by Gaby Triana
An overweight white man with cropped black hair and black glasses waved at me out the front seat of Kane’s rental. I waved back, feeling bad for how obese the man was given how young he looked. Our airboat needed to be delicately balanced between all weighted persons and objects.
“You know our host, Sharon Roswell.” He pointed to the blonde woman I’d seen guiding viewers through crumbling sanatoriums and haunted theaters. She stared at her phone, detached, unaware that Kane was introducing her to me. Then, he pointed to another woman, an elderly lady with light auburn cotton candy hair. “And our ghost consultant, Linda Hutchinson. She prefers the term medium.” He chuckled.
“Hello!” Linda waved from the window.
“Nice to meet everyone. I’m Avila Cypress. I do the airboat tours on the reservation. I hope you brought sunscreen and plenty of water. We should get moving.”
Tapping the hood of my truck, I quickly climbed in behind the steering wheel, just so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore. Though I was used to giving tours, being in front of a real, live production crew for a show I actually watched made me nervous.
As I drove up the access road, I tried to figure out if I was scared for good reason or simply because my family had put the fear in me about the place since I was little. A memory of Uncle Bob chastising John for attempting to visit Villegas House one time came to me.
My father didn’t die in vain so we could make a mockery of that spot, Uncle Bob had told him. It’s a burial ground now. No one is to ever step foot there again. Last thing we need are gladesmen breathing down our backs.
He’d meant we didn’t need more confrontation with the area’s hunters. The weird thing is, gladesmen and traditional Indians weren’t all that different. We both lived in camps, migrated according to the season, rode our airboats, hunted and fished, though many of my tribe refused to eat fish from our mercury-tainted waters. Gladesmen passed their way of life on to their young ones just like we did. Some called them rednecks or Cajuns of South Florida. Some called them sawgrass cowboys.
Gladesmen invented the airboat to navigate the marshlands when the Miccosukee were still using dugout canoes. They existed today in much the same way Miccosukee did—marginally—growing more frustrated with their diminishing existence. I’d never known any personally, but I’d run into them before. Always felt intimidated when I’d seen them in town or passing by on my airboat.
I believed my grandfather had tried going up there to ease tensions, using diplomatic tactics to settle the score between the two groups. But the gladesmen weren’t having it and killed Rutherford, his wife, his two assistants, and my grandfather. Murdered in cold blood for no good reason. When county police arrived to investigate, they found seven dead. The two gladesmen brothers were dead too, their bodies rotting away, as alligators and turtles lingered in the perimeter.
For some reason, police left without concluding their investigation, and area locals had to come bury the bodies themselves. What lived in Villegas House that made them vacate as quickly as they’d arrived?
My brain tingled with nervous excitement.
As we arrived at the edge of the waterway, I cut off my truck’s engine. Nothing bad is going to happen, I kept telling myself. Cameras might capture an orb or two, they might get a few words on their ghost voice box, but mostly, the wilderness would provide most of the entertainment. I’d get paid, we’d all go home…no harm done.
The party bustled to unload, drop the boat into the water, and get everything aboard. It was a large airboat used for tours, the kind with two levels of seats—five on the upper, five on the lower, with an area underneath the elevated scaffolding to hold all cargo—cameras, black boxes containing tech stuff, tripods, and backpacks.
As everyone carefully stepped in, my worry stuck to the big dude. I didn’t want to offend him, but he was going to have to sit in the middle two seats to keep the boat balanced. An airboat was nothing more than a motorized skiff, flimsy enough to skim the surface and cut through tall grass. Choosing a nice sized wading stick off the ground, I thanked Mother Earth for it then threw it into the boat, pushing it to one side.
Once everything was settled, I passed out life vests and ear protection and then Kane stood, propped one foot up on an empty seat. “Alright, anyone have any questions?”
“What do we do if we sink?” Sharon asked. Everyone laughed nervously, shooting looks at her, as if they knew she’d start acting up.
“You swim for the nearest edge,” I said.
All eyes fell on me.
“But you won’t sink. You got yourselves a decent airboat here, and I’m a certified operator. Just keep a few things in mind: airboats have no brakes. If I see something coming toward us, I can only release the gas and veer off to the side. That’s why I won’t be driving fast. Better to take our time. Also, keep your hands inside the boat at all times.”
“Because…why?” Quinn asked.
“Because gators.” I shifted my gaze to his skeptical face. “They jump.”
“Good Lord, what do you mean they jump?” Linda pressed a manicured hand to her chest.
I raised my eyebrows. “I mean, they jump. Out of nowhere, sometimes. See the guard rails? They’re your friends. The Everglades are beautiful but don’t be tempted to stick your hand in the water. Any other questions?”
Nobody spoke up.
“Alright, Kane, I think we’re good.”
“Let’s do it.” Kane clapped once and rubbed his hands together with excitement, like a kid getting ready for a big race.
I sank into my seat, put my ear gear on, and turned on the engine. The airboat roared to life, as a few egrets rose into the air and flew away. My passengers all exchanged excited glances. I felt their exhilaration. Today, everything changed. Today, I conquered old fears.
I allowed myself to take in the moment. Be present. Release all guilt.
The warm morning air, sun on my face, brackish water and sawgrass all calmed me. This was my home turf. I was in my element. In about two hours, we would arrive at Villegas House. I couldn’t wait to see it, rotting and all. I had to hand it to Kane and Eve—it was the perfect setting for an episode. As long as we got past the front steps, everything would be just fine.
FIVE
Big Cypress—vast wet wilderness.
Still pristine, still ancient.
One of the only places left in the world where you could drive a buggy or an airboat for days and days and never see another person. Even though these lands were protected as part of the national park system, its inhabitants’ lifestyles was protected too—the Miccosukee, the Seminole, the gladesmen—and that made us just as vital to life of this ecosystem. This mosaic of cypress trees was our canvas, and the creatures living here were God’s works of art.
I wasn’t sure anyone else on the boat saw the watery grasslands the way I did. They probably saw an overgrown wasteland. What they didn’t know was just how delicate everything was underneath the surface. Life depending on life, depending on water cycles, and to think of the number of times in history where that delicate balance almost went to shit thanks to government.
As my guests and I delved deeper into the glades, we saw the familiar clusters of cypress trees popping up like domes, an above-ground inversion of the rain-filled basin from which they grew. We saw dollar sunfish and large mouth bass, catfish and yellow bullheads. Flying overhead were wood storks, roseate spoonbills, and egrets. I pointed out the various landscapes, such as prairies, hammocks, pinelands, swamps, and estuaries.
To me, they were beautiful. But studying my passengers, I worried for them.
What would happen when it rained, because it was summer and did every day? I hoped they brought ponchos like I’d suggested, mosquito repellant for their delicate skin, and boots for slogging. I hoped they weren’t scared of a little lightning in the afternoons. If they were, this would surely suck for them.
But the women on this expedition wore shorts instead of jeans to protect their legs, an
d the men wore sandals, because visiting Florida, they must’ve thought that was the thing to do. I sighed to myself and heard my mother’s voice in my head telling me that I failed these people.
The sky became overcast. I pushed the airboat along a little faster so we’d have enough time to settle in before the rains came. I cut through water lilies so fast, pig frogs leaped out of our way. Up the river about thirty or so miles, the cypress trees became more dense. We hit a watery fork in the “road,” and I knew I’d see it soon.
And isolated cypress island.
In my dreams, Villegas House always emerged from the fog before the sun had a chance to burn the mist away. I wondered if it would appear the same way today. Right when the trees became denser and the waterway more narrow, I knew we were getting closer. I slowed the skiff so we wouldn’t miss it, then turned off the engine altogether.
The airboat’s vibration ceased, and then, everything went dead quiet.
Only sounds of crickets and mosquitoes echoed over the river.
If I didn’t know where we were headed, I would’ve said the air felt peaceful. Tranquil. A religious silence. I was almost sure everyone could hear my heart pounding through their ear protection. Our boat drifted underneath mossy overgrowth.
Kane leaned back from his seat. “What are we doing?”
I took off my ear protection and picked up the stick I’d brought. “Wading.” I sank the end into the water and used it to push us through just my ancestors had been doing on dugout canoes for centuries. “We’re approaching your beloved destination.”
He jerked his head at me and gave me a playful, scorned look, but I hadn’t hurt Kane’s feelings. The man was happier than a squirrel in a pile of acorns now that we were almost here. Finally, he could gaze upon the legendary house he’d so desperately wanted me to show him, so much that he would offer two thousand dollars and the possibility for more.
Everyone slid off their ear protection and slowly looked around. The cameramen aimed their cameras in the new direction of the tree-lined tunnel. Slowly, we waded down a pathway growing more dense with trees and hanging moss. Spiky palmettos stretched across the marsh, reaching to scratch us like jagged fingernails. Kane stood, took a bowie knife off his belt, and cut the longest fronds to get them out of our way.
I bet he’d been waiting all his life to use that knife.
The closer we moved toward our destination, the quieter things became. A sense of foreboding sifted through the sawgrass, like the land itself was waking from a long night of unsettling slumber, sighing at our presence. Nobody dared move or say anything. Only the clicks of the camera shutters broke the silence. Linda occasionally bat at her legs, slapping at mosquitoes, and Sharon bounced her knee nervously, as she sat staring at the right bank, waiting for the house to come into view.
Finally, a dark mass inched through the morning mist, peeking through the foliage like a giant-sized human prisoner crouched in a corner, wasting away, simpering, wondering if his punishment was yet over. Riddled with holes, broken timbers, a sagging wooden roof, and busted windows, half of which were missing, the house seemed ashamed to see us. It front door yawned open like the last person to leave knew nobody would ever return to chastise them. The horizontal planks of the house were dark brown to black, covered in patches of bright green moss in some spots, in others penetrated with rogue, swirling vines. Jesus—it looked as though the earth itself was a python slowly unhinging its fangs and swallowing the thing back up.
In the pit of my stomach, a knot tightened. It was too late to turn back.
I pulled the airboat as close as I could to the island, but there was no shore on which to bank. There were cypress trees and palmetto trees and thick mangrove roots we had to navigate before stepping onto firm land, hence the slogging we were about to do.
“Is that as close as you can get?” Sharon glanced at me over her shoulder.
I cast side-eye at her. I wasn’t the only one. I definitely saw a few eyerolls from the rest of the crew. “Yes, ma’am. Until this boat grows legs anyway,” I said.
I hadn’t meant for it to sound snippy, but for a woman who hadn’t said two words to me since she arrived, she could’ve asked more politely. I knew, though, that tensions were high now that we were here.
I turned to Kane. “This part is tricky. There’s no definition between water and land, so we’re just going to have to slog.”
“What does that mean?” Sharon asked, sharp blue eyes accusing me. “Slog?”
“Roswell, remember in the meeting, I told you all to bring boots?” Kane asked, nodding. “Well, it was for this. I just didn’t know we needed them now.”
“Yes, you need them now,” I said. I should’ve asked them to change shoes while still on land, but I wasn’t used to leading a slogging experience.
“Let’s go, guys. Get them on.”
“Move slowly, please!” I called out, so everyone wouldn’t move at once. Smartly, BJ let everyone shift about the boat first while he stayed anchored in the middle.
“You want us to go in the water?” Sharon asked calmly.
“It’s the only way to get to the house,” I said. “There’s no dock here. It’s not deep. You just wade a few steps until you get to the bank, then you climb over the roots.”
“You say that like this isn’t Florida.”
She was making it a big deal by not trusting me, but I supposed this could look pretty intimidating to anyone who’d never done it before.
“What if there’s gators or snakes?” she asked.
“There could be, but you all wanted to come here, not me,” I mumbled under my breath. Most heard me and gave me wary glances. Kane and Eve gave each other silent looks.
“Great spot, guys,” Quinn said sarcastically, getting on his boots.
“Alright, look, don’t worry,” I added. “We’re going to move quickly, and if there was a gator, you would see it coming. The water is crystal clear, see?” I gestured to the water that was, in fact, pretty darn beautiful for being marshland. People thought swamp water was mucky or putrid, but it was absolutely vibrant, since it was actually a river.
“Everyone grab what they can,” Eve ordered. “So we only have to do this once.”
One by one, the production crew got their proper shoes on, dropped into the water up to their knees, and pulled off bags from the skiff. Hoisting boxes over their shoulders, onto their backs, they handed them to each other and worked like a team.
BJ looked at me for permission. “Go ahead,” I told him. A captain never abandoned their ship until they were the last, so I stayed onboard and kept an eye on the water in case any curious moccasins decided to swim by right as BJ struggled to disembark.
Only when everyone had pulled themselves onto firm cypress island did I jump into the water with the remaining bags and wade toward the island as well. Climbing up using the walking stick, I bent to catch my breath. “You all might want to find a stick, too. They come in handy.” Facing the house, I gestured and my hands fell by my sides. “And there you have it—Villegas House.”
Except for the occasional “damn” or “holy shit” muttered under their breaths, the group hushed to study the decrepit old cabin. I called it a cabin, though it was really a large, two-story house built crudely without permits. Rotten and even more decayed the closer we got, the house just felt…forsaken.
I shouldn’t have come here.
I shouldn’t have brought these people.
If my tribe had asked us all to stay away, there had to be a reason.
No, Avila. It’s fine. It’s just old.
As Quinn and BJ took photos, Sharon stood taking it all in, and Eve stuck tightly to Kane’s side. They soaked in the monstrosity they’d asked to see.
“We’ve seen some crazy shit, guys,” Kane said. “But this is the craziest ever.”
“So true, baby,” Eve said, taking photos. “But it’s beautiful.”
Linda, the medium who’d been standing off to the side quietly,
stepped over to me. “It’s dark,” she said. “Much darker than I imagined.”
“Yes, it’s the wood,” I told her. “Probably Dade pine that’s rotted through…”
“No, I mean its aura.”
I looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“The house’s aura. It’s dark, like a gunmetal silver. I don’t like it.” She stared at the house with narrowed eyes. I could see she felt it was a mistake to come here. If the medium of this expedition was having second thoughts, that didn’t fill me with confidence of any kind. She glanced at me. “Your aura is bright, though. Are you spiritual?”
I was a bit taken aback. “Mine?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful. Bright blue with a silver lining to it. Do you have psychic gifts?” Her fluffy reddish hair shook, as she tilted her head to examine me from a few more angles. I stood still in case her studying my aura required me to remain motionless.
“Not that I know of.”
Yes, I had psychic gifts, but I’d worked too hard to suppress them to have her bringing them out into the open again.
From the day I’d seen Billie’s spirit rise, to the day he visited me in my bedroom, to seeing the dark entity hovering behind him, I knew I was psychic to some degree. But like any skill, it could die away from atrophy if uncultivated, and that was exactly what I’d tried to do all my life. I wasn’t strong enough to deal with real spirits. I didn’t know how people like Linda did it. I didn’t mind knowing the ghosts were there, and I loved telling stories about them, as long as they left me alone.
Linda’s Mona Lisa smile hinted that she didn’t believe me. “Well, you should be,” she said. For an old woman, she was beautiful but also seemed to have gone through a lot in her life. Melancholy lingered just inside her eyes, and the laugh lines outside of them seemed to weep.