Evil Awakened Read online

  March 2, 3:30 a.m.

  * * *

  Powaw, the tribe’s spiritual leader, woke in a cold sweat. His dreams told him something was wrong, something bad. Dragging his old bones out of bed, he dressed as fast as his arthritic joints would allow. On his way out the door he grabbed his knife, walking stick, and red bandana. He knew he’d need to cleanse his spirit if he was going to make any sense out of his visions.

  In times like this, Powaw, like the rest of the Cree elders, believed that one must fast and sacrifice if they wanted to connect with the spirits.

  He needed to block out the world, and there was only one place on the reservation to do so: the sweat lodge. The walk to the lodge was long and arduous for a man in his eighties. The roads, as with most reservations, were dirt and gravel. His body ached and his sight blurred by the time he reached his destination. But there was no time for rest.

  In his younger days, the sweat lodge would have been an animal skin covered hut, heated by fire. Now it was more of a modern sauna. But even in today’s world, some traditions were not to be meddled with. The door to the lodge still faced east and a sacred fire was lit before entering. The fire was Powaw’s first order of business.

  The position of the door and the fire had powerful significance in Native American cultures. Each day began with the rising of the sun in the eastern sky. It was the source of life and the dawn of wisdom. The fire represented the undying light of the world, eternity and a new spiritual beginning. The elders made sure all who entered the lodge followed the traditions of their people.

  Powaw removed his clothes and jewelry before entering the steam-filled, sacred dwelling. Sitting cross-legged on a wood floor, he raised his arms toward the heavens and began to chant. He called upon the spirits for clarification. He would stay and fast until he understood his dreams. As he drifted into a meditative state, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened.

  His mind and body grew sluggish as he focused on the spirit world. As his flesh weakened, his fear grew, for the spirit world began to awaken.

  Images of the improbable bombarded his subconscious.

  Images of long ago evil spirits—spirits his ancestors fought hard to contain—had been freed.

  But how?

  Powaw fought through his fear, knowing that he must stay in the lodge if he was to make sense of these apparitions.

  4

  Memories

  March 2, 6:00 a.m.

  * * *

  After tossing and turning for hours, Pamoon gave up on sleep. Yawning and stretching her arms over her head, she decided to go for an early morning run. She threw on a long-sleeve t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Tying her worn Doc Martens, her lips curled upward in a slight grin.

  I might be able to sneak over to Tihk’s and see what he’s been hiding in his garage.

  Although Tihk was only nineteen, he seemed much older to Pamoon. Powaw had said that his wisdom was beyond his age.

  Scout, tail wagging, bit and pulled at her t-shirt while she quickly made her bed.

  Pamoon rubbed his nose. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you.”

  The wolf cub turned happy circles as she grabbed her bandana and tied it around her neck. Holding Scout by the collar, she tiptoed out into the hall, closing her bedroom door with a safe cracker’s delicate touch. She crept her way through the kitchen towards the front door making as little noise as possible.

  She stopped, listened to the stillness of the small home, and realized there was no reason to tiptoe. Except for her and Scout, the house was empty. Her habit of tiptoeing had begun when she was much younger. A habit born out of necessity while trying to run away.

  A lump formed in her throat as a heavy sadness descended on her. Kamenna was no longer here to stop her. She was no longer here to teach her, and more importantly, no longer here to love and protect her.

  Kamenna, her adopted mother, a woman old enough to be her grandmother, had passed away two months ago. It was a time Pamoon still refused to talk about.

  Although she now lived with her Uncle White Eagle, the Cree chief, he allowed her to occasionally spend the night in her old home. Pamoon knew he snuck over and checked on her when he thought she was sleeping, but she didn’t mind. He did it because he cared. Looking around the small empty home, Pamoon closed her eyes and sighed. Scout pulled at his leash, trying to move toward the worn, high-backed chair that sat facing the window.

  “She’s not there, boy,” Pamoon said, squatting down to rub Scout behind the ears.

  Scout scratched at the wood floor, and whimpered.

  “I know. I miss her too.”

  Scout kissed her face. To Pamoon, it felt as if he was trying to lick away her sadness.

  Pamoon walked over to the chair, a chair Scout had commandeered as his own since Kamenna’s death, and stared at the worn paisley upholstery. Scout jumped into the chair, causing dust to dance in the air. Dust that could be seen in the stream of light that began to seep into the room through the wooden slats of the blinds. As Pamoon gazed at the meandering flecks, she envisioned Kamenna sitting in the chair, and her younger self, sitting in her lap, sniffling and wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

  * * *

  “Life is only as hard as you make it,” Kamenna, said in her graveled whisper, a voice etched from too much tobacco. “Why do you always try to run away?”

  “Because I don’t belong here.”

  “Pamoon, my sweet Pamoon, none of us belong here. This place is just one stop in many we must make before we end up where we do belong.”

  “Pam!” the little girl crossed her arms in a huff and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I told you, my name is Pam.”

  “A name is only as important as the person who bears it. As you grow, you will be called many things, but to me, you will always be Pamoon.”

  * * *

  Pamoon, her eyes closed, could feel Kamenna’s fingers rake through her thick, wavy hair.

  * * *

  “Do you know why I—”

  “Yes, I know why you named me Pamoon. Because I was an answer to your prayers. I was a dream come true. But why do I have to have an Indian name? My friends don’t.”

  Kamenna’s brows furrowed. “That is a personal decision each of us must make. To try to fit in with the world of others, many of our people have adopted the culture of those around us. It’s fine to want to feel accepted, but you must never forget where you came from.”

  Pamoon tilted her head back and studied Kamenna’s eyes. “But I’m not Cree.” Sadness seeped through her words.

  “Unlike the rest of our people,” Kamenna answered, “you were chosen to be Cree. That, my sweet girl, makes you more Cree than most. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  A small smile formed on Pamoon’s cherubic face.

  “You were created for a reason,” Kamenna continued, “and even if you succeed in running away one day, you can never run away from who you are meant to be.” Kamenna kissed her neck, right over her birthmark and slid Pamoon from her lap. “Go get ready for school and make me proud.”

  * * *

  Pamoon, eyes still closed, inhaled, her nostrils flaring. She could smell lilac and pipe tobacco, an amalgam of scents that will forever remind her of Kamenna. A reminder that was a mixture of equal parts, joy and sadness.

  “Ruff!”

  Opening her eyes, Scout was sitting on the chair, eye level with her. “Okay, boy, let’s go.”

  5

  Woods

  March 2, 7:00 a.m.

  * * *

  Pamoon started her run with a slow jog until she broke a sweat. When she hit the outskirts of the reservation, she kicked it up a notch. As soon as she reached the old abandoned airport, she and Scout increased their pace. Reaching the edge of the woods, at the far end of the dirt runway, Pamoon bent down—never slowing—and unclipped Scout’s leash; the two of them running through the thick pines as if they were one.

  They continued
for the next couple of miles when Scout suddenly pulled up and snarled. Pamoon stopped, squatting next to him.

  Breathing heavy, her heart pounding, she pulled him close. “What is it, boy?”

  She watched as Scout stared straight ahead, pawed at the dirt, and emitted a throaty growl. A hot, foul wind blew out of nowhere, causing Pamoon to scrunch up her face and rub her nose with her shirt sleeve. She watched as Scout sniffed the air, searching for the origin of the stench. His snout pointing toward the trees, he bared his teeth and growled with an escalating ferocity. His posture appeared to sharpen as the wind swirled, and the fur along his spine pointed skyward. Pamoon felt the wolf edge closer until he leaned his body against hers. His protective nature sent a shiver up her spine.

  A soothing breeze blew from the opposite direction, this one carrying a pleasant earthy aroma. Pamoon noticed Scout relax when the breeze blew against him, though he continued to search for the first.

  Squatting, she hugged her friend and peered through the morning fog that rose from the forest floor trying to find what had him spooked. Eyeing the dense woods, Pamoon didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary but knew to trust Scout’s natural instincts. Clipping the leash to his collar, she patted her thigh and said, “Ayapi.”

  The wolf obeyed and stayed right by her side as she slowly walked onward.

  Moving deeper into the woods, Pamoon could smell the remnants of a campfire. I bet Bobby and his friends were here last night, she thought. Maybe they burned their trash; maybe that was the smell that freaked out Scout. Cautiously, she made her way toward the camp.

  With each step and crunch of the fallen branches, Scout became more protective, pulling on the leash, trying to stay in the lead. His head on a constant swivel.

  Arriving at the camp, Pamoon was surprised to see cans and bottles littering the site.

  “That’s weird,” she mumbled. “The guys always take their trash with them, especially any evidence of alcohol.”

  Stepping closer to the fire pit, the foul odor grew, causing her face to pucker.

  At Scout’s urging, Pamoon spent little time at the campsite and was soon on her way.

  The further from the camp and the deeper into the woods they ran, the more Scout relaxed. By the time they approached the twisted trees, so named by Pamoon due to the abundance of odd shaped pines, everything seemed to be back to normal. Passing her favorite tree, the one with the forked trunk, she suddenly stopped. Crimson anger flushed her complexion as she stared at the markings scratched into the bark.

  I’m going to kill those guys, she thought. She could picture her friends laughing and stumbling around, guzzling beer while they took turn digging into the tree with their knives. They’re such delinquents when they drink. Reaching out to trace the damaged area, her palm lit up as if she’d been shocked. “Ouch!” she cried.

  Scout growled when she cried out and bit down on the back of her jeans.

  “Okay, let’s finish our run, I’ll come back later and try to seal the damage.”

  When Pamoon saw the reservation through the trees, she and Scout kicked it up a gear and sprinted the last leg of the run that bordered the Everglades and entered Indian Territory from the west, the side closest to Tihk’s house.

  6

  Tihk & Tsomah

  March 2, 7:30 a.m.

  * * *

  By the time Pamoon crossed back onto the reservation, Scout once again had the free spirit of a puppy, jumping and tugging at his leash, while yapping playful sounds. His exuberant behavior and being back on home turf brightened Pamoon’s mood. Unclipping the leash, she watched as Scout stayed right by her side yipping impatiently, waiting for her command.

  Pamoon pointed in the direction of Tihk’s home and commanded, “Niyâ.”

  Hearing the command for go, he took off at a full run toward his destination.

  Because of their detour, it was later than Pamoon had anticipated and the reservation was bustling. Everyone waved and smiled as she jogged the streets of the neighborhood. From the moment she’d been found on the doorstep of the Big Swamp Reservation medical clinic as an infant, she’d been a permanent fixture here. Although there had been times when she felt like she didn’t fit in, the peoples of the Big Swamp Reservation, the Seminole and Cree, always considered her one of their own.

  By the time she reached the house, Tihk and his girlfriend, Tsomah, were outside making a fuss over Scout. They were so busy playing with the cub that neither looked up when Pamoon arrived.

  “I can remember when you used to fuss over me like that,” Pamoon joked.

  Tsomah wrapped her arms around her and rubbed her head. “Good girl,” she said, “you’re such a good girl.”

  “Not funny,” Pamoon laughed.

  “Then why are you laughing,” Tsomah smiled.

  Tihk left Scout’s side, grabbed Pamoon in a bear hug, lifted her off the ground, and spun her around. “Do you think we could ever forget you, especially on your sixteenth birthday?” he asked, putting her down.

  “I hope not,” Pamoon beamed. “Speaking of birthdays, I don’t know what Chief White Eagle has planned, but I know it’s something. I can’t even count how many times he’s told me not to run off today. He even went so far to even tell me to wash up,” she laughed, “Will you and Tsomah be at the celebration?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  At the sound of nails scraping wood, they turned to see Scout pawing at the front door. “It looks like someone wants a treat,” Tsomah said.

  “You three,” Tihk looked at the girls and pointed at Scout, “stay out here while I hide Scout’s bone. I thought of a new spot, and I want to see how long it will take him to sniff it out.”

  Tsomah waved him away. “You go play with your dog, and Pam and I will catch up.”

  “He’s not a do—” Tihk rolled his eyes and mumbled something in Cree as he went inside the house.

  Tsomah winked at Pamoon and said sarcastically, “Men are a little slow, but if you train them right, they have some practical uses.”

  Pamoon’s face lit up with laughter.

  “It’s good to see you laugh,” Tsomah said. “There hasn’t been much of that since Kamenna passed away.

  Pamoon’s expression flattened instantly. She waited for the next logical question: How are you feeling? How are you doing? She was relieved when Tsomah’s questions went in another direction.

  “Did you go for a run this morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pamoon watched Tsomah’s eyes take in the way she was dressed. “They have these new things called shorts and running shoes. You should give them a try.”

  Pamoon rolled her eyes. “I’m comfortable in jeans and my boots.”

  Tsomah nodded. “Suit yourself. I’m just trying to help you avoid heat stroke.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Pamoon replied, pushing her friend playfully on the shoulder.

  Tsomah laughed. “Come sit,” she said, walking over to a small fire pit on the side of the house.

  Mesmerized, Pamoon watched as Tsomah took a small metal pick from her belt, gathered her long blond hair in a knot, then stuck the pick in the middle of it all, giving herself an avant-garde, it took me hours to do this look.

  “What are you staring at?”

  Pamoon reddened. “Sorry.”

  Tsomah reached and clasped Pamoon’s hand. “You’ve always been fascinated by my hair. Why?”

  Pamoon shrugged. “Because it’s different, I guess.” She lowered her eyes. “Do you like being different?”

  “Not always, especially not when I was a kid. But I’ve learned to embrace it.”

  Subconsciously, Pamoon reached up and traced her fingers over the area on her neck where her birthmark lay. “Were you ever made fun of because of your hair?”

  “Let’s see,” using exaggerated movements, Tsomah drummed her fingers on her full lips, “a full-blooded Seminole girl with yellow frizzy hair. And if that wasn’t enough, m
y name, Tsomah Sihu, translates to yellow bush. What do you think?”

  “Yellow bush?” Pamoon howled. “That’s plain cruel.”

  “Cruel, ha,” Tsomah laughed. “That must be why you just laughed so hard you snorted.”

  Pamoon’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t snort.”

  “Did too.”

  Before she knew it, she and Tsomah were crying they were laughing so hard. Tsomah’s easy-going manner was one of the reasons she liked spending time with her. Even though she was in her mid-twenties, she was easier to talk to than kids her own age.

  As they continued to laugh and talk, Pamoon heard the screen door open and looked up to see Tihk holding the door open and the back end of Scout scurrying into the house.

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Don’t be coy,” Tsomah smiled. “You heard what I said.”

  “That was a quick change of topic,” Pamoon said, untying the handkerchief from her neck.

  Tsomah winked. “Sleight of hand, old Injun trick.”

  Pamoon wiped the sweat from her brow and shook out her long dark hair. “You would have been the first to hear if I was.”

  Pamoon felt Tsomah staring at her, not saying anything.

  “What?” she said, dragging out the word into a whine. “You’re kind of creeping me out.”

  Tsomah’s eyes smiled back at her. “I was just thinking how cool you’d look with short spiky hair.”

  Pamoon, tilted her head slightly. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah! And maybe some purple highlights. What’cha think? We probably have enough time to do it before your birthday celebration.”

  “I don’t know. You really think it would look good?”

  “Amazing. And I would love to see the expression on the chief’s face when you walk in.”