The Woodman
Circa: Early 1980's
Night crept in, bringing along with it a dense fog covering everything in hues of grays and blacks. Houses were one or more miles apart on this side of town, separated by farmland and fishing holes. Nestled between woods and fields stood a single-wide trailer off Highway 128. A family of nine settled in for the night: grandparents, adult children, and grandchildren of toddler age. It was time for the grandkids' baths.
The grandmother heated water on the stove, but more was needed to bathe all three grandkids. Noticing the water shortage, she cursed under her breath, thinking of who took a bath before leaving for work. She called to the oldest and youngest of her sons living at home. Their jobs were to fetch water from the pump house as the pipes to the house froze and burst the previous winter.
"We got water earlier before it rained; what happened to it?" the oldest asked.
"He used most of it for his bath." Referring to the unspoken patriarch of the house.
"Leave the back door open for light." He told his baby brother. The air was damp from the ran earlier, the smell of wet earth permeated the area. Light from the house barely pierced the creaking pine and oak trees surrounding the pump house, leaving much of the area draped in darkness. At night, the pump seemed miles away. Carrying milk jugs on their way, the boys heard a clicking sound echoing through the trees.
Fungi
"Shit! Who closed the door?"
"Open the door!" the youngest yelled back at the house, but silence met his request.
"Let's just get the water and head back. Make it quick."
While filling up the jugs, the sound of wood splitting came from the field. Both brothers turned towards the sound. Given its night and the fog, it was unlikely someone would be chopping wood at this hour. More so, the next house was miles down the road. The sound of metal being sharpened came from the tree line afterward.
"Could we go now?" The youngest urged as his heartbeat began to quicken.
"We have one more jug, and it's probably just Old Man Pook down the road."
"At this time of night and in the field?"
The oldest continued to fill the last jug. This time the sound of metal scraping surrounded them, engulfing them and the trailer. Louder and louder until the boys dropped to their knees, covering their ears to block out the sound. As suddenly as it started, it stopped.
"Move!" The boys started back down the path to the trailer. Dropping jugs of water along the way. The sound started again. As the boys stopped to cover their ears, a figure appeared along the path. Dragging an ax behind it. Long wet hair plastered to its face, its skin replaced by the movement of maggots and termites. Overalls cloaked in red mud. It swung the ax at the boys….
I've always been interested in how urban legends begin. What manifested, or what were the conditions to deem an event or person as so? For The Woodman, this legend came from my family. I'm not sure if it is just local to the area or if other families in my hometown heard of the same Woodman. Like most urban legends and boogie men, their roots were to make children behave. The Woodman is no exception. He probably was just a simple elder in the community that chopped and delivered wood. Children probably hid as his truck arrived at their homes; parents connected the dots and stated, "Sit down before The Woodman gets you!"
Of course, the family in the story is mine, so this one has a little truth to it. Yes, they scared each other by yelling "Woodman, Woodman" if they had to pump water at night. I enjoy hearing of my familys' creativity, even if it meant for the stories to scare us. And they wonder why I love fantasy and sci-fi anything.
Do you have any local urban legends to share? And those from my hometown, have you heard of The Woodman?