by Ike Hamill
“And do you think it’s time to see if you can get back with the temp agency?”
“It’s been two weeks, Dad. I don’t think they’ll want to hear from me now.”
“You know, after two weeks you should really be thinking about getting back out there.”
Don turned his attention back to the tablet.
“Chelsea,” Wes yelled. “Let’s go.” He lowered his voice and looked back to his son. “Can you at least promise me you’ll look for something today?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Don said.
“Not whatever. I need a promise.”
“I promise,” Don said.
“Can you say it like you mean it?”
“Probably not,” Don muttered.
“Chelse!” Wes yelled. The pounding on the stairs was unmistakable. Chelsea appeared in the doorway.
“What?” Chelsea asked.
“It’s time to go,” Wes said, tapping his watch.
“I have like two minutes,” Chelsea said.
“Yeah, and you don’t even have your shoes on yet.”
Chelsea went to the cabinet and got a mug. “Dad, you finished all the coffee. Oh, gross.” She bent and picked a piece of dog food from the bottom of her foot. “Do you have to get dog food everywhere in here? This is supposed to be hygienic or whatever.”
“First, you’re too young for coffee,” Wes started. Chelsea laughed at this and even Don smiled. “Second, I’ve talked to your brother already about the dog food situation.”
“It’s a situation now?” Don asked.
Wes talked over him. “Third, if you’re not in the car in ninety seconds, I’m leaving without you. Then you can explain to your boss why you’re late.”
“Whatever,” Chelsea said. She bounced out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Barney lifted his head to watch her go and Don tried to stick another piece of kibble in his mouth.
“Remember—you promised,” Wes said to his son before he left the kitchen.
# # # #
Don hadn’t been working in the two weeks since his friend’s death, but he kept busy. After feeding Barney, Don left the dog to rest in the cool basement while he took to the woods. He wore a pack with his supplies and he carried his tablet and a can of brown spray paint.
He spent the first day surveying. Using the GPS and map on his tablet, he walked the extent of the woods behind his back yard and recorded all the landmarks he knew. Kyle’s house marked the western boundary of his search and he went as far as the Jacoby place to the east. On the north edge of his search, Don crept as close as he dared to the round clearing that surrounded old Gus’s trailer. Gus had died years ago, and his nephews now lived in the trailer, but everyone still called it Gus’s trailer. As far as Don knew, neither Gus nor his nephews had last names. With the boundaries of his grid described, Don divided up the area and set himself to his search.
He didn’t know how to track an animal in the woods, so he searched exhaustively. Each day he picked a set of squares on his map and he walked back and forth, combing every inch before he moved on to the next area. At first his pace would be fast and his head moved rapidly, looking almost frantically for clues. By the end of a square, he marched methodically and had to force himself to pay attention.
In part, that’s what the paint was for. Whenever Don reversed direction at the end of a square, he marked the trunk of a tree with his brown paint. These weren’t his woods, so he didn’t want to use a obvious color, and the brown was the closest thing in his father’s paint stash to the color of bark.
Today, Don found it hard to focus. He kept thinking about his father’s order to get back to work. Don wondered if his mom had coaxed his dad into the confrontation. All these thoughts sapped Don’s concentration and he tried to shake them out of his head.
He ducked under a tree branch and stepped over a rock. The first few days of searching had been hell on his legs. Don didn’t do much hiking anymore and walking through the woods for eight or nine hours was taxing even for a twenty-two year old. Now that he’d broken in his legs, his arms were feeling sore. Just pushing aside a branch felt like a chore.
Don hated the unexpected thoughts of Kyle that cropped up. Don was fine for a second and then he’d think of yet another thing that Kyle would never have a chance to do. Kyle had always wanted to rent a car and drive across country. He always said that when he turned twenty-five, he wanted to rent a car and drive from Maine to San Diego. He always tried to get Don to pinky swear that he would go too. Don never pinky swore.
Don shook this memory from his head and looked at his map. He was already a dozen paces past the end of his grid square. He backed up until he found the tree with the brown paint on the base. At this rate, he wouldn’t find anything unless it jumped out and bit him, he thought.
And exactly what was he looking for? Something with spindly, translucent arms? Something that drank your blood until you collapsed from anemia? Something that sang and entranced people as it walked in the woods? Don wasn’t even sure his search radius was large enough. If Barney was a little younger he would be great at this job, but Don knew that Barney could barely manage the walk between Kyle’s house and his.
Don spotted something dangling from a tree through the woods and off to his left. Based on his current position, he would reach the fluttering white thing in another five or six passes, which could be about an hour. It might just be a plastic bag, but Don didn’t want to give it the chance to blow away before he got there. He marked his position on his map and set off towards the fluttering object.
It wasn’t a plastic bag. It was too big for that. Don broke into a jog.
When he reached the tree, he was no more enlightened.
It looked to be four or five feet long, and it was as white as a sheet, but more sheer. Through the branches of the maple tree, the sun shone right through the thing. Don set down his supplies and jumped for the lowest branch. The white thing was at least fifteen feet up. He pulled himself up with his tired arms and managed to loop his leg over the branch. In a few seconds, he was climbing the rough bark up to the thing snagged in the tree.
A breeze came up and the thing looked like it would blow away.
Don had already scraped his arm climbing this tree and he didn’t want to have to repeat the process so he climbed faster. He caught the end of the thing as it pulled free from its snag.
It was so dry and powdery that it felt slippery, like talcum powder. Don didn’t want to touch it. He wrapped the end around a branch. The residue left his fingers feeling unnaturally smooth. It reminded him of touching a moth’s wings. Don wiped his fingers on his shirt as he leaned forward to look at the white thing.
It billowed towards him and he backed away, trying to stay in the tree as he did.
The wind inflated the thing and Don saw it with fresh eyes. It was like a snakeskin for a very small person. The head of the skin was burst open and the arms were tangled. Don imagined that if you held a person by the hair and dipped them in rubber, this is what you would peel off of them.
He snapped off a stick and wound the skin up without touching it with his fingers. He held it away from his body as he climbed down from the tree.
On the ground, in the bed of leaves below the maple, Don unwound and then spread out the skin. The ends of the fingers and toes were rolled in. He guessed that the entire thing was inside out. Saggy flaps on the chest suggested old, empty breasts. Down near the pelvis, Don found no holes. Aside from a tear in the shoulder and the burst head, the skin was in great shape. Don and Kyle had found a near-perfect snakeskin one time that was terrifying in its length. This skin was a million times more disturbing.
Don grabbed two sticks, even longer this time, and gently folded up his find. He decided he was done for the day. He marked his location on the map and set off through the woods towards his house. It was slow going, holding the skin at arm’s length, but Don didn’t want to be any closer to it than he had to be. In fact, he couldn
’t wait to get home so he could wash his hands.
At home, he dragged the picnic table over into the shade and set the skin down. He unrolled it again and weighed down the edges with a few rocks so it wouldn’t blow away. It was light and translucent, but remarkably tough. Despite being rolled up and carried through the woods, it only had a couple new holes. Don used a pencil from his pack to manipulate the head. He pushed the skin around, trying to reproduce the shape that used to fill it out. It was impossible because of the rips, and because the skin was inside out.
Don examined the fingers.
He’d thought the only holes were at the head—he was wrong. Inside the rolled-in fingers, he saw a hole at the end of each digit, perhaps where nails had pulled through the skin. With careful inspection, he found the same holes at the toes. Don shuddered as he pictured this spindly thing with long fingernails and toenails, creeping through the forest at night.
Don took a couple of pictures with his phone and then remembered the good camera in his room. He practically ran back to the house to get it. Barney was asleep in his bedroom.
“Hey, Barney, I found something,” Don said. The dog woke and looked at him with his head resting on his paws.
“Come on outside. You can see it.”
Barney rose slowly as Don found his good camera. Don was still manipulating the camera—clearing off old junk images and getting it ready to take photos outside in the daylight—as he let the dog outside. When he looked up, Barney was moving faster than he had in a long time. The dog grabbed the skin from the table and headed for the woods.
Don ran after him.
When he caught Barney and wrestled the skin from his mouth, only a portion of the back was intact. Barney ignored Don’s commands and didn’t want to let go.
“Come on, Barney. Drop it! Are you eating it?”
Don carried the skin back towards the house and held it at arm’s length. It was disgusting to touch. The powdery, slippery surface felt like it was melding with his flesh and his fingers felt hot where the skin touched it. On the ground, Barney walked with his head pointed up. The dog looked like he wanted to jump up and grab the skin from Don’s hand.
Don slid open the door.
“Get inside!”
Barney sat down with his head pointed straight up. He whined at Don.
“Go inside, now.”
Don pushed at Barney with his foot and the dog finally complied. Don slid the door shut.
He laid the remaining piece of skin on the table and pinned it down with rocks. This time he ignored his revulsion and manipulated it with his fingers. Despite the slippery feeling, when he touched the thing for too long, it seemed to almost stick to the tips of his fingers. He took photos and then turned back towards the house to fetch a plastic bag.
# # # #
Don waited for his mother to return from the hospital.
“Mom, I have proof,” he said, holding up the plastic bag.
“I’m sorry, honey, I have to get upstairs,” she said.
“This will only take two seconds,” Don said. He backed up and walked in front of her as she set her bag down on the table in the hall.
“Okay,” she said, sighing. “What is it?”
“I found it in the woods. It’s the skin of some animal.”
“And what does this have to do with anything, Don? What are you trying to tell me?”
“There is something living in the woods that drinks blood. I’ve seen it in a video, and now I’ve got physical evidence of it.”
“That looks like a piece of tissue paper in a plastic bag, Don.”
He held it up in front of her face until she took the bag from his hand. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs and Gwen leaned against the wall as she accepted the bag from her son. She started to break the seal at the top of the bag.
“Wait,” Don said. “Don’t touch it. It does something to your skin.”
“Okay,” she said. She opened the bag and wrinkled her nose as she sniffed the air that emerged. “It smells sweet, almost like… What’s that flower called? Nasturtium?”
They heard a scrambling of toenails on tile and then Barney appeared. He locked his eyes on the plastic bag and whined. Barney rose up on his hind legs and sniffed at the bag. Don took it from his mom, held it up in the air and re-sealed it.
“Barney, go lie down. Barney, no!” Don said.
Gwen had her eyes closed when Don looked back to her. She looked small and frail, leaning against the wall—not at all like he thought of his mom.
With the bag sealed, the dog sat down.
“So can you have it tested or something?” Don asked.
“I’m sorry? Tested for what?”
“I don’t know—to find out what kind of animal it is or something. You’re the doctor.”
“Yes, Don, I’m a surgeon. I’m not equipped to identify bits of skin you found in the woods. You’re looking for a vet or a biologist or something.”
“But I think this thing used to be human,” Don said. “I did some research, and there’s a thing that drinks blood and sheds its skin. It’s a woman who’s in league with the devil.”
“Don,” his mom said. “Please.”
“No, I mean that’s just what the old legend is. What if it’s some kind of mutation or a disease or something that made this woman?”
“I promise you—there is no mutated woman who drinks blood and sheds her skin living in the woods behind our house. That’s my promise to you as an educated and skilled woman. I really have to get upstairs now. You can either move out of my way, or you can help me clean up when I’m nauseous all over our stairs.”
Don stepped aside and watched his mother climb the steps.
# # # #
Wes and Chelsea returned home to a dark house. Gwen’s car was in the garage, so they were quiet as they moved through the front door and carried the groceries to the kitchen.
“Go get your brother, please. Remind him he’s supposed to have cleaned up this kitchen and started dinner,” Wes said quietly.
“Okay,” Chelsea said. She pounded down the steps. When she banged on his door, it swung inward. The floor was a mess of dirty clothes. Barney was sprawled out in the middle of the floor. He jumped up when Chelsea appeared and he wagged his tail—banging against the dresser—as he walked over to her.
“Hey, Barney,” she said. “Dad says you need to clean the kitchen and make dinner. He’s pissed.”
“Whatever,” Don said. His eyes didn’t leave his laptop’s screen. He was propped up on his bed in a gentle slouch.
“This place is a disaster,” she said.
“I’m a little busy.”
“Right,” Chelsea said. “You better get moving before Dad gets even more angry.”
“I could give a shit, Chelse. I’ll be up in awhile.”
“So you want me to tell him that? Don says, ‘He could give a shit?’”
“Tell him whatever you want. I’m busy. Mom’s not helping me, so I have to find someone who will.”
“Not helping you with what?” Chelsea asked. She came through the door and leaned against the dresser.
“I’m trying to figure out what killed Kyle, okay?”
“Seriously? What are you talking about? I thought it was some tragic disease or something. That’s what Dad said that Mom said.”
“No, they don’t know what disease, they just know the symptoms. All they care was it wasn’t something from the environment and it wasn’t a stabbing or whatever. They gave up looking. I haven’t given up.”
“Barney, what are you doing?” Chelsea asked, looking down. The dog was pushing his nose up into her hand and sitting up on his hind legs, like he was begging. “He’s all full of energy today.”
“Yeah, I think it was the skin he ate,” Don said.
“What? Gross! Ewww, don’t put your nose on me, dog.”
“Don’t worry, it was dead,” Don said.
“Oh, worse!”
“Barney, do
wn,” Don said. The dog obeyed.
“So why won’t Mom listen to you?”
“I don’t know. She’s stuck in her textbook thinking I guess. They brainwash you into only believing what can be proven. College destroys creative thinking—remember that.”
“Why don’t you tell Dad, then? He’s open to stuff. I bet he could help you.”
“He doesn’t know the right people. I need a scientist,” Don said.
“Dad knows everyone who Mom knows. He’s a way better networker than she is, and he always goes to all of the functions at her hospital. I think most of those people like Dad even more than Mom,” Chelsea said. “Give him a try.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Don said.
“Why don’t you come up? I’ll help you clean up and make dinner.”
Barney stood up again.
“As long as you keep that dog’s mouth away from me,” Chelsea said.
# # # #
After dinner, Chelsea was excused to go to her room while Don cleaned up. His father stayed to give him a hand. Don hadn’t talked much during the meal. Chelsea talked about her job at Wes’s office, and Wes told her some stories about her co-workers, but Don was quiet.
While they were finishing the pots and pans—Don was scrubbing and Wes was drying—Don decided to broach the subject on his mind.
“Hey, Dad, what would you do if you found something and you wanted help figuring out what it was.”
“Depends on what we’re talking about.”
“It’s a skin,” Don said.
“Of what?”
“That’s what I don’t know. It looked almost like a human. It had feet and hands and arms and legs and everything.”
Wes had a smile on his face, like he suspected it was all a joke. “Holy shit, son, you tell the cops. You can’t just find a human skin and then wonder about it. What are you thinking?”
“No, not like that,” Don said. “It’s not like someone cut the skin off a corpse or anything. It’s like a skin a snake would shed, but it’s from something in the shape of a person.”
“Like peeling after a sunburn?” Wes asked.