This short story is more strange that scary. It is a companion piece to another tale on this site titled "My First Story". Although I do not personally know the writer of the other story, both of our experiences happened around the same place and both sightings are somewhat similar.
Although born and raised in Kansas, I now live with my Bosnian wife in the city of Sarajevo. Her father had friends in the country just north of us, Croatia, and once in 2006 we decided to travel to Zagreb, the capitol of of that beautiful country, to visit.
My wife, her father, her sister, and I left Sarajevo early and took a winding, two-lane road all the way to the border, where we sat waiting for about 45 minutes getting through customs. Once we were in Croatia, we hit a very nice highway, like any interstate in America. We sped up and made our way to Zagreb.
As I always do when traveling through new areas, I looked out the window to see everything I could. The countryside was flat grassland with a few small wooded areas scattered about. It reminded me somewhat of where I grew up in south east Kansas.
I was still looking out the back seat window when I noticed a dirt road next to the highway. It followed the path of the highway and soon I could see someone coming down it.
As we neared, I noticed it was a man walking next to two mules or small horses that were pulling along a cart. There was something piled in the back of the cart but it was obscured by some sort of tarp or heavy blanket.
We got closer and the first thing I saw was the expression on the mans´ face. He seemed to be in complete dispair, almost to the point of crying. I felt horrible for him and hoped that whatever was wrong would soon be righted. He looked awful.
Thin, he was heavily tanned and had a black moustache. His clothing was what I can only describe as old-fashioned peasant garb; dirty and torn from wear. He wore a beat up cap and carried a long, wooden cane; leading his mules while staring straight ahead.
The pain he seemed to be in made me feel terrible, but I kept looking. That is when I noticed something about him.
It was a nice spring day out and everything was glowing with bright, vibrant colors. Everything, that is, but the man and his load.
A contrast to everything else, the man, his mules, and the cart seemed dimmer, almost as if they were fading to black and white. Although I could discern different shades of red, blue and yellow, it was not as bright as the rest of the objects surrounding them and seemed surreal. It was almost like watching an old, sepia-type photo come to life and walk down the road.
After we passed by him, I asked my wife if she had seen him. She looked up from a magazine, turned to look behind us, and did what she always does when I have seen something strange- shake her head and go back to what she was doing before.
I turned around and there was nothing there. The road was straight and flat and there was no where this man could have gone to so suddenly. Still, I decided that perhaps there was some small hill or something he went behind.
I forgot about this little incident until I read "My First Story" a few nights ago. It was almost the exact same thing except instead of a soldier from that era, I saw most likely a refugee. The clothing and cart were very old looking, reminding me of photos I have seen in history class of the Austrian-Hungarian age.
He looked nothing like the Bosnian famers we met along the way during that trip. They sometimes had mules pulling carts, but usually it was a small tractor or even, in some cases, a riding lawn mower hauling huge bundles of hay or what have you. And they all wore tennis shoes and the occational sports pants or jacket; modern farmers doing an ancient job.
I am not sure what to make of this, but am glad that someone else saw a similar sighting along that stretch of road. It makes my story much more credible.
As I said, this is more strange than scary, and the strangeness is multiplied when you add a confirmed, similar sighting along that same route.
Thu Feb 14, 2008 9:59 am
