Black Frost

by John Conroe

  A thrumming flutter filled the air, the sound of rushing wings and high speed bodies, and the broad open barn space was suddenly filled with dark blurs, diving and swooping. I ducked instinctively, but the fast moving shapes converged on the chunky ribs, two or three pucks hauling them into the air while others slammed into the meat, then fell away with a cubic inch or more of flesh clenched in trap-like jaws. It was exactly like underwater footage I had seen of piranha attacking a chicken carcass, except this was in open air and perhaps more violent. Thirty or forty seconds later the shattered bones lay scattered around the barn floor and twenty-three furry fliers of various sizes perched around the open space with visibly distended bellies. The leader landed nearest me, his stomach pushed out in what Ashley and Lindsey would call a ‘food baby’. We looked each other over, while the flock or pack or what have you studied me with glittering predator eyes. The smallest ones were obviously children, the slighter built adults having decidedly female curves. The clan appeared to be evenly split between males and females, but I could only identify eight adults, the rest ranging from almost adults to a pair of very young females. The leader was one of the biggest, but there was one male bigger than him, who was perched just slightly behind the leader’s left shoulder. Fur ranged in color from almost black to a light straw color on one little female.

  “Damn!” was all I could say. I had thought the meat might need thawing, but that was obviously not the case.

  “I hope that’ll hold you for awhile, ‘cause that about wipes out our extra meat. I’ll have to buy more at the butcher shop.”

  I was rattling on by reflex, not expecting them to understand my words in any way, but shaken by the sheer violence of the feeding.

  The leader’s self important poise reminded me of the bandit leader in Blazing Saddles. “Badges! We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!” ran through my head, delivered in a bad Mexican accent.

  “Listen, I’ve got to call you something, so let’s go with Pancho?” I said, watching him watch me.

  Charm’s frantic barking suddenly stopped and twenty-three miniature heads swiveled along with my own to look at the house. Ashley must have gotten up to calm the dog, so that was my notice to get going.

  “Look, don’t eat my dog or anything, alright? I’ll get some more meat today while I’m out,” I said, heading for the door.

  Pancho tilted his head to regard me, then uttered a shrill command. Instantly the air was filled with furry flying bodies and then they were gone. The leader still looked at me calmly.

  “Ah, I can’t make the same noises that Greer can, so how about I whistle when I’ve got more food?” I asked, simultaneously pondering my own sanity while whistling out a five note tone. Pancho’s eyes widened at the whistle, then narrowed in what I could swear was understanding. He gave me a tooth filled grin and then jumped backward off the wooden beam he’d been gripping with his taloned feet, hummingbird wings pulling him out and away with a ballet dancer’s grace. I turned and headed into the house, my mind reeling from the feeding frenzy.

  Chapter 8

  Inside the house, I found Ashley and Lindsey looking one-half awake and the other half annoyed.

  “Dad, what’s with your stupid dog! It’s way too early for us to be up!” was the greeting I got when I opened the door. Despite her harsh words her left hand was rubbing the ears of the brindled bundle of fur that was wedged between the girls on the couch.

  “Well, she musta heard or smelled something,” I said, getting an eye roll that said ‘duh!’.

  “How about breakfast? The usual?” I asked in an attempt at changing subjects. Their low blood sugar worked in my favor and they nodded, so I set about making chocolate chip pancakes, which is the standard breakfast for sleepovers.

  I think it must be an unwritten rule somewhere that if you’ve given someone a free night by having their teen-ager for a sleepover, then you are obligated to return said teen in a sugared-up condition that will provide a short, intense burst of irritating activity, followed by a sugar crash and semi-coma. Not willing to break the rule, I cooked up a big batch of pancakes, spotted with chunks of chocolate, smothered in butter and rivers of real maple syrup.

  The girls trudged to the table, barely awake, but with eyes fastened on the food. I sat down with them, my own plate carrying a slightly smaller batch of griddlecakes. Lindsey noticed and spoke.

  “You almost never have pancakes, Mr. Moore?” she questioned. I usually ate far lighter fare than the girls did, having long ago lost my teen-aged metabolism.

  “Well, what the hell, Lindsey? Sometimes you just gotta live a little, if you know what I mean?” I said.

  She laughed at that, but Ashley just snorted and looked at me with narrowed eyes. The truth was I was in a weird place, trying to keep a semblance of normalcy while the rest of the world around me went mad. Sugar-rich pancakes seemed like a small thing in the face of a worldwide invasion by creatures that could have escaped from Wes Craven’s idea of fairy tales. Nightmare on NeverNever land.

  “What time are your parents picking you up, Lindsey?” I asked. She was texting on her cell phone and didn’t bother to look up when she answered. “Dad said around ten.”

  “Okay. Ash, you and I are going into town later to run some errands, okay?” I asked.

  “Can’t I stay home with Charm and just a hang out?” she asked. Oddly, despite her issues with losing her mother and the massive changes in our lives, Ashley had no fear of staying alone in the old farm house, as long as she had her dog.

  “No, I want you and Charm with me. Plus, I think we’re gonna drop in on your grandparents,” I answered. “And if I show up without you, your grandma will skin me alive.”

  She grinned, obviously picturing my mother giving me hell for not bringing her granddaughter to visit.

  “Why don’t you two get ready? It’s nine twenty-three already,” I suggested.

  They agreed, taking their syrup smeared plates to the sink before heading up to Ashley’s room to get dressed.

  ***

  Lindsey’s dad, Tom Yelos, pulled his pickup truck into our driveway at three minutes to ten, the rumble of his diesel powered Chevy vibrating my small house.

  I called up the stairs to the girls, then walked outside to say hi. Tom powered down his window and shook my hand with a grin. “Hey buddy! How’d that furnace turn out?”

  It took me a split second to remember the lie I had used to get out of the fight evaluation, but I don’t think the lag was too noticeable.

  “Well I have heat, so that’s all I can ask for right?” I forced a laugh.

  “I thought you heated with wood?” he asked.

  “We have a wood stove that keeps most of the house warm, but the furnace is needed for really cold weather,” I explained.

  “Yeah, well, from the weather pattern so far it looks like we’re in for a bitch of a winter!” he said, rubbing his bald head with one calloused hand. “In fact, I think we got an early snowstorm coming next week!”

  The thought of Greer and his ‘elven’ people flashed through my mind. “Yeah, a storm’s coming alright,” I agreed. Suddenly struck by a fear for Lindsey and her family, a new thought raced through my mind. “Hey listen….would you do me a favor and take this assegai with you? I’m hoping you can adapt some kata for it… when you get a chance?” I asked, pulling Shaka from inside the doorway. Tom stepped out of the truck, stretched his six foot frame and then took the five and a half foot length of spear in his right hand. Feeling its balance for a moment, he suddenly whirled through a spin, slash and jab technique. Tom had black belts in karate, jiu-jitsu, and kung-fu, and practiced many weapons forms. But somewhat surprisingly, despite his occupation and training, he was extremely adverse to guns. He had no issues with people owning them, just didn’t like them himself. I wanted him to have some type of steel weapon at hand, if the Hunters of the Green court came calling.

  “I’d sure hate to be on the wrong end of this bastard!” he said, laughing as
he admired the thirteen inch steel spear head.

  “Yeah, no shit!” I agreed. “But the extra spear head length changes the balance, although it does give you chopping and slashing options that most spears don’t have. That why I thought you might have some insight.”

  He looked from me to the spear, scratched his head, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do some research too…see if there’s any videos or written information on Zulu technique,” he said, giving me a slightly puzzled look. “I thought you made this in high school? Why the sudden interest?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s been something in the back of my mind for quite some time,” I answered, which was true enough. “Something made me think of it this morning, so….it just seemed like a good time to ask,” I finished, trying to be nonchalant. I had another of those all over body chills that have nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with instinct. Tom put the spear behind the seat of his truck and we both turned as the door opened and the girls came out.

  “Hey pumpkin, hey Ashley,” Tom greeted the girls.

  “Hi Dad” “Hi Mr. Yelos” chorused back at him.

  He grabbed Lindsey’s book bag which had her school clothes stuffed in it. She was wearing a set of Ashley’s pajamas with her own coat over them. The girls exchanged clothes like they had one big co-owned closet. “Thanks for letting me stay over Mr. Moore,” Lindsey said.

  “Lindsey, please! Me casa you casa!” I said.

  She laughed. “Your Spanish is pretty crappy Mr. Moore.”

  “Lindsey!” he father admonished.

  I just laughed, “You can’t fault the girl for telling the truth, Tom.”

  Ashley pretended to slap her fore head with the palm of her hand. “That’s why I’m failing Spanish!” she exclaimed.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re failing? I better schedule a meeting with that Miss Connors and find out what we can do about it.” Miss Connors the Spanish Teacher was young and very pretty.

  “Oh wait, now I remember, I have a ninety-six in Spanish. No meeting necessary Dad!” she hastily corrected.

  We said our goodbyes and the big pickup rolled out of the driveway as we headed back inside.

  ***

  An hour and a half later we were cleaned up, loaded into the SUV and headed toward town. The village of Groton Falls is small and quaint. Located north of Albany, it lies just outside the boundaries of the Adirondack Park. The town is very old, originally settled to make use of the fast flowing Killross Creek that flows through the hilly terrain. The creek had once powered mills and small craft shops in the community’s early days, which then became brick and mortar factories. When manufacturing moved out of state, then out of the country, the town underwent a painful decline. But the last five years had seen a quiet rebirth, as art shops and restaurants filled in the vacant store fronts. Groton Falls became what some call a ‘strolling village’, the kind of place that tourists, drawn to the nearby Saratoga horse track, like to spend time and money in.

  Ashley stayed in the car, head down and texting about five friends simultaneously, while I hit the farmers market and then the bank. My last stop before visiting my parents was the drug store to pick up a refill of Ashley’s allergy meds. Ashley decided to come into CVS with me, mumbling something about eye makeup as she tried to walk forward while texting Lindsey. This whole texting every minute of life thing got on my nerves, but it seemed to be universal and my wife’s voice spoke from deep inside me, telling me to pick my battles.

  After steering Ashley safely inside, I left her in the strange and formidable (if you’re a guy) makeup aisle and headed to the back of the store where they keep the pharmacy. After waiting in line for ancient Mrs. Oldman to count out her change and harangue the pharmacy tech about the cost of her medicine, I finally got my hands on the allergy meds.

  Coming around the corner of the aisle where I had left Ashley, I immediately spotted her talking to a young woman I didn’t know. Dressed in black tights with calf high boots and a short black leather jacket over a rich blue sweater, she definitely stood out in Groton Falls. Not every woman can wear the uncovered tights look, but this girl was rocking it. I noticed long corn-yellow hair that hung in gently curling tresses and the exposed skin of her neck was a summer tan color that had disappeared from most upstate New Yorkers skin by this time of year.

  Ashley was obviously discussing makeup with the young woman and when she noticed me approaching she looked up with a big smile. “Hi Dad!” she said, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Come meet Eirwen!”

  The young woman turned to look at me and I was almost struck dumb by her appearance. Have you ever unexpectedly come across a person who is so immediately attractive to you that you almost lose the ability to use language? I was able to say hi to Ashley, but that’s probably because the neural pathways for those particular words were so well established. The rest of my thoughts fled at the sight of the girl’s forest green eyes, full bee stung lips and even white teeth.

  She smiled instantly at me, the greeting someone gives when they want to make a good impression on a new friend’s parent. But the look in her eyes changed to one of interest even as she said “Hi” in a clear bell toned voice and held out one slim tan hand to shake. Her grip surprised me; there was a lot more strength in her than you might guess. “ How do you know Ashley?” I asked, wondering at how calm my voice sounded.

  “Oh, I just met her. I’m new in town and when I saw such a beautiful young woman in the makeup section, I couldn’t help but ask for her advice,” she laughed easily. Someone else saying the same sentence might have sounded condescending and insulting, but Eirwen managed to express admiration for the teen ager who was looking at her wide eyed, all while poking fun at herself.

  “That’s sooo not true! She helped me pick out this eye liner that makes my eyes POP!” Ashley said in a gush.

  “Well thanks for that, because there’s no way she’s gonna get that kind of help from me!” I said, caught up in the rush of emotion that had struck almost on sight.

  I looked over at Ashley who was watching our exchange. A whole slew of expressions flashed over her face. The first was a small amount of awe, directed at the beautiful blonde shaking my hand. I could understand that as I felt a similar if different impact from Eirwen. The second emotion I read was surprise which was followed by calculated interest, and instantly I had a flash of insight. Ashley was somehow misreading the situation. Eirwen was all of twenty-five…if that. I was long past my fortieth birthday. The realization that Ashley was reading more into this simple exchange was like a bucket of cold water, shocking my brain back to earth.

  “Where did you move from?” I asked. “Obviously some place warm and sunny,” I added, gesturing at her tanned hand. “California, maybe?”

  She laughed, sending a shiver through me. “California’s certainly sunny enough,” she agreed. The plastic blister pack of makeup she was holding suddenly slipped free from her fingers and I reflexively caught it before it hit the ground.

  She took it back from my outstretched hand, her eyes round with surprise. “Wow, you are fast! Great reflexes!” she said admiringly.

  “Dad trains MMA fighters!” Ashley interjected. Eirwen looked surprised and a little confused at that statement, not recognizing the term.

  “She means mixed-martial arts, you know…like cage fighters?” I explained. She still looked confused, slightly shaking her head, but caught sight of my watch.

  “Is that really the time?” she asked, concerned. “ Oh, goodness, I really have to run. It was nice to meet you Ashley, and very nice to meet you Ian,” she said, putting the makeup back on the display and moving toward the door.

  “It was nice to meet you too, Eirwen,” I said, noticing that she looked as good going as she did coming.

  It wasn’t till we were checking out about five minutes later that I realized she had known my name without either Ashley or I saying it. She also hadn’t ever said where she was from. The checkout clerk was tak
ing forever to install a new roll of register tape, so I glanced around. Our register was nearest the glass front doors and I watched cars roll by outside. Suddenly a lithe figure in black tights crossed the street right in my view. Needless to say Eirwen was more interesting to watch than the cars so I saw her reach the far side just as three men moved into sight and met her. Tall, lean and also blond, they could have been brothers and as they crowded around her any momentary fantasies I’d had evaporated. They all appeared her own age as they listened to her talk, but when she pointed back at the drugstore and they all followed her gaze, seeming to look right at me, a chill chased down my spine.

  Chapter 9

  My mother answered the door when we arrived at my parents’ house; carefully unlocking the twin deadbolts to let us in. Max, my parents’ Doberman, greeted each of us with careful dignity, which he promptly lost when he exchanged butt sniffs with Charm. The two dogs led us further into my mother’s kitchen where lunch was in its final stages of assembly, the odor of chocolate chip cookies foretelling dessert. The fact that four places were set at the kitchen table was not unusual as we often visited my parents on Saturdays, but the certainty of it all told me that mom had been tipped off.

  “You texted Grandma?” I asked Ashley.

  “Of course, Ian,” my mother answered for her. “Somebody has to keep me informed!” she added with mock outrage. Joan Moore’s hair was still blonde after more than six decades, but I was pretty sure it owed that color more to chemicals than nature.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  “Down in his lair,” she answered, handing a bowl of grapes to Ashley who automatically started to help her grandmother organize lunch.

  I headed down the basement stairs, hearing my mother ask Ash for updates on teen life.