The Legend of the Scarlet Ravine

The Golden Pen

©2011 by The Golden Pen

The following story is loosely based upon Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hallow.



No part of this story can be reproduced, transmitted, stored in a retrieval system or distributed in any way without the written consent of the author.

The names, places and situations in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, either alive or dead, is purely coincidental.



Dedication



To my husband, with Love



The Legend of the Scarlet Ravine

The Golden Pen



Between Jacksonville and Gainesville, Florida, six miles north of Keystone Heights, there lies a series of Marshes and lakes. This area is known as Mike Roess Gold Head State Park. It is a peaceful area inhabited by fox squirrels, white-tailed deer and many water birds. On Saturday mornings, you can find people fishing here. Others like to ride the ravine on canoes. Not far from Goes Head State Park is Little Lake Johnson and if you walk a few miles from there, a beach. There is a camping facility there with a picnic area and lakeside cabins.



Some say that the area was once inhabited by a tribe of Seminole Indians trying to escape the brutal removal of the Seminoles by the US government. Some say that the place is haunted by the spirits of these Indians.



There’s a legend among the neighbouring towns that say that the Indians who settled here in this remote part of the State were murdered by troops of the US government in an attempt to wipe the Seminoles out of Florida. Now, I’m not certain, but the locals in the area say that on Halloween they can still hear their savage war cry near the ravine where legend says that the troops shot ninety Seminole warriors to their death.

They claim that the waters of the ravine turned red from the blood of these savage warriors and the fish were poisoned. There is a spooky mist floating along the marshes of this area which, on a late October morning, one can mistake for ghosts. The old folks say that the ravine is haunted and cursed by the blood of the dead Seminoles.



In October the natives will tell you that the ravine shimmers like a light house and the residents of the surrounding villages are tormented by the cries of the Seminole warriors that lost their lives in the scarlet ravine. The predominant ghost, however, is that of the brave warrior, O’pawoka, who was shot in the chest by General Brown, the Squadron leader during one of the battles of the Seminole Wars. The residents fear him for on Halloween night he rides through Mike Roess Gold Head State Park on his horse, wielding a tomahawk, looking for the General who shot him. It is in this remote area that our story begins.

****

They never recovered the body that day. The police and State troopers scavenged the surrounding area but couldn’t find the body. The black and white Yamaha lay on its side at the side of the road; a trail of skid marks paved the way to where the accident happened. The bike had caught fire upon impact and there was an explosion. The Florida highway patrol officers surmised that the body was thrown head first in a staggering speed into the murky waters of the ravine.



Manfred Meyers was a lively lad. His family had settled in Keystone Heights in the early 50’s. He was the son of a baker and school teacher...an only child. They warned him of the dangers of motorcycles. But Manfred was enthralled and captivated by the shiny Yamahas ever since he saw Evil Kenivel jump from the Grand Canyon on his trusty chrome steed. Since then, he was fascinated with motor cycles. He begged his father to buy him one once he graduated high school, but his father, like any ordinary father, refused.



“Those bikes are dangerous, son!” his father warned him. “If you want a bike, I suggest you get a mountain bike.” His father opened the brick oven to shove a loaf of bread into the oven. The bakery was full of customers waiting to buy their loaves of bread, cakes, and croissants. Manfred, frustrated and upset caught hold of his father’s arm.



“I want a motorcycle, Dad...and if you don’t get one for me, I will.” With this statement, he marched out of the kitchen, walked past the eager customers and walked out the door. His father, stunned and shocked, shook his head in disappointment as his customers whispered to one another in astonishment.



Manfred took a job at the local papers delivering the Keystone Height News. He also worked part-time at the pizzeria. Within a year, he earned enough money to buy a used Yamaha. Pride is not the word to describe his devotion to this bike. Every weekend Manfred rose at six A.M. to wash and polish his most prized possession. Diligently he polished the chrome, applied saddle soap on the leather seat, and polished the handle bars till the sun shone down upon his black and white steed that he affectionately nicknamed, Black beauty.



Much to his parents’ disapproval, Manfred joined a local motorcycle club, a group of about a hundred bikers throughout Bradford County, Florida, who met once a month and travelled throughout the State of Florida on their motorcycles, particularly to Mike Roess Gold Head State Park. The group was given the nickname of ‘Gators on Wheels’ for the tattoo of Alligators each member bore on their forearms.



His parents warned Manfred not to go. It was a humid Halloween morning in 1965 when Manfred rose at five O’clock to get a head start. The gang was to meet at Keystone Beach and then head towards Gold Head Branch State Park where a Halloween Party was to take place. They planned on camping there for a week after the party.

Manfred packed his rucksack the night before. He thought he had packed everything. He packed his sleeping bag, his trusty Swiss Army knife and his tent. He was certain that the girls and women of the group would bring loads of food, so he didn’t bother packing anything to eat. After kissing his mother and patting his father on the shoulders, he set off on Black Beauty at eight O’clock.



A few minutes after he set off, the phone rang. His mother picked up the phone. It was Max Johnson, one of her son’s friends from Gators on Wheels. Max told Manfred’s mother that the journey was cancelled due to inclement weather. Had he phoned five minutes earlier, Manfred would not have set out towards the beach. Manfred arrived at Keystone Beach around nine O’clock. The beach was deserted, save for a few beach bums who walked their dogs along the beach. He waited impatiently for the group to arrive. “Oh, man,” exclaimed Manfred, “I forgot my cell phone!” It was eleven O’clock when he could wait no longer; so he got on his bike. He was angry.

****

He sped through the highway. Was this a cruel Halloween joke? He wondered as he sped past signs and villages. The wind slapped his face and combed through his hair. He was so angry that he didn’t feel it. How dare they play a Halloween joke on me? Well, they can go screw themselves, he murmured to himself. Up above a few buzzards flew.

The air whipped through his sides, burning his cheeks like chilblains. He was almost at Gold Head Branch State Park by now. He was about to turn right when he thought he heard something behind him.



It was a high pitch sound, much like a cry. He looked in his side view mirror but all he could see was clear open highway and trees. The cry echoed and penetrated his ears, almost bursting his eardrums. Manfred thought he was imagining things, but when he looked in his side view mirror again, he thought he saw a white horse chasing him. Riding on the horse’s back was an Indian brave. The brave was brown- skinned and wore a black Mohawk. The brave wielded a tomahawk, throwing it towards Manfred.

****

Manfred sped at 190 miles per hours down the highway, his pursuer on his tail. The Tomahawk sped and caught the back of Manfred’s neck. His body went flying off the bike, landing in the ravine. Black Beauty skidded on the open road, catching fire before exploding. It was early evening when a motorist caught site of the burning bike, alerting the police. The troopers came and extinguished the fire. They discovered Manfred’s wallet by a nearby bush. From his credentials they found his address.



“Mr and Mrs Meyers,” said Officer Malhound when he approached the residence. “I regret to inform you that your son, Manfred, has had a terrible accident.”



Manfred’s mother had to be sedated. How many times had she warned her son of the dangers of motorcycles? Why did this have to happen to her only son? Officer Malhound sat adjacent to Mr and Mrs Meyers in their tiny living room. “We haven’t found a body, yet, I’m afraid, but our troopers and the Florida Highway Patrol are doing all they can to find it.” He told the grieving couple.



George Gallenger funeral home was full to capacity that cold November morning. Everyone in the village came to pay their respects to the young man they once knew as the baker’s son. All members of the Alligator on Wheels Club came to pay their respects to their newest member. The empty casket lay in the middle of Saint William Catholic Church.



The light brown pine casket was bedecked with a white mantle, an old family heirloom belonging to the deceased’s great-grand mother, topped with a bouquet of white lilies. The sombre atmosphere was cut short by the deceased’s mother’s wails. Father Harris made the sign of the cross over the casket and signalled the pallbearers to remove the casket as it made its final journey towards Keystone Heights Cemetery.

A procession of black cars, followed by the members of Manfred’s motorcycle club, all with black bunting on the handle bars and flickering tail lights, marched towards the cemetery following the hearth.



It was a rainy morning on Tuesday, the second of November. The earth was moist and damp, and an odour of rotten soilage rose from amongst the graves. The mourners sighed as the pallbearers carried the empty casket towards the spot and waited for Father Harris to commence the funeral service. Up ahead, behind a hawthorn tree, someone thought they saw a black figure. It stared at the mourners from behind its hiding space.



Mrs Meyers had to be administered smelling salts as she swooned in the middle of the ceremony. An ambulance was called when she fainted as they lowered the casket to its final resting place. As the mourners dispersed to get back on with their own routines and meagre lifestyles, the figure tarried behind. Standing over Manfred’s grave, it paused and stared at the gravesite for the space of half an hour.

Halloween 1966



Simon ‘Skin head’ Trevor road like the wind through Mike Roess State Park, his black shoulder-length hair flapping behind him. He was called 'skin head' because of the bald spot on top of his head, surrounded by tufts of black shoulder length hair. There was hardly any traffic at this time of day. It was six O’clock in the morning. He was in sort of a hurry. He was on his way to his girlfriend’s house to meet her parents. He was dressed in a black T- shirt with the words, ‘Born to ride’ emblazoned on the front—not very impressive attire to wear when one meets the potential in-laws, but he had no other suitable attire. He wasn’t one who regularly did his laundry. Besides, what difference did his clothes make when it was his intention of taking care of their daughter till death do them part? Simon Trevor was not a big fan of first impressions.

He bought his girl a 1 karat diamond ring a month ago from Luria’s Jewellery store in Tallahassee. It cost him two grand. It took him a year’s salary to earn that amount. How many cars did he have to fix at the garage to buy that ring? Yet, Sally was worth it. Heck, she was his girlfriend for nearly a decade. She was devoted to him—totally. But Sally was getting a bit impatient lately. How many twenty-seven –year old brides were there in Florida? In theory, girls as young as seventeen were already having their third or fourth baby and wearing a 2 karat diamond on their fingers.

Simon owed Sally a ring. He was also getting a bit too old to play the singles game...not that he was complaining...but he felt that it was time to take it easy. It was time to find himself a wife and live like a king in his own little castle; being pampered and waited on head to toe by his wife. Every man deserves that.

The weather was nice this time of year. It wasn’t as hot as it gets in mid August. The weatherman said today would be in the high 60’s. No rain was predicted today...just a sunny day in the mid to high 60’s. Simon tightened his grip on the handle bars as he waited for the lights to turn green.

Sally’s parents lived in a pink house on West Walker Drive. Simon parked his Harley Davidson in front of their drive, shut the engine off, removed his helmet and walked up the Johnsons’ front porch. Immediately, Cocoa, the family dog jumped up from the Johnsons’ backyard. For a little dog he barked like a Great Dane. Simon patted the little dog on the head. The dog barked like crazy at Simon. The front door opened and out came Sally.

****

“There you are, Love!” said Sally who greeted her fiancé whilst holding a tea towel and a wooden spoon.

“Did you have a hard time finding the place?” she asked, licking chocolate off the spoon.

“No, Love. The place was easy to find. Is this a good parking space, Love? I can always move the Harley if I am in someone’s way.” Simon asked his girlfriend.

“Yeah, your bike is safe there. Nobody’s going to touch it.” Sally replied. A wonderful aroma came from inside the threshold. Simon could smell roast chicken and garlic. “Come on in, Love. Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you.” said Sally, inviting her boyfriend in.

The foyer was decorated with paper ghosts, witches, goblins and plenty of orange and black balloons. A huge ceramic pumpkin sat in the middle of a Mahogany side table filled to the brim with Clark Bars, bite-size bags of M&M’s, and caramels. The foyer led to the living room where Sally’s father sat reading the newspaper. Mr Johnson was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers. His hair was combed neatly back, parted on the side. He was a tall man with dark prominent facial features. He looked up as his daughter walked in with her fiancé.

“Dad, this is Simon, my Fiancé.” Sally introduced Simon to her father. Her father rose from the couch and extended his left hand to shake Simon’s.

“So you’re the fellow who stole my little girl’s heart?” he teased, giving Simon the once over. Simon could tell from the expression on the man’s face that he wasn’t impressed with him.

“I’m Simon Trevor, Sir.” Simon shook the man’s hand with a firm grip. Sally’s Dad noticed the Alligator tattoo on his forearm.

“Mr Trevor, won’t you please sit down.” Sally’s father asked his guest. Simon took a seat on the beige upholstered sofa opposite Sally’s father. There was a long silence before Sally made her way into the kitchen to get Simon something to drink. Sally’s Dad broke the silence.

“I’m Matthew Johnson, Mr Trevor. You can call me Matt, if you like.” Sally’s father said. Simon was admiring a photograph of Mr Johnson in his uniform just as Mr Johnson spoke.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Simon, “Is this you in the picture, Matt?” Simon asked. Mr Johnson lit a cigar. He glanced at Simon and smiled at him.

“Yes, that handsome guy in the picture is me in my uniform.” Matthew Johnson answered. Sally returned with a cup of lemonade. Simon took a sip of the cold drink and thanked his fiancée.

“Are you a cop, Sir?” asked Simon. He took another sip of lemonade. Sally sat next to her father for a minute or two.



“Yes, Dad is a State trooper.” Sally replied patting her father’s shoulders. “He’s a wonderful officer.” Mr Johnson sat there with a modest look.

“That’s interesting, Mr Johnson—Matt. Sally’s already told me all about you, Sir.” Simon said, taking another sip of lemonade. The doorbell rang just then and Sally went to answer it. A group of witches and zombies stood on the threshold with round hallow plastic pumpkins. Sally pretended to be startled.



“Trick-Or-Treat!” they chanted in unison. Sally grabbed a handful of candies and filled their pumpkins with the loot. She was pelted with a chorus of “Thank you!”

****

Back inside, Matthew was interrogating Simon. Simon sat back, sipping lemonade as Matthew sat there like a sergeant with a smirk on his face as he took another puff of his Cohiba.



“Sally was saying you are a mechanic, Mr Trevor?” Matthew Johnson asked looking at Simon’s Born to Ride T-shirt. He sank back in the sofa waiting for Simon’s answer.

“Yes, Sir, Mr Johnson, I work at Al’s garage.” Simon replied. “It’s a dirty job, but an honest living.” His drink almost empty, he placed the empty glass on the coaster. Simon could feel Matthew’s gaze pierce through him like a laser.



“You plan on being a mechanic all your life, Mr Trevor?” Matthew asked, waiting for Simon to screw up. From the kitchen came the voice of his wife announcing that dinner was almost served as Simon answered Matthew’s question.



“Well, yes, Sir, as a matter of fact, I am. I don’t see anything wrong with my choice of profession. It’s an honest living. It’s in my genes. My father is a mechanic as well as my uncle and grandfather. They taught me all the tricks of the trade.”

“That’s very impressive, Mr Trevor. I can tell that you work with your hands. Tell me, son, how will you manage to support my daughter on your wages?” He looked at Simon with curious beady eyes.

Simon was starting to feel uncomfortable. Mr Johnson was now getting personal. He was about to answer when Mrs Johnson popped in. She was a small blond woman with a bouffant hairdo. Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall, she looked very much like his Sally, only a tad older.



“Hello, you must be Simon. Sally has told me all about you.” Mrs Johnson said. “Matt, dear, it’s dinner time. Please help me in the kitchen.” Matt rose to help his wife.

“Simon, won’t you excuse us for a moment while we get dinner on the table. Do make yourself comfortable.” Mrs Johnson said.



“Thank you, Mrs Johnson,” Simon said. “You are most kind. He sat on the sofa and looked at Sally who just turned on the television.

“You can call me Helen,” Mrs Johnson said before retrieving to the kitchen to get the dishes out. “Sally, dear, can you set the table for me.” She asked her daughter.

***

Simon sat opposite Matthew. Sally sat next to Simon and Mrs Johnson sat next to her husband. Simon looked down upon his starter—a crisp Caesar salad swimming in a sea of Caesar dressing, little islands of croutons floated on a bed of lettuce. Simon picked his main fork, getting curious stares from Matthew and his fiancé. Sally lifted her salad fork and signalled Simon to change forks. Simon caught on and excused himself, picking up the salad fork.

“So, Simon,” Matthew said between bites, “Is that a tattoo of an alligator I see on your forearm?” Simon looked at the alligator wiggling about as he jerked his arms to pierce the salad greens.



“Yes, Mr Johnson. This here is my initiation tattoo.” Simon replied. Matthew stopped eating for a moment and stared at his dinner guest.

Was Simon a part of some gang? No way was his daughter going to marry a member of a gang. Over his dead body would he allow his precious little girl to have anything to do with a member of a gang; it would be a cold day in hell the day his daughter was seduced by a crack head.



“What kind of initiation are you talking about, Mr Trevor?” Matthew asked, almost interrogating the man. Sally collected each salad plate and stacked them in a pile.

“Now, Dad...don’t make our guest feel intimidated; enough with the twenty questions.” Simon took a sip of water before he answered.



“I belong to the Alligator Motorcycle Club, Sir, and nicknamed ‘Gators on Wheels’. We are an honorary club who meet at Weekends. The Club is part of the Motorcycle Association.” Simon explained. “I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”



Matthew cringed as he kept his eye on his future son-in-law. Sally and her mother went into the kitchen to fetch the soup, leaving the men alone to get to know each other.

“Of course I heard of them....a bunch of grown men taking control of the highway on the Devil’s steed. You guys think you own the highway. Well let me tell you something—Every week it’s people like me who has to haul their ass out to peel guys like you and their ‘trusty’ steed off the highway. There ought to be laws against motorcycles.” Matthew said leaving Simon gobsmacked.



Before Simon had a chance to speak, the ladies returned. Sally carried a stack of soup bowls while Mrs Johnson carried a large, white, Wedgewood soup tureen.

“Soups on,” Sally said. “Who wants a nice hearty bowl of Mom’s pumpkin soup?”

Mrs Johnson set the soup tureen in the centre of the table and stood with her ladle, filling bowls with the pumpkin soup. “Enjoy everyone. There’s plenty more for seconds.” Mrs Johnson said before sitting down to enjoy her soup.

The door bell rang and startled all of them. Sally rose to open the door. Perhaps it was more withes and goblins asking for candies. Sally excused herself and walked to the foyer and picked up her ceramic pumpkin. She opened the front door to hand out the last of the Halloween loot but there was no one there.



“Hello?” yelled Sally. “Is anybody there?” She stepped out onto the porch, looked left and right but there was no one in sight. The streets were deserted at seven O’clock. There was a strong breeze that made all the wind chimes on West Walker Street dance.

“It must be the ghosts, then.” Sally said as she turned towards the house. Behind the palm trees a dark shadow danced across the lawn.

****

“Who was it, pumpkin?” asked her father. Sally put the ceramic pumpkin down and joined her parents and fiancé in the dining room.

“There was no one at the door. Someone must have pulled a prank.” Sally said, helping herself to some mashed potatoes.

“Damn Halloween pranksters!” yelled Matthew. “I hate this season!”

“Now, Matthew, behave. We have a guest in the house.” Helen chided.

***

Mrs Johnson lit the Jack-O-Lantern. The four of them sat in the living room stuffed. Simon enjoyed the Halloween meal. He couldn’t eat another bite. Mrs Johnson outdid herself with her culinary skills. The Monster Meatloaf, in the shape of a dead man with ketchup smeared all over him and a plastic knife plunged through the man’s heart was truly a conversational piece. Simon had never seen anything like it.



The grinning Jack-O-lantern glimmered, lighting the room as Mrs Johnson asked Sally to help her bring out the dessert and coffee. Matthew grinned at Simon who sat in the easy chair looking at the television set. They were showing The Alligator People. Matthew lit up another cigar and sat back, blowing smoke on the sofa.



“Did you enjoy the meal, Mr Trevor?” asked Matthew. He leaned forward slightly, a ring of smoke encircled over his head and the smoke bellowed towards Simon.

“I did so very much enjoyed dinner, Sir. Thank you very much for a lovely dinner.” Simon replied, politely; some how he felt a bit awkward sitting there in front of his future father-in-law. There was something peculiar about the man. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was certainly something strange about him aside from the typical father-in-law/son-in-law warfare.



Somehow Simon felt that Mr Johnson had something personal against him—some sort of bizarre vendetta that he couldn’t quite lay a finger on. But that’s odd; until today Mr Johnson had never met Simon before. Oh, sure, Sally had spoken about him on several occasions and had shown them her engagement ring, but not until he was formally invited to dinner tonight had Mr Johnson laid eyes on the man.

***

Sally and Mrs Johnson returned to the living room with a pumpkin pie, a stack of dessert dishes, utensils and a carafe. Mrs Johnson set the Pumpkin pie near the Jack-O-Lantern and cut each of them a portion. Sally sat next to Simon on the love seat. She coerced Simon to sit next to her while they all had dessert. Mrs Johnson stood to serve the coffee. Simon noticed she was wearing an orange apron with pumpkins and autumnal leaves.

“So, Simon, are you from around here?” asked Mrs Johnson, handing Simon a cup and saucer. Simon accepted the coffee and pie and set the dish and coffee down on the edge of the coffee table.



“I’m from Gainesville, Mrs Johnson...not too far from here. “ Simon replied. Mrs Johnson joined her husband on the couch and took a sip of her coffee.

“That’s interesting, Simon. Were you born there or did your family relocate there?” asked Mrs Johnson. Simon was about to take a bite of pumpkin pie when Mrs Johnson addressed him.



“I was born in Dade, County, Mrs Johnson. My father relocated to Gainesville in the 50’s.” Simon replied. Taking a bite of pumpkin pie, he winked at Sally. Matthew took another puff of his cigar and sat there pondering in silence.

“Gainesville is a flourishing town,” said Matthew. “Most of my relatives come from there.” Matthew lifted his cup and took a sip of coffee. “Yes, my great-granddaddy, Earl T. Johnson lived on Pleasant Street.”



Simon turned towards Sally. “You never told me this, Love.” said Simon. Sally put down her coffee cup. She glanced at her father and then back towards Simon.

“I never knew this myself, Darling. Dad never mentioned this to me before.”

A silence fell among them and all four sat in the living room basking in the warmth and glow of the Jack-O-Lantern. It was getting dark outside, almost ten O’clock. Neither one spoke but sat admiring the grinning Jack-O-lantern and contemplating about the season.

*****

“I love this time of year,” said Simon, breaking the silence. “It’s such a wonderfully warm and lovely season. The autumn is bursting with lovely russet colours and the gourds add a bit of colour and warmth to this season.”

“I agree,” said Sally, “I love the different colours of the leaves this time of year. I always love Halloween. It’s the time of the year when you can be anything you want to be other than your boring self.”



Matthew took a bite of his pumpkin pie. “The best part of the season is the ghost tales. I can remember the stories my grandmother, Hialanah told me when I was growing up. My grandmother was half Indian, you see. She used to tell me tales about the Seminole Wars that would make the hairs on my neck stand on its own. One story in particular made me shiver late on Halloween night. It was the story of the Scarlet Lake.”

This made Sally break in Goosebumps. “What sort of story is that, Dad?” asked Sally. She cuddled up to Simon with her ears inclined. Matthew leaned forward on the couch.

“This is an old Indian legend that my grandmother told me years and years ago. Grandmother Hialanah grew up in Gainesville village. She heard the story from her grandfather, a Seminole warrior who fought in the Seminole Wars in the 1800’s. The story goes that late in the autumn of 1819; a tribe of Seminole Warriors were under attack by soldiers of the US government who wanted them out. The soldiers burned down huts and villages, rounded the women and children as prisoners and hunted the braves. A hundred Seminole warriors hid in the marches of what is known today as Mike Roess Gold Head State Park. It was here that a great battle took place. The US troops, under the leadership of Colonel Gains, massacred eighty Seminole warriors. Some of the warriors were shot clean by a single gunshot; parts of their bodies flew all over the place; other warriors were savagely attacked with machetes. The warriors that survived fled south. The bodies of the dead warriors were thrown in the ravine. They say the waters were tainted red that day from the blood of the braves. There are legends that say the fish died as a result of the poisoned blood of those Seminole warriors.”

Sally took hold of Simon’s hand. This story was a bit too scary. Simon, who lost a friend a year ago, in that area, felt a chill. Matthew continued with the story.

“One of the warriors, O’pawoka, took revenge of the soldiers. O’pawoka followed the men on horseback on their way towards the garrison. O’pawoka vowed revenge for the bloodshed of his tribesmen. Waving a tomahawk in mid air, O’pawoka took down two of the triumphant soldiers as the others marched on horseback towards the garrison.”

“OK, Matthew, that’s enough stories for one night.” Mrs Johnson said to her husband. “I think it’s time I better make some more coffee.” Her husband told her to relax.

He needed to continue.



“Swiftly, O’pawoka dismounted the horse and took the bodies of the two dead soldiers into the woods, decapitating and scalping them, finally disposing the bodies in a nearby river. By and by, the other men wondered what happened to their two men and a search party began to investigate the area. The leader of the brigade, Jacob Brown, found the bodies floating in the scarlet river. The heads were hoisted up a pole.”

“Dad, you’re scaring us! Please stop! Simon has to leave soon. He’ll be heading towards that direction.” Sally interrupted her father. Matthew looked at her fiancé who was obviously enthralled by this tale.

“You’re not frightened of a little ghost tale, Mr Trevor, are you?” asked Matthew. “After all, it’s just a story my grandmother used to tell me on Halloween.” He lit another cigar and stared at Simon.



“I guess I’m alright, Mr Johnson. No, I’m not afraid. It’s a spooky tale. It’s just that my friend, Manfred Meyers had an accident in that area. The cops never recovered the body. The cops assumed by their report that the body was thrown into the ravine. I think this is rather spooky after listening to your story.”

Matthew’s eyes twinkled. “Oh yes, I heard about your friend, Mr Trevor. It was a sad tale, indeed. Your friend drove a Yamaha , didn’t he?” asked Sally’s father. Simon nodded.

Mrs Johnson broke the silence. “Excuse, me, everybody, I am going to get the family album. Times like these call for old family photos.” Matthew rolled his eyes. Sally turned her nose up.



“Oh, mom, do not bore Simon with those ancient relics. I’m sure Simon doesn’t want to browse through scrolls of historical documents.”

Simon laughed. Addressing Mrs Johnson he said, “Of course I will. I don’t mind leafing through old family photographs, Mrs Johnson. Bring them out.”

“Darling, I’m in the middle of a story,” Interrupted her husband. “So please sit down. We can all look at the photos later.” His wife rolled her eyes as she sank back down on the sofa. Matthew continued his horrific tale.



“Now, where were we? Oh yes, the leader of the brigade found the two murdered soldiers in the scarlet ravine, their heads hoisted up on a pole. Terrified, the leader ran for the others, mounted on his horse. O’pawoka, along with eight other fellow warriors who had fled the battle of the scarlet ravine, on horseback, followed the soldiers in an up-rise. With a mighty war cry, the braves forged though the village throwing arrows at the soldiers and savagely beating women, children and civilians. The soldiers fought back with muskets and machetes.”



“Did they kill the Indians, Dad?” Sally asked. Simon was listening with trepidation to this tale, all the while thinking about how he was soon to travel through this very spot. The clock on the wall indicated it was eleven O’clock. Matthew lit another cigar and continued with his story.



“O’pawoka rode his steed in pursuit of the squadron leader, Jacob Brown, chasing him through the village and back towards the marshes where a few hours earlier his brothers were murdered. A misty haze floated through the marches. The squadron leader could hear his enemy approaching.

The moonlight reflected upon the scarlet waters of the ravine, giving it a florescent sheen. Just then, Brown thought he heard something splashing in the water.

Frightened, Brown slowly took a few steps backwards, but as he moved his foot one step further, he bumped into O’pawoka. O’pawoka plunged his Tomahawk into Brown’s head. The squadron leader fell back towards the earth as blood oozed down his scalp.

Mrs Johnson, appalled by all this ghost story asked her husband to stop. It was getting quite late and Simon had to get home soon. “Matthew, for heaven’s sakes, it’s nearly twelve O’clock. Can you stop it with the ghost stories for now? I think we’ve all had enough Halloween for one evening.” Matthew took another puff of his cigar.

“I must finish the story, Helen,” he said before continuing his tale.



“Just as O’pawoka was about to finish General Brown with his Tomahawk, General Brown shot O’pawoka with his musket through the heart. O’pawoka fell backwards unto the misty marshes Now, some say, that O’pawoka still haunts the marshes. Every Halloween he rides his horse through the misty marches and the SR21 in search of blood; they say that he patrols the area between Gainesville and Keystone Heights in pursuit of those who murdered his tribesmen. Legend says that he throws his Tomahawk at his enemies, knocking them off their steeds before scalping them.”

The phone rang causing Matthew’s audience to jump off the edge of their seats. Matthew rose to answer it. A few minutes later he returned to the living room. His wife, daughter and Simon were just catching their breath and recovering from their fright as Matthew put on his helmet.

“Darn kids! I have to go to work now, Helen. Some kid just had an accident on the SR21. The vehicle overturned. The kid hit the railing as the car skidded off the road. “ Matthew shook Simon’s hand. “Mr Trevor, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Can I escort you off the estate?”



Simon rose to his feet, put on his leather jacket and took out the keys to the motor cycle. The keys were attached to a jack rabbit’s foot key ring—a lucky charm he once was given by one of his ex-girlfriends when he first bought the Harley Davidson.

“That’s mighty fine of you, Mr Johnson.” Simon said. Matthew nodded, and then turned towards his wife. Helen was yawning. It was a long night. The Jack-O-Lantern flickered, casting shadows on the wall. Simon glanced upon the shadows as his imagination twirled in rhythm with the flickering shadows, which to him, resembled unsettled spirits.

“Don’t wait up for me, Helen,” said her husband as he was opening the door. “I have a feeling that this will be a long winded night.” He turned and walked out the door to move his car. Simon stood in the porch with Sally. The stars flickered in the sky like the Jack-O-Lantern’s candle. Simon turned to face his fiancé.

“Goodnight, Darling,” Simon whispered. “It’s been such a lovely evening. You get a goodnight’s sleep.”



“Goodnight, Simon. Thank you for coming. I’m sorry Dad scared you with his ghost story.” Sally said.



“I’m not spooked, pumpkin. I am not one for ghost tales. It was just that my friend, Manfred recently died in that area a year ago. They never recovered his body.”

“That is spooky, Love,” Sally said, “I can’t imagine what has happen to the body. Why, it gives me the creeps!”

“You go inside, Darling. It’s getting cold. I’ll phone you first thing in the morning.”

Their lips met in a long sweet kiss as the stars continued to flicker. The world stood still as if they were under enchantment. It was Matthew who broke the spell. He beeped his horn, signalling to Simon to move his motorcycle out of the driveway.

Simon bid Sally goodnight a final time before putting on his helmet. The moon shone a bright blood-orange red. The streets were deserted and a deathly silence descended upon the little town. Simon started the Harley Davidson, the sound of the engine cut through the deathly silence of midnight like a knife. Matthew drove his patrol car out of his driveway and waved to his daughter who stood on the doorway waving back to her father and her fiancé.



Matthew escorted Simon to the outskirts of the town. Simon gave Matthew a nod, accelerated the engine and drove into the night. There were hardly any traffic at this time of night. All the revellers would be either home examining their loot, at a masquerade party or asleep at this time of night.

Simon followed the main road, Florida South road 21. He prayed that he would be home by two in the morning. The dinner date had been a disaster. Sally and her mother did an outstanding job providing a wonderfully cooked meal. Sally’s Dad, on the other hand, was nothing but rude to him all evening.

He detected a sense of animosity betwixt them. The Harley sped forward, one with the rode. It wouldn’t be long now until he was safe at home unlocking the front door and settling in for a nice long nap.



Behind him, Simon could hear nothing but wind and the revving of his engine. He passed several palm trees and soon he was approaching Gold Head State Park. It was pitch black. The only light came from his headlights which illuminated the path ahead.

Out in the distance he saw a motorbike with its lights at full blast. “Turn off your beam, you idiot,” yelled Simon, “You’re blinding me!” It was a black Yamaha, but Simon couldn’t see the driver. He was dressed all in black and was wearing a black helmet, covering his face. The Yamaha flew past him. “Idiot!” Simon yelled. Simon drove on, shaking his head as he put pedal to the metal. It’s not long now, Simon. You’ll be home soon, buddy, he thought to himself.

****

Simon thought he saw something fly by in the corner of his eye...it was a figure; but he couldn’t make it out. A shrill piercing cry broke out and Simon was startled. What the heck was that?, he asked himself. He heard it again. The cry was coming from behind. He looked in his side mirror but saw no one. Then he heard a trotting noise, like the noise of a horse. What the heck was a horse doing on the SR 21?

Simon sped ahead, hoping to lose whoever it was behind him. The phantom gained speed, following Simon, hot in pursuit. The motorcycle sped at 160 mph, but still his pursuer caught up with him. Simon looked in his side mirror and saw a blinding light and heard the sound of another motorbike behind him. It was the mysterious driver again. It was now on Simon’s tail. “Leave me alone, you demons!” yelled Simon. Simon’s Harley Davidson raced at 180 mph. His pursuers followed close behind.



Simon cut through Gold Head Park in hopes of losing his pursuers. But the motorbike and the phantom rider followed him into the park. Simon rode through a thicket in the middle of the park, near the ravine. A scarlet mantle shimmered over the ravine, as a blanket of thick mist rose over the marshes.

****

Looking behind him, he could see the blinding light. The light hurt his eyes and he turned around, accelerating his bike. The trotting noise came closer, closer. Simon sped on into the night. From the side mirror he saw the flying tomahawk. It flew in his direction. Simon accelerated his bike all the more, but as he turned to face the open road, the bike hit a boulder. The last thing Simon felt was the Tomahawk plunging deep into the back of his skull and the splash of water.

A Park ranger found the over- turned Harley the following morning. It was found near a clearing with its wheels turning; the keys, attached to a lucky rabbit’s foot key ring, were still in the ignition.

“Crazy kids,” the ranger spat under his breath, “Don’t they know the dangers of motor bikes?” The Florida State troopers investigating the scene found nothing but a black helmet, floating in the ravine.

****

Sally Johnson waited three years for her fiancé to phone. Distraught, she didn’t know what to think. Did her fiancé think twice about their engagement and ran off? No one knew for certain what became of Simon Trevor.

The village gossips whispered tales, about how Simon Trevor was taken by the spirits of the Scarlet Ravine on Halloween— victim of O’pawoka. Others say that he already had a wife and kid in Savannah, Georgia and that his wife found out about his engagement to Sally Johnson and in a fit of jealousy killed him, decapitating his body into so many pieces, burying them in strategic spots along the park. What is certain, though, is that Sally Johnson became a spinster.



She never married, but still to this day she waits up by the phone for her fiancé to phone her as she looks down upon her engagement ring still sparkling bright on her boney, wrinkled fingers.