[2014] Wildwood Shadows Page 3

  I was still dressed from the day before, so I was pretty much ready for my expedition to the river. I grabbed a Ziploc bag from the pantry and filled it with some Cheerios. With the knife and the shells in my pockets, I had no place to carry my breakfast with me, so I just took some clear tape and taped the baggie to the stock of the shotgun. I was still banking on the thought of not having to use the thing, but if I did, I was willing to lose my Cheerios in the process.

  I then went to the bathroom and located the mosquito spray in the cabinet under the sink. I quickly sprayed all my exposed flesh and then returned the can to the cabinet.

  The only thing I needed now was a compass and as far as I knew, we didn’t have one in the house. Although it would be a straight shot from my house to the river, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to maintain such a perfect path through the woods. I especially wasn’t sure I could find my way back without getting lost. My only hope of making the trip to the river and back without getting lost would be found in my mom’s sewing basket.

  I located the basket near the foot of her bed, not far from the gun safe. I had my choice of colors when it came to skeins of yarn. Since I most certainly didn’t want to lose my way, I chose the bright orange yarn and the yellow one to bring with me. Now, I was set to begin my short journey to the river.

  I took the key to the gun safe and my house key with me after locking the front door. I stepped back and looked at the house one more time, hoping I’d see it again soon. If it took me even twice as long to get to the river as it usually did, I’d still be back by lunch time.

  I walked over to the south side of my house which was the opposite side as the garage. The Cuyahoga River was located about a half mile south of my home on Hiwood Avenue, so this was definitely the direction of the river if I indeed was now living in the past. I located the end of the orange yarn and drew out a couple meters of it. When I got to the edge of the forest, I wound the string around the wide base of the tree and then tied it off. Tucking the skeins of yarn under my left arm and propping the shotgun on my right shoulder, I began my journey into the woods.

  Niswaathwi

  Every ten or twenty meters, I linked part of the yarn through the loose bark on a tree. Sometimes I even tied it around the tree if it wasn’t too wide. The yarn played out easily as I navigated the untamed forest. I had already seen two deer before the house was fully out of sight behind me. Rabbits, squirrels, and birds were plentiful. Also plentiful were briars, thorns, and spider webs. Some of the briars even found their ways beneath my jeans and onto my socks.

  The journey was not as easy as I’d expected. Knowing the lay of the land, I had thought it would pretty much be the same with the exception of a million trees now. But the land had probably never seen the likes of a human, not to mention a bulldozer. I had to make my way over fallen trees, some of them older and more rotten than others. I also had to navigate around small swamps that definitely didn’t exist in my time. I might have been exaggerating by calling them swamps, but they were fairly large bodies of standing water covered with algae.

  It didn’t seem like I’d been walking long before the orange yarn ran out. I tied it to the end of the yellow yarn and continued onward, making sure to link it through some portions of loose bark as I went. At one point, I saw a black bear in the distance. It hadn’t seen me and I stopped for a moment, hoping it would continue not seeing me. I took that moment to open the baggie of cereal and eat my breakfast. By the time I’d finished eating, the bear was no longer to be seen.

  I was starting to get worried as the yarn beneath my armpit started to feel limp and insufficient. I still hadn’t found an end to this forest and I didn’t have much more yarn left to mark my way back. There was no way I’d continue onward without more yarn.

  Just then, the birds silenced just enough for me to make out the sound of water. It sounded as though the falls in the river hadn’t changed one bit over the years, or actually, over the centuries. I continued onward, hoping the yarn would make it the rest of the way. I climbed over a fallen tree and through another painful patch of briars before I was able to see the river through the trees. I now had about four more meters of yarn and probably twenty more meters of forest before I reached the river. It would be risky, but I would have to go ahead and tie off the yarn and then make sure to mark the spot where I would later exit the woods.

  I made sure my exit was a straight shot from the tree where I tied off the yellow yarn. My journey brought me to a weedy gravel beach alongside the river. There was no doubt whatsoever that this was the Cuyahoga. The land beneath the river continued to drop gradually, causing the waves to tumble over the small falls continually from the city of Munroe Falls on through the city of Cuyahoga Falls. By the time the river left Cuyahoga Falls several miles from here, it would have gradually dropped more than fifty feet – hence the name of these two joined cities.

  I don’t know if I was happy to see the river or disappointed. At least I knew where I was and I could guess with certainty that I’d travelled at least a few hundred years into the past. I set my shotgun down and took off my shirt. I tied it to a thorn bush to mark my exit from the woods. I then retrieved my weapon and walked along the river’s edge. A heron with a wingspan as big as me flew lazily along the river. I watched it as it passed the spot where a bridge would one day be. I had no trouble envisioning it all since the river itself looked very much the same.

  As I got closer to the water, I noticed something I’d never seen in my time. The river was literally teeming with fish, some of them as long and wide as my arm. I’d never seen a single fish in this river and I came down here often over the years. I stared down into the clear water for several minutes as probably a dozen or more fish passed by. This still amazed me.

  I looked up just in time to see an Indian watching me from across the river. He was a handsome creature dressed only in a tan-colored animal skin that covered his legs like pants. He didn’t wear any of the beady jewelry I often saw on the movies, but he did have a thin leather cord across his forehead with two long feathers dangling down over his left ear. He held a spear in his left hand, but not in a threatening way. If I had to guess, I’d say he was probably a teenager like myself or a little older.

  I raised my hand in greeting, making sure to keep my shotgun pointed downward so as not to threaten him. He shouted something in a tone that sounded angry to me. I replied with a shrug, hoping he realized that I didn’t understand him.

  He took a few steps down the river and lifted a cord from the ground that had been strung through the mouths of four fish. He held up the cord, shouted something, and then turned abruptly and disappeared into the woods. I suddenly wanted to meet him and his people in spite of the obvious dangers. I’d often been intrigued by the American Indians, but according to Ohio history, there were none in this portion of Ohio when the Europeans arrived. Southern Ohio had its Indian population as well as parts of Ohio near Lake Erie, but this particular region had none – at least not during the past several hundred years anyway.

  I almost wanted to throw up at that thought. If I just saw an Indian, that meant I traveled back in time more than five hundred years. I looked down at that very familiar river again and realized that this couldn’t be true. Surely this river would be different if I traveled that far back in time.

  I glanced across the river again, examining the woods for more Indians. I could still see the doorway into the woods where the Indian had left me. I wondered for a moment what would happen if I’d followed him. But there was no bridge to cross the river. Granted, it probably never got any deeper than two or three feet, but I wasn’t ready to get wet today. I also didn’t know if he was as angry as he sounded. If I had to guess, I’d say he was showing off his catch and sending some taunts off in my direction.

  The Indian had carried no net or fishing pole with him, so if I had to guess, I’d say he speared those fish from the river’s edge. Looking down into the water, I could imagine how easy such a task was. A
s a fan of seafood, I’d have to keep that in mind when I ran out of food in the pantry.

  I returned to my shirt where it still remained in the bush. I put it on and then turned back to the river. Suddenly I was presented with a small army of Indians standing on the other side. There had to be between ten and twenty of them staring at me from the other side and some of them were armed with spears or archery. My shotgun lay in the gravel next to me where I left it as I got dressed.

  I no longer wanted to visit with these people. I mentally counted the rounds in the shotgun. I had six before I’d have to reload. If they weren’t frightened by the power of my futuristic weapon, then they’d probably kill me before I could reload.

  Someone hollered from the other side of the river. This came from an Indian who wore a vest of dark leather adorned in beads and feathers. His pants were similar to the other Indians. He had long black hair just like most of the others, but several of his braids at the front were decorated in beads and small feathers. He hollered something again. This time, I thought it would be best if I answered.

  “I’m sorry but I don’t understand,” I hollered, holding out my hands so they could see I wasn’t armed, “I don’t speak your language.”

  Three of the Indians started conferring with each other and then the one who had spoken for them shouted something again. He held up his bow and shook it in the air. I could only identify that as a threat, so I slowly knelt down and retrieved my shotgun.

  “I don’t want to fight. I actually need friends if I’m going to survive here,” I shouted, “I’m not from around here.”

  One of the Indians stepped into the river, making odd gestures with his hands. I needed to get away before they all took to the river and rushed after me. I couldn’t afford to begin my second day here by killing half a tribe of Indians. I replied the only way I knew how. I shrugged, smiled, and then turned to my entrance into the woods.

  I really had no choice but to return home to my arsenal in the gun safe. I heard them shout a few more things to me as I made my way back into the woods. I recognized a spot where my foot had sunk down into the mud on the way here, so I knew I was headed in the right direction. Moments later, I found the yellow yarn that would lead me back home. I followed it, wondering if I’d ever brave going to the river again.

  Thwaasikthwi

  The sun wasn’t even directly overhead by the time I returned home. If I had to guess, I’d say it was around eleven in the morning. I relocked the door after I entered the house and immediately took off my shoes and socks. There were still three briars attached to my socks and two near the bottom of my jeans. I scratched my lower calves with all my might, finding temporary relief from the itching.

  I eventually made my way to the bathroom and located the calamine lotion inside the medicine cabinet. I sat down on the toilet and covered my ankles and calves in lotion. Afterward, I returned to the gun safe and unlocked it. Whether the handguns were heavy or not, I was going to carry a sidearm as well as a shotgun. I decided to go with the Glock.

  I took it out of the safe and removed it from the canvas holster. I hit the clip release with my thumb and was surprised to find that the clip inside the gun had been fully loaded with ammunition. I cocked the gun and it ejected a round that had been in the chamber. I didn’t like the concept of carrying a gun that was just a trigger-pull away from firing. I reinserted the clip and then returned the gun to the holster. I was now going to have to find my belt if I planned on carrying this thing around with me.

  I brought the shotgun and the Glock with me to my bedroom, feeling a little more secure now. I hated the idea of preparing for war, but I really had no choice. If I had shown up here without anything but my shorts and my 3DS, I was fairly certain they would have killed me today. Being fully dressed and carrying something silver and shiny, they probably didn’t know what to make of me or what I was carrying. They didn’t know if I was dangerous or not.

  I located my belt underneath my bed. After donning the belt along with the Glock, I felt all the more ready to face my adversary if indeed they posed a threat. Unfortunately, I continued to feel more and more uncomfortable as I weighed down my pants with shells, a utility knife, and now a heavy Glock. I wished suddenly for a set of military BDUs with all those extra pockets.

  Feeling like a cowboy out of the old west, I ambled back into the dining room and examined the glass door that led to the deck. Although I didn’t expect the Indians to come and attack me at my home, I suddenly felt very vulnerable especially when it came to this particular door. I wished we had some spare slabs of drywall or sheets of plywood. We had nothing at all in the garage that I could use to protect me from the bucks, caribou, bears, or Indians.

  I pulled the chairs out from the dining room table and then flipped the table over on its side. I then propped it up against the double glass doors. Although it only covered the bottom half, it served as an obstacle for whatever animal or human eventually shattered the windows. That obstacle could give me the time I needed to grab a weapon and start shooting.

  Pleased with myself, I returned to the chairs and set them up along the walls. If I ever had guests in the house, there were more places for them to sit. I chuckled at this thought and then decided it was time to check the status of the refrigerator.

  I went into the kitchen and opened the freezer door. The temperature inside the freezer was no different than in the kitchen. I grabbed a package of frozen hamburger from the back of the freezer and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was soft and no longer cold at all. I peered into the ice bin and found it to be about half full of water. I’d leave that alone, but as far as the other stuff, I needed to find a way to get rid of it before the house started smelling like sewage. I grabbed the kitchen trash can and brought it to the freezer. I then dumped as much of the food into the can as I could until it was near bursting. I wouldn’t be able to tie off the trash bag liner, so I settled on taking the whole can outside.

  I dragged the can down the steps and out the front door. For the time being, I’d store the garbage in the large refuse can that we kept on the south side of the house behind the cedar bushes. Ultimately I’d probably have to bury the contents, but I’d save that for another day. I opened the enormous refuse container and dumped the kitchen can into it. I closed it again and then returned to the kitchen to load up a second trip of trash.

  By the time I was done cleaning it out, I was left with three apples, a bottle of Gatorade, half a pitcher of iced tea, and two cans of Mountain Dew. I also kept the bottle of hot sauce and the ketchup since I didn’t believe these truly had to be refrigerated anyway. And I kept the plastic lemon that we used on shrimp and fish. Beyond that, the refrigerator and freezer were empty.

  Before closing the fridge, I took one of the cans of Mountain Dew and cracked it open. It was warm, but I didn’t really care. Before long, I’d be drinking the melted ice from the ice bin and I wasn’t sure how clean that bin really was.

  For probably the tenth time since I’d arrived here, I went to the sink and attempted to wash my hands. I groaned as I slammed the faucet lever back down. Eventually I’d get used to having no running water, but the sight of a sink or a bathtub nearby continued to mess with my head.

  I tied off the last bag of garbage and removed it from the kitchen trash can. I took it with me out the front door and over to the trash can near the cedars. After I dumped it into the can, I turned to discover three Indians standing at the edge of the forest. I gasped aloud, realizing that I didn’t have the shotgun with me.

  One of the Indians - the same man who wore the ornamental vest and had shouted to me before - reached forward, holding a softball-size coil of orange yarn. He had just finished taking down all the yarn I’d put up this morning to guide my way to the river and back. The other two Indians were already coming forward, staring up at the house as they muttered words of awe in their native tongue. I noticed just then that one of them was wearing a bracelet of braided yellow yarn. The other had a long
cord of orange yarn tying his long hair into a ponytail.

  I realized just then that my hand was on the Glock at my side, but I hadn’t yet unsnapped the strap. The two Indians who were amazed by my house were currently inattentive of me as they approached the front of the structure. The man in the beaded vest took another step forward, presenting me with the ball of yarn. I sighed and then waved him off, letting him know that the damage was done and that he needn’t return the yarn to me. He came two steps closer, bringing himself within reaching distance of me.

  Just then, I noticed that there were three or four more Indians still hiding in the forest watching our exchange. The man in the dark vest appeared to be offering me the ball of yarn back. I reached out and placed my hands over the ball of yarn, then I gently pushed it to him while offering a smile and nodding. He immediately smiled back at me, then quickly removed his vest and offered it to me.

  I was startled suddenly by this selfless gesture on his part. Residing now in an ancient world dominated by Indians, I obviously wanted that ornamental vest of his to help me not to stand out so much. But it definitely wouldn’t be fair to trade it for a useless ball of yarn. He probably spent a lot of time decorating the vest, not to mention making the vest itself in the first place. The yarn meant nothing to me. He looked worried all of a sudden. He reached out with the ball of yarn again, offering it to me. I waved my hands again, shaking my head as I pushed it toward him. He smiled again, offering me his vest. Figuring it would be best to accept this, I smiled and took the vest from him.

  He nodded to me, eying the vest. Hoping I was understanding his gestures correctly, I removed my shirt and put the vest on. The others who had been hiding in the woods behind him now came out into the open. I was now surrounded by half a dozen Indians and my shotgun was still inside. I doubted now that the weapons would have been necessary anyway.