The House in Banes Meadow

by Jessie Cox

  Startled, the cold hand of fear grasping his heart, Amos dropped the things he carried and pulled the Leatherman out of his pocket and opened the blade.

  “This is not fair,” Amos whispered to his God. “I am an old man. Far too old to fight night monsters.”

  The night terror charged him and wrapped itself around his legs.

  “Meow,” it said.

  Amos looked at the half grown kitten rubbing his ankles, and with a sigh of relief, reached down to gently scratch behind furry ears. Then, noticing the blade he had opened was actually a file edged with saw teeth, he said to the cat,

  “You see? You did not scare me! I thought you might want a manicure.”

  The kitten purred in reply.

  Amos went back up the steps, and unlocking the freezer, took one of the smaller fillets out. Tossing it to the kitten, he relocked the freezer and replaced the key in its hiding place.

  Picking up his things, Amos took a lesson from the cat and hurried for home as silently and as quickly as he could.

  Ray concentrated on the wet dirt road, as he drove in the thunderstorm that had suddenly cropped up. Worried that if he stopped he might get stuck, he drove slowly through the sheets of falling water that not even the windshield wipers could keep up with. Lightning chased the thunder through the sky like a strobe light in a bass drum, causing the police radio to crackle and hiss. Ray loved the display and the sound effects, even in the car.

  Then came the almost unheard call over the radio. “Attention all units! There has been reports of a tornado touching down fifteen miles east of Okmulgee. All units are advised to be on the alert until the storm passes.”

  Ray had no sooner acknowledged the call when the rain stopped and the blinding sunlight returned. With it came the humidity and the steam vapors that looked like barely seen ghosts that waved from the road. Ray stopped the car in the shade of a large oak, rolled down the window and breathed the fresh clean air. Glancing at the tree, Ray saw an old weathered sign, almost unreadable, nailed to it.

  “Fresh Farm Produce. 1 Mile,” it read.

  “That’s my first stop,” he told himself. “I wonder if they have any fresh tomatoes?”

  Ray stopped in front of the driveway. Not trusting the pot-holed road, he would walk in to check out the long deserted house.

  Slipping his flashlight into one of the cuffs on his belt, he got from the car, only to find his boots sinking into the mud outside the car door. Trying to free his boot from the sucking mud, his stocking foot came out. Trying to stand on his booted foot, he lost his balance and put the stocking foot down in the mud.

  “Damn!” Ray cursed as he pulled the boot out of the mud. When he lifted his foot to put the boot back on, mud and all, he saw his sock was gone. Ignoring that the muddy boot would dirty his pant legs, Ray shoved his muddy bare foot into the boot.

  “Sometimes I don’t like this job,” he told himself as he made a wide step across a water filled ditch into the tall grass on the other side. Working his way through the grass that soaked his pants up to his belt, he approached the house.

  The windows had been boarded up long ago, and some of the nails holding the boards had either rusted in two or had become loose in the wind, making the house look like it was crying weathered wooden tears.

  Stepping through the vacant doorway, Ray paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Amazingly, the house looked lived in. There were old blankets covering the couch and chairs and a large paperback was lying page down, open on a stand by the couch.

  “The Infant Carrier,” Ray read the title. “Must be a book about parenting,” Ray told himself. “But it does sound familiar.”

  Just as he started to pick the book up, he heard a groan that seemed to come from the doorway on the other side of the couch.

  Pulling his revolver, Ray yelled. “U’tiun’ ta’!”

  “No! Me no ‘Tiun’ta’!’ A voice yelled back Me Charles Raney! Who the hell are you?”

  “Police,” Ray called. “Come out here with your hands where I can see them.”

  The squeal of old bed springs were muffled by the sound of movement and groans. Then an old man peeked around the door. Satisfied that Ray was a policeman, Raney tottered into the room on stiff legs and in baggy pants.

  “What can I do for you?” Raney asked, stifling a yawn.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Ray.

  “I live here. What are you doing here?” asked Raney.

  “I’m looking for a person named U’tiun’ta’.” Ray replied.

  “Oh,” said Raney. “That’s a name. I thought maybe you didn’t speak good English. From the condition your uniform is in, it wouldn’t surprise me if you couldn’t.”

  Ray looked down at his muddy wet pants.

  “Yeah. I can see where you might think that,” he said with a laugh. “But you are kind of a rough old cob, aren’t you?”

  “Son,” Raney said. “I live without running water or electricity. I do my business in an outhouse out back. My wife is dead. My kids don’t want me around and the VA charges me money I can’t afford for medicine they say I can’t do without. Do you think I have enough reason to be a little rough, as you call it?”

  “There are state and county agencies that could help you, if you applied,” Ray said.

  “I know,” Raney replied. “But I’ve never asked for anything I didn’t work for, and I’m too old to start now.”

  “Anything I can get you?” Ray asked.

  “Can’t say there is,” replied Raney. “Maybe if you was to ever drop by for supper, you might bring a couple cans of RC Cola. It’s been years since I’ve had that. Hope you don’t mind possum’ stew. I eat a lot of that around here.”

  “That is one of my favorites,” Ray said, barely suppressing a shudder.

  Back in the car, Ray put a check mark beside “The Old Fruit and Produce Stand”, on the list.

  Starting the engine, Ray pulled out onto the road. The next place was just a mile away.

  Chapter 15

  Grayson looked at each of the four men on the couch to see what their reaction was to what he had told them. Seeing no disbelief, he knew both the Creek and the Cherokee had chosen well. Due to the nature of their mission, none were older than thirty two and none had families.

  “Will we do the same thing our ancestors did?” the one on the end of the couch asked.

  “No,” replied Grayson. “I do not think U’tiun’ta’ would fall for the same trick twice. I think if you go as two teams, where one acts hurt and helpless, while the other lays in ambush, you will have a better chance of killing her.”

  The four men nodded in silent agreement.

  “It is agreed,” Grayson said. “Cleanse yourselves in the sweat-lodge before you go.”

  As the men went outside, a hidden drummer started a monotonous, repetitive beat, while the helper placed more stones, heated in a fire, in the dark lodge. Naked, they sat in the dark lodge all night, as the steam from water sprinkled on the never-ending supply of heated stones, made the sweat that purged the evil and impurities from their bodies and souls.

  The next morning they emerged and washed the evil from their skin in a clear flowing stream nearby.

  They found their traditional clothing laid out, along with the traditional weapons of each tribe. Each chose from war club, tomahawk, obsidian knife, spear, and bow and arrow. After they were ready, Grayson offered tobacco to The Great Mystery, The Earth Mother, and to the Spirits of the Four Winds, that their journey might be blessed.

  Pointing to the east and south, Grayson said to the two Creek men, “Go there!”

  Then pointing to the west and north, he said the same thing to the Cherokee men. As the men left in opposite directions, Grayson prayed for their success and safe return.

  Chapter 16

  Amos had just finished mowing the last patch of grass when the rain came. Stopping the blade from spinning, he put the mower in high gear for the long run back to the equipm
ent shed. While this morning his tiredness had known no bounds, he found the scent of the rain and the lightning-charged air refreshing.

  Tibbs heard Amos coming before he saw him, and opened the double doors so Amos could drive inside. Once Amos was there, Tibbs said, “Clean up the mower and clock out. It’s too wet to do anything. You might as well take tomorrow off, too. Here is your paycheck.”

  Amos nodded his understanding and folding the check, put it in his pocket. Quickly finished and clocked out, Amos took a leisurely stroll in the rain as he walked down town. Going into the appliance store, he walked to the back until he stood in front of a medium-sized television. Checking the price, he looked at his paycheck.

  “Just enough,” he said out loud. Finding the clerk, Amos signed the back of his check and handed it to her. Then giving the address where it was to be delivered, he left.

  Once outside, he found the rain had stopped and the clouds had moved on. The bright afternoon sunlight made him sweat beneath his shirt and the humidity made his breath come in gasps. As he walked by Maggie’s cafe, Maggie came to the door.

  “Git’ yourself in here, afore you melt!” She said.

  Amos did what he was told and soon had a large glass of iced sun tea sitting in front of him, while Maggie prepared his meal. Before it came, Amos saw Ted Watts enter the cafe. Instead of just the usual greeting in passing, Ted came over and asked Amos if he could sit down.

  “You are welcome at my table, Inspector Watts,” Amos replied.

  “Thanks, Amos,” Ted said, sitting down. “I need a favor. My two kids are coming for a month-long visit and I was hoping your nephew and his sister will be their friends, so they have someone to play with.”

  “Children are children,” Amos said. “I’m sure that Timmy and Naomi would welcome new friends.”

  “Thank you, Amos,” Ted said. “I pick them up tomorrow in Tulsa. I’ll spend the day with them, then send them to your nephew’s house the next day.”

  At that moment, Amos’ meal arrived.

  “Here, hon,” Maggie said. “Ted, can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks, Maggie,” Ted replied.

  “I just needed to talk to Amos for a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” Maggie said. “If you change your mind, holler.”

  Ted turned back to Amos, who was busy sprinkling pepper on his food.

  “Is that okay?” Ted asked.

  Pausing with a fork full of mashed potatoes half way to his mouth, Amos said, “That will be fine. I’ll tell Timmy’s mom, so she will be expecting them.”

  “Guess I had better get back to the office,” Ted said, standing up. “Thanks again, Amos.”

  Amos nodded, then went back to his plate.

  After Ted left, Amos thought about his own few years of schooling. In those days, the schools were segregated. The Blacks had their schools and the Whites had theirs, but no one knew what to do about the Indian children. One year they would school with the Whites and the next year with the Blacks. He remembered at recess he and his Indian friends would gather on one side of the playground, while either the Whites or the Blacks stayed on the other. Even the teachers made sure they did not mingle. It just was not done.

  “Do you want pie?” Maggie asked, breaking into his thoughts. “I have a fresh raisin pie cooling on a shelf in the back.”

  “Perhaps a small piece,” Amos said, knowing that there were no ‘small’ pieces of pie at Maggie’s.

  Finished eating, Amos started to leave, but Maggie stopped him.

  “Here,” she said, handing Amos a hundred and fifty dollars. “That is for the ten pounds of catfish fillets. Will you bring more before the Friday Fish Special?”

  Amos took the hundred and handed back the fifty. “I don’t think there was ten pounds there,” he said.

  “I weighed it,” Maggie replied. “There was a tad over ten pounds.”

  “The bad thing about scales is they are sometimes wrong,” Amos replied, then walked out the door.

  Chapter 17

  Nettie Pyles’ old Chevrolet chugged down a gravel county line road. She had waited until the storms had passed before setting out to check the little known patch of pecan trees that she considered her own. “The yield should be good this year,” she told herself. “Just enough rain and plenty of hot days made for fat, juicy pecans. Oh sure, there was a loss of nuts to the squirrels, but at ten cents a pound in the shell, a body could make fifty or a hundred dollars a season, just by picking up what lay on the ground. And some say the Lord don’t provide! Just open your eyes, fools, and behold His bounty!”

  Her fourteenth verse of “Shall We Gather At the River” was interrupted when she saw the Deputy’s car parked on the side of the road. Quickly looking at her speedometer, she saw the needle steady at fifteen miles per hour. She slowed down. “No need to chance a ticket,” she told herself, as she approached the car parked alongside the road. Hands at ten and two on the wheel and eyes straight ahead, she roared by the car at an incredible seven miles an hour. Just as she was even with the car, she heard someone call her name. Startled, her right foot missed the brake and pushed in on the clutch. The car didn’t stop. Realizing her mistake, she jerked her foot from the clutch and slammed on the brake. The engine working against the brakes without the clutch engaged, hiccupped and farted a few times, before giving up the ghost. No sooner had the car stopped, than an angry, startled Nettie threw open her car door and jumped out with her pudgy fists raised as if she had sparred with the Great Ali.

  “I’ll learn you to yell at motorists when they are busy drivin’!” she bellowed.

  Ray walked the few yards up the weed choked driveway before saying “I’m sorry, Nettie. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Nettie dropped her fists and peered nearsightedly at Ray.

  “Ray Corngrower! Is that you? Step a bit closer, but not too close, ‘cause I can be deadly,” she said.

  Ray covered his mouth with his hand and coughed to hide his laughter.

  “Yes, ma-am,” he said. “I’ll come a bit closer, but will stay out of arm’s reach. What are you doing out here, anyway?”

  “Nettie started to answer, then stopped herself.

  “Mindin’ my own business,” she finally said.

  “Might be a good idea if you found some place in town to mind your business,” Ray replied. “There’s a killer running loose and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Pshaw!” Nettie laughed. “There ain’t no body wants to hurt an old woman like me, and even if there was...watch this!”

  Nettie did a slow motion spin that was supposed to be a Karate kick, her swinging foot about shin high off the ground. Losing her balance, she fell against her car.

  “Karate is not made to be done on loose gravel,” she said, after she straightened up.

  Getting behind the wheel, she put the car in neutral and turned the key while stepping on the starter. The engine started, then sputtered and died. Giving Ray an angry look, she tried again. This time the engine clattered to life. Stepping on the clutch, she pulled the column lever down into first gear, before saying “Hmp!” in a loud enough voice that Ray could hear, as he watched her drive away. “Way too many Bruce Lee movies,” he told himself.

  A mile down the road, Nettie decided to go look at her other secret grove of pecan trees. Ray was too close to this grove and might see where she had gone.

  Driving to the next county line road, she turned left. It would have been closer if she had turned right, but there was no telling who could be following her.

  After several more evasive maneuvers, she pulled into the long, curved driveway that led to the two story house. Pulling around to the back where her car could not be seen, Nettie got out and tottered up a faint trail that led to the grove. After checking each tree, she decided that the harvest this year would be better than last year, and she thanked the Lord for His bounty.

  Walking carefully on the path back to her car, Nettie glanced up toward the house.
A movement as if someone had stepped away from an upstairs window, caught her eye.

  Nettie picked up her pace. “Must be that spook everyone’s talkin’ about,” she whispered to herself.

  Reaching the safety of her car, Nettie hopped in and started the engine.

  Come outta’ there, you haint!” she yelled out her window. “Me and the Lord will kick your butt back to hell, where you belong!”

  Then putting the car in gear, Nettie wasted no time in putting distance between her and the house.