Snowball

by Andre Gonzalez

  Overall the weekend felt normal, and Brandon thought he just might make it to the new year with no more issues. By the time Sunday Night Football started, he had forgotten all about the drama of the past week, merely glad to be in the warmth of home with his family.

  The kids went down at seven, shortly after dinner, and Erin went up to bed at ten o’clock like most nights, leaving Brandon alone for another thirty minutes before he decided to call it a night. The game had ended, so he flipped through the channels in search of a movie already in progress to easily jump into, settling on Bad Santa. He laughed the next half hour away as Billy Bob Thornton made a mockery of Christmas, and clicked off the TV at the first commercial break.

  He scampered around the main floor, making sure breakfasts and lunches were ready to go for the next morning, and that Nemo had enough food in his bowl. As he zipped up his work backpack, a piercing screech blared from outside, ending with the violent crunch of metal, much like someone stepping on an empty soda can. Brandon immediately recognized it as a car crash and dashed across the family room to the windows that faced the street.

  Holy shit! he thought as he peered through the curtains. Their house was on the corner of a four-way intersection, and a fire hydrant stood on the edge of their lawn, on the corner nearest the street.

  A car was smashed against the hydrant, its entire front end condensed as the back wheels lifted a couple feet off the ground. The hydrant blasted a fountain of water into the night sky, landing on the snow-covered lawn and road, creating an instant sheet of ice as the temperature had fallen below twenty degrees. Brandon couldn’t see much else aside from the car being a dark color, so he raced upstairs to slip into his shoes.

  “Someone crashed into our yard,” he barked at Erin, as she had already been sitting up. “Into the fire hydrant—you should probably call 9-1-1.”

  “Are they okay?” she asked, jumping out of bed and swiping her phone off the nightstand.

  “No idea—doesn’t look good from here. Just call for an ambulance.”

  Brandon wasted no more time trying to explain an incident he hadn’t even witnessed, and scrambled back down the stairs, grabbing a jacket from the coat closet, and barging outside.

  The snow that had fallen all day was light and fluffy, making no noise as he walked over it, leaving a trail of footprints as he darted across the front lawn, stopping ten feet from where the water had started to turn to ice.

  “Are you okay?” he shouted to the car. The windshield was shattered, a thick white circle appearing in the middle and webbing outward, making it impossible to see through the thousands of cracks. The car’s engine puttered before it eventually died, leaving the lone sound of water spurting from the tipped hydrant.

  The water melted the snow that had collected on the lawn, revealing the brown and yellow remains of grass that had fallen dormant for the winter, seeping into the ground and forming a puddle that grew across the lawn with each passing second. Brandon noticed the water approaching his feet and turned around to go down the driveway and along the sidewalk for a better view inside the crashed car.

  Sirens sounded in the distance—the fire station was only across the neighborhood, a quick thirty-second ride to the house. The water flooded not only the lawn, but also the street and sidewalks, a thin sheet of ice forming beneath the constant flow. The night was pitch-black, the nearest street lamp across the intersection and not providing any visibility for Brandon.

  He slid his feet along the ground, arms splayed out to keep his balance, and moved toward the car where he saw the figure of a person through the driver’s side window, face down on the steering wheel.

  “Hey! Can you hear me?” Brandon moved cautiously to not end up on the ground. The figure didn’t budge, and Brandon immediately thought the worst, sparking a fresh wave of panic as he scrambled for the car’s door.

  The vehicle was already drenched in water, the door slippery as he clawed to pull it open, praying the driver left the doors unlocked. Once he found his grip, he tugged and filled with relief as the door swung open.

  The figure was clearly a man: short hair, stocky build. But Brandon couldn’t make out much beyond that. Blood caked his forehead, appearing black in the darkness, streaming down his face like tears. The man’s eyes were open but smeared in blood, his jaw hung open, and his whole body leaned into the steering wheel due to the car’s angle.

  Brandon’s body shuddered, and he wasn’t sure if it was the freezing temperatures or the fact that someone had died on his front lawn. He supposed it was a bit of both. A firetruck’s flashing lights appeared around the corner, strobing and bouncing off the undisturbed houses as it came down the street.

  Did no one else hear this? Brandon wondered. It had only been 10:30 when he noticed the collision. Surely the entire neighborhood hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

  The spewing fire hydrant died down as the firetruck pulled up next to it, six yellow uniforms jumping out, their boots clapping on the frozen pavement as they approached the smashed car.

  “Good evening, sir,” a fireman said, leaving his group to speak with Brandon. He had a thick black beard, and stern expression stuck on his face, his fire suit reflecting the little light available. “Any idea what happened here? Do you know this person?”

  Brandon shook his head. “I don’t. And I don’t know what happened. I heard a loud crash and ran outside to this.”

  The fireman nodded, looking over his shoulder as his team pulled the body from the vehicle and lay the man on a gurney. A woman hovered over him, pounding his chest with her hands as she performed a desperate attempt of CPR. The others gathered around, watching with their shoulders slumped, their heads to the ground. Brandon read their body language and figured the man had no chance of survival. The woman continued her attempt to resuscitate him for another two minutes before she took a step back, shaking her head.

  “Search the body and the car for any identification,” the fireman who was talking with Brandon said to his crew. “We need to notify next of kin. Then we’ll have to move this car so we can fix the hydrant. Dobbs, will you please call a tow truck?”

  One of the other firemen nodded and dashed back to the firetruck. A police car and ambulance rounded the corner and crept up to join them. Brandon would spend the next half hour repeating his statement to the police, and then again to curious neighbors who had finally put on some clothes and come over to see what had happened.

  Brandon fell into a state of shock as he stared at the dead body on the gurney. He saw a wedding ring on his finger, and prayed no kids were being left behind. The dead man’s eyes bulged from their sockets, his jaw stuck open, looking like a petrified cat. Brandon watched as the paramedics zipped up the pale body in a black bag.

  By the time the commotion ended and the emergency vehicles pulled away, it was a few minutes before midnight. Brandon returned inside, his body a popsicle, but he was too numb to notice, too stunned to even consider complaining after witnessing such a horrific scene. A man died on his front lawn, but even more frightening was that he crashed into the fire hydrant. If the man had managed to swerve around the hydrant, the car would have easily burst into the house, into the family room where Brandon was closing up for the night.

  This night could have ended a lot worse, he thought as he pulled the frozen layers of clothes off his body. Erin had slipped into a bathrobe and paced the main floor while Brandon was outside.

  “He’s dead,” Brandon whispered to her.

  Erin shook her head, lips pursed as if wanting to say something, but not sure what to say. Instead, she pulled him into her embrace, rubbing his back in an attempt to warm his body that had little effect.

  All he could see was the dead man’s frozen face, his eyes staring blankly into the abyss.

  Even though he was exhausted, lying down in bed was now the furthest thing from his mind. Erin stayed with him on the couch, eventually dozing off as she flipped through the channels. She had tried to lighten the mood with
small talk, but Brandon could only manage short, one-word responses.

  He eventually nodded off at three in the morning, his mind blurred with commotion and fear.

  10

  December 16

  Brandon called in to work shortly after his alarm sounded. He didn’t remember it, but they had both made their way upstairs to bed at some point in the early morning. His brain prickled with fatigue, his bloodshot eyes heavy boulders in his face. He had no interest in functioning on a whole three hours of sleep. He told his manager what had happened last night and was promptly told to stay home and rest, take a couple days if need be.

  He expected something to happen in the morning, perhaps additional follow-up from the police department. Surely a man doesn’t die on your front lawn and it simply ends with his dead body being taken away.

  But nothing happened. Such is life, everyone moved on. It was a car accident with no eyewitnesses to the actual incident. What more could Brandon offer if someone did show up? The hydrant had been repaired, and there was no damage to their property, the only remnants being two skid marks leading up to the edge of the lawn.

  Brandon wanted to know who the man was. Where was he going? Did he live in the neighborhood? Why was he driving so fast, and what made him swerve to his death on a deserted road?

  These questions picked at his brain, but once he saw Erin and the kids out the door, Brandon went straight for the couch, collapsing into a deep sleep. Riley had made a comment about Snowball being in the same place as yesterday, wondering why their little elf stayed put. Erin explained that he must have fallen asleep and forgot to move, an answer that Riley accepted, allowing her to move on with her morning.

  Brandon would move the elf later, having him in a new spot for when the kids arrived home. For now, he needed sleep and nothing more. The sun crept through the back door and kitchen windows, giving a soft glow across the house’s main floor. Brandon momentarily debated going back up to the bedroom where the blackout curtains were still closed, but he had no energy to climb the flight of stairs. At this moment he could probably sleep in the middle of Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. He dozed and was snoring within five minutes.

  * * *

  Brandon had no clue what time it was when he woke. The sun shined brighter from the back door instead of the front, meaning it was still before noon. He hadn’t woken due to being rested—far from it, in fact—but rather a faint burning smell, as if someone had left a tray of chicken in the oven and forgot about it.

  He lay still at first, listening to the silent house for the sound of anything burning, taking deep breaths to make sure it wasn’t a part of his imagination. The smell was definitely real, but remained mild, almost distant. No smoke filled the house, no burning sound to accompany the odor. He closed his eyes, figuring it was something outside, possibly a car’s brakes—the stench was quite similar.

  A dull pop! came from the kitchen, followed by the rattling of the oven racks. Brandon jumped to his feet and dashed into the kitchen, off balance as his mind still fought to wake up. He had to blink the bleariness out of his eyes to see clearly, finding the oven was indeed turned on, the smell growing stronger as he approached it.

  “What the fuck?” Brandon lunged for the range, pushing the panel buttons to turn off the oven that had been set to the maximum temperature of 550 degrees. He pulled open the oven door, a blast of gray smoke pouring out like a campfire, choking him and sparking a cough attack as he raced around the kitchen to open the windows and back door.

  The smoke alarm blared to add to the chaos, the entire main level filling with gray clouds. He now flailed around to open every window on the floor, including the front door, which he exited for fresh air outside. His brain was still screaming for more sleep, rudely interrupted from the deep slumber he had been enjoying.

  The outdoors filled his lungs, clear and refreshing, sharp with its unforgiving briskness. Smoke oozed through the screen door, and Brandon saw it finally starting to clear out from the inside. After a couple of minutes passed, the smoke alarm ceased its screeching, and he returned inside, the burning stench still strong.

  He took slow steps as he re-entered the house, still unsure if the fire was contained, but assuming it was if the alarm had already turned off. The thick smoke had cleared, but there was still a thin, gray haze that reduced visibility in the entire house.

  Brandon reached the kitchen, keeping a safe distance, as he wasn’t sure if the oven had turned itself on. Yeah, just like the water turned itself on, right?

  Inside the oven was a box-shaped object, completely black and charred, shriveling into itself. Embers glowed around its edges, but no longer had an active flame. Beside the box, a clump of green plastic clung to the metal rack, melted into near liquid and far from its original shape.

  Brandon recognized the specific shade of green as the bows Erin liked to put on the presents. He pulled open the drawer next to the stove and slid his hands into oven mitts, reaching out his shaky arms to the box and pulling it toward him with a hard nudge as it had become stuck to the rack.

  The exterior of the box was a total loss, unrecognizable, but what remained inside was still somewhat distinguishable, despite being burned and warped into a different shape. The object inside was a black and yellow toy tractor for Jordan to ride on. Brandon remembered Erin returning home with this after she had gone out shopping on Black Friday.

  Why was this in the oven? he wondered. He considered calling Erin, but decided not to, unsure what he’d even say. Hey, honey, Jordan’s present was in the oven and someone decided to turn it on. Nothing like an oven-roasted tractor on Christmas morning, am I right?

  He giggled, still delirious with fatigue. They had gone the whole weekend—well, almost—without incident, but here they were again. Apparently the haunted spirit took weekends off and resumed its bullshit on Monday morning.

  Unless you’ve fully lost it, he thought. Perhaps you have a split personality doing things you don’t even realize. One day at a time. You’re going crazy.

  Brandon laughed at the thought, slamming the front door shut and running to the kitchen where he found the elf, its stupid grin mocking him.

  “You think this is funny?” Brandon barked, swiping the elf from the counter and pinning him to the wall, its cotton body squeezed in his fist. The elf vibrated in Brandon’s shaky grip, and he swore its eyes were looking at him, looking into him. He hurled Snowball into the living room, its plastic eyes clashing against the wall before falling to the couch below.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said to himself. “You’re just tired and keep getting less sleep every night.”

  He pulled out a trash bag, whipping it open to clean out the oven, and focused on clearing out the damaged present to keep his mind distracted, wondering how he’d explain this mess to Erin when she arrived home.

  11

  December 17

  Brandon had decided to not tell Erin, and instead went to the store to buy another tractor, wrapping it and replacing it under the Christmas tree as if nothing had happened. The oven had cleaned out fairly easily. There were only a couple piles of ashes to clean up, while clearing out the burnt odor proved more challenging. He ended up having the windows open for an hour, not ideal on a day with high temperatures in the forties. The situation left him no choice but to clean the entire main floor. He could have cleaned just the oven, drowning it in a lemon-scented chemical cleaner as he had done, but that smell would linger as well, leaving more questions as to why he decided to clean only the oven on his unplanned day off.

  Shortly after tossing the burnt package in the dumpster, Brandon rode the only wave of energy he felt all day, breaking out the brooms, mops, and vacuum as he attacked the main level, spreading the lemony scent around the entire house. After two hours, he had finished cleaning, and his mind faded back to the deep fatigue that had grown familiar over the past week. Everything from his head to his arms and legs felt hollowed out by exhaustion. A task as simple as stand
ing at the kitchen counter to figure out what to make for dinner proved too difficult for his current state, so he ordered takeout.

  Erin had no complaints about arriving home to a clean house, and volunteered to take care of the kids all by herself that evening, bathing them and getting them in bed so he could take another crack at going to sleep early. Brandon had explained it was another day of difficult sleep, it seemingly avoiding him at all costs the more tired he grew. Erin sent him out to buy sleeping pills, and he popped two at 7:30, asleep within twenty minutes, never seeing the other side of eight o’clock.

  It was a sleep so deep that he never felt Erin slide into bed beside him, didn’t hear the TV play reruns of old 90’s sitcoms. His body, not so much as a finger, never moved the entire time until he was woken in the middle of the night. It had been six straight hours of heavy sleep, respectable but not nearly what he needed, when his eyes shot open and he bolted upright.

  The only sound at two in the morning was that of the furnace humming as it pumped heat through the vents. The drugged sleep had him loopy upon waking, the room somewhat spinning, his ears ringing. Except, he did hear something. Something that pulled him up through all those layers of sleep.

  Something in my head? he wondered, focusing his hearing on the ringing silence. Brandon leaned over and turned on his phone screen to see the time of 2:03 A.M. Sleep still floated at the surface of his mind and he could roll over and be snoring within minutes if he wanted to, but a voice in the back of his head told him to keep listening. He closed his eyes with hopes of his mind shutting itself down, and even lay down on his stiff pillow, but he was already growing to accept that he wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight, and he thought he might cry at the fact.

  Instead of sleep, his mind and ears focused on all of the nearly inaudible sounds that accompanied a big house in the middle of the night. From the faint creaks and moans, to the little snores coming from down the hallway, Brandon thought he might as well have been lying in the middle of an orchestra, the sounds filling his head in an amplified harmony, pushing him one step closer to a nervous breakdown.