A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Marsh

I have a couple of friends who are also brothers. They live on a cranberry marsh in north-central Wisconsin with their wives (also good friends) and children (human and canine, all wonderful). Let's refer to these brothers as Corky and Steffen. One evening, several years ago, Corky, Steffen, and myself were sitting around Steffen's house enjoying some adult beverages (among other things) and some childish conversation - as we often do when in each others company.
Now, this seemingly harmless scenario is rarely what it seems. A typical visit to the Marsh is sort of like visiting a foreign land were the laws and ethical behavior rarely conform to those found in polite society. More often than not, a night on the Marsh (yep, that's a capital M) will devolve into something resembling a scene from the latter half of "Apocalypes Now." Danger, mayhem, lunacy are all accurate words to describe various weekends that I've had "up north at the Marsh."
Both Corky and Steffen have taken me to death's doorstep on more than one occasion. In fact, I may have driven them there a time or two myself. Usually, however, it is the Brothers who are in the driver's seat. Have you ever driven off a 12 foot deep embankment at 50 mph, late on a winter's night after celebrating all that life has to offer? I have, and so has Steffen (complete with the very bloody face of our mutal friend "Mark"). Have you ever jumped a Chevy Citation 30 ft. through the air only to be stopped by the oncoming treeline? Oh ya, did you do it on purpose? Well, me neither, but Corky and Steffen did, and they used my car to do it. I could go on, but my point here isn't to brag about our trips out near "the edge." I only want the reader to believe what I say is the truth, and not hyperbole. This will not be the last time you hear about "the Brothers," dear reader. However, for this story, we have a less dangerous, and infinitely more entertaining outcome. This is the story about the night Steffen and I laughed, laughed harder than we ever have, before or since. It is also the night that Corky, invincible and invisible, cried out like a little girl - nearly causing me to wet my pants with the giggles.
The woods of north-central Wisconsin are of the secondary growth variety. It was heavily logged back before the turn of the century. The land is flat and sandy with lots of red and white pine, along with smatterings of maple, hemlock, and yellow birch. It's a beautiful and fairly unpopulated part of the state, a wonderfully forested place to operate outside the lines of the law. Its backroads can be desolate and dark on moonless nights. There are even tales of the infamous Sasquatch wandering its woody lanes. Sometimes you can drive for miles between houses, and at night, those miles stretch on forever, especially when you're on your bike and you're all alone. Such was the case with Corky.
Earlier that evening, we had been, as I said before, imbibing in drink and conversation. It had reached the point in the night when it was time to retire. I was staying at Steffen's place. Corky and his wife Cake, along with their two beautiful daughters, lived 2 or 3 miles away in their house on the Marsh. Steffen has since moved to the Marsh as well, but at the time, his residence was still quite a distance from Corky's. Needless to say, Corky had decided to ride his bike over earlier in the day. It had been a wonderful afternoon, we had spent most of our time shooting guns and reminiscing. As bedtime rolled around (2,3,4 a.m.?) Corky jumped on his bike and bid us farwell.
Now, I'm not sure whose idea it was, but it occurred to us that such a late night journey through the woods, down a dusty gravel lane with such a dark sky above would be more than a bit creepy. Even for someone as rational and fearless as Corky, a trip such as that would have to give you the heeby-jeebies at least a little bit. It was with this thought in mind that the idea was hatched. There was another way to Corky's house, a long way that could be cut short by driving a truck, sans headlights. We'd go the long way around and turn off the lights when we got close. We could then get out and hide along the road farther up from the truck and wait for the unsuspecting bicyclist. A wonderful plan. We headed for the truck.
As Steffen and I waited, we could hear nothing but the crickets and could see nothing but the faded outlines of what we knew were the lines of trees stretching down either side of that lonely road. Then, in the distance, we began to hear a faint noise. It had a certain beauty to it. As it came closer, we started to hear a melody. It was a song. A dainty, whispering tune that had a certain charm and eloquence. It was certainly improvised, but clearly it was being sung as an incantation. A melody devised to ward of those lurking creatures of the dark woods. Little did the oncoming enchanter know that there were two demons unaffected by this weak magic. We grinned quietly and waited. Corky sang his song and slowly drifted toward the inevitable.
When we yelled incoherently and jumped out at him from either side of the road, time slowed. He was close enough to see as our eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Yet we appeared as no more than moving shadows. I remember seeing the front wheel turn with a jerk. At that same moment I remember the shriek, for that is what it was, in all it's shrill glory. A shuddering cry from a man who is facing his last moments on earth. Brought down by what isn't suppose to be. A cry that only a person whose brain is attempting to respond to madness and unreality could conjure up. Perfect fear. Then, total loss of all cycling skills. A crash. Then utter rage upon realizing the truth. But it was too late, Corky's rage against the cruel joke was not enough to stiffle the gilded, glittering laughter that was let loose from both Steffen and myself. I don't know how to describe the perfect moment when humor and horror meet face to face. But when humor triumphs over the evil deed, laughter is a nectar that can be savored again and again. Excuse me while I go change my shorts...