2 Hours of Scary Skinwalker Stories | It Wore My Elk's Skin and Waited at the Edge of the Firelight
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Why does the narrator promise not to tell the story after Grandma Ida's death?
My wife made me promise not to tell this story while her grandmother was alive. Grandma Ida died last winter, and even now, Tessa doesn't like me talking about it after sunset. She says there are things you don't help by repeating them. I believe her. I also know that keeping quiet hasn't kept it away. This happened in late October, several years ago. I've changed the names, and I won't give the exact location. The closest town most people would recognize is Kayenta, Arizona. but ida's place was a long way from there reached by a county road then a dirt road then another road that never appeared on ordinary maps it was open high desert with low mesas in the distance scattered juniper pale grass and enough empty ground that you could watch a vehicle coming for twenty minutes before it reached the house
Tessa grew up on the Navajo Nation. Her mother moved them to Phoenix when Tessa was 14, but they went back often, especially during lambing season and before winter. By the time we married, I'd been to Ida's home twice. Both visits had been in spring, when cousins and neighbors were stopping by all day and the sheep stayed close to the house. That fall visit was different from the beginning." Ida had called Tessa on a Monday morning and told her that four animals were missing. Two lambs had vanished from the smaller pen during the previous week. Then, an adult ewe disappeared from the main corral, even though the gate was tied shut. Uncle Loren had found another ewe dead beyond the water tank. He'd assumed a coyote had gotten it, but he couldn't explain how it had been removed from the pen.
Ida was 78 then. She still lived alone, although Loren slept there whenever weather or work made the roads difficult. Lauren had a small house about 12 miles away and handled most of the heavier ranch work. That week, he was replacing a section of fence and checking water lines across the grazing area. Ida told Tessa she didn't need help. The fact that she called it all meant she wanted family there. We planned to stay five nights. I worked commercial heating and air conditioning at the time, and October was slow enough that I could take three weekdays off. We loaded Tessa's old four-wheel drive Toyota with groceries, winter clothes, two toolboxes, and a new latch Lauren had asked me to pick up. We left Phoenix before sunrise on Wednesday.
The drive north took most of the day. Tessa was quiet after Flagstaff. When we passed Kayenta and turned east, she told me not to make jokes if Ida said anything strange about the missing sheep. I asked what she meant. She kept her eyes on the road ahead. "'Just don't act like you know more than she does.' I told her I wouldn't. I thought she was worried I'd blame the losses on something ordinary and make her grandmother feel foolish. I wasn't planning to do that. I'm not Navajo, and I grew up outside Yuma. Although my family didn't keep animals, I'd seen what coyotes could do. A predator getting into a pen didn't sound supernatural to me. It sounded like a bad fence and a smart animal. The last paved road narrowed until the center stripe disappeared.
We passed a gas station, a chapter house, and a cluster of homes. Then Tessa turned north onto hard-packed dirt. The sky had been clear all afternoon, but the temperature dropped quickly as the sun went down. Yellow rabbit brush lined the road. Dust hung behind us and turned red in the last light. Ida's home sat between a low sandstone rise and a broad wash. The original house was built from stone, with two later rooms added on the east side. A mudroom connected the kitchen to the back door. Fifty yards beyond it were two corrals, a small three-sided shelter, and an old metal water tank. There was a detached workshop on the other side of the yard. A wire fence surrounded the house and pens, but it was meant to discourage livestock, not keep anything serious out.
Loren was waiting by the main corral when we arrived. He hugged Tessa, shook my hand, and asked if we'd brought the latch. Before we carried in a single bag, he walked me to the gate.
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Chapters
5 chapters
1
Why does the narrator promise not to tell the story after Grandma Ida's death?
0:22–9:51
2
What clues do they discover about the missing livestock when they first inspect the pens and install a new latch?
9:51–47:49
3
What strange sounds, moving doors, and voice repetitions happen during the first night at the house?
47:49–1:05:41
4
What strange events happen at the house after the back‑door latch turns on its own?
1:05:41–1:42:18
5
How does the story transition from the house incident to the elk‑hunting expedition?
1:42:18–2:21:52
Speakers
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