The Mystery of the Canebrake Read online

  “There, if that don’t get somebody out here they’re dead or not at home.”

  We were just about to walk back to town when the screen door opened, and an old man walked out on the porch.

  “What you boys need?”

  “Uh, sir, could we ask you a couple of questions,” I said.

  “’Bout what?”

  “The circus that was here last summer,” I said.

  “Sure, boys, come on up here on the porch and sit down. I’ll bet y’all wanta hear ’bout that damn, big ape Gargantua nearly escaping. Caused a big scare. Said some boys teased him and that ape almost broke out.”

  We sat down on the steps and I looked at John Clayton, who was turning red and squirming. The man didn’t hafta tell us about Gargantua because we’d been right there, and we were the ones that caused the problem.

  “Uh, well, no sir, we heard ’bout that, but we wanted to ask you if there was anything unusual when the circus got ready to leave,” I said.

  “Hummm, no, I don’t think so. They worked on that apes cage for a while and then they hooked up all the trucks and headed for the train station. Wait a minute, they did wait around for a while looking for somebody, and I remember asking them what the problem was. They didn’t wanta talk ’bout it and just kinda put me off. I finally talked with one of the hands and he mumbled something ’bout one of the side-show freaks missing; some wild man or something like that.”

  “Gosh, really?”

  “Yeah, boys, they waited around for an hour or so, and then I heard a man blow a whistle and them trucks rolled outta here, and I ain’t seen ’em since.”

  I looked at John Clayton and he nodded his head. He knew and I knew. The man in the canebrake was a wild man from the circus!

  “Thank you, sir,” I said as I stood up.

  “Is that what you boys wanted to hear? Y’all know something ’bout that person they left behind?”

  “No, uh, we just read something ’bout the circus missin’ someone, and we wondered who it was,” I lied.

  “Humph, well, ain’t no tellin’ where he is now.”

  Yeah, there is, I thought.

  “Well, we gotta go, thanks again,” said John Clayton.

  We walked back to town talking about what the caretaker had told us.

  “Shoot, Richard, he said a wild man or something. Do you remember any of the sideshows that had a wild man in them?”

  “Naw, the only sideshow I remember was the one with Miss Elena, the bearded lady in it.—Uh, wait a minute, right beside Miss Elena there was a big banner that said something ’bout a wild man. Something like Wild Man from Boo… I can’t remember the last part. What was it?”

  “Borren… naw, Boroen… hey, how ’bout Borneo, Borneo, yeah, that’s it. There was a show called The Wild Man from Borneo. The big poster showed a man covered with black hair and his face just looked horrible. We didn’t go ’cause we’d run outta money.”

  “That ain’t right, Richard. We didn’t go ’cause he looked so bad.”

  “Well, maybe.”

  “You think that man ran off from the circus and is now livin’ in the canebrake?”

  “Yeah, that’s where the circus posters came from. I think he left the circus and ended up in the canebrake.”

  “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “Heck, who knows? Daddy did say that most of the sideshow people are just plain folks that have been born that way. Maybe this man isn’t really from Borneo, and he just got tired of the circus life.”

  We talked and talked ’bout the man living in the canebrake until Daddy came by to pick us up.

  On the way home, John Clayton whispered in my ear; “Why don’t we go down to the canebrake sometime and hide out to see if we can see him?”

  “Well, we can’t do it this afternoon. Maybe next Saturday,” I whispered back.

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Return to Indian Hill

  Well, the canebrake wasn’t the only thing we were trying to figure out because every time I looked out my back door I could see Indian Hill just looming there, with them big black walnut trees that didn’t have a leaf on ’em. Shoot, even from my house that place had a spooky look.

  On Monday afternoon, me, John Clayton, and Sniffer were out in our back pasture right in front of Indian Hill when we saw a big hawk flying toward us kinda low, and I was just about to say something to John Clayton when that danged hawk screeched like the dickens, dipped down, and headed straight toward us.

  “Whoa, look out, John Clayton!”

  John Clayton looked up just as that big hawk skimmed right over him, and it let out another screech that made our hair stand on end.

  “What’s got into that cotton-picking hawk?” John Clayton yelled.

  “Heck, if I know. Shoot, it’s December and there shor ain’t a nest anywhere ’round here this time of year.”

  “Hey, look out, it’s coming back!” John Clayton yelled.

  Well, we kinda backed away, but stupid Sniffer just stood there like a dumb dog would do.

  “Look out, Sniffer!” I yelled. That big hawk nearly took off one of Sniffer’s ear with one of its claws, and Sniffer let out a howl like the devil had him.

  Sniffer took off for the house, and the last I saw of him was his tail zipping under the porch. The hawk made another circle and we watched to be sure it wasn’t coming back for another dive bomb attack.

  “Look it’s heading for Indian Hill,” I said.

  Sure enough, it made a big circle and lit in the very top of the biggest black walnut tree on the hill.

  I didn’t know what is was, but John Clayton looked at me, I nodded, and we started walking that way. In a few minutes we were climbing up the hill getting close to where the hawk was perched, but just before we got to the tree it took off—and in a couple of minutes we noticed it again, circling and circling above us.

  We could just feel that something was unusual, and I was just about to mention it to John Clayton when there was a quick gust of wind.

  “Dang, what in the world?” John Clayton said.

  Heck, there wasn’t any wind nowhere, except right where we were standing.

  About that time, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand right on end, and I knew for an absolute fact that the hawk and the wind weren’t no natural thing.

  John Clayton said just what I was thinking. “Richard, this is one spooky place. Do you think the wind and the hawk are some old Indian’s ghost?”

  That made a little shiver go down my back, and I took a deep breath. “Heck, I don’t know, but I’m just glad it ain’t dark.”

  We walked over to where we our campfire had been when we were last up on Indian Hill, and I started looking around where we’d found the tooth. Sure enough, a little scratching around and we found some flint and then John Clayton found a broken arrowhead. Then I walked over toward the big black walnut tree where the hawk had been and there was a small tree that had been uprooted during a storm last summer. The roots had pulled up a bunch of dirt, and what I saw made me gasp.

  “Oh my good Lord in heaven above! John Clayton, come here quick!”

  John Clayton ran over and I pointed to where the tree roots had pulled up a bunch of dirt and left about a two-foot deep hole, but that weren’t nothing to compare to what was lodged in them roots—a human skull was staring us right in the face. It was partly uncovered and one of its eyeholes and the side of its jaw was just hanging off them roots.

  “Oh my gosh, this sure enough is an old Indian graveyard!” said John Clayton.

  We both took a couple of steps toward the uprooted tree, and I reached out to touch the skull when that danged hawk screeched again a swooped down over us. Shoot, I jerked my hand back and made a little gasp just as a gust of wind swirled around us. Wow, the hairs on my neck just stood up again, and I backed away from the uprooted tree.

  “Dang, Richard, this place give me the creeps. Let’s get outta here.”

&nb
sp; Well, I was heading down the hill before John Clayton had even gotten the words outta his mouth. When we got back home, we couldn’t talk about nothing else, and the next day, when we met Ears and Tiny down at the breadbox, we told them all about what we’d seen on Indian Hill. ’Course, since they hadn’t been up there they just laughed and thought we were making up a story.

  “Oh for cryin’ out loud, Richard, they ain’t nothing up there on Indian Hill. Shoot, I’d spend the night there any time. Y’all’s just a bunch of sissies.”

  “Ears, we’re telling the truth, and I’ll just bet you right now you won’t spend the night on Indian Hill. Heck, I’ll make it easy, I got a dollar that says you won’t even stay till midnight.”

  “Hah, Richard, you just lost your dollar, ’cause I’m going up on Indian Hill Friday night, and I guess y’all are going with me to be sure I stay, ain’t ya?”

  Well, ’course, me and John Clayton didn’t really want to go back up on Indian Hill at night, but with four of us we thought maybe we could do it.

  “Okay, Ears, we’ll all go up there Friday night, and if you don’t stay till midnight you owe me a dollar.”

  So the plan to return to Indian Hill and stay until midnight was made, and Ears, Tiny, and John Clayton agreed to meet at my house at 8 Friday night to head up there.

  I got to school a little early the next day and after talking with Ears about the bet to go up on Indian Hill, I walked over to where stupid Homer Ray was bragging about some smart-ass thing to Rosalie and Freckles. Heck, there’s just something in me that can’t resist jerking that sorry kid around.

  “He’s lying,” I said.

  “What?” said one of the girls.

  “Yeah,” I said, “if his lips are moving, he’s lying.”

  ‘’Course, sorry Homer Ray started turning red, and I reached up and flipped his lips while I said, “Liar, liar, liar.”

  Whoa, talk about getting just all bent outta shape. Man, old Homer Ray puffed and snorted and even cussed a little bit, but he’d didn’t touch me, and the girls kinda giggled.

  John Clayton, who had watched the whole thing said, “Richard, you’re just pressing your luck. One of these days Homer Ray’s just gonna blow up, and then look out cuz you’ll get stomped in the ground.”

  “Nahaa, he’s just all mouth.” Well, I didn’t know it then, but taunting Homer Ray was gonna cause a bunch of trouble for me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Campfire on Indian Hill

  Friday rolled around, John Clayton came by my house a little early, and we talked about going back up on Indian Hill.

  “Heck, Richard, I’m not worried a whit ’bout going back up there. I think we were just imagining that stuff.”

  “Baloney, I didn’t imagine that hawk or them bones in that uprooted tree.”

  “Yeah, but with four of us I’ll feel a little better ’bout going up there.”

  “Uh, huh, and with Tiny along, if something gets after us, as fat and slow as he is, it’ll catch him first.”

  Well, we sure got a laugh outta that.

  Momma called us in for supper after a little while, and we had a meal of squirrel smothered in gravy, some biscuits, and canned peas. Then we went out on the front porch to wait for Ears and Tiny to show up. The two of them walked up about 7:30 and we checked out our stuff before we set out for Indian Hill. ’Course, our carbide headlights were the most important part of our gear, and knowing how those danged lights always mess up, we wanted to be sure they were working before we headed out. Soon everything was checked out and I hollered to Momma who was finishing up the supper dishes.

  “Momma, we’re fixin’ to go up on Indian Hill and have a campfire. We’ll be back after while.”

  Momma nodded and I called Sniffer.

  “Here, Sniffer!” I yelled. Sniffer trotted up and everybody got ready to head out. Heck, this was getting to be real exciting. I looked around for Daddy, but he wasn’t in the house. Gosh, everybody was just so worked up you’d have thought we were exploring deepest Africa. Me and John Clayton were telling them about some of the stuff we heard as we walked along, and we were just passing the back of our barn when somebody stepped out from behind the barn and let out the loudest war whoop you’ve ever heard. My gosh, my heart just stopped for a little bit, and everybody jumped like a bunch of shot rabbits. And Sniffer let out one of them hound howls. Heck, then I heard laughing and Daddy walked over to where we were standing.

  “Watch out for those Indian ghosts. It’s a full moon tonight and that’s when the spirits really get out,” Daddy said. He was just a-laughing as he headed back to the house.

  “Daddy, that wasn’t a bit funny. You could have scared us to death.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Mason, I’m a little bit nervous ’bout going up there anyway,” said John Clayton.

  Daddy looked back over his shoulder and said, “Well, boys, just be real careful, and don’t disturb the spirits. That’s real important when you’re prowling around a graveyard.”

  “Huh, what? Disturb the spirits? What spirits?” said Tiny.

  Well, I knew that Daddy, who really likes to joke, was just trying to pull our legs.

  “Come on guys, let’s get going. I ain’t gonna pay Ears a dollar just to stand here in back of our barn.”

  Well, Tiny still wanted to know about the spirits, but we yanked him along, and soon we passed through our back pasture and there looming in the moonlight was Indian Hill. Tiny kept on talking about disturbing the spirits until I thought I was gonna go crazy.

  “Dang, Tiny, don’t say that again. They ain’t any spirits up there.”

  “There might be,” said John Clayton.

  “So, y’all sure you wanta do this thing?”

  “Shut up, Tiny.”

  Well, we started up Indian Hill with Tiny whining about spirits and Ears just mouthing off like he wasn’t afraid of nothing. Sniffer really didn’t want to go with us after that war hoop Daddy yelled, but I finally got him to follow us.

  Daddy was right about one thing, it was a full moon and the moonlight made it so bright you could almost see without your headlight. But shoot, let me tell you why I was kinda upset. I’d read some stuff in school about vampires, mummies, and werewolves and everything I’d read said a full moon really brought ’em out. Heck, I wasn’t about to mention that to the guys and was just keeping my mouth shut when stupid John Clayton said, “Last week I read where werewolves always come out when the moon’s full.”

  Shoot, I could almost hear Tiny’s knees shaking.

  “Ah, shut up, John Clayton,” said Ears. “You ain’t gonna scare me outta getting Richard’s dollar. Let’s go, come on.”

  Ears led out and after a 15-minute climb we were standing on top of Indian Hill under the big black walnut tree. I thought of something, kinda grinned, and pulled Tiny’s arm, “Come here Tiny. Take a look at this.” I shined my headlight over to where you could see the uprooted tree, and Tiny and Sniffer took a good look in the hole.

  Wow, when that light hit the skull Tiny backed away so fast he nearly fell over Ears. And Sniffer jumped like he’d been shot. ’Course, that got a big laugh and Tiny, with Ears calming him down, didn’t run off down the hill. (Sniffer nearly did, but I managed to call him back.)

  I figured they’d be some more stuff, and after Tiny took off everybody would follow him. Heck, Ears’s dollar was as good as in my pocket. We gathered up some dry wood and pretty soon we had one heck of a fire. I kept waiting for something to happen, but 10 o’clock passed without a sound, and now everybody was having the best time telling stories, and I figured Ears had my dollar won.

  Then, just when it was about 11 and the fire had died down, Tiny came back with an armload of wood, and he was white as a sheet.

  “I saw something—out there in that bunch of trees,” he managed to say.

  “Oh, come on, Tiny, there ain’t nothin’ out there,” said Ears. Ears took the firewood from Tiny, tossed it on the fire and then walked outta the ligh
t to where Tiny had picked up the wood.

  “Nothin’ nothin’, there ain’t a danged thing out here,” Ears shouted.

  “Uh, oh, wait a minute.”

  He didn’t say a word for a whole minute, and we stood up to see why. About that time Ears jumped back toward us and yelled, “I see something, look!”

  Well, ’course we ran over to where Ears was standing and Ears said, “It’s gone now, but by god, I saw something out there.”

  “What was it, Ears?” I said.

  “Weren’t no animal—”

  And then a limb snapped behind us, and shoot you’d a-thought the devil himself had just walked up the way everybody jumped. Sniffer’s ears stuck straight up, and he started growling.

  “What was that?” whispered Tiny.

  “Oh, probably some old possum,” John Clayton said softly.

  “Heck, there ain’t a possum big enough to snap a limb that big,” I said.

  Well, for the next 10 minutes we piled everything that would burn on the campfire, and faced the woods with our headlights on bright—high beams shining out in the trees. Nothing, and I mean nothing, happened for a few minutes and then a gust of wind just swirled around the campfire and an owl hooted right over us. Heck, if that had been all we could have stood it, but shoot, a minute later we heard just one thump like a drum way down in Flat Creek Swamp. I could feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck now, and as I looked around at everybody, I could sure tell they felt the same way.

  “What—what—what was that,” rasped Tiny.

  “Sounded like a drum,” I whispered back.

  “Oh my god, why would somebody be beatin’ a drum way down in Flat Creek Swamp at eleven o’clock?”

  Well, nobody got to answer that because before anybody could say a thing we started hearing something that sounded like somebody moaning.

  Wow, old Sniffer started backing away like nothing you have ever seen, and I could tell that dog was about to bolt.

  “Stay, Sniffer!” I yelled. Sniffer looked at me with one of them dog looks that said, “One more sound outta them woods, and I’m out of here.”