The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  No, don’t close your eyes! I don’t want to …

  When Fido woke up, the sun was in a different position and I hadn’t known what to expect. Time had definitely passed. It was a dreamless sleep. I thought maybe I’d be awake the whole time, but it was like a switch had been flipped off and then back on. My computer comparison came back and I guess I just exited hibernation mode. The frustration came in waves - small wonder De Soto made that comment about sanity.

  Fido trotted over to the food bowl giving the sleeping lab a wide berth. If it was any consolation, I’d have a shiny coat after all this. Food, water, and play - those were the only things that got my dog host’s attention. It didn’t understand commands or emotions. I wondered what it could understand.

  Thinking about that chew toy, I tried to make a three dimensional image of it in whatever part of this was “my mind.” When I finished, I attempted to push it into the rest of the mind with no luck. Then I imagined it over on the carpet just by the couch.

  Fido stood up and started walking toward in that direction. Hope surged inside of me, but I didn’t want to get carried away. I moved the image of the chew toy to over by the wall and the dog stopped and looked around. His anticipation and curiosity surrounded me and he turned and moved over toward the wall.

  Success! Or at least it was a start. I had the beginnings of what I wanted to call DOS or the Dog Operating System. Yeah, that was a programming joke. In reality, it was more like a Windows interface. The chew toy image became like a mouse pointer to tell Fido, “Go here.” Using it gave me some measure of mobility. Now, I needed to figure out other images to produce different results. At a mirror attached to a closet, I got my first good look at my host body. Fido was white with brown markings, maybe a year old and far cuter than dangerous looking.

  In the back of my mind, I recalled De Soto mocking us and saying how it would take a long time and thought, “Well, up yours, buddy! Maybe you thugs with your black powder rifles looting the New World just weren’t all that swift. In less than a day, I’ve got my dog out and about, because that’s how I roll!”

  Moving toward something was good, so I decided to try making Fido move away. I put the image of Blackie with the chew toy at the wall. Fido stopped, but didn’t back away. It needed something more. After another twenty minutes, I fooled the dog into thinking the image growled. Adding an audio component did the trick. I could now make my dog back away from something.

  Images and sounds worked. Smells and taste could as well, but I wasn’t sure how I could emulate that at the moment. Like learning how to walk, I was going to need lots of practice. It reminded me of trying to play a computer game using just the keyboard and no joystick. Still, I didn’t have anything to do at the time, so got to work, even though I wasn’t certain what I could do with it. Did I really want to bite my own body?

  Deciding to see if I was limited to things Fido had actually experienced, I started making up stuff. A fake “belly rub” could make the tail wag. I wasn’t sure what that would do for me other than answer the question about whether or not the tail wagged the dog. The baying and barking from when I first awakened in Fido were recycled and I got the impression that he thought he was joining in with another dog.

  The person who let us outside wasn’t Dad or the earlier bodyguard. De Soto must have them working in shifts. Circling the yard, I noticed a bird perched on the high privacy fence, watching us. Hernando might be enjoying my new body, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down, so I’d have to be careful about how much I influenced Fido. Would the piece of De Soto still in it “die” if Fido did his best impression of a bird dog? Of course, it made me wonder what happened if my dog dies while I’m in it. De Soto said that a ghost would feel the pain of death, but it was established that I’m not a ghost.

  For the moment, the point was moot. I had no way of making my canine host attack something and taking a runner out of the second floor window might not kill the dog even if I wanted to give it a try. If I was desperate enough, I could always find the nearest power cord, once I figured out how to make Fido bite, and make like the cat in that Christmas Vacation movie. I’d keep that for a last chance gamble and I wasn’t quite there yet.

  Blackie left me alone, but obviously wanted to be the dominant male. The poodle was skittish and I watched it for a short time looking, to see if Cassandra had been able to figure out how to control her animal, but couldn’t discern anything from her movements.

  De Soto kept us in the kitchen that night with a couple of dog gates preventing us from getting anywhere. Fido was enjoying a hearty dinner of what was left after Blackie ate. Cassandra’s poodle was already resting on the newspaper and staring at the light in the living room.

  As my host finished up, I projected the chew toy around the room, so I could make sure there were no cameras in the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be any, but I couldn’t be sure. No birds were currently on the sill or the back porch.

  I had a window of opportunity to let Cassandra know I was learning something, but did I want to do it? She’s a self-serving bitch if ever there was one. To borrow a dog term, would she roll over on me the first chance she got?

  Blackie wouldn’t let me get close to him, so I had to gamble on Von Eckels. I put the image of the chew toy right in front of her had Fido walk in front of her and turn to face her.

  Fifi moved out of my way, probably uncertain of what my dog was doing, but I didn’t care about her. I was trying to let her passenger in on my secret.

  Under my direction Fido moved in front of her again. I made him wag his tail for good measure and bumped into her like I wanted to play. I did it three more times to make certain she got the message and then went back to lie on the floor away from the newspaper and behind the large kitchen island which would block any view from the windows. At least if Fido went, someone would have to clean up the mess. Yeah I was being petty, but they stuck me inside a damn dog!

  Thinking of the usual canine tricks, I worked on the shake hands thing for at least a full hour before I could get Fido sitting on his haunches with a raised paw.

  That was about as far as I could get before my host decided it was time for some rest and I blacked out with him.

  In the morning, I ate and listened to the housekeeper bitch about Fido pissing on the floor. I got my nose rubbed in it which was pretty bad, but didn’t approach stuff we did to each other for fun back in the Army. At least Fido didn’t crap!

  After my disciplining, I hid in the corner behind where Fifi was sleeping. Since I was there, I wanted to try out the whole paw thing I’d been working on last night. Putting the image out of a paw on Fifi’s side, I had Fido reach out and touch her with the left paw. That’s when things got interesting.

  I felt Fifi wake up and Cassandra as well.

  Her thoughts came through, “… another miserable day. I don’t think I can take much more of this!”

  “Cassandra!”

  “Ross? Mike?”

  I lost my focus and Fido pulled his paw back. Forcing him to do it again I reconnected.

  “Sorry, I’m not very good at this,” I said keeping the image of Fido’s paw on her side.

  “How are you doing it? Can you get us out of here?”

  “Not yet. As for how, use images and sounds. This dog likes that damn plastic bone. I imagine it in his vision and he goes in that direction.”

  She responded, “Okay, I can do that, but how does that help us?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s a start.”

  “What else can you … shit!” Cassandra exclaimed as Fifi stood up and walked away, not enjoying my dog pawing her.

  The strange thing I noted was a few minutes later when I came up on her side, I tried it with the right front paw and noting happened. Quickly, I shifted to my left and I could speak to her again. At first, I thought it might be a left brain and right brain thing, but then I remembered Tabitha and my “psychic tweezers.”

  After a close examination of the le
ft paw, I wanted to laugh. Damn if there wasn’t just the slightest tinge of whiteness where the tips of the nails were! Now I was getting somewhere. Of course, lacking an opposable thumb, I couldn’t pull a phantom image or in this case a ghost from inside an object, but that was just a minor setback. I’d figure out how to work this to my advantage.

  Naturally, this led me to wonder about the increasingly sinister role of my not-so-innocent benefactor, Virginia Poe. Did she know this was coming? Was this situation behind her manipulation of Tabitha Lawrence? If I - correction - when I got out of this, I planned to ask Edgar’s wife.

  During our morning session out in the yard, I kept an eye on the poodle to see if my advice had helped the Skinwalker in directing the animal she was inside. When she started trotting alongside of me for a minute, I was fairly certain she had at least gotten the basics of the technique down. The presence of the watching crow prevented me from trying to communicate with her again until we went back inside.

  Once we were in the kitchen, I tried to “get in touch” with Oswald. Despite Fido’s and, quite honestly, my own misgivings, I made the dog try and put the left paw on the larger black Labrador retriever. It turned and snapped at me right as I tried to yell for Oswald.

  Fido yelped and my primitive control interface crashed against the animal’s self-preservation instinct. There was a decent amount of pain as the beagle scurried to the other end of the kitchen. The dog shivered in the corner for a minute and then determined that the other dog wasn’t going to pursue the matter, so Fido went prone and licked the where we’d been nipped.

  I could feel, if that’s the best word for it, the tongue on my tweezer ends. There was a sensation there and an idea was born. Could I use Fido to pull me out? I’d have to figure out a way for him to bite his own paw, but if I could get a hand out, then I could grab onto something like a chair leg and make the beagle back off to get more of me out.

  This idea sounded painful, but it seemed to fall into line with all my other stupid plans.

  Episode 26: The Dogs of War

  Learning to read Fido’s signals was an interesting exercise to say the least. Other than fear, his main concerns involved eating, drinking, and where to go to the bathroom. He could’ve easily been a college freshman. Since I nothing else to do, I paid attention and became a student of all things beagle. The most astounding discovery that came out of it was the little guy had a very touchy digestive tract and it showed … all over the place.

  Both Fido and I jumped, startled by the sound of a vacuum cleaner. I put the chew toy image up at the gate from the kitchen to the living room and Fido reluctantly shuffled over there. My real body was nowhere in sight, but my father sat on the couch leering at the maid’s ass as she went about her business.

  Who’s the real dog here, anyway?

  Figuratively letting go of Fido, the canine wandered away while I got pissed off about my situation. This whole trip had been to free this loser from the life he was living. It turned out that he doesn’t mind being a slave so much. Yet another instance where I should’ve listened to Mom. Now, I was the one that needed rescuing and there weren’t many people, living or dead, that would be able to do it.

  Silas? It didn’t seem very likely and there wasn’t much he could do. Strong Vincent? No, I was too far away and even if he brought every ghost in his little kingdom, he wouldn’t stand a chance. To be honest, the only ghost I knew with the necessary kind of pull was Virginia Poe. Her agenda remained a mystery. She told me that this was the path I was supposed to be on! Hah! For all I knew, this could’ve been her plan all along and she might be out cutting a deal with De Soto while I am literally chasing my tail.

  Needless to say, spending a couple of lonely days in a dog’s body can lead to bouts of paranoia. It probably wasn’t a picnic for the dog either as all my disjointed mental ramblings were causing the mutt to have a canine meltdown.

  Back when the lecherous couch potato and Mom were still together, they’d drop me off at Grandpa Warren’s house one weekend out of the month and I’d hang out with him. He’d play his harmonica and let me jump around like the energetic little eight-year-old I was until I was tired. Afterwards, he’d say, “A body’s only got so much room for crazy in it, boy. Sometimes you just got to get some of it out of your system.”

  I used to think he did it to wear me out so we both could take a nap, but now I was beginning to believe Grandpa W. was a man ahead of his time.

  A few minutes later, Fido continued working off the nervous energy I’d been feeding him. He was calm enough that I could take control and go bumping into Cassandra’s poodle. Oswald’s dog still didn’t like my beagle and I’d only been able to exchange a couple of words before Fido’s flight or fight instincts got the better of the body and I’d scamper off.

  Cassandra wasn’t the best conversationalist. She wasn’t doing so well as a prisoner either, but she was the only one I could talk to without getting bit.

  “You making any progress?” I asked.

  “Some,” came her faint answer. She “sounded” tired, if that was possible. “I can move the dog, but only toward a general area, and I’ve figured out how to make her pant.”

  I watched as she demonstrated. If I ever made it to the late night talk show circuit, I suppose I could show the one guy a really stupid pet trick or something. Still, any measure of control we achieved was a step in the right direction.

  “See if you can figure out a way to make her bite,” I said. “Try images of food or aggression. Maybe try to put your dog into Blackie’s personal space or whatever.”

  “Have you been able to speak to Oswald?”

  “Only a couple of times,” I answered. “His dog and mine don’t get along.”

  “A poodle bite isn’t going to count for much,” she replied.

  “Just do it. I’m working on a plan and learning how to bite is part of it.”

  “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

  “When I’ve got something beyond biting, I’ll let you know.” I broke the connection. I lied to her, but she has a long history of selling people out. The possibility existed that she was already working for De Soto. I wouldn’t put anything past her and wasn’t going to give her any more info than necessary. In truth, I didn’t know if I could get Fido to bite his own paw and would rather have a poodle biting me over the other choice. Yeah, I’m stupid - just not that stupid.

  Moving away from the poodle, I watched the irate housekeeper open the gate and enter the kitchen muttering something in Spanish. I took careful note of the still open gate and figured she wouldn’t get in that much trouble. Sneaking out of it, I didn’t see my good-for-nothing father. His laptop was open and the webpage being displayed was a gambling site. If I better control over this little guy, I’d have started placing all kinds of longshot bets.

  Instead of being petty, I decided to explore. In the hallway near the entrance, was a massive staircase. If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably that Italian marble stuff people always rave about, but what the hell did I know about interior decorating. When I was growing up, Mom and I were lucky if the pieces of furniture in the living room were the same color.

  Making him climb up the steps was a bit more difficult. I think that, on some level, Fido knew I was getting him into trouble. He reluctantly climbed the stairs. At the top, we turned down the hallway as I looked for open doors.

  It goes without saying that a dog’s sense of smell is considerably better than a human’s. Based on the scents, I guessed which rooms were bedrooms and which were bathrooms as I travelled the right side of the hallway toward a set of double doors that were cracked just slightly. It was definitely the master bedroom suite and I was interested to see what curios and trophies a ghost like Hernando De Soto kept around him in the hopes that I might find something useful.

  With Fido’s snout as a prod, I opened the door and caught a whiff of a foreign odor. My doggie host didn’t like it one bit, but I nudged him into the r
oom. He scanned the area and immediately locked onto the source of the smell. It was one of those big tropical birds, not a parrot, but a macaw I think, but I know less about exotic birds than I do decorating. There was no leash or rope tethering it to the stand and I thought back to Cassandra saying that De Soto can put pieces of himself in animals as a way of storing extra power. Wings flared and it made a sound to try and frighten me. That beak looked mighty sharp and those claws weren’t exactly trimmed. I half expected Fido to bolt with his tail between his legs, but I felt his instincts kicking in and he growled. He was a bird dog! It was in his blood.

  This might be the image I can use to make him bite.

  The bird flared its wings as a warning and let out a loud screech that would likely get someone’s attention soon, but the beagle wasn’t about to give up so quickly. He charged and leapt up at the bird on the stand, jowls snapping and yipping like a deranged mutt. The bird bolted from the perch and flew over to the canopy of the bed. Fido jumped onto the bed and barked at it.