When I was 12-years-old, it was the perfect place to go exploring — and get lost.
On a typical foray into Burns Bog, I encountered a hippie-type fellow by a creek. He was shaking uncontrollably, almost in a convulsion — but he seemed all too aware of the creek.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The water,” he replied in a panicked voice, “It’s going to eat me!”
“Why don’t you just walk away from the water?” I inquired further.
He seemed ponderous for a moment. “Because if I do that, it will sense my vibrations and attack!”
I thought that was funny, then walked off. 20 minutes later, I came across a bucket — and had a brilliant idea. Filling up the bucket with water, I walked back to the panicked man.
Walking towards him, he seemed more frightened than before. But that didn’t stop me. I dumped the whole damn bucket of water over his head.
“AHHHHH!” he screamed.
Then he rolled over, and he started violently shaking. He was shaking so hard, his eyes rolled back. Immediately he started gargling as though he was drowning.
Just then, another bearded dude — this one with glasses — popped out of the trees.
“What the hell did you just do?!” he screamed.
“I was just having a little fun with him!”
“FUCK!!! YOU LITTLE SHIT! Jimmy was just coming down from his acid trip!”
I felt something well up inside me — I knew I did something horrible. And I ran the fuck away never to return.
To this day, I don’t know what happened to that guy.