The Freak of Fort Gordon, a friend and I got orders to go back to Fort Gordon. We had recently been penned with sergeants stripes, and completing more advanced training was one of the conditions the US Army demands to keep those stripes. We'd both been to Fort Gordon, Georgia before as new boots and fresh trainees out of basic training, but now returning as non commissioned officers would yield many nice benefits, the main one being staying out of reach of the
duty rosters. The duty roster was a list of all detail. In detail are all small odd jobs that sprinkled the itinerary of all lower enlisted soldiers everywhere. These little jobs were paint in the butt too. There were all sorts of guard duty, batguard, fireguard, roving guard, crossing guard. There was driver detail, where you'd chauffeur certain higher ups round the base, and then there was kp YEP kitchen patrol, where you'd sometimes wash dishes and pots
and pans till the wee hours of the night. They really do make you peel potatoes too, which I always felt was one of the worst and most humiliating of all detail. Next to digging shiittholes. But the best of it was guarding Signal Tower, or so we thought, until various tales caught up to us, reporting the Signal Tower was haunted, that all of Fort Gordon was haunted. This big old building sat in the back middle of Fort Gordon. It's a big, ominous presence, and it's not unlike a step pyramid
in South America. And it looks down on all the other buildings as if they were mere royal subjects, or even better, to me, it reminded me of that Devil's Tower in close encounters. What was good about roving detail at Signal Tower was that our barracks sat in its shadow, a double parking lot away for a battalion level detail, which usually took you to some remote
part of the fort to later be staged to another location. We were glad there was no need to go to a remote rendezvous before being dispatched to the tower. We were free to chill out in our own barracks as long as we made it a few minutes early to relieve the other soldier or what we call changing guard. That was our big exhale. We didn't have to worry about any of that we were Buck sergeants. Our rank excused us from any
of them minor details, but all those bets would soon be off. One evening after formation, first sergeant called both our names out, just as giddy and proud. I found a little leadership duty for you Bucks sergeants, he grinned with sarcasm. They need a couple of NCOs to supervise the guards at the Amo dump, And I thought, what this opportunity. You could further flex those new stripes, and I can kill two birds with two stones.
Though we stood there chuckling on the inside, we gnashed our teeth and honored him with a gritty yes, sergeant. Twenty four hours later we found ourselves geared up climbing inside a troop transport, a fancy name for a cattle car, and on our way down a barely lit road. Before long, a glint of light appeared in the obscure seam of our canvas covered cattle car.
Looking into the sadly dim light, I could see an older troop barracks with a light pole that looked as though it was leaning against the barracks, holding on with its arms of light in order not to be dragged away into the darkness. Dismount yelled another sergeant, flexing his slightly senior position on this detail. Some of the guys jumped up in a hurry. They still had the smell of basic training all over them. Poor troops are still shell shocked.
I snickered to myself, Sergeant. I addressed the NCO in charge as I clammed out of the deuce and a half, and with no hesitation, he returned the respect. I walked past the small formation of soldiers that we were more than likely replacing, and as I turned into the holding station, I quickly realized the reason these guys bum rushed the barracks so hot. There were
bunks in there. Not fancy bunks, but there were bunks. They were staking their claim on a place to rest their feet in their head until their name was called. I'd asked them bunks to these fives, commanded the NCO in charge. He was good bye me for doing that. I slung myself onto the front corner bunk right as a non resident private did the opposite. I sat there, boots on the floor and feet propped up and hands in her lace. Behind my head. I can see clear down to the rectangular
shaped barracks, which is how I liked being positioned. It wasn't long before the NCOIC reached me with his clipboard. You'll be in charge of the third squad. There's going to be seven of you in total, six m O dumps and you roven. Is that cool? He informed me, as well as question. Yes, Sergeant. I softly acknowledged with respect and signed his roster with the same. As the sergeant in charge rolled away from me,
his voice faded into inaudible garble. It mixed with the conversations of scattered privates. My ears would pick up flakes of these conversations, like playing cards flung on a card table. One such flake, however, caught my ear as well. It tapped me on my eyelids, and it took a little effort, but I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to open them, as that would signal to my body that naptime was officially over. Quit playing with me, man, it's bad mojo, exclaimed one soldier. I think
he meant juju. Another soldier laughed and chimed in, well, that granola bar said, it's soap you using got you smelling an all tasty boy. He ribbed and held his gut. A third one couldn't resist, and he added that which is gonna come for you? She gonna say, hand over that yetti bar, he finished with a cackle. They all enjoyed their life as I heard the butt of the joke mumble man, y'all just jealous. It couldn't have been a minute later when the doors of the barracks busted open.
Well, this awakening rudely tugged me out of my arrest, La belted in an audible voice. It started just outside the barracks and was dragged in, kicking and screaming by four of their soldiers, each one grappling to hold onto the flailing arm or leg. The young private they struggled to carry in was completely beside himself. The gibberish that spewed from his mouth verified that, making matters worse. There were bits of English words or sentences that made it
out of his mouth, and they didn't make any sense. I mean, the words made sense, but what he was saying didn't. Like All that gobbledy goook he was saying sent chills through you. And there was dog gone scary because you couldn't peel a sentence out of it, but then he toss out a couple of words that flash froze my already chilled bumps. Thank he screeched, well, that was one of them. The sergeant in charge responded back to him, thank who. He questioned the poor shook private then belted,
hay, that was all he said. That was audible anyway. The sergeant in charge squinched up his face, showing and flailed to make heads or tails of it, and then motioned for them to take the young private down to one of the bunks. They didn't get it, I thought to myself. I did, though, and that's when things began to click for me. That dude didn't say thank, he was yelling the hank. I didn't want to believe it at first. In fact, I tried not to.
It was a word I haven't heard since I was a young boy. But then he screamed out a second and that meant I was right. Hag he said, an equally chilling word. There were two names for the same entity, at least in our stories, a female entity that was more like a witch. She feels stories told by my grandfather, my mom, and other elders of my family. My grandfather said, at the scariest when I was
a little boy, though a preacher friend of his encountered one before. Before his friend could scream, he slapped her hand over his mouth and held it there, And when she slowly let it go, all the words he spoke were kind of backwards gobbledy gook, they called it. I squeezed out a question, How long did he speak? Ghibli, my grandfather interrupted my stutter. That's how he became a preacher's son. He promised God he'd preach the gospel if he'd let the speech return. And shortly after that it did.
All right, third squad, let's go boom, the sergeant in charge, grab your geared load from the rear. His command yanked me from my daydream, and I was on my way to the cattle car. There wasn't as much chatter on the ride to the m old dump. I imagine they were soaking in and assembling pieces of what just happened. Only moments had passed when the squeak of the brakes broke the silence. The soft tug left and right told us that we were pulling over and coming to a stop. The door
swung open, and the soldiers filed out like Pavlov's dogs. The thick warmed Georgia darkness swooped around us like an old blanket as the sergeant in charge reiterated the expectations of the duty to me. Soon after, the tail lights of the cattle cards off, like ominous red eyes fading in the black growing distance. And though I was far from being alone, the Ammo dunk felt lonely. It was me and six young soldiers, six AMMO bunkers, and that
thick Georgia night air that suddenly stunk like old people's farts. I'll take the gate and the first bunker, injected Soldier number one as he walked over in a way that showed that he had done this before. When no one objected inside the slight pause that followed, so with my nose twitched emotion for the other five soldiers to follow me around as we assigned the other five bunkers.
The Ammo dump was totally fenced in. The six bunkers faced each other, and a soldier could raise his voice a bit and converse with one another. I didn't mind that at all. I imagined it would help their night go by, and happy troops made the load light. Approaching the second bunker, Soldier number two stepped down into the dugout like entrance that every bunker had. His skin glowed as it reflected that spooky light. Disciplined red as he stepped
under the lamp to the steel heavy, navy ship like door. He tugged on the exaggeratedly big padlock, followed by a few big yanks on the door. That thing is there tight, he strained, It's not supposed to budge a bit. He followed up instructing while letting me know that he had done this a time or two, and then we circled around the back of the bunker and back to the door, completing one suite. The soldier said, with confidence, I could tell that Soldier two had plans to come back with
E five stripes in a couple of years, and rightfully so. He immediately gained my confidence. If it's all right, I'll take six, another soldier injected. I gave him a soft nod, and he peeled off in Bunker six's direction. The remaining three walked with me around the third and last bunker of that left row, and I pointed out to Soldiers three and four.
The third and fourth bunker. As we came around the back to the center lane, where number five peeled off to his I thought for a second that the more senior guy seemed to take debbs on the uppermost bunkers like maybe they knew something, But maybe I was just digging too much. Well, everything was going smooth as I made my second circuit around the dump. If we kept it like this for just a few hours, we'd get a pat on
the back for pulling good duty. But things didn't stay smooth though. The summer sound of a zillion fiddling crickets was instantly cut to a silence that can only be compared to slapping on a set of gun range ear muffs. We didn't have time to digest the thickness of this blanketing silence when it the silence was slashed up to this time, I've never heard such a shrill vocalization before
in my whole life. If we'd had a molly with us, that's a female soldier like males are called Joe's, I would have swore something from our surrounding woods had grabbed her and yanked all her skin off all at once. I don't know why, but my immediate response was to duck as if the sound was thrown at us, and as I spun on my heels, I could see little red lights twiddling around in the distance. It was the remaining
soldiers with their flashlights on, doing their best to duck and cover. I guess the next second I realized the jiggling red flashlights were coming toward me. Soldier one and six made it to me first. As two and five approached, the question belted from Soldier four, who was arriving fast. What the freak was that? He screamed, taking breaths that had clearly been driven by adrenaline. We didn't get to answer. Another screech bellowed out from the darkness.
This one is closer, I thought to myself. It's inside the fence. Another voice blasted. Right on top of his words, came yet another screech, and all of us snapped our heads in the same direction. This screech was mingled with a bit of mail pitch. That's a banshee, whispered one of us as we peered out toward the last bunker on the left. It was a bunker number three. Were Soldier number three injected Soldier number four, Well, I went my head around quickly and scanned only five guards.
Three is missing, I said. The hair on my body instantly rebelled and stood up, turning into coarse needles that pushed against my BDUs from the inside. I almost passed my pants, and then something inside me took off, running down the left side back lane toward Bunker three. I didn't see anything until I approached bunker two, but that's when I saw him. Soldier number three was standing at Bunker three. It looked like his face was against the
bunker and he wasn't moving. He was just standing there, and there was a big ball of blackness right next to him. I struggled with my flashlight to get that red lens off, and I kept running in thinking and the white light would help me see a little more and help me understand a little more. What the hell was going on? Get over here, Soldier, I screamed in the most menacing voice I could muster. But he didn't even
move, not even a shell shocked basic trainee flinch. Nothing moved, not until I got the red lens off and shine the white of my flashlight into the blackness. And then everything moved, and all that ball of blackness it stood up on two legs. It was the hag it had to be, and its waist was just under my soldier's shoulders. Of all the pictures I've had in my mind of what a hag would or should or could look like, this thing didn't look like any of that. It was tall and slender
and black, reflecting the moonshine black. My flashlight offended it, and it raised a big white fingered nail hand over its golf ball sized eyes. It's ice that more resembled two ping pong balls, glowing from being back lit by a pen light to be more exact, and those nails they seemed to pick up the same ghoulish white hue. But that gave me enough time to shoulder my rifle with one hand and click off the safety and fire. Not only
had blanks, but I wasn't looking to hurt anything. I just needed noise and that to spook this thing for one, and secondly to call the other troops to come to my location. Post taste blam. It worked in a very fast but silent swooshing motion. This thing did a left face and proceeded to glide away from Soldier number three toward the back of the Amo dump fence. I was still running full tilt and tied myself to be right on its heels when it turned toward the back of the bunker. But this thing was
moving. I didn't gain on it without effort. It maintained its pace with me. I couldn't tell if it was floating or taking really long, graceful strides. I did get a look at its blackness, though it was the shiniest silvery ast to black I'd ever seen, like a long, black flowing garment that went from head to toe. From where I'd started, it reminded
me of more Tissia Adams sat in a black cake. But as I approached and the creature began moving away, I could tell from an elbow or two poking through that this was hair, long flowing it like hair, but it was black. Arounded the corner, expecting to be able to grab this hair, and I was stunned and duck and stunned again. The hag wasn't there.
In fact, as I walked up to where I thought the hag should be, there was nothing but the smell of musk and stale armpits and funky stink like teenager armpits, But just then I could hear twigs breaking right on the other side of the fence. The rest of the guys rounded the corner, asking where did go and also thinking that it should at least still be on the side of the fence. Their attention snapped to the fence as they
too heard the crunch of twigs. Where did what go? One of the more senior privates poked, pointing his chin out slightly toward one that asked the question between the lines. He was informing the asking soldier, informing us all that we might want to think through before we spewed out what we thought we saw. The stretch of silence following his rhetorical question dictated how tight lipped we all needed to be concerned with the encounter. We all had at least slightly
higher security clearances than most soldiers, and some of us even higher. Still, those clearances needed protection, and in many cases it came in the form of tight lips and great discretion. Some things are better left unsaid. One of us co signed for twenty years. Another soldier muttered, more to himself than to the seven man audience that we made up. I don't think he even realized we could all hear him. We need to head back up top.
I belted the cattle carpie here any minute now. The guys peeled off and headed toward the gate, not swung back, tracing my path, sweeping my flashlight back and forth across the ground, making sure that I had policed up all the brass that I popped off from my rifle. And three casings plunged into my pocket, and I was all about catching up to the squad. If all this wasn't jarring enough, matters got even worst. Thong thong.
The ground vibrated with some very hard thumps. I dropped my flashlight and shocked. That allowed me to see the dust on the ground and jump up two or three inches and turn into powder as it attempted to float back down, only to be suspended again with the next round of pounds. And in the moonlight, I could see a haze of dust hovering over the giant, half coconut looking Amo mound. The pounding was coming from inside Amo Dump number
three. Something was beating on the inside of the AMMO dump door, maybe even hurling itself. I say something and not someone, because I vibrated with every thump, and I skidded a little, like I was one of those electric football men on the game board. Sergeant, are you all right? What the hell was that? I could hear a couple of soldiers ask, even though it was at a distance and mingled with the choice expletives of the others. Stay up top, I yelled, running and trying to breathe at
the same time. As I passed the door, I could see the next three thumps as well as hear them, and I could feel them too, And they thumped like the front row of a concert, like the mound had the hiccups. And that thing metal door was not supposed to budge, but well, with each pound it bulged out as if made of some rubbery, stretchy material. I was high tailing it, thinking I hope to God this door was made to take such pounding. I did not want to see whatever
was doing the banging. What the hell it sounded like you were firing grenade launchers, one soldier ask as I finally got to them. Well, I struggled to gulp down enough air to answer, Now, man, something's inside that bunker, and it's big, and it's pissed and it's banging on the door. That's what you heard. The cattle car was going to be pulled up all too quickly, and we were all still in a huddle, looking like we were planning something, and in some respects we were. Shouldn't we
report this, a soldier asked, with near panic in his voice. There was one clear second of hesitation before another soldier belted out what we were all thinking, didn't you hear what we said at the back fence. Ain't nobody
saying nothing? Not for twenty years, remember? Another soldier added his two cents, and I tagged in on the soldiers bitter reprimand if any one of us spills a peep about this, we'll all end up in mental hygiene filling out paperwork until we all agree we didn't hear nothing but a bear, and then they'll reclassify us all as cooks and freak. That's right. An interjection ripped a hole right down the middle of our exchange. We all clammed up
when we saw those words had come from Soldier number three. That was all he said. Those were two of the last five words I would ever hear him say. Well, are you guys going to be all right? Soldier number one ask, and number three in myself out of true concern, I boughted my head yes. But the third soldier didn't say anything. He wasn't gonna say but three more words that I'd ever hear. He didn't respond. He just sat there, staring straight ahead. He was shook up. Give
him some space, said Soldier six. Let him collect himself. As curious as I was to hear what that thing whispered to him, Soldier number six was right. The kid was going to need some time to get himself together. But not even a full moment later we could see the blue ing on the hilltop ahead, no doubt from the headlights of the cattle car, bringing our relief. All right, boys, put your poker faces on at showtime, I said. With the hiss of the brakes, the truck used the
crushed gravel on the side of the road to complete its halt. The tailgate flung open and out popped the NCO in charge. How did it go, soldiers, he asked, with locking eye contact, making sure not to miss any conversation that may go without saying. Between the lines, he asked, did anything happen outside of nothing? I leaned my head in ever so slightly and nodded suddenly in the direction of Soldier number three and softly reported, we
may have a shook one. The Ncoic darted his eyes to glance at number three Bryce and Amo, he calmly asked, Now, knowing full well our night was anything but mundane, I dug into my pocket and held out a closed fist, and I held it over his expecting palm brass. I muttered, so no one could hear but him and I. I extracted my magazine with blanks and finished my response. But no amo. The Ncoic took a good look into my eyes, making sure he understood what I was saying without
saying, and then he knodded me into the cattle car. I climbed in and observed that my squad did the same and remained tight leapt. Every one of us remained eerily quiet. I took this time to reflect to chew not only on the events of this night, but how they put pieces into some of the tales my family and others have told me. I've heard these hags was cursed to be half woman and half animal, and sometimes half horse, half bare half sheep. They said, screams like a lady cries like a
baby. My grandfather said it popped out of the Bible and it can't die. He said, it's but one of the things that'll come out of the earth and cause men's hearts to fail from fear. Military documents say these things escape from our laboratories. Some were even let out. If it has the ability to shift or disappear, couldn't it appear to have a cloak like a grim reaper or the Tall Man, or wings like the moth Man? And what about those people in the Blair Witch movie? The movie may have been
fiction, but I now know that that witch is real. Those folks playing or not described a hag, a hank, a banshee. I lifted my head up from what seemed like a lengthy conversation with myself, and Soldier number three had somehow made his way to sit right across from me. Now. I watched him a bit until he lifted his head and probably feeling my stare. And when the stair got awkward, I fixed my mouth to ask the burning question when he beat me to it with a very frank response, don't
you dare? He said, just above a whisper, And I didn't I put my head down, and those were the last three words I ever heard him speak. I did think to myself though, someday, maybe sometime after the next twenty or twenty five years, somebody is going to tell the tale about how we met the freak of Fort Gordon, and this will be my only report on it. I'm sticking and staying, Sergeant j MC, and I am out.