Evil Whispers

by Goingback, Owl

Patch the one-eyed dog gave a final sigh and slumped to the ground, his body going limp. He had failed to protect the little girl from the bad thing, had failed to protect himself. As he slowly died, his last thoughts were of chasing squirrels, barking at silvery fish, and the sweet taste of jelly beans.

  Chapter Ten

  Jimmy Cypress didn’t own a television, or a radio. He had no need for such things. His entertainment was provided by the wildlife that lived in the forest surrounding his tiny, one-room cabin. The squirrels and birds, even the alligators, were his entertainment, providing hours of simple pleasures with their rituals and antics. On those days when the animals weren’t up to performing, he would pass the time reading one of the many books that he borrowed from the public library.

  He enjoyed nonfiction books mostly, texts on history, philosophy, or social studies. He had traveled around the world many times through the books he read, marveling at the cultures of other countries. In opposition to what the Army had tried to teach him, he had learned that people in foreign lands weren’t much different than those he encountered closer to home. A man was a man, with the same dreams, hopes, and desires of all men.

  Most men wanted nothing more than to be left alone by others, lead a simple life, and be able to provide for their wives and families. They did not want to be involved in politics, did not desire to be filthy rich, and had absolutely no craving to go to war against someone else. People in other countries were not the enemy. They were just different, that’s all, and that difference made them all the more interesting.

  Along with the nonfiction books, he also had a passion for the works of dead poets. There was something about a well-written poem that brought great happiness to his heart. Like a song without music, a good poem would stick in his mind all day; he carried it with him as he made his daily treks through the forest.

  His favorite poems were sonnets about sunsets, mountains, and endless oceans dotted with undiscovered island paradises. Or poems about love. Verses written by a man that spoke of a woman’s flawless beauty: long flowing hair the color of ripened wheat, eyes as blue as a deep spring pool, and a smile that hinted at whispered secrets on a warm summer’s night.

  Jimmy had written such poems when he was in love, mailing them off to a woman on the opposite side of the world. He had spoken of his devotion to her, how he would lay the mountains at her feet and string the stars on a silvery chain for her to wear around her neck. But the love he spoke of had not been true love after all, for the woman he desired had not waited for him to return home from the war. She had given her heart to another, a rich young man who never served his country, while Jimmy had slept cold and alone in the trenches atop a nameless mountain in Vietnam.

  He never fell in love again after than, and never, ever wrote another poem. The wound in his heart hurt far more than any he had ever received in combat. But that didn’t stop him from reading poetry. He still enjoyed the verse of others, but he could no longer write of love himself.

  It was almost sundown, so Jimmy Cypress decided to put away his borrowed books and take a walk through the forest. Most of the hikers and fishermen would have already gone home, so he would not be disturbed. He always laughed at how quickly the whites left the forest when darkness approached, but sunset was the best time for being in the woods. It was the quietest part of the day, a time when a man could be alone with his thoughts. It was a time when the animals of the day surrendered their hunting grounds to their brothers of the night. A time when a crack between two very different worlds opened and the spirits came through.

  He was a firm believer in spirits, both good and evil, which was one of the reasons he had started down the medicine path. He had been summoned from South Dakota by a spirit. Had he not been a believer, he might have dismissed what he saw as nothing more than a dream brought on by bad food, or a hallucination left over from all the marijuana he had smoked in Southeast Asia.

  Pulling the cabin door shut behind him, he started through the forest on a path rarely used by anyone but him. The path connected to the wilderness trail at a place where the boardwalk had been burned by fire.

  No one knew that it was Jimmy who had set fire to the boardwalk. He had burned it in an effort to keep people away from the lagoon. They did not know about the evil that lurked within the black waters, but he did. Jimmy burned the boardwalk shortly after a small girl had been lost in the forest. Lost and never found.

  Though he had no way of knowing for sure, Jimmy suspected the girl’s body, or what was left of it, could be found at the bottom of the lagoon. Those suspicions he kept to himself, however, for fear of being blamed for the girl’s disappearance.

  Crossing the wilderness trail just south of the burned section, he turned and made his way toward the lagoon. He wanted to make sure that his staff was still in place, especially after his run-in with the white tourist. The man had moved the staff once, and he might do so again. Maybe he was looking for a genuine souvenir to take back home from Florida. If Jimmy found that his staff had been moved again, he would give the tourist a souvenir he would never forget: a swift kick in the ass from a pissed-off Seminole. Now, wouldn’t that be something to tell the folks back home?

  He had just turned toward the lagoon when he spotted the dead dog lying a few feet off the trail. Jimmy recognized the dog, for it was the one-eyed Labrador that belonged to the owners on the fish camp.

  “Damn,” he said, stopping to look at the dog. “How did this happen?”

  Jimmy had made friends with the dog years ago, and would often give him scraps of food when he came around the cabin. The dog was the friendly type, more lovable than fierce, and Jimmy wondered what had killed him.

  Kneeling down beside the dog, he ran his hand over the lifeless body. At first he suspected the dog had died of sickness, or snakebite, or maybe a hunter had accidentally shot him, but a quick examination revealed that the dog’s neck had been broken and his spine crushed. A piece of root was lodged in the dog’s mouth, yet no roots grew across that section of trail.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  Jimmy knew from what he saw that the evil was growing stronger. He had seen such things before. Rabbits found dead in the forest for no apparent reason. Birds crushed by vines that seemed to have a life of their own. But never a dog before. Never an animal so large. And never a person.

  But it was only the other day that he had found the white tourist sleeping by the lagoon, kudzu vines wrapped tightly around his legs. Jimmy wondered what would have happened had he not come along when he did. Would the vines have climbed the man’s legs to encircle his neck? Had the evil that infested the lagoon, and the forest surrounding it--the evil that was Mansa Du Paul--grown strong enough to take a man’s life? Was the spirit of the voodoo sorcerer returning to this land in force, seeking its revenge on any and all that crossed its path?

  The land was haunted, cursed, but up until now Jimmy had been able to keep the evil in check. For over twenty years he had lived in the forest where the slave village of Blackwater once stood, a Seminole medicine man standing guard against the evil trapped at the bottom of the lagoon.

  During those twenty years he had fought the evil many times, and each time he had won. But Jimmy Cypress was growing older, while the evil of Mansa Du Paul was eternal. The Indian knew in his heart that he would soon have to battle that evil again, all signs pointed to it, but this time he wasn’t sure who would win.

  Saying a silent prayer for the Labrador named Patch, he picked up the dog’s lifeless body and slowly carried it away to be buried.

  Chapter Eleven

  A full moon rose slowly above the treetops, casting a silvery glow over the forest and river. The moon’s glow did little, however, to lighten the feeling of dread that had settled deep in the heart of Jimmy Cypress. The guardian could feel the evil of Mansa Du Paul growing stronger, could almost see the blackness rising out of the lagoon.

  The lifeless dog he had found earlier in the evening was proof that the evil was g
aining strength. The dog had been strangled, it’s bones broken and crushed, apparently by roots that moved under their own power. The evil was in the lagoon, in the ground, and even in the roots.

  Yes, the blackness was growing stronger, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not yet anyway. He could only wait, and pray.

  The wind rustled the fronds of the palm tree just outside Krissy’s bedroom window. The fronds made a dry, whispering sound as they moved in the breeze, bringing to mind images of skeletons and dried bones.

  She lay on her bed, facing the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Somewhere in the darkness waited her special friend, Mansa. He was part of the darkness, invisible as the wind that stirred the palm tree.

  Krissy turned to look at the travel alarm clock sitting on the floor beside her bed. It was 8:25 P.M. Back home she would have been watching television with her parents, or reading a book, maybe even coloring. But she had no desire to do such things here. Not now. Not when there were more important things to be done, more important things to be seen. Tonight she was going to see her special friend. Tonight she was finally going to put a face with the voice she heard.

  Krissy frowned. What if Mansa was ugly? What if he was fat and dumpy looking, like the man that dipped ice cream at the Baskin-Robins near her house? What if Mansa looked like that man? Would she be disappointed if her special friend was not tall and handsome, like the kings and knights in her storybooks? Would she turn away if he didn’t have long flowing hair and shiny armor, or if he didn’t ride a tall white horse like the heroes in the fantasy stories she read? What if he looked more like the Cat in the Hat than a knight?

  Krissy almost giggled, imagining Mansa to be the Cat in the Hat. Or maybe he would appear before her and offer green eggs and ham, like Sam I Am. Krissy laughed aloud, thinking of what she might say if someone suddenly offered her green eggs and ham. Would she eat them in a box? Would she eat them with a fox?

  The sound of footsteps approaching her door silenced her laughter. Her heart began to pound as the doorknob turned and the door opened.

  “What’s this? Ready for bed so soon?” Janet Patterson opened the door and stepped into the room, surprised to find her daughter dressed and ready for bed. For once there was no contest of wit to stall for a few extra minutes, no pleas to stay up a little longer, no arguments about brushing teeth or washing dirty hands. She wondered if Krissy was coming down with something, the flu perhaps, but her forehead felt cool to the touch.

  “Aren’t you feeling good?” Janet asked, stepping back from the bed.

  “I’m feeling okay.” Krissy smiled, reassuring her mother that she wasn’t sick. “I’m just a little tired. That’s all. And I don’t want to be sleepy for the fishing trip tomorrow. Daddy said he was going to catch the biggest fish, but I’m going to beat him. My fish will be the biggest. Just you wait and see.”

  Janet smiled, relieved that her daughter’s desire to go to bed early was because of fishing, and not the results of a virus. Tucking Krissy into bed, Janet gave her a kiss on the cheek and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Krissy listened to her mother’s footsteps as they faded away, and then sat up in bed. She didn’t dare lie down, afraid of falling asleep. Her special friend had promised that tonight she would get to see him.

  She waited for over three hours, sitting there on her bed and forcing herself to stay awake. Adding, subtracting, doing multiplication tables in her head, spelling all the words she could think of to spell, anything she could do to keep from falling asleep. Not that she was sleepy. Not really. She was much too excited to sleep.

  She was also a little afraid, scared of what would happen to her if her parents caught her sneaking out. Scared too of the darkness and what might wait for her in the night. The forest was filled with animals, snakes, and creepy bugs. But she was willing to conquer her fears and face such dangers in order to see her special friend.

  She waited until it was almost midnight, certain that her parents would be asleep, before taking off her pajamas and slipping into a pair of blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. Opening her window slowly, Krissy pushed out the screen and climbed out of the bedroom.

  A full moon hung bright in the sky, but the night still seemed awfully dark to the ten-year-old. Shadows appeared to reach out for her, threatening to grab her with skeleton fingers. Circling the cabin, she hurried toward the nature trail.

  The fish camp was dark and quiet and appeared deserted, except for a couple of vehicles parked in the parking lot. Two pickup trucks were also parked in front of the lounge. She could hear country music coming from the Blackwater Lounge, carried faintly upon the night wind like ghostly melodies.

  Krissy paused to listen to the music, a chill suddenly dancing down her spine. She was completely alone, away from her parents, the two people who could protect her from any and all dangers. She was nothing but a little girl who was about to enter a very big forest by herself, a forest that might be infested with dangerous animals and snakes. Maybe even ghosts.

  She looked around, nervous. She didn’t know if she believed in ghosts or not. Ghosts were fun to think about in the daytime, but not at night. She loved to watch Scooby Doo and his friends hunt for ghosts in old haunted houses on the cartoon show, but the show came on in the afternoon, so there wasn’t anything scary about it. And she liked to draw ghosts in school for Halloween. Once she had even dressed up as a ghost for a masquerade party.

  That was all fun. Ghostly fun. Nothing spooky about it. But now, as she stood there listening to the haunted sound of country music drifting out of the lounge, she couldn’t help thinking about ghosts. Real Ghosts. And if ever there was a place to find real ghosts, then it was the forest she was about to enter.

  The clumps of Spanish moss that hung from the oak trees shone a pale gray in the moonlight, looking like unearthly spirits as they moved gently in the breeze. She knew it was nothing but Spanish moss, and the worst thing she had to fear was a bad case of red bugs should she happen to handle it, but it still looked rather spooky in the darkness.

  Convincing herself that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, Krissy put on her bravest face and turned away from the lounge. Reaching the bridge that crossed the Wekiva River, she looked behind her to make sure no one was following, then crossed the bridge and started down the nature trail.

  Luckily, the moon was bright enough for her to see where she was going. The boardwalk glowed a pale silver in the moonlight, as did many of the trees surrounding it. Her footfalls echoed off the wooden boards as she hurried along the boardwalk, blending in with the nocturnal sounds of crickets and tree frogs.

  She reached the section of boardwalk that was burned and closed to the public. Climbing down off the boardwalk, she continued onward following the narrow path that wound between trees and brush. As she hurried along, footfalls now muffled by layers of dead vegetation on the forest floor, she noticed movement around her. Vines slithered over the ground like snakes, touching her ankles as she passed, caressing her legs. At first she thought it was just her imagination, but the closer she got to the lagoon the more the forest seemed to be alive. Alive and reaching out to touch her as she passed.

  In places where palmetto bushes grew thick, the sharp leaves of the foliage seemed to move out of the way to allow safe passage, quickly closing in behind her once she passed.

  She finally reached the lagoon. Emerging from the forest, she stood mesmerized by the brightness of the moon’s glow off of the water. It wasn’t just the lagoon that seemed to glow: the ground, the trees, even the smallest of bushes all seemed to shine with a radiance that hurt her eyes to look upon.

  “Are you here?” Krissy asked, looking around.

  There was a rustling in the branches above her, a sudden gust of wind in a place where the wind rarely visited. The crickets and frogs grew quiet. The sudden silence startled Krissy, made her afraid. She heard the voice of her special friend, but it was no longer warm and soft. It was
icy cold. The voice caused the skin at her temples to pull tight.

  I am here, Krisssy. In the water. Come closer. Closer.

  Krissy didn’t move. She was suddenly afraid, terrified to get any closer to the strange glowing lagoon. The spell of excitement that had been cast over her earlier was gone now. All that remained was a nervous feeling that something very bad was about to happen.

  The voice lured her closer to the water’s edge. You do want to see me, don’t you?

  Krissy nodded.

  Then come closer. Closer....

  If Krissy had been a little older, she might have questioned her present situation, might have realized the danger she was in. But she was only a child. Innocent. The evil one knew this. That was why he chose her.

  In the center of the lagoon, the calmness of the water was suddenly broken by a patch of bubbles rising to the surface. Tiny bubbles of oxygen once trapped in the black mud at the bottom of the lagoon and now released as something pulled itself out of that mud. More bubbles appeared; the surface of the water began to ripple and roll. A stench of decay traveled across the lagoon. The wind blew stronger. Branches of trees began to sway.

  “I can’t see you,” Krissy said.

  That is because I am still on the other side.

  “Other side?”

  The spirit world. The place all people go when they die.

  “Are you dead?” Krissy asked, a little frightened.

  No. I am only a visitor to this world. But someone has played a trick on me. They have taken my body, scattered my bones so I cannot cross back to the land of the living. That is why I need your help, Krisssy. I need you to help me cross back over. I need your body.

  The ground under her feet began to tremble, as though a million bugs crawled beneath its surface. Terrified, Krissy stepped back and turned to run. She had just turned when the ground seemed to explode as something broke free of the earth.