The Amazing Wolf Boy

Part 46 - Folklore of Shape Shifting

Friday, I got to lunch a little late. Brittany was already at our table as I strode up with my tray. "Happy Leap Day." Grinning, she slid a chocolate chip cookie in front of me.

"Aww," I said, "and all I got you was an apple."

"I like apples." She took a bite. "Do you have plans this weekend?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, we aren't getting anywhere with your uncle problem, so I thought we should put it on hold and focus on your other problem for a while." I blinked at her, confused. She leaned forward. "Hello? You're a werewolf. Remember?"

"Yeah. Right."

"Anyway, maybe we need to come at it from a different direction. Shape changing is common in North American folklore, you know."

"You mean Indians?"

"It's practically a tradition." She took a notebook from her purse. "I got this from the Web. The Mohawk word for skin walker is Limikkan. The Navajo had Yenaldooshi or Yee Naaldlooshii. Also Mai-Coh."

"Mai-Coh. That sounds familiar."

"The Hopi Indians had Ya Ya. In the Ya Ya ceremony, the members could change into any animal they wanted by using a hide belt."

"Might be nice to be a bear."

"Yeah, it would. Let's see. The Yaqui had Marea-Kame. Both the Algonquians and the Cree had Wendigo. The list goes on. The point is that shape shifting is part of the Native American heritage. We should talk to them."

"The only Indian I know is Howard. He can tell us about staging a garage sale. But shape shifting?" I shook my head.

Brittany wasn't daunted. "There's a Seminole reservation down Alligator Alley. It's called Big Cypress. We could be there in a couple hours."

"I don't know, Brit. Isn't that where the tourists go?" I quoted a commercial from television. "Home of Billy's Swamp Safari."

"We wouldn't be there for that. We could ask around and—"

"Sure. Walk through the place yelling does anybody know about werewolves?" I stopped when I caught the look on her face. Way to go, big mouth. "It's a good idea. I just don't want to call attention to myself like that. If we go, we need a specific person to speak to."

She leaned back, tapping the table and avoiding my eyes. I shouldn't have shot down her idea. How could I make it up to her?

"Maybe Howard can help us after all," I said. "He might know people from there."

"That's right." She brightened. "Let's stop by his place after school. If he can give us a couple names, we can go to Big Cypress first thing in the morning."

***

We found Howard sitting in a lawn chair in his front yard surrounded by the wares of his perpetual garage sale. Two elderly women rummaged through a stack of sweatshirts.

Brittany waved to them as we crossed the lawn. "Hello, Miss Morganstern."

"Oh, hello, dear," said one of the women. "How is your grandfather these days?"

"Pining for you," Brittany said. "You should stop by for a visit."

"Maybe I will." She chuckled. "Such a rascal."

We approached Howard. He looked as sour as the lemonade he sipped.

I said, "Hi, Howard. What's up?"

"Taxes." He glared at me.

"Uh, right. We need some information."

"Information will cost you one pair of jeans."

I blinked. "You want my jeans?"

He leaned forward. "I want you to buy some of mine."

"But I don't need anything." I thought about the box of rich-boy clothes in the back of my closet.

"Oh, here," said Brittany. "I'll buy this."

I stared at her. "A plastic ukulele?"

"Miley can play with it when she comes over."

"Twenty dollars," Howard said.

She cocked a brow. "I'll give you two."

He drank from his sweating glass, making a face. "Well, since it's for Miley."

"Fine." She handed him money from her purse. "We were hoping you could hook us up with the right people at the Big Cypress Reservation. Do you have friends there?"

"Apparently, I don't have any friends anywhere." He scowled. "Why do you ask?"

"We want to talk to someone about Indian Folklore," she said. "Shape changers in particular."

"For a school project," I said.

He looked me up and down. "Uh-huh."

"Who would we speak to about that?" Brittany asked.

Howard stood suddenly, knocking his lightweight chair onto its side. "You're a dollar short and a week late. You know darn well that the Big Cypress had its annual Seminole War re-enactment just last weekend. There would have been any number of people to talk to."

"Jana's party was last weekend," Brittany said.

"That's no excuse." Howard raised his voice. "The festival was during the day. The party was at night. Besides, did either of you even go to that party?"

"We planned to," I lied, wanting to lend Brittany my support. "Brittany spent all day getting ready. But then... No, we didn't go."

"Uh-huh." Howard's scowl deepened.

Brittany said, "If you could give us a couple names—"

"I can't help you." Howard set up his chair, and then sat with such force I thought it would collapse beneath him.

His bad mood ticked me off. I remembered him saying he was in love with an Indian woman, and he stuck around to be near her. "What about the Miccosukee tribe? I'm sure you know people there."

He glared, and I stared back with the righteous air that said yes, if you don't help me, I'll tell everyone the woman you love dumped you.

"Every tribe has a Story Keeper," Howard said. "The Miccosukee Story Keeper is Chelsea Osceola."

"Where do we find her?" asked Brittany.

"It just so happens that I've been summoned to the Alligator Alley Indian Village tomorrow morning. On a Saturday, no less." He scowled as if tasting something bitter.

"Is that where Chelsea lives?" I asked.

"No one lives there," he said as if I were crazy. "It's a village they maintain in the Everglades to teach Miccosukee traditions to tourists. Open daily from nine to five."

"Okay," I said, although I didn't understand how that could help us.

"It's a public place. Must be why she..." He ran his hand over his face. "I'll be leaving at eight o'clock sharp. I'll drive you down and introduce you if you want."

"That would be great," said Brittany.

I nodded. "See you tomorrow at eight."