A Ritchie Hills Mystery
By Bill Butcher
So as the story wound down, our sense of adventure and curiosity kicked in… someday we should go look for it. Could it still be out there?
A Strange Breeze on Channel 9
So summer continued on, and the heat built as the days grew longer and the heat more looming. So we decided to beat the heat by inner tubing down Forked Creek after spending some time at the old rope tree at the swimming hole. It was a good mile or two walk to get there. As we were walking, Billy Mac and Davey Leasure began telling us about an odd experience they couldn’t explain that occurred while they were over at Dave’s house the night before watching the Scrubby Cubbies on Channel 9, aka the Chicago Cubs game.
Harry was in rare form as his microphone often danced intoxicatingly around as he would say, “This Bud’s for you!” Anyhow, not sure who the Cubs were playing that day, but the front door was open with the screen to let in whatever breeze there could be had on an August summer evening. See, in those days, many homes’ only respite from heat was an open window, a fan if you were lucky, and if you were really, really lucky, a window air conditioner. So what you did was sit up close to the TV and by the open door. It was good to be a kid, as the parents would end up, by some mythical rules of formal society, having to sit over on the couch. They would sit hoping the smaller open window would give them even a small slice of breeze.
Anyhow, Dave and Bill were sitting front and center as the legend Ron Santo and Harry navigated them through the game. Being that it was now getting dark, and it was one of the first night games at Wrigley, the evening air was cooling and doing its job. A nice breeze was whisking through the screen door. The Cubs were up to bat, Ryne Sandberg coming to the plate. The excitement was building as Harry took another cold sip. As the tension was building inside, a strangeness was building out in the darkness beyond the door.
As Ryne took ball one and stepped back to readjust his bat grip, a strange, musky odor swept over Bill and Dave, with Dave catching it first and accusing Bill of passing one.
Bill snickered, “Balls!”
“What the heck, Dave, did you just—”
“No, man,” was Dave’s quick reply. “Must be you. Nothing could smell that bad,” followed up by a snicker.
“What the heck is that smell?”
They looked out into the darkness for the source of such a stench. They looked around the end of their short driveway, illuminated by the streetlight just across from the driveway opening. The streetlight stood next to the trees and at the entrance to one of the dirt bike trails that meandered through the woods. Bill and Dave looked around but didn’t notice anything. Nothing moved, but it was oddly quiet—no bugs or frogs chirping away. Nothing.
Perplexed, they turned back to the game as Ryne got a base hit. Harry was very excited as Ron stated some interesting hitting facts and win-loss percentages of a baserunner being on in this late inning with no outs, holding out magically that the statistics showing what percentage a team won in this situation would translate to a Cubs victory. However, most fans felt the Cub Curse and felt no amount of statistical improvement could guarantee a win.
As Bill and Dave listened to Ron, excitedly thinking the Cubs could pull out a win, the magic was broken as the earlier foul odor was back and stronger. It hung even heavier in the air, like a wet wool blanket. What could be making this super foul smell? At first, their thoughts were a skunk. But it was like wet, rotten garbage… could it be a skunk? Could be…
Then the odor took them back to looking out the screen and into the illuminated area at the end of the drive and start of the woods. At first, they thought there was nothing, but the woods-side shadows seemed darker, thicker—like the odor. Their eyes scanned left and right, looking for that black-and-white striped kitty, Mr. Pepe Le Pew. As they did, they noticed the shadows at the edge of the driveway… only catching an outline, it moved. The shadow moved closer towards the road and away from the house. With it, the smell lessened. The shadow began to take more of a stocky shape, large and tall, as it made its way quickly and effortlessly across the road, clearing it in three strides. It moved very fluidly, like in slow motion, but moving quick. It was an odd movement, one your brain had trouble processing.
As it cleared the road, it appeared to glance back towards the glowing light of the TV shining through the open door. Its eyes caught a slight glint from the streetlight, giving them an orangish-red glow. Then it turned and, just like that, was consumed by the shadows of the woods that make up the Ritchie Hills and was gone.
Dave chuckled and said, “What the heck was that?”
As Bill, pushing the metal inside door, exclaimed, “Balls that crawl, Grandma!” and locked the door.
Birth of a Legend
Now, the next moments often come up for debate, but I believe their version is the one. As that night, when Bill turned back to Davey and Dave was like, “What was that?” Bill responded in cool, Billy Mac, witty, sarcastic fashion: “The Goonie Goo Goo.” And that was how the mysterious creature of the Ritchie Hills became the legend, Goonie Goo Goo.
Now, to add some more history or mystery to this name and the creature it belongs to: as fate would have it all these years later, Bigfoot became a big thing. It’s all over TV, YouTube; towns have Bigfoot days—it’s a big thing. So, of course, moving away from my roots in Wilmington and Ritchie, Illinois after being transferred, I became a bit lonely for my old town, my friends, Uncle Hermie, and all the stories and adventures we had. So I started a Bigfoot group, one of the first here. I thought it would be neat to hear if anyone from the Land of 10,000 Lakes had any Bigfoot experiences.
In doing so, my wife and daughter bought me a shirt they found after all the years of me reciting the old days and those Goonie Goo Goo stories. They bought me a Bigfoot shirt that said “Goonie Goo Goo” with a picture of Bigfoot on it. Oh my gosh, cool! But how did the shirt company know of our Goonie Goo Goo, right? Then a while later, while watching a comedy show, they were showing old Eddie Murphy bits, and oh my gosh, he too knew of our Goonie Goo Goo as he shared a comedic Bigfoot story from the ’80s… go figure, right? LOL.
Into the Darkness of Ritchie Hills
So there we were, floating back on our tubes, talking about Bill and Dave’s encounter with the Goonie Goo Goo when we decided: That’s it, we’re going to walk down to the Ritchie Hills tonight and make our way around there and find the Goonie Goo Goo. Game on.
So later that night, we met at Uncle Hermie’s garage. We had acquired a case of Busch and headed out. We had but one flashlight… it was the kind that was popular back then before all the solid metal or LED ones. It was a small, all-plastic, foot-long light. Some used lantern batteries, some D-cells. Our choice that night—well, not really a choice, but more of a forgetting—was that we only grabbed one, and it was one of the D-cell variety. The kind you may be familiar with, as they were a unique engineering marvel. They often had a convenient plastic switch for easy on/off action, placed in a good ergonomic fit for your hand. With the technology of the day, every household had one.
I think as we stood in the dark pushing the switch down and forward into the proverbial ON position, like a mystical magic trick—drum roll, let there be light!—we stood still, surrounded by thick darkness. Switch in the ON position… a few seconds go by, the bulb gives a faint little glint of yellow, then dark again. As the magician does his tease, a bit of a buildup, waving the plastic wand… light… light… nothing. Then, with a few heavy slaps of the magician’s hand thumping the flashlight, it pops to life as a glow of yellow-white illuminates the woods. Light! Yep, the technological marvels of the day often required a good slap or two to get them going.
So we continued on our way, the moon—a 3/4, I think—was out. It was as we got closer to the woods and the trail that we remembered some lessons Uncle Hermie had taught us about night hunting and fishing: always shut off the light and let your eyes adjust. Once adjusted, you can see better than you’d think… not great, but fairly good. So we agreed to shut the light off until we really needed it.
So, pausing, we let our eyes adjust and started down the trail into the woods. There were a few of us: Little Hermie, his brother Moe, Billy Mac, Davey, Cliff, Roger, and me, Bill. We made our way through the woods, climbing up and down the hills. The frogs were croaking, the bugs chatting away like a loud typewriter of sorts. The night was nice as we stopped and took a beer break. Then we continued up the next hill, then down.
An Unseen Watcher at the Fence
We inched closer to the east side of the woods and out into the open field. As we made our way into the opening, Cliff let out a quiet yell and jumped backwards, falling onto the ground. “What the heck?”
Then Hermie leapt back the same way. He exclaimed, “Stop! There’s something there!” as Moe walked into it with a zzzzsound.
Electric fence. What? No way! We had over the years been in here many times—no fence. Now, it had been a few months since we had been in there, so it was definitely a new arrival. So we tried figuring out which way to turn to navigate the fence: go under, or turn and follow along it? So we decided to follow it.
As we stood there, we realized Dave’s house was just north a couple hundred yards or so, with the edge of the trees just to our west twenty feet or so and the fence a few feet east of where we stood. As we stood contemplating as to which direction to proceed on our quest, a noise startled us back to the fence.
This noise pierced the darkness. It was eerie, like steam blowing from an old steam engine. As we stood perplexed and in still silence, frozen in place by a noise that shouldn’t be there, we could feel as though we were being watched by some unknown guard. We all looked around, trying to see through the veil of darkness to our watcher. It was an attempt in vain, for all we could detect was a large, massive dark shadow, thick against the night.
We heard it take in a massive gasp of air, followed by a long, loud exhale that reverberated in the quiet of night. It filled the air like a huge burst of static electricity. I stood still, locked, anchored in place by the unknown before me, as we all did. The mystery took a step, thumping loud against the dry ground. Another footstep, like the thump of an off-beat drum… followed by another as it appeared to gain momentum in our direction. With each large step, the distance narrowed. The moon had not broken the trees as the shadows continued to hide the massive mystery, now almost upon us.
My brain was speeding with rapid thought like a street car running the quarter mile, but my mental reflexes were not quite grasping the situation or which way to flee to escape. Then, with another loud thump, the dark shadow paused, a mere few feet left until we intersected, his path becoming ours. He stood huge right before us, his eyes burning through us like some invisible laser.
My mind started catching up. My thoughts were, Herm, turn on the flashlight! Then my thoughts conflicted and my fear pushed back: Do we want to have it revealed? Would the light cause it to retreat, or fight forward in agitation? Is it seeing us as an invader, an intruder, an enemy to squash like the bugs of the August night?
But before an answer crept forth, the mystery shadow, the beast, took another deep inhale, a slight pause, and a deep, loud exhale—its breath hot against my face as it broke the cool night air and enveloped around me like a moist, sweaty cloth.
As it began to make loud sniffing sounds trying to identify its perceived threat, my companions, thawed from fear, began to run. They sprinted as though they were Olympic runners going for gold. They chose the option away from which we came and towards the safety of the distant streetlight and possible safety. It stood out like a lighthouse in a storm. It didn’t illuminate the path, but it identified the way to go. Off they went.
I couldn’t get my feet to go at first, but seeing the safety of the group dissolve into the night drove me to movement. I was perhaps the quickest of our motley group of adventurers, and even though Billy Mac was last to move, he blared past me in the dark. He must have been driven by the nitrous of fear and adrenaline. I could hear him exclaim as he sprinted past, his words echoing in the darkness: “Balls that crawl, Grandma, I’m outta here!” And he was gone, enveloped in darkness, to reappear as I caught up under the security of the streetlight.
Facing the Beast
Its yellow-white goal formed a line separating us from the unknown, from the night. We quickly caught our breath as we had a mental debate, our minds flipping around like some gymnastic somersaults trying to determine what the freak just happened. What was that? Was it friend, foe, or something in between?
The answers were few. As we all hunted and fished the creek that intersected the woods, the hills—this was our home area, we knew it well. That made any answer even more perplexing. But after a somewhat long debate, it hit us like a surprise game-winner at a Cubs game. Duh, we had a flashlight!
And it was then we decided collectively we had to go back in. We had to unveil the mystery, pull back the blanket of darkness, and see what it revealed. We had to know. I guess there is the possibility there is a bit of cat in all of us; our curiosity had to be filled.
And we all took a deep breath, chuckled a nervous laugh, and just like that, left the light and off we went. The light struggled to stay bright, and Herm had to keep thumping it as Cliff and Moe started wrestling each other, debating who was braver, who would stand firm against the great mystery, “the Goonie Goo Goo.” After all, that was our quest.
The Unveiling
Deep down, I don’t think any of us thought we would actually encounter the beast, and further yet, what we would do if we did. But here we were, a few more yards to go. As the light bobbled and bounced with each step, we heard the thump of its massive foot on the fringes of reveal. We paused as it stomped again towards us, our minds arguing: Run! Stay! See! Go! Safe! Harm!
Our feet, like our deepening curiosity, won out, and we stepped forward like riot police behind a yellowish shield of light. Just a few more… It paused right in front of us as we turned to face it, our minds battered by fear like Rocky against Apollo Creed. Did we have another round in us? Could we take another gut shot of fear?
As the imaginary bell rang in our mind, followed by the rise of the flashlight, the tension was thick as we prepared, crowding together like a football team moving to the line as one. Just as the light struck its target, reflecting large, glowing eyes stared back at us, piercing the night as it let out another deep, huffing exhale of warm air, the smell of sweaty leather overtaking us.
It’s the Goonie Goo Goo! our minds shouted.
But our eyes revealed it as we fell backwards in a surprising escape. Our eyes seeing, there it was, our minds battling confusion like some strange mirage stood before us. Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Skunk Ape, Grassman, Mo-Mo… and we exhaled with a chuckle of disbelief. Was it bigger than we thought? Smaller? Hairier? Bald like a middle-aged Uncle Hermie?
Goonie Goo Goo was a horse. Yes, a horse standing there sniffing the air, looking surprised to see us, but glad. It extended its neck and head over the fence for a nuzzle. We all stood looking at each other as Moe petted our new friend—a horse.
On this evening, the Goonie Goo Goo was a horse: tame and a friendly pet. But in the coming weeks and months, the Goonie Goo Goo would again become a haunting mystery that we would explore. But those are stories for another day.
Backstory and Reflection
We would later learn our Goonie Goo Goo was Wendy Long’s horse, for her family had just recently built a house next to our Ritchie Hills—a beautiful place for a home and to grow up. Those hills, like our hunt for the Goonie Goo Goo, were a treasure to those growing up in Ritchie. The Goonie Goo Goo would be one of many adventures we had growing up… and one of our favorites.
I’m really glad we had these adventures, and hope you’ve enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. These adventures helped frame my youth and combined with my imagination, allowed me to create these stories. Wilmington and Ritchie were great places to grow up: the people, the businesses, the schools, the cars, shooting loops—it created a whole community, all intertwined, with many having long roots.
These stories I do to pay homage to my Uncle Hermie, who was the original brown-chair storyteller and adventurer. It was his stories that planted the seeds to grow my own, and the adventures I shared with some of the best friends a guy could have.
Sadly, a few years after this adventure, we lost Little Hermie: Uncle Hermie’s oldest boy and namesake, my cousin and great friend. I miss him every day. He was a true card, and his happy-go-lucky attitude gave substance to the meaning of “friend.” He passed all too young, as did several of our gang.
Uncle Hermie would face many changes in his life afterwards, as he and my Aunt Margaret would divorce and both remarry, and a new chapter was lived and written. Both Uncle Hermie and my Aunt Margaret have passed. As they left us on to the adventures exploring the golden streets of heaven, they left me with many crumbs sprinkled throughout my life—a lasting impression I hope I do justice in retelling in their stories.
I truly have been blessed with a rich life, not in coin, but in stories, friendships, and family. Thank you, Uncle Hermie.
Till the next adventure, the next story… life is too short, get out and find your trail and blaze it.
(And no Cubs were injured in the telling of this story… LOL.)
