Tiger's Tale

Tiger knew she was dreaming as she beat the windshield of the cherry red chevy ss with the long cow bone. She beat for all she was worth until it broke. Rage like nothing she’d ever felt filled her, it swarmed inside her like angry hornets. Suddenly, she opened her eyes awakened from the dream by a draft of cold air from the window as a storm rolled in.

Tiger Rainsong jumped from her bed and closed the window. She went to drawing the car, the bone, and herself in the moment she broke the windshield. It meant something. She didn’t know what the spirits were telling her this time, but they were telling her, they were talking.

Lightening flashed through the window and rain poured down as Tiger worked feverishly to finish the picture. The little studio apartment on the edge of the college campus was just enough to house her and her vast art supplies with her ever growing amount of artwork.

The smell of the charcoal she’d been working with filled the apartment. It was as if it had been super-heated from the rapid quick work of Tiger’s need to get the picture to paper. There was a very important need to get the memory on paper, these were the spirits speaking to her and she needed to know what they were trying to say to her.

Why a cow bone on such a pretty car? And why just the windshield? It was as if she were trying to poke someone’s eyes out.

Tiger laid the sketch book down on her bed and stared out at the storm. She heard it beat against the side of the building like the sound of a beating heart. Tiger realized she needed to go see her grandma Bee. It was the only way she was going to know for sure what was going on with this dream.

Tiger hadn’t been to see Bee Rainsong in about a week or so. She was being visited by other regular family members at the hospital in Muskogee. After she had gotten Covid-19 that was where she’d been moved to, the home health doctor had agreed with the main part of the family. Bee had argued about wanting to die in her own home but much to her own ire she was doing fine at the hospital.

Bee Rainsong had raised Tiger from a small child after Tiger’s parents had wanted to give her up for adoption. They had called her a mistake. What she was had been the product of the affair her biological mother had when she was young and didn’t want to face. Her husband didn’t want her around as a reminder so for the sake of the marriage, the child, that would be Tiger, had to go. Bee was not happy with her daughter over the decision and adopted the child outright.

As Tiger got old enough to understand, they made a point of making her feel unwelcome in her own home. Bee didn’t like this and often argued with her daughter, April, when she came to visit. April felt that she shouldn’t have to look at the child and called her things worse than a mistake when she thought the child was out of earshot.

Tiger knew her grandma loved her and was undeterred by these insults from her self-entitled biological mother. April was the one slowly floating down the river further and further away from them. Now that Tiger was an adult, April realized just how much Tiger looked like she did but there was no regret in cutting the child off.

Tiger pulled herself together. She got up and showered. It was going to be a long day and storms in the spring were a way of life in Oklahoma. Today, she had no classes to teach at the college. Even as a grad student, she had to make her own way, but she loved to teach.

The undergrad students were usually either just out of high school, usually from there in Muskogee or divorced men and women trying to find themselves. She loved watching a former construction worker with big hands molding clay for the first time. They were reaching for more than lumps of clay when they learned to make their first clay pot.

By the time it was over with, everyone was having a good laugh, and the pottery came out just fine with such a pretty job she convinced the student to show it in the undergraduate exhibition every semester. Most of them had just taken the course for the extracurricular, a few went on to become full-time artists after her class and still kept in contact with her while others said hello to her on campus without hesitation when they saw her. It was a good feeling to be a teacher that was liked.

Tiger Rainsong’s grandmother, Bee was a respected storyteller and writer. She was a 90-year-old woman with the imagination of a 20-year-old. She could spin stories that drew you into her world and held you there until she was ready to let you go. It was her “superpower”. Bee had a doctorate in English and was retired from teaching at the college.

Tiger got dressed in her little one room, Studio apartment and made coffee. She pulled on her favorite pair of black leather boots. Tiger got ready to go out into the storm so that she could go see her grandma, Bee, later at the hospital where chances were good, she was going to run into April and her husband.

First, she had an errand to run. She promised to run down the street to the coffee shop and meet an old friend for a hot cup of coffee. By the time she got there in this spring storm, she was going to need it.

Tiger grabbed her large black umbrella from the stand beside the door and headed out the door. She wasn’t thrilled about the cold rain outside even with the raincoat, but she was excited to see her friend, Max Westerncrow.

The bell rang to the little coffee shop as Tiger opened the door. She bolted in quickly out of the rain, having closed her umbrella just outside the door. She shook off on the large welcome mat and was careful walking on the tile floor as she found an empty booth by the windows so she could see the storm. Tiger sat down facing the door so that she could see Max when he arrived.

Tiger ordered coffee and her usual breakfast when the waitress came over. The Waitress, Amy, smiled. She’d taken one of Tiger’s classes and was a student at the college, this was just her day job to get by.

Tiger settled back in her side of the booth. She had plenty of time. It was Saturday so there were no classes for her to teach today and soon classes would be out, she didn’t teach during the summer sessions. Besides, if she didn’t have breakfast before showing up at the hospital, to see her grandma her grandma would be unhappy with her.

Across the street from the dinner and up just a little bit was one of the Millbrook “Christian” Missions. It was a homeless shelter, but also welcomed in drug addicts and alcoholics.

They had been working in a very large building for nearly 2 years now. The operation had grown larger and had buses to there “rehab” camps in Creek County. Only Creek County was where the rehab camps were, which seemed odd to both Tiger and Max. But odder still was the fact people that got on that bus never seemed to return.

Tiger and Max had lost a friend to the Mission, she had been hopelessly addicted and worse couldn’t maintain a place to live. She’d stayed with both of them in turn a few times but never could kick the drug habit.

It was when she’d ended up at the Mission they had gone to see her there a few times when she’d told them she was going to take the bus ride to the “rehab” camps. They never heard from her again. When they had enquired about her at the camps, the main counselor at Camp Isiah had told them, she’d od and her body released to the family. But Tiger and Max knew she had no family.

When they pushed, there were veiled threats and they were followed by the sheriff’s deputies out of the county. That was when they decided to take a different approach to things, and started to quietly dig. What they found were connections in the businesses and the Missions. Unhealthy connections.

By the time her food was brought to her, Max was walking through the door of the coffee shop.

Maximillian Westerncrow stood tall and lean in the morning light. Lightening flashed behind him and thunder rumbled as Max shook off his shin length leather duster and leather cowboy hat, both soaked from the rain. His leather messenger bag hung on the inside of his duster off of his shoulder where it was protected from the heavy downpour outside. Max’s long hair was coal black and braided down to his ass, his blue eyes brightened with a smile as he saw Tiger. He raised a hand to acknowledge her.

His boots were heavy with a thudding footstep as he crossed the room too Tiger. He grinned a white toothy grin as he sat down. He slid out of the duster so he could put the messenger bag down next to him on the long bench seat of the booth.

Max was a quarter creek Indian on his father’s side, and he was very proud of it. His father was also very German and had spoken fluently. His father had been in the army during Vietnam and spent a great deal of time on the base in Germany as a helicopter mechanic. Coming home, he’d managed to get a job at the small airport in Muskogee but had died from a heart attack in his early fifties due to the booze and smoking so many of the vets came back with as a habit.

Max’s mother had been a factory worker there in Muskogee at the paper products mill just at the edge of town. She died when Max was in college, so she didn’t get to see him realize his dreams of being in archelogy.

Max’s face had a three-day growth of red and black beard stubble on it from not shaving. He often kept clean shave on his long narrow face, his German showing more than any other of his heritage.

“I brought you something,” Max grinned even wider then he had before, as he opened the bag he brought with him. He pulled out a gallon freezer bag, inside that was a brown paper sack. He handed it over to Tiger with great enthusiasm. She took the gallon bag and pushed her half finish plate out of her way.

“Is this what I think it is,” she asked, as she opened the bag.

“The rubbings you asked for from the Millakovia crypts,” he confirmed. He was beaming with excitement as he said he. He glanced around at the almost empty coffee shop and realized they weren’t even being listened to by the staff.

Max had been away in Russia for nearly a month and a half. He was on an “archaeological” dig for the Millbrook Foundation. They were excavating a “family” castle for restoration in the old country. Something they had been working on with the government there for nearly a year.

The Millbrooks had reacquired it from a Russian crime family after years of negotiation, or that was how the story went. There were “security” forces with guns around all the time. The crime family seemed to disappear overnight, and the government was very “grateful” to the Millbrooks for their Foundations support. The Castle and family grounds were returned to them.

Max had taken the job for two reasons; it paid good and it got them the information they were searching for on the Millakovias. They had to find out more about this family full of “Blood Eaters” as Bee Rainsong called them.

“Being an archeologist has its advantages,” Tiger was smiling as she said it. Her eyes were lit up with delight as the prospect of getting to study the rubbings later.

“I just don’t like working for the Millbrooks. I still don’t know why they are excavating a private Russian cemetery on the grounds of the Millakovia Castle grounds. We know they are related, but why the dirt?”

“They aren’t human,” Tiger said in response.

“True,” Max agreed.

“What did you learn?”

“The family goes back generations there. The family escaped before the purging of the Tsars and the royal families of Russia. They left with what Relics and Riches they could. They left behind other things. Mostly we are excavating graves, so getting the rubbings was very easy. I had the rubbings translated,” he said as he pointed to the pieces of plain paper that were paperclipped to each of the 5 rubbings inside the paper bag.

“These are going to help with research for Penny,” she said as she started to unfold them and then thought better of it. She slid them back inside the paper bag and then back into the plastic one to protect them from the rain.

“We need to go see Penny. She’s going to have some answers we don’t,” Max said.

Max thought about the remains from the oldest of the tombs again. They were instructed to be extremely careful with those as they were removed from the tombs. The bodies had been beheaded. Some of them with stakes wedged in the bones of the rib cages. These were very interesting, but it was like these weren’t really the causes of death. Others, it easy to tell the bones had just been charred, as if the bodies had just been burned.

“Were you able to get her the hand full of dirt she asked for,” Tiger’s tone very serious.

“Surprisingly, yes, and pictures of remains we recovered. I thought this would be hard to get through customs, but one look at it and they treated it like a novelty item like you get in a gift shop at the airport. I did dress it up a little bit to give it that look,” he grinned as he held up a small black and gold box with a gold ribbon around it. The packaging had been inexpensive to get it back in one piece. The bottle inside was glass and sealed with cork and wax.

Penny had been pretty specific in how to seal the bottle and what kind of bottle to use to get the soil back to her. It was important for a spell. She’d been working for months on the Millbrook family tree to trace back where they had changed their name from Millakovia. Despite their best efforts they had not been good at hiding older family tree documents and Penny was very good at genealogy.

“I’m going to see Grandma after this, but I’m free to go to Tulsa after that. Penny will need a heads up, a quick call.” Tiger smiled, she liked Penny. The Irish descended witch was full of spark and powerful. She didn’t flash her power around, on the other hand she held it close, in reserve. She was humble with it most of the time. Tiger wanted to see what the witch could really do.

Tiger had dreamt of Penny once in the beginning. Then on a spirit walk tour she met Penny one October a few years back. The spirits had spoken loud and clear. They were supposed to fight the oncoming darkness together. They were all having dreams, even if they didn’t like to admit to them. Some of the dreams were dark, so dark and bloody.

Grandma Bee called them “Blood Eaters”. With some research, Max had been able to figure out they were called Vourdalak, a type of Russian Ghoul or Vampire. The actual thing they were was unclear.

“I will call Penny after we go by the hospital. I assume it’s still family only,” Max said with a frown.

“Yes, and April still won’t let me put you on the list. She’s being a bitch. I’m really glad she gave me up,” Tiger said.

“I agree, she’s toxic,” Max said without thinking. He immediately regretted saying it out loud.

“She is and it hurts Grandma every time she says ugly things. We better get going,” Tiger said, her eyes lost a little of that shine at the mention of April. Max knew April hurt her more and more each time she had to deal with her. The years had not been good between them.

They paid the bill and rushed out into the rain where Max had his car waiting. Tiger was drenched to the skin within the few minutes it took to get to the car. Max turned on the heater to dry her out, he didn’t want to get sick or catch Covid as well with it going around so quickly.