experience

This story was written years ago and published at an online magazine.

The Experience
by
Casper Parks

The dream had taken Kris Snyder back to his past. He had successfully retreated to Camp Nirvana, where he had spent many childhood summers. His earlier nightmare of darkness and silence had passed. Again, he was 11 years old. Evening campfire had been a series of humorous skits intermixed with fun songs, ending with a story told by one of the Sr. Counselors. A blazing T-P style built fire had been a perfect setting for the closure of an evening. Sparks popped upward from the fire bowl, twisting into the night sky as the Sr. Counselor spun a tale for the children.

Although Kris’ hometown of Detroit was only 265 miles away, it may just as well have been 3,000 miles. Secluded on 230 acres with a private 25-acre lake, Camp Nirvana was set apart from the world. A perfect escape from big city life nestled among rolling hills fields and forest -land.

A scholarship provided by a wealthy a businessperson had funded Kris’ time at summer camp. Without that scholarship, it would have been another summer of dodging bullets in Detroit’s Inner City. It was his first summer of temporary departure from a vicious home life, where his mother started each day with a mix of orange juice and vodka. Many father figures came and went at home; however, his biological father was anyone’s guess. That week he found had a positive role model in the person of his Jr. Counselor, Todd Salines.

Although Todd was only three years older than Kris, it did not matter. Kris had someone to set an example of what a man should be. Todd never hit or threw anything at him. Never swore at him. Together, they swam, canoed, sailed and rode horses. Play and laughter in bountiful supply rebounded through the woods and fields.

The fire bowl had rail road-ties layered into a hillside. Located at the base of the hill was a fire-pit. Kris sat and watched, as Todd dipped a bucket into a fifty-gallon drum of water and poured water on the fire. The fire hissed and spewed forth steam and smoke like from a dragon’s breath. Wet ash splattered across the dirt, next to the pit. Again, Todd dipped the bucket into the fifty-gallon drum and doused the fire. He repeated the process several times, then stirred the charred wood that remained and exposed amber coals. After three additional trips back to the fifty-gallon drum, he had completely drowned the fire. Satisfied the fire was out Todd looked to Kris and smiled, "You still here?"

Kris could think of no response and simply shrugged.

Smiling, Todd motioned him to follow. "Come-on and I’ll show what we Counselor’s call, The Experience. Trust me, you’ll love it."

A few minutes later, they stood at the edge of a gravel parking lot. No parents picked up or dropped off their children during weekdays, so the lot was nearly empty of cars.

At the edge of the gravel parking lot, a hill declined into a valley of rolling-meadows. Visible during daylight hours was a lily pad covered pond and a few scattered lofty oaks. Strangely, this night the parking lot and meadow had transformed. Background noises of Campers straggling to their cabins seemingly vanished. All of his senses focused in the valley below.

Grinning, Todd waved his arm toward the valley and asked, "What do you think? Sure looks different at night, doesn’t it?"

Enchanted, Kris gasped, "Wow.” A night mist had settled in the valley, covering everything except the very tops of trees. Hundreds of crickets chirped their wings together in harmonic unison. Occasionally, a bullfrog bellowed, accenting the crickets’ night song. Moist air had a lung cleansing purity.

"It’s like the camp is floating on top of a cloud in the sky," Todd commented, his face aglow.

Kris managed, “yeah,” as The Experience soaked into his memory.

Todd explained and smirked. "Now take a gander up."

Kris gazed upward and commented, "Cool…” Above them, amid a clear night sky glittering stars offered boundless imaginative planets in far away galaxies.

"Great isn’t,” said Todd.

"Awesome," Kris agreed at scarcely an audible pitch. It seemed as if magically whisked to a mystical land to another star system, another planet, another universe, another dimension.

Kris’ dream faded to the afternoon following, The Experience. The day had been cloudless, hot and dry. An hour earlier, he had been at the dusty horse corral for a riding lesson. Free time followed his riding lesson, and there was nothing like a dip in a fresh water lake to rinse the dust and cool off.

He and another boy had decided to have a contest to find out who could hold their breath the longest. From a raft in the deep part of the swimming area, both boys plunged into the water. Kris sank deep so that, air in his lungs would be compressed and allow him to remain under for more time. After two minutes, Kris’ lungs craved for fresh oxygen, yet, he was determined not to lose.

Finally, he could stay underwater no longer. His lungs ached for oxygen. As he drifted upward, air released through his nose bubbled toward the surface. A bright sun guided his upward assent. A canoe drifted overhead, and reminded him of the underbelly of shark. Kris judged the speed and distance of the canoe’s drift and expected to break surface just behind it. For unknown reasons, the canoe ended its forward motion, halting straight above him. He was too close and moving to fast to stop from colliding with it. On contact, the back of his head echoed a metallic thud into the water. A bright flash of yellow burned outward from his eyes. His lungs filled with water as he winced in pain.

< ~ >

Abruptly, Kris found himself inside a nightmarish realm. Surrounded by a vacuum of blackness, a loud ringing sound enveloped the air around him. Warmth trickled from his ears. His eyes stung with salt. His skin felt dried and charred, as if peeling from his muscles. He staggered unto his knees and swung his arms aggressively at the darkness that encompassed him. As he attempted to fight his way to consciousness, an agonizing scream broke free from his scorched throat.

Unseen demonic hands grabbed his arms, pulling him down to what felt like fine stones at the bottom of a gravel pit. He struggled and broke free of one demon’s grasp. The arrival of additional demons caused the earth around him to tremor. They clutched his arms and legs, then bracing their hands against his chest, pinning him down. Demonic lips against his mouth and kissed a foul-tented breath into his lungs. Then, what felt like the sting of a scorpion pierced his upper right arm. Again, he fought to awaken himself from the nightmare of blackness.

< ~ >

As the scorpion’s poison spread through his blood stream, Kris withered back to Camp Nirvana. Every image and sensation seemed more real than a dream. The nightmare of darkness and demons had been replaced by the lush smells of woods, meadows, the lake and horse corral.

It had been three years since, Todd pulled Kris from the lake. Since that time, Kris kept away from the lake as much as possible. Never swimming, canoeing or sailing. Todd had become a Sr. Counselor and lifeguard at the camp. They were still the best of friends. While Kris assisted with horsemanship classes, Todd taught swimming lessons. Kris also enjoyed being a Jr. Counselor, though at times the younger boys tested his patience.

A bugle horn sounded, which ended the afternoon siesta. It was now store time at the cantina. Campers piled from their bunks and through the cabin doorway. They were in such a rush to buy sweets; the door did not have time to slam shut during their mass-exodus.

Exhausted, Kris laid on his bunk near the door. Every muscle of his body ached. Too tired to move he simply called out, "Don’t let that door…” Too late - the door banged shut and shook the cabin walls and he sighed, "Slam shut." He had thought about removing the door-spring.

However, then the door wouldn’t shut tight and their cabin would become mosquito invested. If that happened sleeping at night would be near impossible. Mosquitoes were a small price to pay for living in paradise during the summer. An insect bite was not as bad as being bitten by a stray bullet in the Inner City.

A truckload of hay for the horses had arrived at daybreak. Part of being the Horsemanship Instructor’s Assistant was to unload the hay when it arrived. Similar to Huck Finn, he had talked his fellow Jr. Counselors into getting up at daybreak and helping to unload the truck. Once the hay had been stacked in the barn, the other Jr. Counselors rinsed the hay from their hair and bodies in the lake. Kris had opted for a shower instead.

"Want to go canoeing during free-time?” A Camper that had remained behind asked.

Puzzled, Kris turned his head and saw that Timmy Phillips sat on a bunk across from him. "Why aren’t you at the cantina with everyone else?"

Timmy’s eyes met the floor and he shrugged, sheepishly.

"I saw your store card this morning and there was five bucks on it."

Timmy glanced up briefly in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," Kris added. "I’m sure of it, must have been Elves that put it there. I warned you about those Elves that run wild around here in the woods. Never know what they'll do next."

Excited, Timmy’s feet thundered to the floor in a mad dash for the door. He pushed the door open, the spring squeaking, then at the last moment halted and turned. "So what about it?"

"What, about what?"

"Canoeing?"

"I’ve things to do at the horse corral,” Kris dodged going to the lake. "Have to shovel manure from the stalls and riding corral."

Timmy cringed, but forced himself to offer, "I’ll help you."

Kris chuckled, "Only if you want too."

Timmy grinned and thumbed an "O. K, I’ll see ya’ at the corral after my swimming lesson."

"Tell Todd, I’ll see him at supper."

"Sure," Timmy answered and left, closing the door softly behind him.

In pay, Kris received seventy-five dollars a week for working at the camp. It seemed fair to return some of the money. Applying five dollars toward Timmy’s store card was money well invested. Increasing another child’s joy brought him pleasure. As with Kris summer camp for Timmy was an escape from all that plagued him.

Timmy had come to camp on a scholarship. He was the product of a broken home, and lived in Detroit’s Inner City as well. It was a city steadily decaying into the depths of despair.

Sluggishly, Kris’ dream-life of Camp Nirvana began to deteriorate. Steadily, he was returning to the nightmare that was utterly absent of light. His last pleasant thoughts were of sharing, The Experience with Timmy that night after the evening campfire. The mist in the valley, plus the sound of crickets and bullfrogs would carry them to a mystical land, another planet and another dimension. Briefly, they’d share what would be a lasting impression in Timmy’s memories.

< ~ >

Kris could hear no sounds, except that of 10,000 crickets chirping their wings. If overlooking the meadow valley at night, the sound of crickets would have been peaceful. Amid pitch-blackness, the sound was shear torment. The only pleasant sensation was that of a cool breeze pressed against his nose and mouth.

His head throbbed in rhythm with his heart. The pulsating pain arched from the back of his skull and across his forehead. His skin felt tight and dried, as if peeling from his muscles. The slightest movement was excruciating. He wondered on what foundation in real life this nightmare had been fabricated. Still, he could not recall any conscious thoughts before falling asleep that would have produced this type of nightmare.

Rudely, the breeze was yanked from his face. As he gasped, a large snake squirmed into his mouth and down his throat. He labored a distorted scream, which became compressed as the snake pressed against his larynx. Frantically, he grabbed a hold of the snake and struggled to pull it from inside himself. Demons, who worked in silence, seized his arms and tightly held him in place. They force-fed the snake deeper into his throat, cramming and jamming it toward his stomach.

Kris twisted back and forth, fighting the demons’ hold. He bit down on the snake in an effort to chew the hideous creature in half. In doing so, he discovered the snake had armor plated skin. No normal snake but a demonic snake that had crawled from the underside of hell. The absolute darkness that enveloped him was terrifying, the continual deafening sound of crickets. As the snake squirmed deeper and deeper down his throat, he gagged and choked. Again, a scorpion stung him in the arm.

< ~ >

Kris’ nightmare of murkiness faded to the light of better days gone-by. Timmy was helping him shovel the horse manure into a wheelbarrow. A glow on Timmy’s face warmed Kris inside. He was providing what the boy needed at this point in life, a positive image.

Timmy tolerated the odor of manure only because he was spending time with his favorite Counselor. His new best friend in the world, Kris’ every movement and verbal slang expression was to be emulated. Unexpectedly, Timmy slipped on a pile of manure and fell.

Kris reached down and offered his hand. "Take my hand, and I’ll help you back up."

"You’ve got big hands," Timmy said as his hand disappeared in Kris’ hand.

Kris pulled Timmy to his feet. "I’m not much older than you. Bet in a couple years, we’ll be looking eyeball to eyeball."

Timmy placed his open hand against Kris’ hand to compare sizes and asked, "Think so?"

"Can almost guarantee it," Kris assured him. “At your age, I was about the same height as you are now." Suddenly, he was overcome with fear and dread. It was impossible to pull his hand away from Timmy’s hand.

"What’s the matter? What are you afraid of?" As Timmy’s question and image faded into obscurity, Kris fought to remain among the dream of better days. Tears trickled along the dried skin of his cheeks. There was no holding onto peace. Invariably, gray shadows enclosed the dream of days gone-by.

< ~ >

Again, Kris was flat on his back and inside a hellish nightmare realm of obliterated light, where only darkness ruled. In sync with his heart, his head pulsated with pain. The sound of 10,000 crickets haunted him. A scent of ammonia death tainted the air. A hand that was pressed against his hand felt like that of an unseen demon with long curling fingernails.

The demon’s other hand held Kris’ forearm. While keeping their hands pressed together, the demon moved Kris’ hand and arm in a circular motion. Kris sensed that, this demon was attempting to torment him a sick romantic fashion. And the sensation of their hands pressing together was unbearable.

Kris used his free hand to snatch the demon’s hand from his, and gave it a strong twist. He could feel the demon’s lengthy fingernails snap and crack as he wrenched the demon’s hand. Hastily, the demon released Kris’ arm and yanked free. Violently, Kris swung his fists at the unseen demon that held him captive in a sightless nightmare, void of any sound except that of crickets. His fists made no contact. The demon must have retreated beyond reach, he thought.

Kris was too weak to sit up and flee. Still, he had to try and escape the nightmare. Again, he tried to force himself awake and failed. His right arm brushed against metal bars located along side of him. Quickly, he ran his hand across the bars and discovered a latch.

Obviously, the demons did not think he would be able to find the latch in total darkness. But he had found it, and would be out of their cage in a manner of seconds. The latch gave way and the metal bars hinged downward. Kris realized this was not the door of the cage. Perhaps, it was merely a feeding hole to slide food through. If that were the case, his demonic captors must usually have larger prisoners.

Kris easily rolled from inside the cage then plunged downward. His fall was cut short by a floor as hard and cold as arctic ice. He crawled on his belly, and groped in the blackness, desperately trying to find another dream threshold that would lead him away from this nightmare.

Without warning, a hoard of demons silently apprehended Kris from all sides. Their frigid hands clutched his arms and legs. Weakly, he fought a valiant but losing fight. They hauled him back to the cage and forced him flat onto his back. Snakes as thick as Pythons coiled around his arms and legs, holding him in place. He could feel the tip of a scorpion draggling its tail along the length of his right arm. Again, a scorpion stung him.

< ~ >

Nurse Mary Tiswell stood at the seventh floor window of intensive care and gazed outside. She rubbed the hand where her fingernails had been broken by the patient. Her most recent effort to communicate with him had ended; leaving her bruised both physically and emotionally. When, the patient had fallen out of bed it had taken five people to get him back onto the hospital bed. He had put up a fierce struggle, swinging wildly at those trying to help him.

Her eyes fell on those gathered outside the hospital, and she thought about the patient. Kris Snyder at age 32 had been teaching for only ten years. A teaching career now cut short by an act of terrorism. More than 300 High School students were assembled on the lawn and in the parking lot. The media was present filming the students for the Evening News. Many of the students held signs that carried numerous versions of the same message. Signs their teacher was unable to read. Their voices, he would never-again be able to hear.

One signed read; ‘You saved us all!’ Another read; ‘Get well soon!’ Another read; ‘We miss you!’ The last sign she read released a flash flood of tears, soaking the top half of her uniform. ‘We all love and need you!’

Nurse Tiswell felt compassion for Kris’ wife and children. Currently, Doctors were engaged with the hard task of speaking with Mrs. Snyder. In a private office located on another floor of the hospital, Mrs. Snyder was learning that her husband’s life would never be the same. So far, all efforts to communicate with him had failed. He fought the doctors and nurses that desperately tried to help him. Unless sedated, it was impossible to change his bandages and bedding.

Mary’s thoughts gravitated to the horrific event that had placed Kris in the hospital and forever changed his life. The turn of the millennium had become an apocalyptic world, where groups of extremists fought and battled among themselves, and terrorists held Nations hostage with threats of reprisal.

A terrorist group had phoned in a three-minute warning to the school. The warning had come so that, another terrorist group would not be able to claim credit for their handy-work afterwards. There simply was not enough time to evacuate the school. Kris Snyder, beloved English teacher, had found the bomb and rushed out the backdoors of the school with it. He tossed the bomb with all his might, but not quite soon enough.

The blast had ruptured both of Kris’ eardrums. His deafness would be incurable. The force of the explosion had sent him flying thirty feet into the air, landing headfirst against a brick wall. The back of his skull had been cracked open and exposed the occipital lobe of his brain and blinding him for life. In saving the children at the school, he had forever become ensnared in a world void of sight and sound.

Nurse Mary turned toward the bed where Kris was now strapped down. She could not begin to fathom what nightmares besieged him. Kris had been a giving and caring person. Sharing what he knew of life’s pleasures with those that crossed his path. Always looking for the good inside each of his students, even the hard-core rebellious students loved him.

A 29-year-old psychologist working for the Detroit Police Department named Timothy Phillips had been recently interviewed on national television. Dr. Phillips credited Kris Snyder for saving him from the life of becoming street gang member. Because Dr. Phillips and Kris’ ages were so close together, Mary believed that Kris had been helping others all his life.

Currently, Dr. Phillips was in route to Los Angeles. If anyone could reach Kris, perhaps it would be a lifelong friend, who could shatter the communication barrier and get through to him. Help Kris learn to cope with eternal darkness and perpetual deafness

Again, her thoughts fell to the terrorists who had tried to bomb the school. She wondered if some people were born-good, while others were born evil. Softly, she walked to his bedside. The sedative had taken hold.

Asleep, Kris grinned and spoke. "It’s called, The Experience’."

< ~ >

Once more, Kris had retreated across that perceptional threshold and stepped through a doorway into a dream-state. He stood overlooking a dense mist that filled the meadow valley. A rhapsody of sights and sounds and smells embellished him. Crickets chirped in harmony, with bullfrogs adding bass sounds. The crown of lofty oaks peeked above the brimming mist. A cool moist night air purified both lungs and soul.

Timmy’s reaction was the same as his had been three years earlier. Gasps of "Wow," and "Yeah," and "Awesome," and "Cool," were all he managed to express his delight.

"Sometimes," Kris said, "when things get rough at home. I lay in bed at night and think of this spot. As I fall asleep, I use the memory to take my imagination to distant places. After I wake up, I write a story about where my dreams took me."

As Timmy’s troubled home life in Detroit slipped even further away. He could only nod, between interchanging glances at a star speckled sky above and the valley below saturated with a thick cloud mist. Background noises of Campers straggling to their cabins had dissolved into limbo. The few-parked cars in the lot had become nonexistent.

"It doesn’t matter what your home life is like,” Kris said. He tapped the center of his chest, and then his head. "It’s what’s here, and here that counts."

Hopeful, Timmy smiled at his new friend. "After camp, will I see you again?"

"You don’t live that far from me. Besides, in a year and half I’ll have my driver’s license. Until then, I can always take the city bus across town and visit."

"Cool…” Timmy placed his small hand against Kris’ larger hand, "Friends for life?"

Kris grinned. "For life..."