While I often return to the subject of forest elementals in my fiction -- Big Jack and the greenjacks in Bad Things, or the Forest Knight -- a twist on the ancient epic poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in The Sorority trilogy -- I have never thought much about these creatures as part of the real world. At least not until a recent trip to New England.
Elementals are not of human origin. They are nature spirits, usually categorized as powers of earth, air, fire, and water. They live among the earliest stories told by humanity and they are the force behind most holidays even now (though the influence is very indirect at this time). Christians incorporated Green Men into their churches -- or rather cunning pagan artisans added them, to keep alive the old ways. The Christmas tree? Pagan. And Easter? Even the word is a variant on the name of a pagan fertility goddess.*
But I digress. All cultures have stories about elementals and the variation that fascinates me the most is the forest or woodland elemental -- the Green Man. Often personified as a man made of root, vine, and leaves, or presented simply as a powerful presence marked by whirlwinds of leaves, or sounds in the brush, the Green Man is the lord of forest, or field or other glade. He may even be lord of a desert oasis or a few cacti. However presented, the imagery captivates me.
So when we recently experienced an anomaly at the edge of a forest in Boothbay Harbor, Maine, I have to admit that it was really cool.
Literally. Downright cold.
We had chosen a remote island resort for a night of peace and quiet after attending Necon in Rhode Island. Our plan was to tour New England after the conference, staying at various haunted locales. The island getaway at Boothbay Harbor was the only overnight spot we hadn't chosen for its haunted reputation. We chose it because it offered a quiet balcony over water with islands and little fingers of forested land poking into the harbors; things foreign and delightful to south westerners.
We arrived in the afternoon, after stopping in town to pick up a picnic feast to have in the room. Once we turned off onto the one-way road to the resort and began crawling through the thick woods, we were enchanted. The woodland was alive, close – the only thing we could see around us was the forest. I thought of the scene in The Haunting of Hill House where Eleanor drove through the woods to see Hill House for the first time – because that’s how it felt – alive and watching and waiting. As always, I assumed this was all the work of my imagination. Now I’m not so sure.
We finally cleared the forest and arrived at the resort. Our room was at the far end of the resort property, right up against the woods and water. Only a few other cars were in the little parking lot. It was lovely. We spent the hours until twilight walking along the waterfront at the edge of the forest. Then we sat on our second story balcony and looked across the water to the darkening woods and played a favorite game, one I brought with me from childhood. We watched the wind caress the trees and ferns, watched the movement of leaves and imagined we saw faces and creatures in the foliage. We entertained ourselves, talking about the wood sprites -- greenjacks! -- lurking in the long shadows of the woods. We imagined they cavorted around the edges of a lonely cabin across the water. Everything was perfect.
Finally, as fog began shrouding the water, we went indoors, unloaded the picnic from the fridge and settled in front of the TV. We were tickled. It was a Monday night and Haunted Travels was on the Travel Channel. It was just like dinner at home. We watched a Stargate rerun on two. It got late.
During these hours, Damien trekked downstairs to the car several times to retrieve things. The final time, somewhere around midnight, he came in and said, "I think somebody's out there." A few questions later, I'd decided maybe he'd sensed something not alive, grabbed the camera and dragged him back out onto the landing. He sensed it again, immediately, even near the well-lit room door. He said he felt as if he were being watched from all around. He's not the spooky type and he can wither breathing beings with a single glance if he wants. He's also very good at picking up on things. So I believed him. And I still do.
We ventured down the stairs. I felt nothing except the old childhood glee -- a spooky adventure! First, Damien walked down to the parking lot, to the edge of the forest and the lake while I stood on the steps and photographed him. He came back quickly, saying he still felt very strongly that something was watching him, from all around.
I insisted on going down while he used the camera. I stepped to the lakeside area he'd walked to and while I felt a little spooky thrill, there was nothing to validate it. I didn’t feel I was being watched, but that’s typical. Damien is the expert feeler (in, oh, so many ways!).
Then I walked across the parking lot, away from the water, and stopped at an empty parking slot next to the woods. Suddenly, something so cold that it felt like iced slime enveloped my left arm. A cold spot -- the second coldest I've ever felt -- and the first one to ever latch onto me. I hadn’t walked into it. It landed on me.
In the past, I've felt many cold spots, several of which were probably true anomalies, but never one so large and so cold and insistent. I've encountered big and small cold spots, felt small ones grow to larger balls as they absorb energy from a human, and once experienced one even colder. That last one, a typical "haunting" cold spot, began as a small ball of icy chill. I put my hand into it and it slowly, over about half an hour, gloved my hand, then arm to elbow, and eventually my shoulder, before a friend insisted that when she tried to touch me, it shocked her. She grabbed my other hand and literally yanked me out of the anomaly. I was annoyed at the time, but in the hours afterward, the paresthesia -- tingling ache -- was so strong in the affected arm, I guess I'm glad she did. Emphasis on "guess."
The Boothbay Harbor anomaly was almost as icy cold as that other frigid anomaly, however this one was not slow-moving, but agressively rapid, wrapping itself around my left arm without warning. Damien was very aware of it, even at a distance and kept taking pictures and telling me to get away from the woods. I stayed a moment longer, noted a slight feeling of dizziness and reluctantly heeded my mate's calls. When I climbed the stairs, the cold stayed on my arm, but the intensity lessened slightly. Outside our room, we took pictures of my arm, wishing we had an Infrared (IR) Thermometer to detect extreme temperature differences, and waited. The cold, lessened a bit more, but was still a very formidable cold spot. After a few more minutes, I finally agreed to go inside instead of grooving on the cold spot. Damien is usually right about such things and I'm so anomaly-happy I lose common sense (I'd be the one to go up the staircase in the classic stupid scary movie cliché -- as long as I thought it was just a ghost up there!).
I didn’t want to take the anomaly into the room, and had to resort to a sailor-mouth exorcism. As usual, that worked. (Some people implore the power of Christ, I find a mouthful of invective works best for me – to each his own. As long as it stops feeding the anomaly, it’s good.) The cold receded quickly, and we spent a peaceful night indoors. Though I would have been up for camping. . .
And that's the truth. What was it? I believe we encountered an energy anomaly, not an intelligence being, that's just how my brain works. Happily, I can never know for sure. Questions will always keep the mysteries alive, and that makes me happy. Concerning this anomaly, I could be wrong or right or a bit of both. In this case, because the momentary dizziness speaks of geomagnetic peculiarities, I, like most of my haplessly skeptical heroes, have to classify it as something that would be dangerous, had I strayed into the woods -- but only because it would probably severely impair my sense of direction.
But the wonder and awe creep past rationalizations, valid or not, and make it into a magic I love to explore in fiction. What if? And maybe someday I'll encounter something so strange that even I can't rationalize away, even a little.
So, since this is True Stuff, I’m telling you what happened and offering my opinion. But I just keep wondering: What if I'm wrong? Maybe a Green Man finally came out and shook my hand. . . er, arm! And wouldn’t that be just about the coolest thing ever?
© Tamara Thorne, August 3, 2004
