Gordon had finally found his treasure . . and something else . . .
Gordon Crenshaw was a ruthless man; but few knew that. It was his Summer vacation; and hardly a soul knew him. He'd chosen the Lousiana coast land, not for its sunny atmosphere and carefree existence. It was something for more lucrative, something far more enticing.
Gordon and his new found friend walked along a gloomy bayou path in the declining sunset one afternoon. Helseau, a gloomy, sombre slender man led the way. Godron held a map as if his life depended on it.
"And where did you find the map of the fabled Lanco treasure Mr. Gordone ?" Helseau questioned.
"That will have to remain my own secret," Crenshaw replied with no emotion. "I have spent years of time and energy for this map."
"It ees true that I have heard about the treasure Lanco all my life. But I thought it was only legend. No one thinks here, that it ees real. And I know every path in these swamplands."
"And here it lies under your every noses," Crenshaw snorted. "Just here for the taking. And I've found the way."
There was a sudden noise from behind. Crenshaw spun around while Helseau only motioned slowly.
"You think that we are followed ?" Helseau questioned. "I assure you that we are not."
"For your sake, I hope not," said Crenshaw while he felt in his tattered jacket for the hidden pistol. Helseau noticed his groping.
"I know these lands well," Helseau said softly with assurance. This land is forbidden to our people. No one would set foot on them."
"And I'm counting on your ignorance and superstition for that very thing," Crenshaw cautioned. "It would be a shame to have others suddenly involved in our matter. But you're here aren't you ?"
"That is true," Helseau stated with an odd calm. "But you will understand that better in time missyuh."
Crenshaw was a bit unsettled by his guide's remarks. But why should he worry ? He had his pistol. And if the curse of the Lanco treasure was true, he had nothing to worry about.
He didn't believe in anything so foolish as a curse. But he'd read the accounts of the once famous Lanco riches that had been carefully hidden by an unknown pirate a century ago. He knew that the legend contained the horrid rites of voodoo, and the fabled guardian who punished any seeker or finder with death.
The treasure could not be opened, except by the soul of the dead pirate that had buried it. If any other would take the chance, he would be confronted by the watcher, the guardian who would be revealed in an instant. At this, the finder's mind and reason would be blasted away, so awful was the countenance of the guardian.
They were walking slightly upward now. Crenshaw cursed the horrid land which was endless bog and swamp. Even their path at times was mushy and sodden; and he wondered how anyone could know of such a path. Yet, he had found this Helseau - the only one willing to lead him here. Money had a way of persuading the reluctant.
Evil sounds were all about them. Trees looked evil and sinister, no variety that he could identify. Ahead, he could see nothing that offered a decent firm ground. "How much further ?"
"We are at the threshold Missyuh," the guide mumbled. He too was becoming more quiet and dark. His personality had changed greatly from the time they had begun the trip. "You must trust me now. Do not let your eyes deceive you."
Crenshaw smiled grimly. He nodded his guide onward. After he found the treasure, there would be two souls to guard the hole. The darkness deepened. Somewhere to his left, something heavy splashed into the murky fluid. He stepped on a log and crushed the wood as if it were leaves. He stopped suddenly, for Helseau had halted near a large tree.
"Mutu," he said placing his hands on the trunk. There was a small moment of wailing winds about them. Then it died down.
Crenshaw's heart leaped. He had read that the treasure was near the base of a very large tree. And this had to be it. He pulled out a candle from his pocket. According to legend, the flame of a candle would burn green when held above the exact spot of the money. Another superstition sure, but he had to try every step.
"Mutu, sasay ambray wha," Helseau muttered.
Crenshaw noticed that his friend was not speaking French. He wanted to comment; but he was too busy trying to start his lighter.
"Gordone," said Helsea. "Do you know what my name ees ?"
"Helseau I took it," he said not looking up. The flame was burning on the candle now, but much too tall and bright than normal. He could feel the heat on his face. He stretched out his arm and began to wave the candle around.
"Helseau ees what you call a nickname," his guide continued. "My true name ees Terrifiante."
"Pleased to meet you," mocked Crenshaw, his eyes still on the flame. Suddenly, he gasped, for the flame had turned green. It was leaning toward the trunk of the old tree."
"You have found it, Embraywha," remarked the guide in a tone of excitement.
"Hey," smiled Crenshaw. "But the flame seems to point to the trunk. I can't believe it. The legend must be true."
The guide was still standing - observing. "By now, you must have guessed that I am the guardian."
"How can we get into the tree ?" Crenshaw questioned with anger, ignoring the useless talk of his guide. "I only have digging tools with me."
At this, the guide squatted down beside Gordon placing his hands against the trunk. As Crenshaw watched with unbelief, Helseau spread open the trunk as if he were parting two curtains. There in a dark crevase, Gordon could see a pile of gold disks.
Greed overtook his awe. He leaned inward to feel some of the coins. They felt greasy as they slid in his groping fingers. But suddenly, Helseau placed his hands on the outer edges of the opening and closed them on Crenshaw's arm securing him in the trunk. He swore at the man.
"Open this back up," he said while reaching for his pistol with his free arm.
"You do not think I will allow you the treasure," said Helseau now rising with a curiously blank expression. "You should have believed what you read."
By now, Crenshaw had produced the loaded pistol. "Open it now," he demanded. He pulled his arm, realizing now that it was fastened securly into the tree. He could still feel the coins in his hand.
And then in his panic, he felt the pistol in his other hand become soft like wet clay. He squeezed the trigger only mashing it into the casing. There was no gunfire. His rage turned to sudden fear and confusion.
"Now two souls will guard the money," the cold Terrifiante recited. There were other words in a much older language. Crenshaw now helpless felt himself being drawn deeper into the wood. The tree was devouring him slowly.
As the guardian chanted in the unknown tongue, the words were only too clear to Crenshaw's mind. They were being horribly translated in his mind -
"And while more are swallowed by Mutu, more there will be to guard the treasure, so that it will be ever more difficult to get."
A few minutes later, there was quiet. Only the normal orchestra of the swamp could be heard making its music through the eerie darkness.
William Darby