Chile Postcard

There’s the seductive melancholic caress of misty rain against a backdrop of grey hills mist rivers wood and doom, everything inscrutably ominous. Headwind, steep loose climbs, then whispy cascades to congealing clouds around the corner and the at first a gentle spittle turning into something a little less benign, just keep overing and overing away, it’s 9pm, soaked and chilled and exactly zero inclination to set up a tent so start looking for alternatives. Of which one is presented in a cluster of abandoned ramshackle wooden buildings, rusty pipes styrofoam piles fire damage, unpadlocked door and flapping shutter open to toxic looking linoleum but it’s out of the rain and soon my gear is hanging from crooked nails. Creeped out in spite of what I think of as a high tolerance, so I record a Coded message, resist making it an if you find this message sort of message, dinner in the darkness now every Pacific Northwest horror film, the wind, c’mon, really, it’s always the wind.

Sleep. My eyes lurch and whirl open in the pitch there’s this clicking, twik twik sound. Off of the center of my vision, no direct looking there’s a phosphorescent glow, I’m dreaming ghosts, right?, headlamp snaps on I scan and see nothing, empty space on the floor where the fuzzy luminescence was, headlamp off. Shnick fwik, again out of the corner of my eye, phantoms and the rain pounding and the rickety building is creaking swaying, sit up light flooding from my sweeping scan.

I go back to sleep, if the cricket needs the shelter, too, then so be it.