It
wasn’t fair we were tired
We
had walked all day
Hiking
into the Superstitions
The
mountain’s name also didn’t help
We
were miles from anywhere
All
alone in the back country
Just
a couple dozen scouts
A
few leaders
And
miles of desert and forest
Surrounding
our little campsite
Next
to this little stream
It
all seemed like the perfect scene
Idyllic
and picturesque
Until
night fell
With
the fire burning low
The
scout master got serious
Staring
into the fire
He seemed distracted
A little uncomfortable
As he seemed to call up a memory
Something he wasn’t comfortable with
Without a word
We all fell silent
Ten sets of eyes
Intent on his fire-lit face
As he started in a low voice
He told us of the legends
The weird events in these very hills
Of the Lost Dutchman and his mine
Still lost somewhere close by
In sight of Weaver’s Needle
Which we had passed today
As we hiked ourselves in
But that wasn’t the memory
That was just a mystery
His expression grew grim
As he asked the question
Have you ever heard tale
Of the Mogollon Monster?
The hair on my arms and neck
Stood up and took notice
As he told of a horrific creature
Over seven feet tall
With glowing red eyes
That has been menacing these very
hills
Leaving a swath of death and destruction
From the foothills to the peaks
If you listen close
You can hear the howl
And as we listened
Off in the distance
A low howl drifted in
On the slight night breeze
Completely reliving me
Of all desire to sleep
Maybe it was another leader
Or just a well-timed coyote
Or maybe, just maybe
It was really the monster
And we just got lucky
That we didn’t wake to missing limbs
Pools of blood
And
piles of entrails
But I didn’t question it
And I never looked back
Made it out of the mountains
Twice as fast
As it took to hike in
Even in full sun
I felt a little skittish
Until the hills grew smaller
In the distance behind
The howls of the mountains
A little harder to hear
As the miles stretch out
To a safe feeling distance
Between us and those eerie mountains
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