The Ghosts of Colonial Heights

The Spike Collector

 

Some say that Old Man Powell is a little crazy.  But he wasn’t always like that.  You see, when Marcus Powell was young, he used to like to walk with his father every Saturday afternoon out the back yard and follow the trail from the woods to Kendrick’s Creek until they got to the railroad tracks.  Then, they would sit and watch the dragonflies until the evening train passed through.  Marcus would count the engine cars and his father would count the coal cars and then they would yell the number at each other as the caboose went by.

 

“Five,” Marcus would shout.

 

“Forty seven,” his father would shout back.

 

Then the two of them would walk the tracks looking for spikes that had popped up as the railroad cars bounced heavily up and down on the tracks.  Sometimes, weeks would go by and they wouldn’t find a single spike.  Instead, they’d pick out the flattest rocks they could find and skip them across the creek.  If one of them found a spike, they would show it to the other like it was a piece of gold or a rare jewel, turning it in the moon to see how much the head of the spike would shine or reciting the numbers stamped on the side.

 

“J-4-3-2-L,” Marcus would say with pride.

 

When Marcus turned 10, his father decided to throw him a special birthday party.  Mr. Powell took all the spikes that they had collected and had the local blacksmith bronze the spikes.  Then Mr. Powell snuck down to the railroad tracks and started placing them carefully spaced apart near the creek.  He planned to have Marcus and all his friends go down to the railroad tracks the next day and pick up the special spikes.  Along the stretch of the tracks where it bent around the corner of the hill above the creek, Mr. Powell caught his foot on a broken railroad tie and hit his head on a rock.  He rolled down the side of the hill, fell into the creek and floated out of sight.

 

The next morning, Marcus woke up all excited about his birthday.  He ran into his parents’ bedroom but no one was there.  He ran downstairs and found his mother in the kitchen talking to the police.

 

“It’s not like him to disappear in the night,” his mother told the police officer.  “He’s never done this before.”

 

Weeks went by and no one had seen Marcus’ father.  Marcus was very sad and his mother worried about him because he wouldn’t play with his friends.  He would just sit on his father’s rocking chair on the back porch and stare at the path leading into the woods.  All summer long, his mother wouldn’t let him out of her sight.  School started in the fall and soon Marcus was too busy with school and new playmates to sit on the back porch.  However, he still thought a lot about his father and wanted to go on walks with him again.

 

Late one Saturday evening, after Marcus’ mother had gone to bed, Marcus snuck out of the house and walked along the creek.  Eventually, he got to the railroad tracks.  In the light of the half moon, Marcus could see the glint of a spike.  He picked it up and put it in his pocket.  A few feet more, he found another shiny spike.  Then he found another one.  He walked several hundred yards and altogether found more than twenty spikes, too many to fit in his pocket.

 

Tired from picking up so many spikes, Marcus walked back to the house and went to bed.

 

The next morning, Marcus looked at the spikes and thought they looked familiar, like the ones he and his father used to find, except these had a shiny brown color like a new penny.

 

He held one up close and saw it had a number, J432L.  Marcus couldn’t believe his eyes.  He ran downstairs and told his mother what he had done.  She scolded him for sneaking out of the house and told him that he would have to turn the spikes back over to the railroad company on Monday.  Quietly, Marcus walked back upstairs and sat in his room, turning the spikes over and over in his hands.

 

On Monday, Marcus went to school and told his teacher that he was going to take the morning off to run an errand.  He ran back home and got the spikes from the bedroom.  His mother drove him to the railroad office in town and Marcus turned in the spikes.  The office manager told Marcus that he had never seen such shiny spikes and commended Marcus for taking such care of them.  Marcus nodded his head and rode with his mother back to school.

 

The next Saturday night, Marcus snuck out of the house again and ran to the railroad tracks hoping to find another railroad spike.  Sure enough, he found more than twenty railroad spikes.

 

He looked at the spikes the next morning and they looked exactly like the ones he had seen the week before, including the one numbered J432L.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  He found an old notebook where he had written down the numbers of other spikes he had found and sure enough, they matched the spikes he found the night before.  He didn’t tell his mother about the spikes but instead hid them in a drawer before he went to church.

 

Marcus couldn’t wait to go back to the railroad tracks but knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the house until the next Saturday.  Like any time that you want to go by fast, the week seemed to take forever.  Saturday finally came and Marcus snuck out of the house after his mother went to sleep.  He walked all along the railroad track but couldn’t find a single spike.  He thought maybe the moon wasn’t bright enough so the next day, he told his mother he was too sick to go to church.  After his mother drove away, Marcus ran out the back of the house to the railroad tracks but could not find a spike.  He didn’t understand.  When his mother got back from church, Marcus explained what had happened.  His mother told him that “besides trespassing it was unsafe to walk along the tracks” and that he would have to return the spikes to the railroad office on Monday.

 

Marcus dutifully turned the spikes back over to the railroad office on Monday morning.  That night, he couldn’t sleep.  He tossed and turned.  In his dreams, he saw his father walking along the railroad tracks laying down railroad spikes.  He woke up the next morning tired and upset so his mother let him stay home.  While she was taking a nap, Marcus snuck out of the house again and ran to the spot on the railroad tracks where he found the spikes.  There they were, all 22 of them, the same color and same set of numbers as before.  Instead of going back home, Marcus crossed the creek and thumbed a ride into town where he turned the spikes into the railroad office.  He thumbed a ride back to his road and was able to get back into the yard just as his mother was waking up.

 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she said, opening the front door just as Marcus climbed onto the rope swing.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, smiling, knowing that his father was still alive.

 

That night, Marcus was too tired to go back out to the railroad tracks.  He decided to wait until the weekend when he had more time.

 

When Saturday came, Marcus told his mother he was going over to his friend’s house to play.  His mother told him that she was going into town and probably wouldn’t be back until after dark.  She put a cold plate of chicken in the refrigerator and told Marcus to eat it for dinner after he got through playing.  Marcus walked a few blocks over to his friend’s house where they played tag all afternoon.  As it started to get dark, Marcus walked home.  He ate his dinner and sat on the back porch to watch the fireflies.  After catching a few and letting them go, Marcus was bored.  He remembered the railroad spikes and decided to go back to the tracks.

 

As Marcus rounded the bend of the hill, he saw a figure in the dark walking on the tracks.  Marcus could see something sparkling where the man had bent down.  Excited, Marcus ran up the tracks and could see the person was a man.  Marcus got within a few feet and stopped.  The man turned to look at him.  It was his father!

 

“Hello, son,” his father said.

 

Marcus ran to hug his father but when he reached out, there was nothing there.  He was scared and stepped back.

 

“Son, I’m sorry but you can’t touch me.”

 

Marcus couldn’t believe his ears.  “Dad?”

 

“Yes, Marcus.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Well, son, every time you pick up these spikes, I’m with you, but when you turn them in to the railroad company, I have to come out here and put them back.”  Marcus’ father turned back to the tracks and started laying out the spikes again.

 

Marcus slowly followed his father until his father laid down the last spike and disappeared.  When his father disappeared, Marcus screamed with fright and raced back to the house.  He ran straight to bed and immediately fell asleep.

 

When she went to his room the next morning to wake him up, Marcus’ mother couldn’t believe her eyes for her son’s hair was all white and his skin was cold to the touch.  She shook her son to wake him up.  Marcus opened his eyes up and his mother pulled back in shock because Marcus had the look of a wild man.

 

From that day on, Marcus never spoke.  His mother tried to get him to go back to school but it didn’t work because all he would do was stare out the window.  Eventually, she left him at home where he would sit on the rocking chair on the back porch staring at the path leading into the woods.  Sometimes, she would come home and find him gone but he would return within a few hours.

 

The years passed by and Marcus’ mother turned into an old woman.  When she died, Marcus inherited the house and enough money for Marcus to keep the house going.  Occasionally, he would go to the grocery store or the hardware store and pick up a few items, never saying a word.

 

No one knows what made Marcus’ hair turn white or turn him speechless but sometimes when the moon is just right, not far from Fort Henry Dam you can look at the railroad tracks across Kendrick’s Creek from Fort Henry Drive and see Old Man Powell picking up railroad spikes.  Some say that always the next night, the shadow of a man is seen laying spikes on the track.

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Warriors’ Path

 

Eagle Eye picked up a small rock beside the stream.  He stood quietly for a few minutes, watching a small bird perched on an oak limb overhanging the other side of the stream.  Just as the kingfisher swooped down to catch a large minnow, Eagle Eye threw the rock, hitting the bird squarely in the back.  Two feathers fell from the bird as the fish fell back into the water and the kingfisher struggled to maintain a course over the top of the water.

Eagle Eye waded into the stream and retrieved the feathers as they floated between the rocks of a small rapid.

He carefully placed the feathers in his belt and continued wading across the stream. Eagle Eye had proven himself many times before and did not have to participate in the bison kill today.  Instead, he wanted to gather a few more items with which to make a present for his young bride to be.  On the other side, he picked his way up the rock face, hoping to find another kingfisher feather and to surprise his father and the rest of the hunting party on the other side of the hill.

 

In the village, Silver Moon worked with her mother and grandmother to select the right herbs to mix with the yams and maize.  Everyone looked forward to a good meal tonight, if the bison were caught and killed early enough.

 

Eagle Eye pulled himself over the top of the hill to see his father, brother and cousins walking two bison his way.  He did not want to ruin the hunt by scaring the bison so he crouched down in the small trees of a small ravine.  He hoped his scent would not carry far so he bent down low and concentrated on the ground between his feet.

Within minutes, Eagle Eye had fallen into a meditative trance.  He saw himself walking with a young boy years from now, walking along this same cliff above the stream.  The boy was explaining the meaning of the treaty that had been recently signed by the Council.  In the treaty, trappers would be allowed to pass through this area without fear of being harassed.  In return, the trappers would give the members of the local villages any extra furs the trappers had carried with them on the way back to their own villages.  Eagle Eye saw that the trappers had no intention of carrying extra furs with them but he understood it was better to keep the trappers on the main road then let them wander all over the countryside and ruin the hunting grounds.

“Eagle Eye, over here,” yelled Deer Tracker, Eagle Eye’s brother.  Eagle Eye woke from his trance to see his brethren leaning over a bison.  Eagle Eye stood up and waved.

 

Silver Moon served Eagle Eye first, as was the custom, making sure she gave him extra portions of food, for he was credited with getting the bison to lay down and die with very little fight.  Eagle Eye’s father stood up to speak.

“Tonight, I give this bison to Silver Moon’s family in honor of her union with my son, Eagle Eye.  I wish that the ease with which we brought down the bison is a sign that Eagle Eye and Silver Moon will share many happy years together.”  All the families of the village gave a hearty nod of agreement.  “With my son’s ability to bring food to the table and Silver Moon’s ability to prepare bountiful meals, they shall be able to provide a big and joyous family to make our ancestors proud.”

 

A few weeks later, while Eagle Eye and Deer Tracker were showing their young cousin, Tecumsah, how to prepare the tools to make arrowheads, Silver Moon set out to gather the flowers of starry chickweed in order to make a paste to put on the dried bison meat.

Silver Moon knew that the only place where the chickweed grew was not far from where the bison was killed.  For her, this was a good sign for it showed the bison’s spirit approved.

Although Silver Moon seemingly walked out of her way for nearly two hours to get to the main path, she knew it would be easier to take the path around the base of the hills and then take the gentle slope up to the top of the hill where the chickweed bloomed in the shade of the trees overlooking the stream.

When Silver Moon got to the top of the hill, she was very happy.  Where the stream flowed toward the north, Silver Moon could the next large hill nearly a mile away.  To the east and south, she could see the mountains.  All about her feet were the wondrous white blooms of the starry chickweed.  Silver Moon sat down in a small bare spot and closed her eyes.  She fell into a deep sleep.  In a dream she saw a small boy talking to her telling her that he was now inside her but would soon be out on his own, able to take care of himself despite her difficulties.  Silver Moon woke up a few minutes later with a smile on her face, knowing that she was pregnant with the next great heir of the lineage of Eagle Eye and Silver Moon.  She gathered the flowers she wanted and headed back down the hill.

 

About an hour along the path, Silver Moon noticed yellow flowers growing in a clearing a few hundred yards into the woods.  When she got to the clearing she was pleased to see a small bed of trout lilies.  Silver Moon dug into the earth and pulled out a few dozen bulbs.  She decided she could use the bulbs for a meal later in the week.  Just as she was walking back into the woods, Silver Moon stepped on a branch that made a slight metal click before the trap snapped close on her ankle.

Silver Moon screamed with pain but no one could hear her because she was too far from her village and the next nearest village was several miles away toward the mountains.  She fell back on the ground, aggravating the injury to her ankle.  Several hours later, Silver Moon became conscious again and realized what had happened.  She looked down at her ankle and saw the red gash and bones twisted out of place.  Through the searing, blinding pain, she reached down and pulled the jaws of the trap apart.  She passed out again from sheer exhaustion.  In her delirium, Silver Moon saw the small boy again.  He told her that he knew this would happen and that he had directed the ignorant trapper to place the trap near the trout lily rather than a bed of ferns further on.  He showed her how to make a healing medicine by chewing the trout lily and chickweed in her mouth.  She would get nourishment from chewing on the plants and could use the paste to cover the wound.  She awoke when the sun had nearly passed behind the hills and put the plants in her mouth.  She chewed them for a few minutes, wanting desperately to swallow them but followed the advice of her unborn son and rubbed the paste on the torn flesh of her ankle.  She passed out again.

 

Eagle Eye was too busy with Tecumsah to notice that Silver Moon had not prepared a noontime meal.  However, when the sun was low in the sky, Eagle Eye began to wonder why Silver Moon had not returned to put together one of her delicious evening meals.  He walked with Deer Tracker to visit Silver Moon’s mother.  Silver Moon’s mother had not seen Silver Moon since morning and explained that she did not expect to see her until late in the day because Silver Moon had gone to gather starry chickweed where the bison had died.  With Deer Tracker, Eagle Eye grabbed Tecumsah and headed toward the stream.  They would take the direct route and avoid the long journey to the path.

 

“You will call me Black Bear,” the young boy told Silver Moon, “for my skin will be covered with dark black hair when I am born.  For me to be born, you must follow everything I tell you because I have been sent by our ancestors to protect your lineage and the lineage of my grandchildren who will live to see the valley of the stream fill with water.  Although wise in the ways of the hunter, Eagle Eye is not wise in the ways of love.  He has set out along the stream to reach the hill where the bison lay a few moons ago.  You must rest now and dream no more.  I will wake you in the morning when Eagle Eye approaches.”

 

Eagle Eye, Deer Tracker and Tecumsah reached the base of the cliff within a hour.  However, in the dark, it was difficult for them to find good footing and what should have taken fifteen minutes to reach the top took them nearly an hour.  At the top, Eagle Eye called out to Silver Moon but got no reply.  In the silence that followed, Eagle Eye heard a voice call to him but he could not hear the words nor could Deer Tracker or Tecumsah hear the voice.  Eagle Eye bent down in a spot not far from where he had hidden from the bison and closed his eyes.

 

“I am Black Bear, son of Eagle Eye and Silver Moon,” the young boy told his father.  “I have been taking care of mother, whose ankle has been bitten by the jaws of a trap foolishly set by an untrained man from the villages of the Far East.  It is useless for you go further tonight.  Set camp here for I want you to see the view from this hilltop and describe to me and my siblings as we grow up.”

Eagle Eye stood up and told Deer Tracker and Tecumsah that they would be setting down on the hillside for the night.

 

Just before dawn, Black Bear walked into one of Eagle Eye’s dreams.  “You will walk to the path from here.  About an hour down the path, you will see a clearing to the left with a patch of yellow flowers shining in the sunlight.  Hidden in the underbrush, you will find my mother, Silver Moon.  When you find her, you will not remember what I’ve told you.”

 

Within an hour of waking up, Eagle Eye had rushed down the hill and over the well-worn floor of the path to the clearing.  There, he found Silver Moon with her mangled foot.  With the aid of Deer Tracker and Tecumsah, Eagle Eye was able to get Silver Moon to the village healer.  Eight moons later, Silver Moon bore Eagle Eye a son.  At first concerned of the meaning of it, they chose Black Bear as the name of their son with the dark black hair on his arms and legs.

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