Tales of Alpha Company: Running Scared
Alex Piechota, United States Marine Corps
My first duty station when I served in the Marine Corps (2013-18) was Naval Base Kitsap. Some of my duties consisted of driving Humvees and Bearcats around our area of operation at any time. Day or night. We usually chose late shifts because the posts were more relaxed. Less eyes on you.
The base is located in Bangor, Washington, which is a dark, gloomy place that rains 8 months straight. Seattle is a 90-minute drive and ferry ride away, so there wasn't much to do around Kitsap. When we were on post, we conducted our military drives at night to secluded areas. The tight space inside those vehicles accommodated five Marines: the driver and team leader up front, gunner in the turret, two riflemen seated in back. For entertainment, we shared stories based on true events. Bangor was rumored to be haunted (as relayed by junior Marines, who learned from senior Marines, who were told by previous generations of Marines). We patrolled beneath Ponderosa Pines and Douglas Firs where the lore of these stories took place in hopes of conjuring something up. The two main legends consisted of the Mag Runner and the JIG (Jawless Indigenous Girl).
The Mag Runner was reported to live inside a restricted area and his shadow could be seen running the mags. "The Mags" are rows of large grass hills that enclose storage garages. You only run the mags when you're an incoming boot getting hazed or a senior Marine getting punished for doing something wrong. The Mag Runner received his name after he took his own life on top of a specific mag. Some people claim to have seen the shadow, but I personally have not.
Like I said, not much to do at Kitsap. Sometimes, I went out by myself on PT runs in that area at night. No towers or teams were static in this area, so only one team would rove through there every now and then, leaving that location very secluded. I would wear green-on-green with a glow belt and a mounted headlamp to avoid getting hit by a roving Bearcat or Humvee. Besides that, in case of an emergency, I carried a radio to communicate with my team.
The site where the Mag Runner died lacked streetlamps. Cast from nearby buildings was a faint light, giving that setting a very noir look, and from being alone on those late-night runs, my mind would start to wander. With every stride, the Mag Runner would be in my head. My adrenalin would then pick up as I turned a dark corner, and my thoughts jumped from worrying that he was staring at me to freaking out that he was in the shadows racing next to me. The hairs on my neck would stand while I hit a sprint, the beam from my headlamp bouncing along the mag. The road made a perfect loop for a makeshift track, and I returned to the light at my starting point around the corner. No one I knew had ever seen the Mag Runner or could put a face to his name, but we all know that feeling of being watched by him, his shadow, his presence.
But the most popular legend of Bangor is the JIG, the Jawless Indigenous Girl. She was named after an Indigenous girl who lost her jaw after being shot in the face by early settlers. In the middle of the forest only reachable by Humvee, there is an abandoned memorial grave. At a nearby post, she haunts Marines by opening and closing doors, shifting things around, slamming drawers, shutting off lights, livid from her ability to talk stolen at such a young age.
The most famous story is when it had been raining hard in Bangor, enough to flood the average city, and the radio watch picked up a figure at the post's front entry. He alerted his Team Leader, and everyone surrounded his computer monitor, watching silently, knowing. They investigated outside--nothing there. An hour later, JIG appeared on the back entry camera and before the team could rush outside, the screen blipped off.
All the power died.
Left in complete darkness, they got spooked and started calling for backup over the radio. The other team was far away, so they gathered inside the berthing area, tighter than any Humvee ...waiting.
