DreamCatcher

Four synchronous screams shattered the eerie quiet of pre-dawn amongst the pines of Lakota Springs State Park. We looked at each other, but we already knew. It was another nightmare. The SAME nightmare. This was the third time this week the four of us had the same dream at the same time.

“I HATE spiders!” said Johnny, as a visible shudder shook his skinny shoulders.

I don’t even have a phobia about spiders like Johnny does, but in the dream, I could feel those hairy little legs crawling all over my skin while I was pinned down by some unseen weight. My screams were just as loud as his…

Our camp counselor, a full-blooded American Indian named “Sleeping Bear” Jones told stories of years ago when Manataka Mountain was a place where elders of the Lakota, Caddo, Tunica, Pawnee, and other Indian tribes from all over the plains would gather for prayer and healing. No weapons could be carried into the Valley Of Vapors. “Manataka” literally means “Place Of Peace”. But it had been anything but peaceful for the four of us here in Cabin 12 for summer camp. And there were five more weeks of camp to go.

I hate my father for dumping me here. Of course, he said he did it so I could learn some skills I wouldn’t learn in school, but I know it was because he didn’t want me in the way while he made an ass of himself with his new trophy wife Jessica. I don’t understand why Jessica is so uncomfortable around me – she’s much closer to 12 than she is to 54. I don’t even recognize the person my Dad has become when he is around her. It’s disgusting.

“Suck it up, Boy!” is my Dad’s favorite phrase these days. He thinks he’s teaching me to be a man, but I’ll be damned if I want to be a man like him. I know how badly he hurt my Mom, and I’ll never forgive him for doing that to her. Even with the bad dreams, I’d rather be here than under his roof this summer.

Today’s hike would take us through the forest as Mr. Jones showed us a huge variety of plants reputed to have medicinal properties, along with a couple of highly poisonous ones. Medicine men came for hundreds of miles to bring these healing herbs home to their people. It was actually pretty cool, but unless Mr. Jones was going to tell us about something that would stop these dreams, we weren’t really interested. All we wanted was dinner (all that walking makes a guy hungry!) and a good night’s sleep.

Later, as I drifted off to sleep, I found myself back on the trail through the woods. Only I was alone this time, and it was getting dark. Nothing looked familiar, and I was hopelessly lost. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention as I realized I was being followed by something big, something on soft padded feet. My brain was screaming “RUN!” but my feet felt stuck in concrete. If it was as close as it felt, running would do no good. The quiet was maddening. I turned around, scouring the shadows for the beast that was tracking me. But the darkness was quiet and still. I mentally ran through my pockets hoping to remember something I might use as a weapon. But I knew unless I had a shotgun and night vision goggles tucked in my belt, I was a goner. I didn’t have so much as a slingshot and a rock…

I heard the slightest footfall just off to my left, and I turned to see the biggest wolf imaginable slinking into the light. It sensed I was defenseless, and boldly moved in for the kill. When he was close enough that I could feel the moist heat of his breath, his pupils widened, and he leapt at my throat. I threw my arms up to stop him, but he was too fast. He had my neck in his jaws, and as I looked up into those yellow eyes he shook my body like a cheap toy. My scream broke off abruptly as I heard my own neck snap. Once again, three other bloodcurdling screams joined mine.

“Keep it down in there, boys.” came a tired but authoritative voice from outside. “Go to sleep.” You do not test the patience of Sleeping Bear Jones. We didn’t say another word, but we didn’t sleep much either.

The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Jones pulled me aside and asked what had been happening in our cabin. I told him about our shared dreams, and he looked perplexed. “I’ll ask an expert about this problem.”

We spent the rest of the day in the tiny reservation town of Little Five Points. It felt good to be out of the woods and around people. Not to mention, a hamburger, fries, and a Coke was about the most wonderful meal a kid could wish for after two weeks of camp food.

When we got back to the cabin, we noticed an Army surplus cot set up in our room. Mr. Jones told us we would have company tonight to help us with our nightmares. He gestured toward a leather-faced old man with deep set, dark eyes wearing trail boots and a big straw hat. The man walked up to us with surprisingly long, fluid strides as Mr. Jones introduced him, “Meet Crying Owl, boys.”

Crying Owl was a healer, or medicine man. Mr. Jones asked us to tell him about our nightmares. It felt good to share our nightly terrors with an adult who seemed to understand us. He would spend the night in our cabin and hopefully get to the bottom of these strange dreams. We actually looked forward to drifting off to sleep that night, confident that Crying Owl could stop the dreams.

Later that night, I was dreaming again. This time, the sun was shining on a beautiful day and I was swimming toward the floating platform anchored in the lake. Everything felt happy and normal. Maybe the curse had been broken! I pulled myself up on the dock and lay on my back, feeling the welcome warmth of sunshine on my goose-pimpled skin. As I dried off, it got hotter and hotter until I began to feel the sting of the summer sun on my skin. As I turned over, I opened my eyes to see the entire lake in flames. The heat intensified as fire engulfed the tiny manmade island I was marooned on. I could smell my hair burning as my flesh bubbled like cheese on a hot pizza. But that did not hurt nearly as much as the fire I was breathing into my lungs. One last, pitiful whimper escaped my scorched lips as I sat bolt upright in my bed, soaked in sweat.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw Johnny, Robert, and Steve with the same wild-eyed look I’m sure was frozen on my face as well. We all looked over at Crying Owl, only to see him sleeping peacefully on his tiny cot. What the heck?!

The four of us went outside vowing not to fall asleep again. But despite our promises, the exhaustion of the fitful week overcame us, and we nodded off sitting in the chairs on the porch. It was a thankfully dreamless sleep that went undisturbed until we heard the sounds of a ladder scraping across the floor of the cabin.

Crying Owl saw four pairs of bleary eyes looking questioningly up at him.

“I see you boys slept outside last night – did it get a little warm here in the cabin?” he said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“So you DID have the dream too!” cried Robert. “Why didn’t you wake up like we did?”

“Because I knew it for what it was – just a dream. They can’t hurt you if you don’t give them the power to.”

“What are you doing with that ladder?” Steve piped up. We were all wondering what he was up to.

“I found your problem” announced Crying Owl, as he nimbly scooted up the ladder and retrieved a palm-sized trinket from the rafters. “Someone hung this dreamcatcher wrong – it needs to be in a window.”

We all looked puzzled.

“I’ve heard of dreamcatchers before, but they are supposed to prevent bad dreams, not cause them…” I said questioningly.

“Yes. They will trap bad dreams and let the good dreams pass through the hole in the center of the web. But they must be hung in a window, so the morning sun can destroy the bad dreams and clear out the trap. This one hung in the rafters simply got full of bad dreams that were never destroyed and overflowed. We’ll rehang it in the window and the nightmares should end.”

Sure enough, we had nothing but pleasant dreams for the remaining five weeks of camp, thanks to Sleeping Bear and Crying Owl.

When I told my Dad what Crying Owl had done for us, he said it was all bunk - purely the power of suggestion. But we’ll see how he and Jessica feel later, when the dreamcatcher I hid in their closet fills up…