"Go away, Bahanna. Leave me alone!" he yelled, slamming the door on her.
Holly jumped back as the door slammed in her face. The gruffness of the old Indian startled her, making her wonder if it really was a wise decision to visit him on her own. She thought about getting back in the taxi and leaving, but she decided against it. Something strange was going on at her house, something that could mean danger to her family. Sam Tochi might know the answers to a few of her questions; maybe he could even help her out. She was not leaving until she spoke to him.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to the door and knocked again.
Sam must have been standing just on the other side of the door, waiting for her to leave, because he yelled as soon as she knocked. "Go away," I said. I'm not buying anything."
"I'm not selling anything!" Holly shouted back.
"I'm not filling out any forms either!"
"I'm not a salesman," she said, raising her voice to be heard through the door. "Nor do I have any forms to fill out. I only want to talk with you."
There was a moment of silence, then Sam asked, "Are you from the city? I don't want to talk to you if you're from the city."
She almost smiled. "No. I'm not from the city either."
"I still don't want to talk to you. Go away!"
Holly knocked on the door again, but there was no answer. The old Indian was obviously ignoring her, and he was probably not going to open the door again. Frustrated, she turned around and walked back down the walk to the waiting taxi.
"That didn't go very well," the driver said as she climbed back into the cab.
"Not at all," Holly said, closing the door.
"Where to now?"
"Back home, I guess. I've apparently wasted my time here."
"I told you that old man was crazy. I've given him rides a couple of times, when his truck wasn't running. Thank God, I didn't have to do it often."
The had just reached the end of the street when Holly remembered the newspaper article in her purse. If Sam Tochi wouldn't open the door for her, then perhaps what she needed was a letter of introduction.
"Wait. I've changed my mind," she said, leaning forward in the seat. "I want to go back."
The taxi driver looked t her in his rearview mirror. "What? Are you serious?"
"I'm serious," she assured him. "Turn around. I want to go back and try again."
The driver muttered something under his breath, and then turned the taxi around. "You're lucky this is one of my slow days, otherwise you would be walking right now."
Holly put on one of her sweetest smiles to make him feel better. "I really appreciate this. I promise I won't be long."
The driver brought the taxi to a stop and switched off the engine in front of Sam Tochi's house. "Take your time."
Getting out of the taxi, Holly again walked up to the house and knocked on the front door. When there was no answer, she removed the newspaper clipping from her purse and slipped it under the door. Knocking again, she said, "Please, Mr. Tochi, I need to talk with you. It's very important. My name is Holly Anthony. You probably don't remember me, but you spoke with me last week at the supermarket — in the parking lot. My husband and I live in Vivian Martin's old house. I saw your name in that newspaper article, about the fire at the sawmill, and I wanted to talk with ou—"
The door inched open again. Sam stared at her for a moment, apparently trying to remember her. "I spoke to you? When was this? I don't remember you."
"Last week. In the Kroger parking lot."
"What day?"
"Er, Tuesday. I think."
He looked at her for a moment, the shrugged. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. I don't remember Tuesday. I ran out of my medicine that day. I don't remember much when I run out of my medicine. Sometimes I don't even remember my name.
"You said you live in Vivian Martin's old house?"
Holly nodded. "My husband is her grandson."
The old man squinted his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the side. "I remember you now," he said and nodded. "I knew you would come."
He opened the door wider and invited her in. Holly glanced back at the waiting taxi and then stepped across the threshold, wondering if she wasn't doing something foolish. Sam closed and locked the door, and then led her into the living room. The room was small, crowded with two large leather sofas, a reclining chair, a battered coffee table, and several bookcases.
Holly took the room and furniture in with a glance, her gaze locking on the collection of kachina dolls crowding the bookcases. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of the wooden statues, in all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some of the statues only measured an inch or so in height, while others were at least three feet tall. The taller statues stood in a row along the wall next to the bookcases. Several more of the taller statues sat atop the television set, and in the center of the coffee table.
Sam motioned for her to sit on one of the sofas while he took a seat in the reclining chair. Holly sat down on the smallest of the two sofas, but her gaze remained locked on the collection of statues.
"Keeps ‘em out," Sam whispered, laying the newspaper article on his lap. He removed a pipe from the ashtray beside his chair and lit it with a butane lighter.
Holly hadn't heard what he said. "Excuse me?"
Sam put down the lighter and puffed on his pipe. "I said it keeps them out."
"Keeps what out?" she asked, eyeing the dolls.
Sam lowered his voice and looked around, as though afraid of being overheard. "Boogers. The statues keep the boogers out. But you know that. You live in Vivian Martin's house. She has kachinas too. I know she has some, because she got them from me."
"The kachina dolls in our house came from you?"
His head bobbed up and down. "I gave them to her. Told her they would keep her safe."
"I don't understand," she said.
Sam leaned back in the chair. "Most people do not understand, even when they see the truth. Nor do they believe. I believe. I understand. I saw the truth a long time ago. Saw it when I was just a boy living on the Hopi reservation. Saw it at the village of Hoteville, on Third Mesa. The truth was in our songs, our stories, and in our dances.
"But the Bahannas, the white people, could not see the truth. They were blind to the way of the spirits. They came to our land, built their missions, and then said our ceremonies and dances were evil. Vulgar. They took me away from my parents when I was still young, forcing me to go to the white man's school in Phoenix. There they cut my hair and told me it was wrong to speak my own language. Said it was wrong to be a Hopi.
"they took the truth away from me and I became like they were. I turned my back on the ways of my people, living as a white man would live. I left the reservation and traveled about, looking for work. I came here to live, and again I saw the truth."
"At the sawmill," Holly said.
Sam leaned forward and stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "At the sawmill. That was a long time ago. Too long. Most people around here don't even know about that old mill."
"Vivian Martin has several articles about the fire in a scrapbook."
Sam picked up the newspaper clippings Holly had slipped under the door. He looked at the picture and smiled. "I forgot all about this picture. It was very nice of Vivian to keep it for so long. I was only a teenager then. Still strong. Not old and sick like I am now. And I had many lady friends. They used to cook for me, wash my clothes..."
Holly was afraid the old man was about to get off the subject, and she gently steered him back. "You used to work for the sawmill when you were young. Tell me what happened. How did the fire start? And why did you carry guns to work?"
"You said you read the articles. Did it not tell you how the fire got started?"
Holly knew Sam was being coy with her. Testing her. "I read what they said in the newspapers, but now I want to hear what really happened."
Sam laughed. "I am just an old man. An Indian. Most of the people in thi
s town think I'm crazy. They think my head is filled with old stories. Legends of my people. What makes you think I know the truth?"
"It's a chance I'm willing to take."
He laughed again. "Okay, I will tell you what happened. What I saw. I may have forgotten a few things during my lifetime — might even have forgotten a lot of things — but I will never forget working at that sawmill, or what happened the night of the fire. But it is a long story, especially the way I tell it. I had better make us something to drink first. I have coffee and iced tea, or whisky if you would like something stronger."
"Coffee would be fine," Holly said. She wasn't really thirsty, but she thought to refuse would offend the old man.
Sam nodded and started to get up, but suddenly he inhaled air sharply and sat back down. He placed both hands on the sides of his head and began to tremble, as if he were having a seizure of some kind.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Holly asked, panicked. She jumped up and hurried to the old man, but stopped short of touching him. She didn't know what was wrong, nor did she know what to do for him. She had started to look for a telephone to dial an ambulance, when Sam stopped shaking.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Sam slowly lowered his hands. There were tears in his eyes. "Yes. I am okay now." He nodded, then looked up at her. "Sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."
Holly let out her breath. "You had me concerned. I almost called an ambulance."
"There is nothing they could have done."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I have a brain tumor," he answered, some of the life going out of his voice. "It is only the size of a peanut, but it is getting bigger all of the time."
"Dear God. Can't they operate?"
He shook his head. "Not where it is located. And I won't let them give me chemotherapy. At my age the radiation will kill me faster than the tumor. No. There is not much anyone can do, except give me medicine for the pain.
"As long as I take my medicine it is not so bad, just a few spells like the one I just had. But if I don't take my medicine the pain is very strong. That is what happened last Tuesday. I ran out of medicine and the pain was so bad I did not know who I was, or where I was going. That is why I did not remember you at first. I did not know if I had talked with you, or if it was just something I imagined."
"What about your people?" Holly asked. "Indians are known for their traditional healing methods. Isn't there a herb someone can give you, or a ceremony they can do?"
"It is too late for such things." Sam smiled. "Now, about those coffees."
He started to stand up, but Holly put her hand on his shoulder and stopped him. "You rest, I'll get it," she said. "Just tell me where everything is."
Sam didn't try to argue. He was obviously too weak from the attack he'd just had. Instructed where to find everything, Holly returned to the living room a few minutes later carrying two cups of instant coffee. She set one cup on the table next to Sam's chair and took the other with her to the sofa.
She set the cup of coffee on the table before her. "Tell me about what happened at the sawmill."
Sam took a sip of coffee, then began telling her about the things that had happened at the Hudson County Sawmill over sixty years ago. He took his time, pausing now and then to sip his coffee. As his story progressed, Holly felt a chill settle deep in the pit of her stomach.
Sam was only fourteen when he went to work for the sawmill. He had been working at the mill for a little over two years when the boogers first appeared. No one was sure exactly what they were, or where they had come from. The area had always been rich in stories about strange creatures lurking in the deep woods, and about hobgoblins, but nobody ever paid much attention to them. They were tales told around late-night campfires by old men who wanted to scare the little kids, but the stories dated all the way back to when the Osage Indians lived in the area.
Sam suspected the boogers had started showing up around the sawmill because the forest was being chopped down for lumber. Maybe something else had brought them. Anyway, at first there were only a couple of sightings: someone reported seeing something dart behind a stack of lumber, or a sawdust pile. Those early sightings had been dismissed as imagination, or someone's eyes playing tricks on him.
As the sightings continued, they were credited to raccoons and weasels, though no animals were ever caught anywhere near the sawmill. But then the first of the faces appeared on the floor of the foreman's shack. Everyone thought the face was a joke, drawn by one of the workers. It got a big laugh from everyone until the other faces appeared.
As the number of faces increased, so did the number of shadow sightings. The workers started getting spooked, and pretty soon everyone was talking about ghosts and haints, bring up tall tales and old legends. A couple of men got scared so bad they up and quit. That caused a lot of laughter among the others. The laughter soon died out when the boogers started attacking.
The first man to get attacked was Carl Weinmeyer. Old Carl was always sneaking off to have himself a drink when nobody was looking. You were not supposed to drink on the job, but Carl just couldn't help himself. He had been drinking on the job for so long that he wasn't a very good worker unless he was half-drunk.
One night Carl had gone off to get a nip from the flask he always carried, hiding behind one of the wood piles where it was too dark to be seen by anyone. He was careful not to be seen, because if he got caught by the supervisor he would have been fired. He had just taken himself a little sip of whiskey when he spotted something moving in the darkness. He thought it was a possum at first, but when he looked closer he saw there was nothing there. Just a shadow. According to Carl, this shadow slipped around behind him and grabbed onto his leg. No sooner had it done that then two more shadows rushed at him.
Carl tried to break free of the thing grabbing hold of his leg, but it was real strong. The next thing he knew he was on the ground and there were things all over him. He could feel them holding him, but when he tried to pull one off there was nothing there. Carl had been drinking that night but he wasn't drunk, and he swore he could see something holding him but he couldn't grab it. His hands passed right through the thing.
And these shadows had teeth, and claws. They almost ripped him to shreds before he was able to get free and run for help. A couple of the other workers, including Sam, grabbed lanterns and searched for the creatures that had attacked Carl, but didn't find anything.
Carl's story about being attacked by shadows might not have been believed, except that it happened to another man two nights later. Happened to two more men the following week. By that time everyone knew that something strange was going on at the sawmill, so they started carrying guns. Made sure they didn't go off by themselves, not even to use the bathroom, unless they had someone else with them.
As the weeks went by, however, more and more boogers were spotted. It was like they were coming out of the ground. And that's exactly what was happening.
On the night of the fire a crack had formed in the floor of the foreman's cabin. The foreman himself was in the cabin when a black mass spilled out of the crack. The mass was hundreds of shadows pouring out of the ground like oil.
The workers were terrified, knowing they couldn't fight the things. Guns were useless, as were fists, feet, and knives. The only things the boogers seemed to be afraid of were bright lights and fire. Sam supposed they didn't like anything bright, because they were creatures of darkness. The boogers were as one with the darkness and the night; in the light they basically ceased to be.
Despite what the newspapers said, it was the foreman who ordered the sawmill to be burned. He even started the first fire himself. The fire did what it was supposed to do, driving the boogers back to wherever they came from.
Finding himself out of a job, Sam packed a bag and returned home to the Hopi reservation. He went back to Hoteville, its narrow streets and adobe houses the same reddish brown color as the barren landscape surrounding it. He lived with
his parents, helping them to grow corn, beans, and other vegetables on their tiny plot of land at the base of Third Mesa.
Turning his back on what the white missionaries had taught him at the boarding school in Phoenix, he once again embraced the spiritual beliefs of the Hopi — a world of ceremonies and dances, where kachinas brought blessings from faraway mountains, and Masauwu, the god of fire and guardian of death, walked the night.
In the Puwa-Kiki, the secret cave places, Sam left prayer sticks of carved and painted cottonwood, decorated with strips of colored leather and eagle feathers. Speaking to the spirit of the rattlesnake, he offered gifts of tobacco and sacred cornmeal as he prayed for rain so the crops of his people would grow.
In the underground kivas he became reacquainted with the songs, dances, and stories of the Hopi, including the creation story which tells how the first people had climbed up through a hollow reed from the underground world, emerging through an opening in the earth known as the Sipapuni. That opening was believed to be located at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, but its passageway was now closed to all but the kachinas and the spirits of the dead returning to the underworld. In every kiva a small hole is dug in the center of the ground to represent the Sipapuni. It is placed there so the Hopi people will remember the underground world from which they came, and the spirits and creatures they left behind.
According to the ancient Hopi legends, the first humans had climbed up from the darkness of the lower levels to emerge into the light of the fourth level, the level which we all live upon today.
Sam held up his hand, displaying three fingers. "Count them... one, two, three. Three levels below us. There are many kinds of creatures living on those levels, living in the darkness.
"I told the elders of my village about what I had seen at the sawmill. They said maybe the boogers were from one of the lower levels, trying to get into our world. Maybe they were tired of living in the darkness and wanted to take our world away from us. Perhaps they have found a second Sipapuni to climb through. They are evil things. Things we do not want for neighbors."
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