There is a museum with very unique items. They hang in the walls of time telling the stories of day and night, of light and darkness. This is what is known as the Night Gallery. The picture in question is of a great Seneca Indian warrior named Guyasuta, and his saving the sacret grounds of the Seneca's from a bad tempered real estate owner.

In Upstate New York there is the Finger Lakes, and there is Yates County with small villages and a great deal of un developed real estate. It was with this thought in mind that Kenneth Smith of Smith Realtors drove from the town of Penn Yan to the Guyanoga Valley. The main goal of Mr. Kenneth Smith was to make as much money as possible in the shortest amount of time, using any and all means at his disposal. People could say that "Smitty" was a four-alarm bastard. He drove though the valley to his new building site. The surveying crew had been there for a few days sizing up the ground, but at the moment they were standing around doing nothing.

The work foreman, Dennis Gilmartin glanced around as Smith drove up. "OH God." He muttered as he walked over to the car. Smith kicked the door open and slammed it with force. He stalked over to Gilmartin.

"Would you mind telling me why the hell these men are standing around playing with themselves?" Smith gestured in frenzy. "I am paying them to WORK!"

Gilmartin pointed toward where the small parking area is. "She has been there for all morning and she won't leave."

Smith looked over and saw the small figure sitting on the ground rocking back and forth in prayer.

He stood for a moment with his mouth open not knowing what to say. Then his brain connected to his mouth and he stormed over to the woman "ARE YOU CRAZY! He thundered to her. Smith was literally frothing at the mouth at the old woman.

The woman continued to rock on the ground giving the outraged man in front of her no notice.

Smith's face was turning three shades of red "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!" he screamed. "Yes little man." The old woman said finally looking up at Smith with total contempt in her voice. "You are a parasite. The same type of man that has been raping the land of the Seneca for hundreds of years."

Smith looked down on her with scorn "Just who the hell are you."

The woman looked back. "I am Marie Ten-Bears, medicine woman of the Seneca's."

Smith gestured to Gilmartin "Call the cops. We don't have time for this shit. I have buyers for this property, and I want this settled." Suddenly Smith was covered in a green powder that the woman had thrown at him.

"The curse of the Seneca's on you, white man. The curse of Guyasuta on you." She pointed to the statue of the Indian holding a war lance on the pedestal.

Smith reacted in typical form for him. He slapped the old woman and knocked her to the ground. Bleeding Ten-Bears stumbled to the statue and smeared the blood at the feet of the warrior. Smith and Gilmartin walk over and pulled her to her feet. "You are cursed, White man." Ten-Bears growled to Smith.

At this Smith laughed "Well let's seal this deal." He walked over to the statue unzipped his pants and urinated on the statue. "Now it's sealed in blood and piss." Laughing uproariously. Then the skies darkened and a cold wind blew thorugh. The crew looked around worried.

Smith watched his men for a second, then roared "Back to work, freak show is over." Looking to Gilmartin and the old woman. "Why the fuck is she still here! Get rid of her."

As he got in his can he heard the woman cackle "Soon White man, soon." Before he could shut the door Smith and his men heard from the deep woods a cry, a shout of rage.

Smith shrugged and drove away. The rest of the men looked around with looks of puzzlement and worry.

Marie Ten-Bears laughed softly.

It was later that night when Smith got a call from the worksite. "Who is this." He asked. The voice on the other end of the line sounded panicked "Mr. Smith, this is Don Garret here. There is something odd going on out here."

"Really, like what?" he asked

Garret replied "Sounds, banging. Like someone playing drums and rattles or something."

Smith rolled his eyes "All right, call the cops and stay put. I'll be right out" With that he slammed down the receiver with a crash. The next few minutes Smith cursed his way into his work gear and stormed out the door to his car. As he went to get in it, there were the sounds of rattles and a faint drum beat. Smith just glared and drove off. It took about 20 minutes for him to drive to the work site. What he found enraged him even more. There were no lights on in the trailer but the workers cars were still there.

Smith stormed his way into the trailer. "Garret, Gilmartin, Where are you!" he roars. No sounds at all

He tried the lights, they didn't work. Smith walked back outside and looked around. There were no sounds from the woods at all. Smith reached into his pocket for the .38 pistol that was in his pocket. The wind grew louder and colder, as he started to wander around in confusion. "This is a bad dream, who believes in curses these days?" he told himself. He walked back to his car. Then he heard the sound. The sound of a horse. Smith jumped at the sound. It seemed to come from a path that led to the woods. As it came closer Smith could finally see the horse and its rider. The rider appeared to be an Indian dressed in breechclout and carrying a war lance. They came into the clearing and sat there staring at Smith.

Smith threw his head back and roared with laughter. "IS THIS ALL YOU HAVE?" He started toward the rider. " Are you the great warrior Guyasuta?" he sneered "Did you scare off that bunch of weaklings I had out here? I am going to have your ass and that old bitch that was out here earlier tossed in the jug forever!" Smith shouted. "This land is mine! All mine!" Smith pulled the gun from his pocket as the rider moved into full view.

The smirk that was on Smith's face faded as he got a good look at the rider and his horse.

The moon finally came out and what Smith saw curled his blood. The rider was more skeleton then man, and the horse was pale and skeletal as well. Smith stared in terror and the sounds of the chanting began.

The rider's head went back and he let out a loud war cry that froze Smith in his place. He had become aware to his embarrassment that he had peeded in his pants. That was not his biggest worry as Guyasuta started toward him. "Keep away!" Smith stammered as he raised the pistol.

Guyasuta kept coming, Smith fired at him. The bullet clearly struck him in the chest. He looked down where the bullet hit, then looked at Smith and laughed. Smith threw the gun and ran for his car.

With a scream, Guyasuta kicked his horse and charged. Smith ran and stumbled as Guyasuta missed on his first charge. He whirlled round and charged again. Smith dodged again now paralized with terror.

He looked around, Guyasuta seemed to have disappeared. He stared for his car that was parked by the statue of Guyasuta. He ran for it 60 yards, 40 yards. His heart was pumping furiously. "I'm gonna make it he gasped to himself as he got closer, then the sound of horse hoofs behind his in a rush. Guyasuta rode up and grabbed his collar from behind and lifted him into the air as the horse ran for the statue. Smith screamed in total horror as the lance on the statue impaled him. The last thing Kenneth "Smitty" Smith heard in this life was the sound the ghostly laughter.

The next morning was busy at the construction site. The survey crew, the police, the coroner all were shocked at the demise of the late realator. The deputy checked the scene saw Smith's footprints, found the gun that he had thrown, but was puzzled. Gilmartain walked up. "Does it get any stanger?"

The deputy just shook her head. "What I don't get" gesturing to the staute and Smith's body now being loaded into the ambulance. "How the hell did he get impaled on that thing? It's at least 5 foot in the air?" Gilmartin pointed "Here is where his footprints ended. Almost like he was carried on a horse or something.'

"Yeah, but no horseprints or any others for that matter." The deputy replied. "So, what are they going to do out here?"

"With Smitty gone, cancel it. Either the state will leave it as a park and woods or give it to the Senecas." Gilmartin shrugged.

They both walked back to the vehicles. They noticed Marie Ten-Bears sitting on the park bench praying and chanting. She waved and smiled. Her people's ancient lands saved again.