Highway 160

      Highway 160 westbound on the outskirts of Tuba City, Arizona was dark and desolate. Tucked away in the Navajo Indian Reservation, the only light came from the scattered stars high above the cooling desert sand. My truck, a custom built black 1991 Ford F150 complete with red suede interior, floodlights, and a Rhino off-road back rack, coasted at a steady seventy miles per hour as I passed the exit for Tuba City.

     Earlier that day I had driven up to The Four Corners Monument to do the “touristy thing” and take a picture for Instagram. My limbs stretched to four different states at the same time. After crossing off my accomplishment I decided to hang around the monument until sunset and then head back to my hotel in Flagstaff for the evening. The drive from Flagstaff to The Four Corners Monument was about four hours each way, and eight hours of driving in one day to complete a task on my list was a reasonable trade-off in my mind.

     As I got closer to Flagstaff, a strange sensation came over me. At first I shrugged it off to misplaced adrenaline, or maybe a short burst of anxiety, but this felt different. It was almost as if I was being watched from the darkness. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I figured it would pass soon enough, especially at seventy miles per hour.

     A few miles down the road, my bladder began to alert me to pull off. I hadn’t seen any signs for a rest stop coming up and I knew I wouldn’t make it back to Flagstaff without stopping to relieve myself. I hadn’t seen another car for the last hour of driving- so I figured I could just leave my truck running, pee on the side of the road, and be on my way. I got out, unzipped and began urinating.

     My truck idles loudly with a low hum from the engine that seemed to echo throughout the peaceful desert. A light breeze picked up and softened the roar of my engine; I zipped up and walked around to the front of my truck. Opening the door that same sensation came back, only it was much stronger and apparent; this wasn’t extra adrenaline wearing off or anxiety, this was dread. A wave of overwhelming terror nearly knocked me off my feet. I took a deep breath and collected myself trying to get a grip and rid the unknown manifesting fear.

     Looking out at the road and landscape in front of me I saw nothing. I reached in the truck and flipped the control switch on my dashboard turning my exterior lights from low to high. Four round flood lights atop of my truck glowed brightly cutting through the darkness ahead. The high beams added more illumination to the road, and yet, I still saw nothing. I quickly flipped the second switch, my back rack lights came on, and that’s when I saw it.

     Thirty feet behind the tailgate of my truck, on the edge of my lights reach, the figure of a coyote stood on the side of the road. I jolted back and fell into my door. I wiped my face and began to laugh at myself and then looked again. Something was different about this, something wasn’t right. I had never been in close proximity of these animals, but I know enough what they look like and what sounds they make.

     Standing on all fours, this one was pale white with black wire-like hairs that covered its spine. The rest of its body was bare to the point where I could see the outline of bones. The neck was elongated and thin and its pale skin gave off a mild shine as if it were glowing. Its tongue dangled out of its mouth as it panted in place slowly grunting between breaths; The eyes were off color with a tint of yellow and its abnormal ears were flapped down. Large claws tapped the pavement anticipating an attack. I expected to see a tail wagging but this coyote didn’t have a tail.

     My initial thought was that it was infected with some disease that made its eyes turn yellow and cause half of its hair to fall out. I only had a hunting knife in my truck and wasn’t ready to tango with a coyote in the shadows of a moonlit highway and potentially catch whatever it feral disease it was carrying. I turned to step into my truck when I decided to take one last look.

     The coyote propped up on its hind legs like a human and let out an ungodly ear piercing shriek. It started charging at me! I leaped into my truck and immediately floored it. I hadn’t even shut my door fully as I raced away. My RPM’s eclipsed 5,000, in the red, almost maxing out as I sped over 50 miles per hour in less than five seconds.  A trail of dust and burning rubber evaporated into the night sky. My heart nearly came out of my chest, I couldn’t bear to look in my mirrors. I was doused with sweat as my hands tightly gripped the wheel. My window was still down and even at speeds nearing 70 mph I heard another blood curdling howl from the darkness. I pushed my foot further to the floor accelerating as fast as I could; this thing was still chasing me!

     Suddenly, blue and red lights flashed in my rearview mirror. A siren blared and the approaching vehicle sped up nearly kissing my back bumper; I couldn’t stop, I was too frightened. The siren blared again and again, as the lights seemed to flash faster and faster. I gave up my acceleration, slowed down, and eventually and pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

     An alarmed voice called out: “Driver! Place your hands on the outside of your vehicle where I can see them!”

Despite the buckets of sweat rolling off my body my hands stuck to the steering wheel so tightly that when I pulled them off, small specks of leather from the steering wheel cover were embedded into my palms. I placed my hands on the outside of my truck and watched the police officer slowly approach me with his right hand hesitantly hovering over his pistol. His flashlight blinded me for a moment when he arrived at my window. When he saw my translucent face and wide-eyed stare, his tone changed at once.

“Sir. Are you alright?”

“I, I don’t know. I just -.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“I, I went up to the four corners monument for the day.”

“And where are you heading this evening?”

“Heading back to Flagstaff. I have a room there, I’m staying at The Flagstaff Inn, Room 112.” I said nervously

“May I please have your license and registration? Be slow about it. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

I fumbled for my wallet on the passenger seat sitting atop my day bag. Slowly sliding my ID from the leather pocket and then in a sloth-like fashion inching toward my glove box for the registration.

He wasn’t a police officer, he was a Coconino County sheriff’s deputy. He was a tall Native American with soft brown eyes and a round face. His vibe was intimidating but professional. He loosened his shoulders calming his nerves as he silently looked over my information.

“Well, Mr. Long, can I ask you what you think you’re doing speeding around out here on my highway at nearly 100 miles per hour?”

“Officer, I will gladly provide any field sobriety tests or samples of blood you may need to prove that I am not on any substance, but I need to get off this highway now!”

He stepped back about a half-foot and studied my concerned and frightened face.

“And what’s the rush? I don’t know how they do it in New York, but around here we have speed limits. Just because it’s the desert and you’re not from here doesn’t give you credence to speed around like the Wiley coyote. I’m writing you a ticket.”

My heart sank. The word ‘coyote’ set me into a tailspin. My mind began to spiral remembering the image of that goddamn thing I had just seen. My eyes began to water and I trembled with fear.

“What’s the issue, Mr. Long? Crying won’t get you out of a ticket, I hope you understand that.”

He removed his notepad and pencil from his breast pocket and began scribbling down my information. A knot formed in my throat. I tried and tried to push it out but nothing came of it. I took a deep breath.

“Officer, I…I saw something. I saw something back there that scared the absolute shit out of me and I had to speed away.”

“Ha. I’m sure you did. That’s what they all say when I get them for speeding. It’s always something.”

He continued writing.

“Officer! You have to believe me! I stopped on the side of the road to take a piss, if you want to write me a ticket for that I’ll gladly accept it. But when I was getting back into my truck I saw this coyote on the side of the road.”

“They don’t have coyotes in New York?”

“Officer! Please! This thing was pale! It had scattered black hair, yellow eyes…I could see its bones! It was almost glowing in the dark. It stood up on its hind legs and made this god-awful scream and started charging at me!”

The pencil broke. His head snapped up. I could hear the vertebrae in his neck crack into alignment. His face drained of color mirroring my paled look. Very slowly he turned his head toward the pitch-black highway behind his patrol car.

“Are you screwing with me?!”

“NO!”

His eyes widened and the expression that was on his face disappeared into a stare of panic.

“yee naaldlooshii.” He whispered under his breath.

“Wh-Where did you see this!?” He continued.

I couldn’t remember, I had driven so fast and kept looking forward I wasn’t paying attention to any mile markers.

“I’m…I’m not sure, 8 to 10 miles back, maybe?”

“Son of a bitch. Get out of here! Right now! Get back to Flagstaff; do not stop for anything! Get out of here! Now!”

He tore up his notes and threw my ID and registration at me as he sprinted back to his vehicle. I went to open my glove box and return my registration when he laid on the horn multiple times.

HONK! HONK! HOONNNKKKKKK!

I hastily threw my ID and registration toward my passenger seat, turned my truck on and sped off. He followed me closely for the next 25 miles and then turned off at the junction for Route 89 South and Highway 545.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Flagstaff Inn still frightened and confused. My brain was moving a hundred miles a minute trying to make sense of what actually happened, and what I saw. A chilling voice in my head kept repeating “yee naaldlooshii” over and over.

After parking in front of my room, I got out and walked around to the passenger side door. My ID and registration had fallen onto the floor during the chaos of my ordered evacuation from the desert. I opened up my glovebox, threw my registration in and returned the ID to my wallet. My day bag was sitting on the seat; I threw the strap over my shoulder and locked the door.

     Stepping away from the truck I noticed four distinct claw marks on the backside of my bumper just below the tail light. The marks were long and thin, not too deep, but noticeable in the moonlight. The bumper wasn’t completely punctured, but it looked like a cluster of sharp branches scratched along the back end of my truck.

   I stumbled into the room. My back was stiff and my legs were locked up from sitting for the past four hours. I grabbed the remote, flipped on ESPN, and plopped down on the end of the bed to collect myself.

“Yee Naaldlooshii” continued to repeat in my mind. A terrifying broken record continuously looping on repeat reminding me of the unearthly monster I had encountered in the desert. I pulled out my phone and searched the phrase. My spelling was off; I had searched “Ye Naldoolshe” but it was soon corrected to the proper spelling on Google. My chest tightened and my mouth fell open. I sat in a trance of horror staring at the results as baseball highlights replayed from earlier that day.

Yee Naaldlooshii is the Navajo term for “Skinwalker.”