moment, there came the whomp, whomp, whomp sound of two large blades slicing through the night air. “Well now, I do believe your chariot has arrived, Colonel!” Hearing the sound of the chopper, the Skipper felt relief in thinking his nightmare was about to come to an end, but another problem quickly reared its ugly head….the urine had frozen him fast to his seat! As he struggled to free himself, he heard a slight rustling sound; this was accompanied by something that can only be described as the crackling and stretching of frozen cartilage. When he looked up, he saw two red points of diabolical light glowing back at him from the shadows
Outside, the helicopter pilot could no longer find any trace of the tent; he only hoped that the Skipper sought refuge in the Albatross. A few seconds later the chopper was hovering precariously outside its door. The wind was buffeting the chopper like a toy model but the pilot decided to remain aloft since there was a possibility that the chopper’s metal skids would stick to the ice if he landed. He would remain outside the plane for only another minute then head back to base. A longer delay, he thought, would only be suicidal.
“Sorry, Colonel,” he finally said under his breath, “I gave it my best shot.”
He was about to leave when he noticed movement out the corner of his eye. The side door to the plane swung open, a figure draped in a blanket exited and stiffly made its way over. A short time later they were aloft and headed back to base. The pilot turned to his passenger.
“Thank God you’re still alive, Colonel! I don’t mind telling you that I was taking a big risk coming back here and I’m not gonna lie…it’ll be nothing short of a miracle if we make it back alive.”
There was a strange silence from the man next to him and for a moment he thought that the Colonel might have died. The pilot reached over to give him a shake when suddenly there came a whistling from beneath the blanket. The air inside the cabin became foul with the stench of death and decay. “Oh, God! What the hell is that smell!” the pilot screamed.
An animal-like voice beneath the blanket croaked, “It’s not so bad Captain, after a couple thousand years you become quite accustomed to it. By the way, am I correct to assume that you don’t serve in-flight meals on this conveyance? Not to worry… as luck would have it, I brought my own.”
An arm appeared from beneath the blanket and in its hand was a gelatinous piece of rank and putrid meat, dripping with blood. The thing turned its head; the brazier points of red fire in the demon’s eyes were the last thing in life that the pilot ever saw; his face was stricken with terror and he lost all command of the helicopter.
“Oh, dear me… where are my manners,” said the beast as they plummeted toward the frozen tundra. “I’d be most happy to share my portion with you, Captain, that is… if you have the stomach for it.”
EPILOGUE
After three days, the storm abated enough to send forth a number of search teams, but mysteriously, no trace was ever found of either the helicopter or the Albatross. Before the Repatriation Team returned back to the States, they conducted a memorial service for the Skipper at the excavation site, or what they thought was the excavation site, since there was no sign of the Albatross or the twenty-five foot deep hole that was once her home. There only remained a solitary orange flag poking out of the snow, flapping forlornly in the frigid Greenland wind, proving, at least to themselves, that it hadn’t all just been a bad dream.
It is interesting to note that to this very day, all three men swear to the fact that as they were leaving the Skippers memorial, they heard a soft and muffled whistling at their feet. They got down on their hands and knees to listen. To a man, they would forever insist that the sound was coming from somewhere under the ice.
THE HAUNTED WOODS OF PAWPAW
Outside, the helicopter pilot could no longer find any trace of the tent; he only hoped that the Skipper sought refuge in the Albatross. A few seconds later the chopper was hovering precariously outside its door. The wind was buffeting the chopper like a toy model but the pilot decided to remain aloft since there was a possibility that the chopper’s metal skids would stick to the ice if he landed. He would remain outside the plane for only another minute then head back to base. A longer delay, he thought, would only be suicidal.
“Sorry, Colonel,” he finally said under his breath, “I gave it my best shot.”
He was about to leave when he noticed movement out the corner of his eye. The side door to the plane swung open, a figure draped in a blanket exited and stiffly made its way over. A short time later they were aloft and headed back to base. The pilot turned to his passenger.
“Thank God you’re still alive, Colonel! I don’t mind telling you that I was taking a big risk coming back here and I’m not gonna lie…it’ll be nothing short of a miracle if we make it back alive.”
There was a strange silence from the man next to him and for a moment he thought that the Colonel might have died. The pilot reached over to give him a shake when suddenly there came a whistling from beneath the blanket. The air inside the cabin became foul with the stench of death and decay. “Oh, God! What the hell is that smell!” the pilot screamed.
An animal-like voice beneath the blanket croaked, “It’s not so bad Captain, after a couple thousand years you become quite accustomed to it. By the way, am I correct to assume that you don’t serve in-flight meals on this conveyance? Not to worry… as luck would have it, I brought my own.”
An arm appeared from beneath the blanket and in its hand was a gelatinous piece of rank and putrid meat, dripping with blood. The thing turned its head; the brazier points of red fire in the demon’s eyes were the last thing in life that the pilot ever saw; his face was stricken with terror and he lost all command of the helicopter.
“Oh, dear me… where are my manners,” said the beast as they plummeted toward the frozen tundra. “I’d be most happy to share my portion with you, Captain, that is… if you have the stomach for it.”
EPILOGUE
After three days, the storm abated enough to send forth a number of search teams, but mysteriously, no trace was ever found of either the helicopter or the Albatross. Before the Repatriation Team returned back to the States, they conducted a memorial service for the Skipper at the excavation site, or what they thought was the excavation site, since there was no sign of the Albatross or the twenty-five foot deep hole that was once her home. There only remained a solitary orange flag poking out of the snow, flapping forlornly in the frigid Greenland wind, proving, at least to themselves, that it hadn’t all just been a bad dream.
It is interesting to note that to this very day, all three men swear to the fact that as they were leaving the Skippers memorial, they heard a soft and muffled whistling at their feet. They got down on their hands and knees to listen. To a man, they would forever insist that the sound was coming from somewhere under the ice.
THE HAUNTED WOODS OF PAWPAW
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