He led us down a hallway and then up a narrow set of stairs which led to a slim door. The brass plate on the door read; Theodore Teagan, Head Councilman. He opened the door and we followed him into an attic office. It was really nice for an attic; with plush carpets laid over the wood beam floors and bookshelves built right into and out from the angled walls, making the room appear to be box-like when it was closer in shape to a pup tent. There was a large window at the far end of the room, set into a triangle shaped piece of wall, and it let in a lot of light through its wispy curtains.
“I'd thought that was your office back in the council chambers,” I mused as I looked around.
“Ah, no,” Teagan grinned. “We use that as a common work space for anything that needs to get done in chambers.”
“Well this is much nicer,” I looked towards the window.
Under the window was a heavy desk, with a chair positioned behind it, facing us. But Teagan led us over to a work table set against a side wall. There was a lot of books and paperwork covering the table, including several council published tomes on raven mockers, but Teagan pushed all of it aside to clear our view of the large TV screen placed at the back of the table. Beside it was a DVD player and Teagan pushed the play button as Tiernan and I sat before the table.
“There were several recordings but this is the final cut,” Teagan said as he took a seat beside me.
Cat sat between us and Teagan casually reached out and stroked her head. That lifted my eyebrow. I didn't expect humans to respond so well to her, much less a councilman who could see what she actually was. But then the voice coming from the TV caught my attention.
“Raven mockers,” it said ominously. “I'll bet you've never heard of them. I myself was unfamiliar with the legend until we atParanormal Parameterswere approached by a shaman of the Cherokee Nation who told a the chilling tale.”
The man was attractive, with short russet hair and a medium build, but it was the gleam in his eyes that was the most compelling. This footage must have been shot after he'd seen the raven mocker because that was the look of a man who had glimpsed something he'd always hoped to find but never actually believed he would. A look like that meant trouble.
“Shaman Kevin Chepaney spoke of witches and dark magic to us and I never for one second believed a word he said,” the man went on. “I have never been so wrong in all my life.”
The man was standing in front of a modest home made of wood and red bricks. He moved up the stairs and the white door opened to reveal an older Native American man. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a ponytail neatly and he had a crisp, sky blue, cotton shirt on, the cuffs adorned with simple cuff links and the top button open to reveal the leather cords of his medicine bag. His blue jeans looked brand new and his boots were polished. He must have dressed up for his camera debut.
But one look in his dark molasses eyes showed me that this was not about fame for him, this was a cry for help. He had a desperate, anxious expression on his face. The kind of look you see sometimes on mental patients; people tormented by their own demons. Except this man's demons were very real... and they were actually fairies.
“Hello, Shaman Chepaney,” the host nodded to the man.
“Justin,” the man stepped back and admitted the whole group into his home. He led them into a simple but clean living room with a rocking chair near the small fireplace and an indigo cotton couch with an Native American blanket laid over the back of it. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Justin said as he sat. “Would you please tell everyone the story you first told us.”
“Yes,” the man swallowed hard, his lined face looking like worn leather but in an oddly attractive way. “Raven mockers, kalona ayeliski, sunnayi edahi, the night goers. There are many names for them but what they are is very simple. They are witches; evil shamans with horrible powers.”
“Yes, and as I've just said to our viewers, I was very skeptical when you first told me your witch tale,” the host looked contrite. “I apologize for not believing you.”
“No apology necessary,” the shaman held up his hand. “It's a hard thing to believe, even with Christianity so widespread in the United States. People forget that God has a counterpart, that evil does exist and at times, can be just as powerful as good.”
“Yes, I see that now,” Justin whispered and gave the camera a dramatic look. “If you believe in God, you must also believe in the Devil.”
“But this is not the Devil, not any devil,” the shaman went on and the camera focused back on him. “This is human evil; human's with magic, as I have been blessed with magic. But these people have allowed the lure of wickedness to turn their magic dark.”
I leaned forward to stare at this shaman. He was speaking the truth as he knew it but he was also very wrong. This wasn't human magic at all; these were fairies attacking his people, and the power he possessed was simply psychic ability.
“Please tell us about their magic,” the host urged.
“They have found a way to prolong their lives by stealing life from others,” the shaman went on. “And they do it in a devious manner.”
“Yes, it's fascinating actually,” Justin said to the camera.
“They come after dark,” the shaman was speaking such theatrical words but in a stoic way that made them feel genuine... as I knew they were. Goose bumps lifted on my arms as he continued, “on wings of fire. You cannot see them unless you are a shaman and have the ability to see beyond this world. But all can hear them. They make a sound like a diving raven, which is why we call them raven mockers.”
“Ahh,” Justin nodded. “And Night Goers because they come at night, obviously.”
“They need the shadows to hide their flight and their faces,” Shaman Kevin said. “But we know what they're after and what to look for.”
“What is it that they want?” The host asked as he leaned forward. “How do they steal life from people?”
“They sneak into the homes of the sick or elderly, invisible to all but shamans, and they torment their victims by strangling or throwing them about,” Kevin explained. “Anyone in the room simply thinks the victim is struggling to breathe. No one knows that a witch is tormenting their loved one, wearing them down so the raven mocker can steal their victim's heart.”
“What do they do with the heart?” Justin asked.
