The first showed up around two.
Roy got in the truck and headed out to Sammy’s lot, hoping to snag a tree before anyone else did, wanting to get it home in time for when his wife and kids returned from visiting his mother-in-law in Alberta. He just hoped the storm had been localized and they’d still make it through on schedule, getting here just after midnight tonight.
It was slow-going getting to Sammy’s. Most of the time Roy was stuck behind a street cleaner, waiting for the big bulk of a machine to clear the road before he could even drive on it. It didn’t matter. The wait was worth it and he had plenty of time.
He checked the rear-view mirror. No one was behind him. Either no one else was coming out to claim a tree or they were taking an alternate route. According to his GPS, he was taking the fastest way.
Suckers, Roy thought. See you at the finish line.
Twenty-five minutes later, the street cleaner turned off at the yield. Roy continued in a straight line, the road still covered in snow but packed down. Looked like dozens of other cars had already been up this way, having come in from the south.
Mr. GPS had lied. At least, in terms of time. It was still the fastest route but the street cleaner slowed Roy down a whole lot.
“No matter,” he muttered. “Another ten minutes and I’m there.”
He drove on.
Only a few minutes in and the sky went gray. A few minutes more and the snow came down. Another minute and there was nothing but white in front of the windshield.
Roy had to pull over almost immediately the snow was so bad. He tried his cell to call ahead to Sammy’s and let him know he was coming. No signal.
So he waited, running the heater intermittently, hoping the snow would die down soon.
It didn’t. Roy got out of his truck and hit the road, toes frozen. So were his fingers. His nose, well, he lost feeling on that hundreds of meters back; same with the tips of his ears. He was never one to dress for the snow. Car heaters, he figured, had a job to do and he was more than glad to let them do it. Besides, he hated all those layers anyway. Now he regretted not listening to his wife’s naggings about dressing for the weather and even wearing an extra layer “just in case,” especially since his heater conked out on him as if it knew he was counting on it to stay warm in this stupid blizzard.
Sam’s Treetop Top Trees Christmas Lot had to be up there just ahead, somewhere behind the veil of white that made it near impossible to see more than five feet in front of him.
He just hoped he’d get there in time and get warm before he became a Roy-sicle forever.
* * *
They say that mirages only happen in deserts. Something about the heat draining all the moisture from your body, even drying up your brain so you start seeing things that aren’t there. No one ever said you started seeing things in the cold, namely a blizzard where there was only white, white and more white.
There was a shadow up ahead, looking something like a fuzzy rectangle with a spotted triangle made from mozzarella. There were other triangles as well, fluffy and somewhat transparent behind the snow.
Roy, forehead frozen, pressed on against the cold wind, hoping to God he’d make it to … to … He didn’t know where he was supposed to make it to.
Tree Samtop Christmaslot Tree Stop or something.
Fuzzy, fluffy mozzarella. Fuzzy, fluffy toes; numb and fat. Fingers that were probably very well blue.
Treestop Samlot StopChristmas Tree.
Roy blinked – then couldn’t open his eyes, the bits of frost from the wind-caused tears freezing his lashes shut. He squeezed his eyes, hoping the skin-on-skin from doing so would be enough to melt the ice so he could see again. It helped, but only a little.
Stoplot Tree ChristmasTop Trees.
Too cold.
So cold.
* * *
A sharp rod of pain spiked through Roy’s heels, drove right through his shinbones and slammed into his knees. His thighs ached just above the kneecaps as warmth blasted through his system.
“Yaaaahh!” he shouted.
“Hold it steady, mate,” an old, pebbly voice said.
“No, no fries for me, thanks,” Roy said. A flashback to the mozzarella. “Two slices for a buck? Okay, but hold the chocolate.”
“Love to, friend, but I don’t think you’re thinkin’ straight. No, surely not.”
Roy’s head went warm, then fuzzy, then warm again.
His legs pounded from the knees down. There was no way he was walking.
The old voice again: “Hurts, I know, but you’ll thank me later. This here ain’t just hot water. If I did that I’d probably ensure you’d lose a toe or something. Maybe more. What you got here is what I called ‘The Blend’. At least, that’s the name I’m thinking of giving it. Never made it before, but have thought of it for years. Call me crazy, but warm water and some of the sap from my trees will make you just fine and dandy. Sap’s supposed to have magical properties, so says some legends I heard. I don’t buy it, but it sure is fun thinkin’ it.”
Roy groaned.
The old voice went on. “Maybe I should call it ‘Sam’s Warmer Upper Before Supper’?” He let off a whooping chuckle then followed it off with an old-timer’s cough. “Nah. ‘The Blend’ works just fine for me. Listen, you’re blue in the legs, my friend. This stuff’ll help. Sap’s supposed to be good for all sorts of things. You know, kind of like honey – syrup stuff – and killin’ colds is one of honey’s big things. So Mama used to say back in the day.”
“I don’t …” Roy started but the words slipped off his tongue and a moment later he forgot what he was trying to say.
“Anyway,” Ol’ Sam said, “I know you came for the trees. Saw you hobbling up the road. Saw you fall. ‘No good weather to be out in,’ I said. So I come and got you. Still blowin’ up a snow cone out there. We’re gonna have to just wait ’er out till she’s done. Then I’ll take you home. Know where you live?”
“Manersh sha blin errr …” Roy said.
“No matter. I’m sure you got a wallet on you somewhere.”
* * *
Roy’s world was black. The fresh scent of pine and burnt wood hit his nostrils. Despite wanting to open his eyes, he couldn’t. The smell from the pine and wood filled his nose, went down his throat and hit his lungs. He tried moving, but the best he could do was wiggle his toes. They were in something liquid, something warm and sticky.
A craggily voice hung over his head like a wet blanket, each sound it made just that: sound without meaning.
Head hurting, confusion setting in, the sound of his heartbeat began to fill his ears and pulse away, each thump-thump thump-thump getting louder as if it was pumping inside his head instead of in his chest.
Muscles aching, he tried to move again, but like before the most he could manage was wiggling his toes. The sticky liquid sloshed over his feet, its warmth sending goosebumps up and down his skin.
A hot tingle, then extreme relaxation as he felt every muscle in his body turn to quivering jelly.
His heart pounded, the beats growing slower apart.
Roy thought he was shaking, but couldn’t be sure. That voice sounded overhead and still held no meaning.
The beats slowed even more, and the inside of his chest began to feel hollow, as if something inside was slipping away.
The sticky fluid splashed up and hit his legs. He realized he was indeed shaking.
Thump.
Thump.
Th—
* * *
The sweetness of the pine’s sap rested on Roy’s tongue, every inch of skin inside his mouth coated with the sticky stuff.
When he opened his eyes, a man’s face was before him, the fellow with his hands on either side of Roy’s head.
“You there, mate? Your colour’s gone. All pallid, you are. ‘The Blend’ was supposed to warm you, not freeze you out again.”
“Hrrrmm …” The sound trickled out of Roy’s mouth.
“That’s it. Wake u
p. Let’s get you out of—” The man glanced down at Roy’s feet. “The bucket’s empty. Where’s ‘The Blend’? It’s as if you sucked it right up through your feet and—”
Roy put his hands on the man’s and held them there. The fella’s old face looked familiar, but no name came to mind. Roy licked his lips, the sweetness of the sap gone.
Where was it? What was he drinking that was so good, so sweet? It had to be around here, had to be—
The texture of the man’s skin beneath his palms, tender, appealing. He smelled good, too, the scent stirring his stomach, making it rumble. Slowly, Roy brought the man’s hand off one of his cheeks and dragged it across his skin to his mouth. The man’s hands smelled of the delicious sweet stuff. Roy stuck out his tongue and licked inside the man’s palm.
“Now, hey, there just a second. You can’t—” The moment the man pulled his hand away, Roy jerked it back and couldn’t help himself but bite into it. Warm blood spurted up into his mouth. The man howled and ripped his hand away, cradling it against himself like a baby.
Roy stood up, whatever that red stuff was that came out of the man’s hand was even sweeter than the sap of a pine. He had to have more. Had to have that delicious sweetness on his tongue all the time. Legs heavy, head tipped to one side no matter how hard he tried to straighten it, Roy slowly moved toward him.
With the tears in his eyes, the man said, “Roy, it’s me Sam. What’re you doing? What’s happened? Why are you—?”
Sam took a step back. Roy forced his legs to move faster. He raised his arms and reached forward. The old man looked like he was going to turn away from him, so Roy fell forward, his hands landing on the man’s shoulders, Roy’s weight was enough to set the old guy off balance and pull him to the floor.
“Mrrrr …” More.
He let his head flop onto Sam’s and he started biting into the old man’s face. His teeth tore away the flesh from the cheeks despite Sam’s open mouth screaming in pain. If anything, the old man’s screams made it easier because it stretched the skin and made a larger surface area for him to bite in to.
Roy slurped the slab of chewy skin into his mouth, relishing the sweet flavour of the blood upon it. These two combined made him go into a frenzy. He grabbed Sam’s head, torqued it to the side, inadvertently snapping the old man’s neck.
Roy ripped into his throat and tore out his trachea, crunching down on it like corn on the cob. Every mouthful made him want more and he ripped away Sam’s clothes and dug into his abdomen like a dog burying a bone. Intestines boiled over the rim of the bloody cavity like noodles and sauce over a pot. Roy gorged on them, their slick texture sliding down his throat like squid.
With each mouthful, he wanted more. He dipped his hand into the old man’s body and pulled out the liver and bit down on it like a pizza.
Growling, he chomped it down and knew that once the flesh from this man was gone, he wanted more. But where?
He’d find something. He had to.
When he was finished, Roy got up, let chunks of meat and strings of bloody skin roll off his mouth and chin and down his body. Eyes fixed forward, he stumbled to the door and left. While outside, something pulled him to the right. He didn’t know where he was going, but heading this way seemed the right thing to do. The partly-covered tracks in the snow said someone else had been this way before.
He walked on.
* * *
“Roy?” Elena called from the front door. “Roy, we’re home!” She looked down at Stephanie, their daughter. “Why don’t you take your boots off and find Daddy?”
“Okay.”
For a six-year-old, Steph was already adept at putting on and taking off her ski pants and parka. Still needed help with the wrap-around-the-head scarf though.
Before Steph left the foyer, she asked, “Should I tell him about Grandma and Grandpa coming over, too?”
Elena smiled. “Let it be a surprise.”
Steph grinned, mimed zipping her lips shut, locking them, and throwing away the key. Elena gave her a wink. The little girl ran off into the house.
Elena hoisted the two duffel bags from their trip over her shoulders and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom so they’d be ready for unpacking later. As much as she wanted to see her husband right away and plant a big, wet kiss on that face of his, it was more important to her that their daughter spent a few minutes alone with him first because she had been so excited to see him. It was all she talked about on their trip home.
Elena dropped the bags on the bed then made her way back down the stairs. When almost at the bottom, a high-pitched shriek shook her to the core.
“Steph!” she screamed then jumped down the last step and headed for the kitchen. “Where are you?”
The girl screamed again.
Downstairs!
Elena ran down the stairs to the family room. Her foot caught on a step about halfway down and folded under her. She was on her butt instantly and slid down the stairs. She hit the bottom in a heap.
The screaming turned to a wet gurgle.
Then nothing.
The family room was empty. Just the sofa, the loveseat and the big, microfiber chair that she and her husband fought to sit on all the time. The flat screen TV was there, turned off.
There was no Steph.
The laundry room!
Foot hurting something fierce, she forced herself up and limped to where the small room ran off the TV area, just beside the bar. The light was off, the door slightly open.
Call the cops. Call the cops. Call the cops, she told herself. Steph! She had to know her daughter was okay.
She slowly neared the door and debated saying hello. Stay quiet. Just see what’s there first.
Elena crept up to the small opening and listened.
A soft sound came from the dark room: wet and slurpy.
She pushed on the door; it opened with a whiny creak.
The slurping stopped and a pair of drooping, white eyes gazed up at her from the dark.
“Roy!” she said and flicked the light on. “Roy?”
Her husband sat on the floor, their daughter in his lap, chunks of Steph’s face dangling from his lips. Blood dribbled off his chin, the droplets splashing against the open flesh of what was once Stephanie’s cheekbone. Their daughter gazed up at the ceiling, eyes open, never blinking.
Screaming, Elena turned and ran. Grab her! Get Steph out of there! But her legs refused to turn her around. She tumbled over a few steps later, her bad foot giving out from under her.
“No, no, no …”
Roy appeared in the doorway then hobbled toward her, dragging Stephanie’s limp body by the foot behind him. Her husband’s skin was blue, and bruised in nasty blotches all over his face and neck. He still had on his jacket and boots. His hands were blue as well, with dark sores on his fingers. Blood coated his face, chunks of moist flesh dotting his cheeks and forehead, as if he had stuffed his face into a bag of hamburger like a dog did to a snowbank.
Elena crawled along the ground, trying desperately to get her legs underneath her.
When she finally managed to get up and get most of her weight on her good leg, Roy grabbed her from behind. She swung around and backhanded him, but not before he tried to snap the hand off with his mouth. Fortunately, he didn’t.
Breaking loose, Elena quickly limped to the stairs and, tears in her eyes, began the brave ascent to higher ground.
As she hobbled up the stairs, the thump-slap of Roy’s footfalls pulsed behind her.
“Come on,” she said through gritted teeth, “move it!” A few more stairs and … she was at the top. She desperately wanted to catch her breath but a thwoomp-bump behind her caused her to glance over her shoulder. Roy had fallen face first on the stairs, his blue-gray hands with black fingernails clawing at the steps as he tried to regain his footing.
The front door. She had to get to the front door. Elena ran as fast as she could through the house. Her heart leapt in her chest when the front door came i
nto view. Elated, she ran even harder for it, hand already reaching out for the knob. She quickly snapped it back when another blue-gray man appeared in front of her, his eyes dull, green mucus oozing from between his lips. The portly old-timer reached for her. She slapped his hand away and did a one-eighty, heading back down the hallway in the hopes of making it to the patio door off the kitchen.
The old man behind her groaned, his clumsy footfalls thumping the wooden floor in heavy wumps as he followed suit.
Roy reached for her with both hands the moment he got to the top of the stairs. Elena hugged herself as she twisted by, narrowly avoiding him. She entered the kitchen, slipped on the linoleum, and hit the ground face first. A dull, echoey spike of pain blasted through her nose and into her forehead and cheekbones. Tears suddenly springing from her eyes sent the kitchen into a blurry mosaic of brown rectangular shapes dotted with silver.
Low moans droned somewhere behind her.
Elena pushed herself onto her feet, her head immediately swooning as she stood. She stumbled back a step … and into a pair of waiting blue-gray hands behind her.
Screeching, she tugged herself away, but not before a burst of wet warmth gushed onto her shoulder, soaking into her shirt. The pain came after, and there was no feeling in her right arm from shoulder to fingertips.
“Stop! STOP! STOOOOOPPPPPPP!” she shrieked as she made her way to the patio door. With each footfall, pain shot through her arm, the swinging motion only adding to the agony.
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