That Night at Grandpa's (And Other Scary Stories)

Skullhead

I joined a college aged crew for a trip to a South Dakota Indian Reservation. Pine Ridge was a 15-hour drive and over 960 miles away from Duncanville, Texas. I was a bit surprised when I woke up in the passenger seat and saw Joel, our trip leader, driving 80 mph. "Who's going to pull us over?" he said. I looked around. Who's going to help us if we get a flat? The gently rolling hills and tall grassy fields gave way to valleys where a ranch would be located with what seemed like several miles between. It was beautiful country, in its own way.

We took in some sites while there. We crossed off our list Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse Monument, the Badlands, and Wounded Knee. The young men settled in and bedded down in a basement of an old church. The women stayed in a home across from where Joel's parents, our hosts and on-site missionaries lived. Their modest home provided a base for this mission trip. 

I do not remember any of the other six or seven young men's names, but I do remember one of them was a rather cocky football player, whom I will call Josh, Joel, and me. Every day we would check in with Joel's dad, cross over a basketball court to get some breakfast, pray together with the team, and head out to canvass the area for Christ--our way of doing some outreach in that community. Basketball was one-way Joel told us we would connect with young men on the rez. A different kind of connection happened to me that summer that will always be marked as one of the most life changing ever.

We attended an authentic pow-wow one evening. Tepees were set up like Fair booths and many natives dressed in Indian regalia greeted each other in style. Long headdresses reaching to the ground were as common as leathery outfits of deerskin, and moccasins galore.

We watched as a group of men performed what I would call a ritual rain dance. They circled a campfire with painted faces and feet stomping time to a beating drum. One man did something to make us all take notice. A fierce combination of blue and black paint covered his face. I still remember the feathers on his head, hair as dark as a crow, and huge, red-skinned thighs that lunged through the leather flaps as he danced. I will never forget him because on one pass, this warrior gave a piercing look obviously in our direction and shook his staff twice at us.

Was that part of the ritual?

I do not know if he cursed us, or what, but I had an uneasy feeling when it happened. "Did you see that?" someone remarked. Others mumbled an affirmative. A girl shivered and gasped. "Whoa! Oh, my," escaped her mouth. There is another reason I will never forget that brave shaking his staff at us, because of what happened that night.

I do not remember much between that rain dance and bedding down on a bottom bunk at the church. I do remember the shrieks and terror of cocky football player in the bunk next to me, and Joel shaking my arm. "Kent. Get up. We need to pray." I looked over to an ecstatic young man surrounded by the others. "It was standing there in the doorway. It was a warrior dressed liked the men at the rain dance except ... except he had a bull skull for a head!" Now wide-awake, I lead the others up the stairs to an empty room and literally hit the floor praying.

As we prayed, Josh shook and fearfully cried out in prayer for help. The rest of us prayed the best we knew how. I believe God helps you when you do not know how to pray. We prayed for nearly four hours.

Two things this prayer time changed for me: the unifying factor of the Holy Spirit as we prayed, and the manifestations of His gifts in a prayerful community of believers. Several times, as one person prayed, two others would agree, "I was just thinking that!" Joel had gotten up and left and after a while two of us remarked, "I wonder if we could have communion?" Just then, Joel walked in with Gatorade and Nachos and said, "I think God wants us to have communion." That time was among the most powerful and precious prayer times in my life.

Suddenly, the thought of what might be happening in the spiritual world where the girls were staying caused us to pray for them. When this prayer time started, something very creepy happened. A darkness fell on that space, Josh said, "Guys, I can see him again!" Somehow, dogs had surrounded the house, and at that exact moment, began to howl. "We need to pray!" several of us said, and that's what we did.

It came to us that an ancient burial ground might be under the church. We could not verify it, but that is what we believe God was telling us. We prayed about that, the girls, Josh, our trip, and our families back home. Another hour went by and we were quite tired. We were due to breakfast in less than an hour so some of us tried to go back to sleep.

I do not know what happened to Josh, or on the reservation, because of our prayers that summer. I do know it changed one young man's ideas of God and prayer. I do not believe I have been afraid since then.