The Curse of Captain Gilliam Crow!

The Final Journal Entry of Captain Gilliam Crow:

The 27th day of October, on the 1668th year of our Lord, while on an exploration of this most dismal of swamps in Virginia colony, I and fourteen of the royal navy’s finest marines, stumbled upon a small village of the hostile savages. The governor’s orders were to take no prisoners. Brutal beasts they are, we fought the savages bravely. But to no avail. Despite all of our efforts, it appears thus. We are cursed. I die propped against a weeping willow. I bleed, am dying, and will never see my beloved Sarah and my two children Gilliam the 2nd and William again.

Across the small lake, I watch my cursed enemy. The old medicine man dances through and around the fire weaving his spells and lifting enchantments to his gods. His magic is powerful and is our undoing. I am dying from the wounds inflicted by an arrow. The savage dipped the arrow in venom. Possibly, the venom of the dreaded Cottonmouth viper so prevalent in these parts. By God and the Devil himself, I curse these vile creatures until the end of days. I dispatched my friend and fellow officer, Lieutenant Milford Louis, to return to the ship taking my journal written in blood with him as evidence of our misfortune.

Shaking his head, Oldham Bluecrest yelled out the back door of their home, “Marguerite, What in tarnation are you doing?”

Marguerite turned to look back from her task. The wind from the NorEaster’ was building to a crescendo. Her raven black hair blew freely, and the salt she had poured lifted and blew like white sand in the gusty winds. “Father, Captain Crow’s return is upon us. He returns every year on this day to seek his revenge against our people who still live on the lake. The salt boundary is to protect us from his ghost and the foul spirits of his fallen soldiers.”

Oldham walked down to his daughter at the lake’s edge. He stood with his hands on his hips, watching his “college-educated” daughter while she carefully poured lines of salt along the ground. While tapping his foot, he stared down at her labors. Too preoccupied, Marguerite did not notice.

All Oldham could think, “I paid good money to send her to William and Mary for what, a degree in History. I thought med school. But no, she had to have a focus on Native American Studies during Colonial Virginia. Now she is practicing old shaman superstitions.”

Oldham reached down and grabbed the commercial-size box of Morton’s salt from her. “Enough of this nonsense. I am surprised you didn’t buy Himalayan pink salt to ward off evil spirits. It is supposed to be better for you.”

Marguerite stood then glared at her father. Tears started forming in her eyes. “Father, it wouldn’t hurt you to study our history. You are a direct descendant of the one they called the “Old Blue Heron.” Three and a half centuries ago, he was the most powerful shaman for our people. He kept the intruders from across the Atlantic away from our villages until he died around 1675. Perhaps, Captain Crow seeks vengeance upon YOU because of your lineage to the Old Blue Heron.”

Marguerite turned and walked back to the house.

Oldham watched as she walked away. “Maybe, I am too hard on her. Does she not know how much I love her? A widower, a single parent, I worked hard, went to medical school, and became a practicing physician to provide for her. I know she is free-spirited. But I want what is best for Marguerite.”

After over-indulging in Goulash for supper, Oldham turned in early. His dreams turned quickly into an all too real nightmare. In the body or out of the body, he did not know.

“Where in hell, am I?

Blinking and trying to shake off the dream. “Why is everything gray and without form?”

Suddenly before his eyes, a fire appeared with an elderly native man dressed like the shamans. Oldham remembered the elders wearing this clothing for ceremonies held when he was a boy. The old sage sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire chanting.

Oldham whispered, “What did Marguerite put in that goulash?”

The old native kept transforming into a Blue Heron then back into his human form, “Speak not evil of my daughter of many generations. She did no trickery, you old glutton. You gorge on that spicy food then blame your daughter. I have come to awaken you from your delusions. Since you are too blinded by your intellect and reason to see our ways, as you modern people would say, I am doing an intervention.”

Rubbing his eyes trying to awaken, Oldham said, “This is a dream. not real.”

The shaman turned into a bird, “Is it now?” He spread his wings and flew straight up toward the starry sky, then descended, grabbing Oldham by the arms. Before Oldham reacted, they were soaring in the clouds.

At first exhilaration, then fear overcame Oldham. “What if he drops me? If I hit the ground, will I die?”

The bird spoke, “You old fool. If I drop you, you will not die. I am here to teach you the old ways.”

From high above, Oldham could see the crows gathering around the property.

The bird began circling closer to the earth, “Oldham, what you see below are the spirits of Captain Crow and his men. The spirits prepare to attack.”

Oldham rebutted, “In my 58 years, I never saw ghosts or crows for that matter. I am having a nightmare caused by overindulging in my daughter’s delicious cooking.”

The bird shook Oldham vigorously, “Your wife died at the hands of Captain Crow. You remember while you watched the baby, Elizabeth went for diapers. The birds manifested, then the murder of crows flew toward the car. She swerved off the road and into the lake where she drowned.”

Oldham looked up at the bird, “You know the police report was inconclusive. The report said that she lost control. They found one crow’s feather stuck under the windshield wiper blade. That was thirty years ago today. I try to forget.”

The bird swooped back up above the clouds, under the glow of the full moon, “Oldham, you must protect your people as your father did, your grandfather did, and every generation before you. You ignored your calling for too long. Your time has come. I will guide you, but you must trust me.”

The Blue Heron then told the story of how the crows traveled the winds across the vast waters. “At first, my people befriended them. Over time the foreigners betrayed us. We chose to protect ourselves. Hence, we fought earnestly against them. Tomorrow, I will receive the first sign.”

The bird then dropped Oldham. A moment before he hit the ground, he sat up in bed. “Wow, was that ever a trip. Not since my college days have I experienced anything like that.”

Oldham got out of bed, “I am glad that nightmare is over. Made coffee. He followed his usual Saturday morning routine, made coffee, grabbed his first cup then went out into the crisp autumn morning to stand by the lake and reflect. Standing there for several minutes, he looked up. Across the pond, he saw:

While under intense interrogation, the author confessed, “ Susan Brearley MuddyUm me do it.”