Charlie, an avid hunter who figured he knew every animal type in the area, rubbed his chin while he listened intently to Ian. “Well, I don’t know too much about bite radius, but I do know tracks. And you’re right. They’re too big and not shaped right. Ian, you study the very unusual and animals thought not to exist, right?”
Ian looked curiously at Charlie, wondering where he was about to go with his question. “Yeah, but ninety-nine out of a hundred times, the animal or whatever is easily explainable, usually cases of mistaken identity. But yeah, I like to keep an open mind.”
Charlie was relieved. “Ian, when I was a kid raised by my grandfather on the reservation, he told me many stories of my people. Some were facts, but some were supernatural stories mainly told, I figured, to make a point. Now as you may or may not know, stories of shapeshifting into an animal spirit during a person’s vision quest are common among the Indian nations. And the French folk around here, well the old-timers, when I was young, I heard them speak of something they called a Loup-garou, a man-wolf. Mind you, I ain’t saying I buy into any of it, but just suppose for a minute there’s something to it.” Charlie paused to see how Ian was receiving what he was saying. Ian didn’t appear surprised. Even still, Charlie didn’t want Ian to think he was some backward local yokel superstitious Indian. “Okay Ian, forget that last part. I got a bit carried away. But just suppose for a minute there is a member of my people up on the reservation, which you know borders the falls. Well, what if there is a crazy person that really thinks they are some kind of beast. Especially maybe when they are stoned out of their minds on drugs like meth, peyote, or mushrooms. Maybe a person like that might act out like the animal they think possesses them, or they think they turn into a wolf or bear … a cougar, whatever. Maybe a complete psycho might even use a weapon like a saw or sword thinking it was their teeth. I know, it’s a pretty far out theory!”
Ian was amazed that Charlie was at least contemplating extreme possibilities.
“Charlie, you’d make a good cryptozoologist. That’s what it’s called, what I do. I study things that most people immediately dismiss as impossible. I ask the question that few people are willing to ask, which is basically, ‘What if?’ Anyway, what you’re talking about is called lycanthropy. That’s a disease of the mind where a person truly believes they become a wolf.”
Ian could tell by the expression on Charlie’s face that he really had his thinking cap on.
“Ian, just suppose that someone’s so obsessed about pretending to be a wolf or even actually thinks he is due to some delusion. Perhaps a person like that might fashion some kind of animal-like paws that he wears on his feet or shoes that were made to intentionally leave what looks like weird animal tracks. You know, something like the idiots that make phony plywood Big Foot prints and go around stamping them into the ground.”
Ian agreed with the theory. It was certainly something to consider. But Ian couldn’t help himself. Charlie had cracked open the door regarding entertaining the idea of the supernatural. Ian decided to open that door wide.
“Charlie, don’t think for one second that I dismiss any of your thoughts. We need to look at this from all angles regardless of how remote the possibility. Fact is, I’ve been considering some of the same kinds of things myself.” Ian paused, hoping that Charlie was ready to listen and consider what he was about to say, even as wild as it was going to be.
Charlie was in fact ready to hear about anything. After all, Ian had heard him out regarding his thoughts and ideas that would cause most folks to try and have him committed.
“Charlie, I’ll go you one further. What if we are dealing with something that has been around since the dawn of time. Something that perhaps science may never explain or accept. Something that the majority of the cultures of the world at one time long ago accepted as a reality. Charlie, I’m talking about the possibility of a werewolf. A wolf-man. Crazy as it sounds, that would explain many things. For example, it would explain much of the Big Foot phenomena. Like why no dead Sasquatch has ever been recovered. Legend has it that if a werewolf is killed, it reverts back to its human state, so all that would be recovered is just another dead person. I mean, missing persons show up from time to time found dead in the forest, right? It happens. And if you think about it, the classic wolf-man would pretty much fit most persons’ description of a Big Foot: tall, hairy, and scary. Now I know this is really thin, but listen. What if at least some of the stories you heard as a kid about shapeshifting were true? And just suppose that the degree of a shapeshifter to change into a beast is based somewhat on the cycles of the moon? What if in this case, the fuller the moon, the more wolf-like the person becomes? As crazy as the idea is, that would explain why people who claim they have seen a Big Foot … why their descriptions vary so much. In my field, I was inclined for years to believe that if Big Foot exists, it must be an offshoot of Gigantopithecus, a ten-foot ape that the fossil record indicates went extinct around a half million years ago. But some people think they may have survived in the dense forests, like those around here. Maybe the shapeshifter not only becomes more wolf-like the fuller the Moon, maybe the fullness of the moon affects its size and strength. It draws its power, so to speak, from the moon. Maybe their behavior is cyclical by months or years even. What I’m saying is maybe they can sometimes go for years without reverting to the beast that must kill. Now I am just making wild speculation regarding things I don’t even know or have a clear theory of. But just maybe this person, this werewolf, has been around for a very, very long time!”
Chapter 26
The Reservation
After a long, punishing drive up old gravel logging roads that had them challenging one rain-filled muddy pothole after another, Charlie and Ian finally reached their destination.
During the car ride up, Charlie informed Ian that both he and Elaine had grown up on reservation land not far from where they were and that his grandfather was the tribal elder he’d spoken of. He was chief of the Lewis River Chapter of the Cowlitz Indian Tribal Council.
Ian noticed right from the start that the sparse housing on this reservation could be described as dismal at best. No fancy giant Indian casinos … just old, run-down trailers and the occasional, scrawny canine mutt that ran barking and chasing their car as they slowly made their way up the road. It was still pouring rain, and nobody seemed to be around.
As they proceeded, Ian noticed up ahead there was a halfway decent-looking building. It sat alone, serving as some kind of focal point located at the tail end of the gravel road. Ian thought it appropriate that it was a dead-end road because that about summed up what he saw all around him: Nothing more than the dead-end of what might have once been a flourishing little community.
The only spark of commercial life was an old one-pump, rundown gas station. There were a few other near-skeletal remnants of buildings, symbols of what once was—clear indications that some commerce did at one time take place on this small main strip.
Ian noticed that one of the old, dilapidated buildings had a sign above the door that proclaimed it was a “Native American Crafts and Gift Shop.” By the looks of the building’s condition and soap-covered windows, it had gone out of business.
Upon reaching the end of the short road, they came to the last structure: a pre-fabricated metal pole building. The building had a colorful though severely faded sign painted above the entrance that read, “Tribal Council Hall & Cultural Center.”
Charlie pulled his car up to the building, parked, and turned off his motor. He sat there for a moment feeling that he should educate Ian just a bit about this tiny township and its inhabitants. He took a deep breath then let out a small sigh before he began.
“Ian, obviously this place ain’t much to look at. At one time, it wasn’t near this bad. But anyone worth their salt up and got the hell out of here when they were old enough to get. But a few have hung on. Mostly dregs. You know, the typical drunks and junkies. Except for old timers, elders like my grandfather
. They stay mostly because they feel it’s their duty to try and preserve our culture, I guess. I’m related to most folks up here. Bud and me, we’re the only law ever comes around. Well, just me now. It ain’t big enough to support no tribal police. Anyhow, we never come up here lest we have to. But unfortunately, occasionally, we catch wind that someone’s cooking meth, so we got to come up here and bust someone who’s running a lab and then tear their place down and burn it up. Deadly chemicals, you probably know, seep into the woodwork and such.”
Charlie paused for a second as Ian nodded.
“Anyhow, we got to get involved when someone’s cooking drugs up here ‘cause meth has a nasty habit of making its way down the mountain to our neck of the woods. Thankfully, heroin’s generally the drug of choice up here. Most of the junkies in these parts shoot smack. Cheap Mexican brown heroin they get from migrant tree planters that come up here to deal. Now, I say thankfully only ‘cause heroin addicts generally don’t cause too much trouble to the few decent folk in these parts. Generally, they just get themselves hopped up and go to sleep. Mind you, we still have to deal with that occasional call to haul off someone that’s overdosed, but most folks up here just die slow, quiet deaths either from old age or liver disease.” Charlie paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
Ian sat silent with a blank expression on his face. He was deeply saddened and speechless for the disheartening, bleak existence these people endured. Ian was instantly embarrassed that he’d allowed himself to sink so low into depression and self-pity. He thought, What problem do I have by comparison to this once great and proud people? Ian’s admiration of Charlie had begun increasing ten-fold as he realized that this man who sat beside him had risen from such adversity to become a man to respect. A man passionately filled with a true sense of honor, duty, and absolute loyalty to his deceased friend. Ian was humbled.
Charlie took another deep breath and began speaking once more. “Ian, you’re going to meet the man, the reason we’re up here in the first place. My grandfather, Charlie Lone Wolf Skamochawa. He’s ninety years old, but don’t let his age or his appearance fool you. He’s as sharp as a tack!” Charlie saw Ian crack a small grin. He continued, “Yeah, you guessed it. I was partly named after him. My grandfather’s a great man. He’s the chief of what little remains of my people. The eldest male of a long line of descending chiefs before him. Kind of like royalty is passed down generation after generation from the same bloodline in England and such places. Anyway, Grandfather always seems to know exactly what’s going on around these parts. I don’t know how he gets his information. Most of the time he just sits doing what he does inside this building. Some up here believe that in addition to being chief, he’s also a medicine man. They say he has visions, and that’s how he knows things. I’ve heard stories from some of the old-timers up here about how my grandfather has some kind of sixth sense or some such nonsense. Now I’m not saying I buy into any of that, but I can tell you this: If something out of the ordinary’s going on around these woods, he’ll know about it. Anyway, he’s always here at the cultural center this time of day, which, by the way, is getting away from us fast.”
Ian looked at his watch. It was almost three in the afternoon. Charlie looked at Ian and nodded, indicating they should get moving. They both exited Charlie’s car and headed up the couple of steps that led to the front door of the building.
Chapter 27
Wisdom
The building was nearly as sparse on the inside as it was on the outside. A small glass case against the wall to Ian’s right housed a few trinkets and artifacts.
There were a few rows of chairs located in the middle of the room. He enthusiastically approached the case but immediately noted at a glance that there was nothing much to look at. A couple of moccasins, a handmade baby rattle, some feathers, a few beaded necklaces and bracelets. The lock on the back side of the case was broken. Ian was once again saddened by his thoughts. He figured that if there ever had been anything on display of intrinsic value, it probably was stolen long ago by someone for booze or drugs.
He then turned to face a small podium at the opposite end of the room from where they’d entered. Sitting alone in a chair next to the podium was an old, silver-haired man. He was all dressed up in traditional Native American attire as if he were in a parade or some tourist attraction.
At first, the old man’s outfit seemed strange to Ian. But then he realized that it made perfect sense. This place served as a cultural center, among other uses. The old man just couldn’t let go of memories of better times.
Charlie walked quietly across the room to his grandfather, who sat lightly snoring in a chair with his head slumped over.
“Grandfather!” Charlie spoke in a rather loud voice. His grandfather awakened and lifted his head. Immediately, he recognized his grandson.
“Charlie, me resting old eyes. You walk quiet, that good! Not easy sneak up on Indian.”
Charlie replied, “That’s true, Grandfather, unless it’s another Indian doing the sneaking.” Charlie and his grandfather laughed.
His grandfather looked across the room at Ian.
“He with you, Charlie?”
“Yes, that’s right, Grandfather. His name is Ian McDermott. He’s my deputy. Grandfather, Bud’s dead. He was killed last night by some animal or perhaps murdered by a crazy man. Maybe you have information that might help us find what killed Bud. Grandfather, I’m sheriff now. You understand?”
Charlie’s grandfather nodded.
“Sheriff Bud good friend our people. I will burn ten feathers. I will pray to Great Spirit he have good afterlife. That man, why not dress like you?” Charlie’s grandfather asked loud enough for Ian to hear.
“Well, he’s new. We haven’t had a chance to order him a uniform yet.”
“Hmm. Lawman good job for good man. Like my Charlie.” Charlie’s grandfather looked at Charlie and smiled. Ian could see the great pride Charlie’s grandfather had for his grandson.
Charlie figured telling his grandfather any more about Ian would just confuse him. He knew his grandfather had great respect for the law. He would be more inclined to share information in the presence of Ian if he believed Ian was a lawman like himself. I’m not really lying to Grandfather. I did sort of deputize Ian, Charlie thought.
Ian figured that Charlie had his reasons for telling the old man he was a deputy. Charlie didn’t do anything randomly. Ian prepared himself to play the role of pseudo-lawman, and crossed the room to join Charlie and his grandfather.
“Grandfather, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Deputy Ian McDermott.”
Ian couldn’t help but be a little touched by being introduced as Charlie’s friend, even if it was just for the sake of easing any tension the old man might have while being asked questions in the presence of a stranger.
Charlie’s grandfather smiled and graciously extended his right hand. Ian shook the old man’s hand, which felt like caressing thin paper.
“Me name Charlie Skamochawa. Me ninety years old. Me eldest of people on reservation. Some call me Chief. But me thinks day of chiefs long past. Me father and him father before, they chiefs of great nation. Now people grow weak like old body.”
Charlie Skamochawa paused while looking into the eyes of both men who stood before him. He then relaxed back into his chair, smiled, and motioned for Charlie and Ian to grab themselves chairs to sit down and have council with him.
“Sit close, we will talk the talk of serious men. You will ask, ‘What kill great lawman Bud O’Brien?’ You will ask, ‘How hunt such thing?’ My grandson, know this: What you seek walks as spirit and as man. Spirit world not believed by men, is truth! Know this. What you hunt hunts you!”
Ian and Charlie each grabbed themselves a chair and carried them across the room to sit close to Charlie’s grandfather, who was a little hard of hearing. Once Ian and Charlie seated themselves, Charlie was the first to speak. “Okay, Grandfather. Enough already. You can stop with the Geronimo
meets Hollywood routine.”
Ian was totally confused by Charlie’s statement.
“Okay, but tell me the truth, Mr. McDermott. Isn’t that how you expected me to speak?”
Ian was caught off guard. He didn’t know how to reply.
Both Charlie and his grandfather began laughing. Charlie then explained the joke.
“Ian, my grandfather is an educated man. Because he runs this little cultural center that rarely but sometimes still gets a tourist visitor, he feels he should speak the way the white man sees us: backward and uneducated. Then all at once, he speaks like any other American citizen to make his point I guess. Is that about right, Grandfather?”
Charlie’s grandfather only smiled. Charlie continued, “Ian, my grandfather was the first person in our tribe to achieve a grade equivalency honorary high school diploma. He reads more books and magazines than any person I’ve ever known. Grandfather has collected books over much of his lifetime, but most of them are nearly worn-out … donated to the tribe by schools and libraries; you know, when they upgrade, buy new copies and such. Bud got that hooked up for him. Grandfather’s got a book or two on about any subject you can think of. He loans them out to anyone who asks. It’s the closest thing to a library they got around here. Grandfather keeps his books in the back storage room of this building. Bud, me, and a volunteer contractor built this building a few years ago. In the back next to the little office, there’s a half-bathroom with a shower. Grandfather sleeps in a bed we put in for him back there. Bud got all the building materials donated for the project from a Kelso hardware store and lumberyard. They gave us all we needed, including the metal siding and roofing you see. Hell, he even got a Direct TV satellite dish thrown in to boot. I pay the small fee to get the service. Not many up these parts got TV, so some of the locals drop in from time to time to watch. Ian, I tell you, nobody could get people to dig deep and donate to a good cause better than Bud.”
Loup-Garou: The Beast of Harmony Falls (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 1) Page 11