I apologize for the delay in providing updates and sharing my experiences with everyone. After a shift, there are times when the last thing I want to do is communicate or think or really do anything. I prefer to unwind on the couch, indulge in some quality time with my dog, and catch whatever sporting event happens to be on television. I also don’t want to draw too much attention to myself. The more and more details I give, the easier it will be for someone to recognize me or my location. I’m hoping by staggering my posts, I can keep my location a secret for a bit longer so no one tries to investigate and gets hurt.
Some of you have asked about Susan. I see her before nearly every call. She is always leaning against my locker as soon as we get a call. I never have the time to talk to her and I’m too afraid to ask anyone else if they see her too. The fire service doesn’t effectively address mental health concerns. Though there is a push to be more compassionate and understanding, it is still very much an old boys club where you don’t really talk about your issues. The expectation is that everyone must embody courage and possess both mental and physical strength.
I’m too afraid to try and talk to Susan, quite frankly. It’s almost as if she is a temptress trying to lure me into darkness. I don’t think that’s what she is, but that is all I can think about. Unless I gain the nerve, I don’t think I’m going to speak to her. I sense that if she were willing to share her story, she would have done so by now.
Some of you have also requested that I attempt to gather more information about my instructor. I made an effort to do so after completing the academy, but I vow never to attempt it again. I said I can’t find any trace of him online, that is true. What I failed to mention is I saw him one time on a call.
It was earlier in my career. I was still on probation and I was riding the fourth seat on the engine. It was my job to grab the hydrant. The engine would stop at the hydrant, I would grab the large diameter hose, 5”, off the back of the engine and wrap it around the hydrant. Once the engine traveled enough distance to drop the first coupling I would unwrap the hydrant and connect the LDH to the hydrant itself. In layman’s terms, I was the guy who made sure we didn’t run out of water. It may sound straightforward, but it’s actually quite nerve-wracking. If you don’t perform this task fast enough you risk endangering the rest of your crew who are inside battling a fire.
Giving water is what we call “charging the line”. You never do this until you receive confirmation from the driver that he is ready for water. To accomplish this, your hydrant guy needs to stay at the hydrant until the pump operator indicates they are ready for water.
I was stationed at the hydrant, awaiting my signal. This particular hydrant was on a residential street without much traffic. Even if it wasn’t the middle of the work day; unless you had a reason to be in this subdivision the roads didn’t see much action. As I surveyed my surroundings and checked for any potential issues, I noticed someone standing across a park about 300 yards away, near the woodline. At 300 yards it’s hard to make out any details unless you have binoculars.
I couldn’t quite make out the pot belly or mustache but I did notice a lit cigar in the person’s mouth. Despite the oddity of the cigar being lit, I just had a sense it was my instructor. There was no logical explanation, but an instant feeling of dread washed over me. It could have just been the residual feeling of knowing this man could see Susan too, but it felt different. It felt like him watching me was a bad omen. I was so entrenched in this dread I nearly missed the air horn blasts alerting me to charge the hydrant. I couldn’t shake the feeling the rest of the call and knew I needed to investigate further.
At the end of my shift I went back to that park. I combed the woodline and didn’t find my instructor. However, I did find the butt of a smoked cigar and a spoor of tramped vegetation leading deeper into the woods.. I didn’t expect him to be standing there but I had a sickening feeling he was lurking not far away.
As I followed the path it felt as if the woods were closing in on me. The claustrophobia that I knew I didn’t have washed over me and I was unable to shake the panic. Despite this, I knew I had to push on; I needed answers.
As I went deeper into the woods, I could smell a fire burning. Although these woods weren’t vast enough to have unexplored areas, they were large enough that someone could camp out for a while without anyone noticing. Eventually, the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing. I crept towards the clearing, my heart beating in my chest. As I edged closer I could see someone sitting on a log with their back towards me. It was unmistakably my instructor.. The soot-covered gear, the pudgy but once athletic frame, and even the gray mustache peeking out around the sides of his head left no room for doubt. It didn’t make any sense. Why would he be wearing gear? Most guys keep their gear once they’ve retired but I’ve never known anyone to wear it after leaving the service.
My gut instinct was to mimic a cat: stalk and pounce on him. I have no idea where this thought came from but it was the only course of action that was running through my head. As I crept into the clearing, I kept my eyes on the ground to ensure I didn’t snap a branch or twist my ankle in a hole. Any sound was sure to spook him and I wasn’t quite sure if I was dealing with a deranged lunatic or just an elderly hermit.
As my eyes were down, something barreled into me. I was knocked ass over elbows and any hope of quietness was shattered. As I regained my bearings a black blur flashed before me. I knew it wasn’t a bear as we were out of true habit range. Although bears occasionally ventured into suburban areas, sightings were infrequent, and I had always heard the adage that a bear was more afraid of humans than we were of them. Instead of a roar of a bear, I heard growling -a deep, guttural growl that could only come from something pissed off.
I heard my instructor’s voice give a command and the growling stopped instantly. I looked up and saw what I can only describe as a hellhound. I know there are religious and folklore tales of different kinds of hellhounds but I had no desire to figure out which one this was. I scrambled to my feet and crashed back through the woods, fleeing from a clearing. I don’t know why I ran, I knew whatever the beast was could outrun me. It was probably out of pure fright and my fight or flight response kicking in. I usually didn’t choose to flee, but once again, a sense of panic overcame me in my instructor’s presence.
I managed to make it back home. For some reason the beast didn’t chase me. I ran all the way to my front door and on the glass, from the inside, I could see giant paw prints.