Chapter 1
The Adventures of
Tommy & Joe
By Jim Needham
Introduction
These are the adventures of Tommy and his fearsome dog, Joe, as told to me by Thomas. Never before have these adventures been related to any living being. The only witnesses to these events were the participants themselves. It may be possible that few will believe the truth of what I am about to relate
It was, after all, only last October, 1982, that I met Thomas. It was an odd meeting that may never have taken place at all, had I not become so thoroughly disoriented while deer hunting in the forest near Timothy Lake. It was Autumn and the Vine-maple were ablaze with the myriad shades of red, orange, and yellow. There was a faint chill in the air belying the frigid weather that would soon to descend on the area like a frozen mantle of white.
I was about six miles southeast of the lake. The terrain was fraught with uncounted ridges and ravines that looked like clones of one another. I somehow lost my bearings and found myself desperately trying to find my way back to camp before dark would enfold me in it’s treacherous arms, and the bone-chilling cold of the night would suck the life from me like soda through a straw!
It seemed that the more desperate I became, the more fruitless my frantic efforts to find some recognizable landmark that would enable me to find my way to safety! I nearly collapsed in sheer shock when I heard the quietly calm voice of Thomas inquire "Don’t you want to be heading the opposite direction young fella?" I must’ve appeared terrified as I turned in wide-eyed wonder to see this strangely dressed man who’d appeared, literally, out of nowhere! He evidently perceived my distress and soothed my wounded pride by suggesting "I know you’re probably on the trail of a beauty of a buck, but you’re gettin’ pretty far from your camp to make it back afore dark."
As I gathered my wits and pride I had a chance to look over this forest phantom that stood before me. He was wearing buckskins, and looked for all the world as if he’d just stepped off a Hollywood western set. His hair was silvery-white and he stood about six feet, four inches tall. He had a broad chest and bulky arms that betrayed what must’ve been an unusually muscular frame. However, the most intriguing feature of his appearance had nothing to do with him, but the profoundly subtle, and ominous "presence" of the animal that seemed to hover in the background nearby. It was almost like a ghost, or spirit. Gray, almost to a shade of silver, the animal looked much like a dog, but had the purposeful gait and demeanor of a wolf. The man, for all his size, was surprisingly non-threatening, and seemed to know my thoughts before I could express them. I was just about to ask who he was when he said, "The name’s Thomas. My dog’s name is Joe." He didn’t say any more than was necessary, and I didn’t feel the need to ask for more detailed explanations. I was really grateful that I wasn’t alone, and this "Thomas" seemed to know exactly where he was! "Why don’t ya let me and Joe walk back to camp with you? I left some of my gear near your tent when I saw you weren’t around. Hope you don’t mind."
I told him I didn’t mind, and it might be nice to have someone to talk to on my way back to the camp. I didn’t want to betray, unnecessarily, how foolish I felt at having become lost. I was reasonably certain though, as we walked back to camp, that if Thomas and Joe hadn’t appeared when they did I would have perished somewhere in that forest during the night! He was a very friendly sort of chap, and I enjoyed having him accompany me. When I asked him about his presence he explained that he and his dog were just kinda passing through. He never really explained where he had come from, or where he was going, but before I knew we were back at the camp where the horses were tethered. I didn’t give it too much thought at the time, but the horses didn’t seem to notice Thomas or his dog.
Being a writer, I had become fascinated with this character before me, and thought I must surely be intruding on his privacy with all my questions. I inquired to that end, and he assured me that he didn’t mind at all. In fact, if I didn’t mind, he’d be happy to share the fresh game that he pulled from the backpack he’d left near my tent. I hoped that my enthusiasm at his offer wasn’t too apparent as I accepted.
The sunset painted the western sky, like an artist’s easel, fiery orange at the horizon that blended gradually to lighter shades of orange, gray, and blue as the distance increased from the skyline. We soon had the friendly flames of a fire lapping at four Pheasants browning on a skewer. The aroma of the autumn vegetation, the campfire, and the dinner sizzling over the fire assured me that surely life doesn’t get much better than this! The evening spent with Thomas and Joe was a very crucial element in this picture of life at it’s finest!
The time I spent with Thomas and Joe, that night, passed swiftly. They were a wonderfully fascinating pair, and their very presence exuded a feeling of calm and serenity that I’ve not experienced before or since. The tales that I am about to disclose were related to me by Thomas himself, and I believe they are true. However, I will let those who hear judge for themselves whether these are the true adventures of Tommy and Joe.
Chapter 1
Tommy’s Mother
Rumor had it that Mrs. Robert Sharp, Tommy’s mother, was a witch! Born, Beth Natas, in Salem, Massachusetts, she was the only child of Judas and Jessibelle. They were immigrants, always keeping to themselves, and never confiding their origin to anyone. As far as folks knew they had no other living family, and certainly had no friends! It’s easy for rumors to get started about such families. "After all," folks said, "isn’t their name Satan spelled backward?"
It was also rather strange that, many years earlier, Beth’s grandmother had a narrow and mysterious escape from death while imprisoned for witchcraft! It seems that she was released from prison after being mistaken for her cell-mate, while the cell-mate was burned at the stake in her place!
Beth’s childhood was rather uneventful. Because of her family, however, she never had many friends and spent much of her time by herself and always sought out the secluded places that only she knew. She acquired a familiarity with the countryside and learned all manner of things about animals, plants, weather, and other natural phenomena. All this knowledge would come in handy later.
March 17, 1824, Beth’s 18th birthday, and the age that her female predecessors reached "mystic maturity"! Even though Beth’s haunting beauty and gentleness was well known, hundreds of years of superstition are not erased in one lifetime. Folks in Salem knew it was Beth’s 18th birthday, and they knew what that meant! They were expecting something, and their expectations didn’t go unfilled!
At precisely the hour of Beth’s birth a meteorite plummeted through the roof of the Jones’ house. It was a one-in-a-million chance, but Mr. Jones was killed and the house burned to the ground! All of Salem went out, in force, to find Beth and see to it that she was suitably punished for what most certainly must have been practicing the "black arts"!
Beth was compelled to flee for her life, leaving family, security, and possessions behind! Her flight took her many places, but eventually she found herself in Ohio. She’d traversed hundreds of miles, on foot and alone. Quite a feat for anyone. Especially a young girl, barely a woman!
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