Chapter 3: American Primitive

I promised to introduce you to this character.

Long before there was an artist’s colony here, and long before a religious cult moved into the area, a hermit arrived. He bought cheap land, built a cabin, and believed he had dropped out of the mass of lemmings he detests. The land remained cheap, and he didn’t buy much of it, so others did. Now he has neighbors. Neighbors he detests. His real name is unimportant. He likely refers to himself as I or me. Unimportant. His neighbors call him the “Squirrel”. They don’t use the name “Squirrel” affectionately or in a flattering way. Squirrel is not popular.

Squirrel is one of those traumatized Vietnam war veterans, who never adjusted to civilian life, or peace time military life for that matter. He’s maladjusted, period.

He wears a funky necklace of shriveled brown something around his neck. People claim it’s war trophies. Ears of enemy Vietnamese he killed. People shun him in disgust and fear. I believe that’s what he intends.

I’ve noticed the “ears” change color. Sometimes the color is more yellow and other times darker brown. My conclusion is, they’re dried apricots. Yellower when freshly strung, becoming dark brown shortly before he replaces them. Why do I believe that?

Once when I was younger, still a kid, Squirrel caught me staring at him. In an attempt to terrorize me, he took a bite of a yellow hued ear, licked his lips and waggled his tongue at me, like threatening to eat me next, given a chance. I recognized it as drama, not real, not a real threat, and unlikely to be a real human ear. Dried apricots were what they resembled, and I concluded are.

Why is this demented man an American Primitive? Why class him with mountain men, and men who invented driving cattle a thousand miles to a rail head? Because, he too is a sociopath, who fled from other people, to avoid problems for them and him. While I don’t believe the necklace of ears, I do believe he has killed many times. Something sure messed him up.

Squirrel is very unattractive in appearance, in manner, and horrible to smell, and I don’t want to be friends with him. Nobody does. Anytime something goes missing, a garden rake, a shirt from a clothesline, anything easily transportable, Squirrel is blamed for stealing it. Maybe he’s guilty. No charges are ever brought. There is no police authority to complain to. Our county is large and irregular in shape. The sheriff and his deputies don’t come here. We have a reputation of being peaceable people.

Recent years, a new group of people, a rowdier bunch, began buying small parcels in our neck of the woods. Non-residents reportedly building hunting camps. The truth is, they’re hoarders. Their cabins are built like bunkers, and the doors would seem at home on bank vaults. They’re ‘Preppers”. When society finally collapses, which they’ve convinced themselves it eventually will, they plan to “BugOut” to their prepared bugout store of essential supplies and arms. Located here.

Still, the deputies don’t patrol our muddy unpaved roads.

Finally something worth official attention happened. My sister Elena, Ellie, is missing. The conclusion everybody, well everyone except me, jumped to is, Squirrel took her, of course. Has her locked up and is doing unspeakable things to her. Then they whisper those unspeakable things into the rapt listeners blushing ear.

Where is she? Somebody knows but ain’t saying. I suspect she ran off with some smooth talking prepper. Can’t prove it. Ain’t got no evidence. Only thing I got, is a knowledge gained from hard experience, what a hellcat my sister is when provoked. She isn’t the easily intimidated type. Threaten her, you’ll be lucky to escape with your vision intact. The sheriff arrived with four patrol cars loaded with heavily armed deputies, to arrest Squirrel on suspicion of kidnapping. Squirrel not only has a local reputation, he has a military record. Apparently, the sheriff concluded Squirell was the real life model for Rambo. Or something equally dangerous. Like I said earlier, something in Squirrel’s history messed up his mind. Now, it’s messing with other folk’s minds.

Don’t like Squirrel, but I feel bad for him. Living way away from everybody, minding his business, then the neighborhood went to hell, unfriendly folks moved in, made fun of him, railed at him, called him names, accused him of every misdemeanor that occurred and now he’s held on suspicion of kidnapping. That’s a capital crime in this state, if convicted. Sure wouldn’t want to be in Squirrel’s shoes.

The search for Ellie goes on. I hope she is healthy and happy wherever she is. She’s the only blood relation I have left. Mom and dad were ‘only” children in their families. No siblings.

Updates on the investigation as I get them. I’m as much in the dark as everbody else.

Please vote and/or comment.

Yob