You know those moments from childhood that you think back on and can’t pinpoint whether or not it was a dream or a memory?
There’s one moment in particular from my childhood that sticks out to me. It feels so real, and I’m almost certain it actually happened — but the circumstances surrounding it are spotty at best. To go along with that, my parents have always acted as if they have no idea what I’m talking about when I’ve brought it up over the years.
I couldn’t have been any older than five or six years old when it happened. My grandparents lived on a lot of land in Northern Wisconsin, and when I was growing up, my parents and I would often seek to escape the hustle and bustle of city life by heading up every so often.
Simply put, it may have only been the nineties, but life was different back then. My parents would regularly let me run off to explore the land while they relaxed, or did whatever it was that parents do. As I said, I was probably six years old, and they still completely trusted me to navigate the area and make my way back to the house by a respectable hour.
The back half of my grandparent’s land was covered in thick forest that seemingly stretched on for miles. The forest was my favorite place to be. It was tranquil, and felt much like the setting to a fantastical adventure. I was always discovering things in this forest. Animals, flowers, jewelry, you name it. I could’ve filled my closet with the amount of old and scrapped up clothes I found scattered about. My naive mind never saw that as a red flag. Oh, to be young and innocent again.
There was one day in particular where I ventured a bit too far into the forest. I wasn’t lost, I hadn’t strayed from the beaten path, but I must have been feeling brave that day because even the natural light breaking through the tree line was starting to fade. Instead, the forest was now illuminated by the sunlight breaking through the tree-tops above.
And that is when I saw him.
He stood far enough away from me that I couldn’t really make out any distinct details, but close enough to know it was indeed a human and that he was waving at me. As I said earlier, there was a lot of trust going around in the 90s; but if there was ever something that my parents had drilled into my brain from a young age, it was to avoid strangers. This was at the height of the whole “stranger danger” epidemic. So I immediately knew something was off when I saw this man.
He wasn’t dressed like a normal adult either. He was dressed in some kind of costume, or at least half of one anyways. The pants he wore resembled something a circus clown would wear. Colorful, vertical stripes, only in this case that color had begun to fade. Instead of a matching top, he donned an old worn down “wife-beater”. He then yelled out excitedly, “Come over here buddy! I have something fun to show you!”
For whatever reason, this actually calmed the nerves of my young brain. He seemed friendly enough. Foolishly, I listened. As I got closer, I could make out more details about the man. He was barefoot, mostly bald, and held with him a long baseball sock that was stuffed to the brim with something. I never really determined what was in that sock, all I know is that the smell coming from it was putrid.
The man kneeled down in front of me, and instead of saying something, he slowly lifted his arm to point towards a tent hidden off a bit further into the woods. I don’t mean a camping tent either, I mean a circus tent; a big top. Something you’d see out of Barnum and Bailey’s. He beckoned me to follow, and so I did.
We entered the tent from a flap in one of the walls. It was musty as all hell inside, and the only sunlight came from a large hole in the top, as if to create a natural spotlight. In the middle of the tent, sat a boy. But, this boy wasn’t normal. He sat there silently, unmoving, and I never got too close to him. Thinking back on it now I don’t believe the boy was alive. I remember turning back to face the man, who had now disappeared. It was at this point that my six year old panic lights started going off before proceeding to sprint all the way back to the tree line. I never saw that man again – although I swear I heard laughter coming from behind me as I sprinted out of the forest.
Later that night, my parents and grandparents sat and watched the news in the living room before turning in for the night. The main story centered around a local boy who had been missing for a couple days now. Of course, they showed a picture of the boy, and it was the same boy I had seen in the forest earlier that day.
I mentioned it offhandedly as we sat and watched, saying I’d seen that boy in the forest earlier today, and that he was with a strange man. The grown ups in the room all shrugged it off, but I could tell they were a bit thrown by my claims. It was deep in the dark of night at this point. The closest thing to society was the neighbors who were 2 miles down the road. I think this was the moment in my life when I realized grown ups could be afraid too.
—
The next morning, as we were packing the car to head back to the city. I found a small envelope on the front porch, labeled for me. My dad saw it and stole it from my hands before I ever had a chance to read it. I remember him seeming concerned and turning to speak with my grandpa in a hushed tone. We got out of there quickly that afternoon. Strangely enough, my grandparents did come to live with us for the following weeks after that. I never thought anything of it. Again, thinking back now, I wouldn’t be surprised if that had to do with getting away from their property for a bit.
—
As I said at the beginning, this is one of those gray areas that has been bothering me of late. The situation itself was so dreamlike; the forest, the man, the tent, the boy. In saying that, I remember it in the most vivid detail. Almost thirty years on at this point and my parents still refuse to acknowledge this was a thing that happened. I’ve dug deep researching the fact — and I’ve found some possible cases that could line up, but nothing with any certainty. Definitely, nothing showing the picture of that poor boy. Who knows. Maybe, that over active childhood imagination got the best of me. Or, maybe, I came across something sinister that day.