The Skinwalker's Tale

by Christopher Carrolli

  They were the people that Brett had left in this world. They had to protect him, no matter what the cost. Dylan kept his determination silent, unwilling to reassert the seriousness of the situation to Brett; he already knew. There was no need to ignite his emotions, keep him on edge.

  The sign ahead looked much like an old-village marker in its traditional way. It read, “Welcome to Appleton” in an exuberant, cursive-style of etching. He’d driven this way many times before, and every time he marveled at how Appleton appeared as some quaint, storybook village, with apple trees lining the main roadway and small, green apples littering the ground. Appleton had been known for its abundance of apple trees, hence the town’s aptly given name. Still, it seemed so hard to believe that quite possibly, they’d come to this quiet little village to kill someone.

  His mind ran away from the thought.

  “We should stop somewhere for coffee and decide how we’re going to proceed,” he said.

  “Good idea,” Susan said. “But no food for me, I couldn’t eat another bite after today.”

  Before long, Dylan turned into a motor lodge that had an expansive restaurant adjoining. He parked the van in one of the lot’s few open spaces.

  “We’ll keep this place on our radar, just in case we decide to stay,” he said to Susan.

  A table for six was prepared, and for the trouble, they ordered coffee and dessert. Once the blonde, peppy waitress left them alone without further interruptions, Dylan glanced around before speaking.

  “The first thing we need to figure out is how to find Wilson Street,” he said. “I brought the GPS tracker from 208, but I also want a map of Appleton, just in case. I think we can get one, here, without looking suspicious.”

  “Right,” Susan said. “We certainly can’t ask for directions to Wilson Street.”

  “And then what?” Leah asked. “A van full of people stalking one house will definitely draw attention.”

  “Well, at least, not at first,” Dylan said. He went on to mention the possible excuses they could use to substantiate their being in the neighborhood. “Not to mention, we don’t know what type of neighborhood it is, or how many people live there.”

  “But at first, we’ll get a casual glimpse.” Susan said, illuminating his point.

  “Exactly,” he said. He looked at his watch. “It’s about seven now; the sun should be going down in a little more than an hour. We’ll sit until then, and then make our way to Wilson Street.”

  “Now’s the time for your first move,” Tahoe said, with a nod. Dylan looked over and saw the waitress walking back to the table.

  “Allow me,” Sidney said.

  The waitress returned to the table.

  “Can I get you all anything else?” She asked with her sprightly and hospitable tone.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, you can,” Sidney said. “We’ve been travelling all day, and we’re kind of new to this area. We were hoping to find a map of Appleton.”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I can have one sent over from the front desk.”

  Sidney thanked her, and she turned and left. In the time that she was gone, they discussed their possible options after finding the house. About ten minutes later, Sidney shushed them as the waitress walked back toward them. They watched her as she returned to the table.

  “Here you are,” she said, handing Sidney the map that was folded into a pamphlet. “And if you have any questions, or need directions, they’d be more than willing to help at the front desk.”

  Sidney thanked her, and she walked away again, this time doting upon her customers who sat at other tables. Sidney handed Dylan the pamphlet. They decided to kill more time as each of them made trips to the restrooms. Finally, Dylan signaled to the waitress for the check. After paying the bill, they left the restaurant and hopped back into the van. Dylan turned on the interior lights and swiveled the front seats around to the face the seats in the middle. He unfolded the pamphlet, spreading out the large, square, poster-style map for all to see. He and Sidney held the top portion of the map, while Leah and Brett held the bottom. Using his finger, Dylan began tracing lines on the map that represented the labeled streets. Soon, the words stood out, meeting his eyes along with his roving finger...

  Wilson Street

  It was a long road, possibly rural, and running a stretch of almost a mile. Leah spoke up after Dylan pointed it out.

  “If this road is anything like Cedar Drive,” she said, “then the neighbors could be a considerable distance apart.”

  “If it’s a rural road,” Sidney said, “there may not be many neighbors at all.”

  Dylan was studying the map, tracing the route he would need to take from their current location, to Wilson Street. Then, he entered the address into the GPS: 521 Wilson Street.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said. “Let’s roll.”

  * * * *

  Dylan veered off of the main highway that ran through Appleton, turning onto one of its country roads that unwound, twisted, and turned through the quaint, little town. While observing Appleton’s picturesque scenery, Brett was reminded of the rural side of Green Valley, his home with Uncle Jack and Aunt Vivian. The only difference was that the backdrop was different. Silos still sporadically reached for the sky, yet the little town was absent of the rolling hills he’d been surrounded by his whole life. Here, the land seemed flat with small, overlapping mounds almost conforming to the structure of the scenic maze they now traveled through. Here, the stench of rotting apples that once bloomed fresh now soured the summer air.

  It was nearly eight-o’clock, and the orange of the day was now replaced by a deepening, dusky blue. It wasn’t nightfall yet, but the heat of the day’s activity now surrendered to a quiet retirement. Brett felt his heart beating faster as he watched Dylan, the GPS guiding him exactly where to drive. He was also listening, as all thoughts seemed stifled by a smothering silence. But he was calm, feeling the support of those around him silently wrapping him in an invisible shroud.

  He spoke to shatter the maddening quiet.

  “If it is him,” he said. “Does anyone think we might somehow catch a glimpse of him?”

  “I doubt we could be selling magazines at this time of night,” Sidney said, with a slight chuckle.

  Brett laughed but he and the others felt only apprehension, and focused eyes remained fixated on the road ahead. Susan commented that selling magazines was a cover story that none of them were beneath using if the situation warranted it. Dylan slowed down as he veered the van in a right-hand turn.

  “There’s a sign,” he said, slowing to a stop. “What does it say?”

  Leah, Brett, and Sidney rose up from their seats to get a better glance at the narrow, rectangular street sign. The GPS spoke... “You are approaching your destination.” Leah was the first to respond. “Yep, it’s Wilson Street,” she said.

  Dylan turned onto Wilson Street, a long, rural stretch just as assumed. The left side of the street had been nothing but a wooded, forested area; the right side sported two-story houses that were spaced more than fifty feet apart. The GPS had gone quiet.

  “Everyone, look for 521,” Sidney said, turning and looking out of the passenger window. Brett did the same from the center, and Leah moved across to share the view. Susan quickly looked out of the back window. Their eyes waited as Dylan slowly drove down Wilson Street. The first house had white siding with black shudders. They looked for a house number. Sidney had been the first to find it above the mailbox.

  “504,” he said.

  “Looks like we have a way to go,” Leah said.

  Brett’s heart began pounding even harder, so loud that he feared Leah might overhear it. Wilson Street was a windy road, like many they’d encountered here, and the van swerved through it as Dylan drove on. The next house was dark-blue in color. It was difficult to locate its number that was shadowed by the deepening dusk.

  “506,” Leah said.

  “It would take a seer to find t
hat one,” Sidney said. Brett laughed lightly even though his heart was pounding hard, and his breath was becoming heavier. The GPS remained silent.

  Dylan sped the van up, realizing that 521 would not be so easy to find. And he’d been right. The houses passed and their numbers spanned by two and sometimes three. They saw no people, only open doors, and porch lights that had been recently turned on. Finally, the numbers grew closer. The next house before them was 517.

  Dylan stopped the van. Brett sat up as straight as he could with him and Leah both squeezed into the same seat.

  “It has to be the next one,” Susan said from the back.

  Dylan approached the next house and came to a slow stop in front of it. It was a tan-colored, brick house with a small chimney and a spacious front porch. Their eyes searched for the house number. Brett felt the growing impatience surging within him.

  “Is that it? Well, is it?” He couldn’t see a house number, and neither could anyone else.

  “I don’t see it,” Sidney said. “Wait! There it is.”

  He pointed to a wooden plaque that had been crafted for the house and hung to the side on the lawn. He looked at the numbers.

  “519,” he said.

  “Damn it!” Brett sulked back into the seat. Leah moved up front to get a closer view through Sidney’s window.

  “Well, it has to be the next house,” Dylan said. Tahoe had remained eerily quiet for some time. Now, he spoke only two words but Brett felt the chill induced by his cryptic tone.

  “It is,” he said.

  Dylan proceeded slowly, and the tension of the moment rendered them all back into that uncomfortable silence that seemed to be carrying them. The van came closer to the next house. It was a small, two-story, like the rest, this one with red and white speckled brick that gave it its pinkish appearance. It seemed to possess a comfortable, domestic quality, snug and somehow hidden off to the side of the long stretch of rural road.

  The GPS loudly confirmed Tahoe’s prediction.

  Dylan stopped the van in front of the house. No one had been outside, contrary to what Brett had hoped. A black-Ford truck was parked in front. Fourth of July decorations still adorned the house. Red, white, and blue streamers blew in the breeze, hanging from the lampposts that stood erect in the front yard. Papier-mâché versions of Uncle Sam’s tie in the same colors clung inside the windows. Dim lights softly illuminated from an inside upper window, yet nothing and no one stirred. Brett simply stared at the house, wondering if his biological father sat somewhere inside.

  His breathing became harder and his pulse raced, but now confronted with this moment, he had no idea of what to do next. Dylan looked over at him, almost reading his thoughts.

  “Well?” he said. “We’ve got to figure out how to proceed and come back. So, it’s up to you, Brett. Do we go back home, figure this out, and come back; or do we spend the night here in Appleton?”

  Brett couldn’t find the voice to answer him. He sat watching the house, unable to turn his frozen eyes away. Susan spoke up from the back.

  “Since we’re here, we may as well stay,” she said. “But Dylan is right, Brett, it’s entirely your decision.”

  Still, Brett couldn’t answer. He watched the windows, where no one stirred from behind.

  “I noticed a place on that map I’d like to find, maybe check it out,” Sidney said, turning his head toward Brett. “I can do that first thing in the morning, if we’re here.”

  Brett could feel Leah watching him, saying nothing. After what she’d faced in Cedar Manor, he knew that she had some perception of what he was feeling right now. She and Tahoe said nothing. Something moved inside the house, a slight shadow, and then it was gone. Suddenly, he could speak.

  “We stay,” he said, his eyes unflinching. “We stay and watch this house.”

  Dylan stepped on the gas, just as the shadow moved closer from inside.

  “We’ll get rooms at the motor lodge,” Susan said. “It’s been a long day. We can figure this out in the morning.”

  Brett blinked his eyes, released from the moment. He let out a gasp, feeling himself unwind...at least...for now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After searching for Wilson Street, they returned to the motor lodge and booked three double rooms for the night. Brett and Tahoe stayed in one, Dylan and Sidney in the other, and Susan and Leah bunked in the third. They had all remembered to bring a simple overnight bag, enough to stay for an evening if things had turned out that way, and they had. They’d slept soundly through the night with no interruptions. Brett hadn’t stirred. And now the morning light had awakened them early in a strange setting, forcing them to assemble once again in the restaurant, this time, for breakfast.

  Thoughts on how to proceed were not any clearer in the light of day.

  “Last night, I told you all that I noticed something on the map,” Sidney said, over a plate of blueberry pancakes. “It was a library. This town might be small, but of course they have their own library. I wasn’t able to find much on the Anakas family from the university’s library, but searching in their previous locality might help. I want to do that before we go back to that house; just give me an hour.”

  All agreed, and now Brett spoke up after staring into his coffee.

  “That’s great, Sid. But we still don’t know how we’re going to go about this.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this all night and all morning,” Susan said. “It’s clear to me that there’s one way we could do this. We could approach the owner of the house and maintain that we’re looking for Antonio. The reason is quite simple, Brett; you’re searching for your birth father. It’s normal enough. People do it all the time, especially after losing the family that raised them. As your psychiatrist, I can validate that I recommended the idea to you as a therapeutic suggestion.”

  They all looked at each other, eyes confirming that the most obvious idea sounded like the most logical. Susan continued...

  “And if the owner is not Antonio, then we could always ask if he’s related. After all, if he’s related to Antonio, he would be family to you, Brett. He may sympathize with your plight and give us the information we need.”

  “Not as easy as one thinks,” Tahoe said. His voice turned hopeful eyes into fearful orbs that turned towards him. “What happens when you do find Antonio? If he is the original skinwalker, Brett must carry out a bloody deed to accomplish his goal. When word gets out that Antonio’s biological son was searching for him, it identifies Brett as a person of interest, or even a suspect.”

  The look on Brett’s face was as if the floor had vanished from beneath him, leaving him lost and drifting through open space. But then, he composed himself.

  “Then, I’ll wait,” he said.

  “That brings up another issue,” Dylan said. “What if the guy in that house has family? He most likely doesn’t live in that house alone.”

  “Let’s remember something, Dylan,” Leah said, cutting in. “A. Anakas could very well be a woman. But if it is a man, and if he is Antonio, then Dylan’s right; you may have younger brothers and sisters that you don’t know about.”

  The thought struck Brett like lightning. It was something he hadn’t considered before.

  “And if they’re like me,” he said, “I may just be doing them a favor.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Susan said. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. The best way to go about this is with the half-truth that I mentioned. If we devise some flawed plan on such short notice to discover the owner’s identity, it could lead to more trouble. But most of all, it will deny you your right to discover as much information as you can of your paternity. You have that right, Brett; you may as well exercise it.”

  He knew she was right. He looked at her and nodded.

  “You’ve lived with this your entire life,” Susan said, squeezing his hand. “So if you have to live with it a little longer, then so be it. You’ll do what you think is best. I know you.”

&nbs
p; He had to find out if A. Anakas was Antonio, his father. He needed answers, especially about Claudia. It seemed incredible to him that Antonio had known her far better than he ever had. Sometimes he tried to picture her face in his mind, and it was there, but it wasn’t there, an elusive, buried memory. Another thought caused him to stir in his seat: what if Antonio and Claudia had been together all of this time?

  He let out a gasp as his mind felt like a runaway train. The idea was crazy. It was paranoid. It was ridiculous, but it just might be true. They were rumored to have been madly in love, weren’t they? What if they’d reunited somehow, leaving Uncle Jack and the other adults behind in the dark? He thought about the possibility of her changing her name. He looked over at Sidney who was scarfing down the last of his pancakes.

  “Sid, look up something else when you go,” he said. “Look up, Claudia Anakas.”

  Sidney let his fork fall with a clang as he reached for his coffee.

  “So, you think they’ve been shacked up together all of these years?” he said. “Possible.”

  “But unlikely, Sidney,” Susan said, sighing in irritation. “But, if it makes you feel better, Brett, then by all means...”

  Her words drifted off. Sidney had cleaned his plate, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stood from the chair. He looked only at Brett.

  “I won’t be long,” he said. “I’ll be back here in three shakes of a lamb’s ass.”

  “And then we go back to Wilson Street,” Brett said, to the others around the table.

  There were no disagreements, no contradictions. Sidney pushed his chair in and hurried out the door.

  * * * *

  The map was still in the van, and he opened it up in the front seat before driving. The library he’d located was only four blocks away. Sidney took off in the van, and within ten minutes, he was standing outside of the old landmark building. Its Corinthian columns flanked a set of stairs that led to the front doors of the red-brick edifice. Inside, the library seemed quaint and nostalgically old-fashioned, yet fully equipped with all the modern necessities it would require to stay in existence. Much like the university’s library, small, individual, computer stations made it possible to not only execute thorough internet searches, but searches within the library itself, searches that would locate any of the multitude of books stacked high upon the towering shelves.