A Dark Humor

The local Native American tribe holds a couple of powwows every summer.  The location is a large meadow far from civilization, overlooked by a mighty stone bluff.  Woods press close, all around, a lone road snaking through the wilderness along one side.  Across the road is a wild little river.  Off in the trees at one end is their burial ground from a time when they avoided being forced onto the reservation by hiding and living out there.

The land isn't theirs, any longer.  It's state owned, so the camping area is used by various groups and the general public throughout the summer.  In ignorance of what the burial ground is, or just not caring, many leave their trash all over, even invading the quiet, secluded little spot where the dead reside.  The tribe has to hold frequent clean ups of the area.

They say this is why the spirits are disturbed, and there is a great deal of activity there.  Most of it is harmless, some of it is trickster in nature.  The outhouses are a favored spot for jokes of an otherworldly sort.  These are true outhouses: a pit with a seat and a shed around it, two standing side by side.  Many are the tales of being in there at night and the whole place rattling, sounding as though some gigantic creature ran across the roof, and other experiences that could almost be blamed on wildlife if not for the insistence of those who lived them.

At night, the sky seems endless.  Miles from any streetlight, between campfire pits the only light is from the moon above and whatever flashlight you've brought with you.  It's never exactly a comfortable feeling, there, to need to go down to the outhouses in the dark.  But when you do, you do.

So I went to get the flashlight, and my mom, noticing what I was about, said, out of the blue: "Don't drop it in."  It struck me as so strange.  I never had, nor had my sisters, dropped anything into an outhouse by accident.  So I gave her an odd look and replied "I never do," before setting off across the field.

No sooner did I duck into that blackness and pull the door partway closed, then something batted the flashlight from my hand, sending it elegantly arcing across the three feet or so to drop straight into the pit.  And sat there, deep within, shining straight up.

Yes, I still had to go.  And faced with the prospect of using that outhouse where I could see, or the one beside it, in total dark, I opted to use the one with the light.  I remember feeling somewhat bemused, and contemplating as I left the thoughts that would run through the minds of other campers as they opened the door into that darkness and found an unholy glow emanating from the toilet.