Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-36393004-20190110203828

I can still remember my great-grandmother’s haggard voice repeating, “Darrell, you and your brother John stay out of those woods or else the Ew’ah will get you.” Gram was full-blooded Cherokee and loved sharing her folklore and fables but the Ew’ah she was serious about. She described it as half man-half panther and swore it could drive a man insane just by looking at him. It was no secret that everyone in the tiny little town in Alabama that we lived in knew the story. It was shared in whispers every time they saw one of us. I am sure they all thought our entire family was a little nuts.

Gram’s husband went missing about twenty years ago. No trace of his body. He had been out hunting with some friends and none of them can recall what happened. I am sure you can imagine what Gram’s theory behind the disappearance was. That was the main reason she made us promise not to venture out there, especially at night. John and I joked about it constantly but my father always told us to be more respectful, that Gram had seen far more things in her time than we could imagine. I had no idea what exactly he meant by that at the time but thinking back on it I wish I never had.

My brother and I usually heeded the words of our elders but when you are a bored teen in a town with little entertainment, usually that boredom takes over your senses. We would wait until our great-grandmother took her evening nap and sneak away through the thick brush. We darted between the overgrown grass and towering pines. Fallen sticks became swords or rifles as we hunted the dreaded Ew’ah. John would mimic the sound of a panther, considering that was how Gram always described it. The old men down at the Piggly Wiggly always said we did not have black cats like that around here.

One summer night I convinced John to sneak out past sundown. We had packed our knapsacks, some canned beans, chips, a couple flashlights, and our father’s radio. I had this wild idea about camping out and trying to catch a glimpse of the fabled demon of the woods. John was a little more hesitant about stomping around in the dark but it was easy enough to convince him, little brother’s always want to prove they are just as brave as the older one. John made sure to bring some ribbon from Gram’s sewing kit, he wanted to mark the trees so we did not get lost. I had to admit it was a good idea.

We paused at the tree line for John to wrap that bright red fabric around a tall pine. The air was warm but we had a breeze. The forest rocked side-to-side, giving in to the wind’s power. John thought it looked like rain but I told him I could usually smell it in the air, which is true. That warm wet scent would fill my nostrils and Gram said that was I gift I got from my great-grandfather. The brush raked at our jeans as we made our way toward a clearing we frequented during the day. John followed behind me and would give a little whistle when he wanted to stop to mark another tree.

Between the thin cloud cover and the canopy, the moonlight did little to guide our way. It was not long before we were forced to use the flashlights we had brought. The tiny beams of light swayed back and forth as we marched along a semi-cleared trail. It had almost been stomped flat from our treks through those woods. John gave a quiet whistle and I stopped to watch him tie another ribbon. I noticed I could not even see the back porch light of Gram’s house anymore. The trees had consumed everything behind us. I could see why Gram would get the creeps out here at night but we had not seen evidence of the first spook or creep. I laughed a bit as I started retelling the legend of Ew’ah.

“A great Cherokee warrior went out hunting and during his trip, he encountered the devilish figure known as Ew’ah. It stood far taller than any man, with the figures of a black mountain cat,” I stretched out my arms to make myself seem larger and more ominous, “When the warrior saw Ew’ah, he was driven mad and began scratching at his eyes until they were plucked from his head!”

As my voice echoed through the trees John tapped me on the shoulder. He had already starting marking another tree when I turned to look at him. I could tell that Gram’s old story mixed with the darkness was starting to get to him. His eyes were wide and he searched the trees around us, his hands shaking while trying to tie a knot in the ribbon. I walked over and patted him on the back, reminding him that it was just a story. He quietly nodded in agreement but his eyes told me he was not sure if he believed me. We still had a few more minutes to the clearing but I decided to hold off on any more of the tall tale.

Once our knees were no longer being bombarded by briars and bush we made a lap around the clearing. It was just as empty and quiet as always, just far darker. The moon seemed to sit right over us, giving us a clear view of the patch of grass we stood upon. The trees around us still bowed inward from the force of the wind but we were protected by their might. I gave John my pack and told him to set up camp while I went to look for some firewood. He began rolling out our knapsacks as I reached down for my first twig. I kept to the tree line so I could watch over my brother. Pine straw and various sized limbs quickly gathered between my arms and when I could carry no more I returned to our campsite.

The humid air and recent rain made the wood hard to light but it was something my father made sure I knew how to do. When the straw crackled to life I began huffing and puffing like crazy. When the bark dried and burnt I knew we would have a fire soon. John watched in awe as the flame came to life in the little patch of red clay we had wallowed out. We hooted and hollered, danced about, and howled at the moon like the natives long before us. We were far enough away from the house that we had little to fear of Gram hearing our antics. We were in our own little piece of the world.

My younger brother pulled out our father’s radio and played with the dial. Static mixed with voices for a few seconds before the sound of the local country station bled through. John let it sit by his bedroll, leaned against his pillow, then reached for a bag of barbecue chips. I heard the distinct pop of air releasing from the bag and instinctively shoved my hand out for a helping. When he noticed, he simply shoved another wad of the snack into his mouth. I watched him grin triumphantly through his puffy cheeks before snatching the bag from his greasy hands. Being four years older, I had him in height so I simply took my share and held the bag higher than he could reach.

John jumped for a bag a few times as I laughed. Normally this would have turned into a test of strength but my laughter was cut short by a sound in the distance. We both paused, training our ears to hear. I think we both held our breath when the noise rang again. Neither of us had ever actually seen a mountain lion but we could only imagine that was what one would sound like. The deep rolling growl seemed to reverberate through the trees. My arms lowered, my elbows bumping against John. He cowered behind me as we both searched the trees for a source of the noise. The creature cried out again but this time it seemed closer and was accompanied by the crackling of branches.

Despite my best efforts to appear brave, my shaking hand slid into my pocket to retrieve the pocket knife, my Gram had gifted to me. It was only a small Old Timer that had once belonged to her husband. She said he would have wanted me to have it, so it was usually one of the first things tucked in my jeans each morning. My thumb pushed open the thin blade and I gripped it tight. I have no idea what my fifteen-year-old brain thought I would do with such a small weapon but at that moment it made me feel safe. The creature would be still for a few moments then move again somewhere beyond what we could see. It seemed like it was circling the small patch of grass we had made our campground. With each passing second, I could feel a lump in my throat growing and John’s grip on my arm tighten.

Our fire crackled and fizzed behind us, which drew my attention away from the trees. Right about the same time as I noticed the source of the distraction I also felt it. Cold droplets patted my head and both of us looked at the sky simultaneously. The clouds had grown thicker and rolled above us, preparing to release a torrent over our already failed camping trip. My father had always taught us that most predators would steer clear of fire but there was no way I was going to be able to keep it lit in a rainstorm. I closed my knife and shoved it back into my jeans before grabbing hold of John’s shoulders. I shook him a bit to break the trance he seemed to be in and instructed him to gather his things.

What few items we had brought with us were tucked in our bedrolls and secured within minutes but by the time we were ready to move our source of protection faded away. I watched as the remnants of smoke slithered to the sky before looking back to the forest. Whatever was stalking in the distance was still moving and each time I heard a twig break or leaves rustle I could swear it was drawing closer. The rain finally became steadier and the trees were now begging for relief from the wind. I began walking back toward the trail we had arrived in but when I reached the trees I looked back to notice John had not followed. He was still clutching his knapsack and staring at the trees beyond our camp.

“John, we gotta get outta here!” I yelled over the racket Mother Nature had created.

He slowly turned to look at me, a look of pure terror had transformed his face. Even at a distance, I could tell his body was shaking and as I heard the low growl from the trees I knew why. I still could not make out where the big cat was but it sounded like it was inside the clearing. I eased my way toward my brother and regained a grasp on my pocket knife. I was only about ten feet from John but it felt like a hundred as I strained to listen for the predator near us. John was whispering to me for help, his cheeks soaked with salty specks and at some point, he had lost control of his bladder.

“I’m coming, it is going to be ok,” my voice cracked as I tried to sound reassuring.

I had no idea what I would do if the thing really was that close or if we could get away. All I knew at that moment was I wanted to reach my brother. My free hand pressed out into the darkness, focused on John’s terror-filled eyes. That is when a streak of lightning created enough light to see what had scared my brother so senseless. Just beyond the tree line a hulking black mass crouched and stared at the two of us. I can still remember the sickly yellow of the eyes that glared upon us. Another strike revealed the figure again as it rose on its hind legs. My eyes focused on the spot until the silhouette became clearer. Whatever had been closing in on us might have resembled a mountain lion but stood as if it were a man.

My fingers shook as they inched forward as I looked back down at John. I clutched the collar of his shirt, turned on my heel, and began pulling him behind me on my way out of the clearing. I am not sure if the pounding that echoed in my head was the creature following us or my heart but I had no intentions of turning around to find out. My eyes remained aimed at what I knew was the way home and wide open. Even the drops of rain could not keep me from my focus. All I wanted to see was the dim yellow glow of Gram’s porch light. We had probably made it halfway back when the tip of my shoe dug into a large tree root and sent me tumbling. My face crashed through brush that scraped across my cheeks just before I plowed into the dirt. My hand had never left John’s shirt and pulled him down upon me. The weight of him on my back forced the air from my lungs and I was left struggling to breathe.

I felt John roll off me and listened to him groan in pain. I turned on my back and tried to catch my breath while looking at my brother. The blade of my Old Timer had plunged into his shoulder during the fall and hung there as his shirt was painted red. John reached to grab for it and I smacked his hand away. I had always been told not to remove things like that unless you could stop the bleeding. I was not sure how true it was but I knew that this was not the time to test the theory. As I regained my ability to speak I told him to lay still and leave the knife alone until we returned to Gram’s house. At that moment I noticed that we were no longer alone on the trail.

A short distance behind us was the thing, hunkered over with one hand balancing its weight almost like a gorilla. I stared back at the thing, wondering why it had not caught us in our weakened state. It simply stood there watching as I tried to get to my feet. I tossed my brother’s arm over my shoulder and helped him up, keeping my eyes trained on the creature. My knee screamed under the weight of carrying John but I knew I had to move. My left foot moved back first then my right. I made each step slow and deliberate in an attempt to keep from falling. As I moved, so did the beast. After a few steps, I knew what it was doing. It knew we were hurt and that we could not outrun it. It was toying with us.

Though the action seemed futile I kept moving backward. I kept telling myself that if we could just get back to that porch we would be alright. Looking back now I have no idea why I thought Gram’s house would save us but that was the only thought I had in that particular moment. We retreated, it advanced. I felt as though it was smirking at me even though I could not see it through the rain. I mentally cursed myself for suggesting the trip. I had put us out here alone and now we were soaking wet, injured, and being chased by some demon beast that could not possibly have good intentions for when he caught us. I did the only thing I could think of, I started to pray quietly to myself.

“Dear God, please help us. Please let us get back to Gram’s,” I whispered.

A strange rumble broke through the wind and rain. At first, I had thought it to be thunder but when the sound continued it finally dawned on me what I was listening to. This thing was laughing at us, it was laughing at me. Something about that realization broke me. I had tried so hard to be strong all this time and the laughter sent me over the edge. Tears flowed across my cheeks and my body trembled with my sobs. I cried out for help. I cried out for my Gram. I screamed for anyone that might hear me. That only made this thing laugh louder. It was mocking me as it approached. John finally noticed our situation and began screaming in my ear, he pulled away from me and tried to get me to move. I knew even if we did run we would not make it so I simply stared back at the thing while I stopped above me.

Suddenly my body was jerked backward away from the beast. My eyes shot over to see my Gram stepping between us and the thing. She was wearing a strange looking cat mask and chanted while staring it down. I could not make out the words but I knew that at that moment she was trying to protect us. She stopped long enough to tell us to run and we did. The sound of my great-grandmother’s chant grew louder as we disappeared through the trees. John bounded onto the porch and inside. I had told him to get the phone and call for help. I stopped at the edge of the forest and listened to the spiritual battle that continued behind us. I remembered the story of the brave native woman who seeks revenge for the damage inflicted on her husband, the brave warrior from Gram’s story. She adorned the mask of a great mountain lion spirit and used it to ward off the Ew’ah.

The rain slowly died down and the forest went silent. I called out for my great-grandmother but received no reply. I wanted to run back to help her but I was truly afraid of what I might find. It took about thirty minutes for my father to arrive but when he did I was still standing there waiting for Gram. I remember him asking me what really happened. I am sure he did not believe the scared ramblings of my younger brother. If I had not been there I would not have believed it either. I just pointed back to the trail and started walking. I lead my father past each ribbon tied tree and to the spot where Gram should have been. The creature was gone but so was Gram. My father followed a trail of blood that led back to the clearing and I was right behind him. That was where we found her.

She knelt under the moon, her nightgown barely clinging to her body. It looked as if it had gone through a garbage disposal. Beneath the cloth were a myriad of cuts and lacerations. Her fingers were still clawing at her eyes and her mouth hung open wide to reveal that there was no longer a tongue within. She gurgled as if still trying to chant but no words formed. My father pulled her hands from her face got her to her feet. He yelled for me to go back and call an ambulance, so I ran all the way back to Gram’s house. In Gram’s story, the native woman found justice for her husband but my eighty-six-year-old great-grandmother had not been so lucky. She had managed to save us, but the Ew’ah took her sanity to make up for it. So, if you’re ever in the thick forests of the south keep an eye out for the Spirit of Madness. 