by Sara Clancy
Nicole stared at the computer before her. Her fingers twitched with the urge to do something, but her mind wasn’t quick enough to tell her what. There has to be a way, a panicked voice screamed within her head. We just need the name. Get the name! The first crash made her jump. Startled cries sparked from the group as they searched the darkness around them. Sounds of movement circled the house. Thin curtains that did little to keep out the moonlight transformed everything to shifting shadows. There was only a single gap that allowed a glimpse of the outside world. Every glint of moonlight against the metal windchimes made everyone flinch.
Logan reached over his daughter’s shoulder to grab the laptop. The screen became a makeshift flashlight. He scanned the room, snapping the beam from one point to another as unseen forces continued to beat the walls. Nicole lurched to her feet and grabbed Benton’s arm. He didn’t move. It has him again! The thought barreled across her mind and stole her breath. She tugged his arm sharply, drawing him closer. Keep his mouth closed! Stifle the scream.
“Over there.” Benton’s declaration made Nicole jump back in shock. “Kitchen window, upper left corner.”
Dorothy whipped around and fired off a shot. The loud crack resounded through the room. Moonlight spilled through the new tiny hole in a solid beam.
“Did I get it?”
“Took down the largest stag,” Benton replied. “Back door. Right near the handle.”
Once more, Dorothy worked on reflex, puncturing the thick glass. Nicole couldn’t tell if the animals retreated or if the gunshots just made everything else sound more distant. A few owl screeches rose over the remaining clatter.
“Are you seeing through the eyes of the owls? Are you mind-melding owls, young man?” Logan asked.
“No,” Benton said. “The blessing creates a lot of light.”
“I have a lot of follow up questions and expect answers later.”
The thundering of hooves gave them a few seconds of warning before the glass back door shattered. A massive stag thrashed, antlers shredding the curtain and bloody hooves gouging at the floor. Steamed bellowed from its nostrils. The ground shook at each failed attempt to get up. With a series of soft pops, the curtain hangers snapped, allowing the material to drift to the ground. Revealing to them the next stag charging toward them.
“Okay, kids,” Logan said as his wife opened fire. “Bathroom. Orderly file.”
Nicole snatched up a handful of Benton’s hoodie and forced him into motion, knowing that his parents would follow. The forgotten bells around his ankle jiggled almost jovially as they sprinted the small distance. He passed the master bedroom, instead leading the way to the shared bath.
“Not the best doors,” Nicole noted as she locked the bedroom door.
“But two exits,” Benton countered.
Birds slammed against the thin bedroom window, creating a series of cracks as they rushed past. Benton dragged the collapsible door closed behind them while Nicole hurried on to lock the adjoining bedroom door. A crow careened through the window, toppling onto the bed in a hailstorm of glass. Antlers stabbed blindly through the created gap. Crows flooded in around them, a flock of razor shape beaks and talons. Nicole screamed, shielding her head as she threw herself into what limited space remained unoccupied in the bathroom. Benton closed the door behind her. The small window didn’t offer enough light to see. But she was bombarded with sound. Gunfire, screams, the thin doors rattling on frail hinges as claws ripped through the thin plastic. And, over it all, an inhuman voice calling for Benton by name.
Benton flinched. The sudden burst of motion ricocheted him off everyone else present. Squinting into the dense shadows, he managed to make out his silhouette. He wasn’t looking at her or his parents. His focus was all on something in the slip of space behind him.
“Benton?” she asked.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he turned to look at the door opposite the one he held and back to the corner.
“This is what you meant, isn’t it? This moment.”
“Benton?”
“Will they be safe?”
“Benton!”
He flinched more at her sudden touch than her shout. Theodore held the other door closed. Cheyanne searched for something to keep the slender window from shattering. None of it mattered. Dread had settled within Nicole’s stomach and she tightened her grip on his arm.
“Is Death here?”
She longed to see his face but was left to stare at shadows and shapes.
“Mom? Dad?” Benton called.
“We’re right here,” Cheyanne assured.
“Just stay calm,” Theodore said.
“I really do love you guys. You know that, right?”
Cheyanne pulled the towels off the rack and held them to the window, as if she could catch any flying shards. It dimmed the light even more.
“We love you, too,” she said.
“Always have,” Theodore grunted as a raging flock clawed and scraped at the door he held. “Always will.”
Ice had replaced Nicole’s blood. “Benton?”
“I’m really glad I moved here, Nic,” Benton said abruptly. “All things considered; this was actually the best time of my life. And that was because of you.”
Alarm bells blared in Nicole’s head. She clenched her fist, her nails digging through soft material to find tender flesh.
“Thanks for everything, Nic.”
“No,” Nicole stammered. “You’re not saying goodbye right now. I can fix this. I will. I promise.”
“I was meant to die in that alley. All these years have been borrowed time.”
“Just give me a second!”
His free arm looped around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Death always wins. It’s not your fault. Mic’s promised that you’ll be okay.”
“I’m not letting you go.”
She clutched onto him with both hands, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The trembling of his body made a mockery of his calm voice. One arm hooked around her, crushing her tight as hot tears fell onto her cheek.
“You don’t have a choice.”
Suddenly, he shoved her back. Her heels struck Cheyanne’s feet and the two women stumbled against the rim of the bathtub. Theodore gasped in surprise and light burst into the room. Benton had flung open the door. Crows charged the gap like a swarm of bees. Before they could shred him with outstretched claws, he drew in a deep breath and screamed. The flock scattered, thrown back by the near physical pressure of the sound. The walls rattled, threatening to break the glass above the women’s heads. Nicole snatched at the towel in Cheyanne’s hands, yanking it up, hoping that it might do some measure of good. But the wail died before the window shattered. Numb with shock, Nicole gaped at the now empty door frame.
“Benton!”
She was up and out the door before the Bertrands could make sense of what had happened. They realized soon enough and followed at her heels, back through the bedroom, flopping birds crunching under their feet, and out into the living room.
“Benton! Stop!”
After the oppressive darkness of the bathroom, the moonlight seemed blinding. She spotted Benton just as he leaped over the dead stag and darted into the yard.
“What is he doing?” Logan roared.
“Mic told him to.”
It was all she could think to reply. Ignoring her father’s cry and narrowly avoiding his grasping hands, she scrambled over the stag. Winter wind encased her, ravaging her bare skin, seeping through the thin layers of her clothes, leaving her shivering and breathless. Massive deer rampaged past her, heads whipping back and forth to slash the air with their antlers. None of them spared a second for her. They were all racing toward the retreating sound of bells.
“Benton!”
She barely had the air in her lungs to call for him. A thin layer of snow crunched under her boots as she sprinted down the slope. Moonlight glistened off of the drifted patches of lake ice. There was barely enough light fo
r her to see the long, narrow limb that stomped down beside her. The Skinwalker crawled on all fours, no longer spiderlike, but huge, towering over her with limbs like vines. Taller than the house behind her, it lumbered down to the water’s edge, reaching out for Benton.
The frozen mud crackled as he ran over it. The water lay out before him, blocking his path. It didn’t take long for the stags to fan out, cutting off all other exits, keeping him in place for the Skinwalker’s grasping hand. Benton stopped. Shoulders back and chin lifted in defiance, he met the Skinwalker’s gaze. He didn’t scream. A gigantic but brittle hand swooped down upon him, drawing him up with a wild clatter of bells.
She pushed her legs faster, desperate to cover what distance still separated them. The sickening sound of crunching bones brought her to her knees.
No flames. No chanted words or religious artifacts. The Skinwalker needed nothing more for his sacrifice than simple death. It can’t touch him. It can’t. It can’t. The words repeated rapidly through her mind as she watched the Skinwalker’s fingers peel back. Benton’s mangled corpse dropped like a stone. It was the splash that jarred her out of her shock. Something in the noise drove home the reality.
Tears blinded her as she shoved by the now placid stags. The deed was done. The Skinwalker had no more use for them. Gunfire and confused shouts followed her as she waded into the icy water. She barely heard it. Small chunks of ice bounced off of her shins. She latched onto Benton, cradling him to her chest as she fell back into the arctic slush.
“Benton.”
A burning coal had lodged itself in her throat. It, and her tears, were the only points of warmth left in her body. A bitter cold consumed her, inside and out. With trembling fingers, she brushed some of his damp hair back from his face. His jaw dislodged at her touch. Something within her shattered. She cradled him close, his broken bones rattling within his skin.
“Nicole!” Her mother’s cry barely pushed into her awareness.
“Nicole! Get back here!”
Choking on her sobs, Nicole turned to her father’s voice. Rage crashed through her grief to see the Skinwalker jerk and twist. There was nothing visible to note the difference. But she knew. His sacrifice had been accepted. He would live again.
Burn him alive. The thought emerged in the broken haze of her mind. She wanted blood. She wanted vengeance. I’m going to rip him apart with my bare hands.
The commotion had drawn the neighbors. Half a dozen stood beside Dorothy and Logan, hunting rifles trained upon the snarling monster. No one pulled the trigger, unsure of what it would do, unwilling to take the risk. Wapun stood slightly before the crowd, cradling a steaming bowl and softly singing a prayer. A few people had the presence of mind to keep the wailing Bertrands back, safely removed from the standoff. It wasn’t a hard task. It seemed that neither one could even stand under the weight of their grief.
Nicole’s eyes snapped back onto the Skinwalker. Bloodlust pumped through her, heating her chilled flesh, nurturing a hatred she had never thought herself capable of.
Destroy it.
Nicole shifted, the clicking of Benton’s shattered bones tearing her apart, making her weep and growl. She couldn’t get up without leaving Benton behind. Caught between fury and sorrow, she staggered onto her knees, glaring at the Skinwalker. One last thrash, and its skin peeled from its bones, falling in wet strips at its feet.
And he was a man now. Full and whole. Drenched in blood that gleamed back in the moonlight. He gasped like a man emerging from the ocean. Murmurs and shrieks washed through the crowd and they all shuffled back, guns still locked upon their target.
“Finally,” the Skinwalker chuckled.
He sounded all too human. Nicole lurched up again, Benton’s weight dragging her back down against the muddy bottom of the lake. The Skinwalker turned to her. It smiled.
“Hello, again.”
Nicole’s jaw clenched until her teeth threatened to snap. She bared her teeth in a snarl, unable to work a single word past her gut-wrenching sobs. The air stirred beside her. She snapped around to face it and realized that the comment hadn’t been directed at her. A Grim Reaper hovered beside her, its body as black as the night around it. Hands and skull glowing like stars. It was the first time she had ever seen the ghostly specter of death, and she found herself completely numb to the presence.
The Skinwalker’s grin grew feral. He spared the crowd a single, dismissive glance. “You’re going to be busy tonight.”
Death turned to look down at Benton’s body. Slowly, it reached out, bare bones inching ever close to his corpse. Nicole tightened her grip, twisting slightly to protect him even as she knew there was nothing she could do. Death wins in the end.
The Grim Reaper’s body fell apart like dispersing smoke. By the time its finger made contact with Benton’s forehead, she looked as flesh and blood as any human. But still ‘other.’ Ethereal. A woman of toneless, milk-white flesh, flowing hair of the same color. And eyes that glowed like liquid silver. The features were alien, but the overall aesthetic undeniably familiar.
“Oh, my God,” Nicole whispered. “Mic? Why did you do this? Why did you let him?”
The Grim Reaper smiled and carefully cupped Benton’s mauled face. Instantly, his skin began to rot. Soggy hunks of flesh dropped into the lake with sickening plops. His crunched bones dislodged and followed.
“No, no, no,” Nicole rambled. “Don’t! Stop it!”
Her hands clutched and grabbed, but she couldn’t keep him from falling apart. The Skinwalker’s laugh drifted to her from the shoreline. It stopped abruptly when small patches of bleached alabaster emerged from the muck. Nicole’s trembling fingers shifted from desperately trying to preserve the body in her arms to tearing at the rancid goop. Bit by bit, she revealed features that perfectly mirrored Mic’s own.
“He died human,” the Skinwalker snarled.
Mic slowly turned her unnervingly serene face toward the Skinwalker.
“Death can’t interfere with the affairs of the living.”
Nicole couldn’t process it at first. It seemed too impossible to be true. Yet it was there. Clear in the anger that coated the Skinwalker’s every word.
Fear.
The boogieman’s afraid.
Startled cries rang through the small crowd as pillars darker than the night around them emerged from the water, each one hovering in place. One by one, the Grim Reapers shed their shrouds, revealing women that were almost carbon copies of Mic.
“He was alive!” The Skinwalker shrieked. “He wasn’t yours! You can’t touch me!”
Benton jerked against Nicole’s chest. Her scream lodged in her throat as she looked down. It was clearly Benton. Yet undeniably not. A replica made out of frost. As pale as ivory. She couldn’t place exactly what had changed. What line or curve of his face had been altered. But he now possessed the same macabre beauty as the Grim Reapers around her.
Benton’s eyes snapped open.
“Take him and go.” Bravado reentered the Skinwalker’s voice as he repeated his claim. “He wasn’t one of yours when he died. You can’t touch me.”
Mic rose, swift and silent. Her voice was the whisper of distant thunder.
“He’s my son.”
It was the Skinwalker’s turn to be immobilized by the potent mixture of shock and fear.
In that split second, the women changed. Gone were their painfully beautiful shells, replaced by gnarled, grotesque crones. They moved like fog. Untouchable by man or any laws of nature. Swirling around the now frantic Skinwalker.
His body morphed, bones popping and flesh ripping as he transformed into something reptilian. The first Banshee scream ripped the scales from his skin. An agonized howl turned into a human scream. Nicole could only catch glimpses of the Skinwalker from within the swirling haze of Banshees. The earth trembled with their wails. Each brutal outburst carved another chunk from the Skinwalker, cleaving him to death one inch at a time. The Skinwalker made a desperate bid for freedom, dart
ing out across the shoreline. There was no escape. The relentless attack ripped him apart and left him crawling through the mud.
The water stirred. A sudden, unexpected motion that left Nicole’s mind reeling. Benton sat up, blinking around in confusion, his luminous eyes casting their own glow over his features.
“Nic?”
Nicole sobbed, shaking hard. He looked past her and got to his feet. There was a grace to his movements that had never been there before. A degree of fluidity that was impossible for something of bone or muscle.
“Get them inside,” he said.
With that, he strode forward to join the others. Nicole shook herself from her stupor and scrambled to carry out his command. At first, the crowd refused to move. Their brains couldn’t take in the sight before them and handle movement at the same time. It was a matter of getting the first person into motion. The others followed and they were soon fleeing from the otherworldly display before them. Logan flung Cheyanne over his shoulder, leaving his relatives to force the shell-shocked Theodore back into the house.
No two of Benton’s wails were ever quite the same, but Nicole recognized it instantly. He joined his voice to the nightmarish choir. Each cell in the air vibrated with the force. Blocking the door with her body to keep the Bertrands inside, Nicole chanced a glance behind.
A geyser of blood erupted within the center of the Banshees, spewing a mile into the air, raining down with small chunks of flesh and bone.
Silence suddenly descended.
Forms emerged from the shapeless mist. Individual Grim Reapers that slowly glided out over the lake. Not one of them looked back. They had the soul they had come for. Nothing else held any consequence. Each randomly dropped into the dark depths without leaving a ripple. A soft thud made her turn to the muddy bank.
“Benton,” she whispered.
Instinct alone took her back across the yard. Every bone in her body ached. Her body had long since run out of adrenaline. The combination had her fall behind him rather than crouch down. She scrambled forward and pressed her ear against his heart. There! A heartbeat! Ice swept down her spine. She looked up to find Mic kneeling on the opposite side of Benton’s torso.
