Whistling Skinwalker , by Disi

Navajos growing up all their lives on the reservation hear about skinwalkers from time to time. For this reason, nearly everyone is cautious about who they trust, or what kinds of things they talk about, because yeenaadlooshiis are dangerous people that have the abilities of animals, yet retain their cunning human minds. My mother has many tales to tell of yeenaadlooshiis (skinwalkers). She tells us because she wants us to be aware that there are people out there that may want to hurt us, or play with our minds. She sometimes tells it to assure me that there is a God, and He watches over everyone, even little Navajo children.

This true story, which happened around the 1960s, is one of them. One night, she and her four sisters (my aunts) were at home after a long day of shepherding and doing chores. My mom and her sister needed to use the bathroom before going to bed, and so they decided to go to the outhouse together. (They didn't have plumbing back then, or running water, as they were living in a traditional hogan.) The outhouse was far away, and they didn't want to walk there alone in the darkness, so they decided to go together.

It was relatively late. The sole light source was moonlight. As the two finally neared the outhouse, they thought they heard some faint sounds like that of whistling. It was birdlike, but whoever was whistling was following them and was circling the area. They clung to each other, chilled by the sound, and continued on. Oddly enough, the outhouse door was open. Usually when people use the outhouse, they always latch or wire the door shut.

As they came close enough to the outhouse, they saw a large black "thing" sitting inside. Though they couldn't see its features, they could make out that it was human in nature. Terrified, they screamed in horror, and ran back to the hogan as fast as their legs could carry them. They could hear someone chasing them from behind, and that it was gaining on them. As soon as they reached the hogan, they dashed in and slammed the door. They hurriedly told their other sisters what happened, and they sat in silence, waiting for something to happen.

The hogan door wasn't secure. It was only an old, worn-down door with no knob; it had a rickety latch nailed to the inside of the door to keep it closed. Nothing was barring the smoke hole where the chimney rose out; it was open to the air and you could see the night sky. The person outside began banging on the walls, making all five of them huddle in the middle of the room near the stove. There were heavy objects being thrown now, and a lot of noise. Soon, they heard it climb onto the roof. Whoever it was, was walking back and forth, and every now and then, it would peer through the smoke hole at them, its face hidden by darkness. There were adults present, but being a rather rude foster family with kids of their own, they lived in another hogan some distance away. Though they tried calling out to them, they became angry and didn't answer.

Finally, in pure desperation, my mom's three older sisters, being raised Catholic in boarding school, told her and her younger sister to get down on their knees. They began praying to God for protection. One of them had acquired holy water from the church, and she sprinkled it near the door.

All night, the skinwalker would circle the hogan, pound on the door, and make that whistling noise, but even though the hogan was improperly secured, that skinwalker never got to break in and hurt them.

My mom never found out who tried to hurt them that night. Medicine men can hold a chant for you, to see who tried to hurt you, but this was never carried out. Looking back on it now, my mom says that nobody was protecting them that night. Nobody but Heavenly Father, and that he kept them safe from harm's way. The yeenaadlooshiis would bother them on and off, but not once were they harmed.

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