“Are you in a game with someone?” Clark asked, thinking of the figure he had seen outside when he collapsed, still wondering if maybe that was only a figment of delirium.
The man turned to face him again. “Oh, I’m definitely in a game with someone.”
“So you’re not alone here?”
“No,” he said. “I have a servant.” He paused. “And then sometimes guests stop by.”
“Not on a night like this.” Clark felt the man was toying with him for some reason. All he could think of was the tree outside. Nothing seemed right about this place and this man’s presence didn’t make him feel any better.
“You’d be surprised who would stop by on a night like this.” The old man smiled. He had a full set of bright white teeth. “You came, didn’t you?”
Clark shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of choices.”
Now the old man laughed. “No,” he said. “Sometimes our choices are taken out of our control.” He stepped away from the chessboard and closer to Clark and the fire.
Clark thought about Graham. “Have you had any other visitors tonight?”
“You’re the first.”
It seemed an odd response.
“You expecting others?”
The old man flashed his smile. “It’s Christmas, Mr. Brooks.”
Clark eyed the man. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours yet.”
“Oh, forgive my manners,” he said, extending a hand, which Clark grasped, noticing its touch was cold. “My name is Thayer Sledge.”
Chapter Seven
Tucker Jenks stood before the hulking mass of the orange state snowplow in waist-deep snow while he caught his breath. He surveyed the amount of snow built up on the road around the vehicle. It wasn’t going to be easy to move it.
He spied a shovel sticking out of a snowdrift near the plow. Time to get to work, he told himself, striding forward and grabbing the shovel. The storm had lessened, flakes floating down lightly instead of being whipped in the frenzy of the blizzard.
Tucker started with the back of the truck, digging out around the large rear wheels. There was so much snow, he wondered if he’d even have the energy to complete the task. Shoveling out the back end wouldn’t be too bad; he just needed to get around the wheels and create enough space so he could spread some of the sand from the truck for traction. The front of the plow would be the real chore. He would need to clear a lengthy path so he could get enough momentum going to plow his way to the next exit. And God knows what condition the exit ramp would be in. He would cross that bridge when he got to it. First things first.
He was glad the wind had mostly stopped. Tucker didn’t want to listen to its howl. Maybe the banshee had fled.
That’s what Tucker wanted to do now. Flee the scene. The others could stay in the RV and wait. No more waiting for him. He dug furiously, throwing shovelfuls of snow over his shoulder. After several minutes, he could see the rear tires of the truck. Bending down, he reached under with the shovel, scraping and pushing snow out from the front of the tires.
His back hurt, his arms and shoulders ached, but he still had a long way to go.
Standing up, he found the lever for the sand discharger on the back of the truck and banged it a couple times with the metal blade of the shovel to loosen the frozen handle. The clanging of the metal echoed in the still night, like a bell tolling.
Not tolling for me, Tucker thought. I’m getting the hell out.
He released the lever and sand began sifting out. He stuck his shovel under the flow, letting it fill, and then he spread the sand behind and in front of the rear wheels. Tucker put as much sand down as he felt necessary, making sure he saved some for the front.
Tucker moved to the front of the truck. The snow on the highway seemed to be piled even higher here. He took a deep breath, pausing to recharge his energy. As tired as he was, it was going to take sheer determination to get the job done.
He looked back down the highway, to where his own truck remained behind the SUV. He had left its safety and comfort to risk coming out here, and he hoped he’d made the right decision. It only took thinking about what had happened in the back of the tractor-trailer to convince him he was doing the right thing.
Tucker began digging. It was eerily quiet now that the wind had died down, the only noise the crunching sound his shovel made as it bit into the snow mounds piled in front of the plow and the grunts he sometimes uttered in his effort to toss the load off to the side. After only a few minutes he needed a break, feeling a burning sensation penetrating his shoulder blades and running down both arms to his elbows. He stood leaning on his shovel for support, catching his breath. He realized he had a lot more digging to do before he would have enough area to get a running start with the plow. Hopefully it would be enough to push off the rest of the snow that covered the highway ahead.
Now the only sound came from the deep breaths he took, puffs of mist with each exhalation. The morning seemed peaceful, belying the true state of his situation. He wished for daybreak to come and hoped things would seem better in the light.
He heard a crunch of snow coming from beyond the opposite lane of the highway. His eyes scanned the trees across the way.
Something moved through the woods. He heard what sounded like footsteps.
He strained his eyes, trying to distinguish shadow from tree. One of the shadows moved and he thought he could see horns.
A deer maybe, venturing out now that the worst of the storm had subsided?
The shadowy figure was just inside the tree line, moving to the left.
Tucker saw a dark shape appear in an opening between two trees. He only caught a brief glimpse, but what he thought he saw chilled him to the bone.
The animal figure walked upright on two legs.
Tucker frantically returned to digging, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and arms and the heavy weight on his lungs, as he was determined to clear a path for the plow.
Chapter Eight
Thayer Sledge’s hand was cold, his grip tight as Clark shook hands with the old man. The chill went right up his arm, but that might have been because he recognized the name. It was odd because it had come up earlier in the night back in the RV. It was a strange coincidence, if indeed that’s what it was.
“Sledge?” Clark repeated, as if making sure he heard correctly.
“Yes,” Thayer said, a twinkle in his eye. “The name may be familiar to you.”
It sounded more like a question.
“I went to school with a Sledge. Leroy was his name. His family owned the Sledge & Ferrin Game Co.” Clark turned to look back at the bookshelves stacked with board games.
Thayer stepped over to the case to the right of the fireplace as if admiring its contents.
“That’s right,” he said. “I founded the company. With my partner, of course, Bernard Ferrin. But I sold it off to its parent company, now run by a board of directors. There are no family members involved any more. But I built it up to be one of the most successful game companies in the nation.”
Clark stepped up beside him. “I’m familiar with many of these games,” he said. “Played a lot of them when I was a kid.”
“I’m sure you did,” Thayer said. He grabbed a box off the shelf and blew dust off it. “How about this one?”
Clark read the title, Snakes and Ladders. Its box showed a numbered grid of squares crisscrossed with slithering serpents.
“I remember one like that,” he said. “Although it didn’t have that title.”
“Oh yes, well this is the historic version, originated in ancient India. My company brought it to the United States based on a British interpretation.”
“It was a rather simple game,” Clark said. “Not much to it.”
“Yes, well the Indian version was a morality lesson. You progressed up the board as part of a
life journey, facing pitfalls, represented by the snakes, and merits, which were the ladders.”
“Still seemed just a matter of chance,” Clark countered.
Thayer faced him. “Sometimes, that’s all life is, a matter of chance.”
Clark thought there was something off about this man, and wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He thought about the others back in the RV and Graham maybe wandering around outside.
“This talk of games isn’t important right now. I have a friend who must be lost out in the storm. Would your servant be able to help me look for him since there’s no way to call for help?”
Thayer shoved the game back onto the shelf, a puff of dust billowing out. “This night is not fit for wandering about,” he said with a smirk. “Besides, you’re in no condition to step back outside. You must still be chilled.”
Clark had to admit that unless he was standing right in front of the fireplace, his body felt cold. “I’m just worried about my friend. I’d like to look for him, but you’ve taken my winter gear.”
“Your clothes are drying. As for your friend, there’s nothing anyone can do for him now. What you could use right now is a hot toddy. I will go see if my servant can warm up some hot buttered rum.”
Before Clark could object, the man turned and exited the room. Clark stepped into the foyer and saw Thayer going through a door toward the back of the house. Clark looked around, noticing a grand staircase that wound its way up to the second-floor landing. An open door across from him led to a room shrouded in darkness.
On either side of the front door to the house were long narrow windows. Clark walked over to the door and peered out one of them. He could still see snow falling, though lightly. The maple tree out front remained still, no breeze shaking its menacing limbs. Clark tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t move. Locked? He felt trapped.
A chill came over him, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the predicament he found himself in, or the cool air that settled in the house. It seemed the farther away he had gotten from the fireplace, the colder he got, so he returned to the room and sat back down on the couch, trying to sort out this odd encounter. It felt like a dream, and he half thought maybe he was still lying outside in the snow delirious from hypothermia. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stay warm. He wiggled his toes in his sock-covered feet, trying to keep the blood flowing to their numb tips.
A rattling sound came from above, drawing Clark’s gaze to the ceiling. It sounded like the clinking of metal, and it was getting louder. He turned from his seat, looking over the back of the couch.
Something was coming down the stairway in the foyer. A shadow entered the doorway of the room, followed by the old man who cast it. He was short and stocky, balding with a round face and sagging jowls. The man’s entire body was draped in chains, with several large metal padlocks connecting many of the links. The locks looked old and rusted, even in the dimness of the room, with a keyhole in the face of each one.
The man looked at Clark, no sense of surprise or curiosity on his face, and then grunted and moved over toward the chessboard. He sat in one of the chairs, behind the white chess pieces, and stared down at the board.
“Hello?” Clark said, curious, rising from his seat.
The man barely glanced up at him, uninterested, and returned his gaze to the chessboard.
Clark walked over. This wasn’t the man he had seen outside, so who was he?
“Are you a friend of Mr. Sledge’s?” Clark asked.
The man held up a hand, palm out. “Please,” the man finally offered. “I need to concentrate. This is very important.”
Clark remained silent, baffled by this man’s sudden and odd appearance. The newcomer appeared in deep concentration, eyes locked onto the chessboard. After several moments, he sighed. His chains rattled as he reached his right hand toward the board and moved one of his knights. Once he was finished, he leaned back in his chair, the chains shifting around his body.
“Are you finished?” Clark asked.
The man grunted again. “If only. I fear there is still a long ways to go before the game is truly finished.” He reached into a pocket on his waistcoat and pulled out a large keyring. On it were dozens of old metal keys.
Clark watched as the man went through the keys, selected one and inserted it into one of the many padlocks. He turned the key, face sagging as nothing happened, and removed it. After selecting another key, he tried it on the same lock, once again to no avail. He sighed, slumping back in his chair, his face a mask of frustration.
“Why are you in chains?”
The man’s eyes rolled up toward Clark. “The question is, why aren’t you?”
Clark looked at the man, bewildered. “Why? Am I a prisoner?”
The man gazed down at Clark’s feet. “You have no shoes.” He looked back up at him. “You don’t think you’d be able to get anywhere like that, do you?”
Clark had to admit this was true.
The man fumbled with the keys before selecting another one. This one he tried on a different padlock, still with no success.
“But if you’re a prisoner, why do you have the keys?”
The man looked at Clark with exasperation. “It’s a game,” he said in a disgruntled tone. “The right keys will open the locks in a certain progression. Only then can the chains be removed.”
“Who chained you? Thayer Sledge?”
The man did not answer, only glanced back at the chessboard. “My move is made. I can only wait now.”
He got up and shuffled toward the doorway, the chains weighing down his old frame, causing him to drag his feet. Once the man was out of view, Clark heard him on the staircase, the rattling of the chains dissipating as he ascended.
Clark had no idea what to make of this encounter, once again feeling everything had gone wrong from the moment he’d stepped out of the RV, from the skeletons in the hatchback, losing Graham in the snow, the attack by the tree and now this house of lunacy.
Maybe he was lying out in the snow somewhere, suffering some hypothermia-induced hallucination.
As he was pondering this, Thayer Sledge returned to the room.
“My servant will be bringing our drinks along shortly.” He gestured toward the furniture in front of the fireplace. “Please, sit by the fire. You need to keep warm.”
As frustrated as he was by his predicament, this was an appealing suggestion, so Clark took a seat in one of the high wingback chairs. Sledge sat in the other.
“I just met a man in chains,” Clark said, hoping for some explanation.
“Oh yes, that would be Bernard.” Sledge responded matter-of-factly.
“Friend of yours?”
“Bernard Ferrin was my business partner, of the Sledge & Ferrin Game Co.”
“Your partner?”
“Yes. He and I built our gaming empire from the very beginning. It was a great partnership, at first. He was the thinker, I was the doer.” Sledge smiled. “Bernard created many of our finest original games. I mostly oversaw acquiring games from Europe and the Far East.”
“Like Snakes and Ladders.”
“Exactly.” Sledge snapped his fingers. “I handled the business aspects of acquiring the rights and all the legal contracts for the games we introduced in the U.S. I was good with figures, but Bernard was the creative one. He remained in his office night and day when working on a new game. He just didn’t have much business sense. That was his downfall.”
“Why is he in chains?”
Sledged frowned. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. Bernard used to be my conscience, but now he has become something of a burden to me. Those chains are almost as much mine as his.”
Clark didn’t understand any of this.
“He has keys to the locks.”
“Oh yes. Puzzle games were another of our specialties. Back then we started wit
h wooden puzzles. That’s how our company originated. We founded this company in 1925, when I was twenty-seven years old.”
Clark stared at the man in silence, looking at the lines etched in his face, the silver of his hair, his sturdy frame. He began doing the math in his head.
“But that would make you one hundred and twenty-one years old?”
“Not exactly,” Sledge said, shaking his head with a smile. “I mean it would, if I were still alive.”
Chapter Nine
Shelby couldn’t stare out the RV window anymore. It was too nerve-wracking. Her insides churned, worry worming its way through her gut. Clark and Graham had been gone awhile. Surely they must have reached the house through the woods by now. If they made it, a voice in her head said. No, she told it. Of course they made it. They were young, fit and strong. They had rescued them all and led them to the RV. Besides, the storm wasn’t as bad now. The wind had died down, the snow was falling much lighter. The worst had to be over.
But that voice in her head told her the worst had yet to come.
The children. She needed to check on the children. Shelby moved to the room at the back of the RV, opened the door gently and peeked in. Relief washed over her when she saw the two of them still asleep in the Volkmanns’ bed. Luke lay with his head on Macey’s chest, her arm around his shoulders.
She’s comforting him, Shelby thought. As much as the two siblings squabbled constantly and got on each other’s nerves, Macey was being protective of her younger brother in this time of distress. Shelby couldn’t ask for a better Christmas moment than to see this scene. She just wished it didn’t have to take place during a night of such anguish.
She closed the door softly and returned to the others. That ghastly Salvation Army man was drumming his fingers on the table again, swilling from the liquor bottle the old couple had brought out.
It reminded Shelby of her husband, Nelson, and his excessive drinking. Though they’d been divorced several years, it still had an effect on her. He was the whole reason she was here, snowbound in the storm, because he had been too drunk to drive the kids back to her house after his Christmas Eve visit with them.
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