Welfare checks are supposed to be a rookie job. Deputy Ch'ák’ has more important problems to deal with but when a house known for domestic violence, calls about brandishing firearms goes silent… Its cause for concern. A few days ago the mail man complained of being shot at by Bill String, before the Dept could respond he called to say it was a false alarm as Spring was actually shooting at a wasps nest. The mail man is now saying he thinks they shot them selves and abandoned their pets. William String and his native wife Sleepy Gahlts'áakw have been known for some bloody brawls. Their age gap of 30 years makes fist fights equal as he is pushing 70 and she is not even 40. Disputes over the car, the checking account or magazine subscriptions have let to him pistol whipping her and her stabbing him several times. She once accused him of holding her hostage and torturing her, only to withdraw charges when she was unable to cash his VA retirement check per a note he mailed off from the jail to freeze payments.

Ch'ák’ can’t stand woman beaters, but he gets the impression Sleepy is the driving force behind the trouble. She has a long history of homelessness, speed addiction and petty theft. If not for living with the retired Military Policeman, she might be another body found floating in the bay. Bill String is a veteran of the Korean War. He is a nasty piece of work. A violent alcoholic who has a tendency to propose to every waitress and single mother in town. This time he ended up with one with as bad a temper as himself. Ch'ák’ has a better rapport with Mr String than with the wife, who once crashed into his patrol car when cornered at the site of a break in. The house is set back from the road quite a ways. Past endless tangles of thorny vines, rusting junk and dead trees is the cabin. It has a rustic hunting lodge vibe, but is over built into a mish mash of log, stone and scavenged fiber board. Its kind of an eye sore but they don’t deal with code enforcement out here. The whole point of living this far from society is a rugged self reliance and distrust of county building codes.

Coming to the house there are no obvious signs of violence. The door gets no answer and walking around to the back, Ch'ák’ sees no obvious open windows. Yelling for any signs of life get nothing. Seeing an unfinished wall around the side covered in plastic blowing in the wind. Ch'ák’ takes note of the easy access if he needs to go inside. On the right side of the house there is a falling down garage, poorly built and leaning with age. Inside there are several abandoned cars. A 71’ Plymouth Satellite with mostly blue body panels. Under a orange tarp, an illegal early 70’s Datsun Skyline. A car never submitted for US safety tests, therefore illegal. A yellow and black 70’ Dodge Coronet and lastly a silver and white European Roadster of some vintage, with open wheels and no top. All these cars are likely salvage titles or bought from some company supposed to crush illegal imports on the mainland. Ch'ák’ guesses all these cars have some kind of illegal modification that leads them to be abandoned in a building about to fall down.

Ch'ák’ always loved Mopar hotrods, maybe if the crazy couple is laying face down in a murder suicide… he will impound the Dodge and the Plymouth as projects. Maybe if Enceladus gets his act together he can have the Datsun if they fib the numbers. Walking back to the house Ch'ák’ hears a sound like a shelf full of tools fall over. Something is alive in the house. Maybe a starving dog, or Sleepy waiting in there with a pistol in the throws of some delusion. Ch'ák’ thinks about what likely happened. String had some kind of health emergency and she emptied out the bank account and has been living with some drifter. Sleepy got touchy about her spending habits and shot String in his sleep? A big knock down, drag out brawl where he beat her to death with a can of dog food?

These thoughts all amuse him as he steps through the plastic unfinished wall. Its dark inside and he can hear a screen door slamming in the wind. Thats strange, he didn’t see a screen door on the first walk around. The house is dark, bowls full of moldy food fill the sink and the bedroom smells bad like something spilled long ago has decayed. The bathroom is the first sign of trouble. Dried blood fills the sink and tub. Far too much blood for any one to survive, but after seeing a portion of a moose head in a bucket squirming with maggots… he isn’t sure about the species that bled out here. Maybe they were doing some poaching and got wounded? String had an aversion to going to the hospital when she stabbed him. When they forced him to go because she hit him in the mouth with a tire iron, the damned bastard escaped in the wheel chair they cuffed him to.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Rounding out the search to the living room, he sees the body. William String was dead, his corpse sat in a rocking chair with no obvious signs of violence. Maybe his heart went out or he had a stroke? The body was totally grey with dust and cobwebs. From the looks of the mummification it had been some time here undisturbed. Ch'ák’ remembers them having a big dog and several cats. Looking closer Ch'ák’ can see what looks like chewing on both the feet, they are stripped of flesh. In Strings lap is still his remote control, a crystal ashtray full of doobies and roaches. Also in his lap, a comic book covered in marijuana and powder that appears to be cocaine. A shame its Incredible Hulk #180. First appearance of Wolverine. Probably too inundated with putrid body fluids and the stench of death to be readable.

Ch'ák’ tries his radio, its dead. No signal out here on the inlet. Using his flashlight he goes and looks around some more. Sleepy must be here, or at least the pets? Ch'ák’ is startled as he thinks he sees a powerful man holding an axe in the hallway with wings like a moth or butterfly growing out of his shoulders and head. Upon drawing down on the suspect, It turns out to be a dirty mirror reacting bizarrely to his flashlight. Ch'ák’ sees the ladder to the crawlspace is down. Calling up he gets no reply and really dreads having go up there. Instead he goes outside and tries to get a signal from the Bronco. No dice. This doesn’t seem like an emergency but the open crawlspace is bothering him. If there was someone living in the house, thats the last place he hasn’t searched. Going back in, he is startled again by a woman’s scream. Rushing in and clearing the house again, the only place left is the crawlspace.

Hearing a sound like rats or small animals running around. He gets up there to see Sleepy is backed into the corner about 20 feet away. She is nude but covered in something like dirt or motor oil and blood. She is rocking back and forth, crying in a panic. Ch'ák’ tries to get her to come to the ladder but she won’t respond. Ch'ák’ thinks this might be better for a crisis worker. But knowing sleepy she has a knife or gun back there. He doesn’t want a nurse or paramedic to take a bullet because he didn’t disarm her first. Struggling to make it through the cramped opening, then messing up his uniform on dusty unfinished floor full of tacks and staples. He gets near where Sleepy is, and sees she does indeed have a pistol. She isn’t responding and he has to crawl up to her and take it. Ch'ák’ sees she clawed out her own eyes. He tries to pull her out but she lashes out. Striking his face and slashing at his eyes.

This is too much. Ch'ák’ retreats from the crawlspace having disarmed her. He wants to go back up and carry her out in a blanket or sheet but every thing in the house is too nasty to touch. Every surface is covered in either slimy grime, crawling maggots or stained with god knows what. Ch'ák’ thinks he should just leave the place as is and drive back towards the station to get a signal. It’s too hateful an idea to get back in that crawlspace with a naked woman having some kind of emotional break, who possibly killed her husband and has been living among the bones of animals for weeks or months. That kind of thing is just too horrifying to contemplate. What goes through the mind of someone who keeps a mummified corpse in the house with them? All the windows closed and the stench of death and putrefaction for months. Watching flies and spiders nest in the eye sockets until the body dries out and becomes brittle.

Ch'ák’ decides to bite the bullet and give one last try to get her down. Bringing his brown leather Sheriffs Deputy coat, he wraps her up and gets her out. She stands there shivering, covering her privates and looking at the floor. Trying to get answers, he won’t make a sound. Rocking back and forth. Ch'ák’ leads her to the door and is shocked as Mr String is behind him loading a shotgun, alive and pissed off. Standing there with his shotgun leveled at Ch'ák’s chest. Howling accusations in an annoyed tone of voice. “What the hell is going on?” Ch'ák’ doesn’t know what to say. He looks back at the chair with the corpse and its empty. “Get the fuck out of my house!” Sleepy is smiling in an evil way and goes running into the back of the house. Ch'ák’ tries to stammer a response but his voice croaks in his throat. Mr String shoves him out the door and peaks out the blinds in the window with the double barreled shotgun up to the glass. Ch'ák’ starts to think he is having a midlife crisis. Was he coming down with schizophrenia? What could explain what he saw? He takes a drink of whisky, watching the house as he can hear yelling, slapping and the usual violence. Pulling out the driveway Ch'ák’ starts to question his own mental health.