Dark Spirits of the Forest

by Michael Weinberger

  It was too much for the rest of them, and the officers broke rank, running off in every direction, despite the Chief shouting orders to stay together as officer Jeffery’s screams turned to a wet gurgling before mercifully fading.

  Strangely, despite the horror of it all, Police Chief Lawrence Tull felt no fear.

  All he felt was fury!

  Red haze seeing, primal rage kind of fury that turned his mind into a murderous type of crazy from the violence done upon his officers...

  Screaming into the darkness he fired blindly in the direction Jeffery had disappeared and ratcheted his shotgun to position another cartridge before striding powerfully in that direction. Making no attempt at stealth he kicked the bushes out of his way, stepped on every dry twig the forest put under his boots and barred his teeth, before letting out a low growl of his own as he aimed the flashlight beam and shotgun in front of his path.

  He found Jeffery. The man had been eviscerated with ragged wounds across his abdomen that could only have been caused by claws and left the body as little more than an empty shell. The organs that should have been spilled and spread around the killing zone were gone, with only the ragged remains at the attachment points within the open cavity. The Chief pointed the flashlight up under his officer’s ribs and saw that the heart and lungs were also gone and his anger grew even more. He decided then and there, that even if he were going to die tonight, whatever did this was going to go with him.

  There was a subtle rumbling, almost a vibration of sound, behind him and Police Chief Lawrence Tull had to use every ounce of will not to spin around and shoot.

  Slowly, he turned his head while aiming his flashlight’s beam until the edge of the creature came into view. The Chief rotated his shoulders and took in more of the creature that regarded him. It was huge, thin and almost seemed like an unnaturally elongated man at first. Covered in dripping red blood, the thing was nearly seven feet tall and its skin was the pasty grey/white that terminal patients have right before the end of a deadly chronic illness. The monster’s face… Oh, God above, its face was a mask of such malevolent hate and rage that it could only be the physical personification of pure evil.

  Chief Tull completed his turn and faced it, shotgun raised and aiming at the demon that stood before him. Then, without shying away or averting his eyes, he felt his anger flare like a wildfire doused with gasoline and felt the adrenalin surge through every fiber of his being.

  “There you are you son of a bitch!” Chief Tull cried out for blood.

  The creature opened its mouth, snarling as if in response, as it flashed its blood-streaked rows of elongated, needle-like teeth with raw meat dangling from the spaces between them.

  The Chief’s eyes narrowed as his defiance rose to the surface, “Fuck you and your dentist you ugly som’bitch!”

  The creature’s “smile” vanished and its head inclined to the side as if confused. It had never seen its prey ever do anything but run from it before.

  The Chief growled through his own clenched snarl, “I got a full load of hot magnum rounds in this bitch,” he said as he barely inclined the shotgun’s barrel at the creature. “I hope your ass is still hungry, cause I’m going to make you eat every one of ‘em.”

  Understanding not the words, but the challenge behind them, the creature shrieked and shot its much too thin and elongated arms out to its sides. Elongated claws extended wickedly from its fingertips and it reached toward the Chief as the shotgun roared. The double ought buckshot found purchase dead center in the beast’s chest and, despite its apparently supernatural manifestation, physics still applied as the creature was rocked under the impact of the buckshot. The Chief shouted his own charge, running at the creature as his anger and outrage overwhelmed his common sense. He slammed the butt end of the shotgun’s stock into what passed as the beast’s nose and heard bone crack and the thing’s head shot back from the impact. Completing the motion, the Chief swung the barrel back around to point directly into the creature’s face and pulled the trigger again. The creature’s face disappeared into pulped meat from the impact of the buckshot leaving it absent of eyes, nose or any other distinguishing features.

  Chief Tull ratcheted another cartridge into the shotgun’s chamber, and was about to fire once more, when one of the beast’s two clawed hands reached across the distance between them to slash across his abdomen. The Chief felt a burning pain shoot through his middle as his body instinctively bent over to close the wound and prevent his guts from spilling out.

  The Chief stepped back and chanced a quick assessment of the damage. There was blood, but the Kevlar vest he wore had absorbed the majority of it. The claws had cut him and he was bleeding, but the wound wasn’t mortal.

  The Chief looked toward the creature and, despite being faceless with blood pouring from its wounds, it seemed to be otherwise completely functional. It even casually stepped back as if content to simply wait for the Chief to fall over and die from the wound it had inflicted. It hadn’t expected the Kevlar and it just stood there looking at the Chief with eyes inside of a skull that had been pulped by the Chief’s shotgun blast.

  The Chief smiled as he looked up from his hand, “Guess we’re both full of surprises, eh?” and he began to fire again, and again, and again, into the creature who was bucking with every impact, and finally seemed to be registering the damage the shotgun was doing to its body.

  The Chief loaded more rounds into the shotgun’s chamber and walked right up to the creature, which was still standing, but swaying as if about to fall over. He pointed the shotgun once again into what passed as the thing’s face at point blank range.

  “Looks like you’re about done son,” the Chief smiled as his finger squeezed down on the trigger, “here’s your dessert.”

  Faster than the eye could follow, the thing grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and pulled it harmlessly to the side as the shot exploded safely away into the air. Chief Tull’s eyes widened as the creature’s other arm blurred forward, claws thrusting through the Kevlar vest with a cracking sound before penetrating his abdomen, sinking deeper and deeper into his body, until the Chief felt a rip at the center of his back, and white hot, electric pain exploded through him.

  The Chief screamed as long as he was able, but the breath was quickly taken away from him as the creature used its impaling arm to pull him in close. Eyes opened from the ground meat of a face and stared directly into his own, before the beast opened its mouth wider than anything other than a python should have been adept enough to perform. Chief Tull’s vision then became limited to nothing other than the wicked sharpness of teeth as his nose filled with stinking decay that came from the creature’s breath.

  His vision mercifully faded to black as the creature struck, and since he couldn’t speak he just willed one final curse at the creature, “I’ll find you in hell, motherfucker!”

  Then oblivion came.

  Chapter 12

  Back at the Bad River Casino, Jett didn’t wait for the assistant to announce him or even give him permission to enter the offices. He simply stormed through the doors to confront the three members of the Tribal Council who were sitting at their desks. It was a modest office space, and looked little different than the inside of a trailer at a construction site. Jett turned and gave Ursula a quick nod, which she returned, before moving to stand guard outside while Jett closed the doors behind him to insure a little privacy.

  The three Council officials watched in stunned silence as the doors closed, but managed to screw their faces up into masks of indignation once the surprise of Jett’s arrival had worn off.

  Douglas Penchant, the Tribal Chairman was the first to protest, just as Jett knew he would, and he stood up quickly from his chair in a challenge, as he shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re…”

  Jett raised a palm to the leader of the Bad River Ojibwe Tribe and the Chairman immediately went silent as the rage on Jett’s face registered with the man. Most Shaman in the Native People’s cultu
re were given the title with little meaning to support it, other than to indicate their position as a spiritual leader. It was widely known how most did not have any other ties to the Earth, or abilities to utilize the spiritual forces around them, as Jett was able to do, because such Shaman of power were extremely rare. However, one aspect that all Native People understood was, that if confronted by a true Shaman of power, then one does not “mess” with him.

  “How long have you known?” Jett literally growled at the Council and each of the members present went wide-eyed, looking from one to another, yet not in confusion, but in the guilt at having been exposed.

  No one answered.

  Jett’s voice and growl grew in intensity, “How long have you known there are Bakaak in the forest around the Reservation?”

  Penchant maintained his indignation, “Don’t be silly! The Bakaak are just old campfire stories we tell children to keep them out of the forest at night.”

  Jett fixed the man with such a glare that Penchant made a visible effort at gulping, before reaching for his chair and sitting down.

  “I interviewed the hunter, a non-native who wouldn’t have heard of such an obscure legend as the Bakaak. He described floating apparitions with unholy red eyes, shooting invisible arrows and wielding bludgeoning war clubs. What’s more, the creatures went after the most experienced of their group, the guide LaRose. Bakaak are hunters and always want the best trophy kill first. But you know all that, don’t you? How many more have gone missing in the woods recently? How many have died, while you have done nothing to stop them?”

  “Them?” Edward Cottonwod, Tribal Council vice-chairman asked with what sounded like genuine surprise.

  Jett blinked, “It sounded to me like there might be as many as three.”

  “That’s enough,” Douglas Penchant regained some courage from his chair, “We don’t have to explain…”

  Cottonwood turned to him, “We can’t let this continue anymore.”

  The Chairman whirled on the elderly man and pointed a threatening finger, “Shut up, now!”

  Jett walked over to where Penchant sat and grabbed the man by the throat, “I think I have had enough of you.”

  Micah Roundtree was out of his chair in an instant, “Wait! Don’t! Let him go.”

  Jett turned his head toward the senior member of the Council, “You have something to say?”

  Roundtree looked to Penchant and held out his hands helplessly before turning back to Jett, “If you know the legend like you seem to, what would you have us do, in our place?”

  Jett understood his question, as there were no answers in the legends on defeating or destroying the Bakaak, but this didn’t extinguish his ire.

  “You could have warned those officers before they went looking around the forest at night for your lost guide. How many of them are going to die? All of them? And even if your collective consciences didn’t sway under the thought of their deaths, didn’t you say you needed them for the event you are throwing?”

  Jett released Penchant who dropped heavily back into his chair.

  “What could we have told them that they would have believed?” Edward Cottonwood asked by way of an answer. “Should we have told them we have an angry spirit that hunts down warriors with invisible arrows? What do you think they would have said to us?”

  Jett ignored the answer and clenched his fists, “You should have told me!”

  “And how would you stop it?” Cottonwood challenged.

  “Who cares?” Penchant coughed out as he rubbed at his throat. “The Bakaak don’t leave their portion of the forest. We warn and keep our people out of that area so none of our people are hurt or killed.”

  Jett frowned, “How do you explain LaRose and his clients?”

  Cottonwood shook his head sadly as his gaze dropped to the floor, “There’s been so much development and encroachment in the surrounding hunting grounds that Stephen was looking for a fertile hunting ground to take his clients for a successful hunt. He spent his life in the forests and had never seen anything supernatural before, so he didn’t believe in the mythology.” He looked up at Jett, “Is Stephen dead?”

  Some of the anger left Jett’s voice, “The hunter didn’t actually see the man die, but…”

  Penchant tried to regain control of the room, “It is a shame about LaRose, but we warned him. In fact, we even tried to threaten him, but he didn’t listen.”

  “And the others?” Jett asked.

  “What others?”

  “Do you know who these Bakaak used to be?”

  “Why would we?”

  “Don’t act like you’re ignorant!” Jett raged, “I’m Native. I know how this works and you can’t stonewall me the way you do anyone not of the Tribe!” As Jett grew agitated the fluorescent lighting began to flicker and all eyes went to the ceiling before looking back to Jett with worried expressions. “You know how these things come into being. They’re supposed to be obsessive hunters who died in anger while on a hunt and enabled a dark spirit of the forest to resurrect them as Bakaak. These things are on reservation land, who else has hunting rights on the land besides the tribe?”

  Micah Roundtree held his hands up in submission, “No, we don’t know who they are. In fact, we don’t think they are members of the tribe.”

  “Why not?”

  “Before LaRose, none of our people have gone missing while on a hunt or otherwise.”

  “What about non-Natives?”

  Penchant responded snidely, “What about them?” The other council members turned quickly to Penchant who disregarded their expressions before continuing, “We can’t be responsible for what the white people do. They need to take care of their own. It’s what they’re best at.”

  Jett pinched his eyes together and shook his head at the statement, “Seriously?”

  Penchant grew angry, “You’re Goddamn right I’m serious! What have the white people around us done since they first came to this area but take and take and take from us. Even after we signed an agreement to keep us away from the places they felt were valuable and saddle us on what they considered to be worthless, unfishable land, they weren’t satisfied! They waited until we were in financial crisis and then pounced on us to lease the land, our holy grounds, in order to build multimillion-dollar homes and then raised Ferry prices and hired security to keep us off our own land.”

  As he ranted the heads of the other two Council members dropped, perhaps slightly ashamed that, although they weren’t as assertive as their Councilman, they too felt the same way as did he.

  “We learned a long time ago there wasn’t going to be any help coming from the white world outside of what we could guilt the court into giving us. And I am not going to sacrifice a single member of this Tribe in order to take on what is the white man’s problem.”

  A commotion could be heard coming from outside the doors as voices were raised in alarm. Jett heard Ursula raise her voice preventing anyone from going into the offices, but the urgency in the words worried him.

  Refocusing, Jett answered Penchant, “It’s never as simple as a ‘them and us’ issue these days. You’re not stupid and should know that, but I see your bigotry has blinded you.”

  “You’re calling us bigots? After all the things our people have put up with?”

  Jett sighed sadly, “Hating an entire race or culture because of the actions of a few? What would you call it?”

  “Survival.”

  Jett almost laughed at the man, “So you allowed an entire police force of ‘white people’ who, by the way, you needed to support your event, die in the forest. How do you think that whole ‘them versus us’ thing is working out for you?”

  The doors of the office opened and Ursula hurried into the room followed by several Tribe members. Everyone started speaking quickly at once, but Ursula pulled Jett aside and whispered urgently, “You’re going to need to see this.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “He’s barely alive, but the guid
e, Stephen LaRose, just walked into the Casino.”

  Chapter 13

  No ambulance was called and instead of a hospital bed, Stephen LaRose was taken to one of the Casino’s hotel rooms. When Jett found out about this he considered the possibility that he was going to have to kill someone in order get the man to a medical facility. He might have even done it if Edward Cottonwod hadn’t pulled him aside.

  “You don’t know what comes next do you?” the elder had asked sympathetically.

  Upon seeing the elders face and the emotion in his words, Jett immediately calmed, “Comes next?”

  “He cannot be saved.”

  “Don’t we have to try?!”

  The elder sighed, “You don’t understand.” Cottonwood seemed to consider something, and then said, “I’m sorry to do this to you, but come with me.”

  “Do what?” Jett asked.

  “I’m going to help you understand. Come with me.”

  Jett glanced at Ursula who shrugged her shoulders before falling into step next to Jett as the elder led them to the room where Stephen LaRose was resting.

  As Cottonwood opened the door the scent of burning Sage immediately wafted from the room and the quiet chanting of prayers filled their ears as several members of the tribe, LaRose’s extended family, prayed over him.

  Ursula hesitated, “Do you want me to wait out here? It’s kind of full in there.”

  Jett considered, then nodded, “Are you all right?”

  Ursula leaned in close, “Can’t you feel it?”

  Jett knew what she was talking about. The room reeked of death and Jett knew instantly that there was no saving the man who lay in the bed beyond the door. But there was also a mystical or magical event happening within the room as well. Jett could sense the magic being used, while it was likely that Ursula could not.

  “I need to go inside,” he said upon seeing the apprehension in her face. “Will you wait out here for me?”

  Ursula nodded, and Jett stepped into the room. Slowly he worked his way around to the bedside and peered down on Stephen, taking in his strangely discolored skin, which had turned an unnatural yellow-green. He could hear the man’s too rapid shallow breathing over the quiet chanting that continued without ceasing.