The Visit

📷 Credit:  Maryland Department of Natural Resources

As soon as evening fell, he heard that ghostly sound that had haunted him since he arrived at that remote spot in the woods of Seneca Creek State Park in Montgomery County, Maryland. He always hoped that at some point, some boy would identify who was trying to scare that veteran of war. But that did not happen. He needed to look for different ways to counteract the onslaught of post-traumatic stress that afflicted him since he was gravely wounded on his last tour in Iraq in 2004. In this previous appointment with death, he hardly noticed it, since, after four combat tours, he thought he was unstoppable. After each mission, he always returned to what he understood was his normalcy, being under constant harassment from combat against the possibility of dying. There were many times he had to stare death in the eyes that he had already lost his fear. 

 

In this last meeting in 2004, the lady in black required as collateral and consolation prize both eyes of that soldier. A blast explosive from an IED (improvised explosive device) caused a cranial contusion... When he woke up from the induced coma, he could no longer see. 

He was blind, and from that moment, his real war began, the war that we carry inside because the traumas of war did not end when the guns stopped firing. For him, he was devastated because he could not return to serve in the Army, in the place where facing death was when he could feel more alive.

 

For this reason, as a means of counteracting the severe symptoms of post-traumatic stress that plagued him day by day as a silent hunter, he found refuge in writing. He could be secluded from society, and for some reason, he found peace in solitude. With the help of some contacts at a local veteran's organization, he was able to rent Germantown's oldest surviving structure for six days, a cabin where local history lessons are taught to adults and children. Located amid Seneca Creek State Park’s 6,300 acres along 14 miles of Seneca Creek’s natural beauties and facilities for boating and fishing and trails for hiking, bicycling and horseback riding is a hidden gem. The 164-year-old Grusendorf Log Cabin is the oldest surviving structure from the original Germantown.1

 

While there, he intended to feast on the large amount of history encapsulated in the ancient walls, energy that he felt he could channel and capture in his writings. But that sound that was more than a deep lament did not allow her to consent. Bravely he ventured into the surroundings of his ancient hut. Still, nothing could be seen beyond his deep darkness and that presence that only moaned with a deafening scream, quietly disturbing him to the point that he did not want the night that the spectrum brought with him.

 

It was the fourth night that this experience persisted. Still, on this night, the objection was obviously closer and accompanied by a thick, suffocating odor of butane gas, which sometimes burned his throat. However, today it was different because a feeling of brotherhood calmed his senses. He invited the furious encounter in the cabin in the form of crying like that of a mother suffering the pain of childbirth. That deep sound seemed to hide a message that without textual words, this veteran could understand. He safely sneaked past the front door threshold. Assisted by a rope that is used in the exploration of underwater caves, the elderly veteran ventured outside as he would when he used the latrine. He approached that grunt that tormented him and felt the candor of the presence that called him. A feeling of familiarity filled his chest with confidence as if someone very close and well-known came to him without words, speaking directly to his mind... so loud and clear that it seemed he could feel the breath of the entity saying, "I have a great treasure for you, just tell me if you want it."

 

The retired Colonel of the Special Forces of the United States Army, said to her, "Tell me who you are."

 

He extended his hand to try to touch what was obviously so close to him and closed his fist in the air; he desperately tried to reach with his other hand, and yet nothing could be touched.

 

From his hand, directly to his ear, he felt a whisper that said, "What I offer you will only be once, and you will never hear from me if you don't accept my gift."

 

Scared, he replied, "What do you want; what do you want?"

 

A warm dew on that cold autumn night bathed his face, and the burning that produced the drops that penetrated his eyes made him rub them to dispel the irritation. When he blinked, he saw he was blinded by the sun's glow reflected in the lake that bordered the cabin. Behind the mountains, the infinite blue of the sky contrasting with the beauty of sunflowers filled his rejuvenated eyes with tears, and he fell to his knees. When he felt the candid and tender hands of that platinum-haired nymph, who extended her help to unite she said, "This is my treasure that I give to you; you have lost your ability to see the world, and here I return it to you because you are good and pure of heart and soul. This treasure is yours with only one condition... Change and make your essence of being like mine, your breath, the most inherent part of you. The moment you accept this treasure, your own soul will never be yours because it will be mine forever. Just kiss my hand, and the pact will be sealed."

 

Marveled by the beauty of his surroundings, which was never as he had visualized it from the tranquil tempest of his blindness. Not thinking twice, he hurried her beautiful hands to his lips, sealing that pact with that kiss.

 

He instantly saw with his brand-new eyes how that smooth skin disintegrated into small particles of black sand, similar to ashes. Little by little, they revealed the phalanges of the bones of that skull hand. A nauseating odor pushed him towards the ground, falling on his back he could see how around him everything was filled with darkness that only gave way to the stars.

 

He observed his hand full of mud, and when he tried to see where that thing was, he could only observe the torn scratches of the black robe that was lost in the forest's undergrowth.  That deep groan faded further and further away, which this veteran pleads with God every night, never to hear again. 

A Short Story Written by U.S. Army (Ret) Spc. Hugo Gonzalez

1Realistic elements from The Visit’s setting are cited from https://www.culturespotmc.com/seneca-creek-state-parks-grusendorf-log-cabin-holds-open-house-on-Saturday-morning/