Curse Of The Skinwalker

By George M. Goodwin

Matt Miller, a beat cop in New York, couldn't believe it when he received a letter from a law firm in Flagstaff, Arizona saying that he was sole heir to the considerable fortune his Uncle had left. He flew to Flagstaff to check it out, then checked with his own lawyers back in New York. After reaffirming that the inheritance was indeed real, Matt went back to Flagstaff to claim his prize.
But he got more than he bargained for when he found a locked room in the barn. Being a former cop, his curiosity was peaked and with the help of some bolt cutters, what he discovered in that room in the barn, and subsequently in a hidden room in the house itself, changed his life and shook his very beliefs to the core.
After talking to a local historian who actually knew his uncle, Matt had to reevaluate his beliefs in what was real and was fiction. Growing up in New York City, he'd been sheltered from the harsh realities of another world, and even the mean streets of New York couldn't prepare him for what he was about to face.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pale Horse Publications
• Release date: May 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227035615

George M. Goodwin

George was born in 1960 in Jefferson County Alabama. The fifth of nine children, eight boys and one girl. The family was raised poor, but not poorly raised. At home, George was taught morals, ethics and respect. Reading, writing and arithmetic at school. Love, honor and obedience to God at church. He grew up on John Wayne movies, country music and the writings of Louis L' Amour, Robert Louis Stevenson, H.G. Wells and Jules Verne.  

Book preview

The Inheritance

In 1977, Matt Miller was just an average New York City police officer. His life was as normal as any other twenty-six year old single male living through the disco era having two left feet. Travolta was burning it up at the theaters and a new disco was opening every week. All the girls expected their boyfriends to be able to dance just like he did. The fact that he had professional teachers and stand-ins for anything he couldn’t do was something they didn’t consider. Studio 54 had opened in April for the famous, the rich, or the very good looking people. The problem was Matt Miller was none of those. Matt was a flatfoot, both on his job and on the dance floor. He loved his job as a beat cop, but some days he was completely worn out by the time he got home. One of these days he was going to figure out just how many miles a day he actually walked. ‘Maybe I’d come out better working by the mile,’ he thought with a smile. Right now, though, he preferred his beat patrol to a detective’s job. This Son of Sam killer, as they were calling him, was driving them all insane trying to figure out who he might be and where he might strike next.

When Matt arrived at home that evening on the ninth of June, it had been such a day, and all he wanted was nothing more than a good meal, a glass of wine, and to put his feet up and watch a little television. He liked to think of himself as a television junky. Truth was, though, he hardly ever watched more than a half hour before he fell asleep in his chair. He put the news on while he ate.

Everything was the same as yesterday, it seemed. The Yankees could go to the world series, that is if Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson could settle their problems. He would like to see them win. The last time they had won the series was in 1962 against the Giants. He and his dad were in the stands that day and as an eleven

year old Yankees fan, life could get no better.

The Son of Sam murderer had been quiet since his last murder of two people in April, although he was connected to shootings and murders dating back to July of 1976. In that time, he had shot eleven people, killing five of them.

The unusually hot weather they were having in New York was expected to continue for a while.

Same, same, same, he said as he turned it off after his fantastic meal, which tonight was just a meatball sub that he had picked up at the deli on the way home. Cooking was something he rarely did, although he knew how.

He sat down in front of the set with his glass of wine. Matt wasn’t really what you’d call a drinker, at least he wouldn’t drink the hard stuff. He didn’t like the taste of beer but he did enjoy a glass of good wine. Not the cheap stuff that the street wino’s drank, either.

He had picked up his mail before coming upstairs, so he looked through it now. There was a power bill which hadn’t changed more than a couple of bucks since he moved in here two years ago, an ad for a new disco that had opened on the east side, that he knew without a doubt he would never visit. The next piece was not the normal mail, though. It was a large manila envelope and the address said it was from the Proctor and Wilkes law firm of Flagstaff Arizona.

What in this? he asked as he opened it.

There were several items in the envelope. The first one he took out was a letter, which read, Dear Mister Miller, after a considerable amount of time and much searching, we have located you, whom we believe to be the sole surviving legal heir of Mister Walter Owen Allen. We request your presence in our office as soon as can be arranged. You will find enclosed a first class round trip ticket to Flagstaff with an open departure date. However, time is of great importance in this matter.

He laid the letter on the coffee table, took a sip of his wine, and started searching his brain. He seemed to remember his father telling him once about having a great uncle Walter that owned a cattle ranch. That had been somewhere out west, but Matt wasn’t sure if it was Arizona. But he thought that it had been.

Opening the envelope again, he found a first class ticket to and from Flagstaff with open dates, just as the letter said. The third item was a map showing the location of their office and the address. He tried again to recall what his father had told him about the uncle. His father had been dead for almost ten years now, which meant that Matt had been sixteen at the time. What sixteen year old boy really pays attention to his parents, especially when they are talking about relatives you have never even met. Looking back now, though, he wished he’d done a lot more listening. Matt’s father was a postman, and as far as Matt knew that was all he’d ever been.

They lived a very modest life. Matt had gone to public school, and even though there had been some scholarship offers, once he graduated high school he just didn’t think going to college was what he wanted. He had been thinking of becoming a police officer for some time. He took the entry test at twenty and passed it on his first try. He enlisted at the police academy and was there for a year and a half. He then applied to the NYPD right after he graduated. In his second year there, his mother got very sick. Until then, he hadn’t known it, but she’d had cancer some years back. His mother had died just over a year ago after losing her second battle with it. He had no brothers or sisters, or even any cousins that he’d ever met anyway. They never went to visit grandparents when he was a child.

As far as Matt could remember, they didn’t talk about hardly any of their family. His father had told him about the great uncle, but he never even talked about his own parents. Matt just assumed they were dead, too. In fact, when his mother died, Matt had no idea that he had any living relatives. He knew that his mother had been an only child and that her parents were dead before he even came along.

Reaching for the envelope still again, he thought, ‘what the hell, I’ll check it out.’ After all, his captain had told him that very day that he needed to take a vacation. Matt had been with the NYPD for three years at the same precinct and had never taken one.

Fact was, in that three years he’d taken off only two days, that was when his mom had died. Maybe it’s time, he said to himself. ‘Who knows? Maybe old Uncle Walter has left me a fortune, and besides, they did send me a free ticket. Maybe it’s time to see