The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

  “As a boy, my grandfather had lived on a reservation in a place called Sun Rise, Arizona. At an early age, he’d witnessed the slaughter of the animals on the reservation by what was believed to be a wild coyote. Strange sounds had been heard one night, and at first, many assumed them to be anything: the frequent sounds that came from the desert, or even a ghost-wind, which was believed in at the time. But in the morning light, there had been uproar.

  “His father; my great-grandfather, and the others who lived on the reservation had awakened to the sight of slaughtered chickens, a few of their pet dogs, and even one of the horses had been horribly mutilated. Blood had soaked the reservation, and an outraged plight for justice followed in the light of day. They’d set out to destroy the beast; it had slain their animals. And with rifles aiming and spears wielding, they’d been silently ready the next nightfall. Out of that nightfall stalked an unusually large coyote, and the strange sound commenced again; the beast had returned.

  “It was my great-grandfather’s bullet that had killed the coyote. He watched as the four-legged animal dropped from the gunfire. Then, he became caught up in the impending distraction as the many settlers rampaged out onto the land, ready for action. He motioned to the area where he’d shot the animal, and he and the settlers ran off in that direction. But when they arrived at the spot in question, they discovered something startlingly different than what they’d expected to find.

  “What they discovered was the body of an old man, a man who’d been known at that time as a wanderer, a hopeless transient. The man was dead, struck down by the bullet from my great-grandfather’s rifle. My great-grandfather swore to the day he died that it had been a coyote, and a large one. There were those on the reservation that believed him; they’d seen it also with their peeping eyes.

  “My grandfather later recalled them all standing around the body, while his mother held him back. They were shouting out in the night...

  “Skinwalker! Skinwalker! Skinwalker!”

  Tahoe paused before continuing.

  “It was the one story in which my grandfather was actually a witness. I think he’d waited until I was older to tell it, so as not to scare me as a child. But my grandfather was not prone to telling tall tales; he was a truth-speaker. He’d meant to debunk any doubt I posed as to whether the stories were true. Still, throughout my life I’d often wondered, until I witnessed the hawk that landed on my back patio.”

  He looked at Brett.

  “I’m afraid that something similar to what happened to the old wanderer almost happened to you tonight, my friend,” he said. “That is what we’re trying to prevent. It looks like you revealed your secret to your friends just in time.”

  The silence of exhaustion passed between them.

  “Uncle Jack told me not listen to the old legends,” Brett said.

  “And he may have been right, my friend,” Tahoe said. He surprised them all into turning their eyes back to him, silently pressing for more. “The old skinwalker legends maintain that the skinwalker is an evil being, a witch who can alter his or her physical presence to achieve their wicked goals. Others believe the skinwalker to be possessed or bewitched by someone into doing an evil bidding. Neither of those describes you, my friend; you are not evil. I’m sure that your friends can attest to that; can they not?”

  “But what about what I did tonight?” Brett’s voice was manic, troubled.

  “What’s done is done, my friend,” he said. “It cannot be undone. You reacted with a defensive reaction as a wolf would have done. Ultimately, it was not you that attacked the man.”

  “But I know, and we all know that it was me.” Brett’s stance had turned adamant, a guilty, yet selfless reprimand that sought to atone.

  “And what would happen if you were to confess to such a thing?” Tahoe asked. “Do you think anyone would believe you?”

  “Once I showed them, they would,” he said.

  Susan’s stringent interruption was fast, hard, and unexpected.

  “And do want the entire world, literally, focused on you? That is not an option now, not after what Dylan and Leah have done to cover your tracks. We are all affected by this now. None of our lives will ever be the same if the entire world discovers a shape-shifter in a small town in Pennsylvania! You, and the rest of us, would never live a moment of peace ever again!”

  “Susan, this isn’t the same thing as covering up the strange cause of a fire in a haunted house that no one lived in. I may have killed someone tonight!”

  “Wait a minute,” Dylan said. “We don’t know that yet. I told you that the man was alive when we left him.”

  “Your friends are right,” Tahoe said. “You must take this slowly. You are not completely responsible for what has happened. It’s your guilty conscious that’s at work right now.”

  “So tell me,” Brett said. “How did I become this thing, this atrocity that I am? What caused this?!”

  “The answer to that I do not know,” Tahoe said. “The legends speak of it as a curse, a spell cast upon the person who then bears the blight of the skinwalker. However, I’m not so sure I believe that. It was also thought to have descended through familial generations, or by what we now call heredity. In that specific event, the legend holds that there is one way that the curse could be undone. That is, if it’s even true.”

  Tahoe’s voice had dropped to a tone of grave seriousness. He didn’t even want to mention what he was about to reveal, but the young man had a right to know. Their expectant faces anxiously waited for him to continue.

  “My grandfather once told me that if a skinwalker has inherited the trait from another, then a way does exist in which the blight could be lifted or even lessened to a degree.”

  Tahoe looked gravely into Brett’s eyes.

  “What is it?” Brett said, stirring. “Tell me!”

  “It is said that the descendent skinwalker, which would be you, must take the life of the original skinwalker. And by drinking his or her blood, the descendent skinwalker would either experience a lesser extent of the ability, or even be cured of it.”

  Stunned silence accompanied wide eyes around the table.

  “Then if it’s true, it has to be undone,” Brett said, lowering his head and closing his eyes. “I’m going to start searching in Appleton. I have to try to find Antonio, or even Claudia, if at all possible. We have to find out more. I have to learn why Antonio left so abruptly. This is my life, and throughout it I’ve known very little about myself. It’s time for that to end.”

  “It would mean ending the life of another, my friend.” Tahoe’s words elicited a long, lingering pause. Brett lifted his head from the lowered position and looked him straight in the eyes. His answer rendered the silence even greater.

  “Then so be it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The morning light was a sobering one, cutting through the curtains of his bedroom window and casting an unwelcome glint in his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to see the inevitable light of this day. Yesterday, Uncle Jack had died, and last night he may’ve killed a man; he still wasn’t sure. Tahoe had spent the night in the guest room, keeping watch over him in the night hours. Susan and the rest of the team had left late last night after a long, exhausting day.

  Now, he lingered in bed, not wanting to rise. Today, he would meet the funeral director to discuss the details that Uncle Jack had arranged long in advance. Uncle Jack had foreseen this, and that was a blessing in disguise. How would he have ever attended to the details on his own? Tahoe, Susan, and the team had agreed to go with him for moral support. He opened his eyes and looked at the blue digits of his clock radio—8:30.

  As much as he would’ve loved to remain beneath the covers and hide from the world on the worst day of his life, he had company. And as the host, he had to show some hospitality to the man who traveled across the country at a moment’s notice to help him. The door of the guest room was still closed as he got up and went downstairs, but soon, Tahoe joined him in the kitch
en.

  “I see you’ve decided to face the day, my friend,” he said, as Brett began making coffee.

  “I’m afraid I’m not much of a host right now,” Brett said, looking back at him as the old man stood in the arched entranceway.

  “No need, Brett,” he said, his laughter attempting to lighten the mood. “I’m not particular except that I like mine black with sugar, and lots of it.”

  As the coffee brewed, Brett strode toward the front door, opening it as he did every day to retrieve the morning’s newspaper. He brought it inside, laying it face-up on the table, yet knowing that today was too early for anything about last night to appear in the headlines. He tore through it until he found the local section—nothing. He didn’t think there would be, and now the feeling of not knowing took him back to its beginning phase.

  “This is frustrating,” he said, throwing the paper back down on the table.

  “We may find some answers from the television news,” Tahoe said, throwing a hint.

  Uncle Jack never removed Aunt Vivian’s small television set she’d kept in the kitchen. They’d watched it faithfully every morning while eating breakfast. It sat on a countertop, and that’s where it remained, untouched, even after her untimely death. Brett took the remote from the top of the set and turned it on. He sat down at the table, motionless, thoughtless as a local morning show bantered on about something that hadn’t registered to either of them.

  “You must eat if you’re going to face this day, my friend,” Tahoe said, rising from his chair. “Allow me.”

  Brett watched as Tahoe fumbled with the frying pans and began making his specialty—Mexican omelets. Brett watched as the old man instinctively discovered everything that he needed, and soon the house reeked of the tangy blend of fried eggs, peppers, onions, cheese and what Brett thought was hot-sauce. They began eating, and at nine-o’clock, another version of the local morning news blared its musical opening from the small set. His attention to the plate in front of him stopped as he stared at the set, somehow knowing what the male anchor was about to report.

  Today, the facial expressions on both the male and female anchors were serious, not lighthearted and playful as they often were when no news or good news abounded. A serious local story was about to be broken, and he knew by an inner instinct exactly what it was. The male anchor’s eyes looked gravely into the camera as he spoke.

  “A strange and nearly tragic story comes to us from the rural section of Green Valley.”

  His heart almost burst at hearing the words “nearly tragic.” The anchor continued.

  “A local man was attacked on his property last night by what he claims was a large wolf. Herb Haller, a sixty-five-year-old poultry farmer from Green Valley, was found bleeding and unconscious on his property at around nine-thirty last evening. Police discovered the man in a pool of blood following an anonymous phone call regarding his whereabouts. The man was immediately transported via medevac to University Hospital, where he is said to remain in serious but stable condition.

  “Haller, who lives not far from Larson’s Farm, had attended the Fourth of July festivities there on the prior evening; he was one of the many witnesses who had reported hearing a wolf howling shortly after the fireworks. Authorities have concluded that a large canine attacked Haller last night in his yard after he’d sought out his shotgun. Haller recently told a neighbor that he’d suspected the wolf of stalking his livestock. Authorities suspect that Haller ran outside to confront it after hearing the wolf baying somewhere on his property. He sustained multiple facial injuries in the attack, many of which will require extensive reconstructive surgery.”

  Brett and Tahoe listened intently as the anchor went on to describe the mysterious and anonymous phone call that had been placed from Haller’s home. He detailed how the paramedics and the police had found Haller’s home empty, except for his dog, and its bleeding, unconscious owner.

  “Police are hoping to learn the identity of the mysterious caller in efforts to gather more information. More details on this story will follow when, and if, they surface,” the anchor reported.

  “A frighteningly strange story,” the female anchor said, as her colleague turned to her.

  “A very strange story, indeed,” he said, and then added. “Local Police are requesting that anyone with any information to contact them immediately.”A number flashed on the screen.

  Brett turned off the set with the remote. A cold sweat of relief washed over his face.

  “He’s alive,” he said to Tahoe. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “No, my friend, you didn’t,” Tahoe said. “But unfortunately, if you choose to discover whether the legend is real, you will face that dilemma once again in the near future.

  * * * *

  Early that same morning, Susan called the meeting in room 208 into order. She sat at the long conference table with the three remaining investigators, pondering last night’s events over again in her mind. She recalled watching as Tahoe had stood and reached out with closed, yet searching eyes, calling out to a skinwalker she knew well. She remembered seeing Brett streaking through the yard, blood soaking the right side of his naked body. Last night’s images were reminding her of just how magnanimous the current situation really was. The shock of it had been enough for her to call into question everything she’d ever known, everything she’d ever learned.

  Upon her instruction, Dylan booted up the giant, flatscreen television they watched often in room 208. He tuned in to the local morning news; the opening broadcast left them stunned and speechless. Their current predicament had now exploded into the public eye, making headlines that were, this time, out of their control. At least to a certain extent, Susan thought. They watched the entire broadcast in silence, and now Susan shook her head at the final words that were airing.

  “Police are hoping to learn the identity of the mysterious caller in efforts to gather more information. More details on this story will follow when, and if, they surface.”

  “Turn it off, or mute it. Do something!” she said. She sounded despondent, and then she sighed. “If they surface—let’s hope that’s a big if. I still can’t say that I’m wild about the way you handled things, Dylan. What if they release the recording of that 911 call? If anyone ever connects you to that house, you’re going to look like a criminal. This would not only make local headlines, but national ones.”

  Dylan had been pacing back and forth. He turned to her.

  “I don’t see what else we could’ve done, Susan,” he said. “I wasn’t thrilled about having to leave him there, but what else could we do? I did call for help, and as I told you, I touched nothing. We had to secure Brett after what happened, and if two people from this team were present at the scene, it would’ve been only a matter of time before a connection to Brett would have been made. What a coincidence it would’ve been that our fellow investigator lives within a short walking distance of the scene.”

  Susan silently knew that he was right, yet she couldn’t get past the thought of leaving a bleeding man. But she also knew that she was a doctor, Dylan was not.

  Dylan reiterated how he’d flipped the screen door open with his foot before entering and even used a dish towel to handle the phone and disguise his voice.

  “Did you ever think of footprints, Dylan?” she said. “You’d been walking through the woods.”

  “I didn’t leave any in the house,” he said. “Besides, unless someone saw us, no one will trace anything back to me.”

  “And no one saw us,” Leah said, once more. “I’m sure of it.” She went on, her voice in awe at the memory she retold. “I’ll never forget the sight of that wolf, its eyes as it brushed past me and almost knocked me down. They were Brett’s eyes, only they were large and yellow.”

  Susan sighed once again, turning another thought over in her head of the night before. It was something she’d noticed only moments before Brett, Dylan, and Leah had returned. It was Sidney’s quick call to action, running upstairs
before she realized he’d gone anywhere, and then returning with Brett’s bathrobe and a pair of jeans. Her intention to ask about his mysteriousness had been interrupted by the sight of Brett fleeing into the yard.

  The image of blood still loomed large in her memory.

  “There’s something else I forgot to ask about, Sidney,” she said, turning to him. “I noticed how quickly you ran upstairs and returned with Brett’s bathrobe and a wet towel, as though you knew. What gives? What did you hear?”

  He looked at her after a brief, silent pause.

  “I’d heard Vivian again,” he said. “As you and Tahoe were talking, Vivian spoke in my ear. She told me about the blood, to be ready to wipe it from him.”

  “I don’t like this,” she said. “The warnings are getting worse by the minute. And I’m not so sure I like the next phase of this investigation, though it’s Brett’s call. He could handle this with or without us, and we can’t allow him to entertain the latter.”

  “Agreed,” Dylan said. “And we may not even find anything in Appleton. Antonio was originally from Appleton, but the family fled from there in 1987. Brett wants to discover where they may’ve gone. It may be a worthless trip. We may end up back at square one.”

  “I’m not sure which prospect is worse,” Susan said, “that, or turning blind eyes while he kills a human being. He’s adamant to discover if what the old legend holds is true. After last night, there’s no doubt that Brett wants to reverse this ability.”

  “And you took an oath to save lives, not take them.” Sidney finished the thought for her.

  “But after last night,” she said, “I have to ask myself—how many lives will be taken if we don’t allow this? What about Brett’s next victim? This one survived, the next one may not. And then what, will it go on and on? More ensuing tragedy when we could’ve looked the other way, sacrificed one person to save many.”