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THE DWELLER IN BIG MISTY
Page 1 of 2
By Donald H Sullivan
By Donald Sullivan
The hunter was a big, powerful man, armed with a hunting rifle, a pistol, and a Bowie knife. He had hunted in Big Misty Swamp all his life and was completely at home in the swamp. As he made his way through the familiar surroundings, he was suddenly startled by an unfamiliar sound. Something was moving noisily through the brush, and it was making no attempt at stealth. The noise stopped abruptly, and dead silence followed.
Suddenly, something exploded through the brush a few feet in front of him, and the hunter froze in terror as he faced a nightmare.
The two boys stared at the carcass of the wild pig lying on the creek bank. Jodie, the older of the two, walked up to the carcass for a closer look. Pete, feeling somewhat squeamish, kept his distance.
Jodie squatted down for a better look. "Must've come for a drink and a gator got it."
"A gator?" Pete was skeptical. "I don't know that much about gators, man, but don't gators usually hang around to guard their kill?”
"Sometimes, but not always. But judgin' from the condition of the pig, I can't imagine what else could've killed it but a gator."
"Might've been a panther," Pete ventured, "or maybe it was a bear"
"Nobody's seen a panther in this part of Florida for years. I wouldn't rule out a bear, but I'd bet it was a gator."
An eerie feeling came over Pete that he was somehow involved in the killing of the pig. "Maybe we ought to go back. We can't be sure what killed that animal."
"You ain't scared are you? Look, ol' buddy, it must've been a gator, and gators won't bother you unless you bother them." Jodie patted the 9mm on his hip. "I got this, and you got the .38 I loaned you. These babies will protect us against anything in these woods. Let's go on to the campsite and pitch our tent."
"You still plan to camp out all night?"
"Sure. Ain't that why we came? Hey, ol' buddy, you're gonna like it when we get to the campsite. It's on high and dry ground. I've got camping gear stashed away at the site, includin' just about everything that we'll need. Anyways, you're part Indian, so you ought to feel at home in a tent."
"I'm not scared," said Pete. "And I'm part Seminole. Seminoles never lived in tents--they lived in palmetto chickees." But Pete knew he was scared. Although he was born in Florida, his parents moved to Baltimore when he was only two. He knew little about swamps.
His parents had promised him four days in Florida over the Thanksgiving holidays to visit his cousin Jodie if he kept his grades up. But the wild pig incident, coupled with the gloom of the forest, had dampened his enthusiasm for adventure.
Jodie, who had just turned eighteen, was four years older than Pete. He had lived all his life near Big Misty Swamp, a part of Ocala National Forest. He knew this part of the woods like his own backyard, although he had never penetrated into the deepest parts of the forest.
Jodie set out, and Pete followed. They crossed the narrow creek on a fallen log and slogged on through a swampy area. About fifteen minutes later they came to a hammock, a stretch of ground rising a few feet above the surrounding swampland.
"This place is called Bobcat Hammock," said Jodie. He pointed to a palmetto patch. The gear I told you about is in a metal locker under those palmettos."
Pete found the locker and raised the lid. "Wow. You were right. You've got all kinds of junk in here."
"We're gonna have fun, ol' buddy. After we pitch the tent, we'll go back to the creek and fish for awhile. We'll have fish for supper instead of the Vienna sausages and junk we brought along."
As they were setting up camp, Pete's spirits began to pick up. They had just finished pitching the tent when they heard a loud yell. It was a man's voice, and it didn't seem to be too far away.
"W--what was that?" Pete whispered.
"I dunno. Sounds like somebody's in trouble." Jodie strapped on his 9mm. "Wait here. I'll go take a look. I'll be back in a few minutes, so don't wander away from the campsite while I'm gone."
Pete laughed nervously. "As if I would. Be careful, man. And please hurry, okay?"
Jodie had been gone about twenty minutes, and Pete was growing more worried by the minute. He decided to risk calling Jodie. The man's yell was nearby, so Jodie should be within earshot.
"Jodie! What's going on? Are you okay?" Pete waited for a reply, but none came.
Jodie had been gone about thirty minutes now. In spite of Jodie's warning, he felt compelled to investigate. Maybe Jodie was hurt and needed help.
Pete strapped on his .38 and set out in the same direction Jodie had taken. He left the dry hammock and moved through the mushy bog. About ten minutes after leaving the campsite, he spotted something lying on the ground in front of him. He stopped, and then became nauseous as he realized it was the mangled body of a man. His head was turned at a crazy angle and one arm was almost torn from his body. He was apparently a hunter; he was wearing a camouflage suit, and his rifle lay a few feet from his body. The hunter was also wearing a sidearm and a knife, but apparently had no chance to defend himself with either weapon.
Pete looked away from the grisly sight. Feeling faint, he leaned against a tree for support. Again, the odd feeling came over him that he was somehow involved in the killing of the man as well as of the pig.
Afraid now to make a sound lest he draw attention to himself, he had to work up his courage to call Jodie.
"Jodie! Where are you? Can you hear me?"
He called several times, and after hearing no reply, he hurried back toward the campsite. He slogged through the swamp toward the hammock, determined to keep in a straight line. He stayed alert for sounds, but heard nothing but the sound of his boots slogging through the mud and his own heavy breathing.
His watch showed four-thirty. He had been walking for a half-hour; he should have reached the campsite by now. He stopped, looked around, and came to realize that he was hopelessly lost. He stepped up his pace as he hurried through the swamp. Panic was beginning to take over his mind and body. The swamp had become a hostile thing. His breathing became heavier and he was gasping for breath.
He forced himself to slow down and move at a normal pace; he realized that panic would only make things worse. As he trudged along, something ahead caught his eye. It appeared to be an animal. Holding his .38 at ready, he moved toward the creature. As he drew closer, he could see that it was the body of a black bear. It had been badly mangled.
Once again, he found himself fighting off panic. His legs felt weak and ice water seemed to flow in his veins. For a brief instant, something within him stirred, and once again he experienced the feeling that he was somehow involved in the killings. Just as quickly, the feeling passed.
As he walked away from the bear, his concern about leaving the swamp escalated. It was already past five, and he did not want nightfall to catch him in the swamp. He picked up his pace, hoping to find higher ground before dark.
He was growing tired. He had been slogging through the mud for hours. It was after six already; why was he still on the swamp? He should have found higher ground long ago. He saw something ahead--it appeared to be another animal.
As he approached the animal, his heart sank. He was looking at the same bear he had seen an hour ago. He had been going in a circle.
He was exhausted. His emotions were a mixture of anger, fear, and helplessness. It would be dark soon, and he was resigned to spending the night in the swamp. His only option was to spend the night in a tree. It would be a sleepless night, but he could think of nothing better. As he looked around for a suitable tree, his eye caught a movement.
Startled, he drew the .38 and aimed it toward the direction of movement. He lowered the .38 when he saw that it was a man--a Seminole. He was wearing the ancestral dress that Seminoles usually wore only for ceremonies. The Seminole held his hand up in greeting, and Pete was suddenly filled with a feeling of peace and calm. The Seminole turned and walked away, motioning for Pete to follow.
As Pete followed, he noticed that the brush did not move as the Seminole passed, and the man's feet did not touch the ground. Pete knew that he was following an apparition, and he should be scared out of his wits. But strangely, the feeling of peace and calm prevailed.
Presently, Pete found himself out of the swamp and on higher ground. Daylight was fading, and darkness was beginning to fall. Pete followed his guide for a few hundred yards more, and the Seminole abruptly vanished.
It was almost dark now. As Pete looked around to survey his surroundings, the sky was suddenly as bright as midday. The surrounding trees vanished, and Pete found himself standing in the middle of a Seminole village.
Conclusion on page 2
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