
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
David C. McLavic - 26. Chapter 26
Three days later, I headed back toward Crystal Lake. The road led me to a small village with a large mountain. On my left side, a large block building and several small shops. On my right side, a post office next to a gasoline pump and grocery store.
I stopped for gasoline. An older man came out of the post office to pump the gas. I was looking at the side of what appeared to be a mountain loaded with trees.
“I am surprised that a lumber company hasn’t been here.”
“Oh they were here. They built that block community center just down the road.”
“If they were here, why didn’t they cut the trees down as they did on the other mountains?”
“They tried. But something scared them.'
Now I was curious. “Is there a place I can stay for the night?”
“You can try Mrs. Cummings. She use to take in borders.”
With my gas tank full, I paid the gentleman and headed toward Mrs. Cummings house. I backed in, I didn’t want to leave the trailer out on the road.
With the jeep and all parked off the road, I headed to the porch of Mrs. Cummings home. I knocked, waited , and knocked again. I heard someone coming and soon the door opened and this old woman wanted to know what I was selling. I told her the man at the filling station that she might have a room to rent.
She looked me up and down, seemed to think, “15 dollars per night and 10 dollars with food. You are allowed one bath per day.”
I paid her the 25 dollars, she took the money and walked away. I took off my boots, standing there in my stocking feet, I waited for her to come back. I guess when she didn’t see me following her, she returned and noticed I was now in my stocking feet. She smiled and from that moment on we became friends.
Over a cup of tea, she told me about her husband who was one of the men who worked for the lumber company. I told her I was surprised to see that the lumber company hadn’t strip the mountain as they had at other areas.
“This mountain isn’t like the others, The trees have spirits and only the Indians can talk to them. My husband was one of the men who worked for the lumber company. There was this large tree that he was to cut down. When he approached the tree, an Indian came and told him the tree was alive and he shouldn’t cut it down. If he didn’t listen something bad will happen. He didn’t listen and cut the tree down. The tree fell on him killing him. He is buried in my back yard where the tree once stood.”
The way she told this raised goose bumps on my arm. Thanking her for the cup of tea, I told her I wanted to check out the area and what time did she lock up. She told me she locks up at 7 but if I came back before 8 she would let me in.
I got in my jeep, and headed toward that black block building. Parking along side it, I entered on the ground floor. Walking around all I saw was shower stations one for women and one for men. There was staircase leading up the second floor. Walking up to that floor, I entered into a large hall. There was a table with four men sitting around drinking beer. This kid comes up and asks me if I’m hungry. I told him a cup of coffee would be fine.
He points to a chair, I sit down. I look around, the four men are looking at me. The kid comes back with my coffee and a plate of fried eggs, bacon and toast. I hadn’t ordered that, I supposed it was for him.
He sets the plate down in front of me, sits down next to me and starts talking. Now I realize the breakfast was for me and I was wondering what this would cost me.
The kid starts talking, “My name is Bobby. What’s yours?”
“My name is David. Do you live here?”
“Yep, my dad raises chickens and we have one cow for milk. My dad was a Lumberjack, until we got here.”
“He didn’t go with the lumber company?”
“No, he said he was through with traveling and cutting down trees.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“We have a farm. We raise chickens, have cow for milk and a few pigs for meat. It is enough for us and whatever George uses for the people who eat here. It’s three dollars for the breakfast.”
As I ate, Bobby tells me about the forest, the Indians, Crystal Lake and his family. I finished eating giving him three dollars for the meal and a dollar tip. The smile was worth the buck.
“Where are you going now?”
“I think I’ll take a walk to the top of this mountain.”
“If it is okay, I’ll come with you.”
And so we started to climb to the top. All the way up, Bobby told me about the Indians and the trees spirits. He told me that the boss of the lumber company said it was hogwash. Until Mr. Cummings was killed.
“What happened to the men?”
“The men refused to work. So he paid them off, and they left. My dad and a few other men stayed here.”
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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