2017-11-22 - 1:26 p.m.
I love camping. I love the trees, the fresh air, and the open quiet space that the city life can’t provide. The air surrounding me fills my lungs and I am at peace. I lay in an open clearing and read a book. Yes, cliché as it sounds, but it feels relaxing. It helps my mind expand beyond just the pages of the book in my hand. No distractions.
Every summer since I could remember, my family and I would take road trips around as many states as we could. But after every road trip we always ended up back to my grandmother’s house. Winding down from the excitement under the sun, we settled down in a place not many people travel through.
One year when I was 10, my cousins had been by to visit. They stayed for a few days, and let me tell you that was a blast. We camped out in the clearing in front of my family’s house every night till they left. We’d build small fires for our smores. And some nights my father would sit with us, not to play guardian or babysitter, but as a storyteller. He would be the calm and deep voice, with bone chilling stories sure to make you look over your shoulder. His way of telling such scary stories made the shadows around you come to life. Through him we felt the excitement of fear on a full moon lit night.
It slowly became tradition, where two families would come together at the end of the summer. At grandmother’s home, her land, we stayed and we camped out in the clearing in front of my family’s house.
At grandmothers were acres of land. A lush forest filled with old dirt wagon trails long forgotten and unused. Many canals and ditches that quickly filled with water during the monsoon. She had her livestock which included sheep, cows, horses, chickens, turkeys, dogs and cats. And then there was a large open clearing, large enough for two small churches, a mobile home, 4 large family homes, a shade house we used for outdoor gatherings, and a tool shed built from scratch by my grandfather. And in this land were 5 young imaginative children, where there was plenty to explore and discover in the light of day.
It was during the summer of my 14th year when imagination and fantasy was no longer something dreamed of. Everything became reality, as fast as lightning strikes, it shook us all. It might have also sparked an odd excitement, a thrill for adrenaline if you will.
My brother, sister and 2 cousins were sitting at our camp fire, roasting a pile of marshmallows. I had sat next to my sister while my dad was coming out of the house to join us. We all whispered to each other, ‘I wonder what story he’s going to tell.’
‘I hope he tells us about Grandpa finding that Skinwalker.’
‘Grandpa didn’t find the Skinwalker, he saw a man trying to become a skin walker.’
‘Yea, and it didn’t work remember?’
‘well duh. I remember. I remember when dad told us about how scared uncle Dennis was when he saw Grandpa through the window too!’
In unison we laughed. It was a scary story ending in something quite humorous. And as we quieted down, we all waited for my father. He sat down and got comfortable. With a slight chill in the breeze, we huddled closer to the fire, not taking our eyes off my father, and clenching tighter on our roasting sticks.
‘Hello boys and girls. Would you like me to tell you a story of times long ago? Or are we leaning towards more scary and dark stories tonight?’
All at once we voiced our excitement in more scary stories, ‘More, more scary stories.’ We all would say.
‘Tell us about Skinwalkers again.’ Our cousin said.
Quickly we all said, ‘Yes yes. Please. Tell us more!’
My father held his hand up, and at once we were silent and still. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath and exhaled, ‘You want me to tell you guys about Skinwalkers huh?’
Quietly we said, ‘=Yes. Please.’
We were leaning so far forward if the fire was any bigger it would have licked our faces.
‘Well, do you know why your Grandmother doesn’t talk about Skinwalkers?’
Confused at the question, we thought for a second and realized that she never talked about them. Not once would she mention the evil that lurked at night. We had never really thought to ask her about them. After all she is a woman with years of experience on the land, dating all the way back to world war 1.
So quietly we sat there, after exchanging slight confused and interested looks.
‘Your Grandmother does not speak of these evil beings because she once told me when I was about your age, that speaking of them day or night, is the same as inviting the evil upon your presence. And the number one rule, the golden rule is not to whistle at night. Absolutely no whistling. Because whistling is a way that these Skinwalkers communicate to each other.’
Our eyes grew big! This was huge news to us!
‘Dad, you mean they can talk to each other?’
‘In a way yes. But when they are in the animals hide, as a Skinwalker they can’t really speak speak like you and I right now. That is why they whistle to one another.’
Surprised, not realizing that these Skinwalkers were much more frightening than fairy tale stories, or ghost stories, but something that is truly believed to heart by the elders of this land, I spoke up, ‘Wait, if they whistle to communicate, that means there is more than one out there in the dark?’
In that moment my father looked down, and I swear I could see a hint of a smirk. But just as I had seen it, he looked up at us and said, ‘Yes.’ with a straight monotone voice.
Bark bark bark!!!!!!
Suddenly we all shifted in our seats, looking in the direction of the noise. The dogs continued to bark.
I could feel a sudden rush of adrenaline as my heart started beating fast and hard against my chest. I started breathing hard but silent.
‘What’s a matter guy? It’s only the dogs barking.’ my father chuckled lightly.
I looked at my younger brother and sister next to me. I could see a little fear showing on their face. Their eyebrows came in slightly and raised with a small frown. They were still looking in the direction of the barking dogs.
‘Are you lying uncle?’ my cousin questioned, trying not to sound afraid.
‘Now would I lie to you?’ he said without moving.
We just sat there for a few minutes in silence when the dogs finally stopped, and the calm of the wind was all we could hear. My brother and sister thankfully seemed to have calmed down as well.
‘You see, when these Skinwalkers come out, they are usually out for a purpose. And that purpose is almost always an evil act against someone. They could be putting a hex on someone for revenge, jealousy, or just for the fun of it. And they don’t have to attack a person, they could attack the animals as well. The cows, sheep, and especially the dogs.’
'The dogs?’ my sister said in a sweet but sad concern voice.
‘Yes, they can and will attack the dogs. But only if they get in the way of their purpose.’
‘But everyone has dogs.’
‘Yes. Your Grandma has dogs.’
‘So they would attack the dogs if they come.’
‘Don’t say that,’ whined my sister. She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable now.
‘What? Uncle said that they attack dogs.’
‘Well not just the dogs, ‘ my father said calmly…
There it was again, that smirk.
‘You see, the Skinwalkers will always have a purpose, a plan. And part of that plan is to clear their target or victim so that they can attack. So they travel in pairs. One will do the hexing on the target, and the other… well the other is important.’
My cousin whispering to himself, ‘That’s why the whistle.’
‘The other Skinwalker will purposefully show himself, and by doing so it will reveal if there is any other persons or animals in the way. So through their communication they distract the dogs. Because they are always the alarms to any danger that comes near. They will grab their attention and lead them away from the target. And that’s when the other Skinwalker comes in and ATTACKS!’
AAAAGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We all screamed out loud because we all saw my fathers hands go up and at the same time the fire hand gone out. There was no gust of wind, or any distinct movement in the air. The fire had just gone out, but embers could be seen still alive. So quickly my cousin blew softly at it, and as it glowed it brought the fire back to life. And that’s when we all panicked. Because before us was an empty seat, the spot where my father was just seconds ago.
‘Daaaaniiiiiiiiii.’ My sisters whine was quickly turning into a cry of fear.
My chest was burning with fear and shock. What the hell is happening?
I think we were all too scared to really say anything. But minutes went by and nothing had changed. There was no footsteps to be heard, there were no crickets, no birds near by. Nothing. Where the hell was my father? This isn’t funny!!!
Bark bark bark!!!!!!
To our left the dogs began to bark. And then their barking grew quietly and towards the north. Like they were chasing something, and it was leading them away from us.
‘This isn’t funny uncle!’ my cousin cried out.
And then suddenly we heard it. Something in the direction of where the dogs were last heard barking, a sound that still leaves goosebumps on my whole body. It was a whistle. The communicating bridge between two horrifying creatures.
Just as we all had heard the whistle my younger brother, sister and cousin began to cry. My older cousin sitting across from me looked at me in a way that I will never forget. The whites of his eyes so dominant because his eyes were so wide, and the frown that followed knocked fear right into my soul that I nearly forced myself to take a breath.
When that whistle ended it was very faint and almost mute. The silence that followed was not a comfort, the younger kids did not stop crying, my cousin didn’t move, and neither did I.
And then suddenly like a sharp hot piercing metal the 2nd whistle my father told us about rang so loud in our ears.
IT WAS BEHIND US!
‘DAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!!!!!!’
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Dont judge me. :P It was a last minute story I whipped up. Hope you enjoy and HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!
