Dead of Winter

by Lee Collins

  Perched on a rocky outcropping above her head, the miner's cabin crept into view. Cora studied it as Our Lady continued her way up the path. The walls were built of the pine trunks that had once stood on the ledge, lashed into place by old Jules himself. As they rounded the final switchback and made for the cabin, she could see crooked shingles on the cabin's roof. They looked as though he'd cut them from tree bark but hadn't sealed them against the weather. Tanned hides hung inside the window by the door.

  Jules had put in a small hitching rail outside his door, though Cora couldn't imagine him entertaining many visitors. It wasn't a fancy one, at any rate: a small log suspended crossways over two upright logs. She guided Our Lady up to it, dismounted, tied the reins off, and made her way to the cabin's door. The string was out, but she was feeling polite, so she knocked. A few moments passed as Cora listened to the mare working the bit in her mouth. Shifting her weight toward the door, she knocked again. Still nothing.

  "Well, ain't that odd?" she asked the horse. "Seems old Jules took himself for a walk. Or maybe he's drank himself into a stupor."

  Her patience gone, she pulled at the string and eased the door open. It groaned, making a racket in the still mountain air. If Jules hadn't heard her knocking, though, he wouldn't be roused by a creaking door.

  The inside of the cabin was dark. Sunlight streaming through the open door gave her light enough to make out the shapes of the miner's furnishings. She propped the door with a stone so it wouldn't close on her and stepped inside. Snow crumbled from her boots onto the wooden floor as she looked around the small enclosure.

  There wasn't much to see. An oil lamp hung from a central rafter, dark stains running down its sides. Jules had propped his bed up in one of the far corners, the mattress nothing more than a shapeless bag. An icebox sat in another corner near the fireplace. Several charred logs lay among the ashes. Removing a glove, Cora knelt down and felt one of them. It was long cold.

  She pulled open the icebox and looked inside. Nothing but snow and a few strips of what appeared to be venison. She closed it, straightened up, and gave the small room another sweep with her eyes. An impressive assortment of picks, shovels, ropes, lanterns, and other mining gear lined the cabin's rear wall, suspended on rusty nails. Apart from them, the cabin had no other amenities.

  Jules lived a very simple life.

  Frustrated, she took the few steps back to the door. No miner and no clues about where he might have gone. She had hoped to get some information out of the old man today, but that wasn't in the cards for her. For all she knew, Jules had gotten eaten himself, taken at night just the way she said he would be. Not much to show for all the time she spent getting up here. Hopefully Ben had tracked down Bill Hicks and learned whether or not Jules had gone missing. If not, they'd be shooting in the dark when they tried to come up with a plan for bagging this monster.

  Cora hated not knowing what they were up against. She never took to books the way Ben did, but she liked knowing what she was hunting before she started hunting it. Even regular hunters took the time to learn what they could so they'd know what to expect. Those unlucky wolfers had probably learned a thing or two about wolves before deciding to go out and start collecting bounties. Stupid hunters could end up getting gored by an elk or torn apart by a bear, and those were just regular animals. Folk in her line of work were lucky to end up as a pile of scat after a bad hunt. She'd heard stories of turned hunters, those who went out looking for something and came back as the very thing they were looking for.

  Such tales had always chilled her blood a little. Death was easy enough to accept, but she didn't want to lose her soul to some lucky monster and start going about as one of its children. One time, after a priest had given them the unpleasant job of killing a former hunter, she'd made Ben swear to put her to rest should that ever happen. He had gone all teary-eyed when she said it, but he'd made the promise.

  Shaking her head, Cora turned to leave, then noticed something. A flat wooden board, like a table without legs, sat in the far corner of the room. From the look of things, Jules didn't seem the type to worry about formalities like a table. Intrigued, she walked over to examine it, then shook her head in amazement.

  "Jules, you crazy bastard," she muttered.

  It was a trapdoor. Cora gripped the rusty handle with both hands and heaved upward, but the door refused to budge. Determined, she kept pulling at it, her curses almost as loud as the shrieking hinges.

  The door suddenly gave way, causing Cora to lose her footing. She fell backward, landing on her back with a loud thud. When her breath returned, it came with a string of profanity. As she got to her feet, she thought of how Ben would be laughing at her expense if he was there. First the crow, now the door. She stretched her back and grimaced, thankful that he was back in town.

  Putting the thought aside, Cora returned to the task at hand. The door's hinges had been bent by her efforts, and it stood open at an odd angle. She ignored the damage, peering into the dark hole it had covered. A wooden ladder descended into the inky depths, vanishing after the first two rungs. Frustrated, she looked around the cabin. Jules had a few lanterns hanging from the back wall, but she didn't have any matches. He might have some stashed away somewhere, but finding them would take too long. Instead, she went to each of the cabin's four tiny windows and tore away the hides. Cold afternoon light streamed in. It did little to cheer up the old cabin, but as luck would have it, a beam of sunlight fell across the top of the ladder. She went back over to the hole and looked down.

  Pick-marks and scratches in the stone suggested that old Jules had carved this tunnel out himself, or else he'd found it and built his cabin on top of it. Cora guessed it connected to the larger mine she'd seen on her way up here. She couldn't blame him for wanting to work for himself instead of for a big mining company. She'd always liked doing things her own way, too, even if that meant doing them herself.

  Despite the added light from the windows, she still couldn't make out the bottom of Jules's mineshaft. Lowering herself onto the floor, she stuck her head in the hole and took a deep breath. A mixture of aging pine and ancient rock filled her nostrils.

  "Hello!" she yelled into the hole. "You down there, Jules? Can you hear me?" Her voice echoed into the inky darkness, giving her an idea that the tunnel went deep into the side of the mountain.

  She paused to listen for a response. Nothing. She called out again, but only received echoes in reply. Cursing, she raised herself to her hands and knees. Old Jules may be having fun with his disappearing act, but she didn't take to it much, not when she needed information out of him.

  Cora brushed her gloves on her cowhide chaps and made to stand up, then paused. Still kneeling, she cocked her head and listened. There it was again: a faint groaning. She lowered her head back to the opening. It was soft and deep, like a horse's snoring, magnified by the echoing tunnels. It could have been nothing more than rocks grinding against each other somewhere in the mine's bowels. Then again, it might be the groans of an old miner caught in a cave-in.

  "That you, old timer?" she called into the hole. This time, a moan answered her. "All right, then, just sit tight. I'll be down in a jiffy." She walked over to the old miner's tool wall and poked around until she found a book of matches. Selecting a promising lantern from the wall, she set to work. Sparks flashed and faded as she struck a match, throwing shadows around the cabin. After a few attempts, she managed to get the flame to catch, and the lantern sputtered to life.

  Satisfied, she tucked the matches into a pocket of her flannel shirt and pushed her hat off her head. The white streak in her raven hair glowed in the yellow light as her hat settled between her shoulder blades, the stampede string tugging softly on her throat. She picked up the lantern and stepped over to the mine's entrance.

  "I'm coming down, Jules!" she yelled into the darkness before placing her boot on the ladder's top rung. The wood was old, but it held her weight as she descended into the cold, stale air of the mine. Shado
ws danced on the rough stone walls to the rhythm of the lantern's swaying.

  After no more than twenty feet, her boots set down on solid rock. The tunnel extended downward into the mountain at a gentle slope. She could see the first of what she guessed were many support beams lining the mine. She stepped closer and ran a hand over the beam. It looked to be made of the same wood as the cabin above. Jules must have cut down half the forest setting up his claim out here.

  The lantern's halo of light only extended a few feet, so Cora made her way one step at a time. Ahead of her, she could still hear the groaning echoing off the walls, almost as if the stones themselves were in pain. She felt as though she was walking down the throat of a dying giant.

  "Where are you, you old fool?" she called. Her words fell flat in her ears, the shadows swallowing the sound of her voice. Jules must have heard her, though: the moans grew louder. At least that meant he was still alive and awake. Encouraged, she continued deeper into the mine.

  After a few hundred yards, she came to a junction and stopped. She couldn't tell which direction the old miner's noise was coming from. She took a few steps down the right-hand tunnel and listened. The moans echoed in the darkness around her. Maybe he was down there, maybe not. She would take a look and come back if she couldn't find him.

  Cora rolled her eyes as she started down the right-hand fork. All this work just to pull some old man's leg out from under a rock. In all likelihood, Jules hadn't found more than a few hundred dollars' worth of silver in here, just enough to pay for the cabin and the mine. Miners had always eluded her understanding, though. She couldn't fathom what would drive a man into spending years of his life in a tiny tunnel like this, swinging a pick at a rock until his arms fell off. She preferred wide open skies and endless trails, but she'd always loved being outdoors. Even as a girl, she'd spent more time playing in her father's fields or swimming in the river than learning needlework with her mother.

  A shiver ran through her body. Even needlework would have been better than mining. At least you could do it next to a fire instead of in a chilly, cramped tunnel. She flexed her free hand, trying to fight the chill that was growing in her fingertips.

  A chill she'd felt before.

  A wave of dread washed over her, sending tingles down her spine. Her instincts told her to run, but she forced herself to think. Jules could still be down here somewhere. Maybe the monster hadn't found him yet. If she was quick, she might be able to get him out.

  Another groan rolled through the tunnel, bringing with it an image of the old miner lying in the dark, torn apart and left to die. Even if she did find him, she wouldn't be able to save him. She had to assume the creature could see like a cougar in the dark, meaning her lantern would draw it in like a giant, bloodthirsty moth. The sooner she got topside, the better.

  She drew the Colt from her belt and began backing out of the tunnel. The walls echoed with the metallic click of the revolver's hammer before another moan swallowed the sound. She felt a small twinge of guilt for leaving the miner to die, but better one death than two. The chill had already overtaken her elbows, and she could feel it starting in on her toes. It was spreading faster this time.

  Her boots ground against the pebbles on the tunnel floor as she made her way back to the ladder. Keeping the barrel of her gun pointed into the darkness, she fought the growing urge to run. The lantern's flickering light played tricks on her eyes, and she nearly shot one of the tunnel supports when its shadow jumped out at her.

  Then, without warning, the groaning fell silent. Cora halted her retreat. Panic squeezed at her lungs, and she tried to quiet her breathing to listen. Silence pressed in on her from all sides. Her breath curled around her face in short-lived white clouds.

  Then, somewhere beyond the lantern's halo, a new sound crept into her ears. It was quieter than the groaning, but she knew it right away: the soft padding of skin on stone. A faint scraping of pebbles along the tunnel's floor. It was slow but constant, the quiet sound of a predator stalking its prey. Whatever it was, it was following her.

  Cora forced herself to face the approaching menace as she resumed her exodus. With each step, she hoped to feel the ladder against her back, but the tunnel seemed endless. The shuffling stayed with her, lingering just out of sight. By now, the monster's chill had spread through her limbs and was starting to send cold fingers snaking across her chest. In this state, climbing the ladder would be slow and painful, but it was either that or charge headlong into the thing's waiting jaws.

  After an eternity, she bumped into the ladder. Stealing a quick glance upward, she could still see the sunlight at the top of the shaft. The glare left a blind spot in her eyes. She let out a quiet curse as she tried to blink it away.

  As if in response, a moan echoed up the tunnel. It sounded close, almost close enough to see. Keeping her revolver aimed at the sound, she waited. She thought she could see two points of light floating in the darkness. She squinted against the purple blotch in her vision, straining to see.

  Then, at the very edge of the lantern's tiny halo of light, something emerged from the shadows. It was a human hand. Elongated fingers settled on the floor of the tunnel, their tips cold and black. Loose skin hung from the wrist like white curtains. As Cora watched, a second hand appeared, followed by a thin arm. Blackened veins wormed their way beneath the sickly flesh as the hand settled onto the tunnel's floor.

  The first hand moved again, long fingers curling as the arm flowed into the dim light. It was long, too long to be human. The pale limb stretched from the edge of the light almost to her boots, yet she still couldn't see the creature it belonged to. She kept her revolver pointed into the darkness, at where this thing's body must be. As much as she wanted to shoot the hands as they approached, precaution demanded that she wait until she had a clear shot. Besides, she wanted to know what she was shooting at.

  A round shape edged its way into the lantern's light, and Cora swallowed back a cry. It was the face of a frozen corpse. Ashen skin hung from the cheeks like old leather. Wisps of a gray beard still clung to its jowls, framing a row of pointed teeth that glinted at her from black lips. Between the yellow eyes was a pit, lined by cracked skin, where a nose had once been.

  Only the eyes were alive, burning from within their dark pits. They regarded her with murderous intensity, and the teeth clacked together in anticipation.

  Cora had seen enough.

  A bright flash erupted from the barrel of her Colt. The gunshot filled the tunnel with thunder as the silver bullet found its mark between the creature's eyes. Cora pulled back the hammer and fired a second shot into the cloud of smoke, then holstered her revolver and turned toward the ladder. Her cold limbs sent spikes of pain shooting through her body, but she forced them into action. The lantern dangled from her left hand as her boots slammed into the wooden rungs. With each step, she expected to feel the grip of those long black fingers closing around her ankles. The gunsmoke burned her lungs, and she began gasping for breath.

  She reached the top and pulled herself out of the mineshaft. The sunlight was still streaming through the cabin's tiny windows. She rose to her feet, pulled her gun, and aimed at the smoke-filled opening. Thinking better of it, she set the lantern on the floor and pulled her saber free of its scabbard as well. Then she waited.

  The hands were the first to emerge from the smoke, grasping at the cabin's floor with black fingers. Long white arms followed. When the creature's body lurched into view, a shaft of sunlight caught its ribs, outlining them in hideous detail.

  Yellow eyes turned toward her. Cora fired, the bullet punching a smoking hole in the creature's cheek. It wailed in anger, mouth yawning open far wider than seemed possible. Cora unloaded her remaining three shots. Her bullets struck it in the neck and chest, sizzling through icy flesh. It cried out at each impact, but the silver rounds didn't seem to slow it down.

  By now, she could see the entire creature. Its head and torso were man-sized, but the limbs were long and grotesque. The
cabin's low ceiling forced it to crouch like a giant, four-legged spider. Its wounds seeped a thick black fluid that pooled in the ragged beard and ran between its ribs like tar. It was injured but far from dead, and her revolver was empty.

  With a sinking feeling, she realized that she'd let it get between her and the cabin's door. No way out but through the creature now staring at her with demon eyes. She returned its gaze in the dim light, listening to the clacking of its teeth as she gripped her saber. Then a flash of recognition washed over her, and the air left her lungs in a rush.

  The monster had the face of Jules Bartlett.

  A pale arm shot toward her, black fingers outstretched. Cora slashed with her saber, carving a deep gash across the creature's palm. The force of her blow knocked the hand away, and it smashed into the cabin's wall. Picks and shovels rattled on their hooks. Her saber flashed in a beam of sunlight as she brought it down on the creature's forearm. The blade bit through the thin flesh but stopped cold at the bone, the jolt sending a spike of pain through her arm. The sword fell to the floor with a clatter.