by Lukens, Mark
Red Moon shook his head no. “Please kill me,” he whispered.
Just then a loud laughter came from the woods. A man was laughing. Then another man laughed from another part of the woods. It was a mean-spirited laugh, an evil sound. It seemed like the laughter was all around them.
Then Jed heard another howl from a wolf. And then a hoot from an owl.
It felt like they were surrounded by men and animals.
“Shit,” Roscoe yelled from the dead fire and he shot his rifle into the woods.
Jed hurried back over to Roscoe. “What is it?”
“They threw something at us from the woods,” Roscoe said.
Roscoe picked up the small pieces of teeth and bone. He showed them to Jed. Some of the teeth still had blood crusted on them, but the white bones gleamed in the moonlight like they had been picked clean.
Moments went by as they waited, both of them on guard, their Remington rifles aimed at the silent and dark trees. Minutes seemed like hours.
“What are we going to do?” Roscoe asked.
“We’ll wait until first light and walk out of here.”
They were quiet again and then Roscoe turned to look behind them at the ridge above their heads. “I hear something,” he whispered.
Jed could hear it too. It sounded like their horses. Maybe they were back. Or maybe these were mimicked sounds.
Roscoe jumped to his feet and ran to the edge of the ridge and up into the trees where their horses had been tied.
“Wait,” Jed yelled, but Roscoe wasn’t listening, he was too focused on finding their horses.
Jed followed Roscoe up into the trees and found his friend and partner standing in the brush, his rifle down by his side. He was staring at something in the trees. Jed hurried up behind him, his own rifle aimed and ready, his Colt in the holster on his hip if he needed it.
“What is it?” Jed asked, but then he saw what Roscoe was looking at as soon as the last word left his lips.
Twenty yards away was what looked like a man strung between two thin trees, but even from here, even in the darkness, they could tell it wasn’t a man. At least not anymore.
They approached what used to be Dobbs and got as close as fifteen feet. Both of them had their rifles ready, and they glanced around, listening for any sounds of movement, but their own breathing was so loud, their own heartbeats thundering inside of their chests; it seemed like these sounds would mask any other noises in the woods.
The only thing left of Dobbs was his skin. His pale skin was strung up between two trees; a chord that looked like a piece of intestine was tied around each wrist and then tied around each thin tree trunk. The way the skin was tied, it looked like Dobbs was holding his arms out to embrace them. Somehow the skin from his face and head was held up erect, supported by something, maybe a long sliver of bone.
And somehow the skin seemed to be all in one piece, maybe slit from the back of his body, but the front of his skin was pristine, just smooth pale skin hanging between the trees which made it seem like it was floating in the night air like a ghost.
Roscoe threw up. It was a noisy sound and Jed thought he heard sobs among his retches.
Jed turned around in a slow circle, his eyes watching for any movement, the rifle up against his stubbly cheek, his finger on the trigger. He was a good shot and if anything moved in the darkness, if he even heard the crunch of a twig, he was going to shoot.
“What’d they do to him?” Roscoe cried as he wiped at the vomit from his beard.
“Get your rifle back up,” Jed growled. “We need to get back to the camp.”
They hurried back to the camp, feeling a little better with the ridge behind them—at least their backs were somewhat protected.
What the hell were they dealing with? Jed thought.
He glanced over at the dark form in the night at the base of the tree. He looked back at Roscoe. “I’m going over to Red Moon. Cover me.”
Roscoe just nodded.
Jed rushed through the dark to Red Moon. He crouched down beside him and aimed his rifle out at the woods for a moment before turning to look at Red Moon.
“Please kill me,” Red Moon whispered.
“Who are they?” Jed whispered. “How many? What do they want?”
Red Moon didn’t answer; he whispered some kind of prayers that sounded like a chant.
“Tell me who’s out there or I’m gonna send you out to them … one piece at a time.”
Red Moon looked at Jed. “They will just put me back together again and send me back to you. They will not let a man die.”
Jed felt a shudder run through his body.
“I already told you,” Red Moon whispered. “They are skinwalkers. They can get inside a person, use that person, make him do what they want him to. Your bullets will not stop them.”
“How do we stop them?”
“Only with magic. Stronger magic than they have.”
Jed was going to ask Red Moon if he had this kind of magic, but he didn’t. He didn’t believe in magic or curses or anything like that. Whoever was out there, whatever was out there, they could be killed by a bullet from his rifle or his six-shooter.
Jed hurried back to Roscoe and sat down beside him. Roscoe had the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, the barrel aimed out at the trees; his eyes were wide and bright in the moonlight.
“I’ll take watch for the next hour,” Jed whispered. “You try to get an hour’s sleep. We’ll walk out of here at first light.”
Roscoe nodded, but he didn’t look like he was planning on sleeping for an hour, not after what he’d seen in these woods tonight.
Jed settled in more, his back to the dirt and rocks behind him, his rifle in his hands. His mind began to wander as he stared across the clearing at the stand of endless trees, the darkness, so quiet, no movement …
Jed snapped awake and he could tell that the world was beginning to lighten through the trees with the rising sun. He looked to his side and Roscoe and his rifle were gone.
He jumped to his feet, his weapon in his hands, his eyes darting around, looking for any movement in the trees.
“Roscoe,” he whispered harshly.
But he got no answer.
He looked at Red Moon, who was still slumped down at the base of the tree, his hands shackled in front of his waist, his head down like he was sleeping. Or dead.
No, Jed thought, he could see the slight rising and falling of Red Moon’s chest—he wasn’t dead.
He rushed over to him and grabbed Red Moon’s dark hair and lifted his face up to his. Red Moon looked miserable.
“What happened to Roscoe?” Jed asked in a low voice.
Red Moon just shook his head no.
“You saw something, didn’t you?”
“He walked to the woods. They called him and he went to the woods.”
“What do you mean, they called him?”
“The skinwalkers can call you and you will have no choice but to walk to them.”
Jed had had enough of this skinwalker bullshit. He let Red Moon’s hair go and his head slumped back down to his chest.
He turned and looked at the dark woods.
“Roscoe!”
No answer.
Jed looked back down at Red Moon. “You tell them to bring Roscoe back.”
“I cannot.”
“They’re your people!”
“I told you before, they are not men anymore. They are witches. Monsters.”
Jed paced away a moment, afraid he was going to slam the butt of his rifle down onto Red Moon’s head. He had to control his anger.
“Kill me please,” Red Moon whispered at him while he paced. “I am begging you,” Red Moon continued. “You are taking me to a town where the people are going to hang me. I am going to die anyway. I am not afraid of death, but I am afraid of what is out there in the trees.”
Jed didn’t answer Red Moon—he stared at the woods, watching and waiting as the world lightened around him just a
bit, minute by minute.
“You could say that I tried to run away,” Red Moon continued, becoming more animated, his voice getting louder and louder. “You could shoot me and bring my body back with you. You would still get a five hundred dollar bounty.”
Jed wasn’t sure what to do. If he unchained Red Moon, the man would just run and Jed would be forced to shoot him. If he left him here chained to the tree then he was as good as dead.
“I want Roscoe back,” Jed whispered and he finally looked at Red Moon.
“You do not want him back now. Not after they have had him.”
Jed had made his decision. He hurried over to the packs against the wall of rock and dirt, the packs they had taken off their horses when they’d tied them to the trees last night. Now the packs were useless without the horses. He plucked out the wanted poster of Red Moon, folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. He stuffed a few pieces of dried beef into his other pocket and chewed on one of them as he slung the nearly full canteen of water over his shoulder. He grabbed the rest of his ammo and stuffed the bullets into his shirt pockets. And the last thing he grabbed from the pack was a length of rope.
He brought the rope to Red Moon; he cut the rope to a short length and tied an end to each of his ankles, leaving a foot of rope between his legs so that he could still walk.
Red Moon watched him, but he did not ask what he was doing; he remained silent the whole time.
Jed unlocked the chain around the tree trunk and then wrapped the chain around Red Moon’s waist, securing his shackled wrists to his belly. He checked to make sure Red Moon could barely move his hands.
“Walk,” Jed told him after he was done.
Red Moon refused to move. “Shoot me.”
“I will shoot you,” Jed told him. “I promise I will shoot you if they come and attack. You’ll be the first one I shoot.” Jed rested his right hand lightly on the butt of his Colt Peacemaker. He held the rifle in his left hand. “I swear that to you. But I can’t carry your body or drag it out of these woods to the next town. I need you to walk as far as you can before they come for us.”
Red Moon still didn’t move.
“The longer we wait, the more time those people out there have to regroup and attack. If we’re going to survive this, then we need to walk. It’s either walk or I leave you chained to that tree and come back for you when I find some horses, but I’m not shooting you unless I absolutely have to.”
Red Moon finally nodded and began to walk.
They walked for fifteen minutes through the woods, heading north. They stopped for a moment so Jed could give Red Moon a few sips of water from the canteen. The air was chilly inside these woods, but not too cold.
There were no noises from the woods, not even the normal morning sounds of birds singing or small animals scurrying around in the brush.
They came across a trail of sorts that led north; the grass and brush matted down and twigs and small branches broken by horses’ hooves. If they kept on this trail they should be out of the woods in a few hours if Jed was remembering the map correctly. Once out of the woods, it was maybe two to three day’s walk to Smith Junction—unless he came across some horses.
As they walked, Red Moon chanted quietly to himself.
“Is that magic you’re singing?” Jed asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it strong magic? Will it work to keep them away?”
“I do not know, but I must try. Perhaps you should pray to your god.”
Jed thought of that and he’d attempted some prayers in his mind, but he felt alone here in these woods, like God had turned His back on him. What if Red Moon was telling the truth and those people in the woods really were monsters or witches?
They can get inside of you, Red Moon had said before.
Hours later there had been no attacks. They hadn’t even heard the sound of a wolf’s howl or an owl’s hoot, nor anything crashing through the brush.
They approached a bend in the narrow trail, and here the trees were denser. As they rounded the bend, Jed could already see that something was sitting in the middle of the trail.
Red Moon halted, his body tense.
“Keep walking,” Jed whispered, “Or I swear I won’t waste a bullet on you.”
They rounded the bend and when they saw what waited for them in the middle of the trail with its back to them, they froze.
“Oh … God …” Jed whispered and he could feel his body loosening, like the strength was draining from him and flowing down into the ground. His stomach twisted and he could feel the measly meal of dried beef wanting to come back up.
“Dobbs,” Jed whispered.
Jed pushed Red Moon forward a few steps until both of them were only twenty feet away from Dobb’s skinned body. The red, skinless flesh glistened in the midday sunlight that shined down through the trees. Thick purplish-black veins crisscrossed over the mucus-covered striated muscles. He sat cross-legged, his hands in his lap like he was holding something—but they couldn’t see what he cradled in his lap because his back was to them.
“Jed,” a voice whispered.
But it wasn’t Dobbs’ voice—it was Roscoe’s voice.
“It … can’t be,” Jed whispered.
Red Moon turned and stared at Jed with wide eyes, his mouth drawn down in a frown of terror, dried spittle at the corners of his mouth. He tried to pull his shackled hands up from his waist but he could barely move them.
“Shoot me now!” Red Moon hissed. “You promised.”
Jed ignored Red Moon. He stared at Dobbs. “You can’t be alive still,” he said.
“They won’t let you die,” Roscoe’s voice said from somewhere nearby. “They just keep you alive. It goes on and on and on.”
Before he even realized what he was doing, Jed hurried towards Dobbs and circled around until he was in front of him. He had to see his face; he had to see what he held so delicately in his hands. As Jed circled around, Dobbs made no move to get up or attack; he hadn’t moved at all except for the slow rise and fall of his chest from breathing.
When Jed saw what Dobbs held in his hands on his lap, the last of his strength left him and he felt the rifle slip from his fingers and thud to the ground. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need the weapon anymore; it was useless against these things, he realized that now.
Were the skinwalkers coming now? Were they running through the brush to attack at this very moment?
No, Jed didn’t think so. They didn’t need to run and attack. They could do as much damage from where they hid. They could do anything they wanted to.
“Jed …” The voice came from Roscoe’s head in Dobb’s lap, cradled in his red and slimy hands. Roscoe’s eyes were open wide and his mouth was slack, but his lips moved in a whisper. Underneath his blood-stained beard was a stream of gore and a few knuckles of his spinal column.
“Leave your prisoner here,” Roscoe whispered to Jed.
Red Moon shook his head no in horror, but Jed didn’t see him—Jed’s eyes were focused on Roscoe’s face, a face that should not be able to talk to him.
Jed turned and ran north along the trail. He couldn’t take it anymore. The strength that had drained out of him returned in a sudden rush, like a fireball of panic. He ran and ran, his canteen swinging wildly and flapping against his side, his Colt shifting in his holster, his boot heels stomping on the ground.
He stopped running after ten minutes and leaned against a tree as he struggled to catch his breath. His feet stung and he was sure he was going to get blisters all over his feet from the run. He was at the edge of the woods now. The trees had thinned out and the trail was wider and more established. The sky was bright blue out here with a few wisps of clouds high in the cool air.
Down below in a large valley was a small ranch. There was a farmhouse, a barn, a large stable inside a fenced corral with at least two horses inside, both of them close to the building. A thin stream of smoke rose out of the chimney of the cabin.
A fire. W
armth. Food. Horses. Safety.
Jed looked back at the trail into the dark woods and he expected to see Dobbs’ skinned body stumbling out of the gloom with Roscoe’s head gripped in one hand.
But there was no one there—no one following him. And he heard no animal sounds: no wolf’s howl, no owl’s hoot, no crashing through the brush.
Maybe the skinwalkers weren’t coming after him. Maybe Red Moon had been who they had wanted all along. Maybe now it was over.
Jed had lost everything in those woods—he had lost his friends, his horses, his bounty, part of his sanity, but at least he still had his life. But what life would he have? Where could he go and feel safe again? Could he ever go back into the woods again? Could he ever sleep peacefully again?
He glanced down at the pearl handle of his Colt sticking up out of his holster. The gun had lost its power for him now. The only thing it would ever be useful for now was saving the last bullet for his own brain if the time came. He needed to save a bullet for himself; he always needed to remember that.
A gunshot sounded from the woods and Jed jumped. It had been from a rifle—his rifle. Had Red Moon gotten to the rifle? Had he somehow managed to pick it up and twist it around in his hands so that the barrel pointed up to his chin? Had he missed and only blown the side of his face off?
Jed squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about leaving Red Moon behind. He hoped that Red Moon had been able to kill himself. But if he had been successful, would that have cheated the skinwalkers? Would they be coming after fresh meat if Red Moon was dead?
That got him moving out of the woods and down into the valley.
He was down to the ranch in less than twenty minutes even though his feet screamed in pain from the blisters.
He noticed right away how quiet the ranch was. There should be people out here working in the barn or the stables, maybe some kids running around. But he hadn’t seen a single person yet, or heard a sound. He felt his stomach clench in fear. How much fear could a man take before he gave up and let his heart stop?
Jed rested his hand on the butt of his pistol, ready to draw if he needed to. Maybe the ranchers were at their windows right now with rifles and shotguns pointed at him. Maybe they had watched him the whole way down into the valley from the woods.
