Odd Whitefeather

long moment before Terry took the lead and I followed him inside.

  We had entered the kitchen, through what must’ve been the back door. The room smelled of cooked bacon and buttered toast. Much to my disbelief, I saw that the table was set for three. Three mismatched cups of freshly poured coffee sat steaming on a table piled high with food.

  “Have a seat,” said Odd Whitefeather. “First we must eat to give us the courage to face what lies ahead. Now, what have I done with my teeth?” Odd Whitefeather found them in a glass by the sink and he slipped them into his mouth.

  We sat at the table under the glowing light of a bare bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling. The room was surprisingly sparse, void of the usual bric-a-brac and wall hangings that decorated most kitchens. Not a magnet adorned the fridge, nor a calendar hung on the wall. A pair of rubber muck-boots sat next to the door. Odd Whitefeather said some words asking for strength and we began to eat in total silence, the only sound was the clacking of forks and the crunching of crisp bacon. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, the fear had obviously sped up my metabolism. Terry ate twice as much as I did. When we’d finished we sat back and sipped our coffee.

  “Go ahead and smoke,” said Odd Whitefeather as he turned and picked up a steel ashtray from the warped countertop. “It does not bother me.”

  Terry took out his pack and lighter and offered me my third cigarette of the day. He then offered one to Odd Whitefeather.

  “I had to give them up, doctor’s orders.” He then removed his teeth and dropped them back into the glass of water. “I only use them to eat,” he said.

  We lit our cigarettes, sharing the ashtray as we smoked. Finally, Terry spoke the words we’d both been thinking since we’d arrived. “Why are we here?” he asked.

  The old man without any teeth smiled. “You’re here to prevent the death of your friend. Why else would you have come here?”

  The remark sent my hands into a violent tremble.

  Terry looked across the table at me and gave me the look; the one that says what you’re hearing is total bullshit, it lasted just a fraction of a second before Terry returned his gaze to Odd Whitefeather.

  “You doubt me?” asked Odd Whitefeather, who then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. He gave Terry a hard look of his own.

  There was now shame on Terry’s face. “We were at the funeral home, we saw Doug in his casket. He’s already dead.”

  “You saw what the Windigo wanted you to see,” Odd Whitefeather replied sternly, challenging us with his cold eyes.

  Every Ojibwe child on the reservation knew of the Windigo. I slumped in my chair. Unlike Terry, I had given up on trying to find a rational explanation for the day’s events, now Odd Whitefeather had explained everything away in one simple, terrible word. Windigo.

  A Windigo is an evil creature that lives deep in the woods and in the hearts of The People. The Windigo is a shape-shifting animal, a horrible monster, known to swoop down upon his prey and tear him to pieces before eating him. And that was if you were lucky. You might become a Windigo yourself, and be destined to wander alone in the woods for all eternity. There is more, much more than you want to know.

  The fact that nobody really believed in them anymore meant nothing to me. I was all ears.

  “The Windigo has your friend and he is giving you the chance to save him. Of course, you will do the honorable thing,” Odd Whitefeather said, uncrossing his arms and pointing at each of us with a crooked finger. “Because he is your friend, you must know that the Windigo followed you here; he will kill us if you back down. We must face him like men.”

  “Okay,” said Terry. “I think it’s time to hit the road, Billy. Thanks for breakfast, Mr. Whitefeather.” Terry stood up from his chair and started for the door. “Billy?”

  “Let him go,” the old man said, waving a wrinkled hand at Terry in disgust.

  “I’ll be waiting in the car, man. Knock yourself out, but I’m out of here in fifteen minutes, with or without you.”

  “Terry,” I said. “Are you kidding me? You were there this morning, you saw Doug sit up in that casket. Where is everyone, man? Why did you choose to drive here and better yet, how the hell did he know we were coming?”

  “I don’t care. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “Terry, come on, man…”

  I heard the door bang open and it nearly made me jump. Terry had returned to the car and I was suddenly angry with him for being such a pig-headed fool. He was afraid and he was trying to run from his fear.

  Odd Whitefeather thought so, too. “He has no stomach for what needs to be done. Don’t worry, that will soon change.”

  I was about to ask him what he meant when Terry nearly crashed back inside the house, slamming the door shut and pressing his back to it, as if to ward off a sudden attack. “My car, man… Damn thing’s been ripped apart. What the hell is going on?”

  I looked at Terry and saw that he was on the verge of losing it. His eyes were wide and the color of his face was very pale. For a long moment he didn’t move. “Come on back to the table,” I said. “We’ve got to do what this man says. Do you get that, Terry?”

  Terry nodded and swallowed hard. He then ran his hands through his hair and returned to the table. I wasn’t even surprised by what he had said about the car, and I had no desire to see it. I had the feeling that time was running out and that we’d wasted enough of it. I wanted to know what we were up against. Terry lit up a cigarette, but didn’t offer me one. That was okay.

  “The tobacco is good. Keep smoking,” said Odd Whitefeather in a friendlier tone. “We need it to share as an offering to the Great Spirit.”

  “Shouldn’t you be smoking, too?” asked Terry.

  “I get mine like the Great Spirit,” replied the old man. “Second hand. The important thing is that we have it here with us. I hope you have plenty.”

  “I’ve got four… five cigarettes left. How’s that?”

  “That is not good.”

  Terry looked at me as if it was my turn to speak. I decided it was time to change the subject. “How are we supposed to fight a Windigo?” I asked.

  “There are many ways, but I can only remember one. Sorry, I am getting old. You must truly believe in my medicine or you will be doomed. You both need to understand that. You need to crawl inside my head and allow me to use your legs and arms. We will become one.”

  I could see the worry on Terry’s face and I knew that he could read it on mine. Even if it were possible to do such a thing, did we really trust him to use our bodies against the Windigo?

  “Fear is a good thing,” said Odd Whitefeather. “Fear will make us careful.” He then got up from his chair and walked over to a closet, opening the creaking door. He reached inside; quite nimbly for a man of his age, and pulled out two rumpled, winter coats. “You will need these today, with any luck we’ll be done by dark.”

  I was closer to Odd Whitefeather and I chose first, taking a warm-looking parka that had faded into a dusky brown. Terry hesitated.

  “Young Blackbird,” said Odd Whitefeather. “Don’t do this for your friend; don’t do this for me, take this jacket because your soul cries out for it. We wouldn’t be standing here now if it wasn’t for you.”

  I read a great shame as it passed over Terry’s face; he took the jacket from Odd Whitefeather without meeting his eye. There was more to the story and I wondered when someone would bother to tell it to me. The long black, wool cloak looked to be much older than Odd Whitefeather and I could smell that age as Terry swept by with it. The coat was pungent with storage and probably hadn’t been worn in half a century.

  “You will need to go outside, behind the barn, near the woods. There is a barrel there, take some of the oak and start a fire in that barrel. Do not let it go out; do you understand me?”

  I nodded. “What do we do then?”

  “You wait.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” said Terry.

  “Don??
?t go into the woods.”

  “How will we know what to do?” I asked. “You’ve got to give us something.”

  Odd Whitefeather nodded, corralling us towards the door. “You both turned your backs on your friend when he was about to need you the most. You both went away for different reasons and chose to shut out this part of your life. Doug Warner chose to stay and make this a better place to live. This is your chance to atone for that decision. That is why the Windigo calls you; why he calls to us all. We will face him and if we die, we will die with honor.”

  “Aren’t you going to need a coat?” asked Terry.

  “I am staying right where I am. Maybe later I will walk out and join you. I won’t know until the time comes. Remember, you must believe in my medicine or you will die a terrible death. The Windigo can read what is inside a man’s heart.”

  I tried to say something, anything to stall going back outside. Odd Whitefeather continued to guide us to the door and soon Terry and I found ourselves standing outside, alone. The wind was howling now and the sound of it screaming through the trees turned my blood to ice. The temperature had somehow dropped by thirty degrees. I had no idea how we were