The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

  Her voice rose as she pointed to where the baby sat, his big brown eyes turning from one adult to another, understanding that there was tension, but not comprehending why. Claudia broke down and collapsed in Jack’s arms.

  “Come on, now, Claudia,” he said. “When was the last time you took your medication?”

  Her response had been swift and fierce as she pulled away from him.

  “I’ve been taking my medication, goddamn it! You think I’m crazy? I’m not crazy. I know what I saw!”

  “Of course, you’re not crazy, dear,” Vivian said, coddling and placating her. “You’re just exhausted, and the pressure of this past year—”

  “Aunt Viv, I saw it! It was real!”

  Claudia simmered as the baby began to cry. Their rising voices sparked a tension that the child sensed. He’d been spooked by the disturbance. Vivian picked him up and rocked him as he wailed. Then, she suggested that Claudia go upstairs and catch up on some sleep. She’d been sleeping less lately since taking a more proactive role in the baby’s life.

  Jack watched as Claudia sighed and went silently up to her room. He’d noticed her sporadic spells of sleep that lasted for no more than four hours. Thankfully, she’d been well enough to play the instinctive role of mother to her baby, but now, Jack wondered if it was becoming too much for her considering her age and mental condition.

  What she’d been asserting was not only illogical, but outrageous. Seeing things was one thing, but Claudia had claimed that she’d left the baby and returned to find a dog in his place. The tale had been irrational. Jack theorized that it could’ve been the medication causing hallucinogenic side effects.

  Jack called her doctor, who made a special and rare visit to the farm to see her. Claudia seemed to be much calmer after resting, but Jack was never quite sure what she told the doctor, or if she even mentioned the incident. The doctor switched her to a different medication, and the incident with the baby was never discussed again.

  A few weeks went by, during which, Claudia seemed normal. But, things had started to change once again. She became quieter, and then her distance from them grew farther and farther as time passed. Her smile soon morphed into a forced, occasional crack of conformity meant to quiet any questioning that came her way.

  Eventually, the look on her face had become fearful, troubled, as though she were hiding something from them. Vivian wanted to press the issue, find out what was bothering her, but Jack wanted to wait. He didn’t want to provoke her into another outburst. He felt she needed time.

  And then one day, they found a note. It was short and written in pencil.

  I can’t take this anymore. I’m sorry Uncle Jack and Aunt Viv. I love you.

  They were stunned, heartbroken; their hopes and dreams for Claudia were now shattered shards of glass. It was a week before they fully comprehended that the precious little girl they’d raised as their own was gone. She was ill and needed their help. They enlisted the aid of her doctor, and a subsequent search for Claudia proved fruitless.

  She just disappeared, just like her father, Jack thought. Now, Jack and Vivian, in their late-fifties, were left to raise a baby, barely a year-old, at an age when they should’ve been basking in retirement. None of it was fair, not to them, the baby, and not to Claudia. They never heard from Claudia, not even when her seventeenth birthday came and passed. Jack had watched as Vivian stared at the floor all day and then jumped with the slightest hope on the few occasions when the phone rang. But the day had come and gone like any other.

  They raised Brett to the best of their abilities, though this time they vowed to stay silently aware of any traits inherited from Claudia. It would give them a head start if the time came when mental illness would rear its ugly head. It was something they would remain watchful for in the coming adolescent years. Jack also thought of the possible traits the boy’s father may have passed, the wild, brazen, and roving ways of the gypsy. The child had quite an inheritance.

  But the years with the new baby were joyous. By the time he was five, he was riding horses in junior competitions at the state fair, smiling and holding his ribbons, while Jack and Viv posed with him in the newspaper pictures. It was a quiet life for the three of them, and an unspoken relief for Jack and Vivian. Maybe this time they could right any wrongs they’d ever made with Claudia.

  Days after the pictures appeared in the local section of the newspaper, Jack found a note in the mailbox. He noticed it long before the mail was due to arrive. It read simplistically, much like the one Claudia had left behind, though this one was written in red marker.

  Beware of him! He changes!

  Jack felt his blood turn cold. It looked like Claudia’s handwriting, but he couldn’t be certain. She must have been close; she must have been right on their doorstep. She knew what time the mail would arrive every day on this remote, rural road. She would also be aware that Jack would find it just as it was placed, sticking out of the mailbox. The note had to be from Claudia; who else would have made such an allegation?

  “Viv, come take a look at this,” he said, holding the note in his hand.

  Vivian’s face turned white when she read the note. She thought she recognized the handwriting as well. She grimaced and then sighed, expressing hurt by the crazed slander of a young child.

  “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean, anyway?”

  They both wondered just how far over the edge Claudia had plundered in the past four years. Even if the note had come from Claudia, they still couldn’t help but feel somewhat threatened. But just after Brett’s seventh birthday, Jack and Vivian would discover exactly what the cryptic note meant.

  * * * *

  On his seventh birthday, Jack and Vivian gave Brett an elaborate birthday party on the farm. It was a warm, early October day, complete with clowns, balloons, games, and the highlight, a magician. Brett’s eyes lit up as the magician pulled a rabbit from a top hat, flowers from his sleeve, and quarters from noses. But the feat that he enjoyed most was when the magician changed the rabbit into a bird and it flew away.

  The invited children rode the horses on the farm with a local riding instructor who was a friend of Jack’s. The day was flawlessly filled with excitement, fun, joy, and surprise. But long after everyone had left, Brett continued to rave about an easily explainable trick performed by the magician. It was the following day when Jack was accosted, yet again, by the boy’s undying awe.

  “I couldn’t believe it, Uncle Jack,” he said. “He turned that rabbit into a bird. I saw it. I saw it!”

  “That he did, my boy,” he said, laughing. “That he did.”

  “I know if he could do it, I could do it, too, Uncle Jack.”

  “Oh, you think so?” Jack looked at Vivian, and they laughed, sipping coffee at the kitchen table.

  “Yep,” Brett had said. “Watch me, Uncle Jack, watch!”

  As he stood in the kitchen, the boy pulled his shirt from his back and began to undo his belt buckle. Jack and Vivian just stared, surprised into speechlessness. Brett looked up at his Aunt Viv who was watching him. In a flare of childish excitement, he turned and ran from the kitchen and out the back door that he’d propped open on the way out.

  Jack and Vivian continued to stare at each other, bewildered by what was happening. Suddenly, a beautiful, brown, Labrador ran through the door and barked at them before putting his paws up on the table. The dog looked at them from one to another. The bamboozled expressions between husband and wife bordered upon fear and confusion.

  Jack rose from the table and approached the back door, calling for his nephew.

  “Brett? Brett, where are you? Brett, come and get this dog out of the house!”

  At the sound of Jack’s voice, the dog removed its paws from the table, and in an instant, dropped down to the floor. But what hit the floor was not the dog they’d just seen, it was their seven year-old nephew, naked and curled into a fetal position beneath the table.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Jack was stunn
ed into taking the Lord’s name in vain, a transgression of which he rarely indulged. Vivian jumped up from her chair, shrieking at the sight on the floor.

  Brett quickly scrambled up to his knees. Jack could see the sting of embarrassment on the child’s face. His little demonstration hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. The boy dashed out through the back door and soon returned half-clothed, his head lowered as he picked his discarded shirt up from the floor.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Vivian clamped a hand across her mouth, the tears gushing from her eyes. Jack bent down and leveled himself eye-to-eye with the boy.

  “Brett, did you just do what it looked like you did?” Jack asked the question even though he knew the answer. Both he and Viv were well aware of what they’d just seen.

  “Yes, Uncle Jack. I told you I could do it, even better than that magician did. I turned myself into a dog. I’ve done it before.”

  “Holy Christ!”

  “Jack, enough!” Vivian scolded him for his second transgression so far.

  The boy was sweating profusely, and Jack watched him wipe the sweat from his forehead with his shirt. Jack then placed his hand on the boy’s forehead; he was feverish and even panting. He grabbed the boy with both arms and held him tight.

  “Oh, Brett,” he said. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry.”

  Jack knew that the boy would never understand the extent of his meaning. He meant that he was sorry for everything, for having Claudia as a mother, for being abandoned, and now, for this.

  “That’s okay, Uncle Jack,” he said. “I knew you didn’t believe that I could do it better than the magician; that’s why I had to show you.”

  Still holding the boy, he looked at Vivian, and their faces forced smiles through tears and shock.

  * * * *

  Jack began reading and researching old legends of shape-shifters, humans that were able to “shift,” or transform themselves into animals. Eventually, he discovered the legend that referred to “Skinwalker.” The old legends existed not only in the Native American culture, but in the Gypsy culture as well. Jack couldn’t take his eyes from the references to the Gypsy culture, knowing that somewhere within Brett’s Greek and Italian paternal heritage; the traits of an old-world gypsy lay dormant and sleeping.

  He didn’t get far in his research. Vivian became enraged every time she caught him reading up on such material. She scolded him and eventually demanded that it be removed from the house, a place she never wanted to see it, especially with Brett around. And he knew she was right. When Jack read that many Native American legends believed the skinwalker to be a demon, he slammed one of the books shut, vowing to never indulge his curiosity again. He returned some of the books to the library and burned a few out in the burn-barrel in the yard.

  His nephew was not a demon. What he was capable of was not his fault, not his doing. He and Viv swore to never talk about it again, and they indulged the boy to do the same. They continued to live life as they always had on the farm: quiet, happy, and comfortable.

  Brett excelled in school, being proficient in math and science, and as he got older, he became a lover of astronomy. He also became one of the best runners on his track team. He got his first car when he was fifteen, though Vivian wouldn’t let him drive it without one of them present. He graduated summa cum laude from the local university as a top-notch, computer science major. And then, Brett did something that Jack knew was the result of his secret ability.

  He became a paranormal investigator.

  The three of them rarely mentioned Brett’s ability, though they’d remained keenly aware of its inconspicuous presence. They never spoke about Claudia; there was no need. Sometimes, late at night, Jack and Vivian would whisper her name in wonder amid the privacy of pillow talk, but never in front of Brett. Eventually, they stopped.

  Jack never saw Claudia again, not even when Vivian died of a heart attack in 2005. Her obituary had been in the newspaper. Jack thought if Claudia had been close by, she might’ve shown up at the funeral home, sent a card, another note, anything. There had been nothing.

  But, it didn’t matter anymore. Vivian was gone, and it was just him and Brett. On one occasion, Jack looked out of his bedroom window upstairs and caught sight of a huge hawk flying through the yard and up into the sky. He called out for Brett to come and see this incredible sight; he’d never seen such an enormous, beautiful bird.

  “Brett!” He yelled down the stairs more than once.

  There had been no answer.

  Suddenly, Jack had understood. The boy was no longer a boy, but a young man, and his curiosity about himself was blooming. There had been other signs like the howl of a wolf that Jack had distinctly heard on more than one occasion. Brett would come home, late at night, sweaty and feverish, just like that day in the kitchen when he was a boy.

  But now, the lights were dimming on Jack, just like an actor during his final speech before the spotlight dies, and the actor fades amid the black. His final words were not of his own story, but that of the boy he and Vivian had raised since birth. He knew that this time would come, eventually, and that Brett would need the support of those around him. Faithfully, those that loved him had surrounded him now as Jack had finished a long and previously untold tale.

  Chapter Eight

  The faces stared back at Jack, displaying emotional responses to the tale that had been told. Susan’s eyes hadn’t strayed, directing him a consistent prompt of encouragement. The investigators hung their heads, and the young man he’d raised sat close to him with silent tears streaking his face. He and Vivian had agreed to never discuss Claudia, let alone Brett’s father, who’d they’d known only by his shady reputation and a few chance meetings when Claudia brought him around. Now, Jack looked at them with appreciation and a sense of longing. The time was drawing near. He would miss them all, especially his boy.

  “Now, you know, Brett,” he said. “Vivian and I never spoke of Claudia with good reason. We didn’t want you to be touched by her history. We watched you, in case there was any sign of mental illness. We loved and raised you as our own, because you belonged to us.

  “Claudia never came back. She was unable to raise you, Brett. She was too young and far too unbalanced. She was what they now call ‘bi-polar.’”

  Jack ripped the oxygen tubes from his nostrils, attempting to convey his point before it was too late. Vivian, who’d had a better way of explaining things, would’ve done a much better job. She’d always done so with a perfect touch of love that never died. For years, Jack had been the only person Brett had in the world. He’d always known that the day would come when it would be time for him to leave this world, and Brett would be alone. It was for this reason that Jack became profoundly thankful for the team of investigators that sat surrounding his bedside.

  They were Brett’s family now.

  “The thing you have,” he said to him. “It must’ve come from your father’s side. Ignore the legends, Brett. You’re a good boy, and you always have been.”

  Jack’s voice was growing weaker, fading against the hissing oxygen machine.

  “To me,” he said. “You’ll always be my boy.”

  Susan wrapped her arm around Brett’s shoulder as his tears cascaded into streams.

  “My father,” Brett said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You never mentioned his first name. What was it?”

  As Jack looked into his nephew’s eyes, he realized in that instant that Brett would investigate; the five of them would. Now, he would search Heaven and Earth for answers until he got them. But, there was nothing he could do about that now. The boy had a right to know.

  “Antonio,” he said in a fading whisper. “Antonio Anakas.”

  Jack pointed to the closet behind his seated guests, the plastic clip of the oxygen monitor clamped to his finger. He managed another whisper. “My strong box,” he said, “inside my strong box.”

  Heads turned to the open close
t where Jack pointed. Along a top horizontal shelf sat a silver, metal box, one Jack and Vivian had kept for years. They’d used it as sort of a safe deposit box for important documents.

  “I’ll get it; I’m closest.” Sidney stood up and turned, reaching the top shelf and retrieving the box. Jack pointed to Brett, and Sidney handed Brett the box.

  “The key’s in the side compartment,” Jack said.

  Brett slid the small slat of the side compartment open and caught the tiny key as it fell into his open hand. His fingers fumbled the key into the small lock, and soon, the lid popped open. The first piece of paper was the deed to the house and the land, but just underneath it was his birth certificate. Jack watched as Brett read the names on the well-kept paper that had aged over two decades.

  * * * *

  It was the first time he’d ever seen his original birth certificate. On the few occasions when he’d needed that particular form of identification, he’d always used his original adoption certification that proclaimed Uncle Jack and Aunt Viv as his legal guardians. That document had also listed his date of birth. Now, he took his birth certificate out of its envelope and read his name.

  Brett Eugene Taylor

  (Child’s name)

  Then, he read the names that followed...

  Claudia Taylor of Green Valley

  (Mother’s name)

  Antonio Anakas of Appleton

  (Father’s name)

  Appleton was another small, rural town about ten miles north of Green Valley. He and the team knew it well enough, having lived so close to it all of their lives. So, Claudia and Antonio hadn’t been far apart in terms of distance. They’d probably even gone to the same high school together since both towns merged into one school system. He tried not to let the workings of his investigative mind show on his face, as he knew Uncle Jack had been watching him.

  “Was there ever any word about him, ever again?” Brett tried to make the question sound as if he’d asked it out of sheer curiosity.