Snowball

by Andre Gonzalez

  The house had turned into an igloo. The night called for temperatures in the single digits, and it felt close to that even from under the sheets. Erin’s teeth chattered as Brandon jumped out of bed, off balance and wavering in the dark bedroom.

  He found their two bedroom windows wide open, freezing air pouring into their room.

  “What the fuck?” He immediately pulled open his nightstand drawer and grasped the knife’s handle. Neither he or Erin would open the windows in the middle of a December night, which left one obvious suspect.

  “Snowball?” he whispered, bracing for that childish giggle to respond. But nothing came. He closed the windows in a hurry, darting across the bedroom and down the hallway to the kids’ rooms, finding their windows had also been opened. Riley had buried herself under her sheets, but Jordan had not, his face frozen to the touch as his body shivered.

  Brandon slammed all of the windows, arms shivering from either rage or the falling temperatures gracing the inside of their home. He covered Jordan and sat on the foot of his son’s bed for another five minutes until he felt his tiny body return to a respectable temperature.

  Brandon ran through the house, knife at his side as he closed all of the windows. Every single one had been opened, turning the house into an icebox. On the main level, he checked the thermostat to find the house’s temperature at a chilling twenty-two degrees, nearly fifty degrees below what they had set the temperature to. The heater would now run all night, and he prayed to God it wouldn’t break from overworking.

  He returned upstairs where Erin was now sitting up in bed, sheets pulled to her chin. “Why the hell is it so cold?” she snapped.

  “Every single window in the house was open. It’s going to take a whole day for the house to get back to the temperature we want.” Brandon now spoke with confidence, no longer fearing an evil spirit. He knew who—rather, what—was behind these acts, and was ready to hold the little shit ball accountable. Without revealing the truth to Erin, of course.

  “Brandon, I think we need to move out,” Erin said. “I don’t like the things that have been going on.”

  Brandon nodded his head as he considered this, hiding the knife behind his back like someone about to surprise attack an innocent victim. “That might be a good idea,” he replied. “Or maybe we consult with a sleep doctor about the sleepwalking. Anything at this point.”

  That topic had been pushed to the back burner, their argument shoved aside upon Nemo’s death and never revisited. He rubbed his swollen, puffy eyes, his brain burning with exhaustion as the sleeping pills in his system demanded his return to bed.

  “Should we leave right now?” she asked, a high pitch creeping into her voice.

  “No. We’ll be fine. I’ll set up the space heater outside of the kids’ rooms, and you and I can keep each other warm. I’ll grab a couple extra blankets from the closet.”

  His head bobbed forward as sleep continued its good fight over his mind.

  “Brandon, I’m scared.”

  “It’s fine. Everything is okay. I just went through the whole house. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” The words left his lips feeling fake as a plastic doll, but he knew better. There was plenty to be afraid of. “Lay down and try to fall back asleep, or it’s going to be a very long night.”

  It already had been a long night, and he had every intent on sleeping with one eye open. Somewhere in the shadows of the night Snowball was giggling, waiting to deliver his final present to the Armstrong family.

  17

  December 23

  Jordan screamed a sharp, piercing sound that drilled a spike into Brandon’s head. Nothing pushes you closer to insanity quite like exhaustion coupled with a shrieking child at one in the morning.

  Brandon felt drunk with fatigue as he tumbled down the hallway, praying to sweet Jesus in heaven that he wouldn’t just open Jordan’s bedroom window and toss the little guy out in the snow. Parenthood presents moments that test the very structure of one’s mental stability, stretching sanity to its limits like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. Tonight was one of those tests.

  Shortly after they had dinner, Jordan’s temperature climbed to 105.1, a number that terrified Erin into wanting to go to the emergency room. Brandon calmed her down and called the doctor’s office, who informed them that the fever must be close to breaking, and as long as Jordan remained somewhat like himself, then there was no need to worry.

  Jordan was very much alert, crying every single hour since they had lain him down at seven o’clock.

  Every. Fucking. Hour.

  Brandon and Erin stayed in the family room watching TV until calling it a night at ten. The crying itself was easy to soothe—Jordan just wanted a calming hand on his back while he fell back asleep—but the repetitiveness drove both parents mad, alternating who would go calm him down each hour.

  It was officially the first hours of December 24, but nothing about the moment felt like Christmas Eve. At one point, perhaps three in the morning, Brandon started crying along with Jordan, rocking the toddler in his arms, wondering if he would ever get another complete night of sleep in his life.

  Jordan’s body burned like a hot iron in Brandon’s arms, sweat drenched through his Toy Story pajamas. He sneezed, spraying spit and mucus in every direction, plastering across Brandon’s bare chest. That seemed to calm Jordan, as his wailing faded into a dull whimper, before he was snoring in a light sleep again.

  Brandon’s eyes puffed out of his face, his brain melting with weariness, his body trembling from the lack of sleep. Jordan’s fever had turned the night into a complete disaster. Snowball, sleepwalking, and haunted spirits were the furthest things from his mind. He only hoped to make it to the morning, and prayed Jordan would overcome the fever sooner than later.

  Christmas Eve was upon them, and with it, a hectic day of visiting family and preparing side dishes to take to Erin’s family gathering that evening. A long day, and even longer night waited ahead, and soon, Brandon would no longer have to worry about Snowball.

  18

  December 24

  Jordan decided 6 A.M. was the best time to actually go to sleep. Riley played quietly in her room, instructed to do so if she ever woke up before her parents. She didn’t enter their bedroom until nine, demanding pancakes. Brandon rolled out of bed since Erin had the final turn in putting Jordan back to sleep. Riley spoke at a thousand words per minute, telling him something about the pony situation in her bedroom, but he simply couldn’t focus to keep up, nodding and mumbling as they made their way downstairs.

  The long night had already turned their day on its head. They didn’t need to leave the house until two, but Erin had planned on waking up at nine to start the two side dishes for later that evening. The microwave’s clock teased him as it glowed a time of 9:08, Erin still snoring upstairs where Brandon hoped to rejoin her after Riley finished her breakfast.

  He positioned Riley at the kitchen table so she could face the TV, turning it on and collapsing onto the couch as she ate, giggling between bites as she watched an old re-run of Tom and Jerry. The last three hours of sleep he had caught felt like heaven compared to the rest of the night, and he feared his body might be awake for the day now that he had gotten up and moved around the house.

  Instead, the TV lulled him into a daze, to the point he couldn’t move because his body was so relaxed with his legs dangling over the arm of the couch, body tucked perfectly into the deep crevice. He could have been floating on one of those inflatable beds in the swimming pool if he didn’t know any better.

  Just as sleep flirted with him once more, Riley called out from the table, “I’m done, Daddy – can you help me get down?”

  He groaned as he used all of his might to stand up, assured by the fact that he was one step closer to returning to his cushy mattress and fluffy pillow. Riley climbed out of the chair and down his leg as he stood next to her for support, promptly taking her father’s place on the couch to settle and watch cartoons all morning
.

  “Sweetie, Daddy’s going back to bed. Will you be okay down here?”

  She nodded, not breaking her stare from the TV.

  “Okay, me and Mommy will be upstairs if you need anything. Please don’t go into your brother’s room—he’s sick, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” she said in a cheery voice.

  Brandon patted the top of her head before dragging himself up the stairs. Even with his mind feeling somewhat awake, the prospect of returning to sleep proved too tempting. Erin lay on her side, curled into the sheets, and Brandon slid back into bed, falling asleep within minutes.

  * * *

  Everyone else woke up shortly after noon. Jordan strolled into his parents’ bedroom, climbing into their bed, smashing their limbs underneath the covers as he progressed toward the small gap between Brandon and Erin. He lay on his back and sucked his thumb without a word.

  Erin rolled over and checked Jordan’s temperature with the thermometer kept on her nightstand. It was down to 102.2, their efforts of pumping him with fever medicine every four hours seeming to work.

  “We need to get up,” Erin said groggily, unconvincing. “We don’t have time to make sides. Just need to grab something at the store.”

  Brandon moaned in agreement, still not quite awake enough to speak.

  “We go store, Mommy?” Jordan asked between thumb sucks.

  “Yes, little mister,” Erin said, giving him a kiss on his warm forehead. She turned her attention to Brandon. “What is Riley doing?”

  “I served her breakfast and left her watching TV downstairs.”

  “Should probably make sure she’s okay.”

  Brandon stretched before rolling out of bed and heading downstairs, each step creaking beneath his feet. The TV in the family room showed Looney Toons, but Riley was no longer on the couch.

  “Riley?” he called out. She apparently helped herself to a juice box, as it stood unattended on the coffee table. “Riley?”

  He hopped off the final step and snagged the remote off the couch to turn off the TV, leaving the house completely silent.

  “Riley?” he called again. “Are you okay?”

  He turned and went to the hallway bathroom, finding it empty.

  Just as panic crept into his throat, he heard quiet snickering from the living room, as if not wanting to be heard. He followed the sound, finding a bucket of toys emptied and splayed across the floor, a stack of blankets on the couch with a deformed lump underneath.

  “Where’s Riley?” he asked the room, watching the lump squirm beneath the blankets. Another giggle, muffled as he stepped forward and grabbed the edge of the bottom blanket. “Where is she?”

  Brandon swung the blankets upward, Riley grinning after being discovered, breaking into hysterical laughter. He couldn’t help but join her, grabbing his stomach as he laughed.

  “I got you, Daddy!” she cried after the giggling died down.

  “Yes you did. Good job.” His pounding heart started to slow with relief.

  She rolled off the couch and returned to her pile of toys, resuming with her princess dolls as if nothing had just happened.

  “Are you ready for lunch?” he asked her.

  “Peanut butter jelly!” she exclaimed. “Peanut butter jelly!”

  “Okay, relax. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” she said as Brandon turned for the kitchen, her innocent, loving voice still making his heart melt, no different than it had the first time hearing it.

  The trash and recycle bins had empty boxes piled on top of them, and Brandon decided to take them out to the dumpster before Erin came downstairs and griped about them once again. The holidays seemed to make her lash out a bit more than usual about the most petty of matters.

  He slid open the back door before hugging the stack of boxes, squeezing them against his waist to keep them from toppling over. Walking sideways to see, Brandon stepped outside, the air cold, but not as bitter as it had been the prior days.

  As he reached the edge of the porch, stepping down to the dead, crunchy grass on the side of the house, he dropped the boxes, all feeling in his arms vanishing in an instant.

  At first glance, he thought he saw an old doggy toy lying in the grass, but a closer look showed him the truth: Nemo’s severed head lying in the lawn, his tongue hanging out of his mouth just as it had when Brandon discovered him dead under the camper.

  “Holy shit,” Brandon barked as he dropped the boxes, staggering backwards as if the head would jump up and attack him. His eyes followed the trail of dirt leading from Nemo’s head, fifteen feet back toward the corner of the yard where he had dug the grave days ago.

  The grave was completely gutted, the three-foot circular hole exposed, mounds of dirt piled around it in small hills. Brandon didn’t want to approach the grave, but had no choice, taking slow, hesitant steps.

  He had wrapped Nemo in a plastic trash bag before burying him, and caught a glimpse of the black, shredded remains of that bag. The lump of the dog’s body remained in the earth, only his neck visible, clearly chewed apart by something with sharp fangs.

  Brandon froze where he stood, unsure what to do. Should he tell Erin? Have her come take a look to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating? Or he could just re-bury the dog—with the head, of course—and pretend that nothing happened. It was Christmas Eve, and something of this nature would only further derail the next two days even more than they already had been. Besides, she had booked a time with the sleep doctor, and something of this nature could lead to a more drastic response from her.

  “Snowball!” he shouted, looking around, knowing that little fucker had to be nearby. There was no coyote, no fox, no rabid, lunatic squirrel. Somewhere in this very neighborhood a possessed child’s toy lied in wait, a murderous creature ready to pounce on any living—or dead—creature.

  Brandon couldn’t break his gaze from Nemo’s head, a tattered chunk of his neck bone sticking out from the back, like a perfectly polished white eyeball staring at him. The head itself could have been mistaken for a dead bunny in the grass, Nemo’s fur bloodied in random streaks, the flabby, tattered flesh on his neck looking like a line of cold cuts at the grocery store deli.

  He gagged at the sight, grabbing his stomach in his first movement since approaching the grave, looking back to the house to confirm no one watched him. With a clenched jaw, Brandon stormed away, passing the spilled boxes as he crossed the yard to grab the shovel and a pair of gardening gloves from the shed.

  He returned a minute later, shovel in hand, determination in his heart. Snowball was waiting for him; he sensed it in the air like a bloodhound tracking a dead body miles away. Brandon slipped the gloves on as he stepped toward Nemo’s severed head, and closed his eyes as he bent down to pick it up, its weight reminding him of the soccer ball he kicked around the yard with the kids. He held the head in front of him like a pot of boiling water, running back to the grave and dropping it into the hole with a dull clump! as it hit the earth below. Nausea clawed into his throat, but he managed to hold it down. The hard part was done, and he started shoveling the dirt back into place. It would take him twenty minutes, hopefully enough time for Erin to remain upstairs and not come down to see what he was doing.

  As he tossed dirt on the grave, Brandon pondered how to get rid of Snowball once and for all. He supposed setting the elf on fire, melting him into a pile of plastic and charred cotton, might be the only option. Or he could tear him apart limb by limb, scattering his remains across the state like a twisted serial killer might do.

  Brandon started laughing as he scooped the final remnants of dirt, insanity tugging on his mind, much like it had the day Snowball spoke to him. Erin never came downstairs, not for another hour, and Brandon had a new secret to keep buried. He returned inside, ready for Snowball, ready to continue his day as normal.

  19

  December 24 (evening)

  Christmas songs played in the background, drowned out by the conversatio
n of the more than thirty people present at the Perry residence, Erin’s childhood home where her parents still lived. Their house was slightly bigger than Brandon and Erin’s, providing plenty of space for all of the guests, food, and presents that were hauled in for the evening.

  Brandon had gone through the afternoon with a guilty conscience. Erin deserved to know what had happened, but the timing made it impossible to bring up in casual discussion as they visited family on Christmas Eve.

  Although stressed and exhausted, Erin remained chipper as the holiday festivities awaited. They had made a couple of stops before arriving to the Perry house, first to visit Brandon’s closest aunt and uncle who were on the way, along with some of Erin’s cousins who weren’t too far off.

  The kids were dressed up as elves for the day, and Erin promised to show Brandon her Mrs. Claus lingerie later for one final time before packing it away until next Christmas. That promise was all he needed to get through a night with his in-laws, where the conversation always turned into a bragging contest, both men and women in the Perry family having no shame in discussing the successes in their life.

  Erin somehow made it out of the trees as a humble and grounded person. This was something she had never noticed until Brandon drew attention to it after their third Christmas together as a couple. She hadn’t believed him at first, but after closer examination, learned the unfortunate truth that had remained camouflaged so well during the course of her entire life.

  Tonight, Brandon poured himself a whiskey and Coke, and tried his best to remain hidden in a corner of the living room, close enough to the kids and Erin to not notice him being antisocial.

  Christmas Eve was always an unnecessarily long night. Erin’s parents bought the kids an unreasonable amount of presents, often times taking them over an hour to open them all. The sight of it made Brandon sick, so he tipped his cup back and let the alcohol settle his nerves.