Dead Horse

        Night had laid herself down like a virgin on the Gros Ventre campground. A generator purred at the far end of the compound. Here and there a few lights could be seen in camping trailers and tents; other than that, all was black. No stars in the Wyoming sky looked down on these traveling sarcophaguses made of fiberglass and nylon that resided among the cottonwoods that stretched to the heavens. The wind started to rise, gently caressing the Teton Valley. "Will you take the baby out by the fire and see if that will help?" mumbled Kate as the infant started to cry more. Grant climbed out of his cocoon to have the cold attack him. He dressed quickly as the cries got louder and louder, the baby wanting to be out of the cold as well. Scooping the child up, he then exited the tent. The chiming of Grant's watch indicated that it was now eleven as he tossed another log on the fire. Turning to his camp chair, he picked up the child that was bundled in the heavy horse blanket. Propping his boots up next to the fire, he looked down at the sleeping babe in his arms. "I guess that bedding wasn't as warm as your mother and I thought it was going to be, huh?" he cooed to the infant. The little one had been bundled up and placed in between them to stay warm during the night. Camping hadn't been on his list of things to do over Labor Day weekend. He just wanted to sit back, relax, have a few beers, and listen to the Rockies game out on the new deck he had just finished. He loved camping; every summer weekend was spent with his dad and granddad camping. It was just his wife and her family were a bad omen when it came to roughing it. Roughing it right, in a campground that had toilets and sinks. When he offered to make a camping toilet with privacy walls, he was told he wouldn't understand because he was a man. He just hoped the showers would stay to the north over the park and away from them; at least while they sat by the fire. Grant himself wasn't tired; he was always up late or all night when camping. The dark and critters of the forest didn't scare him, he just was so full of excitement that he stayed up; mostly due to the partying he did in his early twenties. But tonight he just felt restless, his skin two sizes too tight. Tendoy the family's heeler hadn't even made a noise when they came back out to the fire, hadn't taken his place beside the chair, waiting to be patted on the head or have his ears rubbed. Grant looked over his shoulder at the pickup to see if the canine was still under the dropped tailgate. All curled up was the dog fast asleep. A soft rumble came from the south over the elk refuge. Great! Thought Grant just the sound he was hoping not to hear. He pulled the brim of his hat down to soften the heat from the flames and to rest his eyes for a few minutes, praying it didn't rain. The wind steadily rose, and the current slender kisses on Grant's neck sent the cold down his collar. Reaching up he popped the Sherpa's collar. Pop! Snap! A knot in the log exploded from the heat as the cracking of a fallen branch sounded. Grant's head popped up, looking around to see what had intruded into the campsite. The cottonwoods stood silent; stark as the night waned. The fire pit area was dug down a bit from the bedding area making it hard to tell what was lurking in the tall grass. When he cast his eyes back to the fire a little girl sat across from him. A strand of hair fell across her forehead. The dark gray hood of the hoodie was pulled up concealing most of her face. Her hands were outstretched, being warmed by the flames. She looked to be about thirteen, if that, and on the short side, with a very petite frame. A tilt of her head revealed olive-colored eyes that never moved from staring at the flames. Grant pulled the infant closer to him, wishing he had his sidearm on him. Where the hell was Tendoy? "Damn dog," cursing under his breath. Lifting her gaze to lock eyes with Grant, the presence of the woods shifted. She slowly, almost mechanically, raised a long slender finger that was more arthritic than normal to her lips, indicating silence. A cricket that had just started into its concerto became silent. Just like the insect, the rustling of the branches and grass became mute. They all still tossed around in the slowly rising gale only to have the wind lose its voice. A low hum filled Grant's ears, causing his temples to pulse with blood as his heartbeat sped up. The panic of fear pushed sweat to dampen the bridge of his nose. Never looking away from the girl; Grant tried to close his eyes wishing she would leave. He couldn't make the muscles close the eyelids around the orbitals. His eyes were filled with fright and intrigue, just like the first time he was shown how to clean a fish. Not wanting to hurt the fish but at the same time wanting to see the shimmering blade slice through the soft underbelly. In the same mechanical manner, she lowered her finger. The wind was picking up. Grant could see the branches and grass moving, but still, no sound filled his ears. His stomach was tightening as his mouth was beginning to dry. Why was he so damn scared of this little girl? Nothing scared him, not even becoming a father had scared him, even though all his friends said it was the scariest thing in life, to drop your old skin at the thresh hold and become someone you never thought you could or would be. He never got around to asking his pa if it was true, he had died of a heart attack three months after Grant was married. Regardless he was scared of this person. The girl tossed another log on the fire. Clunk! The sudden appearance of sound in the void caused Grant to jump, almost losing the child in his arms. The soft yellow light from the fire filled the circumference of the area to the edge of the grass, but nothing further. In a short quick burst, the light would make its way to the base of the cottonwoods. But never further. The girl chuckled softly as she placed her hands back to warm them by the fire. Grant noticed that a leather pouch hung around her neck; the tassels showing signs of age. Speaking for the first time, her voice was more mature, soft and full of control than most girls her age who Grant knew. "The baby seems to be doing better now that they are by the fire where it is warm." Gentle were her words and inviting was the smile at the end of her statement. "Who are you and what do you want?" came in a dry groan from Grant's throat. The smile never left her face. A soft cooing with light lip smacks came from the bundle in Grant's arms. Grant looked down as the child gave a tiny smile. "Aw, the child seems to have woken up." "You still haven't answered my question," Grant sharply and calmly replied. A draft walked up the back of his neck, as though someone had tossed a blanket nearby. He looked up as a great grey owl glided inches above his head, outstretching its strong talons to land on the girl's shoulder. Grant stared in wonder at the large bird of prey. Why? Why was this girl in his camp after eleven? Or even here? He hadn't seen her in any of the nearby sites. What was her reasoning? And where the hell was Tendoy? He would turn to check again or call but that fist in his stomach told him not to turn his back on her. "Your right I haven't and that is rude of me. Do you still fish on the Tongue?" she asked removing a leather pouch from around her neck The Tongue? He hadn't thought of that torrent in years, not since the last time he went fishing with his pa and granddad. She opened the drawstrings, scooping out a handful of white powder. Tossing it into the fire. The flames roared, turning the blaze a white gray like dead flesh. Just then a babble of water and the warmth of the sun consumed Grant, seeping past the layers he wore, sending him back deep into a memory he had forgotten all about. The Dodge's tires slid to a stop on the gravel covering the little parking place next to the northern Tongue River. The sun was barely peaking along the eastern ridge, painting the dark pine ridge to the west in a bar of soft gold. Prairie grass and flowers of all colors looked fresh in the morning dew. The rumbling of the engine tapered and died as three figures emerged from the cab. A boy of thirteen ran and climbed on the wood railing near the information sign. "Grant get over here and get your stuff," called a man dressed like it was still the eighties, his sandy blonde bi-level haircut, mustache, and a denim jacket. "Or you won't be able to fish." "Yes Pa," called Grant hurrying back to grab his pole. "Do you think we will catch anything?" "We better or you will not have anything for supper to share with you grandma or mother," his Granddad said coming around to their side of the truck, a bright smile beaming from under that old cowboy hat he always wore and the long gray beard that made him look like a wizard. His granddad pulled a pack of Marlboros from the front pocket of his down vest. He offered one to Grant's dad. "When can I have one Pop?" Grant asked his dad. "Not till you're eighteen. Now let's get going," he replied exhaling the drag, gesturing for Grant to follow his granddad down the path to the river. The three spaced themselves within shouting distance from one another in hopes that they wouldn't tangle lines. After about an hour or two, his Granddad informed them that he was going a bit farther down to try his luck. "Alright sounds good Dad. Remember to watch for bears," replied Grant's father. Grant watched as his grandfather grabbed his gear, lit another smoke, and headed around the bend. He had often wondered what his granddad thought about when he cast his line in the rushing water, waiting for a fish to take hold. Did he think of Grant's grandma? What life would be like down the road? What things he would miss out on? Or when the cigarettes would kill him? Yes, Grant knew it wasn't good to smoke, but if someone you loved did it and had lived as long as his grandpa had then it couldn't be all that bad, right? Grant also wondered what the Navy was like for his granddad. He had fought in two conflicts, which had brought him close to the front lines. He was lucky to have come away unscathed, physically that is. Then again his granddad only said he did his duty and that was that. After nothing but nibbles, Grant reeled in his line and removed some hitching allege. He leaned it against a nearby trunk and went to stretch his legs. He tossed a few rocks at some chipmunks, watched his dad fish, and finished off the last of his lunch which didn't last till noon. Once finished he got up, stretched, and turned to the tree line. Wanting some shade he headed up the slope. I will stay within shouting distance in case something happens, Grant thought. Taking a look back over at his dad to mark his place, he entered the woods. Once he had passed the first couple of trees the babbling of the Tongue and the whisper of the highway vanished. The foliage was denser in some places, forcing Grant to go around some obstacles and over others, mostly logs. After climbing over his third big log Grant looked up, admiring little streams of sunlight coming through the canopy, painting the world in sepia. The rays caught every angle of dust that hovered in the air. He didn't know how long he had been wandering around. Grant figured it had been only fifteen minutes when he heard what he thought was an owl. Grant wasn't even sure if owls came out during the day; he only knew owls came out at night. Climbing over another big log he found himself in a small clearing. The warmth of the sun felt good after being in the shade for so long. Shade high in the mountains was a welcome sight in the summer, but it was often also cold, like a grip of a bony hand caressing one's skin. Tall grass came up to Grant's waist. This grass was taller than the grass down by the truck. Most grass that he had seen was only about shin high, this came to about mid-arm. In the middle Grant outstretched his arms wide, spinning in circles as birds chirped, the sun dancing with him in a type of coiled waltz. Round and round and round, falling in grace to the earth, ending the dance. He lay there admiring the clouds. The vigilant feeling of being watched crawled along Grant's right forearm as he drifted to sleep. He dreamt that his dad was calling him to come to look at the large trout he had caught. "Grant!" "Grant? Are you Grant?" came a joyful voice. Looking up he saw a girl about his age maybe older leaning over him. "Yeah I'm Grant," he replied gruffly and still induced with sleep. "That's good. Your father is looking for you." "What time is it?" Grant asked, panic in his voice. "It is about two o'clock," the girl replied looking at her watch. "My dad and I were fishing but then I got bored." "Fishing? I didn't see anyone else fishing. You show up after I wandered off?" "No, we parked down the road from the lot. There is this dirt turnout that we parked at. More room to park and near a really good fishing hole" "If the turnout is down the road how did you get on this side of the river?" Grant asked skeptically of the girl who was now heading to the other side of the cleaning. "I hopped on some rocks to get across the water," she replied turning around. "Oh," he said. "Do you remember how to get back to the river?" "I sure do," she proudly said smiling. "But it will cost you." "What is it going to cost me?" Grant replied, folding his arms in defense. "Your soul." The smile never left her face. Grant busted up laughing, "My soul? You want my soul, do you? Well, I don't know about it." Still laughing. "Your soul. Any soul really," she said a bit dreamily, distant like the concept was a deep philosophical question. "One that is trainable. So you will do." His laughter subsided as she stood there her hand extended. "Is it a deal?" Grant looked at her hand. "Are you serious?" "Deal or no deal, Grant?" "Sure. What do I have to lose, after all, no one believes in that stuff nowadays right?" So he took her hand. "Turn slightly to your left, walk past that downed log next to the boulder and go straight. There is a game trail that will take you to the river." Grant started to make his way to the downed log. "Coming?" "No, I'm good. I saw a raccoon on my way up. I was following him until I found you. So I'm going to see if I can find him again," she smiled and departed in the opposite direction. Grant came out of the trees to his father yelling his name. "Grant! Grant!" He also noticed an ambulance, a few Wyoming state cops, and a fish and game truck. The paramedics were loading a stretcher with a body bag into the back of their wagon. What had happened? There were no other service vehicles in the lot. Suddenly Grant was wrapped in his father's arms. Through the sobs and words of "Where the hell have you been" and "I have told you to never wander off, you know better." Grant was able to hear the bear and grandfather. Grant sneezed in the yellow light of the fire, no longer as the great white blaze, it had become its former self. The world was just as petrified before the memory took hold. The fire's glow blended with the shadow not sure where either stopped or began. She tossed another log on the fire, sending sparks twirling and somersaulting towards the canopy. There was something different about the girl in the whole picture of her. Everything looked the same as it did before she tossed that powder into the fire. What was different? Then Grant noticed under her feet propping them up as though he was a footstool, lay Tendoy, his body unmoving. "I never did find that old raccoon from that afternoon." Something moved from behind her in the shadows. What moved was darker than the surrounding foliage. These figures were slender but some were obscured like their heads were either too small or too big. They stopped just outside the light, their blackness sliding in and out like a candle's shadow. She sat with that calm collect smile painted on her face. She was enjoying this all too much, a sick sadistic game. A giant gray-fleshed hand with long black nails reached around the big cottonwood that stood behind the young woman. The hand was followed by a bone snout of a massive bull moose. The bone-white skull was urine yellow in the glow of the fire. The spoons attached to the skull were the biggest set Grant had ever seen. The creature's skull sockets were deep dark inky pits that reflected no fire light. The ivory bone pulled back blending into human ears and a skull base of equally white skin. This creature was massive, draped in a long buffalo hide, standing at over seven feet. The other obscured figures had to be of equal stature. Soon the other followers stepped into the light. They were of similar ilk but from all sorts of animals. A gnarled arthritic hand grabbed Grant's forehead from behind, knocking his hat to the dusty earth. Dust exhaled in a state of slow motion; for not only had the sound been altered, but so had movement. They, the creatures, the young woman, and Grant were the only ones not affected, though at that moment he was unable to move any of his limbs. Grant rolled his eyes to get a look at the creature holding him. Those gnarled skeletal fingers were long, ending in unkempt yellow-brown nails, some were long and sharp others were cracked and broken. Hot steam came from the gaping nasal cavity, rich and thick like steam engines release upon arrival. So dark were the eye sockets that they glowed with another worldly light when up closer. Void of emotion the creature with his spare hand held a black stoned knife to Grant's throat. The razor-thin blade was already drawing blood as it barely pressed to his skin. Slow drips of blood traced their way down the curve of his neck. "You see your bad luck that day was my good luck. I might not have found that coon but I did find something better. But I never did pick up your scent in those mountains again. I was becoming discouraged when I could not find another and you had vanished. Then yesterday I found you again. How I dreamed that I could see you hold claim to our deal. To use that power that was deep inside you. You see most people do not seek me out, they tend to stay as far away as possible. But you came and now here we sit. The funny thing is this, my dear friend, that power I have longed for is no longer in you." She reached up and tossed the hood back revealing white-streaked black hair. Her hands made their way to undo the heavy thick braid. Instead of the braid unraveling down around her shoulders, her hands moved away from one another the hair beginning to expand out past her ears. Hair and skin pulled away from her skull. The skin around her eyes and nose became soft and malleable. In one fluid motion like a snake shedding its old skin, the girl's face came off, falling into the fire. Blood ran down a wrinkled aged face that was left in the young girl's place. Once white hair was now tacky with blood drying in the weave from where the old skin once was. The brightest feature through all the grim of blood were those olive-colored eyes. No longer a young girl this old weathered face was her real identity. "Oh, how children are so perfect to train." Grant's eyes widened and his stomach ached again as it did all those years ago when he was filled with fear of seeing that body bag. The old woman stood causing the owl to take flight, all her weight smashing Tendoy's skull. Walking around the fire she made her way toward Grant. "That handshake held you to me one day. I have lived on this great earth for far longer than can be imagined. Now it is time that I join my ancestors. Before I do, I must pass my wisdom on." She snapped her fingers sending the other creatures into the tents where his family lay sleeping. The sounds of fabric being torn thundered in the flashes of lightning illuminating this rendezvous. Tears ran down Grant's cheeks. Not being able to close his eyes the air burned as they dried them out. The woman was now in front of him. The smell of dry blood filled his nose and the rank smell of decay came from her partly opened mouth. She leaned in kissing his tear-stained cheek. As she backed up, Grant noticed an anchor tattoo on the lower forearm of the creature that held the stone knife to his throat. The same tattoo his grandfather had from his time in the service. "He has been waiting for you for oh so long to come and join him, Grant." She informed him as she stood tall the bundle of the baby in her arms. He wanted to get up to save his child and wife, but fear held him in place. How could this all be true? A nightmare, that's all it was. Yes! The chicken his mother-in-law had made for supper was bad and now it was causing him to hallucinate. Yeah, that was it, nothing here was real. The other creatures had returned, their stone blades dripped black in the glow of the flames. "I will say this went better than I had planned. I guess the trauma from your grandfather's death at the hand of that grizzly and the passing of time was the sedative needed to fulfill our agreement. As she backed into the shadows along with her creatures her last works echoed, "Now you have ceased to be relevant, my dead horse." Then came the rain.l