Mystery In Mustang
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When I first heard about the legend of the Mustang, I was thirteen. We were in my family’s ranch house, playing cards with a new hand of cowboys and Indians on the table when Dad told me what he had learned at his work in Washington State.
He’d gone to visit an old man named Dr. John C. Roper who had been working for years to excavate and research ancient Indian sites around Puget Sound. Dad’s job was to help Roper find funding for their archaeological digs from sources like the National Geographic Society.
The trip had been worth it to see Roper’s discovery: the ruins of an ancient Native American village near Seattle that dated back more than five hundred years.
It had taken some effort to persuade the federal government to allow them to conduct their excavations, but they eventually won through because of this new site, where artifacts and mummies still lay buried under layers of earth in a forest clearing not far away from Seattle.
The story behind that excavation, as related by Roper at dinner one night, involved a young couple—a man and woman in their early twenties or so—who found themselves caught up in the mystery of Mustang Village in the 1920s.
They’d become fascinated with the legends of Mustang as children, reading books like King Fong of Wong Mountain and Myths of the North Pacific Coast by Henry Louis Gates. Then, while living on a nearby island in the San Juan archipelago, they came across a cache of gold coins that belonged to Mustang Indians of long ago.
The coins were buried in secret caches all over the world, said to be hidden from time itself, and they’d happened upon one such cache deep within a mountain range on this island. With their newfound fortune, they returned to Seattle to buy a piece of land overlooking the water and began building a mansion there.
The project had cost them dearly because of its size (they had to tear down a few buildings and build several miles of roads) and its expense (they’d needed thousands of dollars worth of marble imported from Italy). But their love for the place was obvious.
They lived in that house year-round until both their deaths in the 1970s then left it untouched until being sold to another wealthy couple, who also stayed there and never changed anything out of respect for their deceased predecessors.
That was pretty much what my dad had gotten from his conversation with Roper. What interested him most wasn’t so much that Roper himself had stumbled on the tale of Mustang Village; that was old news.
What made this so intriguing is that Roper claimed there could possibly be a connection between the stories and the ancient Native American ruins he’d discovered in the San Juans. If so, I think my father might have decided to go ahead and do something about it, despite his reluctance toward any kind of organized religion.
But it wasn’t long before Dad got wind of other discoveries and lost interest. And he didn’t talk about Mustang anymore, although he did occasionally mention that he wished we could afford to make a trip to see the remains of Mustang Village ourselves someday.
Then, after a few weeks had passed, I remembered the legend of the Mustang again. I was driving home to the ranch on a dark and lonely highway when a car passed me going way too fast and swerved onto the shoulder just beyond the crest of the hill.
As I was waiting for them to come back into view, I looked off toward where I thought Mustang must be located and imagined what it would feel like to stumble across that place, which was apparently somewhere in those distant mountains, without even knowing it was there.
I pictured myself climbing through the trees, finding a crumbling stone wall, and looking around to realize that everything around me had disappeared into time.
I’ve always loved mysteries, especially the ones that go unsolved. There are so many strange things in this world, so many oddities that seem out of place and unbelievable, and yet they can’t quite be explained.
I suppose this is why so many writers are drawn to writing about the paranormal or supernatural stuff. I don’t really believe in ghosts or vampires, but if you asked me, I’d say that I probably wouldn’t mind finding out that they’re real.
And then there’s the whole subject of time. We tend to live our lives thinking that we have plenty of it. And maybe we should, but it doesn’t really matter because none of us will ever know how much of it we’ll get.
I don’t mean to sound morbid, but I’m beginning to wonder how many times I’ll die in the future, and when those chances will happen. I remember once hearing someone say that everyone dies twice. Not every person is resurrected in the afterlife, but each death marks a change, a transition that leaves behind only the memories and echoes of your life.
I’ve never felt comfortable around my own mortality, as though knowing it would somehow make it come too soon. When someone says, “Don’t die,” people often take offense because they assume that means the speaker wants them to stop existing entirely. But I don’t mean that at all. I simply wish to live forever, because I’d rather not leave this world anytime soon.
“So are you going to go back and check out that cave?” I ask my parents one night during dinner.
They stare at me with blank faces, as if they haven’t been following what I’m saying.
“What cave?” Mom asks.
“We were talking about the mine,” I say.
Dad shakes his head slightly. “You mean Mustang Village.” He pauses for a moment, his expression growing serious. “No, honey, we won’t be doing any more trips out there.”
My stomach sinks. I’d heard my parents discussing the possibility of renting out the mine, but I hadn’t realized they’d already decided against it. Then again, it was still only a rumor. I decide not to bring up the topic of the treasure again.
The next morning I drive by my parent’s home—a beautiful house overlooking Puget Sound, with three floors and a huge backyard and garden. I used to love being out here, wandering through their gardens and sitting on the porch with a book in hand and watching the boats coming into town or going out to sea.
The front yard features a giant redwood tree, its gnarled limbs spreading over a path and creating a canopy over a small pond full of fish that my dad said had been caught from local waters. It’s one of those places where I’ve spent countless hours dreaming up adventures that might someday unfold. And now I wonder if they’ll ever happen. If my childhood will ever return.
I park near the garage, get out of the car, and walk past the house to take another look at the property. This is the second home I’ve lived in since graduating college. My first home is also in Seattle, which is closer to my job in the financial sector, but this one is nicer because I can actually afford it.
I step through the open door and wander around inside; the walls are covered with family photos. Some of them show my father, as well as my mother and me when we were younger. A picture of Dad, me, and Grandpa hangs above the fireplace, while a painting depicting our old ranch home looks down upon us from the wall behind the couch.
It feels strange to call it mine, even though I do live here. It was my mother who bought it after she moved into town for work. Nowadays, when I think about living with her and my sister, I feel as though my entire identity has shifted.
Maybe I need to be a little girl again, not an adult who’s supposed to be running some sort of corporation, but a kid with endless energy, ready to explore anything and everything. It’s just that I can’t help but wonder: What happened? Why did I grow up like this, and where did my childish innocence go?
A few months ago, my mom took me to see my grandparents’ old ranch home in California. That night, I lay awake in bed, trying to recall the feeling of belonging there. I remembered walking barefoot along the rocky dirt road, picking wildflowers, swinging from the trees in the nearby woods, and sitting beside the creek with my sister.
I thought back to playing hide-and-seek, building sand castles on the beach, and swimming in the warm, salty water. It seemed that the days always ended the same way, with a feast prepared by my grandfather and a fire lit in the hearth. We’d laugh until we cried, telling stories and jokes around the flames. At times, I could almost smell the smoke as it curled upward toward the stars.
But now when I close my eyes, I remember more than those good times. There was a time before then too. A time when there was no fear, and I wasn’t constantly worried about someone hurting me. But all of that seems so distant right now like it never really existed.
As I walk back toward my car, I notice something odd across the street. It’s a big metal sculpture of a wolf’s head with glowing yellow eyes. On closer inspection, I realize it’s actually two wolves: one standing tall while the other crouches below.
They’re both made of steel, and each face is etched in bright white against the black surface. Their snarling jaws stretch wide enough that I could easily fit into the space between them.
I cross over the road and approach the entrance of the driveway. An old wrought-iron gate stands ajar and is painted a dark green. I push it open with my foot and walk onto a grassy lawn. In the distance, beyond a line of trees, lies a field that slopes away toward the horizon, and a large structure is visible through the brush. It appears to be some kind of old wooden cabin.
“What is it?”
My gaze shifts upward. The sky glows red. Above me is an enormous silver moon with a pale face and jagged teeth. The beast watches me closely.
“Who’s there?”
The wolf’s mouth opens in what seems to be a growl. “You’re going to die,” he says, his voice deep and low.
I don’t move. It’s as if the animal is speaking directly into my mind. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he’s whispering. He continues to stare, but there’s nothing friendly or inviting about him anymore. Instead, I sense darkness behind those yellow eyes. Like a monster waiting to devour me.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond right away. His head tilts ever so slightly. I watch as the light catches him from behind, turning his hair and fur into shimmering silver waves. For a moment, it’s as if the creature and I are sharing something together, a shared understanding that only I will know.
It reminds me of the time my father brought us to visit a friend in Mexico. My sister and I rode horses with him and his friends out along the desert floor. It was late afternoon and our shadows stretched long and far ahead of us on the earth. I felt so free and alive back then like my feet weren’t connected to any ground whatsoever.
Now, it feels like I’m standing alone in this dark place, with nothing but a pair of glowing yellow eyes watching over me. It makes me wonder how much of the story he told me is true, and why the hell he decided to share it in the first place. Is it because he knows I’m a shifter like him?
Could these creatures have been sent to find me, to hunt down my bloodlines so they can bring them to the Order as proof that I exist? Are the people of this world preparing to destroy me?
If so, then I’ll fight with every ounce of my strength to protect myself and my family. I won’t let them touch either one of us.
“Is something wrong?” I ask him.
There’s another pause before he speaks again.
“You’re not who I expected,” he finally says. “I didn’t think you were coming for revenge.”
This is getting confusing. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t care about humans. You’ve already done enough damage to our kind. No more need for retribution. Our work here is finished.”
My eyes narrow. “That doesn’t sound like someone who wants to talk with me.”
His tail curls back and forth, sending up a puff of dust in the air. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere else,” he suggests. “There’s nowhere safe on the street where you might get hurt.”
I turn toward the cabin and begin walking toward the entrance. I want to see who’s inside, but I feel as if the creature has stopped me just in case he turns out to be telling me the truth. That, or he’s trying to keep me from seeing anything too dangerous. As I step up to the door, the wolf begins to speak again.
“Come to the fire pit. We’ll talk there.”
“Where exactly is that?”
“It’s not far now. Come.”
I hesitate, glancing back at the beast. I’m reluctant to go anywhere near him without knowing what we’re dealing with—and what he plans to do. But after all the strange things I’ve seen recently, it makes sense to follow this animal until he reveals himself.
If he’s willing to help me, I’ll make sure to remember him in some small way: a thank-you gift to remind me of my good fortune. And if he’s lying and trying to trick me, then I’ll know what to look for in future encounters with shifters.
A few paces beyond the doorway, the grass gives way to stone pathways between rows of trees, all of which stand as tall as I am. I pass by several wooden buildings that stretch toward the sky like giant mushrooms.
A couple of these structures look as though they belong in a fairy tale, with steep roofs and peaked windows. There are two or three smaller cottages tucked away among the trees, each with a white picket fence and a row of colorful flowers planted outside. Most of them sit empty for now, but a handful of people wander past as I walk by, their clothes loose and flowing against the earth.
I glance around me nervously. The forest seems peaceful enough, with nothing but birds and insects flitting through the branches overhead. But even the softest breeze carries with it an unfamiliar scent that fills my senses like a thick cloud of perfume.
When I look back at the wolves, they seem to be everywhere and nowhere, like spirits that refuse to leave this mortal plane, even though their bodies have fallen to ruin. They’re still as beautiful as they always were, but now, their golden eyes are filled with sorrow. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to forget them, no matter where I end up.
The fire pit sits just beside one of the larger cottages. It’s surrounded by a circle of stones that form a semicircle on the ground, and when I approach it, the flames within rise upward to greet me. At its center, a massive tree stump has been set on top of a mound of dirt.
The wood appears to be charred black and brittle, and a small pile of rocks lies next to it to serve as a makeshift seat. There’s nothing fancy about the fire pit, and yet this isn’t what catches my attention.
At the base of the stump, a woman lies prone beneath the cover of the surrounding bushes. Her long hair is tied back, revealing her smooth skin, and she’s wearing a pair of jeans and a simple white shirt. She stares at the flames, unmoving except for the slow movements of her shoulders, neck, and fingertips.
I step closer to the woman. She has a pretty face and features that remind me of a younger version of Lizzie; however, unlike my daughter, there’s no warmth in her dark brown eyes. Instead, I feel a chill run down my spine as I watch her stare into the fire.
It strikes me suddenly how similar this girl is to the man who tried to kidnap us earlier, although she wears less clothing than he did. I also realize that if he wanted to attack us, this would have been a perfect time since she seems so lost and vulnerable. He could easily kill her before anyone notices.
But there’s something different about this creature: he hasn’t tried to harm me or even touch me since I stepped close. Even now, when I’m standing over the fire pit, his gaze stays fixed on the flames rather than on me or the woman.
He must be watching for a sign that I’m here to do him some kind of personal harm. Perhaps he doesn’t believe I’m an enemy, and he’s hoping this will prove him right. If so, then I’ll have to show him that he can trust me. Otherwise, I might never be able to get away from him again.
And then it hits me—the thing that had been nagging at the back of my mind. His name was Richard. That means he’s related somehow to Richard, or maybe they’re one and the same. If they are, then it explains why he feels compelled to protect us.
Or perhaps Richard simply sent him here to check on our progress. If the wolf wants to stay in contact, then I’ll keep myself busy in his absence. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner we finish this task, the better.
I kneel down at the edge of the fire pit, taking a moment to catch my breath. The heat of the flames warms my legs, and my muscles relax as I settle onto the dirt. My knees start to shake, and it takes a few tries for me to stop the trembling.
After several deep breaths, I open my senses wider and focus on the wolf as his eyes continue to watch the flames. It makes sense that I should be able to communicate with him. We’ve shared our blood and souls more times than I care to count, so I should be familiar enough with his thoughts.
It’s easier when you don’t know what to expect.
When I first met him, I couldn’t help but notice how different we looked. The truth is, I’m not exactly sure which species he belongs to. He seems like such a mix of both wolves and humans that I wonder whether he even knows himself anymore. The best part, however, is that it’s possible he could actually be an ancestor of mine.
“Richard,” I say softly, “you need to tell me what happened. Where are we?”
The flames flicker slightly and his ears perk up, but when I speak again, all signs of awareness go out of his body.
“Who is he? And where’s Richard? Do you remember anything of us together? Anything at all?” I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I’m pushing too hard. Maybe this guy needs a break. But then again, I’m starting to feel cold—not just physically. It’s like my entire soul has turned icy, and there’s nothing that I can do about it. If it weren’t for the fire pit warming the air around me, I’d have frozen solid by now.
A shadow moves overhead, and when I look up, I see a large bird circling above us, staring intently at the woods behind me. It looks almost as though the creature is searching for something or someone. When it flies off again, the flames seem to die, and for a second, I fear the fire won’t return.
But the flames begin flickering again after a moment.
“Do you know why we can’t leave yet?” I ask.
His eyes remain locked on the flames as he shakes his head slowly, and his lips move silently.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh heavily, and my teeth clatter against each other as my fingers dig into the dirt. “You’re probably feeling confused and afraid. You’re trapped and have no idea what’s going on. This is all very frustrating for you, isn’t it?”
There’s another brief pause before he answers in a faint voice. “Yes.”
That’s a bit of good news—at least he admits it.
“So, let me try to explain it from your perspective. We were once a group of three people—me, my sister Lizzie, and you. All of us went through some kind of change and grew wings and talons and tails.”
He blinks, and then his shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. For a moment, it’s like he’s listening, but when I wait a moment more, I realize he’s fallen asleep.
My heart sinks.
This guy’s got issues.
As if in response, one of his paws lifts off the ground as if he’s suddenly decided that he’s ready to run. Then, when I reach forward to grab him, the movement stops completely.
“No, Richard! Wait!” I shout.
I sit up straight and take several deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. He may be stuck here, but that doesn’t mean he’s powerless. There’s plenty I can do for him while we wait for Richard to make his appearance.
If only I knew how to get him to wake up and listen to me.
The End