Skinwalkers (11 page)

F
arnsworth wobbled on his feet as the room quaked around him. “
What in all of God’s green earth
—?“ The room swelled and contracted as a hideous moan echoed all around him. The sound departed and Farnsworth looked around the room, waiting for … what? He didn’t know.“

“I must be taking leave of my senses.“ Farnsworth snatched the overturned bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered from Garrett’s desk and took a long pull. From the corner of his eye, J.T. noticed a green fog eclipsing the view through the room’s sole window. Farnsworth started for the window, intending to take a closer look. But something yanked his leg back. Farnsworth looked down. The chain fastening his leg to the room’s stove had pulled taut.

Farnsworth heard a loud thump, the sound of something big and heavy landing on the roof above him. He jerked his head back and stared at the ceiling. The thump was followed by the sound of something scampering across the saloon’s roof—something with padded, clawed feet that scraped the roof’s shingles with every step by the sound of it.

“If that be a raccoon,“
Farnsworth told the ceiling,
“then a horse’s ass am I!“

Someone downstairs screamed. Farnsworth’s wide-eyed gaze dropped to the floor. He flinched as the sound of gunshots erupted. Then the howls came. And the barking.

And the screaming.

It sounded as if a pack of rabid dogs had attacked the saloon.

Farnsworth sank back, trying to place as much distance between himself and the door to Garrett’s office as his shackles would allow. He jerked his gaze toward the ceiling as more thumps and scampering sounded from the roof.

Who’s that tripping over my bridge?

“Stop it!“ J.T. shook himself, trying to keep his own thoughts from betraying him. But his subconscious paid him no mind.

I said, who’s that trip, trip, tripping over my bridge?
The troll’s voice growled. J.T. could almost fell its hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck. He knew if he turned and looked, the troll would be there—its grotesque rotting face smiling at him with rows of black fangs—its gnarled claws reaching for him.

Farnsworth beat his head with the palms of his hands, trying to stop his overactive imagination from scaring him to death. Then his heart stopped as he heard a sound almost lost to him over the sea of time. As a boy, on a trip to New York with his mother, he’d seen men cutting Tiffany glass. The sound their tools had made as they sliced through the colored panes was what J.T. now heard coming from the room’s window.

“Now, I’ve come to gobble you up, little goat—little J.T.!“

Farnsworth turned to face the window. As J.T. knew he would, he saw the troll’s yellow eyes beaming at him as it raked its claws down the glass. The troll grinned and Farnsworth saw the creature’s teeth were more horrible than he’d ever imagined. The breath from the troll’s muzzle fogged the window, eclipsing it from Farnsworth’s view.

The troll isn’t supposed to have a muzzle—?

Then the glass shattered. The monster began
worming
its way inside, snapping at the air and barking as it struggled to squeeze its massive lupine bulk through the window.

Farnsworth gasped and fell back onto Garrett’s desk. The whiskey bottle overturned and struck his hand. J.T. clutched it at and then brought it up to throw at the troll—no, not a troll—a beast—a dog-thing—
a coyote-thing
.

“This can’t be happening!“

Farnsworth hesitated, watching as the coyote-thing stretched itself through the opening. It clawed at the walls and floor, shredding the timbers to splinters with each swipe of the massive claws at the end of its arms as it felt for purchase. J.T. saw within seconds the thing would be inside and upon him.

Farnsworth knew this was one situation he couldn’t talk his way out of. He looked at the bottle in his hand—it would give the monster about as much reason for pause as a buzzing fly.

Think, goddamn it!

Farnsworth scanned the room: Pictures, an oil lamp, the stove, the damn unreachable knife—no weapons readily available.

Or were there?

Farnsworth shook the whiskey bottle, slinging its contents onto the coyote-monster. The beast howled in agitation and began scrambling harder in attempt to get inside. Its torso slid through and Farnsworth yelled in fear, knowing he hadn’t acted fast enough to save himself. The monster’s hips jammed inside the window and J.T. exhaled in relief. He grabbed the room’s oil lamp and slung it at the creature. The lamp shattered across the thing’s back, spilling its contents over the monster’s furry hide.

Farnsworth backed against the stove and opened its door as the beast wormed the last of itself through the opening. The monster dropped to the floor and slowly rose to its full, intimidating height. It growled, low and deep, as its muzzle wrinkled and its ears flattened against the back of its head.

Farnsworth dropped onto his haunches. He tried to raise his legs in protection, but the irons shackling his ankle to the stove caused him to come up short. The coyote-man pounced, tangling its jaws within Farnsworth’s shackles. The beast slung his head back and forth, shaking the iron’s chain like a dog would a captured rabbit. The chain snapped and the monster relented. The creature growled as it lay crushing J.T. beneath its weight, its golden eyes glaring into Farnsworth’s own as its drool rained onto the writer’s face.

Farnsworth gritted his teeth. He reached back and plunged his left hand into the open stove. J.T. screamed has he seized smoking ash and glowing ember. He slammed the hot embers onto the coyote-thing’s back. Its coat ignited in a flash of yellow and the smell of burning hair filled Farnsworth’s nostrils.

The beast slung itself off Farnsworth and began rolling on the floor, trying to extinguish its flaming pelt. But J.T. had drenched the creature in oil and alcohol, so its efforts were futile. In moments, the monster was engulfed in flame.

The coyote-man rose, bouncing off one wall for other, writhing and yowling as it was cooked alive. Finally it dropped and moved no more. J.T. heard the thing’s skin sizzle and the fat underneath pop as the fire continued roasting the monster where it lay. The room now reeked of cooking pork and it was all J.T. could do not to be sick.

After a moment, he regained his composure. He cradled
his hand and gaz
ed
with satisfaction at the end of his severed chain
. T
he door to Garrett’s office
burst open
. Three more
coyote
-men stood outside. They glared at their fallen brother and then at Farnsworth. Their muzzles curled back over drooling fangs in obvious hatred. Left with no recourse, Farnsworth bolted for the window and dived through.

M
axine jerked awake from sleep as her husband raked back the curtain separating the bedroom from the rest of their adobe home. The
moonlight drifting in through the window
spotlighted her as she sat up in bed.

“Get up, you fucking cunt,“ her husband slurred.

“No, Juan, you’re drunk. Go sleep it off.“

“Fuck you!“ Juan strode over his wife. He grabbed Maxine by her hair and dragged her out of bed.

Maxine kicked and screamed as she struggled to free herself. But even drunk, he was simply too strong. Juan kicked Maxine in her stomach and she doubled over, convulsing.

The baby began to cry, its wail filling the entire house.

“God damn
chico
!“ Juan
whirled on the curtain partitioning the bassinet off from the bedroom
.

“No!“ Maxine seized the cuffs of her husband’s trousers. He kicked her off and yanked down the curtain separating him from his son. He snarled and kicked over the wicker bassinette. Young Pablo screamed as he struck the hard, earthen floor.

“Shut you up for good, you little—!“ Juan’s words caught in his throat and he fell to the floor. Maxine hovered over him wielding a bloody knife.

Juan reached behind his back. When he retracted his hand, his fingers were covered with blood.

“You—you stabbed me. You fucking—!“

Maxine raised the knife and fell upon Juan. She bawled and screamed, her own cries eclipsing those of her child as she stabbed Juan repeatedly in his chest and abdomen. Blood splattered her face and arms, but she kept stabbing—inflicting a deep wound for every black eye and broken bone he’d given her during their two years of marriage.
 

Maxine’s rage broke and she dropped the knife and scuttled backward until her posterior struck the wall.

My God, what have I done?
She thought over and over. Then the sound of the baby’s crying overpowered her thoughts.

You saved Pablo, her mind argued. That’s what you’ve done.

Have I? What are we going to do? He’s not right anyway. Better to have let Juan kill him
.

Hush that up! You hush that up, right now! You don’t mean that. Not really. Now you get over there and take care of your son!

What about me?

I’ll take care of you.

But I am you—?

No you’re not. Not since your father touched you, Maxine. Remember?

Maxine did. She brought up her hands to temples as he grimaced. “No! Please. Don’t make me see it.“

It’s been a long time since you needed me. But now you do again. So here I am. Trust me, Maxine. I’ll be tough. I’ll be tough for both of us—I’ll be ’Max.’ And there
ain’t
nothing I can’t handle.

You can’t promise that.

Can’t I? I’ve protected you before—from all the others in here with us trying to get out.

To get at you.

And you saw what I just did to Juan. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and Pablo safe!

Promise—?

Promise. Now, Pablo needs you.

Maxine wiped her eyes and crawled around the pool of blood forming around her husband’s still, dead body. She reached Pablo and gingerly checked him. She thanked God when she saw no serious damage had been done. Maxine took Pablo in her arms and began to rock him back and forth, content in the knowledge Max was here and was going to look out for them.

M
axine jerked Pablo into her arms, saving him from being crushed by the man who’d fallen out of the sky to crash outside the saloon’s rear exit. Maxine looked up and saw one of the black coyote things jammed in the window of Garrett’s office. It slobbered and howled, trying to force its way through. The bounty
hunter’s
revolver boomed and one of the monster’s bright yellow eyes extinguished as it went limp inside the window.

Farnsworth struggled to his feet, the remaining links of chain tethered to his ankle clinking as he found his footing.

The bounty hunter reloaded his revolvers. “Farnsworth!“

The writer massaged the palm of his left hand .
“
What, sir
,
in blue blazes, have you fucking pissed off, now
?“

One of the beasts crested the saloon’s roof and then roared as it dived off. Maxine screamed as the thing
meteored
toward her, its yellow eyes and fangs growing larger with each microsecond.