This is the story of both the truth and a nightmare.
You see, I was in a grandmother’s kitchen - chewing on fry bread dipped in moose stew as one does - while listening to her stories. She would always tell me the most fantastical of stories, even now as an adult. Stories to learn from, stories to fear, stories of love and loss. Or stories just to tell stories.
But this story… this story was one of her own, from a time before her stories would become forbidden history. This story of difficult truths and hopeful fantasy that wrecks my guts that I’m sure was hard to share.
“I once was pretty as you, ya know.”
“You’re still beautiful Grandma Anna.”
“At least you recognize it. Eat’cher stew.”
I stared at her a moment before dutifully following orders.
“Once I was even younger and prettier than you.”
I silently chewed away. I could feel a story was coming. A NEW story. And I listened raptly to her thick accent and slow cadence that comes with storytelling.
“Once I was younger and could climb rocks and jump river. Once I could sing and dance to drums with my scarf. And once, I followed a butterfly.
I ran after Butterfly with my brother. Through and between trees and along the river until we were far away from where we started. Far and fast from our pursuers. Faster than their voices could carry, faster than their heavy boots would take them.
But the chasers didn’ matter, Butterfly was taking us home
The sun was high and bright when we began following. This way. That way. Along cricks and past burrows. We ran after Butterfly as Chickadee sang, tellin’ us ‘no, no, don follow him that way. Turn left at the crossing.’
And at the crossin’ we turned left.
Still I could hear the monsters behind us. The brush underfoot could never be quiet enough, the animals avoidin’ us could never stay still. I never looked back to see if they tried to help us. Only Butterfly was who mattered.
And still they followed us.
We ran and ran, as the sun began settin’ and the trail would lead us home. Chickadee said so. But we feared the dark. Because the monsters are out after dark. And not just our monsters - the Woodsmen and Bushmen - bu’ the chasers.
We could only hope and pray to Dena, and… pray to the God we only just learned of.
I could hear the footsteps and shouts of the pursuers behind us. Getting closer. Strayin’ further. Back and forth.
I felt my frustration build and build as your uncle Paul’s tiny legs hindered me. Hindered us. I couldn’ get him to be quieter. I was convinced he was why the monsters still followed us.
Perhaps if I jus’ let ‘im go.
No. I couldn’ do that. I couldn’ leave him behind to the terror that lay with them.
The lick of razor straps. The darkness of locked rooms. The feelin’ of a switch on the palms and feet. I couldn’t leave him to the monsters. My heart jumped to my throat. How could I think that?
We were far along the trail and as the little darkness of summer settled behind the trees we came across a cabin. Chickadee had sent us to safety.
We pounded on the door, cryin’ for help when an old grandfather opened it.
‘We need safety.’ I said. ‘Would you help us, grandfather?’
‘Oh children? Of course. Wha’ could you be doin’ out in the dark middle of the woods, so far from home?’
We told him of Butterfly and Chickadee, of the pursuers still in the dark.
‘Well, they’re not here. I hear no sound nor see the light of ‘em.’
My brother and I finally sighed in relief. We were safe for now. We were safe from monsters and the pursuers.
We sat in the middle of his small cabin. Shiverin’ and holdin’ each other as we waited to be warmed from the night breeze. We knew that we still weren’ safe. But we couldn’ continue on in the brief darkness of summer. There were only two hours we had to wait, but those two hours were enough we could be found.
‘Here children.’ He handed us bowls we barely took the time to look into. ‘Have dinner.’
We easily complied. We were starvin’ from long before we even ran. We had been starvin’ for months… years… we could only guess at the time as even a day can be a lifetime to a child. We lived with monsters we had never heard of in tales. Neither Woodsmen or the others you know. What we did live with was the gnawing fear. The fear of not bein’ able to eat, and the fear of bein’ eaten all at once.
After eatin’ we rested, savin’ our strength for the rest uh the day to come. That little time was enough for us. As soon as the sun began its ascent we left grandfather - smoked salmon and dried berries in a pack, and began our run again, leaving just in time to hear pursuers’ voices carrying. They must have rested as we had.
This time though, I had no direction ‘cept away from their voices. Through the trees and over rocks their voices carried.
My brother was too young to keep up. Today, I had to place him on my back to go faster. As quickly as I could I carried us along the river. Followin’ it home.
But I began to waver. How far were we to where we were from? Where was Nenana to Minto? On the map it had been so close, yet in the woods it was so far. Was our family still there? Were they taken by our chasers too? Was there anything waitin’ fer us?
I remembered the day our pursuers took us. That day we saw all of the other children lined up. The day all of the children were taken from the village. The looks on the adults’ faces. The look upon mother’s. Some hopeful, some wary, and some against our absence.
The day all the children disappeared. We only saw a few of our friends from that day onward. We had been taken somewhere suppose ta be safe. Somewhere we were s’posed ta learn. Where we learned new things. And where we learned things we never needed.
Where we learned english. Where we learned maths…
Where we learned our families were wrong. How we were destined for what was called hell. Where we learned Dena was a lie. Where we learned all the spirits were dead and only God existed.
The only way to teach us - and teach us they did - was discipline. Because we could never be right enough. We could answer. But because we didn’t know all of the answers we were wrong.
So I ran with my brother. Even if the village weren’t still there, it was better than bein’ wrong.
I ran so I would never have ta be wrong and be beaten.
I ran so I would never have ta beat my brother. I’d never have to take the switch to him again. Never make his poor short legs bleed again.
I was selfish. I left all the others behind. Your aunties and uncles you’ll never meet. Because we have no names and only learned their numbers. I never found them after.
So I ran. Away from the pursuers. Away from their voices. Along the river as far as I could, letting your Uncle Paul down only when I was too tired.
Until finally, I found Butterfly. I followed Butterfly, away from the river, through the trees, across the animal trails. We ran after Butterfly for a day before looking to the sky and seeing the sun slowly touch the horizon. At the same time I saw Butterfly took us to a den.
So we rested, hidden from Woodsmen who gave his awful cries and the dead dogs barking in the distance. Oh how we huddled in the den. How close the Woodsman came. Sniffing and growling. Looking for children like us to steal.
He came close. Closer. Closer. Sniffin’ this way and that, around the burrow, through the ground. We could hear every twig crack, every piece of dirt shift under foot as he searched.
Yer poor uncle whimperin’ as we huddled there. I was scared. I was too scared and held my hand over his mouth. His whimperin’ echoing in my head. How he laid there in my arms, as I held him tight to stop his strugglin’.
I had to keep him quiet.
The Woodsman was so close to findin’ the entrance. His scent. The awful scent he carried in on the breeze. The smell of musk, overwhelming my entire being.
I held your uncle tighter.
I don’ know how long we laid there. How long it was until yer uncle stopped strugglin. Realizing I’d never let go. How my hand would never leave his mouth until the Woodsman left first. His breathin’ through his nose slowing. Calming.
The sun began rising. I could see light peeking between the treetops.
The Woodsman left to find his own home.
Your uncle laid still as I let him go. I listened closely to his breathing. Slow and steady. At least one of us had been able to sleep that night.
After eating some of the salmon we had been gifted we began to walk. We could no longer hear our pursuers.
The leisurely pace granted us time to heal. To find our bearings as we followed the moss north to where our home laid. Where we didn’t have to run no more.
It took us days of hiding in the dark and walking during the day. Of hunting for berries and catching the fish from the river. Taking the clothes off our back to make nets, tearing the hems to make ropes.
Still, Butterfly would find us and Chickadee would guide us. Sometimes Raven would lead us. We would occasionally come across the Woodsman and a hungry lost Walker stalking at night, while during the day we avoided the crying Torega along the river branches.
We learned we could not avoid Torega. The Tanana had too many side channels and attached sloughs. That first time we met Torega… I didn’t know what to do. We had only ever been taught Shamen could get rid of them. Never how to escape them.
The heavy breathing of the creature as it prowled its domain. Right where we needed to cross.
I held your uncle’s hand tightly. Could we run fast enough? No.
The speed of it. It darted left, right, jumping at birds too close. I could only watch in horror as it wouldn’t let anything living pass. Catching everything in reach. And worse… it was on both sides of the river and the nearby slough, darting over the water and through the trees.
I swallowed. I had been going back and forth between walking alongside Paul or with him on my back. I was tired. Too tired. And the slough went for miles along the tributary.
Then it screeched and screamed. It searched along the opposite side of the river, sniffing and crawling. Human and yet not. The fast long legs holding it up and long arms with reach to catch. Oh the sight. Its messy hair covered its eyes and its visible mouth held wicked teeth. There was no scent to it, as if it were part of the surroundings. I would never have warnin’ of its approach.
I could only swallow back my disgust at the sight.
We had no choice but to go ‘round. Go ‘round as it stalked us from inside its domain. Durin’ the day we walked and walked over uneven ground, staying only close enough to the bog so we could see it.
I had no sleep. The sound of warring cries throughout each night haunted me. The cries of Woodsmen overlapping with the cries of the Torega. One night I heard the battle. The scream of Woodsman and the ripping of flesh. It had gotten too close to the bog and into Torega’s domain. I held my hands over Paul’s ears, his terrorized crying drown out by the battle.
Splashing, clawing, the smell of blood mixing with the musk of Woodsman. It surrounded me, putting my head into a fog.
I don’t know how long it took before I heard the despairing cries of many Woodsmen throughout the forest followed by a scream of victory from the slough. The Woodsman had lost.
I moved my hands from Paul’s ears, holding one hand against his mouth for what felt like the thousandth time and stroked his head, shushing into his ear. The battle was over and our sounds would carry in the now silent night.
The next day we walked further away from the slough than we needed before we came around and crossed the river the Torega had guarded.
And this repeated. Every time we came across Torega we walked as far around the slough as our legs would carry us, no matter how much time it added to our travels. I didn’ want the last thing I saw ta be it’s hungry maw.
Who knows how many days it took us along the Tanana and its children. But the day finally came. The day we stumbled out of the woods into Old Menhti.
It was a day that should have been joyous. The day two stolen children had returned.
But it was not meant to be. The happiness of seeing my parents. The bliss of a hug from my grandmother.
As I ran with the last bit of energy I had from a month in the woods and as my fingers brushed the hem of my father’s shirt I saw it. I didn’ remember their faces no more. How could I have forgotten their faces over these years? The last thing of safety I had ta reach for.
And that’s when I heard them. The voices that belonged to faces I did remember. That I would know anywhere. The voice of a teacher. The voice of an enforcer. The voice of a clergy.
How long they had been there, how often they had visited and why of all children we were so important to find, I don’t know. They surely coudn’ know we would make it back. Perhaps it was the trick of the Man of Shadow - a brief taste of freedom to be torn from us.
We returned to the school and the days were the same. The bell. The bell that rang red in my head would sound. My eyes would open instinctively. I couldn’t be late. I didn’t want to have to have my hands smacked again. I would roll up and set my feet on the floor.
We were still locked in the halls of the boarding school. The boarding school hundreds of miles, and many waters and mountains from my home - impossible for my young legs to survive again. And even if they could, would I really want to see the Torega again?.
It was the same as always. Our punishments were doled out severely when we returned. Still it didn’t compare to the threats of the Torega. The sound of rending and gnashing of teeth meant for devouring would work its way into the back of my mind. ‘This place is safer if you survive it.’
The first week back I watched as a new student speaking his language caused the boys dorm to be whipped with the razor strap again. I watched my brother take the whipping as if it was a mosquito bite after our arduous journey. It was better than surviving the woods with the monsters again. We both knew a worse pain and fear.
I found myself rougher. Angrier once we returned. Maybe it was because of our brief taste of freedom being ripped away. A girl who began absently humming near me. In my anger I turned to her and smacked her. I don’t know why I smacked her instead of speaking.
‘You’ve been here long enough to have a name. You should know better,’ I hissed at her in frustrated anger. I couldn’t even tell her the story of our monsters I’d seen while she hummed the last of our songs happily.
My dreams were never the same again. I dreamt of Shadowmen and Shapeshifters, of Torega in the sloughs. Dreamt of the Shadowmen finding us and sucking marrow from our bones, of the Torega catching us and ripping us limb from limb for fun.
And each morning I’d wake to a bell.
Today I still wake to a bell in my head. And today I wake, scared to tell you stories, giving the names to these monsters. But these stories must be told. The stories of the Woodsmen, Torega, Bushman, and Man of Death. And equally so of Chickadee and Butterfly, Raven and Blue Jay. All the stories I’ve told you ever since you were a child.”
I sat, soup cold and abandoned in my lap. Grandmother Anna looked so close yet so distant, half in the past, half in the present. “Grandma, you’re here.”
“Yes child, I know.”
“You’re here. You’re not there.”
“I know. Let me get you some warm soup.”
“…Yes Grandma.”
I realize now it’s not that she was distant, but that she was listening. She was listening because she is the only teacher who would use names. Names that have power. And… maybe that’s why tonight I hide in her home instead of leaving. Telling you her story as I listen to the infernal screams from outside.