Night Wings by Joseph Bruchac

mysteries?”
    Another pause. Tip is mentally counting. “Twelve,” he finally says.
    “Yes. And this is number thirteen. Good. Now, exactly how many fabled monsters—apart from innuendo, and by that I mean just suggesting we might have found something with shadows, quick cuts, camera angles, and plain old fakery—how many monsters have we actually found and put onto film?”
    Tip’s answer is quick this time. “None.”
    “Excellent. But what have we found? No, let me answer my own question, Tip. We have found excellent cable ratings and sizable sales of our DVDs. And we have also found some other bonuses that we have not shared with our credulous and adoring public.”
    Field leans back and spreads his hands out wide, then begins to hold his fingers up one by one as he tallies their accomplishments.
    “Take Ghana, for example. Did we find Sansibonsa, the ten-foot-tall forest cannibal with feet that face backward? No. What did we find?”
    “Gold,” Tip says.
    “And in Sierra Leone, did we discover the lair of the Leopard Men? Not at all. But what did we bring home with us?”
    “Diamonds,” Tip replies. His voice is a lot happier now.
    “And, as you well know, I could continue this little list. No fifty-foot-long lizard, but a nice take of emeralds from Australia. No vampires in the Yucatán, no giant sloth in Patagonia, et cetera, et cetera, but a very nice payoff each time. And that was not luck, Tip, but the result of careful research, separating out mere myth and folktale from the real truth: namely, that certain monsters have been invented by local folk to keep outsiders away from their little treasure troves.”
    Field drops his hands. “And this Poh-mohlah is just that. A boogeyman designed to keep away those who might find that which has been hidden. A story passed down in certain families such as theirs”—Field points back in our direction—“to protect their little heirlooms.”
    “Like those pretty gold statues we got in Colombia,” Tip says, wanting to show that he’s understood what his boss is saying.
    “Exactly. Of course their owners didn’t know the true worth, seeing them as icons, sacred talismans that would—how did they put it, Louise?”
    “Preserve the heart of the world,” Louise answers, a phony tone of reverence in her voice.
    “Quite. As opposed to their much greater value on the antiquities black market.”
    I’m clenching my fists hard now. The thought of what Field and his crew have been doing all over the world makes me wish that Pmola really is here and really was the one who started that avalanche. Field’s words, though, have reassured his jumpy henchman.
    “Okay, boss,” Tip says. “I was just imagining things. You’re right. But now I gotta go…you know.”
    “By all means,” Field replies.
    Tip picks up a flashlight and heads in the direction of the path that leads up out of this little valley. I hear his feet crunching the twigs and kicking against the stones. He’s about twenty yards away now. Suddenly the sound of his walking stops. And the night is torn by his terrified scream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
In the Night
    T he scream is so loud that it makes all three of the people sitting around the fire jump up. Field, in fact, takes a stumbling step forward into the flames, knocking over the pot and producing a string of curses from him as the hot water scalds his legs. Louise and Stazi recover first. Louise shines her light in the direction of the scream, although she doesn’t show any inclination to leave the fire or help. It’s Stazi who bounds off into the night with an agility that is surprising for someone so large. More like some big animal than a human.
    To be honest, I wasn’t shocked by that scream. I’m not sure why, but something in me had been expecting it. Was it a kind of gutfeeling that we were being observed? Or was it something else? And then I realize what it was. I’ve always had a really strong sense of smell. And I’d started