The Curse of Indian Gold

By Tim Conley

Fictionalized true story about my grandfather. He and five other men robbed an Indian grave, taking over 7 pounds of gold from the grave. They were cursed and told they would die on the anniversary of the desecration one year apart – October 26th. They refused to return the gold and the curse took its revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Conley
• Release date: Apr 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452457826

Tim Conley

Hi, my name is Tim Conley. I live in Philadelphia, MS with my beautiful wife, Carmela. My son,James (JD) is in the Air Force and has a son Joshua who is 21/2 with another boy on the way. Carmela's son - Enrik just graduated from Mississippi State University with a degree in Teaching.I have been writing for over twenty years and have published 67 books so far - two recently with Amazon/Kindle. I'm currently working on a fantasy anthology of 28 books called The Rhumgold Sagas.I have always been interested in publishing via eBook format but just haven't found the venue until now. I'm really looking forward to participating in the eBook experience. There are 22 e-books available now and 16 more that are being prepared for release in 2020. Read, explore and enjoy!

Book preview

THE CURSE OF INDIAN GOLD

by

Timothy J. Conley

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Timothy J. Conley on Smashwords

Journey to Mars: The Awakening

Copyright © 2006 by Timothy J. Conley

ISBN: 978-1-4524-5782-6

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tinytim2

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to my mother, Ervena (Childers) Conley, without whom the details of why her father went crazy would have been buried with him. She was convinced that he had opened something that should have been left uncovered and as a consequence had brought a curse upon her family. She wanted the world to know about the curse of Indian gold.

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Chapter 1

Monamee’s Curse

Mary Alice Daniels jiggled as she walked across the rough-hewn pine floor. John Daniels had done a good job putting the floor together, but it still swayed slightly under her weight. Two hundred seventy-five pounds of Indian princess is hard to get around when the years have piled up as hard and torturous as they had for Monamee.

She groaned as she struggled to lift the heavy iron kettle she had carried from the water bucket to the stove. Water drops from the sides of the kettle sizzled as they hit the hot metal surface. Mary Alice shrank back from their hissing.

The hissing continued. Suddenly it seemed as if the kettle had developed pinholes in its sides. Plumes of destroyed moisture rose above the hot metal and formed before Mary Alice. Writhing darkness penetrated from the center and seemed to grab up the strands of her mind that weren’t already in shock.

It had been too long since she had experienced a visitation. Too many years had passed since anyone of the People, to her later recollection, had received a summons. White man’s religions had seen to that.

Mary Alice gathered her wits about her and stood to the fullest extent of her five-foot frame. She had never quit believing. Even when everyone else had opened their arms wide to the various warring ecumenical factions of the whites, she had remained constant. Small wonder that everyone from Miller’s Run to Fallen Timbers was afraid of her and talked bad about her. She alone had tried to preserve the old ways.

Medicinal treatments, administered on demand, were among those ways that seemed all but forgotten. None remained for her to pass them on to. No apprentice had stepped forward to learn the old ways.

But that was the least of her problems. The center of rising, swirling cloud collected and solidified into a hilltop scene. Peering into it Mary Alice realized that she recognized the spot. What she didn’t recognize was the mottled green and brown figure that stood in the middle of what appeared to be an excavation. A large hole appeared to have been dug into the ground immediately behind the figure.

I will speak in words that you will know, the figure said to her. My name is Watchuca. I am of your ancestors. You will take action on my behalf, his eyes bored into Mary Alice’s soul. Watchuca left her no choice, nor will to abandon.

What must I do, 0 great one? she inquired.

You must act, woman. You must ensure bad men are brought to understand the truth of our ways.

 But I’m just an old woman, she protested. None are left who even listen to stories of the old ones. None remain to hold to the old ways. I remain and am cursed at daily by my neighbors. Why call on me? I’m just an old, worn-out shell of a woman.

You were named Monamee by your mother. You were born a princess of the People. You have both the ability and the strength left to accomplish what you must.

Mary Alice was shocked. No person, not even John Daniels, her husband, knew her real name. She suddenly felt chilled. A cold wind seemed to be blowing out of the scene in front of her.

Monamee! the being shrieked.

Mary Alice jumped and cringed away from the stove, but the picture moved inside her head. She felt her eyes with her hands and knew they were screwed shut. Watchuca remained in front of her.

He strode forcefully to where she was standing and grabbed the sleeve of her dress. His fingers were deathly cold where they touched her. He turned her back toward the hole that had been dug into the top of the hill.

Desecration, Monamee! Desecration! The whites finally have their hands on Chillicothe gold. This can’t be allowed to happen.

Mary Alice gazed into the hole. About twenty feet deep from its appearance. She tried to draw back from it, but the being wouldn’t let her. She struggled against his grasp.

You’re going to tear my frock, she protested.

Better that than to rift your life from you. Watchuca released her and stepped back.

Mary Alice nearly fell head first into the pit but was able to catch her balance. She

then curiously looked into the hole. About halfway down she could see what appeared to be a shelf of rotting logs that might have served as a roof over an inner room beneath. She held on to a sapling and looked back over her shoulder. Who are you, anyway?

I told you, old woman. I am Watchuca. I am your great-great-grandfather, as the whites count. The hole you are gazing in was my burial mound. It’s a long story and I don’t have much time to give it to you. The connection between us can only be held open so long. So listen carefully.

Long ago. Many rotations of Father Sun have gone through the sky. Shadow beings, which were not of the People, came into our sacred areas. We hid from them, but they discovered our village. They burned and killed. That’s all they know how to do, and as the Counsel feared would happen – they came back.

Watchuca paused for a brief moment. When he continued his voice was grave. "We killed several of them but two escaped. Their medicine was powerful. They came back with many others, just like themselves, only more cunning and cruel.

The Council decided that the People must move across the big river. Someone had to stay behind and guard the treasure of the People. Since I had blundered and brought about the first meeting, I was selected to remain behind."

He shook his head sadly. We had carried everything to this place earlier, when we learned of the shadow ones. I remained behind to await the return of our People. They never came back. I remain still. Look again into the hole, old woman. What was taken doesn’t belong to those who took it. They must be punished!

Mary Alice looked toward the pit and reacted violently. Her sides shook with fear. Standing over the hole was her own grandson, Ervin. With him, huddled around a couple buckets were Ervin’s cousin, Daniel Lykins, and several neighbors named Jason Greentree, RC Campbell, Jimmy Stuarte, and Earl Weaver. She knew them all.

What are you going to do to them? she stammered, her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth. Fear was tightening its hold around her diaphragm. Her voice quavered as she tried to bring reason to bear.

Death.

No, please no. Times are hard. You don’t understand. One of those you show is my grandson. Ervin would never do anything like that. He must have been forced into it. Please, spare him.

You know ancient lore as well as anyone. Monamee, his voice dripped derision as he walked toward her again. She shrank back against the sapling that threatened to collapse into the pit.

Monamee, you know the penalty for disturbing the dead. Maybe you’ve lived amongst the shadows too long. May it be that you are more shadow than you are of the People?

His question disturbed her. Yes, she knew the legends and lore of her people. She knew the curse placed on artifacts dug from burial mounds left behind by the People. She just couldn’t accept its application against her grandson. Ervin is the only grandson I have. she wailed.

And he is the instigator of the desecration, Monamee! He led the others to disturb my rest. He showed them where I lay. He alone should take the blame. He should be the one punished. You know our law!

Monamee could not escape the logic of her forbearer. Our people should have lived more under the old laws than they have, she admitted. What must I do?

Watchuca smiled for the first time and patted her on the shoulder. "You must deliver the warning to them. They must bring back everything they took, cover everything over again and leave it alone forever. They must tell no one of what they found. That is the only thing that will keep the curse from reaching them. I’ve already