What normal person does not enjoy ghost stories? Whether a singularity is expected due to the Large Hadron Collider, UFOs, Artificial Intelligence, the Apocalypse, or the Rapture there is enough in science, SciFi, and the metaphysical to entertain most people’s fancy and imagination. As a child I was given to writing stories, but it wasn’t until I was in high school that I actually took this seriously. One of the occasions for doing so was my writing the following ghost story for our English class, and each year to celebrate Halloween I continue to share it with others.

When I was a boy living on the mining claim here in the Sequoia National Forest long before there was a “Lake Isabella” and the town of Isabella for which the lake, a manmade reservoir, would be named had a total of 36 souls in residence, once the warm weather arrived I would move my bed out of the cabin and sleep all summer long under the branches of a marvelously scented old pine. It was sheer magic to be lulled to sleep by a balmy summer breeze soughing through the needles of the old, stately tree, making the kind of music only angels or a pine tree can make. We had no neighbors within a mile and virtually no one locked doors or windows in that time long ago, and reflecting on that simple life of simple pleasures long gone I recall a story about a husband and wife living in a remote area of Walker Basin not far from Isabella and near the historic town of Havilah.

There were some proud moments for me while attending the high school in the old town of Kernville before the lake went in, like my beating Bakersfield running the 880, when our school band would perform for local audiences and the principal’s son Billy and I would play for dances at the South Fork Community Center, the times when my music teacher Mr. Swadburg on piano and I with clarinet would play classical music for audiences around Kern County.

But the story I wrote for our English class about the couple living in Walker Basin was a proud moment that stands out vividly because the teacher thought it so good she chose to read it for the entire class. Some of the old timers who attended school with me may very well recall the story. I especially glowed when Myrtez, one of the loveliest girls in school, exclaimed after the teacher finished reading it, “That was really good!” When a boy has done something that impresses a beautiful girl he isn’t very likely to forget such a thing notwithstanding the praise of a teacher; so, here is the story:

The incident occurred during the summer of 1951 when the woman’s husband had to make an extended trip away from their home in the wilderness. This necessitated leaving his wife alone; but the circumstances were such that she could not accompany him.

In those days seldom was any thought given to securing doors or windows, and those wise to country living knew how to prevent unwanted visits from local bears, lions, and raccoons disturbing people and their dwellings; common sense matters of prevention like never leaving food scraps about that would bait visits by wild animals.

Nevertheless, with her husband gone and admitting some uneasiness about being alone, the woman did take the precaution before going to bed of tightly locking the doors and windows of their cabin that first night of his absence. Then, confident all was secure she blew out the kerosene lamp on the nightstand, slipped into bed, and despite being all alone in the total darkness of the wilderness in no time was fast asleep.

At first, she did not know what it was that had aroused her from her slumber. It had been a noise of some kind, but she didn’t know what kind of noise? Even in the darkness of the forest night there were natural sounds to which you become accustomed; like the squeak of a mouse caught by an owl, the bark of a fox, natural forest and country sounds like those of a wilderness stream that somehow you become so accustomed they do not disturb your rest at night.

But this was no naturally occurring nocturnal night sound that had awakened her; of this she seemed certain in some unknown somnolent fashion of the mind. She lay there in the dark; beginning to wonder if it had been only a dream after all that had disturbed her rest, when all of a sudden she heard the sound! This time she was not asleep; she was wide-awake and immediately knew what the sound was! It was the sound of a guitar string being struck of the instrument her husband kept in the other room of the cabin next to the fireplace!

Nearly petrified knowing she was completely alone, the doors and windows of the cabin locked tightly, she lay there transfixed with fright not knowing what to do! A few extremely tense moments passed; then the unmistakable sound of a guitar string being struck once more rang out in the blackness of the small cabin!

A loaded shotgun was kept handy leaning against the wall next to the bed, and the woman despite her abject fear accepting that she must do something reached with trembling hand for the gun. She no sooner had hold of it than out of the darkness a string of the guitar was struck again! Loudly!

Easing her now shivering, quaking legs from under the covers of the bed as quietly as possible, she very slowly and deliberately sat upright; and placing the shotgun between her trembling knees she reached over to the nightstand in the darkness, then with shaking fingers managed to lift the chimney from the lamp, and though fearful of doing anything, fearful of making any sound struck a match, lighted the wick and replaced the chimney. No sooner had she done so than the guitar in the other room twanged loudly once more!

Summoning up more courage than she ever thought she possessed the woman arose from the bed, and pointing the shotgun toward the darkness where the guitar was located overcoming with great effort her fear-dried and constricted throat and mouth managed to articulate a shouted, more nearly screamed “Who’s there! I have a gun and I’ll shoot!”

The sudden sound of her own voice ringing out in the small cabin, her shouted warning nearly unhinged her! But there was no response to her shouted threat from out of the now dread blackness of the other room of the cabin. Then, as she stood there pointing the shotgun toward that fearful dark of the other room, a plucked string on the guitar rang out again!

Trembling all the while, fearing her legs would buckle and collapse under her the woman held the shotgun in her right hand finger on the trigger, and with her left she lifted the lamp from the nightstand; then with halting step though nearly frozen with fear advanced toward that dread dark room and guitar.

Suddenly, there in the reflected light from the lamp she could see it! There was the guitar, now seeming to her more an evil haunting specter than a musical instrument, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. But there was no one, no “thing” to be seen in the room! As she stood there nearly paralyzed by fear looking directly at the instrument a string of the guitar was struck forcefully as though by an invisible hand!

Nearly dropping both shotgun and lamp, the woman jerked hard against the jamb of the bedroom door and looked at the spectral instrument in horror! Finally, once more drawing from some hitherto unknown depth of courage she managed to take a faltering step forward. With lamp held high in one hand and ready with the other to fire the shotgun pointed toward the guitar, her frantic mind was racing with what action she might be called upon to take, from what invisible force or creature she might have to defend herself?

When only about five feet away from the guitar she watched transfixed in fascinated horror as right in front of her a grotesque yellow-winged “something!” some “creature!” with hideous face, multiple clawed limbs and menacing, gnashing mandibles suddenly leaped at her with lightning speed from the dark bowels of the instrument and violently struck one of the strings! It was a large grasshopper.

True story.

Sam