The following tale, sworn to be true, was submitted by a group of four residents traveling from Kadıköy, down in the central flats of Istanbul County. Mr. Josiah Stufflebean was a schoolmaster at the local school house, teaching literature, wood culling, and bathtub energy drink brewing. His wife, Mrs. Merve Stufflebean, dabbled in supernatural witchcraft and pagan symbolism from the Orient, all whilst running the local soap factory. Their companions included, Mr. E.J. Mannix, who also taught Literature at Murat Ulker Divinity Normal School, and a one Mrs. Zeynep Mannix, who had ties to the League of Nations and worked with displaced Indians.
Innocent lambs at Kaz Dağı (Goose Mountain). Little did they know.
People who lived in the local Çanakkale region where the party of four was traveling had a proclivity for slaughtering sheep and goats and other livestock, disfiguring them first by decapitation, then hanging their bodies out in the sun for all to gawk at, dogs running around deliriously with their bones in their mouths.
They said it was all those bovine souls which crept up the side of Goose Mountain (Kaz Dağı) from the little towns in the lowlands joined forces to create a phantom seen only by only by mixed Turkish American groups: inexperienced campers, lambs for the slaughter, so to speak.
Oh, Goose Mountain is pretty alright…Pretty freakin scary!
The party was camping at Ayazma, on the north face of Goose Mountain, which is about an hour and a half southeast of Çanakkale city by jalopy. It was late, Mr. Stufflebean was intoxicated on the homemade energy brew his students had concocted. The party went to sleep under a thick canopy of evergreen and oak trees, by a gurgling creek. The campers had an eerie feeling, periodically searching the woods by candlelight. Infamous Anatolian bears, hyenas and house cats were known to prowl in the wee hours.
The group reluctantly fell asleep, with one eye open, lulled by water over rocks. All was fine through the first few hours of that fateful night, the campers only leaving their tents to relieve themselves.
But…they say it’s always darkest before the dawn.
At five a.m. the phantom menace circled around Mr. Stufflebean’s tent, imploring him to “come out and plaaaaayy”. It threw pine cones branches hot dogs, books about country living, imitation marshmallows, and more, onto the tent.
“Hey!!” Mr. Stufflebean is reported to have shouted, wailing on the tent with his appendage. “What happened?” Mr. Mannix echoed in the local pidgin that maybe the local phantoms could understand.
At once, the machete wielding furry, spiked monster with six inch fangs and Satan’s red eyes retreated high up Goose Mountain.
Safe til the morning was the party, but no one could say when or where the phantom ghost of Goose Mountain would strike.
Shaken, searching for breakfast of fabled Ezine cheese, olives and pterodactyl eggs, the survivors of the ordeal lived to tell the tale the next morning.
The group continued to Assos after breakfast, huddling for safety by the seaside there (the phantoms are known to avoic olive orchards and ancient Greek theaters).
Mr. Stufflebean: “We think we’ve discovered a way to protect ourselves from phantom invaders when camping. First you yell ‘Hey!’ in English and hit your own tent. Second, you yell ‘N’oldu?’ in case they don’t understand English. And we think this method will be effective for all campers.”
Mr. Stufflebean was the man for that place and time. The phantom, however, lurks in the shadows, waiting to exact revenge when the campers returned south to Goose Mountain…
To be continued…