Sometymes you set forth on one adventure only to find yourselves in a completely different adventure altogether. Or you think you are in a comedy, but then the filter suddenly changes, and just before it's too late you realize that you're in a horror story. Well, that's exactly what happened to Shanda, Drew, and myself during a trip to Arkansas. We went there for a birth but somehow ended up on a mountain.
The rental car was gassed up, our bags were loaded in the trunk, the I-pod was fully charged and fully loaded for a road trip, and snacks (Funyuns and trail mix) were procured. We were set. The mission; is to make it to Arkansas for the birth of Christie's baby.
The drive was uneventful, which is kind of extraordinary, considering the players. The rental car was sufficient, the Funyuns were… well Funyuns, and conversation was enhanced with a kick-ass soundtrack.
We arrived at Christie's house one day before her due date and waited. And we waited.
I am pretty sure we expected to wake up the following morning and bring Christie to the hospital, welcome the boy to the world, then have Bloody Mary's at the nearest bar. Nope.
Don't get me wrong, it was a great tyme with wonderful fellowship, but we were ready for a baby. Shanda's nervous energy, combined with the anxiety of the impending berth led us to the decision to visit some of Jones's sister's relatives in Oklahoma.
It was on our return from OK when the adventure began. It started with a trip to an Indian Casino.
Might as well squash this theory before it gets any steam. We were sober and the Casino was of an alcohol-free variety. So, the following story is not some reimagining of some random drunken night in Oklahoma.
Lyke all the stories in this series, this is a true account, well as far as I am concerned.
The casino was small and brightly lit. It was not adorned with Indian artifacts or native art as you are probably imagining. No, this place resembled more of Nights of Columbus rental than that of a casino. An elderly lady pushed a flat-top cart around the casino handing out flat colas in clear plastic cups that at first glance looked as though there is no ice, but on further inspection, you realize that the sodas were sitting so long that all the ice had melted. This was the caliber casino we were donating our money to.
We hovered around the break-even point on the slots when excitement burst into the casino in the form of a very loud and incoherent Indian. At least incoherent to the uninitiated, the outsider, or in other words the three of us.
"What you all hollering all about, uncle?" asked a middle-aged woman sitting at a slot six machines from us. She never looked up as the vast majority of her concentration was on the spinning shapes.
The old man responded in a hoot. "Spirits, young one!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow and the dribble from his lips. He then let out another high-pitched hoot.
The middle-aged woman rolled her eyes. A young man wiping down the machines chimed in. "Oh yeah, Unc? Spirits?" he said while miming taking a drink, "or spirits?"
There was laughter amongst the half dozen or so gamblers. The old man waved them off and mumbled "shit asses" under his breath.
Then louder, "Yeah yeah yeah, mock an elder, but you'll see, once a spirit comes after you and you ain't ready." He then punctuated it with a loud hoot. He made his way toward the door only stopping to grab a room temperature coke from the cart, chug it, then threw the crumbled cup on the ground. Then he was gone.
We looked at each other dumbfounded, but when we realized everyone else went back to their business without a second thought, so too did we.
After another 20 bucks or so donated to the casino, we decided to make our way back to Arkansas.
Again, before going any further, you need to know one thing. Prior to this trip in 2009, I, or anyone else in our small party, had never used a GPS.
Because of my Indian ancestry, Marine Corps navigation training, and the natural sense of direction God has given all of His left-handed children I never had any use for a machine telling me when and where to turn.
There is no telling if this would even be a story if not for our maiden trip with a GPS.
We typed in Christie's address and away we were. Instead of hopping on the interstate, the GPS insisted we head back to Little Rock as way of the flying birds, which sent us through the Black Fork Mountain Wilderness.
Even though it was the middle of the night, it was a far more enjoyable ride than the interstate. To assist in the ambiance of the journey, we listened to The Doors, most notably An American Prayer, which is a great collection of Jim Morrison poems.
Middle of the night, driving through Choctaw Nation land, listening to The Doors. These are the ingredients of a story.
The GPS ordered us to take a left on an unnamed road, so we did. When the GPS insisted, we continue on even when pavement made way to gravel, we did so without question. And when GPS commanded that we continue up the mountain on a grass road that resembled a game trail more than an actual road, we obliged. When we finally made it to the top of the mountain and the road dead-ended at a wood fence, the GPS then demanded we exit the car and continue on foot, well we looked at each shrugged, and said, "Might as well."
We walked in silence. The brush on each side of the trail was overgrown as was the trail itself. Even as the grass was over a foot tall, we walked on.
Even as the howls of the wind got louder and louder, we walked.
It was Drew who noticed it first. He stopped short and told us to be quiet.
"You hear that?" he asked.
I concentrated but did not hear anything. I saw on Shanda's face that she did hear something.
At first, she looked excited to be able to make it out, but then the realization of what is sunk in, and that excitement was consumed by fear. Then I too heard it. It was not the howls of the wind, but the howls of wolves. A lot of wolves at that.
Without a word, we turned back in the direction of the car. We wanted to make it back to the car as quickly as possible, but at the same tyme we knew twisting an ankle is the worse potential outcome. Years of horror movies do in fact pay off in scenarios lyke these.
We were halfway back to the car when Shanda heard something. She stopped, closed her eyes, and tilted her head slightly to the side. Drew and I looked at each other perplexed. We were very anxious about getting back to the car.
Shanda opened her eyes and walked to the overgrown brush and started to make her way through it. Drew rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh, and I flipped the internal switch to Combat Ray.
As we followed Shanda, we began to hear what Shanda was hearing, drums.
Bum bum bum bum, bum bum bum bum, bum bum bum bum,…..
Not far in we came to an edge of a clearing.
We saw at least 2 dozen wolves dancing in circles and wailing at the moon. They were of different sizes and colors. Most were dark and there were a few silver and white-haired. We crouched low trying to conceal ourselves.
Then we saw the drummers. Six Indians covered in ash and charcoal beat their drums as they danced among the wolves. Their heads were adorned with wolf skulls, and they wore wolf paws lyke gloves. It was primal, it was fascinating, but more so it was terrifying.
The rhythm of the drum almost put me in a trance and for a moment I forgot to breathe. We were about to attempt to back out of the brush when we saw the most horrifying image of the night.
Spirits swam through the circle. They seemed to have the makeup of smoke. They had a shape of a face with hollowed eyes. Their long hair wisped this way and that. Some rode ghost horses, and they hooted and whelped.
As if we weren't frightened enough, once we saw the spirits invade the Indians through the nose, that's when we knew we were in danger. The smoke spirit would enter the Indian, then he would convulse and writhe about, with their eyes rolled way back in their heads. Then the spirit shoots out of the Indian's mouth.
There was no way we were going to let that happen, but then the inevitable happened. Shanda fell down in a crash.
The drums became silent, as well as the wolves and Indians.
Angry eyes fell upon us lyke a blanket. For a moment it was akin to a standoff at high noon.
We did not think, only acted. I hooked an arm under one of Shanda's armpits and Drew did likewise to the other. We hauled ass as if the devil was a catching. It was not until much later that we felt the cuts from the briars on our faces and arms.
We were back on the trail in no tyme, and we were off again. Drums and howls were behind us, but not by far. To this day I have no idea how we outran them. Several tymes I felt the breath of a wolf, or man, or spirit on my neck.
Sometymes when I walk around at night I still feel that same breath against my neck.
We ran lyke Olympic sprinters that cool night in Oklahoma, and we needed every ounce of speed. When I thought there was no way we were going to make it, there it was.
Our rental car basking in the light of the moon. It was all we needed. That little bit of hope gave us all the strength we needed. We hurdled the gate and Drew unlocked the car with a remote.
Drew fumbled and bumbled trying to get the key in the ignition. Shanda and I yelled at him to hurry up. Then we noticed something, the spirits, Indians, and wolves were still on the other side of the gate. They all just glared at us.
Drew fired up the car and we high-tailed it out of there straight to the interstate.
We had another adventure that night, but that is for someone else to tell.
Christie did not have the baby, Holden, while we were there, and his birth too is something of an adventure, also for someone else to tell.
Ahoooy