Morbid Metamorphosis

by Lycan Valley Press

  On the opposite side of the fire, a carpet of spruce had been meticulously prepared for both her and Mick.

  “Welcome, Jaimie and Mick.” Proudfoot waved his hand. “Please sit.”

  Jaimie took a seat and Mick sat down next to her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Mick did not speak, only watched.

  “I am the Chief Elder of the Chocktee. There are certain traditions that must be adhered to if I am to give you counsel. Do you accept this? Proudfoot’s tone was soft, but full of authority.

  Jaimie wanted to ask how she could accept terms she had not heard, but was advised by Mick not to question. So she said, “Yes.”

  “What is spoken of here in this talking circle can never be repeated. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am about to tell you of our way and this will forever bind you to this place. You will see things that no man has business seeing. You will become one of us, a Chocktee, and with that you will inherit our burden. If you cannot accept this, you must leave now. I will have Mick escort you back and there will be no further discussion. What is your decision?”

  “I choose to stay.”

  Never taking his eyes from hers, Proudfoot opened one of the satchels and picked up the jade pipe. “If I am to share, we must pass the pipe.” He stuffed it with a mixture of sweet herbs and tobacco. She could smell the raw fragrance filter out across the fire. He pulled out a lighter and lit the contents. The smell of butane hung in the air.

  He puffed, once then twice, and passed it across to Mick, who took it willingly.

  Proudfoot exhaled, smoke swirling out across the fire, hanging above it in defiance.

  Mick drew from the pipe and passed it to her.

  Look at me, sitting around, toking up with the Chief of Police and the Chief Elder.

  She smiled.

  No one said a word.

  Jaimie did not smoke, but would do it this once if it meant finding out the truth. She took the pipe, looked to Uncle Mick for some assurance, but there was none. She then gazed back at Proudfoot who watched her with considerable interest

  Here goes nothing, she thought and inhaled.

  She expected the contents would burn her throat, send her into a cacophony of gasps, but the smoke was sweet, even cool as it filled her lungs. Beside her, Mick exhaled and his offering joined the cloud that had formed above the fire. She knew this could not be, that the fire should have consumed the smoke and carried it skyward with the crackling embers that rose in the updraft.

  She exhaled and watched the wave roll out across the fire and become one with the others. At the same time, she felt a change in her mind that was not intoxication, but an overwhelming sense of serenity. She watched the offering as it floated above the fire, a mirage of grey that swirled and warped, but did not dissipate.

  She handed the pipe back to Proudfoot.

  He leaned around the fire, took it and set it back beside the satchel of herb.

  Jaimie closed her eyes, and when she opened them she was alone at the fireside. She looked left and right, but they were gone. She closed them again and heard herself say, “Where did you go?”

  “Now, I will tell you everything,” Proudfoot said inside her head.

  ***

  Hot panic spread over her. Was this a hallucination? Had the old Indian poisoned her? Where were they? How could Uncle Mick allow this to happen? She tried to get up, to flee the fireside, but felt riveted to the ground. The world before her was surreal. She could smell, taste and see her surroundings, but was powerless to move.

  What did you do to me?

  “Calm yourself,” Proudfoot said inside her head. “You will be fine. Nothing will happen to you.”

  I don’t feel fine!

  “Close your eyes. Breathe deeply.”

  She closed them and then after a moment…

  “Look into the fire, Jaimie. That was where the answers lie.” Proudfoot was beside her now, on her left, facing the same way as she. “Look above it, onto the stage that the Spirit Mother Earth has set before you.”

  Another voice to her right, Uncle Mick said, “Don’t worry, Jaimie. This is only temporary.”

  She inhaled, closed her eyes once more, and when she reopened them the smoke began to move and take shape as Proudfoot’s narrative told the tale. They were gone again, but inside her head she felt them with her. Proudfoot mostly, but Mick as well.

  “Our story begins over a century ago when the Spirit Woods were struck by winter kill and disease. An evil presence had come into the midst of our people. It came first in the form of bitter cold.”

  Atop the smoke stage, she saw people walking from one shelter to the next. Torrential winds, cut across the Chocktee village, obscuring the vision. Tree branches froze, cracked, and fell. Outside fires dimmed and fell dark as the people of Chocktee withdrew to their shelters.

  “The evil might have been born into the hearts of some, drawing the dark shadow that fell that winter. The fall hunt had produced significantly less and when winter came, all creatures abandoned the spirit woods, leaving the Chocktee to ration what little they had. They would have had enough, but a fire tore through the shelter where they kept their venison and salted meats. And all was lost”

  The fire in one of the structures burned brightly—the Chocktee men tried in vain to stop it—pitching handfuls of snow and beating at it with branches. Three brave souls even ventured into the burning structure. Seconds later, their cries of agonizing death rung high and shrill, only to be consumed by the passion of the blaze.

  Time shifted and sped up. In time lapse, the fire dwindled and the frozen storm pressed the Chocktee back into their shelters as days, possibly weeks, passed. Jaimie watched as snowy drifts rose against the sides of the longhouse, but no one emerged to face the winter tormenter. To do so was suicide. Night gave way to shades of daylight, then fell into the shadows of night. This cycle turned with the earth again and again, and when the storm finally relented all was silent.

  “Starvation and sickness walked hand in hand.”

  The shelter opened and they began to bring out their dead. A woman, a man and two children. Following this grim spectacle, a woman, presumably the mother, wailed as they lay her children in the snow. Jaimie could not understand her cries, but knew what she saying. Time shifted and they went back into the shelter as more snow fell. Black turned to grey and a party of five men emerged. In their hands they carried weapons and tools. They departed the camp on foot.

  “A party of hunters were sent.”

  Time shifted, darkness fell and the men returned empty handed.

  “It was after the last hunt. That was when the Chief Elder could watch his people suffer no longer. That was when he told the Elders to take the dead and prepare them. It is a sin to eat of the man. To do so is to call upon the spirits of the other world, to spit into their faces in defiance. Igasho, the Elder Warrior, warned them of the risks, but the Chief Elder, Jackanoob ignored this warning and bore all responsibility.”

  She watched in horror as they dragged the bodies into another shelter. Time shifted; hours passed in seconds; daylight whispered across the stage of smoke; and when it had gone they emerged carrying what could only be the meal of the damned. They crossed the open ground and entered the longhouse.

  My god, Jaimie thought. Are they...

  Proudfoot said. “The children were not spared.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed, but she could not turn away from what she saw next. She was inside the longhouse. The Chocktee ate, filling the emptiness and the unknowing smiled, except the men who had prepared the meal. They knew not what they were eating, knew not the evil that grew in the woods, but she could feel it. She watched in horror, the bystander of one’s own nightmare, powerless to warn them of the evil.

  Time shifted, darkness fell and the Chocktee slept.

  “And then the sickness came, flowing from the woods like an invisible gas, fingers of insan
ity crawling out across the land, seeping through the cracks in the longhouse and infecting some of the sleeping.”

  Jaimie could not see the malignancy, but felt it brush against her, tasting her spirit, until it moved on to those it could actually inhabit. She wanted to warn them, but knew that she could not, and then the shriek came. She recoiled in terror and knew that she was not in her body, but of spirit. Standing upon the stage of smoke, a spirit visitor to this time and place. A second shriek, much louder than the first, rusty and jagged, cut out across the land, startling the Chocktee people from their slumber.

  “The Warrior Elder, Igasho, called upon his party and they gathered by the door. He gazed at the Chief Elder, his eyes hard and angry”

  They spoke in a language she did not understand, but the warrior elder barked something at one of the younger men. The screech came again and suddenly a woman tore at her own eyes, pulling them from their sockets and stuffed them into her mouth. The Chief Elder, Jackanoob looked on in horror.

  “The madness of Windigo had been awakened.”

  The men tried to restrain the eyeless woman. She twisted and writhed, screaming at them, trying to bite at them and herself. The shriek came again, slicing through the walls of the longhouse rebounding into Jaimie’s ears like shards of glass. It was a long ear shattering shriek and it seemed it would never stop, until it found another, the man, Elder Warrior Igasho had barked at. He dropped his head, began to shake and when he brought his eyes up they were washed out, supplanted by spheres of mercury. No one, except Jaimie, seemed noticed him unsheathing the knife.

  “Look out,” she cried.

  But no one heard.

  He raised the knife, screeched, ran at one of the children, a small boy, and gutted him before the others had a chance to stop him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He sliced the child’s belly wide open and before they could restrain him began to pull out the child’s innards and consume them. Women and men alike screamed in horror, Jaimie among them. They restrained the man, intestinal rope swinging from his clutch.

  “I can’t watch anymore,” Jaimie cried. “Please, no more. Make it stop!”

  “You must see,” Proudfoot said.

  “Johnny,” said another voice, Uncle Mick, also inside her head. “She has seen enough of this.”

  She heard Proudfoot lament. Darkness engulfed her, but his narrative continued.

  “That night the madness took three more, but no more Chocktee fell victim to slaughter. The insane were dispatched by Igasho’s warrior party. The longhouse floor was awash in blood and all of the dead were put out into the night. When light finally came at mid-morning, they emerged from the longhouse to find the bodies of the dead gone.

  Something that left no tracks had come and taken them.

  That was when Chief Elder Jackanoob made the decision to go out, to meet the spirit they had awakened, the one they called Windigo, and trade his own life for his people. He set out that morning alone, turning over his responsibilities to the Warrior Elder Igasho, knowing that he might never return. Igasho protested, but only briefly. Jackanoob had been his friend since childhood and that was why he argued, but the Chief Elder reigned supreme and his decisions were final.”

  Proudfoot’s words faded as she fell deeper into the black void. She was exhausted, retreating from the vision into a dream within a dream. In it she saw her father, David Logan, wearing his police uniform and standing tall. She was just a little girl now and they were back at the old house where she’d grown up, back when he and Mom still loved each other. He was walking up the pathway toward her, smiling, with outstretched arms. “How’s my little Jem today?”

  Only he called her Jem, no one else, not even her mom.

  “Daddy,” she said in a child’s voice. “Oh, Daddy. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, Jem.” He gathered her up in his arms and pulled the little girl into a tight embrace. She could smell him. Old Spice and cigar smoke, and for her that was a fragrance of love and security.

  “Why did you have to leave me, Daddy?”

  “I had to keep everyone safe.” She pulled back, looked into his face, and he was no longer the young police man, but an older, heavier, and greyer version of himself. A scar ran down his cheek, but the smile was still there. “You have to go back, Jaimie.”

  She buried her face into his shoulder, and began to cry. “I don’t want to.”

  “I know, Jem, but there is still a bit of spirit walk left to do.”

  “Why did you have die, Daddy?”

  “I had to keep everyone safe, Jem. You and Howard included, and your Mom too.”

  “I don’t want to go. Don’t want to lose you! Not again.”

  “Oh, Jem. My sweet little Jem. You haven’t lost me. I have been with you all along and when you move from this world to the next I will be waiting for you in the passage.” He pulled her from the embrace and looked into her eyes. “You have to go back.”

  She looked passed her father to the street where the police car was parked. There, waiting, was a short little aboriginal man. He smiled at her. He was waiting for her father.

  “Who is that man, Daddy.”

  He smiled. “He’s a friend of mine. That’s Old Jake.”

  “Please, let me come with you.”

  “Can’t do that, sweetheart. It’s time for you to go back.” He let her go and the world began to fade. She began to tumble back into the darkness, his words following her “You still have some walking to do.”

  ***

  Jaimie began to focus. She was in a clearing. In the distance, a silhouette trudged through the snow, his head hung low. It was the Chief Elder, Jackanoob. His movements were slow and deliberate, the march of a condemned man.

  A shriek cut through the forest and the old man raised his head

  Jaimie recoiled, her heart thudding, full of panic. She wanted to leave this place. Wanted to retreat back into the ignorance in which she had languished for so many years. She no longer wanted to know; she had seen enough. The thing shrieked again and Jackanoob turned his head left and right looking for the source.

  I don’t want to see this!

  She felt a hand reach inside her own and clutch it, then that familiar aroma and she to see her father standing beside her. He was as she had last seen him, except for the scar, and he was smiling. “Not far to go now, Jem. I will walk with you.”

  The shriek spiralled out, an ear piercing accusatory call of madness.

  He tightened his grip and said, “I’ll be with you the rest of the way.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” she said and took more steps in her spirit walk. They walked hand in hand through the snow and across the clearing to the place where Jackanoob trekked. She wanted to say something else, to ask questions, but believed that the spirits of whatever place this was had granted her the comfort of her father only because she needed him

  “All will be revealed,” said a voice that was neither her fathers, or Proudfoot’s or even Uncle Mick's. Her father did not say, but she knew it was the little native man who had stood in wait by the police car, the one called Old Jake.

  They were close now, twenty feet or so. Jackanoob stood motionless and Jaimie followed his line of sight to see the thing clutching against the tree trunk. It was a sickly looking creature, grey and hairless with long mutated arms that unfurled into talon claws. It stared down at Jackanoob and let loose a long accusatory shriek.

  Jackanoob said something in the ancient language.

  “He’s offering himself to the creature,” Old Jake said.

  The creature lunged from the tree, blew past Jackanoob in a blur, knocking him to his knees, and returned to its roost. It called down to him, its voice a rattling variation of clicks and shrieks in Chocktee.

  “It says they are doomed, that they have broken the law of the guardians. That they have eaten of the man and that the offering of one old fool is hardly penance for the sins they have committed.”

  Jackanoob spoke.


  “He is offering his eternal soul to the creature. Bearing full responsibility.”

  The two fell silent. The creature considered the bargain, while Jackanoob waited for a final decision. After a brief silence, it spoke in the ancient language, as the voice of his father’s friend gave his narrative. Then Jackanoob responded and it was clear that they were haggling the finer points of an agreement.

  “He has agreed to serve the creature in this world and the next. That on the Chocktee’s two hallowed days of the spring and fall equinox, he will haunt these woods for all time. He is giving his soul for all eternity, but the Chocktee will never escape the shadow of that curse.”

  The creature scrabbled down from the roost, extended its elongated arms to the Elder and continued its dialogue as Old Jake continued. “You will change, Old man, your hunger unending. If you stay among your people. You will kill them all to feed that hunger.”

  Jackanoob nodded in acceptance.

  The creature towered over him. At least nine feet tall. It reached and lifted him into its clutch, cradling him like a child. It was whispering something, black ick spilling from between its broken, jagged teeth. It gave a final pronouncing, “Jeg lo Igwhot.

  Old Jake translated, “I am Master.”

  “Kaw seu Igwhot,” Jackanoob said.

  “For you, Master.”