by Bret Tallent
He thought he heard movement. His left cheek twitching twice, he stood as still as he could and forced his senses to be more aware. His efforts were rewarded with the sound of a floorboard creaking on the porch, a light sound that he might have missed had he not been so intent. It was shortly followed by another creak several feet away, moving in the direction of the front door.
The room's temperature had dropped another ten degrees and Ellis's hands were beginning to ache. His cheeks were flushed and his nose was starting to run. Jynx let out another guttural growl, long and deep. Ellis turned briefly to regard him, an action that probably saved his eyesight. At that moment the door exploded inward spraying the room, and Ellis, with splinters of wood. Jynx yelped and darted towards the back room.
Larger chunks of the disintegrating portal bounced across the floor and struck the far wall. Ellis was hit in his left temple with a section of the 2x4 which snapped his head to the right. He winced in pain and a trickle of blood began to flow from the three inch gash it had left there. Behind him he could hear the chime of the metal L brackets as they bounded off of the floor and wall and struck each other or some other debris.
To Ellis it seemed that an Arctic blast was carrying the remnants of his front door into the room. Biting hoarfrost, mixed with rubble, stung his hands and face. The room had grown unnaturally frigid. Ellis turned to face the door and view his assailant, but the cutting wind that now roared through his home blurred his vision with its force and chill. Together with the poor lighting, he could only see a shape.
A large hulking figure, like that of a man, filled the splintered doorframe. Ellis squeezed the trigger instantly and the ghostly figure jerked backward with the bullet's impact, but stayed. Ellis cocked the gun again, the spent cartridge striking him in the chest. The apparition let out a shriek that melded with the wind ringing in Ellis' ears. His drums felt as if they would burst from the pressure of the high pitched wail on them. He winced, and then pulled the trigger again.
There was a barely audible click, but to Ellis, it was deafening. The hammer fell on a hollow chamber. The gun was empty. The dark figure took a step towards Ellis and actually had to duck under the doorway. Snow crept in behind it and circled its legs like an affectionate cat rubbing up against its master. The dim glimmer from the hearth cast an orange glow upon it but could offer no definition.
Ellis Campbell knew that he was staring at death. He had seen death many times during the war, but not like this. This was death personified. It was a cold and heartless thing, indiscriminate and hateful. Had he not emptied his bladder earlier, he would have done so again. Suddenly, his entire body ached and his limbs grew heavy. Ellis then quickly turned the rifle around and grasped it by the barrel, holding it like a baseball bat. In a voice as determined and defiant as any he had ever used, he spoke the last words he ever would.
"All right you BASTARD come and get me!"
***
Jynx cowered under the Man Thing's bed, trembling, as much from the cold as from fear. He had chased many Animal Things in his day and some big ones too. Although he was usually wary, he had never been scared. But this thing smelled very, very bad. Jynx had never had a scent like it before. Jynx was scared now.
He knew his Man Thing needed his help but his own insides had told him "NO". Somewhere deep inside him something was ruling his actions as surely as if the Man Thing was giving him a command. It wouldn't let him go, no matter how much he wanted or needed to. He heard another voice, of an old owner he had never seen, and it commanded him to stay away from the…DEATH THING.
Suddenly, the Death Thing's scent was much stronger, overwhelming almost, and Jynx knew that it was very near. Next, he heard a loud bang and he knew too that his Man Thing had used the kill stick. It was followed by the cry of the Death Thing and it made Jynx want to howl but his other voice wouldn't let him. The scent was still there and getting stronger. Jynx's lip curled in disgust and hatred, and his nostrils flared as they did to a repulsive smell.
He then broke out in a wave of tremors that coursed through his old body. He heard his Man Thing's voice and recognized the commands, "come", and, "get", but simply could not move. Then Jynx heard a grunt and a thud, a crack, a snap.
"AAAAHHG!” the Man Thing screamed.
There was a gurgle-slurp sound as though caught in the throat. A horrible ripping sound followed that, punctuated by a loud pop!
"AAAHHGGGGrrrrrglp!" his man screamed again. Then there was a loud thud followed by silence.
There was an anxious moment of dead silence. Jynx sat there trembling in fearful anticipation but would not move. He listened intently to the room beyond, not quite sure what he would do if he heard something. Finally the silence was broken with a light sound on the hardwood floor.
Scrape. Scrape. And then there was the distant sound of laughter, carried off in the wind. Then there was no sound but that of the wind, and the scent of the Death Thing was gone. All Jynx could smell was his man’s blood. With his head hung low, he padded slowly into the other room to search for his Man Thing.
CHAPTER 2
The wind was desolate and strange, with an unearthly quality that invoked a sense of dread. As it howled across the land in angry blasts, it sounded more like the wail of some creature in agony with just a note of hatred in its voice. Along with it, the wind carried feral snowflakes in closely knit groups that resembled phantoms as they crossed the beams of the headlights. Ghosts that quickly crossed the road from one dark void to the next, illuminated only briefly on the highway in between.
There was no moon to lend its glow to the landscape and what little could be seen was a distant haze of unrecognizable shapes, fading quickly into nothingness. It was a lonely place, devoid of life or substance. Beyond the edges of the road was simply vacuous. Even the myriad of stars in the clear black sky did nothing to abate the sense of emptiness. They, in fact, enhanced it.
It was difficult to see the road; it was snow packed and icy and melded with the surroundings and spectral flows of drifting snow. All that he could see ahead of him was varying degrees of white, then blackness. Marty strained at the windows of his old Jeep to see the road, and slowed the vehicle to compensate for the poor conditions. Again he heard the forlorn cry of the wind and it sounded louder, closer somehow. This made the hairs on the back of his neck raise inexorably.
Because he had already been pulled out of a snow bank twice this trip, earning the new nickname SB (Snow Bank), he had no desire to find a third one. So Marty prepared himself for the buffeting the Jeep would take. With its high center of gravity and large flat surfaces, it was rather unstable on these slick roads and the wind seemed to catch it like a sail. But, the wind's impulse never came. He thought it odd for a moment then brushed it aside.
Marty afforded a glance to his companion, asleep in the passenger seat with his head against the door glass. His breathing had fogged the window entirely and Marty couldn't see out. Not that there was anything to see. During the day it was a beautiful winter landscape and made you think of Christmas even though it was nearly February. There were fields of snow as far as the eye could see, virgin snow broken only by an occasional tree or snow-mobile track. The fences that normally covered this area were several feet below the surface of the crisp white covering.
However, at night it was a lonely and barren land. Even if there were a moon to lend its faint glow, the scene would still be desolate. But now, without benefit of a moon, it somehow seemed ominous. It was all a mysterious void between dimensions where reality was subjective. Marty shivered.
Taylor stirred but did not wake. He adjusted himself slightly in his sleep but kept the same basic position. Marty turned to regard him again briefly. That man could sleep through anything. Of course it had been a very long day. They had been skiing on Mt. Werner all day, and then hit the natural hot springs in Steamboat for a swim. By the time they had finally gotten dinner at Hobies', they had each put away a couple of drinks. Marty realized now how tired
he really was.
Again there was the cry of the boreal current, and this time it was deafening. It seemed to Marty that it was right in the cab with him, in his head. He winced at the sound and his heart skipped a beat. His skin broke out in gooseflesh and he was suddenly afraid. Again, the hair stood up on the nape of his neck. Only this time it would not go down.
Taylor awoke with a start, "What the hell was that?" he managed above the shriek. Just as Marty was about to answer him, he caught movement in the road ahead. For a brief instant he saw what appeared to be a man crossing the road in front of them just at the edge of his headlights. Marty instinctively slammed his feet into the brake and clutch simultaneously, sending the Jeep into a slide as the tires locked up on the icy surface.
Taylor's eyes widened in surprise and he grabbed on to whatever he could to brace himself. They turned sideways and began to angle for the side of the road and a large drift that had wandered out onto the roadway. Marty was turning the wheel violently in a vain effort to regain control. They slid into the bank at about a forty five degree angle to the road and the front tires dropped off the pavement into fluff.
The vehicle had stopped but Marty's grip on the wheel held firm and both men were breathing in quick, shallow breaths. Their adrenaline was pumping wildly and so were their hearts. Taylor began to calm down and regain control, and then turned to Marty.
"Well S.B., looks like you found another bank without any money in it. You got a real knack for that lately." His fear ebbing towards humor and disbelief, he chuckled slightly, "Jesus! You nearly made me piss my pants."
But before Marty could reply, the Jeep began to rock from side to side. He turned to look out the side windows but they were fogged and in the darkness, whatever lay beyond them was lost. He could, however, make out indistinct shapes of white on either side. Forms that appeared spectral and unreal, moving like the wind. The rocking worsened so that they were now rising up on two tires. Balanced on the right two, then bang! Down on all four, then just as quickly balanced up on the left two tires. Then bang! Down on all four, and then back up on the right two. Teeter, bang! Totter, BANG!
"What the hell is happening?" There was fear in Taylor's voice, his words trembling as they hung in the frigid air of the cab.
Teeter, BANG!
Ahead of them was a blinding light cast by the reflection of their headlights in the snow bank a few feet from the bumper. To the sides lay darkness and faint shapes of men outside in the darkness.
Totter, BANG!
But not quite men, these shapes were much larger. They had to be tricks played by the night and the snow and the wind.
Teeter, BANG!
But it wasn't tricks that were rocking the Jeep. And somehow, Marty knew that it wasn't men either.
What seemed like an hour to Marty was in fact a couple of seconds. The Jeep reached the point of no return and landed on its right side. As it hit, the windshield burst inward spraying a profusion of tiny glass particles that winked and sparkled in the reflected light from the snow bank, showering Taylor. He shut his eyes tight just in time to avoid any of the glimmering shards.
Their skis and other equipment became dislodged and fell towards Taylor. A ski edge hit him in the head and a thin line of red began to appear across his forehead above the left eye. Taylor's world faded, and then went completely dark. A piercing draft rushed in the opening and stung Marty's face and hands. But he was as oblivious to it as Taylor, who was now unconscious. Martin Mayher was terrified.
He looked down at the passenger seat and noticed that his gun had become dislodged from beneath it, where he always kept it. He called for Taylor to hand it to him but there was no reply. Taylor did not move at all. He simply lay there on his side against the passenger door of the Jeep, blood trickling down his forehead to drip onto the window against the ground.
"Not dead, certainly not dead?" Marty prayed. He was stunned for an instant at this picture then remembered the gun.
Marty released his seatbelt and fell hard onto Taylor. The gearshift and a ski dug into his thigh and caused sparks of pain to shoot up his leg into his groin. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the gun. He knew the clip was in it, that was how he carried it. He picked it up and turned so that his back was against Taylor's shoulder and he was facing the driver side door. He was just about to pull back the slide to load a shell into the chamber when the door was ripped off its hinges and disappeared into the night. Looking up at the opening, all he could see were the stars, and the blackness.
The cruel wind bellowed through the windshield and out the hole where the door had been. Taylor came around to what he thought was the shriek of the wind. He quickly realized that it was a scream. A scream unlike any he had ever heard before. It started off loud, gurgled, then stopped abruptly as though it had been caught in someone's throat. It was a scream of pure horror, a blood-chilling cry that would have given him nightmares, had he lived to have any.
***
Nick Boscoe kept glancing into the rear-view mirror, he had lost them again. It wasn't as if he was trying to lose them, they just couldn't keep up. That old Jeep was useless in this packed snow, he decided. He had lost sight of Marty's headlights a few miles back but had continued on. They were all beat and wanted to get to the cabin. Nick knew that Marty and Taylor both knew how to get to the cabin, so Nick had decided to push on and wait for them there.
Nick was thoroughly pleased with his car. This was the first time he had taken it in this type of weather and it was performing well. The all-wheel drive made all the difference, that and its low center of gravity. He could actually go fairly quickly on these roads, as long as he didn't make any sudden moves.
Of course he wasn't going as fast as he had this morning on the way to the ski basin. That blowing snow was making it difficult to see and several large drifts had crept out into their path. But, he was still going considerably faster than Marty. He plowed through the drifting snow and felt it tug at the car, as though he were being slowly pulled toward a hungry maw. It was as if the snow were some leviathan creature trying desperately to grab and hold them before they could pass. Its tendrils outstretched on the highway to catch unwary travelers.
Nick turned up the stereo so that he could hear here above the wind and road noise. There was only one station they were able to get up here, and it was some old ‘80s crap. But, as his CD player was broken and his mp3 player had died earlier today, it was better than nothing. The station was playing a block of songs from some guy named John Mellencamp. Not half bad Nick thought. As Johnny was crooning out, ". . . blood on the scarecrow . . .," Nick turned to glance at Mike and Sarah. Neither of them stirred. Mike was asleep in the front seat and Sarah was stretched out across the two semi-bucket seats in the back. Nick turned back to the road. Obviously the music wasn't too loud for either of them. However, Nick needed it to help him stay awake.
As he drove, fatigue, and the night, and the music pulled together to make his mind drift. His body was soon on auto-pilot and his brain was in the past. Somewhere off in the distance he could hear a faint melody. Ole Johnny was saying it was a lonely old night, and Nick had to agree with him. Although he was in Colorado, his thoughts were back in Albuquerque. His thoughts were of his fiancée, Debbie.
Nick stared blankly out the window at the road as it unfolded before him, its textures incongruent impressions on his mind. Its grain and web melded to form a face that the part of our brain that is creativity and imagination held on to. His right side brain pulled in the image and gave it depth and reality. Nick's left side brain then concentrated on driving and allowed his right side to wander with that picture.
Debbie was a siren beckoning him, calling him back to relive the night before he left for this trip. He missed her. His heart and his mind longed for her, longed to relive any moment with her from the past, longed to be with her tonight. Nick adjusted slightly in his seat, but he wasn't really there. He had already transgressed to a point in time that his right side had chose
n.
***
Debbie sat on the unmade bed, its linens askew and rumpled. Her big brown eyes were full of hurt as they followed Nick around the room. She couldn't believe he was going away for two weeks and hadn't even invited her. Deep inside she was actually seething, "How could he be so inconsiderate?" She loved him, but sometimes he could be such an asshole.
Her aquiline features were hard as she watched him move about the room in search of his ski apparel. Her rectangular glasses sat large on her narrow face and emphasized her eyes, adding to their puppy dog quality. But, they did not take away from her anger. Her full lips were pulled tight and held close together in a thin flat line. Behind those red lips were clenched teeth, as she studied him and contemplated her next words.
She could see that Nick was avoiding her and that made her all the angrier. He just kept looking for his damned ski stuff. But she caught him catching a glimpse of her now and then and she would just give him a steely eyed glance. She fully intended to let him know that she was hurt. She was hurt and angry. They had been over this several times before, but she decided that they needed to go over it one last time. She wasn't about to let him off that easy.
"I feel like you're going up there just to get away from me Nick. I feel that you just don't want me around and it hurts!" Tears had welled up in her eyes but she fought them back, her sharp features softening.
Nick stopped in mid step and looked up to her, his heart melting. "I'm sorry honey, but you have to understand . . .” Nick looked puzzled, trying to decide how to proceed. It had hurt him to see her upset like this, and he nearly didn’t go. At the last minute she had convinced him that he had to. Mike had come all the way from California to go with them, and Marty and Taylor were his friends, not Sarah's. They'd fought about it for three days. Even Nick's mother had chewed him out for not inviting her.