Today's Reading

AGILVGI (SISTER)

PICHER, OKLAHOMA 
MAY 8, 1993

A devil kicks in the front door, but he's holding a pistol instead of a pitchfork. The three of us girls, watching TV in a tangle of relaxed

limbs on the floor, grab one another and scream.

"Tsgilis!" I call out the name of Cherokee evil spirits from stories around campfires meant to scare us, as a real one fills the narrow doorway. His white plastic mask and horns glow with all that dark night behind him. He stomps his nasty boots into the small trailer with a 'thud-thud', 'thud-thud'.

A second devil follows on the metal stairs. The trailer creaks like a roller coaster to hell. Syd clings to my arm as tight as when we play Indian rope burn with the boys at school.

"Sister, are they raven mockers?" Syd hisses, referring to the soul- stealing Cherokee witches older cousins told us about.

"Them are dollar-store masks." My voice shakes though I try to sound tough. "Ain't no witch wearing that."

The two white Tsgilis are not long and lean, but thick like tree stumps. I wonder if the real devil wears a shiny vest or prom tuxedo. No way he looks like these two in their sweat-stained shirts tight across their beer bellies.

Terror triggers a baptism over my body. A flood of helplessness spreads from my chest and washes down to my curled toes. It's a feeling of smallness only those who live nowhere with nothing understand.

The moment stretches and their horned plastic masks catch the light in the wobbling ceiling fan. Pale blue eyes focus on us. I swear the frozen grins on the masks curl.

"You girls stay put," yells the first devil. He stabs a fat finger at where we're trembling in the center of the living room. The other devil beside him barely lifts his mask to spit chew on the ratty carpet.

My heart thumps in my ears, but I try not to let on. I'm pretty sure these kinda men are like wild dogs, surviving on meanness and the smell of fear.

"Where's your daddy?" the second devil hisses at me like he hasn't already scared us bad enough.

Our gazes whip around at one another like tetherballs. Syd's always insisted we're old enough to be alone, even out in the middle of nowhere. 'I can handle it. I'd never let anything hurt you.'

The truth is, out here, out nowhere, no one can be saved.

The only sound in the trailer is cheesy laughs from 'Full House' on the TV. We stay quiet except for muffled sobs. Usually at least one of us can comfort the others when something goes wrong. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.

We scoot closer together until our arms are around each other. Skin to skin, warm and familiar. We bow our heads like we're asking for forgiveness at the pastor's altar call.

There is a click and the devil aims his pistol right at the center of where we're clinging to one another. "You girls don't got no voice now? Yapping usually, ain't ya?"

I glare at that devil and see his eyes flash blue. I realize he's stared at me before. Watched me, even, from high up in the trees along the fence line. This devil is a hunter, just like Tsgilis.

"Now, listen here," the first devil calls. "Tell us where your daddy keeps his money from that skunk weed he's been selling."

Only canned laughter from the TV breaks the silence.

"We can make you talk," the other devil barks. "Or we can make you beg." He aims his gun and fires right at the screen. I've heard shots ring out plenty, but in this small room, the sound is a piercing explosion like a firework gone wrong.

We shiver and sob but don't say shit.

The devil with the gun lunges at us. "Have it your way." He jams the pistol inches from my face. "Start with the pretty one. That'll teach her daddy." Then he points the gun at Syd. "Put this one that looks like a boy in a closet. I'll tie that one up."

We scream for each other, arms outstretched, as we're ripped apart. "Luna!"

"Syd!" "Emma Lou!"

Syd tries to kick the devil who's grabbed her under the arms. She stops fighting quicker than I'd ever expect. She's supposed to protect us. To save us when we step wrong. But then I see why she lost her fight. The devil is dragging Syd to the tiny storage closet by the kitchen. She knows what I know: there's a loaded shotgun in there.

I'm flipped hard onto my stomach, and my face is shoved into the carpet by a nasty boot.

I pull away, but the hard toe connects with my jaw. Fresh pain blooms as I squeeze my eyes shut and try to slow my breathing. To stop shivering. To not give these wild dogs what they want.

'Play possum', that's what we do in the middle of nowhere to survive. Play dead until Sister saves us from the devils.

I go completely still except for a prayer on my lips, whispering to a god who's never answered out here, out nowhere, 'Let Agilvgi send the Tsgilis back to hell.'


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