A strange noise in the hallway. A figure crossing your peripheral vision. A tug on the blanket covering your feet. Scary stories, I love them. If I could spend all my time reading ghost stories, watching horror movies, going to haunted houses or going on real ghost hunting trips I would. I am in constant search for new media that actually scares me, it’s the adrenaline. My heart picks up tempo, my muscles tense ready to run at any moment, and my hands turn into fists. When fight or flight is on the verge of taking over that is when I know if an experience is enjoyable.
Ten years back on Memorial Day weekend myself, two friends, Dale and Bryan, and my four year old niece Wena decided to go camping in the Prescott area. Bryan borrowed all the camping gear from another friend and Dale boasted that, “I have it all planned out. It’s going to be great!” I had to work the Friday we were driving up and Dale said that would be fine, it would allow them time to pack the relatively small Kia Rio Cinco. Dale picked me up from work and not one tent, ice chest, or backpack was in the car. A few stewing minutes later and we are at Bryan’s house. I jump out of the car and start packing the gear that is piled in front of the door. Finally the car is packed and all we have to do is stop at the store for ice. It’s nearly 8’oclock p.m. and we are on the highway to Prescott.
Dale pulls onto a dirt road creeping ahead a sign slowly comes into view, “Campsite Full.” Dale ignores the sign and drives around the site. I ask, “Did you make a reservation or are you just hoping to find an empty spot on a Friday night of a holiday weekend?” He mutters, “We will find something.” I am fuming, so angry Bryan and Wena could have cooked S’mores from my heat. The second campsite revealed the same situation. The clock on the dash clicks to 11:00 p.m. and Wena is sound asleep in the backseat. Bryan is about to follow suit and just before he crashes he says, “Lets just get a hotel for the night and we can drive home in the morning.” We drive into town and stop at the first hotel, “No Vacancy” buzzes from the neon sign but Dale and Bryan walk into the lobby regardless. Moments later they reappear silently get into the car and we drive to the next hotel. The second and third attempts have the same result. The clock on the dash now clicks to 2:00 a.m. “Lets just go home,” Dale grumbles with defeat in his voice. “I at least want to take the backway.” “What’s the backway?” “You’ll see."
Dale slowly drives the car through Prescott, obediently obeying the speed limit signs, on HWY 89a. Just after we pass the very last full motel in Prescott, Dale asks, “So, how do you feel about switchbacks?” And guns the tiny motor on the Kia as it lunges down the mountain towards HWY 60. I begin laughing uncontrollably and the harder I laugh the faster Dale drives us down the mountain. By this time Bryan and Wena have woken up from the noise and shifting of the turns. Everyone is laughing enjoying the ride when we get through the first set of turns. Dale releases the accelerator and says, “Is that a woman in the road?” Looking down from the top of a hill approximately 200 feet ahead. “No that is not a woman, it’s too big,” I say. “No it is a woman, we have to stop to help her,” Bryan states looking from the backseat. “That is NOT a woman! Dale do not stop this car! I have no cell reception and cannot call 9-1-1 if that person tries to murder us!” We look ahead and the person waves their arms over their head. “Dale please don’t stop the car,” as Dale begins to slow the car down disregarding my pleas.
Dale rolls down his window as we coast to a very large man in a white shirt with a “Big Dog” logo on the front and blue jean shorts standing in the middle of the road. He was so tall he had to bend 90 degrees to look into the drivers side window to talk to us, “Hey, sorry to bother you folks but I ran my car off the side of the road and was wondering if ya’ll could give me a ride back to the bar I was just at down the road?” His greasy hair fell in front of his wire frame glasses, using a massive hand to brush it back. His fingernails were dirty but the top of his hand and back of his forearm showed no signs of dirt or having to struggle up the mountain from his car below. “No I’m sorry the car’s full,” I blurt out before anyone else can answer. The man looks into the backseat then back into the drivers side window. “My head hurts really bad and I think my leg is bleeding. I can’t walk home, it’s too far.” I reach into my backpack that I had kept with me in the front seat to find a bottle of Ibuprofen. I get four tablets from the bottle and extend my hand quickly saying, “We can call 9-1-1 as soon as we are out of the mountains.” “Well if you call don’t mention the bar or they are gonna ask if I’ve been drinkin’ and between you and me I did have a few but I ain’t drunk.” “Don’t worry about it, we won’t tell ’em,” assured Dale. “You won’t get cell service till about the bar, just use the phone there or tell the bartender, ‘Steve is stranded up here.” “Sure no problem. Stay put and someone will be back to help you,” said Bryan. Steve stands up and takes a step away from the car as Dale drives past him slowly. As he’s pulling away I look for a disturbance in the brush along the road where his car supposedly ran off the edge to see undisturbed thistles and sage. Dale looks at me startled as I say, “He wasn’t dirty, like he had just climbed the side of a mountain from his wrecked car.” “I know, he didn’t even have a scrape on his elbow.”
We drove in silence to the bar several miles down the road. Once we arrived at the bar Dale and Bryan got out of the car and went inside. Ten minutes pass and they briskly walk to the car saying nothing, each of their faces pale and emotionless. Without hesitation Dale starts the car, putting it into reverse and quickly throwing it back into drive kicking up dust and dirt toward the building. “What happened,” I asked. “Well we told the bartender that Steve needed help that he was just here and ran his car off the road,” Bryan said. “Ok.” “She looked at me and said that she hadn’t see Steve in months, in fact no one in town had seen him and that they were all starting to worry about him.” I check my phone and see that I finally have cell reception to call 9-1-1. I dial and hand the phone to Bryan. He reports what we saw and roughly where Steve is stranded. Unnerved by the bartenders comment we fly down the rest of the mountain to our homes.
Midmorning the next day Dale and I go back to Bryan’s house to rehash what we saw last night. Not minutes after we show up my cell rings, it’s 9-1-1 dispatch to ask about what Bryan reported. Once again I hand him my phone, he answers a few questions then for a long period he listens. The color slowly creeps from his face and he says, “Well thanks for looking for him,” and hangs up. “What happened?? What did they say,” I practically shrieked. “The paramedics and DPS searched all night trying to find Steve or any evidence of his car over the side of the mountain.” “WELL!” “They couldn’t find anything and Steve is still missing as of January 10th 2005.”
This movie is relatively light hearted, considering the topic, and gives the viewer motivation and hope for the future. It really makes the viewer think about what they are putting into their body. The movie interviews and observes several farmers, in my opinion only one farmer really stood out, Will Allen, the owner of Growing Power. 
