The Secret of the Vu

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Walking through East Bramble near Pittsford, NY on a brisk October day, I spotted one for the first time. I didn’t know what it was at that point. I was rambling around the cemetery after my shift at the post office. It was 1971 and the air was crisp and calm, and the light breeze occasionally shook the leaves above, dry and colored, sounding almost like a wave washing into shore.

I have always loved the tranquil sound of leaves in the wind, and I looked up at the black silhouettes of the tree next to me. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the glow of the moon. That’s when I saw it.

Just one, perched atop the tallest branch, staring right at me with white, unblinking, expressionless eyes. Eyes that seemed to be void of anything, deep troughs into the fabric of space.

I moved closer to the tree until it was about 20 feet above me. It motionlessly followed me, almost like the way the Mona Lisa follows you no matter where you stand.

We held eye contact for what felt like 20 minutes. I just stood there, looking up at it. I was mesmerized.

It never moved. Not even a millimeter. Its eyes just kept on staring. I bent down to grab a stick to throw up at it. I didn’t want to hit it, just see if it would move.

But when I stood up and looked back at it, it had vanished. I had only looked away for a split second. It just disappeared, as if it were merely an illusion in the first place. I looked around the cemetery for any sign of it or something like it. I gave up after an hour or so and headed home.

On the quiet walk back I contemplated what it possibly could have been. A bat? An owl? It didn’t look at all like anything I had seen before.

I went to the library the next day and flipped through every biology and animal identification book I could get my hands on. Nothing.

I didn’t want to fully admit it to myself yet, but I had the rising suspicion that it was not a normal, known animal. I began to ponder what kind of creature it would be. I wondered if maybe a supernatural expert might know something.

And thus began my entry into the secret world of Vuus.

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When I first met Henry, my impression of him was less than stellar. He wore baggy, torn jeans and a huge red-plaid fleece jacket. His scruffy face was narrowed with the overthinker’s frown. His handshake was quick and weak.

We talked about how he got into the supernatural, where he was from, but he quickly moved the topic to what I had seen that night in the cemetery. He was intensely eager to talk about it, and I was pretty curious at that point too, so I obliged.

I told him the whole story and described the thing in great detail. His eyes could not contain his excitement as I regaled him. He told me that what I had seen was an incredibly rare sight and it was a very special thing indeed.

Henry told me that they were called “Vuus.” I had seen one singular “Vu.” Apparently, he said, they were not animals at all, but rather spirits of the woods, which sometimes are visible in very bright moonlight.

Other than that, not much was known about them. Henry mentioned one other thing, however, that stuck in my head for months. He told me that he was searching for a genuine version of the Libra Espiritu — the spirit book. He said it was an ancient record of spiritual phenomenon and if a paranormal investigator got his hands on one, they would be able to sort out fact from fiction.

I spent the next few weeks trying to forget about the Vu and the spirit book.

I began to venture deeper into East Bramble every night after my shift. The walk was usually empty and October was approaching. I went every day except the new moon for the next two months.

Something about the Vuus fascinated a deeply curious part of my brain. As time went on, it wasn’t the memory of the Vu itself that struck me, but the feeling I had while I was in the cemetery that night. It was a feeling of somber peace. As if an inner lake had become very, very still, not even a ripple disturbing the surface.

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On October 31st, 1971, I set out into the woods once again. But this time was different. I could feel it.

Amongst the festivities of Halloween, the children gleefully running about, haunted hayrides and farms opening up their pumpkin patches for Halloween celebration, I felt an inner quiet, the same as before.

After the night died down and the costumed children left the forest to go trick-or-treating, I walked into East Bramble with a different mindset.

I decided that, even though I wanted to see another Vu, I was happy with the moment and had no expectations.

The wind rustled the few dry leaves above and an owl hooted in the distance. The moon was partially cut, shaped like a fat crescent. There were a few wispy clouds, which drifted briskly in front of the glow.

After my walk, I went home no longer feeling any need to spot the Vuu, but with a deep knowing that I would continue looking up at the trees at night for the rest of my life.

I got into bed at 3am and shut off the light. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep. I took one last glance at the moon before rolling over.

I froze.

There it was, perched on the tree in my yard, staring directly at me. I never broke eye contact as I scooted over to see the rest of the tree.

Five.

That’s how many there were perched atop my tree that night. I realized it was not chance that allowed me to see them, but an inner change. Just like how if you stop thinking and listen, you can hear sounds you didn’t realize were there — you could only see Vuus if your inner self was quiet enough.