Mad Maude

    Maude's dark cabin squatted close to the Mississippi River near Galland, south of
Montrose, Iowa. The tired frame structure rested against the wooded hill rising from the river's edge. Local lore said Maude's people had claimed the steep acreage, surviving by fishing and
living off the land. One by one her family died off, leaving Maude alone by the edge of the water. The steep hill had crept closer and closer to the rear of the cabin. The hovel was now part of the overgrown woods, just the front wall exposed to the eastern sky. Pre-dawn fishermen in john boats could barely make out the cabin's low door as the sun snaked toward it.

    Maude grew old and bent fishing from her front stoop. No one knew how she lived
without buying basic foods in Montrose, without electricity or well water, without a doctor or dentist, without any human contact. Maude became an enigma, an object of gossip and speculation, until gradually people simply forgot about her as the cabin became part of the hillside.
                                                                  • • •
    Two boys heard an old neighbor's Halloween tale about a crazy woman who lived in a hut. The curious imagineers were determined to solve the mystery of Mad Maude. The explorers, both eleven, gathered flashlights and lunches, determined to conquer their cowardly fears.
Revealing their plans to no one, they chose a bright October Saturday for their excursion. If no one knew of their brave exploration, then no one would know if they chickened out either.

    Leaving their bikes hidden in the brush, the boys ran and stumbled toward the top of the rocky bluff. Girding their loins with great bravado, they paused then started skidding and
sliding down the steep slope, a century of decaying leaves cushioning their descent. Barely
stopping before they fell into the river, the boys grabbed hold of saplings to halt their descent. They were within sight of the cabin door and had almost missed it.

    They caught their breaths, inhaling the musty stagnant air of the wooded riverbank. Trees searching for light leaned precariously toward the water and Virginia creeper and grape vines competed for tendril-holds. The boys moved carefully through the jungle of dying green, always watchful for river snakes.

    The dark mouth of the dwelling waited. The explorers stood before the rotting door.
Deciding it was a good time for a snack, the boys stood on the riverbank, looking out toward
Illinois, Mad Maude's cabin behind them. The sun was overhead, but it cast no warmth on this shadowy isolated place. The boys peed into the river, tightened their shoelaces, finally turned toward the entrance. Flipping on the flashlights, they each took a deep breath and looked at one another, giving the other the chance to go first. Double dog dares then rock, paper, scissors decided who would open the rough rotten door while the other stepped into the dankness of the cabin's dark maw.

    The boys had been to the replica of the first schoolhouse in Iowa at Galland. They
expected this old cabin to be a small open room like that log building.

    It was not what they expected.

    Darkness towered over them. The flashlights revealed a path through tall stacks of moldy newspapers. The air was stagnant and dead, the tunnel leading them deeper into the back of the room. Led by the light saber beams, the boys gulped courage as they tentatively crept forward. Neither spoke. Their mouths were cotton dry.

    When the board floor ended at packed dirt, the boys stopped. Unaware that they were clutching hands, the boys walked single file deeper into the hill. Apparently Mad Maude had dug a cave through the back of the cabin and into the bowels of the river bluff. The tunnel widened and now they could walk side by side. Tree roots were white snakes curling from the low dirt ceiling.

    The boys stopped, absorbing the reality of Mad Maude's life. She must have literally lived off the land and the river, burrowed into the 55 degree interior of her hill. The newspapers, taken from someone's trash, provided insulation from winter's cold.

    The light beams flew around the cavern, like bats in the dark, revealing unremarkable piles of junk and bone debris. Dry kindling lay scattered near a small fire pit. But what took their breath away – literally – was the skeleton sitting and staring at them.

    The corpse leaning against the dirt wall had filthy hair hanging past its shoulders. Mice had eaten away most of the faded clothing. Beetles and worms had absorbed the rotting carrion, leaving behind only hump-backed bones and peeling pieces of shriveled human tissue.

    But the image – etched forever into the boys' memories – was the river snake, staring at them, its tongue flickering, the serpent writhing in and out of the skull's eye sockets.
    The boys' screams erupted at the same moment. Flashlights fell on the cold dirt floor and the brave explorers ran for their lives – beneath the white snake roots, between the towering
tunnel walls, through the sticky spider webs – exploding out of the cave's open mouth.

    Their speed carried them over the steep riverbank and they flew into the murky waters of the Mississippi River. Standing fully clothed in the shallow muddy pool, their nervous
laughter turned to screams echoing against the hill. When their terror had exhausted itself, the boys splashed water on their faces washing away baby tears. Watching for river snakes, they struggled up the muddy bank. Eventually the boys made it to the top of the bluff, found their bikes and slowly rode home. Riding no hands, their hearts pounding, the boys' voices collided as they relived the adventure. Their friends would never believe this.

    In Mad Maude's cave, the twin beams of light slowly yellowed, dimmed … and then
dissolved into the darkness. The snake recoiled and rested.

    The boys were not there – in the dark – to hear a broken cackling sound, perhaps like an old woman laughing.