Forest

Chapter Three

Back at home, there was a note left on the kitchen counter. 'Went out for a bit with Nick. Be home late!' signed by Sammy. Nick is Sammy's boyfriend, whom I don't care for, or approve of, but it's not my life or relationship. He's edgy, which there's nothing wrong with, I like the bad boy looks, just not on an actual bad boy. Nick has done a couple short stints in the local jail for dealing drugs. Nick isn't welcome here, my name is the primary name on this duplex, and I talked with Sammy about it, she understood the situation. I didn't want an ex-convict, who I know is still dealing, in my house.
Crumpling the note up, I threw it away, it was nice to have the place to myself. It might seem odd to most that I prefer being alone, especially after everything I've been through, but I find the isolation comforting. I don't have to worry about getting hurt, or being disappointed, or forgotten. At least if I'm alone on purpose, nothing can affect me. Besides, I don't have to worry about a Night-Walker wandering this far into town. I'm not in the center of town, but I'm not in the country, like I used to be as a kid, either. The Indian reservation is over five miles away, so this neighborhood doesn't have to worry about a rogue Night-Walker stumbling into their yard. I researched how safe this area was, despite being socially awkward, I even talked with some of the residents here to get a good feeling on the level of safety.
With plenty of time to kill, I had no idea what to do. The weather was decent outside, not too hot, not super chilly as long as the wind wasn't blowing, maybe a walk? When was the last time I actually enjoyed being outside? It was when I was a kid, before my parents attack. I loved the woods, they were gorgeous, full of plant life, and small grottos, and imaginary paths I made up that led to different hidden gems in the forest. I really loved the woods. The tall pine trees were magical looking when I was a child, I was in awe that something could even grow that big.
Pulling a pair of sneakers on, yanking a jacket off of the coat rack near the front door, I made sure I had the keys, locked the door behind me, and set off. In this part of the city, which is a small city compared to the surrounding cities, our population is only about thirty thousand, maybe less now. Bitterroot, Montana, a lovely quaint little city. It feels like a small town where everybody knows everybody. Our population, though, includes the Indian tribe. The reservation is a part of Bitterroot. Most everyone knows family names around here, the Maples are a well known name, many doctors and lawyers in their family. The Terrisons own a couple of the general stores, one dress store, he lets his daughter work there and design her own clothing line. There's a few other names, but either way, it's a great city. It's called Bitterroot after our state's flower. Others say this place earned its name because the Moniquoi use the Bitterroot flower for certain healing rituals. All of this dates back hundreds of years though, I'm sure there's not much to it.
This neighborhood has lovely homes, mostly two story houses, with generous yards. Our home, Sammys and mine, is newer, it's a decent little duplex, with still plenty of yard space. We don't have a neighbor which is nice, I don't really want to listen to our neighbors having sex. The walls are thin. Walking down the sidewalk, ducking under a couple of low hanging branches, the wind pushed me a little. Shoveling hair out of my face, I watched a couple of the neighborhood kids playing a game. It was a funny little game, one I didn't recognize, it was a cross between hopscotch, and four-square. Stepping into the street, I didn't want to disturb the children's game, I let my mind float about while my body wandered.
The only thoughts that rang through my head was the Night-Walker. It spoke to me? Why do I not remember that? I feel like that would be important to know, or at least shocking enough to hear a Night-Walker speak! Its eyes were terrifying, but they didn't look threatening either. The beautiful pale shade of gray, black and gold flecks in the iris of its eyes, it was incredible. In a different world, maybe they'd even be beautiful creatures. Ones that could walk amongst humans in harmony. Giggling to myself, what a childish idea. Complete harmony amongst two entirely different species? Doubtful. In fact improbable. Humans like to kill and then dissect anything that defies logic. If the Night-Walkers emerged from the woods, they'd surely be killed, ripped apart, and then put on display in a museum.
An idea had popped into my head. I'm not a fan of history, but I do like reading. Maybe the library would have some information, or maybe books on the folklore of the Night-Walkers. They're a popular topic of conversation with people who aren't afraid of them, which is few and far between. Redirecting my aimless stroll to the public library, it'll take me at least thirty minutes to get there, but it could be worth it. Hopefully there's some sort of forgotten history of these things.
At the public library, I was the only person searching the history section. I mulled over the titles in my head, slowly going over each one carefully, I didn't want to miss any books they would have. Moving into the next isle of history books, I started my slow scanning again. Reading each title. There has to be a faster way to find books. I thought. Of course I always had the option of asking the librarian, but I didn't really want people staring at me like I belonged in a looney bin, for trying to research the Night-Walkers history.
The entire history section was a complete bust. I can either do the walk of shame to the librarians desk, or to the fantasy and fiction section. Rubbing my hands over my face, I found myself dragging my feet over to the librarians desk. She had a messy bun, which was intentional, but looked effortless, and her lavender reading glasses resting on the end of her nose. Reading the name plate on her desk, I gently cleared my throat, asking, "Excuse me? Miss Melody?"
The librarian book marked her page, turning her attention to me, "What can I help you find?" She asked, her tone kind and inviting
"This may be a weird request, but do you have any books here on, um," I lowered my voice to a soft whisper, "Night-Walkers?"
Her expression was nothing short of what I'd expected, shock and disbelief, "If you don't mind me asking, young lady, why is it you need to read anything about Night-Walkers?"
Twiddling my thumbs just below the edge of her desk so she couldn't see my anxiety, I quickly pulled a lie out of thin air, "I'm doing a research piece for college, the thesis is small town lore. I thought the Night-Walkers would be perfect." I answered, still keeping my volume low.
She turned in her swivel chair, typing something into her computer, clicking the mouse a couple of times, "No, I'm sorry, I don't have anything in here on Night-Walkers."
My fake smile faded a little, "Ok, thanks for checking." I gave her a quick wave, and started turning on my heel when the librarian offered, "You might want to try the tribal bookstore. They sell a few books about urban legends, they may have something."
"Is it here in town?" I asked
She shook her head, "No, it's on the reservation. I'd give it a try."
"Thanks, I'll look into it." Leaving the library empty handed, I did a quick internet search of the reservations store. 'Wolfs Eye Bookstore' I read, well that sounds promising. There was no phone number provided on the internet for me to click on and call, so I'll have to do it the old fashioned way. I'll just have to go out there myself. The walk home was a little colder than the walk to the library, although the sun was starting to set. It's mid fall, and it's desperately trying to turn into winter. I hate the cold. I hate winter. Everything about it. The snow, the weather, the fact I have to warm my vehicle up so I'm not shivering. What a horribly time of year. Our winters are very bad, we always get a large amount of snow, with the snow comes the fear of another Night-Walker attack.
Some speculate my parents were killed due to the Night-Walkers food shortage, deer were sparse, so were rabbits, the moose were thin in numbers, and the elk had almost disappeared. Others believe that the Moniquoi had forgotten to make an offering to the animals, which angered them, and they lashed out. I'm not sure I believe the Moniquoi forgot to make a sacrifice, more so than the food was more than lacking that winter. It was one of the worst winters in Bitterroot's history. Still, though, the Night-Walkers have never attacked humans before.
Reaching the cozy duplex I call home, I unlocked the front door, all of the lights inside were still off, so Sammy was clearly still out with her boyfriend. Checking the clock on my phone, it was only five:thirty two. The website stated that the bookstores' hours were from ten a.m. to seven p.m. Grabbing a fresh drink, a thicker hoodie, and a stocking hat, I left for the reservation. The drive was pretty, even though the property line for Bitterroot and the Moniquois reservation touch, there's only a few houses built close to the woods and the reservation. It's been decided long ago it's cursed land, by more than the tribe members. My childhood home is out here, it was built only half a mile away from the reservation, we had plenty of Night-Walker horror stories to tell.
The sun was only peeking through the trees, a warm, bold orange glowing, illuminating the forest floor. I parked in a gravel area in the center of the village. Everyone was looking at me, people from Bitterroot don't usually come here, especially in the dark. I did my best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being watched and found my way to the Wolfs Eye Bookstore. It was a very small store, just one large room, maybe forty feet long by ten feet wide. There was humble stone fireplace crackling in the far left side of the building. Everything smelled of books and wood, I could stay in this cabin bookstore, if it weren't for the lack of chairs to sit and read in.
Weaving my way through the haphazard book stands and shelves, I made it to the counter. There was no one behind the counter, and no bell to ring. "Ok, great." I patted the sides of my thighs, turning around, I took the liberty of searching through the book titles myself. There were books on elemental gods, spirits of nature, spirit animals who guide you through life. Rounding a corner, I found some of the darker myths, or urban legends of Indian tribes. There were skinwalkers, which are different from Night-Walkers. Shapeshifters are close, but I believe that shapeshifters can change into more than one animal, and they mimic the animals size and its limitations. Basically I don't think in the stories that Shapeshifters can speak.
There were books on the Wendigo, which is not what I'm looking for. Standing up straight, my knees grateful I wasn't kneeling on the floor anymore, I spotted it. There was a book out on a lectern, it was closed, but in plain, bold text, it read 'Night-Walker History and Origins'. Eagerly making my way to the book, bumping into a book stand on my way, I read the title again. 'Night-Walker History and Origins'. This is perfect. This could help me understand them better. Reaching out to open the hard cover, "Don't touch that." A booming, but calm voice demanded.
Pulling my hand back, "Uh, sorry, I, sorry, no one was behind the desk. I was just looking around," I was a stuttering mess.
"That book is not for sale." The man stated, he wore a medium brown feather in his hair.
"It's not?" I asked confused, I pointed lazily at it, referencing the fact it was on display for everyone to see.
"No." He answered sternly, but he didn't sound angry. Unbuttoning his red flannel coat, he sat down on the stool behind the sales counter.
Running my hand through my hair, playing with the end of a strand, "Do you mind if I read it while I'm here then?" I asked
This earned a raised eyebrow, "Why do you want to read that book? I have a store full of fairy tales."
Clearing my throat, "Respectfully, sir, I think we both know, they're no fairy tale." Without even needing to say the word, Night-Walker, he knew that's what I'd meant by, 'they're no fairy tale'.
"Come," He waved his hand, gesturing for me to come over to the counter, I did, "How do you know the Night-Walkers are real?"
Gulping hard, "Two of them killed my parents. I saw them both the night they did."
"You're the girl who survived." He stated, he didn't seem at all surprised, he must have known it was me just due to my interest in the Night-Walker book that isn't for sale.
"Yup, that's me," I gave the man a weak smile, "How'd you know?"
"Because no one from the city comes here, and if they do, they don't even look at that book." He pointed at the Night-Walker book. "The whole tribe knows who you are." He added, "When we heard the description of the animals that were involved in the attack, we knew what they were. More people believe in them today, but back then, when your family died, no one believed in them."
"I'm sorry if it was rude of me to try and read the book," I paused, "I just remembered something from that night, when I lost my family, and I felt like I needed to know more about the Night-Walkers." I explained
The man waved his hand dismissively, "Not rude at all, but it is not for sale. It is a tribe relic. The Elders could tell you more about the Night-Walkers, they're about to hold an annual telling of the Nightwalkers. If you're interested in staying?"
Taken aback from the offer, "I-I don't know, I'm not a," I didn't know how to say I wasn't a tribe member without sounding offensive, so I moved on, "I don't know if I should?"
"The Elders have always wanted to meet you," The man said
"Meet me? Really?" I asked, incredulous
The man nodded his head, "After the incident, they wanted to meet you, but you were just a child, and you needed to grieve. My name is Paul, please, follow me." He slid out from behind the counter, and walked past me.
Following Paul, completely confused about this entire situation, but also very intrigued. The Indians usually keep to themselves, and not many city folks come here. Either out of fear, or just because they forget the reservation exists entirely. Paul walked across the center of the village, a large three dimensional carving of a wolf. It stood tall, rearing on two legs, the front two legs outstretched, ready to hug its prey, its large teeth bared and mouth gaped open. Paul stood next to an open door to a very large log cabin, a sign above the doors stated it was the community center. Ok, this is happening. I'm going into a Moniquoi historical meeting, and listen to them talk about an urban legend that turns out to be real. I left go of a sigh, turning my back on the aggressive wolf statue. There were already tribe members in the hall. Young adults, teens, kids, and three Elders sat in the center of the room. They were talking amongst one another, the kids were running around playing, every now and then one of them would yip with excitement. The teens eyed me warily, watching me from their corner.
"Elders," Paul said, "Forgive me for interrupting."
The Elders in unison turned to look at me, "No need to apologize, Paul, who is this?" The Elder in the center asked.
"Elder Hakahn, this is the little girl from years ago. The one who survived the Night-Walkers." Paul said, his voice was gentle, but still unnecessarily loud.
"Is it really her?" The Elder to the right of Hakahn asked
The Elder to the left of Hakahn, "How can we be sure it's her?"
"We don't know." Elder Hakahn answered, "Not many claim to have seen a Terror, and then lived to tell the story. Not many believe in them enough to claim they're real, only enough that they lock their doors at night in fear."
I interjected softly, "A Terror?"
Paul explained while the Elders squabled amongst each other, "It's an old term used for Night-Walkers. Only the older members of the tribe use the word."
Nodding my head in understanding, I threw myself into the chattering Elders conversation, "This has been a weird day, ok? And yes, I lived through the Night-Walker attack ten years ago. Why's it so hard to believe I survived?"
Elder Hakahns eyes narrowed, "It's her. Sit child, sit." Too intrigued to leave now, I sat down, "Paul, please bring the Bowl of Ashes." Paul left to go bring whatever the Bowl of Ashes was. "My dear, tonight you will learn of our history, our ancestors' fears, their way of life. We have answers to some of your questions, I'm sure of it."
With a clunking coming from a nearby storage closet, I drew my attention back to the Elders, "Isn't this story sacred? Only told to tribe members?"
"The night you were attacked, you became one of us. Through this experience, it attached your energy to our ancestors. That night we," Elder Hakahn gestured to himself and the two on either side of him, "Dreamt of you, and your tragedy." Paul returned with a small, circular fire pit, he set it on the ground in front of the Elders. "Thank you, Paul. Now we start."
Looking over my shoulder, the benches were filled with people, and more sat on the floor in the space available. "Stay where you are," The Elder on the left said. I did as he asked.