Heard there was one out there, close to the river. Someone said he had seen just hindquarters and tail, a black blur through the trees. He said he had big paw tracks across the yard. They were dug in, like it was running. And another man in particular said he’d seen what looked like a full grown black panther, lit up like polished obsidian in the moonlight. Reports like these were common, back in the fifties and sixties. There were panthers around alright, including the dark ones. More woods back then. I myself had heard them scream their bone-chilling cry, where it echoed all through the forest. It would make your heart freeze and your scalp tingle. We saw plenty of large cat tracks across those sandy roads through the wilderness of old north Florida.
Back in the eighties, poor folks would grow a little marijuana way out in the swamps, where most people dared to venture. A grizzled and sun-baked oysterman talked about his crop with relish as he sipped his cold beer one day down by the docks. How lush and green they were and how sweet they smelled in afternoon heat.
But a curious thing had happened. The wind had knocked one over and something had rolled around in the leaves. Crushed them into the sand as it wallowed. “Cats.” Said a cold-eyed shrimper. “Big cats. It’s like catnip to them.”
“Sure enoug,” added the oysterman. “I seen the tracks! And there was black fur rubbed off in the sand.”
It wasn’t long ago that an old man came in off a boat. He was traveling down the Apalachicola river, sight seeing and taking his time. It was one of those first-chill mornings of the fall, he said. The sun was just a misty glow through the trees. That’s when he saw the dark cat-creature, having a drink of river water, it’s eyes focused on him. He didn’t make a sound, hardly daring to breathe. The large feline continued to drink, opium black and silky. The man was transfixed, and wished for his camera. Should he break the spell and reach for it? He hesitated for the longest time, mesmerized by the sight of such a rare animal. And, hardly daring to realize it was not a dream, he took a step backward, slowly, without a sound. Took another and another until he could reach his camera. Then he turned around - and the black panther was gone.
A few days ago, my friend came over and told me about his new home right outside Sopchoppy. He’d bought acreage there and was settling in. Saw lots of wildlife. Coons, bears, foxes, and panthers. “There’s a black one around. We only seen it a couple of times. Think it’s after them chickens.” Then added, “Called the wildlife people and they said nope. Them things don’t live around here. Ain’t none in north Florida, period. So we forgot about it. Until the next time we seen it.”
It does make me wonder. But not for too long. Sometimes on those soggy summer nights when the chuck-will’s-widow sings. And when foxfire does an eerie dance through the swamp and heat-lightning tickles the sky. Sometimes then, I wake up and walk to the window just in time to see a dark shadow slip into the brush, as a piercing scream echoes through the pines.
