Nanowrimo Day 22
Nov. 22nd, 2019 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unknownfateI'm behind. But hopefully I can catch up this weekend.
Vince rode a long time in silence. It was getting dark and he was going to have to find a place to park and sleep soon. It wasn’t cold enough to worry about finding a hotel. He was aware of the voice even though it didn’t speak either. It was like trying to drive when you knew very well there was a rattlesnake coiled under the driver seat. Was it asleep? Was it just waiting for him to move first? It wasn’t until he had to stop for gas again that he sighed and spoke aloud to it.
“Was that you I saw? The shadow following me?”
“No,” the answer was immediate. “I think it’s that grandfather everyone is so worried about. You left the circle of protection you were in and we both noticed. I just got to you first.”
Vince thought about that, ignoring the chill that threatened to crawl under his skin. Skinwalkers, he thought again. If Vincent Sr had become one of those, he wasn’t just a mean old man but an honest to God nightmare now. A nightmare that been waiting all these years for him to leave the reservation? Had the elders set up protection to keep the people safe from him, or was it just meant for Vince?
“It feels personal,” the voice said. “Ties of blood. On both sides. For and against.”
“Who made it?” Vince asked. This time the voice was quiet a moment before it answered, almost like it was tasting the old magic to be sure.
“I going to have to guess,” it said. “Either your aunt or one of her sisters.”
“My mom,” Vince said, softly.
“I didn’t say that,” the voice said.
“You said you got here first,” Vince said. “What do you want?”
“A sympathetic ear,” the voice said, almost mocking.
“Yeah, right,” Vince said, feeling better despite himself. “What’s in this for you?”
“Answers.” Again, no hesitation there.
“Nothing wrong with that,” VInce said.
“I like you,” the voice said. “Not excitable. Both hands on the wheel. No flinching.”
“Slow and steady and stupid,” Vince said. “Just like my boss said.” Former boss, he reminded himself again.
“That racist old badger?” the voice said, surprising him again. “He was jealous. Young and strong and not afraid of him or anybody else. Everything he isn’t. If you had been a suck up
or lazy or anything he could complain about, he would’ve been happier with you.”
“How do you know that?” Vince already knew the voice could read his mind, but how deep in his memories could it really see?
“I know lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like what what?”
“What would’ve happened if Old Vincent had got to me first?”
“Oh.” The voice said. “Nothing good. Whatever he wants, he’s been looking for it a long time. As soon as you came into reach, he started moving.”
“What have you been looking for?”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, really,” it said. “I really have been looking for someone who can hear me. And be strong enough to stand it.”
“Are you a ghost?” Spirits of the dead were a fact of life in empty places. The reservation had been full of ghosts, real and metaphoric.
“Older than that. Guess again.”
“Older than ghosts?” Vince took it seriously, mulling it over.
“Older than people, older than mountains. Older than some of the stars.” The
“Are you a spirit?”
“Yes! I am. Not a human one though. Humans came later.”
“What’s your name?” Vince hoped it wasn’t rude to ask. He knew some about spirits. There were different rules and offerings for each one.
“I’m the noise I make,” the voice said. “The mice in the grain, the snake in the leaves, the wind in the grass. Feathers overhead. I’m just a rustle.”
“Rustle,” Vince echoed. “All right.”
“Elk-Marked would’ve liked you,” Rustle said. “Kahl too.”
“Friends of yours?”
“A long time ago they were,” Rustle said, then chuckled. “Poor Kahl never got his head around what I was. Then again, he had enough worries without me confounding him more.”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s the ghost now. He wrapped his life around a hole in the ground and when he died, he couldn’t let go. He’s still there.”
“Can he hear you?”
“He chooses not to.”
“Some friend.”
“I said he was a friend of mine. Not that I was one of his.”
“Ok.” Vince stretched a little. He put a brownie on the passenger seat. “Here. If you can eat, you can have it. I’m going to fuel up.”
“I can’t,” Rustle said. “But thanks anyway.”
The clerk inside the gas station took his money without eye contact. Vince always made sure to pay before he went to the bathroom so there wouldn’t be any ‘Customers Only’ conflict. He needn’t have bothered with this guy though. He looked like he’d been dead for a week and propped up at the counter. Only his hands moved, from cash to register.
In the cruddy little restroom, Vince barely fit into the stalls and had to bend nearly double to wash his hands. When he straightened up, there was another shadow behind him in the mirror. It was as tall as he was, and all black except for shining mirror eyes.
“He caught up,” Rustle’s voice said. Vince stood frozen. He couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder. Nothing visible was there. “Stay here,” Rustle hissed. “Stay with me.”
Vince looked back at the mirror. He couldn’t feel the black hand he saw clutching his shoulder. He didn’t need to ask who.
“He’s stronger than I thought,” Rustle whispered. “You left the truck empty and I couldn’t stop him from getting in. He’s there now, waiting for you to come out.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Vince said. “I can’t stay in here forever.”
“He’s like your boss,” Rustle said. “He wants what you are. He’s ruined himself and he thinks that he can take what you have and be young and strong and whole again.”
“Can he?” Vince asked. “Do that?”
“He’s going to try,” Rustle didn’t sound scared, just urgent. A being as old as he was probably couldn’t be hurt by anything that started out as human. Still, it might get ugly. Vince found that he wasn’t exactly afraid either. His heartbeat was fast and all the stories he had ever heard about skinwalkers were singing through his mind. In his reflection, the medicine bag he had been given quivered with his pulse.
“I don’t have a boss anymore,” he said after a moment. “And I never had a grandfather. Whatever he thinks he is, he isn’t welcome.”
Rustle didn’t answer and his image faded out. Resolute, Vince stalked back out of the bathroom. The cadaverous clerk was still looming over the cash register. If his eyes flicked to Vince, it was only to make sure he wasn’t taking anything he hadn’t paid for.
There was something in the passenger seat. It could’ve been a man, but as soon as Vince stepped into the parking lot, it turned to look at him and it was coyote sitting there. Every hair on his body was prickling, but he stomped over. Since he was the only one that ever drove around in the truck, he hardly ever unlocked the passenger seat. He could see the door lock knob popped up though, which bizarrely made him feel better. Whatever it was, it hadn’t just appeared in his truck. It had to unlock it to get in. It also meant he could just walk up and yank the passenger door open.
The seat was empty. The brownie was gone. No sign of a man or a coyote. Something out of sight in the dark parking lot chittered. It wasn’t a night noise Vince knew. It started off animalistic and then slowly started to sound like toothy laughter. Vince walked around the truck, making sure there was nothing in the bed or underneath.
“Go,” Rustle said suddenly. “Just go.”
Vince swung back into the driver seat and the engine started up like it always had. He made sure it was still full of gas like it had been when he went it and then pulled out.
“He’s not gone,” Rustle said. “But I think you impressed him.”
“So much for sleeping in the truck tonight,” Vince said.
“Just good sense not to,“ Rustle said.
“You were more afraid than I was,” Vince said.
“I’ve seen a lot of your kind die,” said Rustle. Not sad, not threatening, just matter of fact. “And I do like you. I told you that.”
Vince rode a long time in silence. It was getting dark and he was going to have to find a place to park and sleep soon. It wasn’t cold enough to worry about finding a hotel. He was aware of the voice even though it didn’t speak either. It was like trying to drive when you knew very well there was a rattlesnake coiled under the driver seat. Was it asleep? Was it just waiting for him to move first? It wasn’t until he had to stop for gas again that he sighed and spoke aloud to it.
“Was that you I saw? The shadow following me?”
“No,” the answer was immediate. “I think it’s that grandfather everyone is so worried about. You left the circle of protection you were in and we both noticed. I just got to you first.”
Vince thought about that, ignoring the chill that threatened to crawl under his skin. Skinwalkers, he thought again. If Vincent Sr had become one of those, he wasn’t just a mean old man but an honest to God nightmare now. A nightmare that been waiting all these years for him to leave the reservation? Had the elders set up protection to keep the people safe from him, or was it just meant for Vince?
“It feels personal,” the voice said. “Ties of blood. On both sides. For and against.”
“Who made it?” Vince asked. This time the voice was quiet a moment before it answered, almost like it was tasting the old magic to be sure.
“I going to have to guess,” it said. “Either your aunt or one of her sisters.”
“My mom,” Vince said, softly.
“I didn’t say that,” the voice said.
“You said you got here first,” Vince said. “What do you want?”
“A sympathetic ear,” the voice said, almost mocking.
“Yeah, right,” Vince said, feeling better despite himself. “What’s in this for you?”
“Answers.” Again, no hesitation there.
“Nothing wrong with that,” VInce said.
“I like you,” the voice said. “Not excitable. Both hands on the wheel. No flinching.”
“Slow and steady and stupid,” Vince said. “Just like my boss said.” Former boss, he reminded himself again.
“That racist old badger?” the voice said, surprising him again. “He was jealous. Young and strong and not afraid of him or anybody else. Everything he isn’t. If you had been a suck up
or lazy or anything he could complain about, he would’ve been happier with you.”
“How do you know that?” Vince already knew the voice could read his mind, but how deep in his memories could it really see?
“I know lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like what what?”
“What would’ve happened if Old Vincent had got to me first?”
“Oh.” The voice said. “Nothing good. Whatever he wants, he’s been looking for it a long time. As soon as you came into reach, he started moving.”
“What have you been looking for?”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, really,” it said. “I really have been looking for someone who can hear me. And be strong enough to stand it.”
“Are you a ghost?” Spirits of the dead were a fact of life in empty places. The reservation had been full of ghosts, real and metaphoric.
“Older than that. Guess again.”
“Older than ghosts?” Vince took it seriously, mulling it over.
“Older than people, older than mountains. Older than some of the stars.” The
“Are you a spirit?”
“Yes! I am. Not a human one though. Humans came later.”
“What’s your name?” Vince hoped it wasn’t rude to ask. He knew some about spirits. There were different rules and offerings for each one.
“I’m the noise I make,” the voice said. “The mice in the grain, the snake in the leaves, the wind in the grass. Feathers overhead. I’m just a rustle.”
“Rustle,” Vince echoed. “All right.”
“Elk-Marked would’ve liked you,” Rustle said. “Kahl too.”
“Friends of yours?”
“A long time ago they were,” Rustle said, then chuckled. “Poor Kahl never got his head around what I was. Then again, he had enough worries without me confounding him more.”
“What happened to him?”
“He’s the ghost now. He wrapped his life around a hole in the ground and when he died, he couldn’t let go. He’s still there.”
“Can he hear you?”
“He chooses not to.”
“Some friend.”
“I said he was a friend of mine. Not that I was one of his.”
“Ok.” Vince stretched a little. He put a brownie on the passenger seat. “Here. If you can eat, you can have it. I’m going to fuel up.”
“I can’t,” Rustle said. “But thanks anyway.”
The clerk inside the gas station took his money without eye contact. Vince always made sure to pay before he went to the bathroom so there wouldn’t be any ‘Customers Only’ conflict. He needn’t have bothered with this guy though. He looked like he’d been dead for a week and propped up at the counter. Only his hands moved, from cash to register.
In the cruddy little restroom, Vince barely fit into the stalls and had to bend nearly double to wash his hands. When he straightened up, there was another shadow behind him in the mirror. It was as tall as he was, and all black except for shining mirror eyes.
“He caught up,” Rustle’s voice said. Vince stood frozen. He couldn’t help but glance back over his shoulder. Nothing visible was there. “Stay here,” Rustle hissed. “Stay with me.”
Vince looked back at the mirror. He couldn’t feel the black hand he saw clutching his shoulder. He didn’t need to ask who.
“He’s stronger than I thought,” Rustle whispered. “You left the truck empty and I couldn’t stop him from getting in. He’s there now, waiting for you to come out.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Vince said. “I can’t stay in here forever.”
“He’s like your boss,” Rustle said. “He wants what you are. He’s ruined himself and he thinks that he can take what you have and be young and strong and whole again.”
“Can he?” Vince asked. “Do that?”
“He’s going to try,” Rustle didn’t sound scared, just urgent. A being as old as he was probably couldn’t be hurt by anything that started out as human. Still, it might get ugly. Vince found that he wasn’t exactly afraid either. His heartbeat was fast and all the stories he had ever heard about skinwalkers were singing through his mind. In his reflection, the medicine bag he had been given quivered with his pulse.
“I don’t have a boss anymore,” he said after a moment. “And I never had a grandfather. Whatever he thinks he is, he isn’t welcome.”
Rustle didn’t answer and his image faded out. Resolute, Vince stalked back out of the bathroom. The cadaverous clerk was still looming over the cash register. If his eyes flicked to Vince, it was only to make sure he wasn’t taking anything he hadn’t paid for.
There was something in the passenger seat. It could’ve been a man, but as soon as Vince stepped into the parking lot, it turned to look at him and it was coyote sitting there. Every hair on his body was prickling, but he stomped over. Since he was the only one that ever drove around in the truck, he hardly ever unlocked the passenger seat. He could see the door lock knob popped up though, which bizarrely made him feel better. Whatever it was, it hadn’t just appeared in his truck. It had to unlock it to get in. It also meant he could just walk up and yank the passenger door open.
The seat was empty. The brownie was gone. No sign of a man or a coyote. Something out of sight in the dark parking lot chittered. It wasn’t a night noise Vince knew. It started off animalistic and then slowly started to sound like toothy laughter. Vince walked around the truck, making sure there was nothing in the bed or underneath.
“Go,” Rustle said suddenly. “Just go.”
Vince swung back into the driver seat and the engine started up like it always had. He made sure it was still full of gas like it had been when he went it and then pulled out.
“He’s not gone,” Rustle said. “But I think you impressed him.”
“So much for sleeping in the truck tonight,” Vince said.
“Just good sense not to,“ Rustle said.
“You were more afraid than I was,” Vince said.
“I’ve seen a lot of your kind die,” said Rustle. Not sad, not threatening, just matter of fact. “And I do like you. I told you that.”
