New River Breeze Read online

  “I’ll go consult the local Cherokee medicine man,” she said.

  “Ask him why his people killed all the little people.”

  Three

  Very few people had my phone number. Our circle of friends was a total of two people, both police officers. Various departments in the area could call me if they needed a tracker or a hound dog. My buddy Rominger was with the North Carolina Highway Patrol. Angelina Will worked for the Avery County Sheriff’s Office. She and I had flirted with disaster when we first met, but I couldn’t bring myself to cheat on the woman I loved. Since then, we’d become friends. We worked together on a suspicious death, cementing our relationship. Brody was not threatened by her; in fact, the two of them got along nicely.

  When my phone rang, and the display showed an unfamiliar number, I almost didn’t answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Breeze, this is Linwood,” said the voice on the other end.

  “Linwood?”

  “The Loon,” he said. “From New River.”

  “Oh, hey,” I said. “Sorry about that. What’s up?”

  “I just thought you’d like to know that we spent two nights camped near that rock pile,” he said. “Not a single little white person was spotted.”

  “I think you were missing the necessary pharmaceuticals for that,” I said. “Interesting that you would try.”

  “It’s a hobby of sorts for us,” he said. “There are tons of old myths floating about Maine, you know.”

  “Give me the highlights,” I said.

  “Most pertinent would be our own version of little people, also an Indian legend,” he said.

  “Think there is any relation?”

  “Our little people were more like fairies, leprechauns, or hobbits,” he said. “They are supposed to be all around us, but some just can’t see them.”

  “That part parallels our Moon-eyes,” I said. “Can’t have a good myth without a little mystery.”

  “We have the Monster of Pocomoonshine Lake, the Cherryfield Goatman, and the Ghost on Catherine’s Hill,” he said. Throw in some Sasquatch and a little Paul Bunyon and that about covers it.”

  “We had the Hook Man where I grew up,” I said. “He was alleged to harass teenagers necking in Blackbird Forest.”

  “Did you believe it when you were young?”

  “I looked for girls brave enough to make out with me in that forest,” I said. “Just to prove he didn’t exist.”

  “Seems like that would narrow the field,” he said.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Anyway, we are planning a trip down to the Cherokee History Museum to view the little people sculpture. Any chance you’d like to come with us?”

  “Hang on,” I said. “Hey, Brody, you want to go see that Moony People statue?”

  “Moon-eyed People,” she said. “Sure. Who’s that?”

  “The Loon and the Chickadee want us to go with them,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “We’re in,” I told the Loon.

  “Great,” he said. “We’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

  I gave him our address and some rough directions to the cabin. We were off the beaten path, but not impossible to find. He said they’d arrive mid-morning. I hung up and thought about having guests to our place. It was a rare thing for us. I wondered if they’d want to spend the night after our trip to the museum. No one had ever stayed overnight with us. We did have an extra bedroom. They might appreciate a hot shower after a week in the woods. I told Brody to consider that possibility.

  “Houseguests,” she said. “What a novel idea.”

  “I know you’ve wanted to make new friends,” I said. “But they live in Maine. It will just be temporary.”

  “You never know when we might need a friend in Maine,” she said.

  “I’ve been up there several times,” I said. “But only in August. I don’t see a reason to go back.”

  “We should do some traveling,” she said. “We’ve got free time.”

  “There are people out there in the real world,” I told her. “Lots of people.”

  “I understand what you’re saying,” she said. “But I’m not as anti-social as you are. We really need to get out more. Expand our horizons.”

  “Bah, humbug,” I said. “Get off of my lawn.”

  “Be nice tomorrow,” she said. “It’s a chance for us to be around other people.”

  “I like the Loon,” I said. “At least I did out in the woods. Not too sure about his fascination with myths, though.”

  “Not everything is black and white,” she said. “Let yourself indulge in a little mystery.”

  “Mystery to me is what lacy panties you have on, and how can I get them off?” I said.

  “Play along with our fantasy tomorrow,” she said. “Then, maybe I’ll make your fantasy come true.”

  “It’s always good to have the proper incentive,” I said. “Challenge accepted.”

  Loon and Chickadee pulled up around ten the next morning. They drove a frigging Subaru like everyone else in the High Country. It was packed to the gills with camping gear. I had unloaded our Ford Escape before they arrived, so I suggested we take our car. My offer was quickly accepted. It was a three and a half hour drive to Murphy, North Carolina so we took off right away. Brody kept up polite conversation with them while I drove in silence. I was calculating how long our day was going to be. Seven hours of driving the roundtrip, plus an hour or two in the museum, meant that we’d get back home sometime around seven that night. Red could make it that long, but not much longer.

  The museum itself wasn’t what I expected. It was on the small side, but packed wall to wall with artifacts and exhibits. The people working there were friendly and eager to talk about anything you wanted to know. There were many Indian artifacts, and an entire lesson to be learned about the Trail of Tears. The Moon-eyed People sculpture was the highlight of the entire experience. I stood in front of the display case and became engrossed in an aura that I couldn’t explain. Seeing that carving made it all seem real to me. I had to admit to the others in my group that I’d gained a new interest in this particular legend.

  “Is there a camping trip to a certain rock pile in your future?” asked the Loon.

  “I’m not going that far,” I said. “But I’ll give the myth some credence. This statue is something real, not just an old wives tale.”

  “I’m glad you see it that way,” he said. “Nothing wrong with believing in fairy tales now and then. Adds a little magic to life.”

  We spent almost two hours in the museum before finally heading back home. The ladies carried the conversation on the return trip. Our guests would be happy to take advantage of our offer to spend the night, take hot showers, and have a home-cooked meal. After letting Red out, I started a fire in the fireplace. It wasn’t for the heat, but the ambiance. We weren’t in the woods, but we could watch the flames dance while we shot the shit.

  “So you say that chasing these myths is a hobby for you?” I asked the Loon.

  “It adds another dimension to exploring,” he said. “I can’t remember how we ever got started chasing legends, but we’ve been doing it for a long time.”

  “Have you ever witnessed anything, or found any information that would verify any of them?”

  “Not in the slightest,” he said. “It’s like trying to grab a handful of fog on the coast of Maine.”

  “But you keep doing it,” I said. “Just for fun.”

  “The truth is out there,” he said. “Or maybe not.”

  “I was interested in UFOs when I was a kid,” I told him. “Guess I outgrew it.”

  “Life beats the curiosity right out of us,” he said. “We stop believing.”

  “I think we learn that magic isn’t real and that fairy tales don’t come true.”

  “Scratch any cynic, and you’ll find a disappointed idealist,” he said.

  “We were all liberal, idealistic, and dumb in our you
th,” I said. “We age into conservatism and realism.”

  “Either that or we trade our dreams for whatever wisdom age brings.”

  “This is becoming a most philosophical discussion,” I said. “Socrates or Plato?”

  “George Carlin,” he said. “Much more than a funny man.”

  “So how would one go about reigniting the curiosity of our youth?”

  “Excellent question,” he said. “It indicates that you are not a lost cause.”

  “I think there have been too many times when my only cause was staying alive,” I said. “Not much time to chase dreams.”

  “Nonsense,” Brody interrupted. “You once had a dream to share beautiful islands with a woman who loved you. Check that one off. Then you wanted a cabin in the woods. Check that off too. If you dream a new dream, we can make it happen.”

  “Perfectly valid points,” I said. “But we’re talking about myths, legends, and UFOs.”

  “The Beech Mountain Hermit was a legend,” she said. “Until you proved he was real.”

  “You had a hermit here?” asked the Loon. “In the mountains?”

  “Sure did,” I said. “Still, do actually, but I don’t know where he is now.”

  “How did you prove his existence?”

  “I went out in the woods and found him,” I said. “He was a witness in a murder case. We needed him to testify. In the end, he returned to the wilderness, and I left him alone.”

  “You must be one hell of a tracker,” he said.

  “I had some help from Brody and Red.”

  “We had a most famous hermit case not far from where we live,” he began. “Christopher Knight lived without human contact for twenty-seven years. He was called the North Pond Hermit.”

  “I’ve heard about him,” I said. “Similar case. Our guy robbed unoccupied cabins for necessities, but never took much of value. No one ever spotted him.”

  “Same with ours,” he said. “Half his victims sympathized with him. The other half wanted him caught and jailed.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was finally caught by a game warden. Trail cams did him in,” he said. “He served seven months in jail and was ordered to attend some sort of therapy. His brother gave him a job back in the real world. There was a bestselling book written about the whole affair.”

  “Interesting, but a bit sad, don’t you think?”

  “It has a Ralph Waldo Emerson feel to it,” he said. “Who also didn’t stay in the woods forever.”

  “But now he’s working nine to five,” I said. “Probably has a car loan and credit cards.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  “We don’t,” I said. “Our only bills are utilities and these damn phones.”

  “That makes you unique in American Society,” he said.

  “I’ve had some unique experiences,” I said. “Some beautiful and fascinating. Some ugly and dangerous.”

  “You seem to be happy in the place you are now.”

  “That’s because of Brody,” I told him. “She gave me a purpose in life.”

  “As Betty did for me.”

  “Betty?”

  “Chickadee,” he said. “When we’re not on the trails, we’re Linwood and Betty.”

  “I’ll stick with Breeze and Brody,” I said. “Has a nice ring to it.”

  “Indeed it does,” he said. “Now, can you see the possibility of letting a little mystery into your life? If not Moon-eyed People, then maybe something else.”

  “I think I follow you,” I said. “Maybe I can let myself be a little more open to things I can’t explain.”

  “Atta boy,” he said. “We’ll turn you into an explorer yet.”

  “Breeze is so set in his ways you’d think he was eighty-years-old,” Brody said.

  “I feel like I have eighty-year-old knees lately,” I said. “I won’t be hunting Sasquatch until that changes.”

  “Walking sticks are helpful on hills,” the Loon said. “Drink more water and less booze.”

  “My friends in this order,” I said. “Are Brody, Red, and booze.”

  “You can add Betty and me to your list,” he said. “You’re always welcome to visit.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “I’ll let you know if I ever catch an alien in these mountains.”

  “You never know.”

  The fire died down, and the conversation dimmed with it. After a quick trip out back with Red, it was time to turn in. I fell asleep quickly and dreamt of weird creatures in the woods. The trolls, goblins, and goat men were not evil beings seeking my death. They were going about the business of existing, just like everyone else. We fixed a big country breakfast for our friends in the morning, and they left soon after eating. They were bound for West Virginia to learn more about the Mothman.

  “So, are you to become a supernatural sleuth now?” Brody asked.

  “I thought all of you were encouraging me to be more open-minded about such things.”

  “You can be too serious about life at times,” she said. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to have a little fun.”

  “You think that hunting for things that don’t exist will be fun?”

  “The museum was pretty cool,” she said. “You said the sculpture interested you.”

  “I guess it did,” I said. “Made the myth seem tangible to me.”

  “Do you want to learn more about the Moon-eyed People?” she asked.

  “The Cherokee were in Appalachia as early as 1700,” I said. “Talk about a cold case. I assume that whatever can be learned has already been discovered.”

  “Then we’ll pick a new myth to examine,” she said. “Any ideas?”

  “The Brown Mountain Lights,” I said. “We can drive to the Brown Mountain Overlook, pack some snacks and drinks, and wait for the lights to appear.”

  “How do you know when they can be seen?”

  “You don’t,” I said. “That’s the thing. It’s like the Green Flash. Watch a thousand sunsets to catch a glimpse of it once.”

  “Have you seen the Green Flash?”

  “Several times,” I said. “But I was on the water watching the sunset every day for many years. Your casual beachgoer or vacationer will likely never see it.”

  “Some don’t believe it’s real,” she said.

  “It’s clearly a real phenomenon,” I told her. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  “So you believed in a myth.”

  “It’s not a myth.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Something otherworldly that you witnessed. You believed.”

  “So I should believe in little white people?”

  “Do you believe in the Brown Mountain Lights?”

  “I do, though I’ve not seen them yet,” I said. “I guess I see what you’re getting at.”

  “How far is this Overlook?”

  “There are a couple of different spots where they can be seen,” I said. “Wisemans View and the Lost Cove Overlook are two others. Maybe an hour from here.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it. What are our odds of seeing the lights?”

  “Slim,” I said.

  “What causes them?”

  “That hasn’t been determined actually,” I said. “Even though researchers and scientists have tried.”

  “So how do you know they are real?”

  “They’ve been seen thousands of times,” I said. “Even by the Cherokee.”

  “You’ve got my interest,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

  We made our first trip to the Brown Mountain Overlook a few days later. The car was loaded with beer, cheese and crackers, and one hound dog. We arrived just after dark and sat watching the mountain until after midnight. No mysterious lights showed themselves. We tried again a week later with the same results. We tried the other viewing spots several times over the course of two weeks, but we still didn’t see the lights. We got discouraged and gave up the pursuit for a while. Later we learned that the best
time to see them was in the fall. Brody wrote on the calendar so we would remember to try again in October, preferably after a rain.

  In the meantime, something was afoot in Banner Elk that prompted the Chief of Police to give me a call. Some jackasses had been vandalizing graveyards. Three different cemeteries had been hit in two weeks. The police department couldn’t afford to station an officer at each one all night long. It would detract from their real job of protecting the citizens of the town.

  “I know it’s kind of bullshit work,” the Chief said. “But do you think you could stake out these sites for a little while? Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch the bastards quickly.”

  “Sure, Chief,” I said. “We’ve resorted to looking for the Brown Mountain Lights for something to do lately.”

  “I tried to see them a couple of times,” he said. “Didn’t see anything either.”

  “Give me the particulars,” I said. “We’ll get right on this.”

  The vandals had hit the Banner Elk Cemetery, the Potts Cemetery, and the Lowe Family Cemetery. Multiple headstones had been destroyed or knocked over. It was a senseless crime that could only hurt the families of the deceased. Everyone assumed it was the work of college students. No one thought that locals would commit such a heinous act of disrespect.

  Before we set up surveillance the first night, I had Brody do a little research into other graveyards in the area. I took a chance in thinking that the assholes would hit some other place rather than return to the scenes of the original crimes. I didn’t tell the Chief, but we set up the first night at Fox Cemetery. It was the closest target to the other three. Nothing happened. On the second night, we split up and watched the Michael and the Yates Cemeteries. Nothing happened. It was incredibly boring duty, but we were getting paid and doing a favor for the Chief.

  On the third night, we split up once again. I was stationed back at Fox, while Brody hid in the Michael Cemetery. I had visitors just before midnight. I called the Chief to send officers and continued to watch the intruders. Three male suspects of college age began kicking at headstones and laughing. It was a disgusting display of ignorance. Some of the stones withstood the onslaught. Others broke or fell over. I waited for a cop to arrive, anxious to bust these jerks. As soon as I saw headlights approaching, I sprung to action, shining a light on the vandals and yelling for them to stop. They all took off in the same direction. I gave chase, yelling for the cop to follow me. As soon as the officer caught up, I fell back. I hadn’t hurt my knees, and I didn’t want to. Besides, I was being paid for surveillance, not for a foot chase.