The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

That one spoken word segued into an awkward and lingering silence between them in what was already an unexpected phone call. Brett continued after what sounded like careful thought.

  “I need to speak with you, all of you,” he said.

  “Is it Uncle Jack? How is everything?”

  “No...yeah,” Brett sounded distracted by the question. “Uncle Jack’s...hanging in there. It’s about what happened six months ago. You know, before we went into Cedar Manor. There are things I need to tell you all. It’s about how I’d found Tahoe. And, actually, I think I may have somewhat of a unique investigative tool on my hands.”

  Now, Sidney was confused, especially by the fall and rise of Brett’s fluctuating tone.

  “I was thinking today, 3:00 pm at headquarters? I have to call the rest of the team.”

  “I’ll be there,” Sidney said. “And Brett, whatever this is, we’re here for you.”

  “I know that.” His voice sounded solemn, yet resigned, as though the time for a vital announcement had arrived. “So, I’ll see you then?”

  “You got it,” Sidney replied, and on that note, Brett said no more. Sidney heard the abrupt tone that ended the call on the other end.

  He set his phone back down on the table and let his thoughts wander about Brett. Whatever had been bothering him had finally reached its climax. Sidney could still hear the resignation in his voice, as well as the rise and fall in his tone that denoted good along with the bad. He would finally discover the nature of this enigma at 3:00 pm.

  Sidney reached across the table for the morning paper when the familiar deafness overcame him. As always, the sounds around him became muted, and he realized that the dead were trying to speak to him. The voice that spoke was fast and familiar, containing that faraway echo that trailed behind its speech like any voice that spoke to him from beyond.

  “Sidney...”

  He’d heard that voice before. Thoughts of the same woman he’d been thinking about only moments ago entered his mind. It was Brett’s Aunt Viv, the same voice he’d heard years ago when he first met Brett.

  “Vivian?” Sidney asked. “Is that you?”

  “Sidney...” Vivian Taylor’s voice called his name, again. Sidney waited, listening for what she was trying to say. The next spoken word was the clue that compounded his confusion even more. He nearly jumped from the chair when he heard it.

  “Shifter...”

  There was that word again, the same word spoken by the demon in Cedar Manor.

  Shifter...what the hell did it mean? His hearing returned as the sounds of Elysium faded, becoming overwhelmed by the noise of the living, earthly realm.

  “Wait! Vivian, are you there?”

  He knew that the voice was gone, but he gave it one last shot. So, Vivian had given him a clue, one that undoubtedly referred to Brett. Sidney thought back to the night in Cedar Manor. He’d asked the demon who it saw in the room. Its reply was the same word that Vivian had just spoken to him, “shifter.”

  So, the demon that night had been referring to Brett, not Leah; or was it still possible that the word could be a reference to something else altogether as they’d originally assumed? Sidney didn’t get any further with that thought. It still didn’t make sense. He brainstormed, trying to figure out what the word meant. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar, irrelevant to the circumstances the team had endured at Cedar Manor.

  Sidney threw the newspaper back across the table in frustration. It was impossible to read while the sound of Vivian’s voice repeated the word “shifter” in his head. His mind wandered, pondering how the word could be connected to Brett. But this afternoon, the meaning of the word “shifter” would become startlingly clear to Sidney and the rest of the team.

  * * * *

  It felt like life had begun anew for Leah Leeds since the night Cedar Manor had burned to the ground. She and the team had celebrated Christmas Eve that night at Susan’s house. She’d spent the night because she wasn’t ready to go back home alone; she’d waited until morning.

  The next morning was one of the best Christmases she’d ever had. Her father had been released from the hospital, so she and Susan picked him up and brought him back here, to her cottage-style home, where they spent the remainder of the holidays together. By New Year’s, Paul Leeds had been back in his own home.

  Susan had been right. Paul hadn’t remembered being possessed by a demon. The demon in question had unsuccessfully invaded her in its attempt to steal not only her soul, but her third eye. Paul had sought to intervene, and the wrathful demon’s presence jumped from Leah’s body into her father’s. The demon had left her the moment she clutched the ruby cross that Hollywood gave her. She continued to wear it around her neck to this day.

  But, there was one thing of which she was most regretful. Just as things would begin to feel normal again, and the past would feel like a closed case behind her, a vision, a flashing recurrence of Cory Chase’s death would overwhelm her. She saw it all over again: the monstrosity that had leaped out from the mirror, the grasp of hands as they pushed her out of the way, the dead arm that reached out to touch her but touched Cory instead. Then, the sight of the flames engulfing his body would loom vividly in her mind like a movie she’d seen the night before.

  Cory had died saving her life, but she kept telling herself that he forced his way into Cedar Manor by extorting the team in the first place. If he hadn’t, he’d still be alive. It was Cory’s ruthless determination, his persistent and dangerous edge that had cost him his life. Susan kept reminding her that saving someone else’s life was Cory Chase’s ultimate redemption. If he hadn’t been in Cedar Manor, she would be in her grave right now. But now it was over, and there was nothing more she could do.

  Now, she sat at the table on her backyard patio, enjoying the sunshine and a glass of iced-tea while checking out the latest news from her laptop. It hadn’t been a hot summer, mainly mild with intermittent heat spells, and the news from the nation’s capital was the same monotonous lingo year after year. All of it was interrupted when her cell-phone rang.

  She lifted the phone from the table and looked at the ID window. It was Brett. She felt the rush of surprise, the sudden elation at seeing his name on the screen. Brett had been shying away from the team lately. On the random occasions when she did see him, Leah could sense a tinge of fear and a heavy apprehension that preoccupied him.

  She’d seen a gray aura surrounding him; one that indicated depression and grief. Leah knew that Brett’s Uncle Jack would die soon, but something else was amiss with Brett, something that could be tragic in his own life. She worried when she saw him and prayed that whatever chipped away at him was due to Uncle Jack’s imminent passing. Leah closed her eyes, hoping this wasn’t that phone call.

  “Brett,” she said. “How are you? Where have you been?”

  “Hey, Kiddo,” he said. “You know, around, and well, so-so, I guess.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, “So, what’s up?”

  “I’m calling the whole team. I want to meet with everyone, today, at 3:00 pm. I’m hoping you can make it.”

  “You’re not leaving us, are you?” The worried tone of her voice exposed the fact that her recent thoughts of Brett had been troubling.

  “No, of course not,” he said, chuckling. “Besides, where would I go?” He laughed into the phone. “But, I do need to speak with you all about something. I know you all think I’ve been acting strangely, and I’m sorry. I can explain it all.”

  “You don’t have to explain, Brett,” she said. “We know what you’re going through.”

  “Yeah, but it’s so much more than that. It’s going to take some effort to explain.”

  It was just as she’d feared. There was more.

  “Yes, I’ll be there for you,” she said. “You know that. Who was there for me from the very beginning, every step of the way, when I decided to go into Cedar Manor? It was you, Brett. I won’t forget that. You even intervened when Sid and Dylan kept snarling at each oth
er.”

  Brett’s laughter hissed through the phone.

  “When aren’t they snarling at each other?” They laughed for a moment, and he continued. “I’ve already spoken to Sid. I’m going to finish calling everyone, now.”

  “Three-o’clock it is,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

  She ended the call and thought for a moment.

  So, Sidney had been right, all along. She thought back to the night she and Sid had dined out for crab legs, just before Christmas Eve. He’d been adamant that something was wrong with Brett. He’d seen Brett’s behavior as being far more erratic that anyone else had noticed.

  Not that the rest of the team hadn’t noticed, but Sidney had been far more persistent. He’d insisted that something was strange and sinister about how quickly Brett found Tahoe. Now, she felt a tinge of guilt, remembering how she’d told Sidney that she really hadn’t been worried about it. She was just thankful that Tahoe had arrived and could be a valuable asset in helping them.

  Now, she was worried about it. At the time, she’d been too preoccupied with the dark majesty of Cedar Manor as it loomed not only in her mind, but eventually in front of her. But now, Brett needed her just like she’d needed him, and she would be there, no questions asked. It was the least she could do for any of them after they’d risked their own lives for her.

  After all, they were not just a team; they were family, and they would be there for each other through thick and thin. She looked at her watch. It was 10:00 am, still hours before she would leave for the university, meet the team, and discover the extent of this mystery. Leah closed her laptop and stood from the chair. Cedar Manor was now behind her, and she was ready for action.

  * * * *

  Dylan Rasche sat watching a strange story unfold on the morning news. It was the highlight of a local event being reported. Today was a regular Saturday afternoon, the day after a holiday, and this morning looked like it would be an idle day for the paranormal team’s chief- investigator. He sat watching and listening to the odd, yet, lighthearted story, oblivious to the fact that this day would end as being far from idle or boring.

  The story being reported concerned the annual Fourth of July fireworks at Larson’s Farm in the rural section of Green Valley. It was a celebratory event, gathering townspeople from all over the county to see the breath-taking, and often mesmerizing, professional fireworks display. It was artistry in the sky as some called it, year after year, especially on this morning’s news. Yet, this year’s story had taken a strange twist.

  Attendees of the event were describing a sound they’d heard in the distance just after the grand finale died away. Dylan turned the TV volume up with the remote to catch the words of those who spoke to reporters. The first had been a young woman.

  “It was right after the grand finale ended,” she said, speaking into the microphone that was poised to her lips. Her profile was a side shot to the camera. “I heard a howl. It came from way back in the woods. Quite a few of us heard it. It sounded like a wolf.”

  Dylan sat speechless, staring at the screen. A man in his late-fifties spoke next.

  “She heard it; I heard it; a bunch of us I heard it,” he said, pointing adamantly. “It was a wolf. I’m as sure of that as I am that I’m standing here talking to you. Can’t explain it, but that’s what we heard. We can’t all be wrong.”

  The camera turned from the frustrated man back to the reporter whose voice sounded purposely incredulous in order to provoke a mystery. He spoke facing the camera.

  “A number of people in the Larson’s Farm area are reporting that they heard a wolf howling last night following the grand finale of the fireworks. Very strange reports, indeed, but several witnesses say that the howl went on for several seconds and was followed by another short wail. As some of you may know, wolves are uncommon animals in Pennsylvania, the last sightings of which occurred in the late nineteenth century. But witnesses are all maintaining that the howl they’d heard was that of a wolf. The talk here at Larson’s Farm continues, but in the absence of eyewitnesses, the mystery thickens.”

  The reporter announced the end of the story by signaling back to the blonde, female anchor that began teasing the audience with upcoming headlines. Dylan lowered the volume and scoffed in light laughter at what he’d just heard.

  “A wolf in Pennsylvania,” he said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” His laughter continued as his phone rang. He picked it up from the coffee-table and looked.

  It was Brett.

  Dylan feared the worst—that Brett’s Uncle Jack had passed. The laughter he’d enjoyed was suddenly stifled by a depressing sigh. He answered quickly.

  “What’s up, Brett?” He silently hoped that Jack had a little longer.

  “Hey,” the prodigal investigator said. “I know this is sudden, but I have to call a meeting with everyone today. It’s urgent.”

  “It’s not Uncle Jack, is it?”

  “No, no, Uncle Jack’s hanging in there, for now, anyway.”

  Now, Dylan heaved an inner, secret sigh of relief. Brett continued.

  “I’ve already talked to Sid and Leah; they’ll be there. Look, I know I should’ve called you first, but I wanted to get a hold of everyone as quickly as possible.”

  “No, it’s not a problem, Brett. I’m glad to hear from you. Have you called Susan, yet?”

  “I’m going to call her, next.” Brett said. “Can you be at the university at 3:00 pm?”

  “I’ll be there,” Dylan said. “But, can you give me just a small heads-up? Does this have anything to do with Uncle Jack?”

  “It does, in part,” Brett said. “I’ll explain. It also has a lot to do with recent events, especially before we went into Cedar Manor. I have a lot to explain to everyone.”

  “Whatever it is,” Dylan began...

  “Thanks,” he said. “But, there’s more. I think Uncle Jack wants you all to pay one last visit. So, you may not want to make plans for today.”

  “Anything for Jack,” Dylan said, trying to keep his voice steady after hearing the slight crack in Brett’s. Brett cleared his throat.

  “Thanks, again, Dylan. I appreciate it. I’ll see you in room 208 this afternoon.”

  Dylan agreed.

  The sound of Brett’s voice was replaced by the exit melody of a finished call. Dylan set his phone aside, wondering what had been eating away at Brett. He witnessed his erratic behavior in the recent past and suspected that this meeting had something to do with it. Sidney had been the first to call attention to Brett’s suspicious mood, but it wasn’t something that stood out, especially when a dark fortress the size of Cedar Manor had loomed so large on the horizon of one of their own.

  Now, the wicked wind that seemed to be following them as of late had shifted its blustery force in Brett’s direction. Dylan would later learn the irony of that single thought before the day was over. He had a strange feeling that Brett’s dilemma was about to become their next case. He wondered how Uncle Jack fit into the scenario.

  Either way, Brett would soon make everything clear.

  * * * *

  Susan Logan had been on her way out when her phone rang. She closed the front door she’d so hastily opened; her departure could wait a few moments. Brett Taylor was calling her, and she knew that this event was not only spontaneous, but rare. Her heart broke at the thought of Jack Taylor’s imminent passing—such a nice man. She sat back down on her living room loveseat and answered the call.

  “Mr. Taylor, so glad you decided to rejoin the land of the living.” As soon as it was out of her mouth, she bit her lip at her thoughtless stupidity.

  “How’s it going, Suzy-Q?”

  She was beginning to hate that nickname, but for Brett, she would ignore it. His voice sounded upbeat and teasingly witty. She assumed the worst had not occurred.

  “How’s Uncle Jack holding up?”

  “A best as can be expected,” he said. His voice turned serious and slightly somber.

  “Yo
u hang in there,” she said. “This is rough, but it’s a storm that’s inevitable. We’re all here for you, Brett.”

  “I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m calling you.” He told her about the meeting and the time. “I’m going to need you, Susan. Uncle Jack is going to need you also. Something has erupted in my life, and I’m about to discover the true reason why.”

  Susan was taken aback by his vagueness, but ultimately, she knew what he meant. Brett was going to need her help as a psychiatrist. She quickly thought back to how long Brett had been exhibiting this odd behavior. The most blatant example was his dashing out of her Christmas Eve celebration, providing the excuse that he had to rise early on Christmas Day, yet she’d always known Brett to be a night owl. The love of late-night horror shows that he shared with Sidney had consistently manifested into endless discussions between them.

  She wondered how much of Brett’s problem had to do with Uncle Jack.

  “I see,” she said, pausing and hoping for more. “Do you need me to come out there now? I could be there in a flash.”

  “No,” he said. “Everything’s fine right now. But Susan, I’ll not only need your help as a psychiatrist, but as a parapsychologist as well.”

  Interesting, Susan thought. What does any of this have to do with the paranormal?

  “Okay,” she said, dragging out both syllables of the word and prompting him to continue.

  “First, I need to see you all and explain,” he said. “From there, Uncle Jack wants to meet with all of us, the entire team. He’s going to reveal everything about my life that I hadn’t known all these years, things about my birth mother, and he wants you all there with me. You’ll understand more when the time comes, but that’s all I can say for now.”

  It began to sound more and more cryptic to Susan. She feared that whatever had been burdening Brett had been much larger than she or the rest of the team had assumed.

  She spoke before he could say anything else.

  “I’ll see you at three, Brett. Is there anything you want to tell me now, beforehand?”

  “No,” he said. “Thank you, but it can wait.”