Episode 34: Both My Skins
Narrator: Welcome to Ghost Wax, a Far and Tall Tales Production. The following story may contain graphic content. Listener discretion is advised.
[Intro Music]
Episode 34, Both My Skins
Recorder clicks on
Voncid: This recording is being taken in rural, mountainous West Virginia, en route to meet with Mikhail Rugen. His team had been tracking, with the hopes of taking alive, a lycanid shapeshifter. Upon tracking it to a woodland hideout, they discovered a body, and called me in to attempt contact. From details so far provided I do not believe the victim to have been killed by our quarry.
Luca: So, lycan? Lycan is wolf right? Are you all just trying really hard not to say werewolf?
Voncid: The terminology can get a bit obtuse but no not the same as a werewolf. A werewolf is afflicted with a communicable curse, if we were dealing with one those we’d need a lot more hunters along. Identifying exactly what we are dealing with will be one of our first tasks, but at first blush it appears to be a Lycanid, an individual who can change form into, or take on aspects of wolves. Appropriately there is a lot of variety when dealing with wolven shapeshifters, lupe du noir, Sinfjotli, wolf-weres.
LUCA
Wolf-were?
Voncid
A were wolf is a man who can become a wolf. A wolf were is a…
LUCA
Wolf that can become a man, I realized right after I asked.
Voncid
Nearly every culture has stories of them, and therefore names for them, but lycanid in this case, therianthrope as a general term for someone who turns into an animal or hybrid of an animal and human. Lycanthropy is the communicable strain of curse transforming individuals into werewolves as popularized in generations of media.
LUCA
to himself Would be faster to just ask what isn’t real… back to Cid. Are they rare?
Voncid
Natural ones are. Those who achieve it via means of magical arts are one thing, not such an unlikely feat for a competent mage, but certain types crop up in the general population on occasion.
Mikail and I actually tracked and exterminated an extremely monstrous variety in central park, of all places, a few weeks back, but this is not that. This is a shapeshifter, a perfectly reasonable, rational human… who just happens to have wolfish tendencies and honestly the wolf of it all could be a mere coincidence, the boy could be a therianthrope and the wolf is simply his animal.
LUCA
Shifter? Just an old run of the mill shapeshifter?
Voncid
Unfortunately people with remarkable abilities like him usually run afoul of disaster, especially without anyone to guide them. The Order tries to screen for these conditions and takes steps before such an occurrence, but there’s only so much we can do. The subject in question is a young man, just over 19 named Mason Collins, who until a week ago resided nearly 150 miles from here.
engine slows
LUCA
Looks like we are arriving.
engine stops. Car doors open and close
RUGEN
Voncid, welcome! You made good time. And Luca! Glad to see you’re still with us.
LUCA
I really wish everyone would stop being surprised at that.
RUGEN
Don’t let it worry you. Let it excite you; you’re beating the odds every day!
LUCA
Hooray.
Voncid
So. What do we have?
RUGEN
Right, to business! We caught wind of Collins a week ago. He was a year out of high school, but still went to the football games. At the last one, he got into a fight in the crowd and changed into a wolf. Most likely it was unintentional; he took off immediately, didn’t attack anyone, seemed panicked by the whole thing. All happened fast enough no one was sure what the hell really happened. We tracked him north, through the woods. He got better at hiding his trail as he went; we lost him a dozen miles from here. It took a couple days of discreet inquiries to find out about this place. The owner is Robert Canter, a genuine old coot hermit. We came by to make sure Collins wasn’t squatting on the property, and the house was empty. But then, in the well house, we found...
(Door creaks open)
This. And as you can see, it doesn’t look like a wolf attack.
Voncid
No. Shotgun blast, near point blank range, not much cast off or trauma to the flesh… rock salt, see that powder?
RUGEN
Yes, and… metal shavings. willing to bet that’s silver.
Voncid
Isn’t that interesting.
RUGEN
Not what killed him. For that, I’d put my money on the opened throat.
Voncid
Certainly seems a safe assumption.
RUGEN
Yeah, ear to ear. One slice, probably a hunting knife. Severed his carotid, jugular, and trachea almost to the spine. He would have bled out in seconds.
Voncid
Well, this isn’t Mason Collins.
RUGEN
Not unless he aged about 70 years in the last week. We don’t have a positive ID, he’s a bit too completely naked to have a driver’s license in a pocket, but safe to say this is Mr. Canter. Lived up here his whole life, as I understand, heads into town once every couple of weeks or so for the groceries he can’t grow or make himself. Drives a pickup as old as he is. He was down yesterday, so if we hadn’t come along, he probably wouldn’t have been found until his absence was noticed weeks from now. I suppose you could call that luck on our part.
Voncid
Anything else?
RUGEN
Yup. Look at this. You see this, over here in the corner? This too, drag marks. Something was dragged out of here. From the splatter here, I’d wager another body.
Voncid
Dragged itself, or was dragged?
RUGEN
I don’t like guessing. Second thing: whoever did this has killed before.
Canter’s throat was cut by one slice. No hesitation, no false starts, once the killer started cutting they followed all the way through. You don’t see that on first victims. And no stupid mistakes anywhere. No footprints, not in the blood, not even outside. Maybe a tire track in the driveway, but that could be from Canter’s truck yesterday. This was done carefully, and well.
Voncid
So not Collins.
RUGEN
I sure hope not… But I made some calls while you were on your way. The counties surrounding Collins’ home town have 17 missing persons cases from the last year, as well as 4 deaths from animal attack. That’s not a record-breaking number, but it’s above average. The animal attacks were all explained, no wolves, but if he’s as careful as an animal as he is as a human... Well. This could have nothing to do with our boy; it’s not impossible we just stumbled across a regular-old murder. Coincidences do happen. But if we have a budding serial killer who can change into a wolf and cover 30 miles on foot in a day without getting tired, who just nuked his old life by transforming in public, that gives him nothing to lose. I need you to find out what Canter knows, so we know what we’re hunting. Oh, and that leads to the third thing worth mentioning. When we got here, this body was still warm. Dead less than an hour. Including your travel time, our quarry is at most 5 hours ahead of us. We need to move fast.
Voncid
Then let’s get started.
RUGEN
This going to take long?
Voncid
Just a bit of work on the vocal cords. He’s fresh, he won’t have wandered far.
RUGEN
Figured. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be right outside if you need me, but I’ll move my team into town. That way, whatever info you get, they’ll be centrally located and ready to move.
Voncid
I appreciate the consideration, but feel free to eavesdrop. That will save time in the long run.
RUGEN
Oh, I was going to. Good luck, old man.
click click
Voncid
Return to us. Robert Canter, awaken from your rest, speak to us, we who would hear your story.
(Bob moans)
Voncid
We seek answers, Robert Canter. Give them to us, and we shall do our best to give you justice.
BOB
Bob.
Voncid
What?
BOB
Bob. Not Robert. I haven't been Robert since television was in black and white.
Voncid
Very well. Bob. My name is Voncid.
BOB
And you're... huh. Hell looks a lot like my well house. Wish I could say that was a surprise.
Voncid
This is not Hell, Bob. You know that you're dead?
BOB
Yeah, it was a hard to miss moment. So this ain't Hell, huh. Where am I?
Voncid
It is your well house. We called you back, to find out what happened.
BOB
That's possible, huh? I feel like that should be more shocking.
Voncid
There is much in this world that would surprise you.
BOB
No, I mean that literally. I should be more shocked. I feel... muted. Like I'm trying through ears stuffed with cotton.
Voncid
I am enacting a calming effect upon you. To return from death, especially a death as violent as yours appears to have been, can be ruinous to even one of strong will. The calming helps.
BOB
Mm. Messing with my mind.
Voncid
I assure you, I would not do that.
BOB
Uh huh.
Voncid
We simply want to know what happened here, Bob. Who did this to you.
BOB
And you need me to tell you?
Voncid
You were here.
BOB
Well, I tell you what. You tell me what you've figured out so far, and I'll fill in the gaps.
Voncid
Very well. It appears that you were shot in the lower abdomen, with a shotgun loaded with a low grade cartridge filled with rock salt. Then your throat was cut. There are drag marks in that corner, possibly from another body. Do you know who did this?
And was there someone else who was hurt?
BOB
Maybe there was.
Voncid
You're being unusually reticent, Mr Canter. I would think you would want your killer brought to justice.
BOB
Oh, I do. I'm just not sure you're the man to do it. What else do you think you know?
(Pause)
Voncid
Mr Canter. Was Mason Collins here?
BOB
There it is. I'm incidental, aren't I? What do you want with the kid?
Voncid
Sir, I don't know if you knew this already, but we believe Mason Collins is what we call a lycanid. He has the naturally occurring ability to transform into the shape of a wolf, while retaining the majority of his mind. We were trying to find him, when we found you. I need to know; did he do this to you? Do you know where he is now?
BOB
You really don't know, do you?
Voncid
I do not.
BOB
All right. You've convinced me you aren't with the guys on the phone. But that ain't enough. What will you do with the kid when you find him?
Voncid
Try to help him. Too many like him lose control, and tragedy results. We want to find a solution that avoids that, while also allowing him to have a full life.
BOB
And how do I know you're not shitting me?
Voncid
I suppose you don't. But few men reach your age without gaining some ability to read people. I promise you that we mean him no harm, and I'll swear that oath in any way you'll believe. But if he did this to you, he may be too far gone already.
BOB
Yeah. Okay, what the hell, I'll believe you. I'm usually pretty good at spotting a liar, but I'm having an off week, so I guess I'm gambling. Don't make an idiot out of me, kid.
Voncid
No one can do that but you, sir.
BOB
Ha! Ha ha heh heh heh. You're all right. Okay. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime... well, once-outside-of-a-lifetime chance. There's things I thought I'd never tell another living soul. Now I have the chance, so I'll tell you what you want to know, but you have to hear the rest of it too. And no muting me. You cut out that “calming effect” nonsense. I can handle myself. Deal?
Voncid
Sir, time is of the essence.
BOB
Or we can sit here and stare at each other. And I got nothing else to do, all damn day.
Voncid
All right. I'm releasing the effect now.
(bwoom)
BOB
Ah.
Voncid
Are you all right? Do you need me to reinstate it?
BOB
No, no. Just need to adjust. Oh. I'm naked.
Voncid
Yes. Does that bother you?
BOB
A little. Could you pass me that rag there? Leave a man his modesty.
LUCA
Uh, yeah. Here you are.
BOB
Thanks, kid. Heh. Tarzan, king'a the jungle!
Voncid
If you're ready, then. At your own pace.
BOB
Good man. Well. How old would you say I am?
Voncid
From sight, late 70s. But I believe your legal record puts you at 88.
BOB
Records aren't quite as reliable around here, certainly not when I was born. I was born March 21st, the vernal equinox, in the year 1891. Look good for my age, huh?
Voncid
Good Lord. You're one too, aren't you?
BOB
I am. A... lycanid, you said? Is that really the name for us?
Voncid
No, I was incorrect in that assumption you, and I assume about Mason as well, seeing as the two of you found your way to one another. thinks
You a innate therianthrops. Duarum formarum, “of two forms”… Shapeshifters connected to a more ancient and primal world… It is a rare and incredible gift.
BOB
Hmm, it has its moments I guess…
You have to understand; I grew up in a different world than this one. No TV, no radio out here, we got the paper and went to church every Sunday, we had books around. I got enough schooling and then some. We weren't ignorant, don't put your redneck stereotypes on us. We were honest folks with flaws, just like everyone else.
beat
But I first changed when I was 13, and I was god-damned terrified. I didn't know what was happening. I was an only child, just me and my folks and my grannie, Momma's momma. I'd always liked wandering the woods at night; I did that practically from the moment I was tall enough to reach the door handle. And, so long as I was awake in time for breakfast and didn't track mud into my bed, my folks pretended not to know I was doing it.
One night, I saw a deer wandering in the field nearby, and decided to chase it for a ways. I was so lost in the moment,just me and that deer alone in the woods, I didn’t realize it at first. My hands and feet were pads, my ears tucked back, and my eyes... I'm not a wolf like Mason. I'm a bobcat. When I'm changed, at night, the world is DIFFERENT. I can see in colors that humans haven't named. They... scintillate, I think is the word. Shimmer like an oil slick in the sun. A violet beyond violet. I wish I could make you see, it's beautiful in a way I've never been able to share with anyone.
But the first time it happened, I panicked, slammed at full speed into a tree, bloodied up my whiskers, and just lay on the ground, trying to kick off clothes that didn't fit my body any more. Eventually I changed back, and I got terrified for more prosaic reasons. I'd torn the hell out of my shirt and pants, and I never did find one of my shoes. I was gonna get whupped good. I slinked home, hid under the covers, less like the young man I was becoming and more like a naughty five-year-old. And... I didn't get punished. My Momma saw what I looked like, but she just got scared. She hugged me so hard I thought I would pop, then went out and talked my pa and grannie.
My folks made themselves scarce, and left me with grannie. I learned that she was one too, that she could change. My folks weren't, they couldn't, but on some level they knew about it. It was just another thing they pretended not to know about, so long as nothing bad came of it. Looking back, I don't know if that's cowardice or wisdom.
Grannie gave me the rundown, as best she could. See, she didn't know how this works any more than I did. But she knew what mattered. Changing form was no excuse to be an animal, you still gotta keep a civil brain in your skull. This weren't no curse, and that meant it weren't no excuse to act like we was cursed. You never use it to hurt folks. You don't let it make you think you're worse off than anyone else, but you also don't let it make you think you're better'n anyone else for it neither. It just was, you made do with what you were given same as any kid born with a twisted arm or a blind eye or anything else.
And I did my best. I never changed where anyone could see. I ran the woods at night, and every now and again I'd take a rabbit or a chipmunk as food, but never anything that'd be missed or noticed. And I never figured out the logic of it. Why was I a bobcat? Grannie was never up front about what she turned into, and so far as I know she didn't transform from the day we talked until the day she died, but I found some old newspapers in the library from before the Civil War that talked about a massive boar that had been sighted in the area, and when I mentioned them to her I swear she hid a smile.
Momma never changed. Nor did anyone else in the family that I ever heard of, though Grannie said there were stories from back in Germany. Maybe I became a bobcat just because Bob Canter sounds close to bob cat. Maybe Grannie was a boar because of family stories about the Black Forest. Maybe Mason became a wolf because that's all the movies he grew up on showed him. Maybe it's that simple. But I can't say for sure, because from the day Grannie died until the day I found Mason I never met another one of us. I spent some time in Europe myself during the Great War, watched friends die in the mud at the Somme, and never sensed another one of us. I lived in Richmond for the year leading up to the Great Depression, pushing through crowds every day, and never sensed another one of us. Maybe that was why I never married, never had kids. I was holding out for another one like me, and never found one.
I moved back home, made do, watched my folks both get old and pass away, watched friends' kids go away to fight Hitler and Tojo, and too few of them come back. Around then, I realized that I wasn't just aging gracefully. I was aging slower than most, and had no reason to think I wouldn't last longer than most, if God was willing and my luck held out.
See, most folks who become hermits do it because they get sick of people. I never did. I love people, I do. But I knew if I stuck around, folks would figure out that Old Man Canter was REALLY Old Man Canter, and might start asking questions I couldn't answer. So I withdrew up here, but I came around every night.
Watched them through a cat's eyes. Saw them scintillate, grow up and fall in love and have babies who did the same. History happening all around me, the world changing and evolving while I watched in the darkness. But people are still people. And I loved watching them.
And then, yesterday, I'm driving back from Food Lion and there’s a kid under the overpass. . Not the first time, we don't get homeless like in a big city but unfortunate folks are everywhere. But this kid... it's like I'm struck by lightning. My head whips around, and I KNEW HIM. He was like me. And his head jerks up, and he knew me. And we stare at each for a full minute. And I just say “Get in. I'll hide you.” I take him back here, and we talk for hours. He's the first person I've been able to talk to, really talk to, in over a century. He's actually just some punk snot-nosed 19 year old CHILD, but I need him like I used to need my Grannie, and he needs me just the same.
He's scared, on the run, and terrified that he's going to have to hurt someone to be safe. I give him the same talk Grannie gave me. That's Not What We Do. We have something special, but keep a civil brain in your skull. I can tell that he's not taking it all in, same as I didn't when I was 13, because teenagers are teenagers no matter what the era. But he has to hear it, so I say it.
I reckon he can help me, too. Hell, I never got the hang of computers, let alone the internet, but I always wondered if maybe that was the way to find more of us. There's gotta be a place, right? Some internet place where we all meet up. The kid can probably find it, find us a community. For the first time in... 70 years, I feel like there's something to do other than bide my time and die without being discovered.
By then, it's night, and both of us are so wound up that we have to go out into the woods and run. We go separately, because a wolf and a bobcat don't exactly pack together. Besides, I know the woods, but he has to acquaint himself with it. Best to let him do that solo. I head up to the pond, curl up on the best log overlooking it, and hold still until the locals get used to me and know I'm not hunting. That's the magic time. When the owls and bats are hunting around you, the raccoons rummaging through the brush, the peeper frogs making a sea of calls. It was Good, y'know? I'm glad that was one of my last moments. The shock hit hard.
I could... not hear him, not exactly. But you know that whine a dog makes when it gets hurt? The kind that breaks your heart? I get that, in my brain. The same place where I first felt his kinship. I can tell it's bad, so I run. I run like a madman, cutting my paws, letting branches whip my face, just running, desperately. I get back, burst in the door, and he's lying huddled in the corner, and a man is standing over him. In some kind of... night camo. Black and dark gray splotches. He's got night-vision goggles pulled up on his forehead, equipment strapped all over him, and when he hears me break in he spins and fires a shotgun into my gut. I'm half-transformed back into a man at that point; just habit, I think, from seeing another human and changing back… dammit that might have cost me… I'm more vulnerable in human form; I think the fact that I spend so much time out of it is why I've lived so long. So the shot hits harder than if I'd been a cat… dammit.
collecting himself
My stomach goes numb. I fall to the ground. I can't move my rear legs, and I can barely move my front legs... my… arms. In betweens. I look up at the guy, and he's looking down at me in shock. His face breaks into a grin and says “Well I'll be damned. Two for the price of one.” And I look at the kid, and see he isn't just huddling in fear. He's wrapped around his own gunshot wound. He's still a wolf, damn near completely. But his eyes... I can see the man behind his eyes. Knew he’d heard me after all.
He looks at me, and he's entreating me, begging. I can't move. I can't help him. I try to reach out my hand towards him, to try and comfort him, but I can't lift it more than a few inches off the ground. I couldn’t do anything but watch the merc-looking sumbitch kneel over him… He pulls out a long knife, kinda, examining him, about to go for the kill.
I know what he's doing, then. I've been hunting with friends when we took down a buck. We'd look it over the same way he's looking Mason over. He's checking that he didn't damage the meat. Checking the trophies. I don't know what the wolf equivalent is to counting the points on the antlers, but he's doing it. He hasn’t even killed him yet and he’s already looking for where he can mount the kid’s corpse…
…And I realize there's still something I can do. Something my pa told me to do, back when senility was slowing wiping him away. “Son, it could be, in the end, the bastards are gonna win. But if they do, you spit in their eyes.”
I gathered what strength I could through the numbness spreading from my gut, and I focused, and when the hunter turned back around he saw me change back into a man. He watched whatever trophies he could get outta me melt away. He cursed and ran at me and slid the knife across my throat. But he was too slow. I was done. Last thing I saw… as the lights were going out, was the kid making a break for the door… he’d been hit as a wolf see, he bounced back quick and… just tell me he got away.
Voncid
He did indeed. Well done, Mr. Canter.
BOB
Damn straight.
Voncid
Can you tell me anything about this man? Anything to help us find him? We need to find him before he finds the boy.
BOB
Not about him as a man. Average-looking, no markings on his outfit or tattoos or anything. But it took me a couple minutes to die. I could still see out of one eye, and hear snatches of what was happening. He called someone on a cell phone. Said he'd be at the truck stop for extraction at dawn. Asked if a body that was fully transformed back to human was worth anything. I didn't hear the response, but since he left me behind I'm guessing the answer was no. Bit of luck for me.
Voncid
You said you couldn’t tell me anything about him as a man, but, as a cat.
BOB
Don’t think you’d follow.
Voncid
I would. Sing me his smell, and Mason’s as well.
BOB
I… oh, there, I feel you digging around… to you… can you get this?
Voncid
I do, loud and clear… their scent is in the air… I can follow it.
BOB
Well aren’t you full of tricks.
Voncid
I am merely borrowing one from you. You did right by your friend, sir. I won't let you down.
BOB
Good man. I suppose it's time for me to go.
Voncid
I don't know what comes next for you, Bob. But I hope it scintillates, and sounds like peeper frogs.
(releasing sound)
I hope you heard all that, Mikhail.
RUGEN
Team's rounding back for a sweep. Sounds like he might not have been hunting alone. We should be able to kettle the lot.
Voncid
I’ll be ready to move out in just a moment … fucking poachers.
LUCA
shocked and appalled Poachers? I don’t… I don’t understand… These… these are people!?
Voncid
Yes, hand me that black bag…
Sounds of Voncid rummaging
We… There’s a group, or groups, that became aware of creatures of the otherworld and, upon learning of them, did the least sensible and most despicable thing possible with that information: started hunting them for sport. Shotguns with, I would guess, silver nitrate rounds…
We hear Voncid procure a sharp metallic device from his kit.
LUCA
What is that?
Voncid
A tool.
LUCA
Fuck’s sake.
Voncid
Look here, I can’t believe I didn’t notice this… chalk it up to our departed friend Bob’s extremely shaggy hair…
LUCA
They took his ear…
Voncid
What I want to know is how they hell did this group of poachers have a speedier response time than our own teams? We need to know how extensive this is. I don't normally get involved with interrogation of the living, but I think I'll make an exception this time.
We hear the metallic tool chime again.
vonciud calls out as he leaves the home, we hear the door.
Luca please stay here with the body, one of Rugen’s team members will stay as well, in case the boy circles back.
LUCA
Yeah ok… umm… happy hunting.
*We hear the door open and shut.
LUCA
Well shit…
Recorder turns off then comes back on
LUCA
I umm… I just heard something outside… trying to whisper shout John… John? I… John the silver blade who was with me he went to check
We hear a scream then gunshots then silence
LUCA
Oh fuck oh fuck!!!
someone barges in the door
Mason
Hey, hey no wait!
LUCA
Stop, don’t move.
Mason
Please stop, I don’t know what any of you people want!
LUCA
What? No, no we aren’t poachers, we aren’t with them.
Mason
Stay there
LUCA
You stay there! What did you do to John!?
Mason
No I didn’t…
Seeing his friend Bob’s body…
Oh… fuck… Bob.
snapping back to the moment at hand
I didn’t it was that woman, that whatever it is! It… those guys were chasing me, those hunters, but she… adn those others, they got to them and
gets sick thinking about it
Oh fuuuck, I can’t, oh my god what she did…
LUCA
trying to convince himself Calm down, it’s ok, it’s going to be ok.
Mason
No it ain’t.
The door opens
LUCA
I… I…
Dottie
You, you what?
LUCA
I… you… you
Dottie
What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?
LUCA
You’re Dottie Jean Barlowe…
We hear a heavy crash
LUCA
No, don’t!
We hear a heavier crash and the audio cuts
