Dark Spirits of the Forest

by Michael Weinberger

  “More than I used to, now that I have been with Jett, but he doesn’t talk about it very much.”

  Cottonwood nodded, “It’s hard. There are some Tribes that are thriving, of course, but most of the reservations are as poverty stricken as the third world countries in some of the darkest parts of the world. AIDS, alcoholism, drug addiction and suicide levels are all significantly higher in the Native American communities than in the rest of the United States. There is a serious lack of resources for education, and the promised assistance from the Federal government never actually becomes a reality to any but the tribal leaders in many cases.”

  Ursula was surprised at that. She hadn’t known things were so difficult for the Native American people within her own country.

  Cottonwood continued, “These days the racial prejudice is better hidden than when I was a boy, but it’s still as prevalent as ever.”

  “Prejudice?” she inquired.

  “It is hard to understand if you’re not an ‘Indian’ but, if your aware of it, then you’ll see the more subtle ways it is funneling throughout American society and won’t be able to ignore it.”

  “I don’t understand. Everything I see in society, specifically white American society, seems to glorify the Native people. They are usually the heroes in stories. Many name their sports teams in honor of your people and half of the cities and streets in this country are named for native populations.”

  Cottonwood laughed, “Heroes in what stories exactly? Side-kicks and servants more accurately describe the degrading images associated with abject racism in the movies, and it holds true with the sports teams. I mean look at Cleveland ‘Indians’ and their Chief Wahoo mascot. Chief ‘Wahoo’! I mean, seriously? They might as well have called themselves the Cleveland Africans and their mascot Nigger Jones.” Cottonwood laughed, “And there is a decent size Jewish population in Cleveland, so why not call them the Cleveland Jews and their mascot be an Orthodox Mohel Rabbi, threatening their opponents with circumcision scissors in his hands? It would be the same thing as Chief ‘Wahoo’ and his tomahawk, wouldn’t it?”

  “Ah, I guess so?” Ursula turned away and mumbled, “but I always loved Chief Wahoo and his tomahawk…”

  “Did you know that some college professors are teaching that the Genocide committed by the United States military on the Native peoples of North America never actually happened? We’ve had some serious issues where these instructors of history are teaching that it was disease brought over by the Europeans that wiped out the Native People. The disease thing did in fact happen, but that seriously undermines the atrocities committed by the American Government, including giving away blankets ridden with small pox.”

  Ursula shook her head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

  Cottonwood just shrugged, “Even without all of that, most Native people living on the reservations fall significantly under the poverty line? It pushes a hopeless mindset into our people, making them feel as if they have been cast into a system from which there is no escape.”

  “I get it, and it’s awful and completely unfair, truly it is, but how does this relate to the Tribe’s not wanting to stop a creature out there killing people within your lands?”

  Cottonwood considered the question for a moment before he spoke, “You know we’re telling the world that we are not renewing the lease of the Amnicon Bay because the land is sacred to us?”

  Ursula wasn’t sure where Cottonwood was going with this, but she went along with it, “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “Actually, it is, and very much so, but the point is we shouldn’t have to use that as an excuse to condone our actions. The point is it’s ours, and that should be enough. We shouldn’t have to say whether the land is sacred or not in order for the people who don’t own it, and are well aware of the fact that they don’t own it, to relinquish it back to the tribe. It’s rightfully ours. Just give it back, no excuses or explanations need to be given or expected. The problem is for so long we have felt the need to justify our choices with the religious proclamations of ‘Holy Sacred Land’ that the term ‘Sacred Land’ has lost its meaning as anything more than the excuse it has become. I don’t even know if the generation behind me has any idea how to do the ceremonies, understand the significance of the ‘Sacred’ aspect of what the land represents. Most of the young people see the land as valuable, and knowing it’s valuable and their birthright, they want it back more in the hopes of having something greater than what Odanah has to offer them.”

  “And you blame them for that?” she inquired.

  Cottonwood sighed, “No. In our past, we would have fought to maintain our land and killed any who tried to trespass on our hunting and fishing grounds, but we can’t fight for a better life with arrows or clubs anymore, and guns wouldn’t serve either. The world has changed too much and our people were too slow to change with it.” Cottonwood laughed, “Not that we were given an opportunity to assimilate back when I was a boy. Our people couldn’t change as the world changed, until now. This foolish Casino, gives us a chance to become part of the world as it sits today. Fighting for our lives and land through financial means is a better way to secure our future in this modern world where money is survival.”

  “And this relates to the Bakaak just how?” Ursula wanted to understand.

  “The stories say that the Bakaak are dark forest spirits, and will not leave the forest even to chase down their prey, which is why those hunters were able to escape with their lives.” Cottonwood grew very quiet and he studied his shoes, “Yes, we knew such a creature was in the forest, but we only warned our people to stay away.”

  “So, if some non-Native people were killed it was okay?”

  “Many in the tribe felt they brought it on themselves, for trespassing on our land to begin with.” Cottonwood looked guiltily into Ursula’s eyes, “I suppose the prejudice goes both ways.”

  “How many have died?”

  “Before Stephen LaRose, none that we know of.”

  “But you were willing to just let it happen if it came to that?” she snapped.

  Cottonwood sighed, “Penchant is angry and has been for a long time, but he didn’t forbid anyone against warning people outside of the tribe about not venturing into the woods around Amnicon Bay. He had only forbidden us to say WHY people should not go into the woods.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Think about it. How do you explain that an angry spirit of the forest will shoot you with an invisible arrow, then eat your liver, sew you up and send you on your way only to die days later when the Bakaak’s magic runs out? Do you think any non-Native would buy it? Hell, I don’t think most of our own people believe. Look what happened to LaRose.”

  The two worked their way further into the forest until they found Jett sitting on a fallen tree and raising a cup of coffee to his lips.

  “Uh, excuse me?!” Ursula chided.

  Jett froze, the cup less than an inch from his lips, and he made an over exaggerated display of sniffing the aroma of the brew.

  “I was just smelling it,” he said sheepishly.

  “Oh, really?”

  Jett laughed, “Find a seat, I’ll pour you each a cup.” Then he sobered, “You’re about to need it as much as I do.”

  Ursula sensed the tension in Jett’s voice, “You found something?”

  “Yep.”

  Cottonwood grew excited, “What did…?”

  Jett inclined his head at spot beyond where he was sitting, “Over there, but you might want to get some coffee in you first.”

  Ursula immediately walked to where Jett had indicated, but Cottonwood thought better of it and sat on the log and waited as Jett poured more coffee from the Thermos.

  Ursula only had to travel a few yards before the smell of old blood and rotting flesh struck her nose. She scanned the forest floor until she saw something out of place and moved toward the small object. At first it was the unusual color that made her eye lock on to the spot, but she
froze when she saw that the color was a scrap of the blue uniform from one of the Ashland police officers in Chief Tull’s search party. A few steps more and Ursula could easily see the severed forearm with its attached hand lying in the center of what must have once been a puddle of blood. The skin of the hand was terribly discolored with a grey-green pallor, but otherwise looked intact, almost as if it weren’t real. The near perfect state of the hand confused Ursula, as the violence obviously happened many hours prior, but still no flies or other insects covered the dead flesh as one might normally expect. Aside from the obvious, something very wrong was happening in the forest.

  Ursula checked the ground for tracks of any kind but found only what looked like flattened earth, as if a heavy thing or things had been dragged across the forest floor.

  “What the hell is going on?” Ursula asked after she had backtracked her way to Jett and Cottonwood, finding them both sitting quietly on the fallen tree. Cottonwood looked very confused.

  “An arm?” he asked.

  Ursula nodded, “My guess would be the upper half of a left forearm with the hand and all the fingers still attached and more or less unmarred.”

  Cottonwood just started shaking his head, “None of the stories ever said anything about the Bakaak rending off the limbs of its victims.”

  “Who can say? The hunter we interviewed mentioned that he and his friends were attacked by creatures with clubs. Maybe in the ensuing violence…?”

  Cottonwood just shook his head, “It just doesn’t fit. Something’s not right.”

  Jett agreed, and then he turned to Ursula and asked, “Did you see the area around the limb?

  Ursula nodded, “Looks like the rest of the victim was dragged away.”

  “We should search the area to see if there are any other…parts lying around.”

  A quick search revealed plenty of blood covering the ground leaves and tree trunks, but no other sign of bodies or body parts.

  Ursula was the first to speak up, “Well, judging from the marks on the ground, Tull and his officers made it this far before… something happened.”

  Jett was kneeling on the ground, concentrating as he picked up a handful of dirt and let the grains sift through his fingers. He concentrated on the dirt and let his ability wash over it, searching for anything that might have tainted the earth. The dirt initially revealed only the blood that had saturated it earlier, but Jett’s Shamanistic senses were attuned to perceiving magic and he suddenly felt the cold malice of the dark forest spirit within the soil. It reeked of evil and made the bile churn in his stomach as the malevolence threatened to overwhelm him.

  Jett threw the rest of the dirt away and he recoiled from what he sensed, which caused him to fall back, eyes wide on the ground in front of him.

  “Jett!” Ursula cried out in concern as she saw the look on Jett’s face. She would have moved to his side had not Cottonwood’s arm reached out and grabbed her a second earlier.

  Ursula whirled on the old man, but her anger instantly abated when she saw the elder’s eyes staring into the distance of the forest.

  “Guys?” the elder said cautiously, “we seem to have company.”

  Ursula and Jett both turned and looked in the direction Cottonwood was staring, inclining their gaze upward into the treetops until they saw what had caught the elder’s attention.

  Above them, with the fabric of its former clothes flapping like a collection of flags in the wind, an emaciated figure stared down at them from empty eye sockets within a skin covered skull of a head. The figure just hovered there, shifting its head slightly as it regarded each of them, as if judging them before taking action.

  Jett slowly rose to his feet and faced the figure, opening his senses the way he had when studying the blood-soaked dirt previously, and took in the full measure of the figure floating in the treetops. Jett had to repress the need to gasp as he saw the true form of the Bakaak, and he thought that it looked very much like one of those emaciated and severely decomposed zombies from the horror movies. Any sign of the man it had been in life was gone, save the obsessive drive and need to hunt that Jett could see as a purplish aura in the center of the figure’s chest.

  Jett watched, as the thing swiveled its head to Cottonwood, studied the elder and then disregarded him to look at Ursula. Jett could see the creature react to her as a red glow began to form in its skull, but faded a moment later.

  Fully engrossed in the scene, Jett remained motionless as the thing turned to look at him, as again the red glow grew inside the thing’s skull. This time the light didn’t fade and kept getting brighter and brighter. A sudden sense of dread filled Jett’s gut and he blinked his eyes rapidly until his vision returned to normal.

  The Bakaak screeched as Jett’s eyes cleared and Jett was able to refocus his sight on the figure, just as Ursula shouted a warning.

  “Jett! Move!”

  The warning came too late, as the Bakaak had already reached behind itself, as if to draw an unseen arrow from a back quiver while its other hand gripped the string of the bow, pulling back and releasing the “imaginary” projectile. Jett never saw the arrow but the impact that hit his chest was followed by an explosion of pain. His body stiffened and he fell backwards like a cut tree. Ursula drew her sidearm and began firing at the floating form while Cottonwood also drew a sidearm and fired as well. Their bullets riddled and tore through the fabric the Bakaak wore but seemed to do little physical injury to the thing. In response, the Bakaak waved an arm and pointed where Ursula and Cottonwood stood firing and more of the Bakaak rushed out of the shadows at the pair along the forest floor.

  Ursula saw them first and turned her gun to the approaching Bakaak, carefully aiming before firing each shot. Cottonwood continued to fire at the floating Bakaak until his weapon was empty and, when he lowered his head to reload, it was then he noticed the other Bakaak running toward his position. Quickly he attempted to reload but Ursula managed to shoot one of the creatures in the knee, the heavy .50 Caliber bullet from her Desert Eagle blew the lower half of its leg clean off in an injury it could not ignore, and brought it down with a very physical crash to the forest floor. She sighted the other running Bakaak and smiled as she placed her sights directly on it, but felt only an empty click as she squeezed the trigger.

  The Bakaak howled in triumph and ran straight at Ursula, her eyes going wide in surprise both at her gun being empty and the speed at which the remaining Bakaak approached. The creature reared back with its heavy club and used all of its speed and supernatural strength to swing the club at Ursula’s head in what was sure to be a killing blow. There was the distinctive “slap-thud” sound of wood striking flesh and bone as the whole forest went quiet as if recognizing that something had just been killed.

  All eyes in the forest turned to Ursula, including the floating Bakaak that had up to that point never broken its gaze off Jett’s unmoving body. The Bakaak that had swung the club looked down the length of his weapon to see Ursula’s hand raised and gripping the makeshift club a mere two inches away from the side of her head.

  Ursula had caught the club at full swing, stopped it cold and was now smiling down at the Bakaak like a predator that had just tricked and trapped its prey. If it were possible for the empty skull sockets of the Bakaak to shift to a look of surprise and fear, then it did that now as Ursula’s other hand shot out and grabbed the Bakaak by the throat before wrenching the club out of its grasp and tossing it aside.

  Cottonwood’s eyes went wide as Ursula spun and lifted the Bakaak off the ground and whipped its bony form horizontally into the nearest tree with enough force to shatter its spine and rip away the lower portion of its body. Two skeletal legs spun limply to the forest floor as Ursula then raised the Bakaak over her head and slammed the creature over and over into the ground.

  The floating Bakaak shrieked as Cottonwood, energized by the change in the tide of battle picked up the fallen wooden club and swung it mightily at the head of the knee-wounded Bakaak, breaking
its neck and setting the creature’s head in an unnatural position to one side. The creature toppled again, but tried to move away until Cottonwood stepped over it and brought the wooden club down on its head again, and again.

  The floating Bakaak reached behind itself, as if to pull another of its invisible arrows, but then it suddenly froze, looking off into the forest, its attention mysteriously drawn away. Then it relaxed, looked at Jett one final time, and retreated upward to float away as Cottonwood and Ursula continued to smash the bones of its fellow creatures.

  Cottonwood’s Bakaak had stopped moving, but the older man continued to rain blows down on the body of the beast, working his way from its head, to its shoulders, arms, ribs, spine and pelvis, breaking every bone he could along the way. He had just started on the first leg when he heard an unnatural shriek or howl unlike anything he ever imagined.

  Ursula, who had slammed and stomped the Bakaak that she had grabbed into smaller pieces that resembled broken glass more than anything that had been previously organic, also stopped upon hearing the sound. Seeing that the floating Bakaak had disappeared, she quickly tossed the remainder of the creature in her hand over her shoulder and hurried to Jett’s side.

  Jett’s eyes were open and he was staring up at the sky as Ursula knelt at his side. She felt a pulse, saw that he was breathing, but was otherwise unresponsive. She felt around his body until her finger struck something solid in his chest. Remembering the stories of the Bakaak’s invisible arrows Ursula felt along the length of the unseen solid object in what could only be an arrow shaft and wrapped her fingers around it. She gave a quick pull, Jett’s body lifting off the ground momentarily until the magical arrow came free from his chest and his body flopped limply back to the ground. The moment the arrow came free it also became ethereal and Ursula felt only empty air where the arrow shaft had formerly been. Meanwhile, as blood began slowly seeping from Jett’s chest, Ursula tore some of the fabric of Jett’s shirt away to see a perfectly round hole, about the size of a dime in the middle of Jett’s breastbone. She tore away more of Jett’s shirt and began to compress the wound as she called out to the Elder.