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A Shot from the Past

The Arrow's Path

By Dennis HumphreysPublished 2 years ago 16 min read
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by: Dennis R. Humphreys

(the Dream Writer)

Bradley Thomas was a hunter, ever since he was thirteen, and his father took him hunting the first time. He was bitten by the bug that first day, and it's all he did was breathe for that day in the season when hunting began. His love was archery. There was nothing like it. Getting up early before sunrise and getting out into the cold to take your prey was just the preface to something tantamount to going to church.

His wife was a vegetarian since she was younger and when they were married she tried to persuade him into giving up meat and hunting. No such luck. He loved the hunt, he loved meat and above all he loved venison. Mandi, his wife thought it was barbaric but she finally gave up trying to persuade him after four years.

One particular December day started off with a thick frost. It stayed colder longer that morning so when Brad got home he was ready to drink lots of hot coffee. He hadn't gotten anything but that didn't really matter, It was the act of getting out there more than anything. Mandi didn't understand that... couldn't understand that, and maybe wouldn't.

He left his hunting stuff in the back of his truck when he got home and went to the house. He'd get everything later, all he could think of was a couple of mugs of hot coffee.

As he was walking down the drive, next to the forsythia hedge, he was about to turn onto the short walk to the back door, when an arrow flew in front of him and stuck in the ground. He immediately spun around, ready to hit someone. He looked everywhere, trying to figure from where it came. He could tell the direction by the arrow but he didn't see anyone. He looked up and around thinking someone fired it from a roof. All he could see was a slight discoloration in the sky. It was odd, and didn't seem too far away, but Brad didn't think more of it.

He bent down and pulled the arrow out of the ground. It had an obsidian arrow head on it. The head was set in a split limb and tied tightly in it with a thin strip of hide. This arrow's actually had turkey feathers set on it. As he looked at, it he realized it was made like and old Indian arrow. Even the point was chiseled out of the glass stone. Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make this and then waste it on him as a joke of some sort.

Brad made his pot of coffee and sat to enjoy it. Soon he fell asleep in his arm chair, having warmed up nicely from the coffee and the extra wood he threw on his wood stove. He loved wood heat too. He was born in the wrong century. When he awoke, he picked up the arrow and looked at it closely again. It was beautifully made, and appeared authentic. Still he'd like to get his hands on the person that fired it. It could have gotten him and most likely would have if he had taken another step a second earlier.

Well, it was getting to be late afternoon. He'd thought he'd better get out for his bow and other items in the truck and put them away in the garage. He got up and put his jacket on to go back outside. As he went down the short sidewalk from the back door to the drive, there were two more arrows lodged in the ground in the same place. He pulled both of them out and stepped back just in case. Looking at them they were like the other one... handmade. These two had jasper heads on them and looked authentic like the other one. Brad looked around again but saw no one. He glanced at the sky again and saw the slight discoloration there. It was between him and the sky, much closer to the ground. He could see it better now with the sun going down. He wondered what it was and if it had anything to do with the arrows. That was just a thought, but it couldn't be. He went back and placed them against the side of the house by the door so he'd remember to take them

inside when he finished in the garage.

He put everything away in the garage and straightened things a bit there. The place became a collect-all for everything under the sun. It used to be just his until Mandi got into antiques and furniture restoration. She ended up taking over a large portion of the garage and pretty much the entire second floor where she did her refinishing.

Brad shut the garage door to keep neighborhood dogs and cats out. Neighbors left their animals run at night and many times they'd sleep in the garage. He was tired of smelling cat poop in there, or finding the occasional angry dog that staked out his territory there overnight. He had almost been bitten a couple of times when he walked into the place to do some work.

As he walked back to the kitchen door, another arrow was sticking in the ground. Brad spun around but as before, there was nothing to see. He just glanced at the odd spot in the sky before bending down to pluck the arrow out of the ground. This had an agate head on it. Now he had four arrows. He might have to mount and frame these. They'd look great in his den with some of his other hunting paraphernalia.

The next morning after three cups of coffee, a couple eggs, toast and a venison steak, Brad went to the garage to work on a recurve bow he was making. He didn't use compounds... he didn't like them. He preferred the old style recurves, and he had gotten into making a few. As he walked down the walk he saw an arrow strike the ground. All the arrows had pretty much hit within a three foot area. Now he was intrigued by what was happening and needed to see where they were coming from. It appeared to be coming from the sky and he suspected they were coming from the slight discoloration he could just barely see. He pulled a lounge chair over facing the spot and adjusted the back so he could sit there facing the discoloration. Hopefully he wouldn't be sitting there all day but he was prepared to, so he could get to the bottom of what was happening.

He sat there for about a half an hour getting chilled in the December morning air, so he got back up and made another pot of coffee. He brought it out in a thermos to sip on in his favorite mug that said, 'Meat Lover' on it. It was something his wife hated.

Sitting back down he poured a cup of coffee and sat back. As he was drinking his first swallow, with his head back, he spotted another arrow coming. It appeared from nowhere through that slight discoloration, and landed close. Now he was inspecting the sky closer more than the arrow. The harder he looked the more obvious was the hole. Brad didn't think it was his imagination. He ran to the garage to get his bow and a few practice arrows. He grabbed a few pieces of paper, a pen and scotch tape. He figured he'd send a note with the arrow and shoot it at the phenomena. He expected it to just land in the ground about a hundred feet away but in case it did go somewhere he wanted to try and communicate with whoever was shooting these arrows.

He wrote his note and wrapped it around the top of the arrow, carefully tapping an edge. He took aim at the spot in question and fired. He watched as the arrow ascended and disappeared in flight when it got to the anomaly. He double checked, but it hadn't hit the ground... here.

He sat back then and poured more coffee, waiting for some response. It was close to an hour but sure enough, another arrow came through the spot in the sky and hit the ground nearby. It was the arrow he fired, but with a note attached... a different note, on a different piece of paper.

Brad pulled the paper off the arrow and unrolled it. Reading it to himself he was amazed and suspicious. It couldn't be... it wasn't possible. The note was written by some Indian... a Running Deer and according to this note it was 1886. He was a Sioux Indian.

“This has to be some kind of joke,” Brad spoke to himself. Yet the arrow itself seemed to come from nowhere and seemed authentic. Still... coming from the past?”

Brad sent the arrow with another note back through the opening or whatever was there, telling the sender he would be out and about in the morning at sun up. Brad wanted to jump on the Internet and do some research. He'd assume the Indian was from the past and from this area. He'd see what he could find out about the local tribes from 1886. If he couldn't find out what he wanted to know he could run over to the reservation but that was two hours away.

There appeared to have been an Indian settlement nearby in 1886. Many had already been put on the reservation by then in the area but a number of Indians didn't stay there and wandered off to keep their way of life intact. He tried referencing Running Deer but found nothing. There was a Chief Strong Hand but that was a start. When he sent another note he'd make up another name for the chief and see how the arrow sender responded. If he were fake or this was a hoax he might not correct him. Then he'd know.

Brad took off in his truck then towards the reservation. He figured he'd see what else he could find out before the morning when he sent another note. Two hours later he found himself pulling up to the hardware store in town. It was the perfect place to talk with old guys that could tell you all about the good old days, and old stories. They'd bend your ear without hesitation. Smoke billowed out of a metal chimney running through the tin roof. A wood stove!

Sure enough when he stepped inside to the tune of the ringing bells over the door there was a big old wooden stove in the back. Several old guys sat in the back around the stove, rocking. Two were puffing away on pipes filled with Indian tobacco. The place smelled heavenly as Bradley breathed the air in deeply. The place was warm, really warm as the heat blasted out from the stove. They all turned to look at him as he walked up to the group.

“Hi fellas. My name is Brad, I was hoping you might be able to help me out?” he asked them. Of course they didn't trust a white man right off, but they were attentive. Helping him out might be too much to ask.

“I'm Earl Black. I own the store here. What do you need?”

Brad had brought one of the arrows with him to show and see if it could be authenticated.

He pulled it out of a piece of cloth he wrapped it in and handed it to Earl. Everyone of course became interested and leaned forward to inspect it.

“Is that real? Someone shot it into the ground by my place and almost hit me yesterday. But, it looks like an old arrow that's never been used.

“It's real alright. It's beautiful and I haven't seen anything like it for a long time,” he told Brad as he passed it around.

“It's Sioux. Made the old way. The head is real too, made the old way not like they make today for the tourists,” one of the other old men informed him.

“I agree said two others as they inspected it.

“Have any of you ever heard of a Running Deer that might have lived around here?” Brad asked. He might not be listed in history books as anyone important but if he were an ancestor the name might be familiar.

They all thought about it a minute and then one raised his hand a little in recognition.

“Running Deer... I remember my father talking about a brave of that name. He ran with a Chief Strong Hand back then. They wouldn't stay on the reservation the cavalry put them on at the time and they left and settled west of here where it was wilder and they had plenty of food to hunt and they were free. There were maybe sixty of them, but they were finally slaughtered, every man woman and child by the army,” the old Indian filled him in as the others listened attentively, shaking their heads at different parts to confirm the story.

“Do you remember when they were killed by the army?” Bradley asked them all.

“It was in December in 1886,” one of the others recollected, "but I don't know the day.”

Earl got up and ran through a nearby door to the back. He came back carrying an old book in front of him, opened as he read.

“December 22, 1886... according to this old history book. They were attacked early one morning by two hundred cavalry men led by Major Bartholomew Thomas,” he told Brad.

Brad took the news without letting on that this Major Thomas was his great grandfather... his ancestor. That's how his family came to these parts and he was still here. Several generations of Thomas lived within fifty miles of here. There had been a nearby fort at one time.

“Hey guys. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it,” he told them as Earl gave him back the arrow.

“If that were real, you couldn't keep it,” Earl told him as he turned to go. “But it obviously isn't since it had to have been made recently.”

All the way back on the two hour drive, Brad thought about it. It was an odd circumstance that some Indian from another time made contact with him through some opening in the sky. It didn't appear to be a hoax, but the reality of it was odd. Maybe it was to set things right, since it was a massacre his ancestor was responsible for, that shouldn't have occurred. He'd double check in the morning with the message sender to make sure he was for real before sending him a message back warning him of the date and there would be an attack on the village as the sun rose.

Brad called off work, so he could watch for the next arrow, which came through the opening, just as he sat down with his mug of coffee. It was an obsidian headed arrow.

He sent one of his back with a note speaking of his Chief... Mad Wolf to see what kind of response he got. Shortly another arrow returned questioning who Mad Wolf was and mentioned his chief was Strong Hand. That confirmed it as far as Brad was concerned and the authenticity of everything.

He wrote a note back to warn him that in three days time, the twenty-second of December, Major Bartholomew Thomas and an army of two hundred would wipe out his village at sunrise by the creek. He didn't know if the Indian would believe him when he read the note but he was warned. This was an odd event, and he was initially skeptical, but something beyond the course of normal was happening, and that alone was good enough for Brad. Brad hoped his warning would help.

It would be a good Christmas present for Running Deer and his tribe if they heeded the message and lived. Brad carried some guilt for what his ancestor had done even though it was years before he was born, and he had no personal responsibility. Still, in the name of karma, setting things in balance seemed like a good thing, if he could do it.

The following day he went back to work and the day seemed to fly. He felt good about what he had done and was in the Christmas spirit in a big way. His company was closed from noon on the twenty-third until January second. Some of the equipment was getting reconditioned during that time by another company. By then hopefully he would have good news via an arrow from Running Deer. He'd be busy doing some last minute shopping but he was looking forward to getting good news.

It was early on the twenty-second when Bradley Thomas crawled out of bed. He hadn't slept half the night and hoped he'd hear something before heading to work. He grabbed his coffee and went out to wait awhile before leaving. It was chilly and the coffee tasted exceptional. His senses were alive. As he raised his mug to his mouth the coffee tasted strange... weaker than he always made it. Sounds seemed to be fading and as he stared in his cup it became translucent. Bradley looked at his hand as he held one in front of him, and he could see though it. As he stared it seemed to dissolve into the background. Suddenly he was gone.

The next day, a strange man came out of the door Bradley Thomas always came out of in the mornings to go to work. As he walked down the short walk to the driveway to get into his car, he noticed something sticking out of the ground. It was an arrow.

He put his briefcase down and pulled the arrow out of the dirt. There was a piece of paper wrapped around it, so he removed it, and unwrapped it, to read the writing.

'Thank you my friend for the warning. We moved out of our village the night before the attack and waited. We not only survived but we killed all of the soldiers who tried killing us, including this Major Thomas,' it read.

The man in the suit reading it saw no sense in it, shrugged his shoulders and crumbled up the note. Both arrow and the message were thrown into the trash can sitting by the drive and the man went to work. Bradley Thomas never was.

Humanity
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