The Mountain Man

When you avoid the strange, the strange will come to visit.

An opponent can beat you up, he can embarrass and otherwise defeat you. If, however, he makes you doubt your presence in reality, even for a few moments, he is the most effective and powerful opponent you will ever meet.

How does one settle oneself, having been subjected to that?

Jeremiah was such a man, and I hadn’t thought of him as an opponent. Perhaps he wasn’t. The effect on me, nevertheless, was exactly the same. It wasn’t as though I’d sought him out. That has led me to a corollary conclusion: If you avoid the strange, the strange sooner or later, will pay you a visit.

This man I'd only just met had really seemed both level-headed and quite normal, by both his friendly demeanor and his well-dressed appearance. But he has provided me with the least-expected bit of material I could have imagined I would ever receive. He actually didn't give me his last name, his first may not have been his real name, and I have no idea where he resides. That means there's no chance I can ever follow up, and obviously, that was by design. Of course I'm suspicious. But then, why would a normal man go to all the trouble?

After our encounter, I couldn't think of anything to be done about it. I could do no more than to return to my hotel room and write it all down. I know this account will never pass for more than a bit of fiction. But since it was real, it means I am the only man in the world to know it was real, and that is an empty feeling indeed.

My passion is the analysis and debunking of myths. It's important, because rational thought is not one of the strongest of human attributes. Perceptions are flawed from the beginning, since everything we perceive is immediately colored by what we already believe. And it isn't just what we think, but how we think that determines what we believe. How can any society make proper decisions, while not relying on factual and provable information?

At least, that’s what I've always believed, and of course, I still do. I'm human too, after all, and that means my mind isn't necessarily changed by apparent facts, either. And yet...I think the only way to communicate what has happened, is to tell the story. I truly wish someone could tell me what to think. I know that sounds pretty strange, coming from a professional who has claimed to be competent to tell others how to avoid misdirection.

The late evening, that day, had been like one of many I’d carried out, giving a presentation at a university as an invited speaker. I am a professor of psychology and have written both textbooks and informational essays, published in various journals. My presentations boost use and utility of those, and assist, I hope, in general enlightenment in my particular areas of study.

The Mountain Man

I had just closed my presentation and was meeting and greeting some of the students and faculty who had attended. Jeremiah, a man I know I will never forget, stepped up to me after I'd shaken the hand of the last person in the line. The little auditorium had emptied out, the lectern had been removed and the stage lighting was being turned off.

"Doctor," he graciously intoned, "My name is Jeremiah. Your presentation was excellent. I can't say I disagree with much of anything you had to say."

I smiled in return. "Much? Then there is something you don't agree with? Mister…"

"Just call me Jeremiah. Sir, it's not that late. There's a coffee shop just a few steps from here, I wonder if I could interest you in a cup of coffee, and a tale? I promise you, you will find it memorable."

"A tale? Memorable? I’m sorry, I have to make my flight in the morning, and I've some things to do..."

"Please, please.” Jeremiah smiled warmly. “I won’t take much of your time and I know you won't regret it. There's something I have to relate, that really, you should hear. You've had dinner, haven't you?"

"Of course."

"Then you probably don't have anything major going on before you sleep tonight. Won't you join me, please?"

I smiled and nodded in assent. Of course he was right; a bit of friendly distraction would likely be relaxing, and Jeremiah seemed an amiable sort. How was I to know I'd be spending the rest of that evening on the edge of my seat, or that he’d yank the chair?

As we walked from the edge of campus to the coffee shop, Jeremiah explained that he now made his living as a photographer.

"I had always dabbled in it, and I knew I was pretty good at it. But you have to be there when the light is right, when the subject matter is available. When you also hold a full-time job, as I did, it's difficult to amass any quantity of good work. So I went full-time."

"Well, you'd have to be good at it, to make a living. There are a lot of people doing it. What subject matter?"

"Wildlife," he replied, simply. "Wildlife, forests, and landscapes."

We arrived at the coffee shop, and as it was a warm evening in early fall, Jeremiah suggested we select an outside table. A citronella candle flickered in the center of it, and a bug zapper emitted a soft frying sound with some regularity.

"A pity," observed Jeremiah. "Some of my best macro work is of insects. I didn't know this shop had one of those."

"You haven't been here before?"

"No, I flew in just to hear you speak. I wasn't sure I'd get to talk to you, but we needed a place to do that, so I had this place scoped out."

I suddenly felt a bit less at ease. He’d flown in? “Scoped out?” I'd assumed I was in the company of a fellow academic, but Jeremiah no longer appeared to fit that model.

"What was your occupation before you entered the photographic profession, Jeremiah?"

"I was an accountant."

I took a harder look at my new acquaintance. Although he was dressed in a good, rather expensive-looking gray suit, he did look quite a bit out of character for it. What can you really tell from a face? Jeremiah appeared a confident and a wise individual, such that it didn’t fit his years. His face was weathered and he wore his hair a bit long. I judged him to be in his forties, something less than my own age. He was square-jawed and obviously physically fit, and both his hair and mustache were the color of sand, interspersed here and there with an early bit of gray. I couldn't picture him as an accountant. He looked much more like a well-dressed, well-built, hard-bitten mountain man.

We sat down and ordered, and Jeremiah began.

"I've read you, doctor. I've read your work extensively, that was why I wanted to tell you what I know. My point will be, many things that are true have not necessarily been backed up with hard evidence." Of course, that was an intriguing statement in itself. He continued.

"I used to live in south-central Pennsylvania. I lived alone then, as I do now. The walls of my home were well-decorated with my own framed renderings of delicate, natural beauty. Butterflies, playing in groups in a sunny field, wilderness waterfalls tumbling over rocks while the spray formed rainbows, white-tailed bucks with heads down, battling during the fall rut. I'd received some minor recognition for my work, and it was my personal goal to outdo all of my previous efforts, and to publish the best of it.

But one year, warm weather came early. By the time I'd gone out to collect some seasonal photos near my home, spring was practically over. I was dismayed to find that I'd missed the best of the images I had hoped to capture that season. It seemed the obvious thing to do, to rise early and to drive northward, where changes that arrive with spring would be a little less advanced. Part of the excitement of my, hobby, at the time, was the surprise of what I might find if I deliberately didn't plan. So on a Saturday morning, I just donned a light jacket and a knit cap, grabbed my big digital Nikon, and simply drove off in a northerly direction.

But I never messed with maps. I had driven for hours, and all I really knew, or that I believed, was that I was somewhere between my home and Bradford, a town some two hundred miles to the north. In fact I’d strayed from my intended path. I had pulled my forest-green Honda Civic onto a weed-covered mountain road, and had driven about fifty feet further to a spot overspread by tall trees that were just coming out in leaf. Then I'd walked up into the mountains from there. Parking my car so that it was out of sight from the road was intentional.

I just never expected to get lost. That was my surprise for that outing, for what should have been my last trip out.

Lost

It was a beautiful day, partly cloudy, great for taking pictures. The temperature had risen to maybe fifty to fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit, that's just a best guess. The trees were mottled with golden sunlight. First I took some macro shots of early mushrooms on a shaded black log, then some photos of wild redbuds blooming in lavender and purple, using a diffused-edge filter. I had hoped to find a mountain stream or a spring, and the search took me a little too far from my vehicle.

My hobby was photography, not hiking. I had been a Boy Scout as a kid and I still had an idea how to use a compass. Unfortunately, I didn't have one, not that I’d have known what direction to move to get back to my car. As a matter of fact, all I had was my camera. No knife, no blanket, and only the clothes on my back for warmth. I didn't smoke, so I'd brought no lighter, nor had I brought any food or water with me. I hadn't even stopped for breakfast that morning. In retrospect," he added, "It was pretty stupid. Cataclysmic, dunderhead stupid."

Jeremiah didn't appear to notice as I placed my i-pod on the table, and set it to record.

"After quite a while, I realized I was in serious trouble. I‘d gotten turned around and had no idea which way to go to get back to the road, much less, to my car. I stared into the brushy forest that now fully surrounded me. It appeared terrifyingly unfamiliar, and at that point, threatening. I realized without doubt, I was completely and totally lost. I'd been walking for hours. What in the world had I been thinking, venturing that far from my car? How could I ever get back to it, from within that seemingly endless maze of trees and underbrush?

So I sat down on a log to think. It was a difficult thing to do while trying to shake off the feeling of the ultimate stupidity of what I had done. As I lived alone, my failure to show up for work on Monday would be the first I would be missed. The relationships I did have at work weren't particularly close ones, and I realized I was just as likely to be dismissed and forgotten as to be looked-for. No one would know where to look for my car, if eventually someone did realize I had disappeared. Even if anyone had known where I'd gone, my car wouldn't very likely have been found. After all, I’d hidden it.

My cell phone, an early one, was all but out of battery life. It didn't much matter, since among those hills there was no service at all anyway. I reluctantly powered it down. I figured I would check for service later, and would have to hope the phone would start. At that time, you didn't buy phones that were capable of GPS. They weren't available.

The realization that I was actually lost in a wilderness was the worst, most helpless feeling I have ever experienced. I knew there was close to a thousand square miles of state forest out there, so simply traveling in a straight line, if I could manage that, more likely than not would be taking me deeper into the woods. I hadn't seen any signs of a road or a trail since leaving my car. I had already tried just walking down the side of the ridge. Problem was, then I had to go up another, just to keep going. Then it was down again, and then it had repeated. Yep. I was really, truly lost!

In a moment of hopeful inspiration, then, I thought about climbing a tree. If I could get to the top of the ridge I was on at that point, I could possibly climb up and get my bearings. Just a highway, or a barn silo. Anything. Just something to give me a direction in which to move. A highway would have been best, it would be the hardest to miss. I would have even happily settled for a river, especially because I was getting thirsty. Although it might take me a while to find my way out, I figured, I could get lucky. Rivers always eventually lead to towns or cities, and I thought, there could be fishing camps along it, at least. Although first I had to find a river.

Before I reached the top of the ridge, I was really beginning to mind the exertion. My desk job hadn't done much to keep me in shape, and I hadn't done anything at all to counter my sedentary lifestyle. I was paying for it. I stood and looked up at the tallest of the trees. Climbing one of them didn't seem like such a great idea anymore. The lowest branches were some distance from the ground, and the bark looked rougher than I'd expected. I decided to record some of this to remember later, so I snapped a picture of the closest tall tree. Then I walked around the tree and took another photo from that side. No way I would be able to get up into that tree.

I sat down then to rest again, and decided I'd better climb some tree, even if it wasn't the tallest one. Surely I could get a look around, at least, at part of the landscape. The urgency of my situation demanded that I do something. So I walked along the top of the ridge, and eventually found a sizable shag-bark hickory with some low branches. I gently placed my camera on the ground, and as I walked to the tree, I shed my jacket. Then I started to climb. Gradually I moved from branch to branch, working my way to nearly the top. I was really far up, and atop the ridge, the added height of the tree was nothing if not scary. It seemed like I could see forever.

But I had not expected at all to see what I did. There was nothing out there in any direction that was anything at all but more mountains, and more trees. Not even a clearing! No smoke. No barns, or silos. Any roads or rivers would have been between the ridges, man, I felt stupid! To think I would have been able to see a way out from the top of a tree in state forest land! At least, that's where I believed I was. I began the precarious climb back to the earth, again picking my way carefully.

I was usually overly cautious, but that day, I was just full of great ideas. I was really tiring out, my muscles were sore, I was both hungry and thirsty, and I just wanted to get the hell out of the woods. The sooner I made it to the ground, the sooner I could hope to get out of there. So instead of climbing all the way back down to the lowest limb, I hung from the next-lowest one, and dropped. It didn't look far.

In fact I dropped through at least six feet of air, and the jarring landing turned my ankle when I hit the ground. It wasn't a genuine all-out sprain, but it hurt like hell, and for a minute I just yelled. Pain turned to anger, and I beat the ground with my fist. What next!?

Well, the next thing was that, unbelievably, I couldn't find my camera. A high-tech, top-end digital Nikon with variable-zoom lens, and I couldn't find it anywhere. Of course I hadn't really been paying close attention to exactly where I had put it down. At that moment, I might have believed anything. For the moment, at least, the fear and foreboding that had driven me up and down those ridges had been replaced by an entirely different emotion – embarrassed anger.

For half an hour I limped around, looking for my camera. Finally I realized it would be getting dark in a few more hours, and despite its value I had much bigger problems that having lost the Nikon. I looked around and found a dead branch for a walking stick, and started down the far side of the ridge. By then I'd developed a headache from not having eaten, my throat felt like a bit of parched desert, and my ankle burnt like fire every time I put my weight on it to take a step. It took me more than an hour to reach the bottom of the ridge, and the brush surrounding me was even more dense, when I got there. I sat down and cried aloud, sobbing in despair. There was no reason to hold it back. No one would hear it anyway.

Soon, a veil of darkness settled into the forest. With it came the predictable precipitous drop in temperature. I might have been alright to stay there if I'd been able to build a fire, but I had no means. I dismissed the thought of trying to build a fire with no dry tinder, no pocket knife to shave tinder from a stick, and no flint or steel. I pulled my light jacket tightly around myself, trying to hold in my body heat. I tugged my knit cap down over the back of my neck. I tried sitting in a fetal position, but it wasn't nearly enough. So I decided to keep moving, as there was some moonlight. I hadn't even thought about bears, or snakes, or any of the other creatures that might have been about, in the wilderness at night. I would limp along for a while, stop for a while, but I mostly kept going, just along the base of the ridge.

After what seemed like an eternity, I could go no more. My arms became numb, my legs had gone numb some time before. That's numb for real, such that I no longer noticed any pain in my injured ankle. I began to believe I was all but finished, and I was probably right. I'm sure the temperature had fallen below twenty degrees Fahrenheit several hours before, and my body began to shake, first a bit, then uncontrollably. I realized I was experiencing hypothermia, and without any means to reverse it, I would die. I thought to myself, even that would be better than this. I stretched out on the frosted mat of dead leaves there on the forest floor with the intention of letting go. I know now, I went into shock. Shortly, I passed out. I lost consciousness."

Jeremiah paused, and took a sip of his coffee. It was the first he'd touched it.

"For a few moments, I at least partially regained consciousness. I felt warmth. I thought, it must be heaven. I had read about men who had frozen to death. Just before they did, there had been a sensation of blessed warmth. If so, I thought, that was okay. But why did I feel like I was moving, rocking side to side? It really didn't matter. I was warmer. I believe I had partially regained consciousness, because I recall beginning to lose it again. There was calmness, and comfort. If I was still alive, I believed it would be better soon.

Then, daylight. I thought I could see daylight. Semi-conscious, I opened my eyes only slightly, ever so carefully, and vaguely recalled the terrible, penetrating cold of the night. I reached down to touch one of my legs, because now I could feel them. There was something on top of my hand. Was that a blanket? Nah. Couldn't be. I drifted back to sleep. I was so tired.

I was suddenly awakened by the whoosh of a car going by. A road! I jerked myself up on one elbow, and struggled to open my eyes. The scene before me took quite a while to sink in.

Three feet away were the embers of a fire! The sun was out full, having just cleared the nearby ridge, and there was frost on the brown grass beyond the fire. And beyond that, was my car! As I struggled to get up, my ankle bit hard, and I fell back down. I saw then, I'd had a blanket over me. Someone had been here, had built the fire, and had covered me with a blanket! I looked all around, expecting to see whoever it was that had saved my life. Saved my life!

But there was no one to be seen, anywhere. I called out and then listened, but no response came. Now, this was a mystery. Had I been so delirious that I'd done all of this myself? No. There was no possibility of that, not with that ankle. The ankle was my proof. I knew what I'd been through. I pushed the blanket off and struggled to my feet. I wanted to make sure my car was really there. It was. I limped over and placed my hands right on its hood.

When I did so, my camera swung forward and bumped my arm. The camera strap was around my neck, and the camera was on it! I had lost that camera! My mind was boggled; I thought, what the hell is going on here?

For just a moment, I considered that perhaps I’d gone crazy. No, my head was clearing up, and I was okay. I was okay! Yess! I punched the air, putting weight back on that ankle, and again I sat down hard on the ground. There to my left, now, was the blanket I had shrugged off just a minute earlier. That was my blanket, the one I'd kept in the car. Someone would have had to have gotten the blanket out of the car, and the car was locked! I shoved my hand into my pocket. My keys were gone.

I struggled back up to my feet and looked over the car. No windows were broken. And there on the driver's seat, were my keys. Okay. Some guardian angel had found me – in the dark?? and had carried me back here. I wondered how far from the car I had been. Whoever it was had built the fire and had wrapped me in the blanket beside it. I began a visual search through the thick trees and brush. I thought someone might still be out there, but I saw no one.

The far greater strangeness, however, was that camera. That was the thing I couldn't quite get my mind around. I was quite sure I had lost it. Was it possible someone had been there and had taken it, while I was in the tree? Surely that was it, I thought. Someone actually lives out here. I tried to imagine what kind of strange man would have carried me out of the woods. To know where I'd come from, he must have had me under surveillance from the moment I parked my car. But I can't say any other possible options were stranger, because there weren't any.

The overriding issue at that moment, though, was my empty stomach and my terrible thirst. I was beginning to feel woozy again, and the last thing I wanted was to pass out, and to wake up dead where I had expected to die the night before. It was a ridiculous thought, maybe, but at that moment it seemed like a real enough possibility to me. Hurrying, I placed the Nikon on the passenger seat, threw the blanket over the seat into the back, then raised both arms high over my head and cried “Thank you!” at the trees. Then I climbed into my car and started the engine. I placed it in gear, gunned it up and backed up a couple of feet, and then wheeled it out of the forest, over the gravel berm and onto the hard road. I had come from the south, so I turned to go back the way I'd come.

The rest of that morning is still a bit of a blur to me. I battled the notion that I might be only semi-conscious, and I kept driving. My bad ankle was the one I needed to press the gas pedal, and several times I found myself driving at well below the speed limit. My only objective was to keep heading south. I recalled I had driven some distance beyond the last town before I had stopped and parked, the day before. It had been about eleven in the morning when I'd started into the forest. I had expected to be in that location, for just minutes!”

Jeremiah stopped and took a drink of his coffee, and a bite of the doughnut he had ordered. He didn't look up, as he obviously didn't intend to end his story at that point. I asked for a refill of my coffee, and got it. He continued.

“I had been driving for, perhaps, a little more than an hour when suddenly I heard a siren, and realized there was a police car behind me. I certainly hadn't been speeding. I pulled over on the berm and waited. The officer approached, and I rolled down my window.

'License and registration, please.' The officer leaned over and looked into the car. 'Have you had anything to drink, sir?'

'Oh, hell no, I wish I did!' I said. 'Uh...I mean, I was lost, and I didn't have any...'

The officer stepped back and placed a hand on his weapon. 'Step out of the car, sir. Now.'

A bit confused, I climbed out, and stepped lightly on my injured ankle.

Something wrong with your leg, sir?' the officer queried.

I was beginning to gather my wits, now. 'As a matter of fact, there is. I was saying I was lost, and I really was. I parked my car off the road yesterday morning, and was lost in the woods last night. I fell and hurt my ankle. The rest of it, I don't think...never mind. It's enough to say, I found my car, but I haven't had any food or water since the night before last.'

The officer's brow was furrowed. It wasn't hunting season. 'And for what reason did you go into the woods?'

'To take pictures. I'm a photographer. See, there's my camera, on the seat,' I said.

The officer leaned back and looked in at my camera. I think I looked a little like a fruitcake to him.

'You can get back in your car, sir. Just wait there.' The officer walked around my Honda, wrote down the plate number, and got back into the cruiser to run the plate.

After a few minutes, he walked back to my car window and handed me my license and registration.

'Everything checks out, it's your car alright,' he said, still looking concerned. 'I don't smell any alcohol on you, I sure hope you aren't smoking dope or something...you're from near Gettysburg. You're pretty far north, aren't you?'

I acknowledged, 'Yeah, I guess I am.'

'Do you know why I stopped you? You were swerving, as if you were drunk. If I'd seen you cross into the other lane, I'd be taking you to the hospital, right now, for a blood test. You'd better make a stop, and get some coffee or something. Maybe a motel room, and get some sleep. It's illegal to drive while you're too tired, did you know that?' The officer looked at me sternly.

'Yeah, I s'pose I did. I didn't realize I was doing that, though, believe me. Where is the nearest – anything, where I can get something?' I queried.

'There's a little store with a gas pump about two miles further down this road. You can pick up some food there. They make sandwiches if you ask.'

'Thank you!' I replied. 'I am forever in your debt.'

The cop gave me that 'You're a fruitcake' look, and walked back to his cruiser.

At the little store, I got a pair of sandwiches, water and directions to the nearest four-lane highway, and I caught a snooze at a rest stop shortly thereafter. When I finally reached home that evening, I crashed on the sofa immediately, and slept until Monday morning. Then I got cleaned up and went to work.

During the workday, I couldn't quite settle myself with all that had happened. I continued to puzzle about the camera. But I also couldn't imagine being carried through that brushy woods, all the way back to my car. I realized I'd been in shock, I remembered being warmed, I actually remembered moving. But with the help of whom? How? Why hadn't my benevolent savior made himself known?

Because of the embarrassment of having been lost, I made up my mind to keep the whole thing to myself. There was a surreal feel to the adventure, because of the unsolved, and the unlikely.

My workday finally ended, and I limped out to the parking lot and drove home. Just so happened it would be my last workday, formally, anyway. Because my life was about to change.”

“You quit your job?”

“Yes. It was overdue. I had some savings, had no responsibilities other than to myself, and after a while, working every day for someone I didn’t even respect, I was more than tired of capitulating. After a while, you’re all capitulated the hell out. Since that time, I’ve spent far more time in the forests and mountains of this country than out of them. I think it’s safe to say, I won’t be lost again.

As I entered my home that evening, I noticed my camera there on the kitchen table where I had parked it the evening before. I decided to look at the few digital pictures I'd taken. What I found is exactly why I'm here tonight, talking to you.”

Jeremiah paused and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “These are the last of what I found, taken when I knew I was lost. This one,” he explained, as he put the first one in front of me on the table, “was the first of the two quick shots I'd taken of the tall tree I decided not to climb. This is the other one.” They were both just ordinary, nondescript snapshots. “But there were three more! This one is a shot of the sky, just partially blocked by some branches. This one is of the ground covered with dead leaves, the auto-focus feature self-adjusted to take in every detail. Just one problem. I didn't take either of those shots.”

Jeremiah paused again, and leaned back in his chair, just looking at me. And so I ventured, “And the third one?”

More slowly and more deliberately, Jeremiah leaned forward again as he took another photograph from his pocket. Handing it to me, he remarked, “I think I can anticipate your initial reaction.”

He'd handed it to me face-down, and I stopped without turning the photo over. “Really? Is this that earth-shaking?”

“Not to everyone, I imagine. But I also imagine you'll laugh and call it a hoax. It's part of why no one else has been shown.”

So I turned the photo over and looked. There, sharp and clear, was the image of a huge, fur-covered chest and countenance of a man-like creature. Its face was furrowed, as if with concerned curiosity. It could only be the fabled “Bigfoot.”

Here was the way that Jeremiah had gotten back to his car? The creature had built a fire? He had used Jerry's car keys, to get his blanket?! Um...right.

“I'm afraid you were dead right, Jeremiah!” I couldn't help but laugh, and I did, I'm afraid. “You know, this isn't even that great of an effort...”

“So you'd have to be standing right in front of one of these creatures, to believe it even exists?”

“That wouldn't do it. I'd have to check for the zipper on the ape suit.”

“This fellow doesn't look like an ape,” objected Jeremiah.

“Exactly! That's why I said, it isn't that great...”

“Well, that's what he looks like.”

“And you actually stand by this story?”

“Absolutely! On my very life. I wouldn't be sitting here right now, if he hadn't saved my life, as he did. It all took place nearly ten years ago. I guess in some way, I held this vain hope that the photo would be enough to convince you. There are no others. None at all.”

“You have no other evidence?”

Jeremiah was silent. The tentative look on his face prompted my next remark.

“You do, don't you? Did you go back?”

Picking up his coffee and doughnut, he settled back and propped a foot up on his knee, obviously relaxing. “I tried. I couldn't find the place again.”

“Then where did you find more evidence?”

“Well alright. I did go back. But it took me years to find where I’d been. I was trying so hard, I...hell, I even tried accessing police logs of that date, but since the cop hadn't cited me for anything, there wasn't even a record of my having been pulled over. I hadn't been paying attention to where I was on the way in there, and I was in a daze on the way out. I wasn’t even in the vicinity I’d thought I was.”

My inner scientist was curious. I wanted to know just how far Jeremiah would carry out the charade. So I asked, “Might I know what other evidence you have?”

“I don't know,” Jeremiah responded. “If I can't get you to buy into what you can see, how can I hope to get you to buy into something you won't?” Jeremiah began munching on his doughnut. This was the man whose company I was in, he even ate like a mountain man. The doughnut was gone in two more bites.

“I do have to admit,” I answered, “You have seemed to me as though you're completely in earnest. If I didn't know as much about psychology as I do, I'd be inclined to believe you. But why tell me?”

For a change, Jeremiah studied my face instead of the other way around.

“I told you because you require proof, such that if I could, I’d never make available. What kind of a thank-you would that be to the being, or beings that saved my life, exposing the species and cultures? Which by the way, varies greatly among their kind. I guess, too, when you’re privy to the knowledge I have, the wish to share it is powerful. Like, you have to tell, y’ know, somebody. I’ve told you. You couldn’t prove it if you tried.”

“And if I don’t believe you?”

“Well,” offered Jeremiah, as he licked powdered sugar from a finger, “Plan A was to try to prove my point about unsupported facts that are nevertheless facts, by showing you the photo. I didn’t really expect it to work, there are too many dishonest people in the world. But there is a plan B.” He smiled a bit without looking directly at me, a knowing, cat-like smile.

“I want you to know I've learned a thing or two about them. They obviously can be photographed, but apparently it needs to be a surprise. I suspect there may even be a sixth sense involved, they know you’re present even if you can’t be seen, heard or smelt. That photo really is the only one.” He paused. “I also want you to know, sir, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“What have you learned, then?” Ever the skeptic, I folded my arms in front of me.

“How it is that they remain unseen. Mind you now, they're not invisible. Just talented, and careful. For them, the ability to stay out of sight is innate. There are certain actions, if you will, that the brain simply does not perceive.” He paused, seemingly for effect, and he shifted in his chair, moving to its edge.

“What would you say if I told you there were at very least, hundreds of them, in the state of Pennsylvania alone?”

For some reason, that question-slash-statement truly amused me, and it was my turn to smile. He added, “They're truly intelligent, and inquisitive, and not at all rare. And you can keep the photo, by the way. I have more prints.”

I tipped my head back and laughed out loud.

I truly wish I hadn't. I wish I'd never taken my eyes off of Jeremiah, even for an instant. Because when I looked his way again, and it was only a single second that I hadn't, he had completely vanished.

Startled, I jumped from my chair and looked all around. There was no place at all for him to go. He would have had to move more than forty feet to get out of sight, and there hadn't been nearly enough time for anyone to cover that much distance. It would have taken me ten or more seconds at a run, which wouldn't have been quiet. I’ll admit, I even looked under the little table.

He was simply gone.

I thought perhaps he might have ducked into the coffee shop, although he very surely hadn't had time to do that, either. Nevertheless I checked. No one had come in within the last ten minutes, they told me. I went back to the table and sat down, shaken and more than a little shocked.

I re-examined the photo, which of course, I won't be sharing. I wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a crackpot, or that I actually believed any of it. Not as myself.

The face, despite the hair, looks very like that of a human, a man, albeit, a quite large one. My reference for size is the background of brush and trees. Shockingly, that face is distinctly Asian in appearance. If I had to say what specific portion of Asia, I'd say Western Mongolian. Of course there is no way I could ever account for that particular oddity, but, what part of this hadn’t been odd? The photo itself appears to be quite real.

Since Jeremiah has succeeded in remaining anonymous, obviously it wasn't any sort of personal recognition he was after. My writings have all been up-front and my points have been stated politely, so I can't imagine he would have wanted to chasten me or to damage my work. If he had, he might have done so publicly. Unless, of course, this was nothing but a hoax. But a hoax on just me, and no one else? As I said, he seemed level-headed, and genuinely normal. But had I been snookered by a faked photograph and a cheap magician's trick? The former seems possible. The latter, I can't imagine.

I turned off my i-pod and pocketed it. Jeremiah had left a twenty dollar bill at his place to pay the check. I hadn't seen him do that, either.

When someone’s presence ends so abruptly and unexpectedly, I suppose, that explains why you’d think he might come back? I did. I wanted him to. I ordered another coffee and another doughnut, and finished both slowly. I wasn’t disappointed entirely, but only because the doughnut was fresh.

Once finished, I couldn’t help it, the whole thing was absurd and believable and frightening and fantastic, all at the same time, and I just sat there, laughing. I must have carried on that way, for more than a full minute.

A foible of mine has always been misuse of terms. If someone referred to my field, social psychology, as “human psychology” I found that ridiculous. After all what other kind of psychology could there be, but human? Today and ever hereafter, I can no longer honestly argue the point.

I walked back to my hotel in a daze. I've spent hours writing this account with the help of the i-pod recording, and I doubt I'll sleep tonight. And yet, at least one thing he said was certainly true. I don’t regret it, and never will. The worst of it is...I believe him.

So now, perhaps, someone can tell me. What should I really think?

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Copyright 2023

Benjamin Trayne