The Devil's Woods

by Brian Moreland

  A man’s voice called from the shadows, “Arok! Get off him! Now!”

  The dog-wolf crushing Kyle’s chest scuttled back into the gloom.

  “Kiche! Maskwa! Get!”

  The two snouts released the jeans at Kyle’s ankles. A shadowy mask eclipsed the moon and trees. “Are you all right?”

  Choking, Kyle gripped his bruised chest.

  Someone’s hand kept patting his shoulder. “You okay?”

  Kyle’s mind drifted into blackness.

  Again someone was tapping his shoulder. “Hey, Kyle, you still alive?”

  Dazed, he tried sitting up to stop the earth from shaking, but the ghoul-like mask above was spinning, and the trees were spinning, and Kyle’s stomach was tossing, and bile was rising in his throat. Pitching forward, he wretched onto the grass.

  “I’m so sorry,” a familiar deep voice reached Kyle. “I let my dogs get too far ahead of me.”

  Kyle finally recognized the voice. “Ray?”

  “Yeah, bud, it’s me.” His cousin’s large hand pulled Kyle up with ease, and a new pain, like barbwire being dragged along the bone beneath his skin, spiked up to his shoulder. He staggered, leaning against Ray. It took Kyle a moment to catch his wits. His arm was bleeding. His shirt and pants were damp and hung in tatters. His entire skull ached where his head had bumped across the rocky ground, and he could feel blood swelling in a scrape on his forehead where pine branches had slapped him.

  From behind, voices called his name.

  Several shadows rushed from the trees.

  Zack arrived first. “We heard screaming. You okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Shawna said, “Holy shit, look at your hand!”

  Kyle raised a red wet glove that dripped from his fingertips. The pain had finally stopped, but so had any feeling in his arm.

  Jessica examined his wounds. “My God, what happened?”

  “It’s my fault.” Ray Roamingbear stepped forward, leaning on his staff. “I hiked up here to see how you kids were doing. My dogs got away from me and jumped him. I feel terrible.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kyle said, trying to look brave for Jessica. He forced a grin. “It’s just a few scrapes.” A fiery pain pulsated through his forearm, reminding him that it was still attached. He heard the fear of rabies ripple through the group, but Ray assured them his dogs had been vaccinated. Three wolflike dogs slipped from the trees and herded around the tall Indian.

  Kyle’s body trembled as if the chilly night had turned subzero.

  Jessica’s soft fingers gently touched his arm as she examined the bites. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” She smiled. “Let’s get you back to the house and cleaned up.”

  She escorted Kyle to the kitchen sink and ran cool tap water over his bleeding arm. He cringed as it stung, but took the pain in stride. The water washed blood, saliva, dirt and pine needles out of the multiple gashes in his forearm. After wiping his filthy face with a damp washcloth, Jessica said, “Now leave your arm under the water while I go get my bag.”

  “Okay, Doc.” As Kyle watched her climb up the spiral stairs to the loft, he realized that Eric was sitting at the dinner table. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his eyes glassy and bloodshot. Beer cans littered the table. His fist crumpled one as if it were a Dixie cup. He then rose, staggering, and lumbered toward Kyle. “What the fuck are you trying to pull?”

  “I was attacked by Ray’s dogs. Go outside and see for yourself.”

  Eric pointed a finger. “I know what you’re up to.”

  Kyle felt defenseless with a numb, bleeding arm pinned under the running tap. His head still felt woozy. Half-expecting a punch in the nose, Kyle raised his good arm, ready to block a blow if necessary. But Eric stopped midway. Then changing directions, he headed for the cabinets where with visible effort he retrieved a bottle of Dad’s Stoli.

  “Eric, don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  “Fuck off.” He headed out the front door. It slammed on its hinges.

  “Shit,” Kyle whispered, shaking his head.

  A moment later, Jessica returned with a handbag. She didn’t seem to notice Eric had left.

  “You really come prepared, don’t you?” Kyle said, as she zipped open the small black bag on the counter.

  “I never leave home without my bag of tricks.” After emptying half the contents onto the counter, she gave him Advil for his headache and then began dressing his wounds. His heart rate rocketed when she touched him. Not since his wife, Stephanie, had anyone caressed him. Blushing, he tried to shake the warm fuzziness in his chest, but Jessica’s hands touched him with such tenderness he couldn’t help but enjoy it. As she swabbed the scrape on his forehead, her face drifted inches from his, her blue eyes concentrating on her work. Her lips drifted so close, he could feel her breath on his cheek. Then an even stranger feeling swept through Kyle—a magnetic urge to kiss her. A desire he thought he’d never feel again.

  He jerked away.

  “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Her eyes blinked with concern.

  “No, I just…” Kyle moved away from her, needing cool air. He opened the fridge and leaned inside as if looking for a drink. Frosty air relieved his burning chest.

  “Are you okay?”

  He grabbed a bottle of water. “Yeah, just thirsty.” He took a swig. “Ahh, hits the spot. I guess we’re done. Thanks. I feel much better.”

  “Don’t run off. I still need to bandage your arm.”

  He looked down at his gnarled arm that was now clean but starting to bleed again where canine teeth had cut the deepest. “Oh, yeah.” He sat down at the table, letting Jessica swab some kind of oil on the wounds. It had a strong, but pleasant odor.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Melalueca oil. It’s a natural remedy for healing wounds and fighting off infections.”

  Kyle noticed that, other than Advil and bandages, most of her first-aid supplies were brown bottles of oil and bags of herbs. “Are you some kind of witch doctor or something?”

  She smiled. “No, but I learned a lot about healing from studying with the aborigines. They taught me that natural medicine is far more holistic for our bodies than traditional Western medicine.”

  Kyle tried to avoid Jessica’s eyes, so she wouldn’t see that he was falling for her. The closeness of her face, her hair, the smell of her perfume nearly drove him to forget the pact he had made with himself. He glanced down at the gold band on his wedding finger. He could barely breathe. He tried to lower his face. Too late. She looked up. “Are you all right?” She touched his cheek. “You’re trembling.”

  “Just nerves from the attack.”

  “Poor thing.” She left her hand on his face.

  “It’ll pass. This used to happen a lot when I was a kid.” He tried to smile like it was nothing, but then his upper lip trembled, so he clamped his mouth shut.

  After wrapping his arm with gauze, Jessica pulled away and smiled. “All done.”

  “Am I going to live, Doc?” he asked, trying to make light of the situation.

  “Oh, I think you’ll make it. You’re a lucky one, you are. The wound on your wrist just broke the skin. No major arteries severed.” She grinned and brushed some pine needles out of his hair. “And I don’t see any signs of brain damage.”

  * * *

  “Sure you’re okay?” Ray said as Kyle and Jessica stepped back outside. “I feel terrible.”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks to Doc here.” Kyle stared at the three dogs that watched the group with suspicious eyes. Two of the dogs were charcoal gray and one was a solid, shiny black. All stood waist high to Kyle, with thick torsos, monstrous jowls and sharp pointed ears that always stood alert. The black one that featured more wolf than dog was the largest of the pack, with a thick spiky coat and an odd hump that rose along its spine. Its stare made Kyle wary. “I don’t remember you having guard dogs.”

  “I got ’em a year ago. Sometimes we get poachers out here. W
hen my dogs saw you roaming outside the cabin, they must’ve thought you were a trespasser. I’m afraid I’ve trained ’em too well.”

  The three dogs packed around Ray, tightly coiled and ready to spring at any sudden move. As Ray talked, nobody so much as flinched. Kyle wished Shawna and Jessica were safe inside, unsure of how much control his cousin had over his killer pets.

  “You guys can relax,” Ray assured the group. “Really, they won’t harm you now that they see you’re family.” He spoke Cree to the dogs in a commanding voice. The pack relaxed in unison, lying sphinx-like on their bellies, tongues panting.

  Ray smiled proudly. “They’re the best trained guard dogs I’ve ever owned. Part German shepherd, part mountain wolf. When I’m around, they don’t do anything unless I command it. Watch.” He clicked his tongue, and all three dogs stood up in attention like a disciplined platoon. Ray’s mouth did a single cluck and the black wolf lumbered forward and licked his palm. “This one’s Arok. He’s the meanest. Doesn’t like many folks, but don’t worry. He’s a puppy dog when I’m around. And when he gets to know you, he’s your best friend.”

  Ray made squirrel sounds with his tongue then snapped his fingers over his head. Arok returned to his position and the two dark gray dogs padded forward, flanking Ray on either side. “Kiche and Maskwa. They’re my twins. Kiche here is a female, and Maskwa, he’s the charmer.”

  Another chilly wind whistled from the forest, and Shawna hugged her shoulders. “Guys, let’s go inside and build that fire.”

  “Good idea,” Kyle said. “Ray, come join us. We’ve got plenty of beer and leftover gumbo.”

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “I should probably head home.”

  Kyle said, “Nonsense, you walked all this way to visit. Besides, I was hoping this week you would share some campfire stories.” To the group Kyle said, “Ray is a master storyteller.”

  Shawna said, “Ooh, yeah, the scarier, the better.”

  Their cousin grinned broadly. “Well, all right, I never turn down an opportunity to share stories.” Looking down at his dogs, Ray made clicking and clucking noises, and the pack danced about his legs like well-trained circus animals. “Arok, you’re in charge. Keep the twins in line.”

  * * *

  On the front side of the cabin, an icy wraith of wind embraced Eric as he sat on an old tire swing. He welcomed the cold, for it cooled his anger.

  All night Jessica had flirted with Kyle in the kitchen, giggled with him during dinner, going on and on about his cooking, and then finally playing doctor with him at the sink. And that fucking grin Kyle wore as he watched Jessica wiggling her ass up the stairs.

  “There you are,” Jessica said from the front porch. “I was wondering what happened to you.”

  “I went for a walk.”

  She came over and caressed Eric’s shoulder. “Come join us inside. Ray’s going to tell us some stories.”

  “I’m fine out here.”

  “Don’t you want to snuggle up on the couch with me?”

  “Not in the mood.” He drank straight from a vodka bottle.

  “What has gotten into you tonight? You never drink like this.”

  “Not in the mood to talk either.”

  “Fine, get bloody drunk for all I care.” Jessica went back inside.

  Clutching the half-empty bottle of vodka, he walked over and peered in the through the front window. The group had gathered in the den with Grandfather and Ray Roamingbear. Jessica sat down on the loveseat next to Kyle. Watching his brother and girlfriend with one another caused an unfamiliar tightness in Eric’s chest. He wanted to put his fist through something, preferably Kyle’s face.

  Eric took another swig. The sting of the vodka made his eyes water. As he wiped his face on his sleeve, he heard a lone wolf howling somewhere in the distance. I hear you, my friend.

  * * *

  In the cozy warmth of the cabin’s den, the group sat around Ray Roamingbear and Grandfather. Sitting on the loveseat, Kyle relaxed, enjoying the reunion with his relatives. Across from him, Shawna looked at peace as she held hands with Zack. Her eyes met Kyle’s and she grinned. He couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had been happy at the same time. All they had needed was to make the journey home.

  Kyle’s heart rose when Jessica joined him on the loveseat. She looked bothered by something.

  “Eric’s not coming in?” Kyle asked.

  “He’s being a butt.”

  No, he’s just being Eric, Kyle wanted to say, but it wasn’t his place.

  Jessica leaned back, and as her arm brushed his, Kyle felt a rush like he was in junior high again. He imagined what it would feel like to put his arm around her shoulder and pull her closer. That, unfortunately, could never happen. He took it as a good sign that he was ready to date again. Maybe when he got home, he’d join a matchmaker site.

  As the group listened, Ray told stories of growing up on the reservation with their father. “Elkheart and I were always getting into something. When I was a tyke, we found a lone brown bear cub in the woods and I thought it would make a great pet.” Ray chuckled. “So like a couple of nitwits, we tied a rope around its neck and guided it back to the village. As you can imagine, this caused quite a panic as the mama grizzly came roaring after her baby. Everyone scattered. We had to hide indoors all day, because mama and baby bear decided to stick around and eat the lunch we’d laid out on a picnic table. No one got hurt, but I think that’s when Grandfather’s hair started turning silver.” He grinned at the old man. “Anyhow, that’s how I got my name, Roamingbear.”

  As Ray told humorous stories, Kyle laughed harder than he had in a long time. “Tell us a story about the history of our tribe.”

  Ray cocked his head. “Let me see if I can think of one.”

  Grandfather said, “Macâya Sakâw!” His cataract eyes were intense and his face animated with emotion.

  Ray looked startled, as if Grandfather had asked him to pull a rattlesnake out of thin air.

  “What’s he saying?” Kyle asked.

  “He wants me to tell you the legend of Macâya Forest.”

  Kyle remembered hearing the legend when he was a boy. “That’s an old campfire tale, isn’t it?”

  “It’s been passed down for generations,” Ray said. “Mainly to scare the kids and keep them from wandering too far from the village.”

  Kyle said, “We were warned not to go past Kakaskitewak Swamp or the woods would snatch us.”

  Grandfather spoke in Cree again, his ancient voice uttering words Kyle wished he could comprehend.

  Ray translated, “He says the warnings were for the tribe’s protection. Grandfather had been warned when he was a child. And his father before him, and so on. This legend still gives me the willies, because Macâya Forest lies on the edge of this reservation. And is considered haunted.”

  “All right, a ghost story!” Shawna leaped up and turned off the kitchen light. Shadows curtained down the walls, draping them in a gloomy orange-gray glow. The fire in the hearth popped and crackled. Dim light undulated around the den, shadows dancing like goblins along the walls and ceiling. Everyone’s faces were half in light, half in shadow as they waited for the speaker of legends.

  Firelight reflected off Ray’s reddish-brown face. He spoke just above a whisper, “My momma told me this one when I was nine, just before she went to the spirit world. ‘Macâya Forest,’ she had said in a raspy voice, ‘got its name from Cree lore and has remained forbidden for centuries. The forest was known for devouring any man or animal that ventured into it. Our ancestors respected its boundaries. But then came wagons carrying lumberjacks who had dreams of turning the woods around Lake Akwâkopiy into money. They moved in with our people. Offered promises of a better life. The white men, speaking Danish, called this dream Hagen’s Cove. Together the tribe and the settlers cut down the forest and built crude roads, a square of shops and houses and a timber mill owned by the Thorpe family.”

  “Founded by Hagen
Thorpe,” Jessica said.

  Ray nodded. “That’s right. In the 1880s, Hagen’s Cove flourished as lumberjacks scalped the mountain and the mill guzzled logs. Soon they reached a valley of woods that our ancestors held sacred. Macâya Sakâw, they called it. The Devil’s Woods. The Cree elders warned the lumberjacks not to cut those trees, but the white men were too stubborn and had no respect for the land or our beliefs.”