[2014] Wildwood Shadows Page 4

  I turned just then to see one of the Indians attempting to open the door. This was the younger man with the braided yellow bracelet. I called out to him, rushing toward the door. He jumped backward and then drew a flint blade out from somewhere behind him. I stopped quickly, realizing just then that two others had their bows drawn with arrows aimed right at me. I turned to the others and held my hands out, showing them that I had no weapon drawn. Without waiting for a response, I turned back to the guy with the yarn bracelet and reached over to the doorknob.

  “If you wish to come inside, you must be invited in,” I said gently.

  The man whose vest I now wore hollered something to the others. The way they all stepped back and lowered their weapons, I had to believe it was a reprimand. I turned to the man and then nodded to him as I opened the door. He read my gesture correctly, realizing that I was inviting him into my home.

  Chaaka’thwi

  I was in uncharted territory here and I might have made myself dangerously vulnerable by allowing these people into my home. Upon entering my house, a person could immediately go either upstairs or downstairs just like in any split-level house. I stepped into the house ahead of the Indians, intentionally blocking off the stairs going down. It also gave me a chance to grab the shotgun off the stairs before anyone else did.

  The man with the ball of yarn had inserted himself ahead of the guy who pulled the knife on me. He spoke something to the others, and then led the way for the others to follow him inside. I gestured to the stairs going up, but he just stood there looking at me while the others crowded the doorway behind him. He gave a quick nod and said something I didn’t understand. I gestured to the stairs again, but he merely stood there.

  It was apparent to me that he would not lead the way into another man’s home. I nodded and then started up the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t be threatened by the shotgun in my hand. They followed behind me, expressing their amazement in words I didn’t understand. When I reached the railing in the living room that overlooked the stairs, I realized that their awe wasn’t aimed at the size of my teepee, but rather with the little things. One of them was feeling the spindles beneath the handrail, perhaps wondering how I made them. Another was pulling at the carpet on the stairs, perhaps wondering what animal the tan fur came from. One of them was pointing up at the chandelier over their heads, nudging another as he spoke.

  The man with the ball of yarn was standing next to me as though waiting for something. The others were making very slow progress up the stairs as they inspected the little things. I turned to the two couches and realized that there wouldn’t be enough room for all of them to sit, so I gestured to the floor and then knelt down to take a seat. As he sat down before me, I caught a bit of his scent which wasn’t very pleasant. As a matter of fact, the ones rising on the stairs behind me also emanated a sweaty odor that could have been prevented with a simple bath.

  Such a thing should have been expected, but this wasn’t the kind of stuff portrayed in the movies or in books. I’d already noticed how their teeth weren’t the perfect white Chiclets in neat rows like the Indians in Hollywood. As a matter of fact, I wondered if one of the guy’s dark rotting teeth caused him daily pain. The man I now referred to as Chief in my head spoke something to me and then gestured all around him.

  “I’m not from around here,” I said, also gesturing at the house around us.

  Two of the others sat down on the floor with us while the others walked around the room. I glanced at those around the room, making sure none of them located anything dangerous. The chief spoke something else to me, then patted the carpet. I couldn’t tell if he was asking me to sit closer or asking what animal pelt the carpet was. I didn’t have a chance to answer before someone started shouting words that sounded like “raw butt”.

  Soon, there was a scuffle near the lamp as two Indians appeared to be fighting over something. The chief rose quickly from the floor as the end table lamp fell to the ground.

  “Raw butt! Daktar Daktar!”

  The chief shouted at the two who were already trying to recover the lamp from the floor. Just then, I noticed one of the pictures missing from the small mantle over the fireplace. My mother had kept a few 8 x 10s up there and now I could see one of them in the Indian’s hand. While the chief continued to reprimand his people, the one with the picture held it up to the chief and kept pointing at it, repeating the words “Raw butt” or “Daktar”.

  I stood up and joined the group who had just now returned the lamp to the end table. The picture he was showing the chief was our last family picture from about 3 years ago. He was repeatedly tapping the picture, pointing to my dad’s face. Suddenly, I understood his words.

  He wasn’t saying Raw butt, but rather “Robert”. And the other word I didn’t understand was probably “doctor”.

  “Do you know him?” I sputtered, reaching over and pointing to my dad’s face, “Robert?”

  “Robert! Doctor!” he said.

  The chief took the photo and then pointed to the younger version of me. He then pointed to me where I was now.

  “Yes,” I said, pointing to the picture and then pointing to myself, “Doctor?”

  I asked again, gesturing with my hands in the air to ask where he was.

  “Doctor!” the chief replied, then pointed out the door.

  He turned to the others and said a few sentences rapidly. The two with bows rushed down the stairs and fumbled with the doorknob until they got it to open. Then they were gone.

  The chief held up the picture again and then pointed to my picture. He raised his eyes in question.

  “Me,” I said.

  He pointed to me and repeated what I’d said.

  “No, not me,” I pointed to the picture and then said my name.

  He pointed to me and said “Charlie.”

  I nodded and smiled at him.

  When I pointed to the photo of my dad, the chief smacked the living room wall and then gestured around him.

  “He’s at your home,” I muttered, realizing that ‘home’ could be just about anywhere.

  Happy, but at the same time saddened by this news, I stared at the photo a little while longer. Then I offered to show the chief around the house. The others followed while I introduced them to the novelties of my era. I showed them the lighter and the flashlight in the kitchen. Both of these brought a lot of chatter from my guests. I wished for a moment that I could understand them.

  I showed them my bed, hoping they didn’t notice how messy my room was. Thankfully, my smelly guests didn’t choose to lie down on the bed to test it out. I picked up my soccer ball and bounced it on the ground for them to see. Then, when I located my old Gameboy SP, I turned it on to show them where I’d left off on my Final Fantasy game. Oddly enough, this seemed to frighten them a little at first. I shut it off and returned it to my dresser.

  I showed them my mom’s room, keeping them away from the gun safe. I located my mom’s sewing basket and opened it to offer them more of the yarn. One of the younger Indians immediately grabbed a skein of purple yarn, but the chief snatched it from him and put it back. He reprimanded him. Instead of giving up, the young man removed the leather cord from around his neck and offered it to me. In the center of the necklace between several small shells was what appeared to be a dinosaur tooth or a single claw from a bear. I’d guess more accurately that it was the latter.

  I reached into the basket and took the purple yarn. I handed it to the young man who in turn handed me his necklace with a wide smile. I smiled back at him and put the necklace on. One of the others said something before rushing out of the room. He returned a moment later with the lighter from the back of the stove. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to lose this since I wasn’t skilled at making fire any other way. There were probably a total of three or four lighters in the house, but that still didn’t seem like enough.

  The Indian removed a flint tomahawk from the back of his pants and offered it to me. I looked to the chief w
ho watched me in return. I reached into my mom’s basket and took out a ball of blue yarn. I offered it to the man. He shook his head and held up the lighter. I shook my head and reached for the lighter. The Indian suddenly looked mad as he pulled it closer to him.

  The chief said something to him, but the man seemed to argue. I held up the ball of blue yarn and then located a spool of silver thread. I held both out to him. The thread caught his eye, but he didn’t quite look ready to make a trade. I located the end of the thread and pulled out several inches of the fine silver string. I had everyone’s attention. I then grabbed the pin cushion from the basket and found one of her larger sewing needles. I threaded the silver string through the needle and then lifted my leg to the bed. I proceeded to sew through my jeans, making about three loops through the fabric before the Indian tossed the lighter onto the bed. He spoke something, nodding and pointing to the needle.

  I poked the needle into the spool of thread, then handed him both the blue yarn and the silver thread. His smile appeared a little forced, but he was willing to trade for the tomahawk. I had no need of such a thing, but I wanted to make it known to these people that I was a friend and willing to share with them if they were willing to share with me. Come winter, I may need their help more than anything else in this world.

  I took the lighter and put it in my pocket. I led the way out into the hallway before starting down the stairs. Just then, we heard some shouting outside. I opened the door to discover three men running out of the woods and into my yard. Two of the men were Indians and the other was a ragged white man with long brown hair. They stopped suddenly, trying to catch their breath as they stared at the house.

  “Charlie!” the white man choked out.

  Just then, I recognized the man. It was my father.

  Metaahthwi

  “You brought the house with you?” my dad laughed as he wrapped me in a tight embrace, “How’d you manage that one?”

  “Are you kidding?” I burst, “I didn’t even plan to bring myself! You did this – not me!”

  I stepped out of the dirty man’s embrace and looked at him. His joyous expression angered me even further. He looked to have aged ten years since I’d last seen him. Creases that never used to exist now lined the corners of his eyes and his forehead. His hair was long now but it didn’t look shiny and straight like the Indians he imitated. As it had grown, it came in wavy and ratty looking, so he probably had it tied back into a ponytail to minimize its wild nature.

  “Wait a minute,” he paused, “How did you get here? How old are you now, son?”

  “I’m seventeen. You’ve been gone for nearly two full years now,” I replied, “And how I got here is the question indeed. One minute I was lying on the floor playing my video game and the next, I was here.”

  “You mean, you weren’t downstairs messing with my equipment?” he asked, appearing somewhat shaken by this realization, “Where’s your mother?”

  “She was at work. She’s been working a lot ever since you left us,” I said, hoping it stung a little, “And no, I never messed with your equipment. I actually viewed that whole room with a bit of contempt even while you were still around.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. Someone behind me spoke a few words that I didn’t understand. My dad opened his eyes and then replied in their language. He spoke many words before looking back to me.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Charlie. I never meant for you to come here,” he said.

  “I don’t want to be here, Dad!” I sputtered, “Whether you meant to bring me here or not, I’m here and I want to go back home. Where is ‘here’ anyway. Actually, I mean when is ‘here’?”

  “When?” he took a deep breath, then looked at the house again, “All I can say is that it’s pre-1500s. The Spanish haven’t brought small pox to these people yet, but I fear that’s coming soon enough. As near as we can tell, there were no tribes here in this part of Northeast Ohio when the Europeans started settling this area in the early 1700s.”

  “So we’re about to face a plague here?” I asked a little too abruptly, “With no electricity, running water, or medicine?”

  “No. I’m about to face this thing. You however… well, you’re going back,” he said.

  “How?”

  My father walked over to the house and hit the front of it near the window. He stepped back and stared at the thing with his hands on his hips, then glanced over at the half garage. The garage door had finally buckled inward at some point due to its lack of support on the right side.

  “How? We’re going to build a power plant on the river. There’s enough copper wire inside these walls and also inside all the electrical cords. If we need more, we can tear the copper piping out of the walls and make more wire. And with the amount of aluminum on the outside of the house, we can create more wire if necessary to bring the electricity to the equipment downstairs,” he replied, “And we can get magnets from all sorts of motors or speakers inside the house. Won’t be a problem as far as I can tell.”

  “We’re going to build some sort of plant on the river and then run the electricity up here from a half mile away?” I asked.

  “No, that’s too far,” he replied with a smile, “We’re bringing the equipment back to the Shawnee village near the river. You’re coming to live with us, kid.”

  Wiisi

  My father was now in the garage rummaging through the tool box. I had followed him as he barked out orders to the nine or ten Indians who were more than willing to relieve us of our tools. I’d already watched as one Indian left carrying two shovels, a handsaw, and a chainsaw. Another left with the remains of the mower and the 2-gallon can of gasoline. Even more curiously, dad loaded up another man with power tools such as a circular saw, a jigsaw, a drill, and some extra blades.

  He was now dumping a bunch of boxes of nails and screws into the small toolbox he had always kept the hand tools in. I took the axe and the rake down from the wall hooks, expecting that the Indians would be needing these as well.

  “Why would I be going to their third-world village instead of staying here?” I asked, “They’re nice enough people it seems, but I’m not sure that these people even bathe. And wouldn’t this house provide better protection from the animals and mosquitoes – not to mention the elements?”

  He turned and handed the Craftsman box to the guy I called Chief. He also grabbed two heavy-duty extension cords off the wall and looped them around the chief’s arm. I offered the axe to him, but Dad brushed me away.

  “No, we’re going to need that here to bust through some walls,” he said.

  “Dad, are you listening to me? We need this house! I don’t want to live in a teepee!” I said.

  “First of all, they don’t live in teepees. You’re mixing them up with the western Indians. And second of all, you’re being rude,” he said, reaching out and lifting the shoulder portion of my vest, “Do you realize that Grey Wolf’s vest hasn’t been washed in a week or more? Do you think you’ll be bathing or washing your clothes here in this house?”

  “No, but-”

  “This house was built for a world with furnaces and air conditioners. Without these conveniences, you’ll find that the house is sweltering hot in the summer and freezing in the winter – even if you use the fireplace in the winter or open the windows in the summer,” he said, “The house is out of place in this world, Charlie. It doesn’t work. If you want to survive, you will go to a place that was built for these summers and winters. And you will respect those who are willing to share their world with you.”

  “I do respect them,” I replied, “And I realize that they know plenty more about survival in the wild than I do. I just don’t think we should completely destroy this house. Surely the structure is worth something to this ancient world.”

  He turned to me and nodded. He took the axe from me and then walked past me to the garage wall. He then swung it over his shoulder and imbedded the large blade into the wall. He yanked it out and then hi
t the wall again, achieving nothing more than two rather small holes. He set the axe down and took the sledgehammer from the floor. He swung it over his shoulder and punched a larger hole in the wall. He hit it two more times, tearing through a large portion of drywall.

  He turned to me and handed me the sledgehammer. He then pointed toward the hole he just made in the wall.

  “This house is worth something to this world especially if you ever intend to return home. If you look through that hole I just made, you’ll see some heavy-duty wires. Thick copper wires made up of smaller copper wires,” he said, then picking up a large box-fan that we put in the window on cool evenings, “Inside this motor or the speakers inside your stereo, we’ll find some magnets. We’ll also find copper wire in this motor. The cord contains aluminum wire most likely, which will suffice for running the electricity from the river. Any good electric generator requires magnets, a lot of copper wire, and something to spin the magnets around. The flowing river will serve to spin the turbine we’re going to make.”

  “Would you please just slow down a second?” I groaned, dropping the sledgehammer onto the floor, “Don’t you find this all a bit odd. I mean, with the way you’re acting, it’s like…”

  I blew out a long breath and turned to leave the garage.

  “You mean: I’m not going crazy with excitement about seeing you here? I’m not asking about your Mom and checking to see how she’s doing? I’m not asking about how school has been going?” he asked, setting the fan down and walking toward me, “I’m not apologizing about my disappearance?”

  “Yes, Dad,” I turned to him, my teeth clenched in distress, “Yes to all of those questions.”

  He stopped and put his hands on his hips, looking up to the ceiling with his mouth agape. I could hear his heavy breathing in the quiet garage. Only the birds dare interrupt the silence.