TRAPPSTR

Nightmare at Hawk’s Nest

Posted on 15. Oct, 2009 by Brett in Creative Communication, Etc

A few nights ago I got to live a good story.

I’ve been up in the mountains of north Georgia this week–on a creative sabbatical–clearing my head and working on a few big projects. The story happened on Tuesday night and it had all the trappings of a horror movie.

Me, sitting at the kitchen table in a secluded cabin tucked into a cove on the side of some mountain. The name of the cabin–Hawk’s Nest. Miles away from civilization. It’s night. And it’s raining. Gravel road. Pitch black with no other lights. Strange sounds outside the window near the table.

“Must be wind.”

30 minutes pass. Then 3 sharp knocks on the same window followed by the sound of heavy feet moving on the deck outside. Record scratch in my soul, then my heart takes off like Secretariat in the Kentucky Derby.

Frozen, the thought comes: They were outside my cabin that whole time…watching.

See, usually in this situation, your mind has an “out,” a rational explanation for what you heard. Wildlife. Kids messing around. Friends playing a prank. The only problem is that bears don’t have knuckles to knock, no kids around and they’d all be in bed because it’s a school night anyway, and I didn’t tell any of my friends where I was staying. Panic-time.

I quickly grab my blankie…I mean…my blackberry. My heart hi-jumps into my throat as I slide across the hardwood floor and fumble through a drawer for the biggest baddest knife I can find. I grab my laptop and head for the back bedroom. My adrenaline-drunk brain goes Jack Bauer and I map out a quick schematic of the cabin. I summon every bit of video game combat knowledge I have to draft a quick battle plan. I considered the dishwasher but decided the bedroom was the most defensible position. Helpless, I dial 9-1-1. For 30 minutes I try to describe to Sargent Self where I am.

“I-I’m on this mountain…down this, um, gravel road…in a-a-a cabin.” Perfect. I just described every dwelling within a 50 mile radius.

I want Sargent Self to laugh or make a joke or tell me it’s probably just a bear…nada. She’s cold as ice and is intent on figuring out where I am. This reassures me that my life is indeed, in mortal danger.

I fire off a quick tweet because if I can harness the sympathy of my internet friends, I might feel better…and it’s a lot cooler than sucking your thumb. Sargent Self tells me they think they found my cabin on a map at the precinct and that an officer is on his way up the mountain. Thank God.

Another half hour passes when I see flashing lights in the driveway. My heart slows to a trot. I push past the screen door and meet the officer in the driveway. He’s got one of those flashlights that’s heavy like a light saber, and the light is cutting through the rain, pointed at me. I explain everything. He says he’s going to check out “the perimeter” of the property.

“Ok, I’m going to pack up, not sleeping here tonight.”

I come back through the screen door and notice a piece of paper crumbled on the porch. I bend down to pick it only.

“GOOD LUCK TONIGHT” written in black marker.

At that moment I got the same feeling I got on 9/11–that I was a character in a movie. Of course, in this movie, my character gets killed by the psycho after I find the cop lying dead in the driveway. I race back outside and dangle the note in the officer’s face like a 3rd grader finished with a spelling test. He reads it and his expression changes from elementary-school-fire-drill to oh-my-gosh-there’s-a-fire-in-the-cafeteria. He grabs his radio and begins barking stuff I don’t remember. I burst back into the cabin and begin grabbing clothes and Pringles cans and tennis shoes, slinging everything into my suitcase.

It was time to get out of this story and back to my boring life in Atlanta.

My phone buzzes. It’s my roommate, Collin. He must be calling to check on me. I answer without even saying hello, launching into a panicked rant, “Dude, I am so freaked out right now……”. He stops me.

“Brett, no, no, no, don’t leave. It was us, me and Chris. It was just a prank.”

Silence.

“Are you kidding?”

“No,” he said.

I hang up. Anger fills the hole where the fear was. And anger’s better than fear so I laid down the welcome mat. I walk back out to the porch and tell the police officer it was all a big joke and that my roommate was a loser. He gives a laugh, partially amused and partially relieved. And then he drives away, back into town. The end.

I’ve been reading Don Miller’s new book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. It’s all about life as a story and how the best stories are scripted with purpose and intention.

“If story is just life without the meaningless scenes–I wondered if life could be lived more like a good story in the first place. I wondered whether a person could plan a story for his life and live it intentionally.” – Miller, AMMIATY, p39

That’s something to think about.

I have another friend who says, “Live life in such a way that you have great stories to tell.” Love that.

So thanks Collin and Chris for giving me another great story to add to my treasure chest. Just remember what they say about payback ;).