With time came habits and quirks that were not always agreeable. The way Bessy held herself revealed how sexually repressed she was. She could be rude and somewhat threatening to people, exercising the little power she possessed. When agitated, her face would often get distorted, she’d squeeze a pencil till her knuckles turned white, with her legs tightly wrapped together. Come to think of it, maybe the old sheriff didn’t touch her after all.
As Tom took his first mug of morning brew, he wanted to find the corresponding coroner’s reports to all the mutilations before going down to Troy. As he went to close the door of his office for privacy, he glanced over at nice old Bessy, he knew from the get-go; that old bitty knew everything. She knew why these murders weren’t pursued, and she certainly knew where all the bodies were buried.
He grabbed at a random file; it was of a seven-year-old girl named Gerdie Baumann. She had been murdered in 1934, her body found discarded on the outskirts of the cemetery. The cold case file said that she had been playing in her front yard when she disappeared. Someone must have lured her away (but who? How could the murderer be able to lure a girl away to of all places, to a graveyard?). There had been no signs of sexual assault (but it sure looks like a sexual predator), and looking at it now, after so many years her parents were now dead.
PART TWO
KANIEN’KEHÁ:KA
“I wonder if I could eat a child if I had the chance.’
‘I doubt if I could cook one,’ said Constance.”
—We Have Always Lived in the Castle
Shirley Jackson
CHAPTER 11
ATSI’TSIAKA:ION
“We are the clay, you are the potter; we are the work of your hands.”
-Isaiah 64:8
“Little Sparrow” held the future hopes of the entire Attignawantans tribe (“People of the Bear”). They were part of the ancient Huon Indian nation, which was the largest of the “Five Nations” of the Iroquois. They were also the hated enemies of the Mohawks.
Little Sparrow’s father; Deganaweida, was a much-revered chief who had maintained peace with the French. Together they waged a savage war with the Mohawk. He was a large, muscular man who exhibited physical traits that told his opponents that his strength would be superior. He was a compassionate man who loved his people. He looked upon his daughter as more than the future princess. At seven years old, she was already proficient in French and many of their Gallic customs. She had a unique beauty, with deep brown skin and long, silky black hair. With no effort, she charmed all the young bucks of the tribe; her father had many a suitor who relished a marriage with his daughter.
Despite her early sophistication, she was still very much a young child. She doted over a large collection of corn-husk dolls that her mother and aunts had made for her. She fashioned leggings, dresses and even tiny moccasins for her beloved dolls out of scraps of deer hide. As much as he tried to always have an even hand, the mighty chief treated her much differently than her four older brothers. He spoiled her; often in the evening around the fire, she was allowed to play Gus-ga-e-sa’-ta, a game of chance enjoyed by all the warriors of the tribe. She would huddle under her father’s large right shoulder, grabbing the eight circular buttons made from deer horn, one side blackened, tossing them for her father. She was his lucky charm. She’d fall asleep midway through the game, and with much banter from the other men, the great Deganaweida would gingerly carry his little daughter into their longhouse and tuck her into sleep.
The Attignawantans had sustained themselves for centuries by cultivating the “Three Sisters;” corn, beans, and squash. This fall the tribe had labored over a bumper corn crop, cutting much of the kernels from the cob and drying them for the long, bitter winter. A harsh winter had been predicted by the elder medicine man; Makataimeshekiakiak. He had carefully observed the habits of the Penobscot; the way these families of black bears fed and stored food during the fall told the much-respected wise man what to expect for the coming season. As it was foretold, the coming winter would be severe; the tribe would primarily sustain themselves by taking the dried maize, grinding it and making a corn mush which was eaten throughout those difficult days.
The maple leaves were colored and cascading down to earth; signaling the first snow of autumn was not far off. Under a brilliant afternoon sky, Little Sparrow was playing with her dolls down near the river called by the tribe; Panhooseck (Poesten Kill). Her mother had often told her to stay away from the river, but those types of warning were made for young girls. Little Sparrow reasoned; I’m nearly grown now. She did not realize the evil that lurked nearby. At that precise moment the tribe’s shaman came rushing to the chief:
“I just was in a deep trance and saw bad medicine; there is a monster that lies in wait, crouching over the dried-up bones of a previous kill.” That was all the shaman could tell the chief, leaving Deganaweida to ponder its meaning…
Her favorite doll was named Chipmunk; she had gotten a good amount of thorns in the doll from the nearby blackberry patch. Despite her mother’s repeated warnings, she walked down to the river and gingerly kneeled down by the waters, pulling the spines from her doll while gently washing it. She hummed a favorite song that her father had sung for her since she was a child. She peered at the reflection in the water; she wondered what all the fuss was about. She hated the extra attention; she wanted to be like every other girl in the tribe. She laid her hand in the chilly creek; a few tadpoles swam into her palm. She lifted them from the water, they squirmed back and forth, the little frogs were frantic that she might kill them, but that was not possible with Little Sparrow. She adored all of nature’s creatures, she gently lowered her hand back into the flowing waters as frightened adolescent frogs swam off. She swirled her delicate hand around and around in the crystal water, it felt so good, and her humming became singing, a pure lovely melody…and suddenly, violently a savage arm reached from beneath the water, and grabbed her. The claws of the beast dug deep into her wrist; its wrenching pain was horrible, and instantly dragged the tender child beneath the surface. Her body was ravaged, the river water turned a deep crimson. Not a single soul witnessed what happened to the tribe’s future. The only sign of what occurred was a solitary moccasin and her little Chipmunk lying on the bank. Thereafter, rumors abounded of an ominous woman in a hooded cape, the clothing of the people from the great ocean, that was seen by other children of the tribe in the hills above the river right after Little Sparrow disappeared. Their descriptions of the mysterious woman were eerily similar to their enemy; the Mohawks’ legendary Goddess, the Sky Woman.
The mighty Deganaweida was broken, he never was the same. He carefully arranged the collection of small corn husk dolls in the corner of his long house, awaiting his daughter’s return. He became a bitter leader who swore that no matter how long it would take, he would have his vengeance. He sought the assistance of a shaman, they called “One Who Knows” who had been banished long ago from the tribe. One Who Knows had embraced the black arts, some said he had been seduced by the evil Goddess but had escaped her clutches and now lived in banishment. As instructed, the chief offered ten years of his life to the lower worlds in exchange for revenge against the Sky Woman.
One Who Knows then instructed Deganaweida to go alone to the far-off Black Mountains. These hills were avoided by the Five Nations of the Iroquois. In a cave on the north side of the mountain resided Teharonhiawako or the “Holder of Heavens.” She was a kind and gentle Goddess; she was also one of the Mythic Twins who came down from the heavens and created the Iroquois Indians. Legend said that she held power over life and death and was the fierce enemy of the Sky Woman. The shaman assured the old chief that she alone could bring his daughter back. But he had this warning; “You must avoid the Sky Woman; she is the greatest of pauwau (witches). She has great orenda (powers) and will seek you o
ut.”
“How can I know who she is?”
“You will know…She is the mother of the Mythic Twins, but now she has soured, being cast out from the heavens by her husband.” The shaman took a deep breath and continued; “In the beginning, there existed a mighty tree which gave light to the entire Sky World, our Sun hadn’t been created yet. The Sky Woman had violated a great taboo, her jealous husband struck the tree with a mighty bolt of lightning, burning it up and creating a huge hole in the middle of their world. Curiously she peered through the hole and her husband pushed her. She tumbled towards the great waters below. Waterbirds caught her and carried her down to the sea and set her on the back of a turtle. The turtle carried her across the great ocean and set her down on Turtle Island (North America). Cast out, she became a shadowy figure. She was both a shift-shaper and a sorceress who manipulated the evil spirits.” He took a deep drag from a pipe he was holding and continued; “She must consume the hearts of young girls to preserve the false image of youth and beauty. In reality, her body is distorted by the seven crooks; her hair rides with snakes, she enjoys feeding on human flesh.” He glanced at the great chief, this was a lot he was telling him; “Like Teharonhiawako, she also lives in isolation in the Black Mountains, but great Chief you must avoid her at all costs. She will try to trick you, telling you terrible lies; she holds the dark power over us all.” He thought for a moment and went to the corner of his dwelling and removed some branches form a sack, “These switches come from the red willow. Often, they are used to purify the body by striking against the back, but it is said that they can slay the ferocious and other unworldly creatures. This has been foretold since the beginning of time.”
. . .
The opening of the cave was nothing more than an ancient overturned tree with its roots acting as a veil to the underworld. Large boulders framed the narrow entrance, Deganaweida had to squeeze himself in (strange, surely no one had either entered or left in eons). He then faced a narrow tunnel with a low ceiling that led into eerie darkness. He wondered aloud, “surely I am going to run into the Great Bear.” He felt his way in, slowly advancing. The walls of the tunnel were crawling with worms and all sort of insects. Then off in the distance a faint light could barely be seen. The odors went from damp and dank to sweet and appealing. He called ahead but heard no return. The cave’s ceiling arched up, it transformed into a space that was larger than any of their longhouses. The sounds of toads echoed within its confines. A sensuous woman with long flowing hair came from the shadows, an owl announced her entrance. Deganaweida frowned; for the Iroquois owls were an omen of death.
“You are the Great Chief the winds speak of?”
“I am; I come for your help. My daughter has been taken from me. I seek the God who can bring her back. It is told to me that you are that God.”
The alluring Indian Goddess circled him and giggled in a sensual way but with seemingly dark intentions, “I alone can help you. You will surrender your life to me, and I will go out into the Lower World and bring her back.”
Without much hesitation he agreed. Her hand extended, her palm opened, “give me the switches,” reluctantly he reached into his satchel and handed them over. They sat by a fire; she first tossed the red willow switches into the blaze. She then began to chant while tossing herbs and different powders into the flames, they flared up, she leaned forward, peering into the colored smoke, “Oh yes, I can see her now.” She leaned towards Deganaweida, grabbing his right hand and opening his palm. She began to trace circles with her long nail, “Oh Great Chief, what a sacrifice you have made for your daughter.” She giggled, a sort of mad rising laugh that sent chills up and down the mighty chief’s back, and continued, “You will stay here, and I will bring her back to you along with the sun and the moon.”
As she left him behind in his newfound underground tomb, in front of his eyes, she transformed into the evil being that had been foretold. Her deerskin tunic became tattered and soiled; its beads transformed into porcupine quills and falcon’s talons; her blackish hair became full of writhing serpents. Deganaweida had been deceived and was now forever lost to his people.
While, the body of Little Sparrow was never found, during those first nights of frantic searching, under the guise of a bright full moon, the howls of a wolf could be heard, the echo’s resounding through the mountain almost seemed as though the beast was rejoicing in its trickery…
. . .
The celebrated Cemetery Bridge that traversed the kill was a popular site for tourists who had only seen a covered bridge on the front of a postcard. Martha Rodenbecker was amazed at the number of people asking for directions to the tiny bridge that was within a stone’s throw of her café.
The first of the foursome woke up in the motel room just around noon. Barbara had awful bad breath in the morning, it was as if something had curled up and died in her mouth. She looked around, “Where the fuck are we?” Wearing only panties and a bra, she scratched her frizzy mane of hair. She stumbled into the bathroom and gazed into the mirror, “My God, do I look awful.” Two hideous pimples had popped up on her cheek overnight and she didn’t have any acne cream. She leaned into the mirror, popping the two before anyone got up and saw them. She looked at the two brothers and remembered that two weeks ago they had coerced her and Gina into a swinging group sex thing. They had met two other couples at a bar in Hoboken, and the six of them ended up in a strange apartment. It was demoralizing for both the girls, while the brothers reveled in it as though they were porn stars in some sleazy peep show movie. She looked with disgust at the two. How did she end up with these two shmucks in a dumpy hotel like this? Her father would be furious if he ever knew the truth. He had spent a fortune sending her to Delbarton, and now she was shacked up in some Godforsaken town in the woods. She rummaged around her bag for her toothbrush; she hated the way Joey referred to her morning breath; you got the zagly disease…your breath smells zagly like your ass.
The brothers awoke, both identical, sitting in the bed with their hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks. Joey inquired first, “How about a romp before breakfast.” Gina was having none of it.
“How about you audition to become the pivot man in a circle-jerkle…two fucking homos.”
The brothers then wasted no time; Bobby jumped first in the shower and prepared for what Brunswick had in store for them today. Of course, Joey left the bathroom door wide open so the girls could get a full view that he had the morning wood. Gina hollered at him, “Why don’t you put a tourniquet on it at night?” Joey always had his mind on three things; booze, pussy and food, and not always in that order. As he got out of the shower, he rubbed the foggy mirror so he could get a good look of himself. He made a clicking noise with the side of his mouth as he gave himself a nod of approval, “Man, you’ve really got it goin on.” Gina just shook her head in disgust, Joey then exclaimed, “Hey let’s all walk down to town and get some breakfast.”
The air outside was chilly, but refreshingly crisp. Gina detested the Fila velour tracksuit (Madonna, give it a rest already) that Joey wouldn’t go out without; it hadn’t been in fashion since she was a mere notion in her Daddy’s noggin.
“Let’s walk over to the café.” Bobby loved the village and could see more of it by walking. They approached the kill; as far as they could see, the covered bridge seemed to be the only way to cross. Joey picked up a few flat rocks and instead of skipping them on the water, he flung one that ricocheted over the embankment and hit the side of the covered bridge. The sound resonated through the entire valley.
“Joey, not for nothing, but are you retarded?”
Joey’s eyes drifted to the sign nailed on a post at the entrance, “Get a load of the name on this bridge; it’s named the Cemetery Bridge. Everything in this town spells Creature Feature!”
Gina looked at it
differently, “That creeps me out, and in fact this entire town is disturbing. I can’t wait till we get back to Jersey; they’re having sales at the mall.”
“What would you two bohacks do without the mall?”
“Fuck you.”
“Very nice…very nice.”
As Joey neared the bridge, he noticed a cute gray squirrel up on its hind legs, licking and cleaning its front paws and then brushing its long bushy tail, “Ah look how cute he is.” Joey leaned over as though he was going to pet it. All at once the squirrel reared up and squealed, it then leaped up at Joey, bounding off his chest and then running off into the nearby woods. “What the fuck? Quick, someone look at my chest, did he bite me? I think he scratched me with his claws.”
Gina was horrified, “I never saw a squirrel attack anyone before! Maybe it’s this fucked-up town?”
“Shit, maybe the fucker had rabies. You guys better take me to a hospital!” Bobby wasn’t having any of it, “Relax, it didn’t bite you for Christ’s sake. Nothing but a goddamn tree rat, you should have stayed away from it.”
“Bobby are you sure it didn’t bite me?”
Bobby shook his head in disgust. Joey then gave in, “Oh well, then the hell with it, I’m starving, let’s get breakfast.”
. . .
They grabbed the big round table for eight that was in the window. Food always cured any infirmities or disorders Joey was suffering from at any given moment. Although it was the end of breakfast, Martha would cook anything within reason (except the time a hillbilly from bumfuck Arkansas asked for stewed possum). She called over to the table from behind the counter, “You kids know what you want, or do you need menus.” Gina, always the gentile one in the crew asked for menus, “God forbid we have these two animals asking for things off the top of their heads.” Joey’s eyes instantly saw the biscuits with sausage gravy, although all he really saw was the sausage, Gina stopped him, “You’re not going to like that. It’s not Italian sausage you moron.” Bobby, as always decided for the four; eggs over easy, crispy bacon, and grits. Martha brought over a pot of fresh coffee and left it on the table as she prepared their meal, “What are you kids up to today?”
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 10