No Trespassing

Chad Dowdy parked his pickup and got out to gaze at the destruction he had wrought. He smiled. This was his land now and he would do with it what he pleased-- what pleased him was to use it to make lots of money. Two months ago, a lush forest had existed where he now stood, but now bulldozers had knocked them all down, and men with trucks and chainsaws had cut the trees into logs and taken them to market.

‘Two-hundred-thousand dollars?’ he thought. That sounded about right. That’s how much money he stood to make in the timber off this place. The next chore was cleaning up the roots and scrub brush so he could plant cotton out here. This place was a gold mine and his father had sat on it Chad’s whole life without doing a thing to it. He wondered what the Hell had been wrong with the man. Did he really take a promise his ancestor made to some old Indian chief so seriously? Chad had never understood it. The man had built barbed wire fences all around the nearly two thousand acres of land he owned and posted 'no-trespassing' signs everywhere.

No Trespassing! Keep Out! No Hunting! Violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law! the signs read. The old man meant what he said. He'd caught dozens of poachers on the place over the years, and hadn't rested until he was satisfied justice was served by a heavy fine or in more than one case, a weekend in the county jail. The land was sacred and meant to be respected, he'd often told his son. The Creeks buried their people here, and it was also where they believed the land and the spirit world came together. His father owned an old grainy daguerreotype that set above the desk in his study. It depicted a rugged looking man shaking hands with a Native American decked out in full ceremonial dress. Chad’s father cherished that photograph as much as the land itself.

"Son," he loved to tell him. "That picture was made in 1804. That’s your direct ancestor, Samuel Dowdy, shaking hands with the legendary Creek Indian chief, Opothleyoholo. Those two men were living proof that Indians and settlers could not only live in peace with one another, but could embrace as friends as well. They grew to be as close as brothers. Samuel made a vow to Chief Opothleyoholo before Andy Jackson marched him off to Oklahoma. He swore he'd keep white men from ever desecrating the Creeks' sacred land, and his sons in generations to come would do the same.

"He lived up to that promise," his father told him. "That land's been in our family ever since. When I'm gone from this world, son, I expect you to carry on that tradition. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dad, I understand," Chad would always say. When he got old enough, though, he realized his dad was a fool. The old man's crops failed three years running in the last years of his life and he'd run into considerable debt. After his death, the debt passed to Chad. Luckily for Chad Dowdy, however, the profits he'd make off clearing this place would pay off the debts with plenty left over. He smiled, thinking of it. $200,000. That was a good start. But this land would yield him plenty more. All he had to do was figure out how to milk it.

The forest had stood for centuries before Chad Dowdy was born, but he had bulldozed it down now and disrupted the array of wildlife that lived beneath its cover as well. The ones that were left were still scurrying about two months later. He’d brought his 30 ought 6 rifle and a 12 gauge shotgun out here today in hopes of having a little fun with the situation. He'd already seen plenty of wild game about in the three hours he’d been out here: a deer, several coons, a fox, and even a bobcat. He'd shot at the deer and missed, and used up most of a box of shotgun shells firing at the other game, but so far all he'd managed to kill was a lone coon he’d left for the buzzards and coyotes to take of. But he wasn’t much for hunting anyway. He got bored with it, and it was no fun being out in the weather for so long, usually wet and freezing your ass off.

The main reason he’d driven out here today had nothing to do with hunting. Tonight, he was throwing a party to celebrate his newfound wealth. Only his best friends would be there. They were camping out on the sandbar next to the river. He usually felt the same about camping as he did about hunting, but tonight was different. He was definitely excited about it, especially because Laura was coming. He’d been wanting to get in her pants for the longest time, and he felt confident that tonight he’d have his opportunity.

Thinking of it, he smiled, climbed back in his truck, and continued down the bumpy road to the sandbar, singing along with Toby Keith on the radio. A few minutes later, he parked beneath the old live oak that sat above the slope above the sandbar. He’d told the bulldozer drivers to leave that particular tree standing. He figured he’d at least need a little shade when he came out here in the summer time. He climbed out of the truck and gazed over the edge of the embankment to the sandbar and the river below it. He saw a man sitting on a bucket, fishing with a cane pole, and frowned. He knew the man well enough, but had never cared for him. Chad expected he wouldn’t leave without a fuss either. He certainly didn’t relish the idea of confronting the damn crazy old coot. He’d about decided to just let the man fish when John-John, Kim, and Laura all came driving up.

“What the hell’s up, man?” John said, as he tossed his empty Budweiser can in the back of his pickup, pulled another one out of his cooler, and popped it open.

“Scoutin’ the place out, man. Getting’ the lay of the land, and all that happy horseshit,” Chad replied. “Y’all ready to have a good time tonight?”

“Damn straight we are!” John-John answered. “Come get you a puff of this shit!”

A lit joint appeared in his hand and Chad went to take a hit from it. One look at the girls’ eyes told him they were both moving on towards stoned, and probably drunk too. He hoped Laura, at least, didn’t let herself get too much in the bag. He had an agenda with her tonight.

“Hey Laura. Glad you guys could make it,” he told her, as he tried not to choke on the marijuana smoke in his lungs.

“Are you kiddin’? I wouldn’t miss it, Chad. Been looking forward to this shit all week.”

”Hell, yeah!” John-John said. “This is so cool. We ain’t gotta worry about cops or nothin’ out here. Let me take gander at the water down there.” He climbed out of the truck and looked out at the sandbar.

“Damn,” John-John said. “Is that fuckin’ Jeremiah Powers down there? Why’d you invite his weird ass?”

“I didn’t,” Chad answered. “He’s down there all on his own.”

“Well tell him to leave,” John-John said. “We can’t have a party with him around. He might cut our throats in our sleep as far as I know.”

“Yeah, I was about to run his ass off when y’all came drivin’ up. Give me a minute and I’ll send him packing.” He headed down the embankment wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. Jeremiah was a local legend: a Viet Nam vet who’d served with the Special Forces. He'd retired from the Marine Corps after thirty-five years and taken up the life of a hermit. No one seemed to know exactly where he lived, but he showed up in town occasionally, most often to buy a fresh pack of Red Man chewing tobacco.

Jeremiah didn’t acknowledge Chad even when he stood right beside the man’s spit can.

“Hey Mr. Powers,” Chad began, trying to keep a respectful tone. “You know this is private property. You can’t be fishing out here without permission. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Powers chuckled as turned his head to spit in the can. He missed, hitting Chad’s shoe instead. Chad decided to pretend not to notice.

“Ain’t got a bite in half a day except a couple of Bream about as big as your hand,” Jeremiah said, as if Chad hadn’t just ordered him to leave. “Good thing I’ve got a backup plan.” He reached on the other side of him, picked up a burlap bag and showed it to Chad. Something inside elicited a rattling sound that made his skin crawl. He took a step away from it.

Jeremiah laughed. “Rattlesnake,” he said. “Skin it out, cook it over a fire, and it tastes just like chicken. You’d be surprised.”

Chad swallowed and tried to regain his composure. He knew his friends were watching. "Look, Mr. Powers, I ain't tryin' to be an asshole,” he said. “But this is private property. You can't be here fishing like this. You're going to have to leave, I'm afraid."

Jeremiah chuckled again. "How long's this land been in your family, Chad?" he asked.

Chad felt himself starting to get mad. “That’s got nothing to do with nothing,” he said. “You want me to call the police and get them to tell you to move? I ain’t even mentioned you got no permission to be fishing out here. You’re trespassing plain and simple and I’m telling you to get your spit can, your fishing pole, and your goddamn rattlesnake and go to Hell home."

Chad cursed himself for a fool as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He knew Jeremiah Powers had probably killed men for a lot less. But Jeremiah brought his fishing line in instead, stood, and picked up his spit can and the steadily rattling burlap bag. He spoke to Chad as if he was instructing a child.

"They know what you’ve done to their land, Chad,” he said. They ain't ones to tolerate disrespect. I wouldn't give a dime to be in your shoes. This is a place for spirits and you done pissed 'em off."

Chad wanted to say something back, but something in his tone rendered him silent. Putatatatatatatatatat went the snake. For a moment, Chad thought he was going to pee in his pants. Jeremiah walked by him so closely the bag almost touched him.

“Watch your step over yonder way,” Jeremiah said, indicating to his right. “There’s more over there where this one came from.”

Frozen to the spot, Chad watched as Jeremiah ambled up the hill past a mound of rocks and disappeared into a small patch of woods the bulldozers had missed. Relieved he was gone, Chad motioned to his friends to come on down. He was ready to get drunk, high, and laid, and to forget all about Jeremiah Powers and his damn rattlesnake he could still hear in his mind.

“Damn!” John-John said, once he was down the hill. “I thought I was going to have to call the cavalry for you for a minute there.”

“I told him to get and he got,” Chad answered. “He’s nothing but a punk when it comes down to it.”

John-John shrugged and handed Chad a beer. “If you say so, man,” he said.

Soon, the tents were up, and the party was in full swing. Chad brought his CD player down and cranked up some country music. John-John set up a grill and began to cook burgers and hot dogs. Laura and Kim started a campfire and roasted marshmallows at the end of a stick. Chad watched Laura’s ass as she bent over the fire. She certainly had an ass to die for, he thought. She was a hottie all around to tell the truth: long, auburn hair, nice puffy lips and tits and ass to die for. She must have felt him staring at her because she turned her head towards him and smiled. Chad’s heart pitter-pattered in anticipation.

When the food was gone and a full moon was out, they sat around the fire laughing and talking as they drank beer and passed the weed around. Chad sat beside Laura with his arm around her feeling very good.

"It just doesn’tt any better than this," he said. "Sitting out here on your own land in the boondocks with the full moon reflecting off the water, having a good time with your friends with your arm around the coolest, prettiest girl I know. That’s what you are, Laura. Did I ever tell you that before?"

"No, Chad, but that's real sweet. I’m starting to think you’re a lot nicer guy than I ever gave you credit for, and being out here with everyone like this really is the coolest thing."

”You didn’t think I was a nice guy before?”

“I wasn’t sure. You come off a little arrogant sometimes, but I guess you’re just really sure of yourself.

"Confidence ain’t a bad thing.”

Laura laughed and looked out at the river. “It’s awful pretty,” she said. Just flowing along so peaceful. Are there really Indians buried out here, Chad?"

"That's what my daddy always told me. This is supposed to be a special place to them. They came out here when they wanted to be close to the spirits, he used to say. Probably just a bunch of hocus-pocus mumbo jumbo though. I'm going to make a mint off this place. Did I tell you that?"

"Yeah, you told me. Is money all you think about, Chad?"

“Well…that and how pretty your eyes are.”

“I never you were so damn corny.” She punched him playfully in the stomach and he could tell the compliment pleased her. He was pretty sure he was going to get in her pants tonight. The anticipation of it was almost as exciting as the two hundred thousand dollars he was going to make.

She took a hit from her joint and passed it to him. He took her hand as he sucked in the smoke and held it in. She took it from him, laid it in the sand, and moved her face close to his. He took the hint and kissed her. Soon they were feeling each other up in earnest as Kim and John John were too busy with each other to notice. When they were both hot and bothered, he took her hand and walked her to his tent. After awhile, he got up, took her hand and walked her to his tent. They didn’t waste time getting each other’s clothes off.

’This has to be the finest night of my life,’ Chad thought a moment later, as he thrust into her. He found the smell of weed and pussy to be a wonderful mix. When it was over, they lay panting together in the tent, sweat pouring off of them.

"Damn," Laura said. "You’re a freaking wild man, Chad. That was awesome. We got to do it again."

”Hell yes we do,” Chad mumbled. But the beer and weed were getting to him now, and his eyelids were awfully heavy all of a sudden. He dropped off to sleep a few moments later.

An unknown time later, he woke up thirsty with a headache. But he realized what had wakened him was an irresistible need in his bowels

'Must have been the burgers,' he thought. He gritted his teeth to hold it back, thinking that if was to shit himself right next to her naked, sleeping body, he’d have a hell of a time ever getting in her pants again. He managed to step into his boxer shorts and scramble out of the tent.

In the light of the full moon reflecting off the river he searched frantically for a place to do his business. He spied the outline of the rocks in the moonlight that Jeremiah Powers had passed this afternoon and ran for them.

A few moments later, he squatted above an indention in the rocks and let go. The waste flowed from his bowels with the consistency of water. Each time he thought he was through, another wave rolled through him. He wouldn’t have believed so much liquid shit could have possibly flowed from his ass. Having nothing else to do, he looked around him from his vantage point atop the rock mound. The stones looked to have been arranged in a purposeful pattern. Some were huge boulders that must have weighed a solid ton, but they appeared to be arranged in a symmetrical shape.

He thought it looked a little like Stonehenge and imagined the Creeks must have been a place where the Creeks did some sort of savage ceremony. Then his thoughts were interrupted as another wave of diarrhea rolled through him. It ricocheted off the rock beneath him stuck to his bare ass.

“Shit,” he said aloud, wondering how he was going to clean himself. In his haste, he had neglected to find anything to wipe with. For a moment after he was done, he stayed in a squatting position, staring up at the moon and imagining an ancient era when the Creeks must have dance among these rocks.

Then a truth hit him with such force it seemed it had come into his mind from an external force.

He was shitting on top of an ancient Indian cemetery.

For a moment, the knowledge spooked him, but in the next instant he laughed aloud.

"I'm a real ass," he said aloud to the night. "I bulldozed their damn trees and then I shit on their graves. Daddy would be so proud of me."







His legs were going to sleep now from squatting so long and he started to look around for something to wipe himself. As he did, he thought he saw someone standing in front of him off in the distance. He strained his eyes and tried to make it out. Yes, he was certain of it. There was a man out there standing completely still and staring at him. He felt chills run down his spine and his heart leaped in his chest. He couldn't make out his features, only his shape silhouetted in the moonlight, but there was something familiar about him. Was it Powers again? Had he come back to terrorize him?

No, the man wasn't nearly wide enough across the shoulders. Yet he knew who it was. He'd seen the man many times. He just had to place it. He looked away for a moment to the trees. He'd have to walk over there and grab a handful of leaves to clean up with. Then he'd get back to the tent and not worry about that figure out there. He looked toward it again though. He couldn't resist. He sucked in his breath and leaped back in shock, tripping over the boxers at his ankles, landing in a noxious puddle of his watery waste and scraping his back.

The figure had halved the distance between them and now he recognized the man quite well. It was Chief Opothleyoholo from his father's picture. He was staring at him now with the identical pose he'd held in the photograph; his arms crossed and standing with a majestic and impassive posture.

Chad decided it was time to get back to the tent. There were worse things than your friends finding you covered with shit after all, he decided. He tried to stand too quickly on his wooden legs though, and slipped in another puddle of diarrhea. He tried to catch himself but his head struck a rock hard enough to make spots in front of his eyes. In front of him the Creek chief had moved closer still. He could see his face now. His eyes stared at him, unblinking and expressionless. He put his hand on the ground to push himself up once more, his heart a triphammer in his chest. The hand somehow pushed through the rocks and Chad heard pebbles striking the ground below.

'That's where they're buried,' his mind told him. Then he heard another sound from beneath his feet.

"Putatatatatatatat," it went. If he had not heard it once already today, he would not have recognized it so quickly. The single rattle was suddenly joined by others until it was a deafening crescendo in his ears "PUTATATATATATATATAT!" they went, like all the rattlesnakes in the world had converged in a single hole.

He tried to stand again and realized he was moaning hoarsely with all the terror of an abandoned child. He made it to his feet this time, but when he stood, he found himself face to face with Opothleyoholo. The chief still only stood, as impassive as always, but his eyes beamed hatred into Chad's soul.

"Please don't hurt me!" Chad begged. "Take your land back. I don't care about it anymore. But please just leave me alone." Chad wailed and dropped to his knees, utterly oblivious of his naked filthiness. He laid his head on his chest and wept.

The Indian placed his hand on Chad's forehead and held it there for an eternal moment. Chad turned his head hopefully to look into the man's cold blue eyes. The chief regarded him with a look of utter contempt. Then he spit in Chad's face. Chad recoiled violently as the spittle struck his eye. He slipped on the rocks and fell hard against them. They gave way beneath his weight and he fell on his back to the ground below with such force that the air was knocked out of him. The ground felt scaly and seemed to writhe beneath his body. As his eyes became adjusted to the darkness, he saw why. He was lying prone and naked on the backs of countless angry rattlesnakes. An inch from his face, he saw two beady yellow eyes staring into his. Chad screamed a primal scream of terror that went unheeded, muffled by the rocks above. In the next moment, the snake struck and he grabbed his cheek where the fangs had punctured him and screamed again. Insane with horror, Chad fell to the ground and writhed amidst the vipers.

Angry that the trespasser had interrupted their slumber, the snakes' fangs struck him again and again. He somehow found the strength to stand and pull himself toward the surface, snakes hanging from his arms like deadly appendages. He had no rational thoughts now; his being was but a mass of a primal desire to survive. He placed a single hand on the surface above the pit and looked up to see Opothleyoholo staring down on him. The Indian stepped on his hand and ground it into the rocks as if he was killing a roach. Chad heard the bones of his hand break beneath the chief's foot like dry twigs and with a final hopeless scream, fell back into the pit of serpents. Swollen with venom and mad with pain from the countless bites, he died in agony.

Above him, the ancient Indian chief nodded solemnly. He took a moment to soak in the night; to see the moon and hear the eternal flowing of the river. Then a stiff breeze blew across the land and with it, he faded away.

Epilogue:
Jeremiah Powers found his body in the morning when he returned to the rattlesnake den to search for some breakfast. He peered inside the hole in the rocks where Chad had fallen to his death and saw his body, grotesquely swollen and partially submerged beneath the snakes. The Creeks had had their revenge then, he thought. He shook his head, feeling disgusted and losing his appetite for rattlesnake.

'Kids these days,' he thought. 'Nothing was sacred to them.'

He looked across the rocks to where the boy's friends were still sleeping in their tents and decided it would be best to let them find their friend on their own. It was a shame, he thought. The boy's father had been a fine man.

He turned away from the rocks then and wandered back into what was left of the woods.

"Opothleyoholo," he said aloud to the land. "I hope you got what you wanted!"

The old chief's spirit heard the man and smiled.