Post by WHISKEY on Aug 3, 2011 17:04:27 GMT -5
Scriptor Bay
Oregon doesn’t have a long history the way some other states do, and what little history they do have isn't very exciting. Most people who come around these parts always say the only thing that Oregon is famous for was the Oregon Trail. You know, that game where you would always die of dysentery? Actually, Oregon's food and water systems were perfectly adequate for human consumption. Apparently even dysentery is too interesting for Oregon. Anyway, the days of a poor traveler transporting his family by wagon are long gone. That just goes to show you how memorable Oregon's history really is.
Not all of Oregon has a history that is unexciting, though. A particular city in Oregon, Scriptor Bay, is rich in history, or should I say legends. The city, which is not too big, not too small, is just large enough to be considered a city but still small enough that it’s not a tourist trap the way New York or Las Vegas are. I would have to say the thing that has the most legends surrounding it, though, is the enormous tree in the heart of the city.
We locals call the tree The Tree of Enlightenment. The legend dates back to the early 19th Century when the settlers began to move to Oregon to claim land. It’s said that the tree was so beautiful and the settlers were so captivated by it that no one could cut it down. Instead they decided to build the city around it. Not only did the tree supply beauty, but it also offered relief from the scorching sun.
As with most stories concerning settlers, the “savages” soon got in the way. The natives didn’t like how the settler’s stripped their land of all its natural resources, and rightfully so! This was their home and the settlers merely took the land from the Natives without even offering some sort of compensation, not that the settlers could offer anything in place of the Native’s home. The settler’s were growing more and more concerned until Dr. Marcus Whitman offered hope to his fellow settlers.
Dr. Marcus Whitman gave generous gifts to the Natives, showing kindness and gratitude for them sharing their land. He gave them medicine for their ailing, food for their hungry, and blankets for their chilled. The Native’s, though still unhappy with the way the land was being harvested, took these gifts. Slowly they began to grow ill, and many grew so sick that they lost their battle with life. You see, the good doctor contaminated the gifts he gave the natives with disease and bacteria their bodies had never encountered before.
The clever trick did not go unnoticed. Donehogawa, a tribe elder, was quick to catch on to what the white men were doing to his people. Donehogawa wasn’t known for his level head, and when these men infested his people’s shores and attempted to wipe them out, he swore that the white man would pay for their injustices! He cursed the white men, telling them that at sunset in three days time, a great curse would fall upon them. Donehogawa then took his people back to the reservation that had been setup for them. As you can imagine the settler’s found the threat to be funny. Savage voodoo was not something they were concerned with, and if they planned to attack, it would be a losing battle for the savages. Each night a great smoke seemed to come from the reservation along with deep chanting and drum beats. Naturally, the settlers were unconcerned. They continued to live in the town they were building, forgetting about the silly curse bestowed upon them.
The sun set on day three as it would have on any other night, but it soon became clear that this night was different than all other nights. The sky was darker, the air was stiller, even the waves didn't dare to crash so loudly. The settlers, for the most, part were unconcerned while the Natives grew restless on their reservation. The tree, which usually gave off such radiant beauty, was doing just the opposite that night. The bark seemed to grow black and ugly. The branches, though usually warmg and inviting, grew jagged and dead. The trees appearance soon worried the settlers and they found themselves growing uneasy and full of dread. Tobias Lane, one of the more erratic settlers, felt so much sudden hatred towards the tree that he picked up an axe and surged forward, ready to attack, only he never got the chance. When Tobias brought the axe back, ready to swing, the tree's trunk cracked. The crack was small at first, but quickly started climbing the length of the tree, splitting it in half! What Tobias saw inside nearly made his eyes pop out of his head; a pit of darkness! He screamed and tried to run away, but the darkness reached out for him, grabbing hold of him and pulling him into its depths!
The settlers began to scream and cry in fear. The women and children ran and hid, the men grabbed their weapons and attempted to take the tree down, but the darkness was angry and determined and swept over the land, taking whatever life it landed on. When the settlers cries reached the natives ears, they moved from their reservation to watch the massacre. Donehogawa seemed to be unphased by the sight of the tree and the evil from within it. In fact he looked almost vindicated. The white men were finally paying for the crimes they committed against his people. What Donehogawa didn’t anticipate, though, was that the darkness would know nothing of race or segregation. It simply took the life of anyone it touched, including the natives. The screams were like no other screams Donehogawa had ever heard before, filled with terror and pain beyond anything anyone had ever felt. Donehogawa watched helplessly as men, women and children were taken by the darkness before his very eyes, his heart filling with regret. What had he done?
The slaying lasted until the moon rose to its highest point in the sky, the brightness finally penetrating through the mass amounts of darkness that swept over the land. When this happened, lights seemed to flow from the darkened tree. Spirits, the natives say. The lights gave a sense of hope and reassurance as they flew out and began to encase the darkness, pushing it back into the tree's pit. When the darkness went back into the hole, the spiritual lights were able to mend the tree and close up the portal, cutting the darkness off from its access into this world and bringing the tree back to a state of beauty once more.
Bodies cluttered the ground around the tree and through the town, but despite the chaos there were a group of both settlers and Natives who survived. The spirits began to change their form from lights to figures of men and women. They took on the appearances of those who had been lost in the slaughtering, though despite how similar they looked they possessed characteristics that made it clear they were not the loved ones who had so recently perished. Some had old, wise eyes. Others had firm skin, or skin that seemed too soft to the touch. There were a few that looked a bit haggard, their hair longer than the humans they mimicked. These new versions of their loved ones were caring and helped the sick and injured, nursing them back to health, living among them as friends, lovers, and guardians. Others stayed away from the masses, choosing to guard the town from the outskirts instead of from within. Some stayed during the day, others during the night.
Of course you won’t find much of that in the history books, especially the extra boring ones about Oregon’s history. All they’ll say is the settlers grew ill from the smoke that came from the reservation, that the Natives had been burning poisonous plants in their fire and the toxins caused the settlers and some of the Natives to hallucinate and get really sick. The fumes were strong and fatal which is why they had lost so many. It took some time, but the settlers and natives eventually learned to cohabitate in the town, which the natives called Lands of Porta, a name it went by for eighty years until a man named Alexander Abrahms changed it to Scriptor Bay, finding it to be more appealing and less likely to shy others away.
The rumors go on to say that the spirits procreated with the settlers and even some of the Natives and that they have ancestors that live among us even today still. They call them the guardians of Scriptor Bay, looking over the Tree of Enlightenment to make sure that no one comes around and opens it up. As far as Donehogawa, nobody ever knew what happened to him. He was never seen or heard from again after that night, but many think he took his own life, or willingly gave himself to the darkness.
Anyway, that's the only good story boring old Oregon has. A legend written by some old Indian or something about some hallucination he had while tripping on toxic fumes. Either way, it's a cool story. Strange things happen sometimes in this old city. Unexplainable things. Who knows, maybe it's true! Either way, the tree remains a major part of Scriptor Bay. Those who believe the myths are drawn to the tree with curiosity and wonder while those who are skeptics could care less about it. One thing is certain, though; the Tree of Enlightenment holds more beauty and glory than anything anyone had ever seen. Not even the skeptics could deny that.
