave us a lift! But that was only after we were in handcuffs. Yes, handcuffs! Can you believe that my friends and I were handcuffed like common criminals? I have never been so embarrassed nor laughed so hard in all my life.

My giggles only ceased when we came upon the roadside where we had left Red’s car before tromping off into the dark woods only to find it now surrounded by police cars with their lights flashing. Apparently the sheriff found the car and sent the rangers into the park to find us. My heart sank... Oh. My. God. I was going to be arrested. I just knew it.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. After being uncuffed, our vehicle was searched for drugs and weapons, our licenses scanned, and we were each handed a $75 citation for being in a closed area on federal property. Then we were sent on our merry little way where we laughed hysterically for the entire two hours it took us to drive back to Atlanta.

It was an interesting time to say the least. And now I can truthfully say that I know what it looks like to see my friends being handcuffed. And I know how it feels to be handcuffed. (It hurts by the way. I still have a bruise on my left hand to prove it.) The old joke about friends and jail came into my mind as I rode away with my partners in crime (literally) in our recently declared drug-free car. A friend will bail you out of jail. A good friend will be beside you saying, “Man, that was fun!”

So I wasn’t terrified by any gouls on this night, but I still firmly stand by my opinion that nothing good can come out of Chickamauga Battlefield after dark. I am never going back there. And this time I mean it!