For context playing mid as Gideon. Doing a decent enough job holding my own. Along come crunch playing opp kill mid chases me into my tower and takes sever hit from tower and myself without losing more than half his hp. This goes on and on until end of match our team is pushed back to inhibitors. All 5 of us gang up on crunch yet can't even deplete 1/4 of his health bar then I see him dash and regain everything we chipped away. I'd like to think we got outclassed but he ended up going 22-1 thoughts or explanation? I'm still very new to the game

I know it's mostly garbage, but there is some coherency here.
​

ただいま状況岡田withキングでございます。ゴー ストは中台としおさあ はい、皆さんこんばんは外は菅谷通たな。琴菜さ ん。片原さんあり、破綻で受け取る荒沢美の書棚 代さんとんでもないやつもう 高橋晃弘さんはましょう。ぴあ郡亜美香定食屋名1 回ものをする つまみたことないよよしよし、 著者は浜省牧野選手の3冠馬のいや宮脇S感染がキ ャラうらりちゃんProtein3冠馬のは、はい。 iPhoneスピーチアップ2 を使って歩里さん、 はい、超党派な賞はい、 ありがとうございました矢野FPのホームステイ 大航空課長本野かおるやろちょっと外業 母あれ Yes MY名は言えない京成キャンプやバーンズ勉強 兄夫婦キャッシュの方教えてって言われておるわ けですよ。うん。 素晴らしい素晴らしい道ガード陣のましょう。質 問一番 違うチーム、Cゲームような日ねんすよ。BEMSべ メッセどうも。はい、 どうもどうも。はい、どうぞ。一番2万基あるの。 70早くか、8、18秋谷さん。70千秋くんな、椎谷 くんの幸代さん。綾子駄目や道沿いや魚屋さん名 店にバリオスPK方式が試験をし、AMIさん ライフ70、早くかあ81888、はい。 さあ良い最後まで館の利用4作業者どうもどうも。 2番カーキーコピーや儲けさせないかは、客もおっ しゃる。ドキドキとかガーゼないてきたてきた 他、刑事無視ギャグ者はドキドキが赤字だ。弱酸 です。秋山さんが武者米を読むよちょうどあの3 大出 もございます。吉田 所持人の心空書はな千種ゲームな ん だめよ、頼むよはい。成功やばいAMIさん昨日荒 木さんっていうピカールはい、溢水。家事なんか 一括でないんだと思うが正しい美味しさにすごい 方なんで超マニアやお料理屋を次回大規模ただサ ンバーす秀和へ計7名趣旨は、 はい。 うん町さんお忙しかったホット122やさっき希少 な今の所黒川ないと、 ただ真砂の質問はい下段がC小原ビクターによると だベガーナ画像スポーティーやろはい顔なんやは いていうかはいどうぞ大きい種運命何を開き出品 ニックやす子晃次君パンジーどっちか桑木関根空 港来ちゃって駄目山系駄目 空室OPP いやあでは小さなへえ

The situation is now Okada with King. Go Sto is a middle ground and come onYes, everyone, good evening outside is Sugaya Tana. Koto-nana Yeah. There is Katahara, and Arazawa Mi's bookshelf to receive in bankruptcy No-one-manish people anymore Let's talk about Mr. Akihiro Takahashi. PIA-gun Amika restaurant name #1 Do something round I've never been boring, okay、 The author is a 3-year-old Makino Hama and Miyawaki S infection Yara Ura-chan is the 3rd champion of Protein, yes. iPhone Speech Up 2 Use it, walker、 Yes, a bipartisan award yes、 Thank you very much, Yano FP homestay General Manager of the Airline Division Kaoru Hono A little bit of outside work Mother, that is Yes MY name can not say Keisei camp and Burns study I'm told that my brother and wife Cash taught me It's disgusting. Yeah. Awesome, wonderful road guard. Quality Question number one Different teams, a day like a C game. BEMSbe Thanks for the message. Yes, sir、 Thank you very much. Yes, please. There are 20,000. 70 Early, 8, 18 Akitani-san. 70 Chiaki-kun, Shiitani Mr. Yukiyo of Kun. Ayako-dama, along the road and fish shop name Barrios PK method is tested in the shop, AMI 7.8 Billion to 81888, yes. Come on, use of the building until the end of the good 4 workers thank you very much. No. 2 khaki copy or make no money, customers also top it Pun. There was no throb or gauze The criminal ignoring gag has a throb in the red. Weak acid Is. Akiyama reads samurai rice, just that 3 Oude There are also. Yoshida The empty mind of the owner is a thousand games Yeah No, please yes. Success and bad AMI yesterday Piccard called tree is flooded. Housework I think that it is not a lump, but it is amazing with the right taste Because it is super mania and a large-scale restaurant next time A total of 7 people's purpose to the bar Hidekazu、 Yes. Yeah town-san was busy hot 122 a bit rare Now we have to go to the black river、 But the question of Masasago is yes the lower stage is according to Victor Cohara Yes, Vegana imagesSporty and yes, it's a face Say yes, please open up what a big kind of fate Nick Yasuko Koji-kun, Pansy, either way, Sekineku Kuwagi The port can't come, the mountain Vacancy OPP Well, small one

It crunched it all together in a Reddit table, so here it also is:
​
ただいま状況岡田withキングでございます。ゴー
ストは中台としおさあ
はい、皆さんこんばんは外は菅谷通たな。琴菜さ
ん。片原さんあり、破綻で受け取る荒沢美の書棚
代さんとんでもないやつもう
高橋晃弘さんはましょう。ぴあ郡亜美香定食屋名1
回ものをする
つまみたことないよよしよし、
著者は浜省牧野選手の3冠馬のいや宮脇S感染がキ
ャラうらりちゃんProtein3冠馬のは、はい。
iPhoneスピーチアップ2
を使って歩里さん、
はい、超党派な賞はい、
ありがとうございました矢野FPのホームステイ
大航空課長本野かおるやろちょっと外業
母あれ
Yes MY名は言えない京成キャンプやバーンズ勉強
兄夫婦キャッシュの方教えてって言われておるわ
けですよ。うん。
素晴らしい素晴らしい道ガード陣のましょう。質
問一番
違うチーム、Cゲームような日ねんすよ。BEMSべ
メッセどうも。はい、
どうもどうも。はい、どうぞ。一番2万基あるの。
70早くか、8、18秋谷さん。70千秋くんな、椎谷
くんの幸代さん。綾子駄目や道沿いや魚屋さん名
店にバリオスPK方式が試験をし、AMIさん
ライフ70、早くかあ81888、はい。
さあ良い最後まで館の利用4作業者どうもどうも。
2番カーキーコピーや儲けさせないかは、客もおっ
しゃる。ドキドキとかガーゼないてきたてきた
他、刑事無視ギャグ者はドキドキが赤字だ。弱酸
です。秋山さんが武者米を読むよちょうどあの3
大出
もございます。吉田
所持人の心空書はな千種ゲームな
ん
だめよ、頼むよはい。成功やばいAMIさん昨日荒
木さんっていうピカールはい、溢水。家事なんか
一括でないんだと思うが正しい美味しさにすごい
方なんで超マニアやお料理屋を次回大規模ただサ
ンバーす秀和へ計7名趣旨は、
はい。
うん町さんお忙しかったホット122やさっき希少
な今の所黒川ないと、
ただ真砂の質問はい下段がC小原ビクターによると
だベガーナ画像スポーティーやろはい顔なんやは
いていうかはいどうぞ大きい種運命何を開き出品
ニックやす子晃次君パンジーどっちか桑木関根空
港来ちゃって駄目山系駄目
空室OPP
いやあでは小さなへえ
​
The situation is now Okada with King. Go
Sto is a middle ground and come on
Yes, everyone, good evening outside is Sugaya Tana. Koto-nana
Yeah. There is Katahara, and Arazawa Mi's bookshelf to receive in bankruptcy
No-one-manish people anymore
Let's talk about Mr. Akihiro Takahashi. PIA-gun Amika restaurant name #1
Do something round
I've never been boring, okay、
The author is a 3-year-old Makino Hama and Miyawaki S infection
Yara Ura-chan is the 3rd champion of Protein, yes.
iPhone Speech Up 2
Use it, walker、
Yes, a bipartisan award yes、
Thank you very much, Yano FP homestay
General Manager of the Airline Division Kaoru Hono A little bit of outside work
Mother, that is
Yes MY name can not say Keisei camp and Burns study
I'm told that my brother and wife Cash taught me
It's disgusting. Yeah.
Awesome, wonderful road guard. Quality
Question number one
Different teams, a day like a C game. BEMSbe
Thanks for the message. Yes, sir、
Thank you very much. Yes, please. There are 20,000.
70 Early, 8, 18 Akitani-san. 70 Chiaki-kun, Shiitani
Mr. Yukiyo of Kun. Ayako-dama, along the road and fish shop name
Barrios PK method is tested in the shop, AMI
7.8 Billion to 81888, yes.
Come on, use of the building until the end of the good 4 workers thank you very much.
No. 2 khaki copy or make no money, customers also top it
Pun. There was no throb or gauze
The criminal ignoring gag has a throb in the red. Weak acid
Is. Akiyama reads samurai rice, just that 3
Oude
There are also. Yoshida
The empty mind of the owner is a thousand games
Yeah
No, please yes. Success and bad AMI yesterday
Piccard called tree is flooded. Housework
I think that it is not a lump, but it is amazing with the right taste
Because it is super mania and a large-scale restaurant next time
A total of 7 people's purpose to the bar Hidekazu、
Yes.
Yeah town-san was busy hot 122 a bit rare
Now we have to go to the black river、
But the question of Masasago is yes the lower stage is according to Victor Cohara
Yes, Vegana imagesSporty and yes, it's a face
Say yes, please open up what a big kind of fate
Nick Yasuko Koji-kun, Pansy, either way, Sekineku Kuwagi
The port can't come, the mountain
Vacancy OPP
Well, small one

Sometimes I have a dream of a farm. Only the farm isn’t a dream. The farm is where I live. Sometimes I dream of a man with the head of a pig. Only the Pigman isn’t a dream. He stands out in the fields every night and he watches me. Sometimes I have a dream where the Pigman says my name: a name I haven’t used in a long, long time. This one is a dream— the Pigman never speaks to me.
Last night, I didn’t dream about any of that. I dreamt of an apple.
I walked through an orchard, and everything was dry and dead. I was alone, but there wasn’t anything abnormal about that. Through all the withered wood, I caught a glimpse of something bright and red. Rushing over, I saw the apple at the highest point on the tree, so I scraped my knees and knuckles up climbing to get it. I twisted and pulled it off, and when I took a bite, the taste of salt filled my mouth. I didn’t like it, but I ate the entire thing. Juice ran down my chin, and I threw the core at the sky. Then I woke up, wondering how my mouth still tasted like seawater.
I quickly realized it wasn’t something unexplainably carrying over from my dream— just me forgetting to brush my teeth the night before.
I got up and did my rounds in the morning mist, then I took an extra hot shower. Today was going to be a long day. After cooking breakfast, doing chores, and anything else I could think of to put off leaving, I told Aunt Jean I’d be gone for an hour or two, and to make sure things were still at least somewhat normal around here. She just smiled at me and rocked away in her rocking chair, knitting an infinity scarf. Infinity as in it was a good fifteen feet long and still going. I admired her dedication for as long as was reasonable, then just a little longer, before loading onto Old Blue. The four wheeler choked a few times, but she wasn’t going to do me the favor of dying just when I wanted her to.
Dust swallowed the path behind me as I tore around Silver’s Curve toward town. There was something bitter in the air that was unusual; it clung to the back of my throat and sinuses. It stayed around long after I’d reached the cracked asphalt of Battleman.
Two-Tooth Steve was looking extra chipper today. When I walked in, he was humming along to System Of A Down as he held a duckling. He was painting a small riot red Mohawk on the head of the tiny ball of fluff and feathers.
In lieu of a greeting, he held her out to me and stuck the brush back in the animal-safe paint. His free hand went up to his chin, like he was appraising a priceless painting.
“What do you think? Was red the right call? That’s the one little Harriet here picked.”
Harriet quacked, as if saying ‘damn right I did.’
“I think it suits her.”
And with that, Two-Tooth Steve stuck Harriet in his shirt pocket.
“Was wondering when I’d see you again, Newport. How’re the Girls doing?”
Two-Tooth Steve is a six foot five metalhead with more piercings and tattoos than you can shake a stick at, and he owns the hardware and farm supply store in town. I’m lucky for it; he’s one of the only people here who seems to enjoy having me around.
“Good, always good. I think I need to switch back to the old feed, though. They’re laying weird eggs again, the kind of stuff I don’t think would get FDA-approved.”
Two-Tooth Steve nodded, poking his tongue thoughtfully through the gap where his two front teeth should’ve been.
“What color?”
I counted up the eggs and handed the basket over to him.
“A little bit redder than Harriet’s new ‘do. Also there was a little creature inside of it that was definitely not any kind of chicken. I think I saw a tentacle.”
“Oof. Yeah, I think I’m going to stop selling that kind. I’ve heard some weird things.”
He handed me two large sacks of the old feed, and I hefted them onto my shoulders. Sometimes he would just pay me outright for the eggs, but most of the time we had a barter system. He said nobody else had eggs quite like mine, that there was just something special about them.
“Other than that, they’re fine. Beelzebub went AWOL the other day, but she made it back express via Poultry Post.”
Two-Tooth Steve didn’t question it. He’d heard enough weird stories from me, and he’d seen enough on his own.
“Oh, what her avian eyes must have witnessed.”
I laughed. At least I wasn’t the only one who could wax poetic about a chicken.
“You’re telling me, she’s got a new one now.”
I picked out a few other things, the most exciting of which being a shiny new rake for the barn, and paid him the difference from the cash I took from the lockbox at home.
“See you next week?”
I nodded. This was an emergency trip for the chickens, but every other Wednesday was shopping day. The Landlady took care of most of my needs, but I was on my own with farm necessities.
“Oh yeah. Hephaestus gets cranky when he doesn’t get a new salt lick. I’ll be here, even if a zombie plague descends upon us.”
“Hey, I never turn down a paying customer, higher brain function or not.”
Harriet quacked again, and I valued her effort to be involved in the conversation. Then I took my things, said goodbye, and left.
On most days, that would’ve been the end of it. I would’ve gone home and went back to my rural bubble, fit for only one. But I had packed a lunch for myself on a whim, and I was unusually hungry thinking about it. I decided that it might be nice to sit in the square and watch the cotton ball clouds drift by.
Little did I know that a peanut butter and strawberry sandwich would alter the course of my life forever. Because as I walked into the square, that’s when he first spoke to me.
“Did you find your chicken?”
I raised my eyebrow and turned to where the voice had come from.
Sometimes the other farmers would set up stands here on clear afternoons, selling fruit and vegetables and whatever else they had in excess from what they made a living off of. I was never keen on the whole “farmer’s market” thing, but this guy sure was. His little stand was decorated with paper mache flowers, and he had a few baskets full of admittedly cinema-perfect apples.
“Are you talking to me?”
It was a stupid question, considering we were the only two people around. But I was the number one champion for twenty years running when it came to stupid questions.
“Yeah! Did you find your chicken? I saw your poster. I was worried about Beeee… Bellzbub?”
“Beelzebub.”
His broad nose scrunched just a little, as if he’d just caught a whiff of his own brain melting.
“B… Bubblezub?”
“Beelzebub.”
I turned away from him and started walking toward the fountain. To my surprise and annoyance, he followed me.
“Beezleebub?”
I sat down on the edge and pretended that unwrapping my sandwich was the most interesting thing to be doing in the world.
“Close enough. And yeah, I found her.”
He sat down next to me, and I took a minute to get a good look at him while he wasn’t making eye contact.
He had a few good inches on me, but totally not enough to make me feel small. He’d tied his long black hair into a ponytail, and his skin—the color of Alabama clay — was sticky with summer sweat.
“Are you okay? You’re kind of staring at me right now…”
The non-eye-contact apparently hadn’t lasted long. I blinked and looked away, focusing all my energy and trying to keep my face from going red. If I had been trying any harder, it would’ve turned blue.
“I’m fine. Don’t think there’s any rules against looking at people.”
“Well, yeah, of course not! I just… I wanted to make sure you weren’t having a seizure or something. My aunt used to do that sometimes. Anyway, I’m glad you found your chicken! I saw the missing poster on my morning run the last few days. I’m Dawson. I live a little ways down the road from you. My family owns the apple orchard… and also the sheep. My mom also keeps bees? We’ve got a Jack of all Trades, Master of Three thing going on.”
“Newport.”
It wasn’t that he wasn’t being nice. It was that he was being too nice. He was being nice in the way that could’ve only been a joke when directed at someone who had the kind of reputation I did. We were on a playground and he was the boy that “wanted to go out with me.” Yeah, sure.
I took a bite of my sandwich, giving myself an excuse not to talk. But he seemed utterly unphased.
“Oh, Newport? Is that your name? Like the cigarettes? That’s such a kickass name. I think it suits you. You know, I see you around sometimes, and you always look so lonely. Is it true what they say? Do you—“
I stood up and started walking back to my four wheeler. I didn’t know what he’d heard, and I didn’t want to. And of fucking course, he walked right after me.
“Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I actually have something for you.”
I turned around sharply, staring him down. His big green eyes were filled with remorse, and I hated that it felt real.
“What? What do you want?”
“I shouldn’t have said that. I kind of realize how it sounds now.”
A small part of me wanted to believe him, but most of me just wanted this interaction over. I wanted to go home and back to my solitude. I wanted to lose myself in a record. Music doesn't give you false pretenses of kindness, unless it’s supposed to.
But you can always turn music off. Turning people off was a lot more complicated than it sounded.
“Save it. What do you want to give me?”
Dawson pulled an apple from his overall pocket, and offered it out to me. It was the most gorgeous piece of fruit I’d ever seen. And I instantly despised it.
“Why are you giving me this?”
I didn’t move to take it. One case of not enough stranger danger involving accepting an apple had done enough to make my life Hell, and I was not about to be Eve 2.0.
“It’s a gift. I’ve got plenty.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I knew it had been coming, the hidden something in this interaction.
“Oh, because I can’t pay for my own apples? That’s probably the thing you’ve heard, isn’t it? That I’m the poor, filthy it that lives in a shack out in the sticks and bites the heads off chickens or something.”
Dawson looked down at the apple, then back at me. His thick eyebrows pinched in concern.
“Nothing like that, Newport. It’s just an apple.”
I knew I willingly gave him my name, but how dare he use it like that? I snatched the apple out of his hand, if only so he’d finally leave me alone.
“Listen to me. I’m not yours, or anybody’s charity case. Do you know what I’m going to do with this?”
Dawson got a stupid smile on his face. He looked like I was trying to tell him a joke and he didn’t understand the punchline, but he thought I was funny anyway.
“Eat it?”
“No. I’m going to take it home, sit in my kitchen window, and watch it rot.”
I expected him to frown, maybe turn away, or even take the apple back. But it was becoming clear to me that Dawson didn’t care what I expected. Instead, his eyebrows jumped so high they might as well have launched off his face. But he didn’t lose that smile.
“Just make sure you compost it afterward. Mother Nature will thank you.”
I stuffed away the sandwich that I’d only taken one bite out of with a squish. Then I continued walking back to my four wheeler. This time, Dawson didn’t follow me. He just watched me go with an idiotic grin.
I pulled out my Zippo and lit one of the hand-rolled cigarettes I’d brought with me. Then I jumped on Old Blue and sped off back towards home.
Halfway back to the farm and all the way through my cigarette, I pulled out the mushed remains of my sandwich. I was still starving, and beginning to feel a little faint. Riding with one arm was risky, but falling off my four wheeler at high speed because I hadn’t eaten since early this morning was definitely more so.
I only made it a few bites in before I realized that something was definitely not right. The tart taste of strawberries turned sour and musty. It was like licking a carpet, and not in a good way. When I pulled open the sandwich to give it my best Gordon Ramsay impression, what I saw made me lose control of the four wheeler.
My back hit the ground hard as Old Blue careened into the ditch. That was going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow. I rolled over and emptied my guts all over the ground, painting it with peanut butter and chunks of rotten meat. The abomination that had once been my lunch somehow landed only a few feet away, and I could smell it from here. I swatted a few ants off of my hand, residue from the ones that swarmed over the molded bird corpse that had appeared in my sandwich.
Before I could make it to my feet, I heard something shifting around in the thick brush just ahead. I crawled over to my sideways four wheeler, shrinking against the frame. Then, all around me, came the unmistakable sound of buzzing flies. My skin had been crawling before, but I was lucky then that it didn’t crawl right off my body. It wouldn’t have been the first time my skin betrayed me.
As dread slowly washed over me, I tried to make myself as small and invisible as possible. I could hear cloven hooves approaching over the sounds of insects, and a wet, wheezing laugh that could’ve only come from lungs riddled with sickness.
In the leaves, I saw two hollow sockets. And that’s when ‘I have to hide’ became ‘I need to run.’ With a rush of adrenaline that most people have to go fourteen thousand feet for, I stood up and pushed Old Blue back on all four wheels. Then I jumped on and raced down the ditch, no doubt doing damage to the tires. But I’d worry about that later.
Whatever I’d seen, it didn’t follow me. I don’t remember how I got out of the ditch, but I made it home in record time. The next moment I remember clearly was standing in the barn. If my watch wasn’t slow, it had been a little less than thirty minutes since I’d left town. Glancing out at the four wheeler, I saw that the only thing that had suffered from the crash was the rake. It was slightly mangled at the edge, but that was nothing a good hammer couldn’t fix. Not even Old Blue herself had any damage; it all felt a little too lucky.
Sally was up on the ceiling again, her hooves clopping against the wood. It was a lot easier to focus on that than whatever the hell had just happened. Her pen partner, Davy Crockett, just looked up and watched her with complacency. His eyes told a story, and that story started with wives, am I right?
“You can’t stay up there forever, Sally Ann. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
She stared at me with her big yellow eyes, and then she opened her mouth. But instead of a bleat, out came a scream.
“RUUUUUUUUUNNNNN!!!”
I practically threw myself out of the barn and made a mad dash for the house. I’d only made it onto the porch when I realized that the voice had been a familiar one. Of course it hadn’t come from Sally; everybody knows goats only scream Taylor Swift.
It had been my well-spoken friend, living in my water supply at the edge of my backyard. Anna Well was still shouting her warning, and though knowing it was her still didn’t ease my anxiety, I didn’t break my door down trying to get inside.
The walls only muffled the screeches a little. There was an endless list of things that needed to be done, but all I could do was pace around the room. Something about how I’d gotten away so easily wasn’t sitting right with me. As I sat the apple I’d been given onto the windowsill, I was just beginning to accept that maybe the paranoia was stronger than usual today. Maybe the whole thing had been a vivid, waking nightmare. Falling asleep on my four wheeler sounded about like something I would do.
That was when I saw a shape in the distance, moving up the long path to my house. Horror built in me, clogging my throat like an insidious golf-ball. The idea that it was the… thing I’d encountered on my way home scared me, but the possibility that it wasn’t terrified me even more. I couldn’t deal with destiny today. Even if I could get the shot right, you had to be in the right state of mind to dispose of a body.
Nevertheless, I grabbed my shotgun and rushed out onto the porch. The figure was definitely a person, but I still couldn’t make out who it was. I checked the chamber, dropped to one knee, and thumbed off the safety. Even with a deep breath, my hands were still shaking. But I lined up the shot and took it.
Sometimes I wonder how different my life would’ve been if I hadn’t missed that shot. The one thing I’m certain of is… it would’ve been a whole lot worse. And probably a lot shorter.
Instead of running away, like any sensible person who just nearly took a bullet to the brain, the tall figure ran toward my house. It was then that I recognized that my trespasser was entirely human and probably didn’t know the first thing about tax evasion and foreclosure. Dawson had already made it halfway up the path, and I leveled the gun back at him. I missed intentionally this time, but not by much. He had to get the message: I did not want him here.
To my surprise, he ran faster. I would’ve been worried he was coming to kill me if his face wasn’t full of fear. Resigning myself to another interaction with him, I clicked the safety back on and walked back into the house, leaving the door open as I put my shotgun back in its usual spot.
I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, knowing I was definitely going to need to be hydrated for whatever this was. When I turned back around. Dawson was out of breath, doubled over in my doorway. It had to have been the fear stealing his breath; he was built like a redwood.
“Adrenaline’s one hell of a drug, isn’t it?”
There was a singed spot in his hair where the first bullet had just barely missed him.
“Oh, thank God you were here! Someone was shooting at me! I knew I would be safe here with you.”
“I was shooting at you.”
Dawson’s face crinkled in thought, and then he straightened up. Instead of cursing me out, or leaving, or any other number of deserved aggressions, he looked at me with an innocent and confused smile, as if I’d just let the door close on him.
“Why’d you do that?”
I offered him a water bottle, but gave him a dark look along with it, so he knew it wasn’t an invitation to stay.
“Because you’re a trespasser. Didn’t you see the sign? It says private property - trespassers will be executed.”
Dawson drained the entire water bottle in one go, then pulled something out of his pocket.
“And I’m guessing this is your private property too?”
I stared at the Zippo in his hands. I felt several spikes of retroactive panic and grabbed at it. He let me snatch it out of his hand without resistance, and I clutched it tight to my chest.
“Where did you get this? Did you take it?!”
Dawson shook his head earnestly.
“You dropped it as you were leaving. I got this weird hunch it wasn’t just something you’d picked up from Walmart.”
I checked it over, and save for being a bit dirty, it was in the same condition I’d lost it in. If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed that he hadn’t taken it. But there was something weirdly genuine about him. I ran my finger across the long scratch left by my dad when it was still his.
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” I said, not really thinking about it.
“Maybe not, but I know how it feels to lose something special. Don’t mention it.”
I set the lighter down by the radio, not trusting myself to keep track of it for at least the rest of the day. Then I grabbed my spare from the kitchen drawer. Even with the warp-speed panic attack over, I still needed a cigarette.
“This doesn’t make us friends, though.”
Dawson got that stupid grin of his.
“Just promise you won’t shoot at me next time?”
He was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for at the time. It was a loaded question, and I totally fell for it.
“Deal.”
Dawson walked around the kitchen like a curious child, looking at almost everything. I could tell there were a thousand questions about me bouncing around in his brain, but he kept them to himself. Then he looked at the apple in the window.
“Ah. I see you’re a man of your word. I like that.”
Not only did he show up to my house uninvited and run through my open door, but now he was affirming my gender too? The nerve of this guy was astounding.
“Absolutely. It’s going to stay right there until it gets the termites underneath it drunk.”
Dawson turned and looked back at me.
“You know, what I asked earlier… I was just wondering if it was true you lived all alone up here. I’ve heard about the chicken decapitation, yeah, but I already knew that was less than bullshit. I only thought that you must be awfully lonely.”
I thought carefully about how to answer that question, but in the end it didn’t matter. The chickens started fluttering and fussing outside, and I heard crunching metal and snuffling breaths through the open door. I was out of the kitchen and running toward the coop before I even registered Dawson’s “what was that?!”
In my haste, I’d grabbed the broom instead of my gun, but I swung it at Hairy’s big stupid bear-man face anyway. There was a hole in the side of the coop, and chickens were spilling out faster than you could say e-i-e-i-o.
“TAKE YOUR BEAR ASS SOMEWHERE ELSE! THIS ISN’T KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN!”
Dawson only caught a glimpse of his face before Hairy was jogging away.
“Was that… a man in a bear costume?”
I turned to him and thrust the broom into his hands.
“Worse, a bear in a man costume. Stay here and guard the Girls. I’ve got to go disarm the electrical and get some chicken wire to fix this.”
Dawson saluted with the broom, leaving tiny dust bunnies in his hair. Somehow, it suited him.
When I made it back with the necessary stuff to fix the hole, Dawson was sitting on the ground with all the hens crowded around him. The chicks sat on his legs, chirping happily and pecking at his work boots. Beez was monitoring the field trip like the matriarch she was.
“Looks like I’m a real chick magnet, huh?”
I rolled my eyes and got to work on the hole. I still didn’t know just how I felt about this guy, but he’d passed the Hen Test with flying colors, and saying that was a good omen would’ve been an understatement. My dad and my brother were the only two people who’d ever gotten this reaction out of the Girls.
But still, I wasn’t going to let them tell me what to think.
“Sorry about that. Hairy doesn’t usually try anything when it’s this hot outside.”
Dawson got up from the ground and cradled the chicks in his arms. I could tell he wanted to help me, but one does not simply put down fuzzy little yellow puffballs that want to be held. The hens seemed especially trusting with him holding their babies. Beez clucked low and slow, letting us know that she was still the boss of the situation.
“What was that thing?”
“Bearsquatch.”
Dawson nodded and made a long “aahhh” as if it required no further explanation.
“I call him Hairy Houdini, because there’s literally no way he should be able to get in here. It’s got a shock trigger on it. Doesn’t hurt the hens, but it could literally fry an elephant. I’ve accidentally set it off once or twice; it’s no joke.”
“Have you tried setting out peanut butter?”
I gave him a skeptical look.
“Is it really a good idea to be putting out a buffet for the chicken thief?”
“Well, if he’s intelligent enough to break into the coop, you can probably train him. A little positive reinforcement never hurts, and besides, it’ll keep him from using his mouth for a little while. That’s what we did when my dogs were still puppies.”
I didn’t want to admit it was a good idea, so I shrugged. But internally, I told myself to see if the Landlady would bring me a little extra peanut butter at the end of the month.
“I guess that answers my question about you being lonely. You’ve got Beary Houdini to keep you company.”
I didn’t bother correcting him. The coop was fixed, and so I lit my cigarette and offered Dawson one. The guy put off a vibe like he dreamt in anti-smoking ads, but he took it anyway. I looked out to the forest, and then back to him.
“Well, there are… things around here. Things like Hairy, and the lady that screams down in the well. But they don’t really live here. It’s just me. And I… I guess I do get lonely. But it’s hard to even remember how lonely feels. Everything becomes unremarkable when you deal with it for long enough, and when loneliness is your default setting… well…”
I shook my head and took a long drag. I turned away, waiting for Dawson to tell me how sad that and by extension my life was. But it never came.
Instead, I noticed something moving through the trees. The ground began to turn black, racing toward me like a heat-seeking missile. Before I could even make it a step back, I was staring into the milky white of a diseased bovine eye, inches away from my face. Then I blinked, and my surroundings changed entirely.
All the green had been replaced with barren grays and browns, and my home was little more than a wasteland in nuclear summer. There was only one other thing in this empty place. What had once been a mildly annoying farmer boy sweet-talking some chicks was now a sun bleached skeleton. The cigarette I’d given him still hung from its mouth, smoking lightly. I opened my mouth to say something… anything… but the words just weren’t there. My brain had tried to process all of this for about two seconds before hanging up the “Gone Fishin’” sign.
“Are you okay, dude? You’re staring at me again.”
His teeth clicked together as he spoke, and he reached a bony hand up and took the cigarette from his mouth.
“I… I think I should be asking you that. You’re literally a skeleton right now.”
Even with no possible way he could have an expression on his face, I still knew he was smiling. And not just a permanent, I-have-no-cheeks smile.
“You know, my mom tells me that a lot. I just put it off as her being her, but maybe she has a point.”
I blinked, and within that half a second, everything was normal again. The color hurt my eyes, but I didn’t want to close them, just in case it somehow sent me back.
“Did I upset you again? Feel free to ignore what I said.”
I scooped up Beelzebub and held her close, glad she hadn’t gotten turned into chicken scratch.
“Sorry, what did you say? I think I missed it.”
Dawson gently placed the chicks he was holding back into the coop, and the hens swiftly followed.
“Oh, um… I said that I think you’re a strong person. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it takes a lot to be able to make it on your own. You’re clearly doing well for yourself out here. It’s honorable, in a strange way. I kind of really admire you for it.”
The cigarette, which Dawson had put back in my mouth, nearly fell from between my lips. I didn’t know what to say, and I assumed he thought he’d upset me. So we just stared at each other for a minute.
“Jeez. Give me a medal, why don’t you?”
I was fighting a stacked battle against the smile that wanted to come over my face, and losing terribly.
“You’re not mad at me?”
“Oh, I’m mad at you for several reasons. But no, that’s not one of them.”
Once all but one of the chickens were all safe inside their refurbished one bedroom apartment, Dawson and I began to head back to the house.
“Wait, I thought you said you lived alone? Who is that?!”
Aunt Jean was standing on the porch, a glass of lemonade in one hand and a corn spider big enough to kill a rabbit rested on her other. I had been wondering what the bumping around in the attic was the night before, so I guessed that answered that question.
“What? It’s just a corn spider.”
Dawson shook his head and pointed toward the old woman. She grinned and waved him off like a shy debutante.
“Oh, you mean Aunt Jean. I wouldn’t say she lives here. It’s more like she exists here. I don’t… really know what her deal is, but she’s nice. She won’t bite you. Actually, no, scratch that. She probably won’t bite you. I still don’t fully know what that lady is capable of.”
Aunt Jean waved before bending down and letting the corn spider climb off her arm. Like a watchman returning to his post, it began a slow crawl back to the cornfield. Then she walked back inside. I glanced at the house, then to Dawson, then the house again. I was probably going to regret it later, but he accepted the invitation before I had any time to really consider what I was doing. I had a brand new Florence + The Machine record that I hadn’t played nearly enough, and I wanted to feel out his music taste.
“You know, you’re weird Newport. Really weird. But I like weird things.”
I opened the door for him, bringing Beez in with me. If I decided to get rid of him after all, I knew she would lend a wing.
“Say one more sappy thing and I’ll put you on an express flight to the moon on Fist Airlines.”
I couldn’t say fully how I felt about Dawson yet, but the unnamed evil lurking around had made me realize something. I much preferred him alive rather than dead.

I'm rusty. Haven't done anything marketing related since early 2019, in which I was doing web design, copywriting and some branding for small to medium sized businesses - then switched fields into customer service when a cool opportunity came up, then covid came along and I was made redundant, then got the opp to work promoting and educating on electric and autonomous technology which was awesome, until the department was abruptly dissolved. Then I pursued an interest I had in mental health and social work, realised I'm not cut out of for that sort of emotionally draining role, then got a job briefly managing a bottle shop, but it was too stressful and I got no support from above, plus there were a lot of thefts and some dangerous situations so I left.
Anyway I'm considering returning to marketing.
I never loved the hard data and number crunching side of the field though, or the events and boozing and schmoozing clients bullshit - I always preferred the more creative and writing based elements of the job.
However, I take it that the copywriting element of marketing is one of the areas that's going to be most easily replicable with AI once they've been fine tuned and businesses learn of their true potential, and I've heard that web design isn't the same as it was 5 years back, with some more simple and intuitive software which would render my wordpress builds unnecessary. Plus my rusty and middling photoshop skills are going to be all but useless soon enough, if they aren't already, given the rapid progress of image generating and manipulating AI.
Obviously AI can be a boon not just a bane, and I'm sure people are using it to help automate certain aspects and synthesize data, and we could of course use it to write copy in no time and become mere fact checkers (Gemini ultra is exceptionally good at writing in a way that seems human)... but surely this can only continue for so long, until upper execs realize that they no longer need a department, when in fact one productive motherfucker who knows how to use various AI can do what several folks were doing historically - or marketing duties will be subsumed into other roles which also have their loads lightened by AI.
Anyway, how has the industry changed in the past 5 years?
And how do you see it evolving?
Do you think it will be majorly disrupted by AI?

Someone mentioned that they thought that we might play better with less guards, so I decided to crunch the numbers on our four main guards: Scoot, Ant, Malcolm, and Shae. Here are the results:
4 Guards Playing:
Results: 2 wins, 8 losses (20% win percentage), -12 point differential TM PTS 109.20 OPP PTS 121.20
Players: All four played 10 games with four guards. 31.25% of total games played for Scoot, Brog and Shae, 52.63% of total games played for Ant
3 Guards Playing:
Results: 7 wins, 11 losses, (38.8% win percentage), -6.94 point differential TM PTS 106.22 OPP PTS 113.17
Players: Scoot 18 gp (56.25% of total gp) Brogdon 15 gp (46.88% of total) Sharpe 13 gp (40.63% of total) Ant 8 gp (42.11% of total)
2 Guards Playing:
Results: 3 wins, 5 losses, (37.5% win percentage), -5.13 point differential TM PTS 114.13 OPP PTS 119.25
Players: Scoot 4 gp (12.5% of total gp) Brogdon 7 gp (21.88% of total) Sharpe 4 gp (12.5% of total) Ant 1 gp (5.26% of total)
1 Guard Playing: (these games were all with Sharpe and Skylar Mays with a (un)healthy dose of Jamaree Bouyea) TM PTS 98.00 OPP PTS 116.20
Results: 0 wins, 5 losses, -18.2 point differential
Sharpe's 5 games account for 15.63% of his total gp
Analysis: When we have three or two guards playing, we do considerably better. It's glaring how much worse we are defensively when we have too many guards on the floor, giving up an average of 121.2 points per game to opponents in these games. While the 2 guard lineups seem to yield the best point differential, I think 3 guards is the sweet spot. When we play these lineups, we are the best defensively, holding opponents to only 113.17 ppg, which would rank 13th in the NBA.
I could look further into individual player stats, but I think they'd make this post too long. A few notes for each guard I saw in looking through the data though:
Games where Brogdon plays seem to yield the best results, and in fact, games where he plays in a 2 or 3 guard lineup, he gives us a 10-12 record and a point differential of only -3.41. Without him, we're 0-9 with a point differential of -20.22. Yikes! I think we should brace for some truly terrible stretches if he's gone at the trade deadline.
I think Anfernee has suffered from playing without healthy 2 or 3 guard lineups, when he plays with Brogdon in a 2 or 3 guard lineup, we're 2-3 with a differential of -5.00, but that's a tiny sample size. Ant's playtime has also coincided with missing Jerami Grant (4 games missed when Ant's playing) and Deandre Ayton (12 games missed). We've also played some tough opponents in that stretch. All that being said, the numbers aren't great for him, with a -12.89 point differential in 2 and 3 guard lineups, a 2-7 record in those games (yes, both those wins came with Brogdon). Our offense in those games has been a little better than our average at 109.22 ppg, but the defense has been very poor, giving up 122.11 ppg.
Scoot and Brogdon have played relatively well together, in all lineups going 11-17 with a -6.04 point differential. Take out 4 guard games, and we're 9-9 in those games, with a point differential of only -2.72. Scoot and Sharpe are one of our best defensive combos in this scenario, playing together in 3 guard lineups they're boasting an average opponent ppg value of 112.38. Sadly, our offense suffers in these games, putting up only 104.69 ppg. Scoot and Ant seem to be the worst pairing for Scoot, see Ant's numbers in 2 and 3 guard lineups (they're all games Scoot played).
Shaedon has had the most unique hand dealt to him this year imo. He's had to play next to Skylar and Jamaree Bouyea in some truly terrible games. But filtering out those games and 4 guard lineup games, we put up 108.41 ppg and give up 114.77, a differential of -6.36. This is a pretty average showing.
TL;DR: Brogdon is good, 4 guard lineups are bad, Ant has struggled to win games this year (not sure if it's his fault though).
Things I would love to analyze further: using EPM's adjusted DRTG and ORTG to get a more accurate read on lineups, adding other players to the mix like Grant and Ayton.
Data is available here

Yay, another Tokyo/Kyoto/Osaka trip report. Coming back and going straight into holiday mode delayed this write up, but here we go.
Background: Me + 1 friend. This is trip 5 to Japan. 4th time in Tokyo, 1st time in Kyoto somehow. Not going with anyone else new so there are a few places where we don't have to go to for touristy reasons. Yes! I'm a wandereexplorer and look for food products to bring back home to play with in the kitchen. I also want a good meal or two per day! Friend wants all the models. Trust is made that I don't run us into a crappy restaurant.
Japanese is not good. I'm pretty good at reading and then translating to words I know (food), but a lot of it is super broken Japanese with the vocabulary of a 4-year old. We get by.
Food plan: A few spots that I zeroed in on, but really this was going to be wandering around and finding something, or using Google Maps on the spot to find something in the area. I find it's way too difficult looking for places to eat from home, months in advance. Plus in a country like Japan, it's hard to go wrong.
Trip: Flew into Tokyo, 3 nights in Tokyo, 2 nights in Kyoto, 4 nights in Osaka, flew from KIX->HND->Home (with a 1:15 layover at HND thanks to the return flight being moved up 2 hours; thanks JAL!). Flight was booked in January (!) which is way earlier than I'm comfortable with, but the price was good and thankfully (for us) the exchange rate stayed in the tank.
Hotels: Motivation for the hotels was proximity to the major train stations. We've dragged suitcases through Tokyo train stations before and would prefer not to relive that experience if we don't have to. This did work out.
Day 1/Arrival into Narita: Pleasant JAL flight, but the food was awful. Even by airline standards. No cup instant udon! Arrived at 4pm and we were on the platform waiting for the NRT Express by 5pm. We did to the VisitJapanWeb prior to arrival. It probably cost us more time. It definitely saved 0 time at immigration. At customs we stood in one of the dual PapeQR code lines, then someone sent us to the far end of the area for the QR people and instead of a line of 7, it was a line of 70. Friend had time to go to the bathroom and come back. Into the hotel room before 6:30pm. Out to Roppongi Hills to meetup with a couple of friends for some yuzu ramen at Afuri. Wandered around the area and tried to checkout the illuminations. Too many IG influencers and Tiktokers. It was hard to dodge people and their phones. Found a crepe stall at Takeshita-dori that was still open past 9pm. Adrenaline wearing off. Need...sleep...
*Hotel\* Hotel was the Mitsui Garden Hotel Kyobashi, a 4-star hotel within minutes of Tokyo Station and Kyobashi Station. The area around the hotel is quiet, which we like. This was 70,000 yen for the 3 nights. A little pricier than we'd like but location, location, location. Exchange rate softens the blow. Hotel is nice, larger than your standard Japan hotel room. There was even a couch, table and a desk! There's a lounge/cafe area that has free coffee and tea in the afternoons. Check-in done through a kiosk. No complaints.
Day 2/Kappabashi, Ueno, Ameyayokocho, Akihabara, Shinjuku: Jet leg always hits and so up at 7am with no real place to go (why don't you open earlier Japan!). Headed over to Kappabashi "Kitchen" Street which was much more interesting than I originally thought. Spent over an hour here looking at all the various kitchen items, tableware etc.
Over to Ueno and Ameyayokocho for the first time. Honestly was way too crowded to really look at a lot of the things. Found a few things to bring home that I had been on the eye for and quickly left for the walk to Akihabara. Found a Uniqlo on the way, across from Okachimachi station so we wandered in. And up. There's always food. I didn't really have anything planned but we came across a few restaurants on the top floor of the Uniqlo building.
*Lunch\* We settled for tantan ramen at Enishi Stand (~1100yen/$7.43USD). Tablet ordering is the greatest invention ever. Solid bowl of noodles and as a spicy food lover, Japan isn't great but this hits the spot. 8/10.
Over to Akiba, walking through the collection of artisan shops at 2k540. I think Tokyo's been missing this kind of thing and it was good to walk through this area. Also, it was covered so it warmer than the outside. Spent a few hours at Akiba. Friend was planning his Yodobashi purchases for later in the trip. Jetlag...lack of sleep...hotel....
After a rest stop at the hotel it was off to Shinjuku
*Dinner\* was Tonkatsu Katsukura Shinjuku Takashimaya. A wait of about 15 people only took 10-15 minutes. Order before you get in the door, get seated, get your food, eat it and get out. English menu available. Opted for the Tonkatsu + Yuba katsu roll with the cutest yuzu sorbet served in a ceramic yuzu. 8.5/10 how do they get this stuff so crunchy and light...
Wandered around Shinjuku for a few hours after and into the new Kabukicho Tower, which honestly looked a lot bigger in videos. The izakayas on the bottom floor were pretty empty and the crane game section on the next floor were also pretty empty.
Had the interest experience of walking through the plaza with the girls bar girls out with signs trying to get you to come in. Friend and I were the only ones walking through that area. That was...an experience. Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...oh look english sign...oh crap....walk faster.
Day 3/Pokemon Cafe, Yokohama: Friend found a loose 11:45 reservation at the Pokemon Cafe down the street so that's lunch. It was okay. Food was better than I expected but not the hottest thing ever. It was also stupidly expensive USD$70 for two people! A Gengar came out, lights flashed, it glowed, things happened. It was one of those only-in-Japan experiences that I'm now good with not needing to do again.
Walked over to Ginza for a bit, stopping at Ginza Akebono for mochi, the Belgian Waffle place next door and Blue Bottle Coffee.
Off to Yokohama. First stop Gundam. So I really don't get the big deal here, but it was cool to see this larger than life thing moving, "walking", bending down. Interesting progression from Odaiba Unicorn Gundam to this. We watched the show from the side, for free. We then walked over to the Red Brick Warehouse and browsed around inside. The line to get into the Christmas Market was crazy long so we opted to go back to Tokyo instead.
*Dinner\* was a standing sushi place tucked into a corner of Tokyo Station, Sushi Hinatomaru. But, there were tables and it wasn't that busy, so table it is. Great, affordable sushi. Staff were friendly. There was an english menu where you marked down what you wanted to order. A couple of full sushi plates cost less than the Pokemon Cafe!!!
Last day in Tokyo so friend wanted to pickup Tokyo Banana, although we later saw them in Osaka. I opted to stand in a small line at the TruffleBakery stand that was across the way. Fantastic croissant and their #1 Truffle Salted Butter Roll. 10/10. 13/10. 20/10.
Went over to Shibuya, mainly to checkout Miyashita Park. Longest line at the food court was for the Panda Express. Another neat, new area of Tokyo that I appreciated. The park up top was cool to walk through. There's a skate park and a beach volleyball court up there too.
Day 4/Travel to Kyoto, Ninnenzaka, Sannenzaka, Kiyomizu-dera, Higashiyama, Gion:
Okay, I didn't realize it was that much in one day. Don't do this if you can avoid it.
First time in Kyoto and a place that I was really looking forward too. I'm not a big Tokyo fan, but Kyoto seemed like it'd be up my alley. The advantage of having a hotel near Tokyo Station was that the jetlag induced 6am wakeup call meant we could check the Nozomi Shinkansen trains schedule and plan accordingly. By 7am we were on the platform and on the train. Tried the JR Coffee Vending Machine on the platform which wasn't terrible.
*Hotel\* Stayed 2 nights at the Hotel Keihan Kyoto Ekiminami, a 4-star hotel located across the street on the south side of Kyoto Station. 30,000 yen/USD$206 for 2 nights is a steal, I think. Smaller than the Tokyo hotel room, slightly larger than average. It had space for a desk and a table, no couch. This is my standard unit of measurement. Breakfast was included and could be eaten at the restaurant or taken to go. You could also opt for a collection of snacks and a beer if you missed breakfast.
Dropped bags off at the hotel, got right back on the train and out to Kiyomizu-dera. Followed the signs, and the people and we were up at the top by 10:45, less than 3.5 hours from takeoff from Tokyo station. It made my little planner heart smile. The views from kiyomizu-dera are truly breathtaking. There are a lot people around and some school field trips. You can find soft, quiet places to look around and take some pictures. We moved off to the left of the temples and found areas where nobody was around, then started are descent.
I'll be honest, I don't know if we were on Ninnenzaka, Sannenzaka or both. I know we missed the Starbucks. We were just wandering from store to store and turning when our gut told us to turn. Found a really nice warabi mochi place that had samples turned into purchases. There was a wagyu croquette place that I couldn't tell you where it was. There were a few coffee places. Stopped into Kyoto Coffee Company which was too acidic for me. It was just a really fun area to get lost and wander around. We had tons of time to do so.
We had a lunch reservation at 2pm in Gion, so over Hagashiyama to walk along the shopping street there. Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous place for the wallet. Spent a few hours there. We were still way too early for our reservation and ended up just wandering along the Kamo river. Recommended.
*Lunch\* was at Gion Ichiho a small, affordable omakase place serving canape sushi. It's tucked away in a residential kind of area, so it can be hard to find. Reservations are readily available. The salad was made in front of us, but the sushi themselves were already prepared. It was a different combination of sushi and a different style. Very appealing to the eye too. The most expensive set is 2900 yen. Cheaper than the Pokemon Cafe. Not the most filling lunch ever, but an experience and they were super nice. 9/10. Would go back.
The newly opened Nintendo Store was near by so we went there and wandered around. Went up to the roof thinking it was something and it's only a photo opp. We ducked out and headed to check-in.
The plan was to go to Senbon Torii and Fushimi-Inari that night, but as you can see above we were exhausted, so that very much did not happen. Always got to leave something for the next trip, right?
*Dinner\* was at Yakiniku Yaruki which was down the street from the hotel. Little bit of at wait at 6pm. Not a bad place. Order on the tablet, food comes quick and you cook it at your table. Nothing to write home about though. If we're being honest, this was a miss, but in the end its grilled meat, it's hard to really wrong. 6.5/10. We snacked on the limited edition gracoro burger from McDonalds later anyway.
Day 5/Arashimaya, Nishiki Market: Okay, this day was doable.
Over to the Bamboo Forest by 9:30am. I'm sure it got more and more crowded later. More IGers and TikTokers. The deeper you get the fewer people there are. Not sure how far we got, but the bamboo stopped at some point and there was a fork in the road. We went left at the fork, I think there was a tea place to the right. We ended up out of the bamboo and into an area along the river. The fall colors were still in effect so that made for a really pleasant walk with barely anyone around. The follow the path along the river back to the shopping street. Just an absolutely gorgeous area to walk around in. I thought the Bamboo Forest would be a let down. It wasn't, as long as you keep walking.
I swear, half the people in the area were lined up at Arabica Coffee. It was crazy.
*Lunch\* Killed time at the shopping street, another dangerous area for the wallet. We lined up at 10:45am for Soba at Arashimaya Yoshimura, overlooking the river. At 11am the line moved and when you got to the front, they told when you a time to come back. 11:45. Not bad. We got a seat at the counter over looking the street, river and mountainside. Lucky. Lunch was a soba and tendon set for ~2,200yen(?)/USD$15. Cheaper than the Pokemon Cafe.
Because when in Japan, you have to get gelato...went to award winning gelato at Gelato Shinpachi Chaya. Asian flavors like black sesame and soy milk in gelato form. Very solid. Yes, it was cold outside too.
Over to Nishiki Market where there were a couple of things I had my eye on like a furikake stall in there. We found it and a some black sesame dressing from another store specializing in sesame seeds. And a Snoopy/Peanuts store. I would've liked to come here in the morning when it would've been less people. It was a very tight squeeze in most places. Back to hotel; gotta pack.
*Dinner\* was close to the station. Kyoto station has a Ramen area called Kyoto-Ramen Koji. We opted for Tokushima style ramen at Ramen Todai. Order at the kiosk outside, spits out a ticket, hand the ticket over, get seated, get food, eat and get out. I had the sukiyaki ramen which was rich and delicious. 7.5/10. The ramen area will lead you to the skyway above Kyoto station for some nice views of Kyoto Tower.
Wandered around Kyoto Station, found an elevated area where a student had taken over a piano and was playing a medley of Disney songs. Went into Yodobashi for more scouting.
Day 6 (Saturday)/Travel Day, Uji, Osaka.
Highlight of the trip really. Checked out of the hotel and left the bags with them.
Half-day trip to Uji. I like japanese teas, so Uji seemed like the place to go. It's about a 30 minute ride from Kyoto station and the train gets pretty empty past Fushimi-Iniari. Most stores don't open until 10am. We were there a little after 9:30am. Took a left out of the station and walked along the street along the Uji Bridge, over the Uji River. Immediate right down a residential street until we came to the Asagiribashi Bridge. There's the Uji shrine to the left and the bridge to the right. Over the bridge to Tachibana Island and over another bridge back to the original side of the Uji River. Just absolutely gorgeous views here. It's quiet, especially at this "early" hour. There were next to no tourists around, just a lot of locals doing morning walks and jogs. Also the most dogs I've seen in Japan. Always a plus.
Back North, past the Starbucks, the street is just lined with tea shops. Some have been there for decades. They're all trying to get you into their shop, offering free samples of sencha. Not my favorite, but whatever. Bought a few things from a few stores and then went down Ujibashi Street towards the station.
*Lunch\* Because when in Japan, you have to get...pizza? Over to Antica Pizzeria L'Asinello. So I'm not a pizza expert, never been to Italy but this was bonafide just good. Got their Margherita and the L'asinello which has porchetta on it. They were quick and even threw in a few free bomboloni for us. 10/10. Yes, you can go get their strange matcha creations like matcha gyoza, matcha curry, matcha ramen, matcha beer...but...pizza. Made the right choice here.
Also recommend Hoho Hojicha for, well, hojicha. The place smells of hojicha and they have the tea for sale as well as drinks.
Everyone goes to Nakamura Tokichi Honten for their tea souvenirs. They do a tea tasing there as well. They have the benefit of having a large store and being right across from the JR Uji Station. There are samples there as well and an overwhelming tea selection.
Back to Kyoto to pickup the bags and onto the Limited Express THUNDERBIRD from Kyoto Station to Osaka-Umeda Station. Shinkansen goes to Shin Osaka and with bags, a transfer was not exactly what we wanted. Also, THUNDERBIRD.
Quick 30 minute ride to Osaka-Umeda Station, which is a city in and of itself. The great thing about the hotel was it had an exit connected directly to the underground mall. One of the underground malls. Why are there like six of these things here? 15 minutes and a few wrong turns later and realizing we should've just walked the streets instead, we arrived.
*Hotel\* stay was at the Ibis Osaka Umeda, a 3-star hotel, directly connected by Whity Mall Exit 7-72 to Osaka Umeda. Sure. Now THIS was a Japanese sized room. This clocked in at 62,000 yen for 4 nights, or USD$422. There was barely room for an extra chair and the two beds. Bathroom actually felt larger than normal. Anyway, nice hotel, nice location, no complaints. If you stay here, navigating the streets is better than navigating the underground, but, if you're on the hunt for food, stay underground, there's so much of it. The Osaka Umeda area is so massive with shops and restaurants that if that's your thing, look no further. Don Qujiote is a minute away along with an Ippudo, Matsuya, Round 1. Yodobashi is 8 minutes away. There's a Uniqlo. Or 4. We did not see all of it. There's just no way.
I wandered around/got lost in the maze of underground malls. Friend went to get his ears cleaned.
*Dinner\* was Gyukatsu Motomura on top of the Lucua Mall at Osaka-Umeda. Seen this place mentioned several times here and I've been to the one in Shibuya before. One of those things that I don't see outside of Japan. Line was about 30 people, mostly foreigners. Wait was about 25 minutes. It's fried steak, hard to go wrong here. Also cheaper than the Pokemon Cafe. 8/10.
Wandered around the Osaka Umeda area. Yodobashi for more scouting. It's all a blur. That area is overwhelming.
Day 7 (Sunday)/Namba: Throttling down for the most part. A lot of go! go! go!, especially in Kyoto. With no more hotel movement, time to just wander around wherever. Especially in Japan's Kitchen. We headed over to Namba for a few food shops and a Bic Camera.
*Lunch\* was Oretachino for curry, a small 10-seater with kiosk ordering. They serve curry over rice and curry ramen. I went for the chicken katsu curry with an onsen egg. Delicious. Highly recommend. 9.5/10. 1,100 yen/USD$6.75, or 1/5th of a Pokemon Cafe lunch.
Back to the Osaka-Umeda area just to wander around some more.
*Dinner\* was this Okonomiyaki Place. Lots of locals here so that's a good check. Ordering off of your phone via QR code (if you don't have wifi, steal it from the coffee chain next door). Food was delicious and didn't require standing in line at some of the more popular places. Each okonimyaki was in the 800-900 yen range. If you're not sure you're in the right place, look inside to the right and see the giant NIPPON in lights
Day 8/Kuromon Market/DenDenTown. There's a few shops in Kuromon Market that we visited the last time, 5 years ago. We wanted to see if they were still there. One was a shop selling various character towels. Friend wanted some Totoro ones. Sadly the tea shop across the street had closed. The owners retired. Earlier you go at Kuromon the better.
Friend wanted to go to Mandarake at DenDenTown and it was a little bit of a walk. Didn't realize that they didn't open until Noon. We found some shops to kill a lot of time in, but the choices for food in the area were sparse. Opted back to the hotel area and had
*Lunch\* at Onyasai, a shabu chain with an AYCE option. If you're going here, the name is not written out in romanized letter. The logo is easily recognizable, so study. We've been to Nabezo, another shabu chain, but this one offered other hot foods than the typical shabu stuff. Everything is ordered to the table via tablet. I think it was about 3900 yen, or $26 USD for the AYCE option. There was no one in the restaurant at 2pm on a Monday so service was quick. They give you a guide on how to initially order what kind of setup you want for your shabu, but then from there the tablet has a language option. Why the whole thing doesn't have a language option from the start is a mystery. 8/10. AYCE...cheaper than Gengar glow in the dark show.
And then there was more wandering around Osaka Umeda and more getting lost. Still didn't see everything.
*Dinner\* having stuffed ourselves at an AYCE place in the early afternoon, dinner came in the form of the Osaka Takoyaki Market which is near the above Okonomiyaki place and the Onyasai, behind the Ippudo and across from the Don Quijote/Round 1. Five takoyaki places all in one without the massive crowds of Dotobori. Cheapest set of 8 ball is 500 yen here, ranging up to 1,000yen+ for more of the fancier topped ones. Tables inside and out for you eat at. Kiosks for you to order at. Tried a few. They're takoyaki. They still all burn the same. 8/10 for the experience. I'm not thinking about how many takoyaki you can get vs an Eevee variety plate. Nope.
Day 9/Shinsekai/Run around
Last day is always reserved to do any shopping and last minute pickup of things. Also allows time to see how much space and weight you have in your suitcase.
Off to Shinsekai, which, I thought said most of the places open at 10am. They do not. Some guides will also tell you that night time is a no go here. I can imagine that there's a sweet spot, but it's not 10am. Most of the places were not open. There were some cool retro arcades and a few shops open. There was also a Pringles store underneath the Tsutenkaku tower. Otherwise, ghost town at this hour. There's a mega donki with a pachinko parlor underneath that made us go briefly deaf.
*Lunch\* after some shopping stops, it was off to Bikkuri Donkey, a chain of mining/log cabin (?) themed hamburg steak restaurants. I'd seen it in YT videos before and it popped up as being nearby and so at risk of eating at a bust restaurant, we visited the Donkey. It was actually good! Ordering off a tablet. They had an anniversary special which included a 150g hamburg steak, salad, miso soup, fries or parfait, coffee or OJ for roughly 1100 yen give or take your hamburg steak toppings. The amount of fries were huge, enough for two people to share. It's even a self-serve check out. Scan your QR receipt and pay. Brilliant. 7.5/10. 9/10 for the theme.
One of my other friend's requests was that I try the crab ice cream next door to the Bikkuri Donkey at Dotobori. At 300 yen, sure. This was exactly what it says it is, although the lady looked at me weird when I said I wanted ice cream when it was 50 degrees F outside. It was rock solid and remained rock solid until we got back to the hotel. It's vanilla ice cream topped with crab. It's salty, slightly sweet and crabby. You make of that what you will. It was not awful. incomplete/10. I still don't know what I'm supposed to think of it.
Packing, reconfiguring, reallocating, repacking later...
*Dinner\* Final dinner over at Hakodate Kantaro, a higher end conveyor belt sushi restaurant on top of the Grand Front Osaka. You can pull off the conveyor belt or hit up the tablet to order and the sushi chefs will bring it right to you. Good, different selection of stuff. 9/10. Friend got sick from eating at a cheap kaitenzushi place last time and that didn't happen here so that's a plus. Also. Cheaper than Pokemon Cafe.
We totally forgot about the Lobster sauce and Truffle Steak Sauce for the McDonalds Chicken McNuggets. Gotta get those. We did. There was much regret. Lobster sauce tasted like a fish market. Truffle Steak Sauce tasted like A1 + Worcestershire. At least the fries and nuggets are of better quality than the ones in the US.
Day 10/Travel
Back home with a KIX->HND flight to start. Flight wasn't until 3pm, but with checkout at 11am, we felt it was best to just leave for the airport, but not before I found a Truffle Bakery 15 minutes away. I got there before they opened and grabbed my allotment of truffle salted butter rolls and croissants for home. They didn't make it in tact, but still tasted good.
Did I mention this hotel is connected to Osaka-Umeda, but it's still rather far?! There is the JR Haruka Limited Express to KIX airport which is quite the walk from the hotel. There's a YT video telling you how to get there, it was very helpful. We were very early to the platform and that's fine. We had bought our tickets the night before. It's an hour to KIX on the Hello Kitty train. Seriously cute.
Off at KIX, no line to check-in. They checked our bags through to the final destination, because we have only at 75 minute layover at HND with terminal transfer. We were slightly anxious. Okay, very anxious. No one at the security line for the domestic terminal so it was easy to walk on through.
*Lunch\* was at the Botejyu 1946 in the Domestic Terminal at KIX, post-security. I have Priority Pass with Chase Sapphire Reserve so I get 6,800yen worth of food for the two of us. One main, one side and a drink and we only had to pay 400 yen. Chirashi Don and Karaage for my friend, braised pork and gyoza for me. Does the job. Probably would've eaten at one of the other restaurants outside of security had it not been for Priority Pass. 7.5/10.
*HND Transfer\* To transfer from T1 to T3 at HND you have two options. The free shuttle bus outside or the public Keikyu railway, one stop, departing every 5 minutes. Friend went through (over)meticulous planning to find the most optimized route through the airport and the most efficient mode of transfer. We went on the public train, but first you have to stop at the information desk, show them your transfer ticket and your passport, they give you a paper voucher, which you had to the station attendant. They change the paper into a normal train ticket that goes through the fare gate. After 1 stop, you're at the terminal.
The moment of truth was going to be the security and immigration lines at HND. If they were long, we were going to have to sumimasen and excuse me, MY FLIGHT LEAVES SOON, kind of deal. We crested the hill over the escalator and...the terminal was empty. It was like a covid-era ghost town. Flew through security and immigration with no issues.
First plane arrived at the gate at 4:15pm, we were in the international terminal by 4:45pm for a 5:30 flight. Enough to go to the 7-11 and stock up one last time.
Flight home was delayed leaving HND. The meals were again, terrible, even for airline food. JAL has this meal by MUJI that they serve you as a light meal. It's edible but looks like gelatinous, gooey mess. It's just terrible. I remember JAL being better.
If you have Global Entry/Trusted Traveler in the US, that process is so much simpler now. Face scan at the kiosk, get in line, get called to the person at the window. Do you have anything to declare? No. Okay have a good day. Didn't even take out my passport.
Things we passed on:

• Christmas at Disneyland/DisneySea. Not the biggest Disney fans, but been to both of these parks before and the people watching and experience is unique, but with a limited time in Tokyo this wasn't going to work. Thought about doing the late night pass, but would rather see the city instead. Tokyo is decked out in Christmas lights anway.
• Tokyo or Yokohama Christmas Market. There are other free entry Christmas Markets, but these two were the biggest. Opted for Yokohama over Tokyo but the line was so long that we didn't bother and because we ran out of time we also didn't make it to Tokyo. Mug looked good the food, I heard, was horrible. I saw someone on YT crunch into a churro.
• USJ. This would've really been for Super Nintendo World, but we didn't make a move on the Express Pass in time and weren't interested in spending our limited time standing in line for a few rides. Next time.
• Senbon Torii/Fushimi Inari. Plan was to go early or go late. Itinerary was pushing it so we opted out of this one. Next time.

Things that did not work:

• I think I'd reverse the order. Go out to Osaka first, then make the way back and fly out of Tokyo. There were a lot of things that could go wrong on that domestic flight. There were a few times in the past two weeks where that flight was so late, we would've missed our flight home. Undue stress. I've seen folks suggest that here too. Going far out and working your way back.
• That Osaka hotel was cheap, clean, did the trick. But, if we're talking proximity to station, this was not it. I think the area was great, there were a few hotels closer. Objects on Google Map are farther than they appear.
• Pokem...nevermind you already know.

Must Repeat:

• Uji for sure, Kyoto by extension. That pizza was marvelous. There were a few dessert/drink places that we didn't get to like Matcha Republic and Tadanari Pudding
• Ninnenzaka, Sannenzaka, Kiyomizu-dera. Really liked that area.
• Truffle Bakery

Quaker Marriage Question
Hi! So my fiancé and I made a huge mistake when getting our marriage license a few days ago. We were asked if we were there for a traditional marriage license and we said sure! Not realizing that there are two different licenses, the self-unifying and then the traditional one. Opps…All of this to say, we got the traditional one and we meant to get the Quaker one. We are in a bit of a time crunch. Has anyone done this before? Do you have to get a whole new license or can you change it and pay maybe a change fee? Is there an additional 3 day hold? LMK! We feel so so silly.

My biggest issue with him is off-ball movement and play calling
He was a great coach with Cleveland because LeBron's gravity suited his coaching style perfectly. Not saying he won there only because of LeBron but if you have a guy like him on your team you don't really need that much off-ball movement. You just need players to perform well at spots they were assigned because sooner or later opps are going to double/tripple LeBron and you just need him to make a smart pass.
Same happened here in our best season - the season we went to WCF PG was on another level and there wasn't much coaching there after all. PG was doing all the work trying to get doubled and kick the ball to an open teammate.
But suddenly we have 4 guys who need the ball in their hand, non of which is in their prime so no one has the right to say "Ball is mine" every play, and look at this team... just staying in their spots waiting to see what the one with the ball does. The only guys on our team who actually move without the ball are younger guys who never had the pleasure of being a #1 option. That one Norman Powell play today where he went from bottom left corner to right elbow for an open splash three just by making one smart pass and running?? - whoof! But after the trade there's only two of them playing now haha... It's just TMann and Norm - rest is so old that even if they wanted to move they can't no more - looking at you PJ...
I believe this is as much on Ty Lue as on the stars, they are not filling their roles. But it's coaches job to create clear game plan where everyone knows their movements and places on the floor.
I'm so tired of this ISO ball. I'm tired of crunch time plays ending up with Kawhi dribbling the ball into crowd and making a rushed decision. I'm tired of getting outplayed by younger teams that know moving off-ball and sharing is a recipe for success.
We're in a bad place now. Season has just started and it's already looking like we are not going to be able to be anything more than a play-in team. And that's after 4 years of this era already...
I'm a die hard Clippers fan so nothing left for me than to watch these games hoping something changes. But this season? Nothing will change. This team needs a breath of fresh air and I believe that'll require trading at least some of the stars and maybe even changing a coach for someone who's biggest strength isn't "managing personalities" but rather actually creating game plans that lead to domination and stability.
We cannot live and die by our stars...

have you ever thought to yourself "man, i love hockey, but i wish i could know the results of every game in a season before they happen"? i sure have. and with the new season starting tomorrow, i'm again left asking myself "what am i doing watching a sport i like when i could just know what will happen ahead of time?"
hi, i'm keego. you may know me from such hits as "82-0", "56-0", "82-0", and "82-0". if you don't, well then hi, i'm keego, and i have a history of confidently predicting the red wings' season records with a level of accuracy that some might describe as "less than adequate". i've been right (read: wrong) so many times before that i felt like upping the difficulty, so i set out to find an objective way to predict the entire season - one that could be used by the common man.
now, a smart person would do something like compare the wings and their opponents' SRS or other stats to determine detroit's likeliness of beating that particular group of players with the current roster. i, however, am not a smart person, so i chose to look to the past for answers. obviously the roster this season is different than the last, as is the case in sports, so i had to isolate the one thing that remained constant year-over-year, something that everyone can agree on - the concept of a week. as a firm believer in the importance of needlessly esoteric statistics, i can say with confidence that there is no variable with more sway over the results of a game than what day of the week that contest is taking place on.
-------------------
METHODOLOGY
-------------------
i started by manually charting every single regular+postseason game the wings have played in the 21st century in excel, which turned out to be 1959 games. you may wonder why i had to do it by hand, and that's fair, but remember the old adage: "boss makes a dollar, i make a dime. that's why i meticulously chart and analyze nearly two thousand red wings games in search of a pattern that likely isn't there on company time". also, i needed to convert the data to a format that i could more easily work with. if you're worried that my manual transcription from multiple sources may have introduced errors in the data, relax - i only missed three games the first time around (more on that in a bit).
that out of the way, i crunched the numbers and determined how likely the team would be to win on a given day. to my delight, the wings had winning records on 5/7 days, with only tuesday and sunday sporting <.500 win%. it was at this point that i thought about the concept of "home ice advantage" and i came to the horrible realization that i hadn't marked whether the games were home or away. honestly, that was dumb of me. i should have known that the other thing that remains constant each year is the concept of home and away jerseys. could ya do me a solid and just pretend i said there were two constants in the intro? thanks man, i knew i could count on you.
anyways after a few hours of atoning for my past ignorance, which actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise since it made me realize i had missed three games, i had a sufficiently robust data set that i could apply to this upcoming season. i decided the best way was to use a random number generator with the output corresponding to a range of values for each outcome. in the event it spat out a tie, i ran a second round based on their performance in shootouts that day. here's the ranges i used for home games:

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Total GP	91	142	147	157	147	172	121
W	1-40	1-62	1-73	1-80	1-72	1-87	1-45
OTW	41-47	63-68	74-86	81-84	73-83	88-98	46-55
SOW	48-50	69-75	87-92	85-88	84-90	99-102	56-57
T*	51	76-78	93-97	89-91	91-93	103	58-59
SOL	52-54	79-86	98-101	92-101	94-101	104-111	60-67
OTL	55-64	87-97	102-111	102-117	102-112	112-122	68-78
L	65-91	98-142	112-147	118-157	113-147	123-172	79-121

*if Tied

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Total T	6	15	10	14	15	12	10
SOW	1-3	1-7	1-6	1-4	1-7	1-4	1-2
SOL	4-6	8-15	7-10	5-14	8-15	5-12	3-10

and here's the ranges for away games:

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Total GP	91	155	103	156	101	259	117
W	1-39	1-48	1-33	1-60	1-33	1-88	1-47
OTW	40-44	49-54	34-43	61-71	34-40	89-105	48-57
SOW	45-47	55-59	44-47	72-79	41-46	106-120	58-59
T*	48-51	60-62	48-52	80-81	47-50	121-128	60-61
SOL	52-54	63-68	53	82-84	51-53	129-143	62-64
OTL	55-60	69-80	54-63	85-91	54-65	144-156	65-70
L	61-91	81-155	64-103	92-156	66-101	157-259	71-117

*if Tied

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Total T	6	11	5	11	9	30	5
SOW	1-3	1-5	1-4	1-8	1-6	1-15	1-2
SOL	4-6	6-11	5	9-11	7-9	16-30	3-5

-----------
RESULTS
-----------
and now, the moment you've all been waiting for - an objectively correct prediction of the detroit red wings' entire 23-24 regular season:

Game	Date	Day	Opp	RNG Roll(s)	Result	Reality
1	10/12/23	Thursday	@NJD	8/156	W	L
2	10/14/23	Saturday	TBL	131/172	L	W
3	10/16/23	Monday	@CBJ	16/91	W	W
4	10/18/23	Wednesday	PIT	137/147	L	W
5	10/21/23	Saturday	@OTT	92/259	OTW	W
6	10/22/23	Sunday	CGY	117/121	L	W
7	10/24/23	Tuesday	SEA	78/142, 11/15	SOL	OTL
8	10/26/23	Thursday	WPG	87/157	SOW	L
9	10/28/23	Saturday	@BOS	39/259	W	L
10	10/30/23	Monday	@NYI	18/91	W	OTW
11	11/2/23	Thursday	FLA	135/157	L	L
12	11/4/23	Saturday	BOS	53/172	W	W
13	11/7/23	Tuesday	@NYR	130/155	L	L
14	11/9/23	Thursday	MTL	39/157	W	OTL
15	11/11/23	Saturday	CBJ	110/172	SOL	W
16	11/16/23	Thursday	@OTT	83/156	SOL	OTL
17	11/17/23	Friday	TOR	48/147	W	L
18	11/22/23	Wednesday	NJD	8/147	W	W
19	11/24/23	Friday	@BOS	16/101	W	W
20	11/26/23	Sunday	MIN	88/121	L	W
21	11/29/23	Wednesday	@NYR	80/103	L	L
22	11/30/23	Thursday	CHI	46/157	W	W
23	12/2/23	Saturday	@MTL	219/259	L	OTW
24	12/5/23	Tuesday	@BUF	32/155	W	W
25	12/7/23	Thursday	SJS	94/157	SOL	OTL
26	12/9/23	Saturday	OTT	59/157	W	L
27	12/11/23	Monday	@DAL	41/91	OTW	L
28	12/12/23	Tuesday	@STL	8/155	W	W
29	12/14/23	Thursday	CAR	52/157	W	L
30	12/16/23	Saturday	@PHI	181/259	L	L
31	12/18/23	Monday	ANA	5/91	W	L
32	12/20/23	Wednesday	@WPG	32/103	W	L
33	12/22/23	Friday	PHI	29/147	W	SOW
34	12/23/23	Saturday	@NJD	54/259	W	L
35	12/27/23	Wednesday	@MIN	74/103	L	L
36	12/29/23	Friday	NSH	122/147	L	OTW
37	12/31/23	Sunday	BOS	97/121	L	L
38	1/2/24	Tuesday	@SJS	35/155	W	W
39	1/4/24	Thursday	@LAK	16/156	W	SOW
40	1/7/24	Sunday	@ANA	44/117	W	W
41	1/11/24	Thursday	EDM	129/157	L	OTL
42	1/13/24	Saturday	LAK	111/172	SOL	W
43	1/14/24	Sunday	@TOR	4/117	W	W
44	1/17/24	Wednesday	@FLA	32/103	W	OTW
45	1/19/24	Friday	@CAR	69/101	L	L
46	1/21/24	Sunday	TBL	65/121	SOL	W
47	1/23/24	Tuesday	DAL	119/142	L	L
48	1/25/24	Thursday	PHI	66/157	W	W
49	1/27/24	Saturday	VGK	116/172	OTL	W
50	1/31/24	Wednesday	OTT	104/147	OTL	OTL
51	2/10/24	Saturday	VAN	138/172	L	OTW
52	2/13/24	Tuesday	@EDM	37/155	W	L
53	2/15/24	Thursday	@VAN	98/156	L	L
54	2/17/24	Saturday	@CGY	241/259	L	W
55	2/19/24	Monday	@SEA	51/91, 4/6	SOL	OTW
56	2/22/24	Thursday	COL	139/157	L	OTW
57	2/24/24	Saturday	STL	64/172	W	W
58	2/25/24	Sunday	@CHI	65/117	OTL	OTW
59	2/27/24	Tuesday	WSH	130/142	L	W
60	2/29/24	Thursday	NYI	149/157	L	L
61	3/2/24	Saturday	FLA	75/172	W	L
62	3/6/24	Wednesday	@COL	90/103	L	L
63	3/8/24	Friday	@ARI	13/101	W	L
64	3/9/24	Saturday	@VGK	32/259	W	L
65	3/12/24	Tuesday	@BUF	59/155	SOW	L
66	3/14/24	Thursday	ARI	51/157	W	L
67	3/16/24	Saturday	BUF	38/172	W	W
68	3/17/24	Sunday	@PIT	87/117	L	L
69	3/19/24	Tuesday	CBJ	71/142	SOW	OTW
70	3/21/24	Thursday	NYI	85/157	SOW	W
71	3/23/24	Saturday	@NSH	45/259	W	L
72	3/26/24	Tuesday	@WSH	108/155	L	OTL
73	3/28/24	Thursday	@CAR	82/156	SOL	L
74	3/30/24	Saturday	@FLA	119/259	SOW	SOL
75	4/1/24	Monday	@TBL	27/91	W	W
76	4/5/24	Friday	NYR	94/147	SOL	-
77	4/7/24	Sunday	BUF	71/121	OTL	-
78	4/9/24	Tuesday	WSH	64/142	OTW	-
79	4/11/24	Thursday	@PIT	145/156	L	-
80	4/13/24	Saturday	@TOR	73/259	W	-
81	4/15/24	Monday	MTL	90/91	L	-
82	4/16/24	Tuesday	@MTL	37/155	W	-

RECORD: 43-26-13, 99Pts
i'm a little skeptical that the wings will be going to the shootout 14 times (also kinda crazy that the only two times it spat out a tie were both the seattle games), but i can't argue with the math here - detroit will be finishing with a winning record for the first time since the 14-15 season. on to the playoffs, right?
well, i've got good news and bad news. the bad news is that, in the six full seasons since then (excluding 19-20 and 20-21 for simplicity's sake), only six of the 48 eastern conference playoff spots went to teams with 43 or fewer wins - a one in eight chance, basically. the good news is that data journalism allows us to misuse numbers to fit our agenda. a one in eight chance sounds slim until you realize there are eight eastern conference playoff spots, meaning one of those playoff spots will belong to a team with 43 wins or fewer. it's simple statistics, really. from there, we just need to determine how likely the wings are to be that team. of those six instances, only one was detroit. one in six... considering they'll likely be battling with five other teams for that final spot, i don't like those odds.
let's ignore that and look at the points. over those same six seasons, 14 teams made the playoffs with 99 points or fewer - that's more than double our one-in-eight threshold. pretty good, but let's take it further. no eastern conference team in those six seasons missed the playoffs after finishing with at least 99 points. you heard it here first, folks:
THE DETROIT RED WINGS ARE MAKING THE PLAYOFFS

I found it incredibly useful to read reports of what people actually did vs what they plan to do so here goes a fresh take.

1. Our 2-week trip was a bit different than what I typically see on here - we spent more time at clubs, bars, Pokemon and concerts - so I thought I might have a different perspective to share.
   
2. Our tolerance for touristy stuff, lines and crowds is negative 3, so here's a perspective on that.
   

• Dates: Sept 10 - Sept 24
• Age: 1 couple - 30M and 42M
• Weather: HOT and HUMID
• Clothes: Tank tops and gym shorts most days. At night we sometimes work t-shirts and pants, but we were really hot walking around.
• Travel: we took trains and buses using our Suica card (love the Suica card), and bought at 14-day JR Pass. Except when we had luggage we splurged and took taxis. That little splurge really increased our level of enjoyment.

Day 1 (Monday): TOKYO
Our flight arrived to Haneda really late because we had to divert to Honolulu for a medical emergency. So we got in at 1am.
We used our Suica card and hopped right on the train to Shinjuku. We bought our JR Rail pass later at Tokyo Station and didn't have to wait in line.
Hotel Amanek in Shinjuku - 8/10. really good price, new, comfortable, nice view. Very central to all of the late night activity. The area felt like it had a good mix of locals and tourists. Got it for $85/night.
Sushi at Yarou Sushi - 5/10. it was 2am and one of few places open. Don't bookmark this one.
Day 2 (Tuesday): TOKYO
Tsukiji Market - 7/10. go early! We got there at 8am and blitzed through it. Lines got really long when we left. Nothing there is worth waiting longer than 15 min for in my opinion. - loved the kobe beef skewers, strawberry daifuku and mochi balls. Tamago (egg) was too sweet I thought. Seafood was good, but standing on the street in the hot sun is not how I typically enjoy eating sashimi. - we only got one of everything and shared. would recommend. you'll get full.
Senso-ji and Asakusa - Super touristy stalls everywhere - we took the picture and got out. Didn't feel relaxed at all.
Melon bread with ice cream at Asakusa Sakura - 8/10. Worth the hype. Really liked the crunch soft bread with the ice cream. There was no line in the morning.
Baby Castella (もちにゃん焼き 浅草本店) - 5/10. Cute bear shaped cakes. But bland.
Akihabara - 6/10. Went to Animate for anime merch. Electric Town for video game merch. and a gachapon place. Didn't buy anything. It was fun, but nothing you couldn't find anywhere else.
Ramen at Ramen Nagi in Golden Gai (Shinjuku) - 9/10. Hidden tiny, ramen spot. Up a tiny flight of stairs. We were there at 2:30 and there was no line, but a line when we left. No frills, cash only. It was delicious and unique setting.
Movie - The Boy and the Heron by Studio Ghibli (Piccadilly Cinema) 10/10 - It's not out in the USA yet. We watched it in Japanese with no subtitles. It was a beautiful experience. Didn't understand the words - but I could 'feel' what was going on. Might watch more movies in Japanese now - it was fun.
Drinks at the Gay District - Nichome 8/10 - we ended up making some friends at Aisotope Lounge, and we followed them to Eagle Blue where they have karaoke on weeknights. Singing karaoke we made even more friends and had a blast. We ended up seeing this friends often over the next 2 weeks. - Drinks in Japan are very affordable. In Nichome everyone buys drinks at the konbini (¥250) and then stand outside on the sidewalk and talk. Even in the club they were only ¥700. I thought this was really cool
Day 3 (Wednesday): TOKYO > KYOTO
Ramen at Ichiran 8/10 - the Ichiran in Shinjuku is open 24H, and we went at 8am so there was NO line. Perfect hangover breakfast. It was tasty. Its not the best ramen in Japan, but it was what we needed at the time. I like the customization options.
Shinkansen train to Kyoto (10:30 - 1pm) I originally was worried that we were on such a late train, because we had a full day scheduled in Kyoto(this was the earliest train we could get that had seats available on the Mt Fuji side). But the night before was so much fun, and the train gave us a chance to recover and sleep, so I didn't mind it.
Hotel Gozan 8/10 - very nice and modern hotel, and walking distance to metro and the market. Ultimately I think it was a bit too far from the action. I wouldn't stay here again due to location. Got it for $100/night
Kiyomozu-dera 9/10 - beautiful temple complex with gorgeous views of Kyoto. The walk UP to the temple was full of tourist shops. So the crowds offset the beauty of this place a bit.
Snoopy Cafe 5/10 - got the chocolate shake. no flavor. did it for the gram
Starbucks (the historic one at Nineizaka) 10/10 for the building. Got the Osatsu Butter frapp. They are promoting it everywhere right now and its the only thing on the menu I saw that was unique to Japan. It's actually delicious and tastes exactly like a sweet potato.
Studio Ghibli store 7/10 - Cute photo opp, but the merch is what you'll see everywhere in Japan, including Narita. Not bad, just nothing unique to this place.
Apple Pie Lab 10/10 - Just up from Starbucks (like 2 doors down) is a thing called the Apple Pie Lab. They make warm apple pastries filled with custard. I don't think it's a Japanese food, but it was probably the best sweet thing I had in Japan. Absolutely delicious.
Hokan-ji Temple 9/10 - beautiful. but good luck getting a picture without 50 people in it. We got lucky and went down the hill a bit and got a good pic when there was a break in the crowd.
Kawaramachi Area of Kyoto
Kobe beef skewers at Gyu-Kaku 8/10 - I think we ordered the right thing. We didn't get the AYCE, just the premium kobe beef plate. It was delicious, but nothing else that people were eating looked that great. Service was also terrible. We thought that since Gyu-kaku originated in Japan it would be better than the LA ones, but no, it's not.
Gay bar at Apple 6/10 - a unique experience. There were 3 people in there and we had a nice, long conversation. It was more like a bar in someone's living room. Met some nice people.
Day 4 (Thursday): KYOTO
Arashiyama Area
Bamboo Forest 7/10 - Got there at 8am and took pictures. It's smaller than I imagined it to be. The longest part was setting up the tripod. Did get one iconic shot before the crowds came.
Tenryu-ji Temple 7/10 - Opens at 8:30 and we were one of the first ones in. Very pretty garden. Took a few pics. Left before it got busy.
Miffy Sakura Kitchen 6/10 - we bought the iconic Miffy bread. Took a pic. Didn't taste great. Line was 20 min and we got there early.
Rilakkuma Tea House 8/10 - surprisingly delicious food for being 'cute'. and the plates were adorable. This place made a lot of people jealous on insta.
Kinkaku-ji Golden Palace 10/10 beauty, 2/10 crowds - we couldn't get out of there fast enough. Fake smiled for the pictures and booked it. It was hot. We were dying.
Nishiki Market
Gyoza at Kyoto Gyu-Collet 7/10 - would recommend the lamb gyoza. Beef were just ok. Chicken skewer was great.
Koe Donuts 4/10 - pretty, but bland and dry.
黄白白 jiggly cheesecakes 6/10 - pretty moist and eggy, but bland cake. Didn't eat much of it.
Pontacho Alley 10/10 for ambience. We bar-hopped here, basically just going wherever there was room. We ordered high-balls and talked to the bartenders. A great time!
Gay bar at bell 7/10 - this is likely more fun on the weekends. The set-up was nice, but dead when we got there on a Thursday.
Day 5 (Friday): KYOTO > TOKYO Shinkansen back to Tokyo at 8:30am
Shibuya Tobu Hotel 4/10 - the location was incredible, but not worth it for how run-down it felt. Got it for $100/night.
Shopping at Shibuya Parco 9/10 - for the Pokemon Center, Nintedo store, Namco store, street fashion shops. we had a lot of fun here.
Shubuya Crossing - it is what it is. Got a nice pic with the tripod. Then it started raining cats and dogs.
McDonalds to try the unique items 6/10 for unique items. Teriyaki Chicken sando was good. The spicy chicken 'shaker' tasted like a chicken nugget with a ramen seasoning packet thrown on it. The red bean and mochi pie was pretty ok. The soy sauce burger didn't have much flavor.
Harajuku
Jordan Nike store 9/10 - very cool store with unique merch. cool collection of Jordan clothes and shoes. memorabilia, and an immersive basketball video experience. they did a great job with this, and there are only 3 in the world (Milan and Seoul)
Takeshita Street in Harajuku 9/10 - cute little street with fun unique shops and food stands. nothing was crazy expensive. They have the Sanrio store and Pompompurin Cafe, a lot of cool anime shops and street wear outlets. Crepe stalls. Unexpectedly spent a good amount of time here. It was fun.
SGClub in Shibuya 8/10 - this place was all foreigners. So in that sense it was lame. But the drinks were really (expensive) fun. our favorite was the Tom Yum Kick - a spicy, lemongrass, gin cocktail. It was so good I went back the next night for another one.
Gay bars in Nichome on a Friday night 10/10 - the neighborhood was hoppin'. Bars are small so people spill out into the sidewalk and small streets. Everyone bought their drinks at the konbini and walked around with them. It felt like a block party. Once inside people were dancing. Everyone was fairly nice. Eagle Blue, Eagle, King, Aisotope were the main ones.
Day 6 (Saturday): TOKYO
Coffee at Cafe Apero 8/10 - ADORABLE and modern spot. We just stopped while waiting for our lunch reservation. They really spent a lot of time on design.
Lunch at the Kill Bill Restaurant - Gonpachi Nishi-Azabu in Roppongi 9/10 - the ambiance is fire. The food we got was beautiful and tasted really good.. Loved the tar tar, shrimp dumplings, beef skewers, and the ice cream/mochi dessert
Observation deck at the Mori Art Museum 8/10 - the view overlooking Tokyo Tower is iconic. That's why we chose this location. The outdoor area was closed however, hence the lower rating. There was a Disney exhibit also going on which was kinda cool.
Dinner at Omoide Yokocho (memory lane) in Shinjuku 7/10 - the ambiance was really fun. We found 2 seats and pulled up and had a cozy dinner with 2 other couples in a cute little alley. Fun to try once, but there's better food.
Went back to Nichome for another fun night! Stayed out way too late haha
Day 7 (Sunday): TOKYO
Fluffy pancakes at Micasadeco & Cafe in Harajuku 9/10 - got there 10 min before opening and had one of the first tables. when we left the line was at least an hour. We devoured the pancakes (I got the seasonal chestnut ones). Beautiful and delicious. Recommend this place over Flippers, which we passed by and it didn't have near the same charm as Micasadeco.
Music festival at Ultra Japan 10/10 - all-day music festival at Odaiba Beach. The crowd was incredible. Music was awesome (Trekkie Trax and Skrillex!). Food was meh. This is only once a year, but this was definitely a highlight.
Day 8 (Monday): TOKYO > NARA Shinkansen down to Osaka (3hrs)
Hotel Vista Osaka-namba 10/10 - location was steps away from Dotonburi and the metro station. Hotel was new, clean, modern, full of amenities, and only $100/night. Recommend.
Nara 30 min train right (very picturesque) from downtown out to Nara
Mochi pounding and match mochi (Nakatanidou) 10/10 - only of the only tourist traps that didn't have a huge long queue. Mochi pounding was cool to watch. mochi itself was only 150¥, and it was warm, and gooey and delicious.
Deer feeding 5/10 - there are deer everywhere. You don't need to put deer on your schedule, they will come find you. We encountered them as we walked from the mochi pounding to Todai-ji temple. Most of the deer just sit there, but a few come up to you and are pretty aggressive. I recommend not holding anything in your hands and just walk fast. Definitely don't need to buy the biscuits...I saw anyone with biscuits either get ignored or get mobbed by deer.
Todai-ji temple 9/10 - stunning. 2nd largest wooden structure on earth and a huge bronze Buddha statue inside. I've seen a lot of temples, and this one is worth going to. beautiful grounds and beautiful interior. Crowds of school kids are everywhere so just try to find a break between them.
Dotonburi 5/10 - hot take. I think its overrated...and least on this holiday Monday evening it was. Incredibly crowded. Anywhere worth eating is over an hour wait. The takoyaki is sub-par. To me it felt like being in Times Square - sub-par food catered to tourists. We tried some mid takoyaki, took pictures in front of the Glico sign, then dipped when we couldn't find anywhere to eat.
Chuka-soba Fuji 9/10 - we asked a local for food recommendations and found this spot where we were the only foreigners (a good sign). Food was delicious. Soba and Ramen and delicious gyoza. Wanted to come again the next night but it was closed on Tuesdays.
Day 9 (Tuesday): UNIVERSAL STUDIOS
6/10 - first of all. To get your Nintendo timed entry ticket you need to show up and wait in line, and get your ticket scanned to get into the park (they let people in early), THEN when your ticket is activated you can request a time. No Universal employee could tell me this, so now you all know. We showed up 30 min before it opened. Go through the gates 10 min before it opened, and were able to request a Nintendo entry time of 10:20am. So we went to Harry Potter rides first. They were both 45 min wait times. When we left they were at 70 min. - Nintendo World is a nightmare. It's so cute, but way too small. There's a 20 min line to get in (even with timed entry), 20 min line to take a picture at the entrance, 20 min line to buy a wristband, 70-90 min wait for each ride, 45 min wait for the snack shack, multi-hour long wait for the cafe, and its even a 5-10 min wait for the little coinboxes so you can use your wristband. Its just lines everywhere, you feel like you can't do anything. and you can't leave because then you can't come back. - we got some food at the snack shack, did the yoshi ride, bought a wristband and dipped out. We tried to do the other stuff like the cafe and the MarioKart ride, but we had already been there for 3 hours. - by mid-afternoon, evertything else in the park was also an hour wait. We ate at the one-piece cafe because it was only 30 min. Jurassic Park was 90 min. Spiderman was 100 min. We did the JujitsuKaisen 4D movie (pretty cool). and took a picture with Pikachu. Then ate at the Pokemon cafe in the park. Food was mid, but cute. - I hated that even the line to get a churro was at least 30 min. Just lines everywhere. It wasn't very fun for that reason.
Day 10 (Wednesday): OSAKA > TOKYO
Pokemon Cafe in Osaka 9/10 - we unexpectedly got an opening time at the Pokemon Cafe. We showed up at opening (10am) and there were a few slots available. Very surprised and happy by this! It was adorable and we got some really cool souveniers. Food was ok.
1pm-4pm - Took the Shinkansen to Osaka in the afternoon
Shimokitazawa - MY FAVORITE AREA
Shiro-Hige's Cream Puff's (totoro) ?/10 - they sell out of the cream puffs by 1pm. So get there early. We got there right before closing :(
Bonus track area 10/10 - we walked down the path from the cream puff shop and stopped in the little cafe area near Bonus track and Tan Pen Ton. This area was the highlight of my trip. Cute little coffee shops, bakeries, record shops, etc. we bought some artisan highball drinks and sat and enjoyed the evening.
Izakaya at 呑み処 タナカたなか 下北沢店 7/10 - nice ahi sashimi and fried chicken. the other skewers were just ok. high marks since we were the only foreigners
Hookah ShiSha @ Shisha 2 8/10 - exactly what I wanted. laid-back hookah place surrounded by locals, and ratty couches, and manga. It was midnight and packed with people. A really fun vibe.
Day 11 (Thursday): DISNEYSEA
Things we ate: Sausage gyoza bun - 8/10. Delicious with the spicy sauces Matcha/white chocolate popcorn - 6/10. a few bites was good enough. Sea salt shell ice cream - 4/10. Incredibly bland. Long naan with beef filling - 5/10. Needed to be spicy. Sparkling boba drink - 7/10. Nice with the jellies. Toy Story alien mochis - 7/10. Very cute and pretty tasty. Magellen sit down restaurant - 8/10. Very expensive but a delicious meal. Probably the best food I've had at a Disney park anywhere.
Rides: Journey to the center of the earth - 8/10. New ride for me. really fun, but seems it could've been better. Not themed Disney at all Indiana Jones - 8/10. Classic. Maybe better than the Disneyland one? Raging Spirits - 5/10. Fun roller-coaster but not immersive at all and not themed Disney in any way. Sinbad's Voyage - 7/10. Catchy song. Its like Pirates and It's a small world combined. and a movie that I don't think exists. Tower of Terror - 8/10. New story and they use the ride pattern from Twilight Zone so it's really good! Venetian Gondolas - 7/10. Unique Disney experience. They actually are pushing the boat themselves. Ariel's area - beautifully themed, but rides are all for kids. kind of like Bug's Life area at Disneyland. Didn't do nemo or soaring or aquatopia or toy story mania as the lines were crazy by then
Overall I'd give DisneySea a harsh 7/10. It's a beautiful park. The rides are just ok. The food looks good on TikTok but mid in real life. and it just didn't feel like we were at a Disney park - nothing was Disney themed. But high marks to the fact that Disney knows how to have enough food stalls that the lines were like Universal.
Day 12 (Friday): TOKYO
Harry Potter Warner Brother's Experience 8/10 - overall this location is giant! I think its even bigger than the London location. Its beautifully done. We spent way longer here than we thought we would, and really enjoyed it.
Ikebukuro
Shopping at Sunshine City 8/10 - for all the Pokemon shops and anime merch. A lot of unique stuff here.
Ramen at Mutekiya 10/10 - best meal of our trip. It was already a 45 min wait at 2pm so hopefully more people don't go, but it was absolutely incredible. The meat, broth, noodles all so perfect.
Kobe beef at 焼肉ホルモン 龍の巣 新宿三丁目 9/10 - I'm a fan of this meal. The beef was incredible and they really made it very comfortable for us. Really like the staff. It was pouring rain outside and super cozy inside.
Day 13 (Saturday): LEAVING
The final day we spent getting souveniers and snacks from Don Quijote, grabbed one last ramen from Ichiran, and took the Narita Express to the airport.

Hello to all, yep, it's my first post here and I'm tackling a subject as big as a possible revival for a series that has somewhat lost steam over the years, but I've been in a nostalgic mood lately having replayed HGS 3, Fore and Open Tee 2 recently, so I started hitting the drawing board to piece together a potential "All-Star" celebration entry thanks to seeing another post bring up this same subject earlier this month, since I have way too much free time on my hands. Forewarning, that basically means, "I've more then likely gone overboard and made something that's practically a novel." you'll probably be here a while so TLDR could take effect.
But enough with the rambling, let's talk golf.
​

General Premise.

Acting as essentially a celebration of the HGS/Everybody's Golf franchise in general, there's a big emphasis on returning vets and a feeling of "passing the torch", while there are going to be plenty of newcomers, half of the roster will be golfers from past titles, the 2 that are unarguably going to show no matter what being Gloria and Suzuki. I kept thinking over who else would return as well but that would go heavily into my own personal biases so that's for the rest of the community to argue over.
Courses on the other hand were much easier to decide, thanks in large part to there being enough games in the series to where 2 courses from each title can be used without leaving any others out, except the first game that is.
With the heavy theming of Veterans and Upcoming Pros, the title could be something like...
"Hot Shots Golf/Everybody's Golf: Generational League."
​

Let's Golf!

Now we're on to gameplay and roster, the former of which being the tricky part of an idea like this, the games of the series for the most part have played more or less the same from 3 onwards and the stats are rather straightforward to grasp, at most I'd be trying to discuss it's general "Feel" compared to past titles which I obviously can't do with something that doesn't exist.
So instead we'll go with the tried and true concept of... "If it ain't broke, don't fix it.", they've already found a good formula for how these games should play so let's not go trying to reinvent the wheel.
Now for the potential roster, in terms of overall size 24 golfers at release like in Fore is my golden number, meaning 12 Vets and 12 Newcomers, a perfect 50/50, and while I'm much more hesitant/indecisive about who the potential returning vets could be, I was a lot more willing to start brainstorming ideas for newcomers, their stats, who they're related or connected to if possible, how they play, what their personality would be like, the whole 500 yards. And when I say that... I'm not joking, if there's one thing I'm super passionate about, it's making characters for games I love.
Regarding personalities, a slightly subdued version of how the Golfer's acted in Fore is my ideal scenario, incredibly expressive in both words and body language and not afraid to play into some stereotypes, but not quite to the extremes that Fore went to for some of them. Since I don't want to keep you guys here even longer then you already will be, try to guess how the characters would act based on what Info I do give.
When talking "Shots" they'll be listed as such along with whether they go Low, Mid or High.

• Fade = Natural Left Curve.
• Straight = What do you think?
• Draw = Natural Right Curve.

​
​

Novice Golfers.

Alisa (Default Golfer).
Age: 17.
Birthplace: U.S.
Likes: Warm days, The school Golf Club.
Dislikes: Large Crowds.
Description: This Shy Maiden has a wide impact range that makes her ideal for beginners as well as solid spin, she likes rainy days.
Power: 233y
Control: C
Impact: A
Spin: B
Side-Spin: D
Shot: Straight [Mid]
​
Good: Rain.
Bad: None.
​
Appearance: Brown Hair tied into braided pigtails that hang over her shoulders.
Normal Outfit is a long-sleeved turtle-neck with knee length shorts and golfing cleats.
Unlockable Outfit is a checker patterned prom dress that goes down to her lower leg along with dress shoes. Her hair is untied and has a blue ribbon in it.
​
Profile: Always being somewhat of a shrinking violet around her classmates, young Alisa often frequented her father's local country club in her free time when school was out and rarely interacted with others.
Until one day when the school golf club showed up and invited her to play a round of 18 with them, where she quickly picked up on the game and outplayed each and every one of them, befriending the whole club in the process.
​
​
Masaru (Default Golfer).
Age: 18.
Birthplace: Japan.
Likes: Hot Soba, the smell of grass.
Dislikes: Nuts.
Description: This Youthful Chef has a better drive then Alisa as well as good control, but he struggles to curve his shots.
Power: 237y
Control: B
Impact: B
Spin: C
Side-Spin: E
Shot: Straight [Mid]
​
Good: None.
Bad: None.
​
Appearance: Shoulder length Black Hair that's clean and slicked back.
Normal Outfit is a short sleeved shirt with a fictional band name on it, navy blue jeans and grey sneakers.
Unlockable Outfit is a clean white chef's outfit, complete with an apron and an oven mitt in place of a golfing glove. His hair is also tied in a ponytail.
​
Profile: Aspiring chef Masaru was in a bit of a slump one day after he botched an order to a regular customer at his uncle's noodle shop when he came across a thrown out 9 iron and decided to send discarded cans flying into dumpsters to get his mind off his failure, only to find himself trading out the old iron for a proper set of clubs and crunched up soda cans with proper golf balls a few minutes later.
Now whenever he isn't in front of a fire cooking greens, he's out cooking up a better score on a completely different green.
​
​
Beck.
Age: 25
Birthplace: United Kingdom.
Likes: Crickets.
Dislikes: Cheap Drinks.
Description: This Country Drifter does well in the rough and has strong curve shots, but is somewhat lacking in spin and control.
Power: 241y
Control: D
Impact: B
Spin: D
Side-Spin: B
Shot: Fade [Low]
​
Good: Rough.
Bad: None.
​
Appearance: Messy blonde hair and has a bit of dirt on his face.
Normal Outfit, "Gutter Driver": A slightly disheveled green jacket with a grey undershirt, long black pants and a pair of brown boots.
Unlockable Outfit, "Fairway Farmer": A short sleeved, slightly dirty white shirt with a pair of jean overalls and black work shoes topped with a blue Sun Hat.
​
Vs Mode details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Sub-rank 2.
Hard: Standard Club, Big Air Ball, HSG Rank 3. Rule: Standard Club Only.
​
Profile: Something of a local legend in his small town, Beck would often frequent the local pubs whenever he wasn't working the fields, sharing a drink and a laugh with his mates when they had some extra cash to spare.
One night, him and his friends decided to hit golf balls at the country club instead of throwing darts after work and when he managed to take first place in a local tournament, the rest was history.
​
​
Ellen.
Age: 23.
Birthplace: China.
Likes: Comedies, Clouds.
Dislikes: Dark Fantasy.
Description: This Aspiring Actress has solid all-around skills, but she falls apart in the Sand Trap.
Power: 244y.
Control: B
Impact: B
Spin: B
Side-Spin: C
Shot: Draw [Mid]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Sand.
​
Appearance: Short brown hair that hangs down a bit over her left eye.
Normal Outfit, "Red Carpet": A long sleeved red shirt with knee length golfing shorts and a pair of red sneakers.
Unlockable Outfit, "Drama Queen": A long black dress with a large ribbon tied along her waist along with notable face paint that effectively evokes the image of a geisha.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Sub-Rank 4.
Hard: Big Air Club, Standard Ball, HSG Rank 3. Rule: Sand +2
​
Profile: Ever since she was a little girl, Ellen had loved to watch performers and actors on the big screen and longed to become one herself, taking extensive lessons in performance theatre to hopefully land a starring role one day.
She originally took up golfing to help maintain her figure, but ended up making it a full time hobby when she found the game to her liking.
​

Intermediate Golfers.

David.
Age: 31.
Birthplace: U.S.
Likes: Homemade Soup.
Dislikes: (Most) Celebrities.
Description: This Bull-Headed Bouncer hits straight, low shots that muscle through the wind, but struggles with up close tees. Lower Impact requires more precise timing.
Power: 253y
Control: C
Impact: C
Spin: D
Side-Spin: D
Shot: Straight [Low]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Approach.
​
Appearance: Trimmed Red Hair with prickly looking beard stubble around his chin and neck.
Normal Outfit, "Born to be Wild": A short sleeved black shirt with a bull design on it's back, ankle length camo pants and hiking boots.
Unlockable Outfit, "Heavy Impact": A striped shirt with faded jeans and brown shoes along with a pair of shades, giving the look of a pub bouncer.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Sub-Rank 5.
Hard: Big Air Club, Pin Hole Ball, HSG Rank 4. Rule: Windy.
​
Profile: Everyone on the west coast knows about the "Bar-guarding Bull" David, who's imposing physique is only matched by his immovable stubbornness regarding orders and unruly patrons, as well as his odd friendship with Hollywood hustler Jonnie, which led to him picking up the game of golf when his celebrity buddy got a bit too boisterous one day and David challenged him to a round of 18 to get him to shut up.
From then on out, he's been notably more mellow, much to confusion of those expecting a fearsome brute. Though he's as stubborn as ever once he hits the Fairway.
​
​
Alizee.
Age: 16
Birthplace: Japan.
Likes: Fall.
Dislikes: Mud.
Description: This Outgoing Princess is extremely precise, but fears getting caught in the rain, or landing in a Sand Trap, or worse! Landing in a sand trap while it's raining.
Power: 250y
Control: A
Impact: C
Spin: C
Side-Spin: D
Shot: Straight [Mid]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Sand, Rain.
​
Appearance: Long Black Hair that reaches down past her shoulder blades.
Normal Outfit, "Studious Socialite": A short-sleeved school uniform with a white shirt adorned with a green diamond pattern, a green skirt and knee length black socks that end at a pair of white and green sneakers.
Unlockable Outfit, "Bogey Banisher": A White Kosode with Red Hakama pants, a pair of tabi sandals with white socks and her hair is tied into a ponytail with a large red ribbon. In other words, she's dressed like a Miko/Shrine Maiden.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club, Big Air Ball, HSG Rank 1. Rule: Sand +2.
Hard: Big Air Club, Standard Ball, HSG Rank 5. Rule: Cannot Change Course (Autumn Pagoda G.C. (Back Tee))
​
Profile: One of two daughters of an industrial business owner, Alizee was granted attendance to an ultra-famous girl's school alongside her identical twin Alice, where it was rather common for the energetic and outspoken Alizee to get mistaken for her more reclusive and soft-spoken sister and vice-versa.
On occasion, Alizee was asked to cover for her sister when she wasn't able to attend her golfing courses, and after a few games, grew a liking to the sport and began to improve her skills on her own.
​
​
Madison.
Age: 15
Birthplace: Canada.
Likes: Snow.
Dislikes: Swimming.
Description: This Sweet Slap-Shooter has a powerful drive that smashes through Sand, but can be rather inaccurate and has serious issues with trying to produce spin.
Power: 262y
Control: D
Impact: C
Spin: E
Side-Spin: C
Shot: Draw [Low]
​
Good: Sand.
Bad: None.
​
Appearance: Long, somewhat messy brown hair that reaches down to her shoulders with two side tails.
Normal Outfit, "Mighty, eh": A long sleeved, violet and pink colored jersey with a below the knee length purple skirt, white, pink laced shoes and a reddish open top visor on her head.
Unlockable Outfit, "Break the Ice": A heavy, purple winter jacket with equally thick grey pants and snow boots topped with a fur lined hat and scarf and mittens instead of a golf glove.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Rank 2. Rule: Cannot Change Course (South Alps G.C)
Hard: Pin Hole Club, Infinity Ball, HSG Master. Rules: Windy, Hit a Tree +2.
​
Profile: Ever since she was a little girl, Madison had been helping out at country clubs all over as a caddie, always watching but never really getting a chance to play. But after one particular match she found a spare golf ball sitting untouched on a tee, and with a golf bag still around her shoulder she couldn't resist the urge to grab a Driver and send it flying, much to the awe of some unseen onlookers, who then managed to talk her into playing the game for real.
Nowadays she's well known for her deceptively powerful drive which can put even grown men to shame, and the same cheerful demeanor she had when playing the other side of the tee.
​
​
Henry.
Age: 27.
Birthplace: Ireland.
Likes: Dinner Theatre.
Dislikes: Alcohol.
Description: This Un-usually Lucky Everyman has a ferocious Spin that sends his shots high in the air, great at avoiding trees, but leaving him at the mercy of the wind. Rain doesn't tend to agree with him either.
Power: 258y
Control: C
Impact: D
Spin: A
Side-Spin: D
Shot: Fade [High]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Rain.
​
Appearance: Short dark blonde hair with a hint of red at it's base, with a much more noticeably reddish mustache and beard.
Normal Outfit, "Lucky Number 4": A short sleeved shirt with a green number 4 front and center on his chest along with golfing shorts and green laced shoes.
Unlockable Outfit, "Easy in Green": An outfit that heavily resembles a leprechaun, with a green long sleeved jacket, Black colored shirt, bow tie, top hat, baggy pants and brown tap shoes.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Rank 3.
Hard: Big Air Club, Turbo Spin Ball, HSG Master. Rules: Points Match, Crazy Gauge (Power Gauge will sometimes freeze for a bit on the way back.)
​
Profile: Usually just trying to enjoy his days in peace, the often dubbed "Un-usually Lucky" Henry frequently has the good fortune, or possibly misfortune, of constantly having things go his way, no matter what he seems to do. To the point where his friends even set up pranks that they fully expect to fail, and then have a good laugh when Henry somehow walks away from them untouched.
It's no surprise then that his favorite pass time is in golf, where Luck never plays favorites, and thus he can stay confident that his skill at the sport is completely genuine.
​

Expert Golfers.

Charlie.
Age: 28.
Birthplace: U.S.
Likes: Helicopters.
Dislikes: Bumpy Rides.
Description: The Face of the Golfing Ring has a monstrous Drive that can conquer any Rough, but is burdened by awful control and trouble with Approach shots. Narrow Impact makes him suited for advanced players.
Power: 276y.
Control: E
Impact: D
Spin: C
Side-Spin: D
Shot: Fade [Mid]
​
Good: Rough.
Bad: Approach.
​
Appearance: Long Brown Hair that goes down past the shoulder blades with a clean shaven face and a scar over his left eye.
Normal Outfit, "Pure Power": A tight fitted Red shirt with white golfing shorts and light brown boots.
Unlockable Outfit, "The Face of Golf": A wrestler's outfit composed of a blue and gold coat with him completely shirtless underneath, fingerless gloves, grey shorts and Navy Blue, knee length boots.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Rank 4. Rule: Cannot Change Course (Death Valley C.C (Back Tee))
Hard: Pin Hole Club, Infinity Ball, HSG Shogun. Rules: No Backspin, Windy.
​
Profile: Well beloved in the worlds of both wrestling and golf, Charlie is known world-wide for his infectiously up-beat attitude and absolutely staggering power shots. Having been introduced to the game by his wrestling rival Bronson, the duo quickly drew eyes for effectively bringing the high energy of a Face and Heel conflict into the comparatively subdued world of golf and Charlie felt he had to up his skills to greater heights as a result.
He now currently stands among the best of the best, and while his overall skills may not quite compare, his power is all but unrivaled.
​
​
Pluto.
Age: 26
Birthplace: Bulgaria.
Likes: Playing Drums, Rock and Roll.
Dislikes: Tall Grass.
Description: This Eccentric Drummer boasts rounded stats and breathtaking Curve Shots, but tends to mess up in the Rough.
Power: 264y
Control: B
Impact: D
Spin: C
Side-Spin: A
Shot: Straight [Mid]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Rough.
​
Appearance: Wildly styled shoulder length Black Hair with purple highlights and a pair of silver rimmed glasses.
Normal Outfit, "Infected Mole": A short-sleeved black tee-shirt with a rocker-styled mole on it, black and white bands on his fingers, grey jeans and dark brown shoes.
Unlockable Outfit, "God of Rhythm": A Greek styled outfit with a long black toga adorned with the symbol of Hades and wooden sandals. (Mythology fans, this one was for you.)
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Rank 5. Rule: Points Match.
Hard: Big Air Club, Side-spin Ball, HSG King. Rules: Hit a Tree +2, Rough +2.
​
Profile: Not too much is known about Pluto, the drummer for the upcoming band "Infected Mole", somewhat unsurprising considering one of his fellow bandmates, Zeus, is himself rather mysterious. What is very well known is that he quickly took an interest in golf after watching his bandmate play a rather intense round and quickly transferred his eccentric stage presence into the global golfing scene, where his wild and flamboyant charm along with an uncanny instinct for the sport earned him a spot among the golfing elite.
​
​
Emily.
Age: 20
Birthplace: France
Likes: Gardening.
Dislikes: Droughts.
Description: This Elegant aristocrat boasts Top Class Power, Control and Spin, but struggles against stymies and has a nasty habit of choking.
Power: 268y.
Control: A
Impact: E
Spin: A
Side-Spin: E
Shot: Straight [High]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Rough, Sand.
​
Appearance: Long, Bright Blonde hair styled into "rings" that hang down over the front of her shoulders.
Normal Outfit, "Noble Elite": A bright violet short sleeved short with a darker purple skirt that goes down to the knees, a red hairband and white shoes.
Unlockable Outfit, "Elegant Lily": A pure white dress with a flower pattern, a large sun hat that has a pink Lily stuck in it's brim and a pair of sandals that have a sunflower motif.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Master. Rule: Cannot Change Course (United Forest G.C)
Hard: Infinity Club, Standard Ball, HSG Mighty. Rules: Rough +2, Sand +2.
​
Profile: The golfing world was left in awe when this young noblewoman took to the tee, displaying a level of technique that put even the most experienced of veterans to shame. Rather unsurprisingly, her incredible talent at the game has drawn many comparisons to the elite golfer Rose, but as to how far the theories go are left to mere guess work.
Some believe she is merely a protégé while others suspect she is the French elite's daughter, regardless of speculation though, her skills are truly in a league of their own, and would be challengers should tread very carefully.
​
​
Leon.
Age: 20
Birthplace: United Kingdom.
Likes: Sculpting.
Dislikes: Laziness.
Description: The Dark Prince of Golf is king when it comes to skill, but he hates the Rain and is picky with Approach shots. Extremely Narrow Impact demands expert play.
Power: 270y
Control: B
Impact: E
Spin: A
Side-Spin: A
Shot: Draw [High]
​
Good: None.
Bad: Approach, Rain.
​
Appearance: Medium length, naturally platinum blonde hair tied in a short pony-tail that stands out with his striking red eyes.
Normal Outfit, "Sub-Par Prince": A white and black jacket with a grey shirt underneath that has the series' logo on it, dark blue jeans and black shoes.
Unlockable Outfit, "Dark Council": An outfit that resembles a modified Japanese school uniform with a black, long-sleeved dress shirt, white jeans and grey sneakers with a navy blue jacket hanging from his shoulders.
​
Vs Mode Details.
Normal: Standard Club and Ball, HSG Master. Rules: No Backspin, Points Match.
Hard: Infinity Club, Standard Ball, HSG Almighty. Rules: Infinity Club Only, Fixed Character (Emily).
​
Profile: Standing at the very top of the golfing world, whose power and technique is nigh but unmatchable, is the self-titled Dark Prince of Golf, Leon. As the son of the infamous Dark Lord of Golf, Roger, his skills at the game were practically guaranteed from birth and were honed to a razor's edge as he mercilessly crushed any who dared to face him on the Green in his quest to become the greatest golfer who ever lived.
Yet in spite of his fearsome reputation, his unwavering style of play is not of malice, but of a firm belief that giving anything less then his best would be an insult to his opponents. To this day he eagerly awaits an adversary that possesses that self-same drive as himself, who could potentially dethrone the prince and claim his crown.
​

Of Course!

Now that we've finally gone over the golfers, it's time to talk about where they'll actually be playing. Given the series' long history, there have been tons of courses over the years, all of which have their own sense of charm to them.
Thankfully, there have been just enough entries where even if we just take 2 courses from every Clap Hanz title for the sake of fairness, that still adds up to 14 courses total baseline, and given how DLC is a thing, more could always be added later.
Any courses that have appeared in more then one title will be filed under the Game they first appeared in.
​
Emerald Resort G.C (HSG 2)
Death Valley C.C (HSG 2)
Mt. Sakura C.C (HSG 3)
United Forest G.C (HSG 3)
Silk Road Classic (HSG Fore)
Day Dream G.C (HSG Fore)
South Alps C.C (HSG Open Tee)
Autumn Pagoda G.C (HSG Open Tee)
Nakagawa Public G.C (HSG Open Tee 2)
Central Golf Square (HSG Open Tee 2)
Euro Classic G.C. (HSG Out of Bounds)
The Crown Links (HSG Out of Bounds)
Maple Leaf G.C (HSG World Invitational)
La Provence Resort (HSG World Invitational)
​

2 for 1 Sale.

One thing I really liked about HSG 2 was how you could unlock the Japanese version's cast after defeating every other character in the versus mode. Going off of that, It would be a neat idea to implement something similar into the cast of this idea, but instead of being completely separate characters, they're essentially extra costumes that share the same stats as their counterpart, but with a completely different look, personality and animations. Essentially, it's a way to fit in even more characters without taking up extra space on the roster, sort of like Smash's Echo fighters, but in a game setting where I don't think anyone would mind it.
Anyways, here are a few examples, with some theoretical unlock conditions.
​
Kamala (Gloria): Get a Chip-in Eagle or better with Gloria.
Mel (Suzuki): Score a Chip-in from the Sand Trap.
Alice (Alizee): Finish Autumn Pagoda with a score of -18 or better.
Bronson/Chaos (Charlie): Get a Sub-Par Opp (Eagle Putt) on a Par 4 hole, or hit a drive of 335+ yards.
Blue (Pluto): Successfully perform a Spiral Shot (Hit the Pin with a Super Side-Spin).
Rose (Emily): Finish a 5 star or above difficulty course with a score of -14 or better as Emily.
Roger (Leon): Skunk a Golfer in VS Mode (Automatically win by 4Up) with a rank of King or higher as Leon.
​
​
And... I feel that's enough to call it here. For anyone who actually had the time and patience to read through this absolute mountain of text, what are your thoughts? Would this be something worth dreaming about or did my crazy fantasies lead me on an insane tirade?

I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves. I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl. The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly. I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up. My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves. I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl. The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly. I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up. My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves. I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl. The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly. I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up. My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves. I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl. The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly. I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up. My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

​
I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves.
I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl.
The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly.
I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up.
My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

​
I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves.
I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl.
The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly.
I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up.
My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

​
I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves.
I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl.
The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly.
I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up.
My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

​
I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves.
I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl.
The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly.
I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up.
My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.

​
I'm an avid hiker, always have been, but I may have to rethink the way I hike after this incident.
I've done a lot of hiking in my time. Hiking the Appalachian trail, backpacking through Europe, I've hiked trails on the Mexican borders and watched the lights of Coyotes as they came to drop their “cargo”, and in that time, I've never really felt like I was in danger. I've had some close calls, don't get me wrong, but at no time did I ever wonder if I was going to live through these times or not.
My last hike was the exception to that.
I was hiking in the Midwest when I came across the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I can't say exactly where I was, I didn't really have a destination in mind, but I was somewhere near the Kansas/ Oklahoma border. What I was doing could easily have been classified as vagrancy, but I had the appropriate credentials so that any big bellied Midwestern cop who stopped me knew I was out here shooting photos for Natural World, a magazine that had requested some travel shots. It was pretty cool to get paid for what was essentially professional homelessness, and when I stumbled upon the little dell and saw the grass field, I knew I had found my photo opp.
The grass sat at the bottom of the little dip and I thought at first that I had found a bog or a marsh. When the ground turned out to be solid, I made my careful way through it as I basked in the smell of wild hay and timothy. It was tall, the tips coming up over my head, and I let my hands slide deliciously over the stalks as I walked through it. I was careful to keep my eyes peeled for snakes or any of the various biting or stinging insects that made a place like this their home, but I heard little beyond rustles as the residents took their leave of me.
It was peaceful in the grass, and I lay down amidst it as I breathed in the heady aroma.
I blinked a little longer than I meant to, I guess, because when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly pitch black.
I sat up, not sure what had happened. I had never just fallen asleep like this before, and I was glad when I reached for my bag and found it where I had left it. The flashlight showed me still within the womb of grass, and as I tried to orient myself, I found that I had no clue which way I had come in. The grass went from inviting by day to an aromatic trap by night, and the wind played games with my senses as it rustled the thick sheaves.
I made my careful way through the thicket, the moon smiling at me from overhead in its grinning halfness. The stars were cold comfort as they winked down, and the longer I walked, the more certain I was that I was going in circles. The grass field hadn't been that large, an acre or two at most, and as I walked in an unyielding straight line, I felt that I should have come to the other side by now.
Instead, I found a grass hut sitting in a small clearing.
Calling it a hut may not do it justice. It was a woven grass dome about ten feet by ten feet, the bands of grass expertly pushed through to create a curved dwelling that was likely to be dry. I could see smoke coming from the center, and assumed that there must be a little fire hole carved into it. The inside glowed slightly, like a furnace that's getting ready to go out, and the whole thing sat amidst grass that had been trampled flat. Whether by the feet of its inhabitants or not, I didn't know, but something about it looked a little spooky.
It reminded me of the cannibal huts in the old Conan comics, and I hoped the comparison wasn't apt.
“Get yourself lost, son?”
I jumped a foot and nearly dropped my flashlight, turning to see a hunched figure about five feet to my left. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman, and its voice sounded ancient but not threatening. It was hardly four feet tall in its hunched up state, and it looked to be wearing a very old blanket in the fashion of a Mexican peasant in western novel. The sleeves hung over his old arms like a wizard's robe, and the feet that poked from beneath looked to be covered in woven grass sandals. He grinned up at me with his unoccupied mouth, his gums wet and pulled into a smile, and I had to stop myself from shuddering as the silence stretched on into rudeness.
“Sorry, you startled me, sir. Yeah, I must have stumbled into the grass here and lost my way. Any idea how I can get out?”
“Just go that way and keep heading towards the sun at dawn.” he said, hooking a thumb behind him, “but I guess that will be hard till morning. Why don't you stay with me tonight? Theres plenty of room in my little abode.”
I looked at the grass shack and then back at the little man.
He had startled me, but I decided there probably wasn't any harm in him.
I agreed and when he pressed on the side of the grass hut, I realized there was a door set expertly into the side of the hut. I had to marvel at the little creature's ingenuity as he showed me in, and the inside of the hut was no less impressive. The whole thing was set into the ground about five feet, and the roof extended down to cover the dirt walls. The smoke hole was the only opening to the sky and the fire within burned cheerily. There was a pot sitting in the fire, and the contents made my mouth water a little. It smelled like meat and grains and I imagined it was likely rabbit or squirrel, given the man's location. As I sat by the fire, I couldn't help but wonder how long it had taken him to craft something like this? The effort at work here would have taken weeks if not months and the end result was something truly spectacular.
I made a mental note to get some pictures during the day time, knowing the magazine would love to see it.
“So, what brings you this far into the grass field?” he asked, taking the lid off the pot and stirring it with a spoon.
“I was just hiking,” I said, the warm interior making me feel sleepy all over again, “I take pictures for magazines and write travel articles, and I sort of stumbled across your field on my way between places.”
The man ladled some of the pot's contents into a bowl, and as he handed it to me, I was amazed to see that it was also made of woven grass. He lifted a gourd jug to his lips and sipped before picking up his own bowl, and when he offered it to me, I found it was full of spring water. The bowl was full of stew, and the meat went well with the roots and things he had mixed with it. It was a little bland, but filling and he seemed to chew over what I had said as much as the meal.
“Taking pictures, eh?” he finally said, the words a little muffled as he chewed at the gristle, “are you some sort of reporter?”
“Not really. More like a journalist I guess. I write articles for Natural World, it's a magazine for outdoorsmen and hikers and the like.”
The fella, I suppose by then I had started thinking of him as a little old man in my head, nodded as he sipped at the broth of his soup.
He was quiet for a little bit, the fire crackling between us the only sound in the hut, before he asked his next question.
“What sort of stories do you write for your magazine?”
I had been crunching at some of the vegetables that hadn't been cooked all the way, and swallowed them a little too hastily as he sent his next pondering at me. I coughed, reaching for the gourd as the water sloped down my face, and managed to worry them down. The old man's ponderous way of talking and long bouts of silence were a little strange, but I found him to be an agreeable diner host.
“Usually local pieces. Lore or tourist spots that the readers might be interested in, beauty spots they might want to take in, interesting points of order in the area, local legends and things. Anything really to get people buying magazines.”
“What about Urban Legends?” he asked, his smile returning as he lowered his bowl.
The glint of fire light off his gums made the effect all the more grizzly.
I coughed again, but it had nothing to do with the remains of wild carrots and roots.
“Sometimes, if they're especially interesting. Readers always like a bit of local color.” I admitted, like it might be a dirty secret.
“Well, it just so happens that the grass field you're sitting in is a little piece of local history. I could tell you about it, if you'd like.”
My excitement was at odds with my unease by this point. This was one of those situations that prickles that ancient part of your brain, the one that stopped your forebears from getting eaten by predators. That being said, the story was already starting to come together in my mind. Sitting in an honest to god hut and hearing a story by firelight by a native was the sort of thing urban legends were made of. To be living one was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not one that I was going to pass up.
My editor was going to absolutely have a fit when I sent him this, and I could already smell the bonus check.
“I'd love to. You don't mind if I use it for a story, do you?”
“I'd be delighted,” the old man said, and when he leaned forward, his wrinkled old face looked like a jack-o-lantern in the dancing firelight.
The hut took on a shadowy cast as his head blocked some of the light, and the effect was impressive.
“This field was once called Fairy's Rest. It was said that on summer nights, you could see the fireflies dancing through the stalks, and the travelers who witnessed it thought they must be fairies holding a revel. An old hermit lived out in this very field, in this very hut in fact, and he acted as a sort of medicine man. He brewed cures for most things, helped people who needed tonics and tinctures, and was well loved in the community. Some people said he was a warlock, a trickster who was in league with Satan, but the locals knew him to be a fine enough sort and generally left him to his own pursuits.”
I found myself leaning in a little as he spoke, the smoke stinging my eyes some as it wafted up from the crackling depths of the fire.
“The little town of Maverick got a new preacher man one spring, and that was when the trouble started. The new preacher was one of those fire and brimstone sorts, a “suffer not a witch to live” disciples who had set his sights on the old hermit for some reason. He chastised the people of Maverick, asking how they could claim to be godly while allowing an agent of Satan to live in their midst? He told them that God would surely punish them for their inaction if they continued to let him live so close to their town, but the people were not so quick to act. They didn't mind having the old man so close to town, many of them benefited from it, but the preacher was persuasive. It took some time, but he finally convinced them that the man's very existence would spoil their relationship with God and they made a plan to go and oust him.”
As I listened, I found myself watching the shadows on the wall of the hut. In the dancing light of the fire, I could almost see the mob with their torches and pitchforks as they made their way to the grasslands to smoke the poor old fella out. At their head was a man in a tall hat, his torch held aloft as he led them to their work. I wondered if maybe water was all that was in that gourd, but the old man's story had me hooked.
“Well, they came to the grassy patch, but no matter how much they searched, or how deep they went, they couldn't find the hermit's house. It should have been impossible, but the longer they looked, the more furious the preacher became. He told them that this was proof of the man's misdeeds, and that Satan himself must surely be hiding the old warlock. Finally, he took a torch and set the tall grass ablaze, sending smoke into the sky as it burned. They burned the patch flat, down to the soil, and when it was done, they rode back to town triumphant.”
As he told the story, the smell of the fire was replaced with the acrid smell of a wildfire. I could just imagine someone trapped in that hellish blaze, their house burning around them as they sat inside, knowing there was no escape. Had the hermit tried to run through the burning grass? Had the smoke gotten him before the flames did? I coughed, reaching for the gourd again, and the old man seemed to revel in my discomfort.
“Well, imagine their surprise when the spot was reported to have returned a week later? They never found the old man, but it was said that smoke could be seen coming from the grass field. It was also said that people started going missing. Anyone who was involved in the burning either went missing themselves or saw a member of their family disappear. Most times it was children, but sometimes a spouse or a cousin would suffice. Eventually, the people of Maverick told the preacher he wasn't welcome anymore, and forced him out of town in the hopes that the old man's spirit would be appeased.”
He sat back from the fire then, watching me as I leaned in closer, the fire hot against my face as I fell deeper into his tale.
“After that, they called this place Ghost Grass, and those who venture in sometimes never come out again. Travelers, Hikers, local kids who don't heed their parents warnings. They all fall victim to the Ghost Grass, and the vengeful old soul who resides there. He doesn't take them all, though. He still leaves a few, the ones he lets live so they might spread his story. Those who come here without invitation, however, learn better than to meddle with things outside their kin. The people of Maverick still remember, and they always will.”
I leaned back as he finished, letting the implications sink in.
Was he claiming to be the vengeful spirit of the grassy field, or was he just messing with me? Suddenly I had never felt less tired in my life, but when he suggested that we turn in for the night, I agreed without argument. Where would I go, after all? The people who had come to find the old hermit had never discovered this place. What were the odds of me stumbling out again with only the moon to guide me?
I lay in the shadows of the hut, the fire burning low as the old man lay on the opposite side. He never snuffled or tossed, just lay there like a stone as I shivered beneath my blanket. I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to drop off with this thing so close to me, but I felt my long day of hiking catching up with me. I fought against sleep, trying no to fall into its web, but eventually the matter was settled for me, and I came awake in the morning like a diver breaking the surface.
The hut was dark, but I could see the sun through the smoke hole.
The old man was nowhere to be found, and I saw little else to do but pack up my bedding and leave.
I got some pictures, kind of wishing the old man was here so I could include him, and left the hut behind me.
I found my way out of the grass just as he had suggested, and after a single look back, I set off west, just as I had for the last week. The woods were behind me, and the flatland I found myself in was dotted with farms and fences, crops and cattle, and a dark snake that stretched its way across the ground as far as the eye could see. The road appeared once I broke a hill, and I followed it for most of the day. I saw a sign around noon that told me Maverick was two miles up the road, and when the outskirts came into view, I was glad to be back in civilization.
I stopped at a local diner to write this down and send it to my editor, wanting to get it all while it was still fresh.
I don't know why I was worried about missing a detail, because I don't think any of the night before will ever leave my mind.
The people of Maverick are very familiar with the Grasslands and the legends that surround them. The woman at the Desert Flower Dinner where I sit now shuddered when I told her about the night I had. She said I was lucky to be alive, luckier than Billy Register and his friends, at least. When I asked who they were, she pointed to a bulletin board by the door. There hung three missing persons posters baring the faces of three high school kids that had recently gone missing.
Thinking about what meat might have been in that pot I ate from makes my stomach flip, but I suppose it's too late for regrets now.
So if you find yourself traveling the footpaths of Oklahoma and you come across a field of tall, lush grass, be very careful.
They might hang your missing poster on that board next, should you become the next victim of the Ghost Grass Hermit.