The Lurking Season

by Kristopher Rufty

  Ted rolled over, digging the knee of his uninjured foot into the ground. Then he boosted himself up, straightened the leg and put all his weight on that one foot. He felt pain in his ankle, hoping to God it wouldn’t break.

  The ankle held up just fine. Now that he was standing, his knee felt sore, but he could work with it. He lowered his damaged foot to the ground, putting pressure on it.

  And nearly buckled at the pain that jabbed him up to the groin.

  He hissed through clenched teeth. “Damn it!”

  “Please let me help you,” said Steph.

  Ted huffed through his nose several times. He looked at her. She stood away from him, hesitant and a little scared to approach him. Her hands fidgeted with her coat. A nervous habit of hers that she probably didn’t even realize she had.

  “Okay,” Ted said.

  Steph walked over to him on stiff legs. Her back was slightly angled back as if she was prepared to dodge a punch.

  “Don’t be scared of me,” he said.

  “Can’t help it. Whenever a man yells at me like that, usually a hit follows.”

  Ted’s shoulders slouched. He lowered his head. “I would never hit you.”

  “Sure. I’ve heard that more than once.”

  Damn it, Ted.

  She took his arm and swung it over the nape of her neck, letting his hand dangle over her shoulder. “Grab on to my arm,” she said.

  He gripped her marshmallow coat tightly.

  “Just walk with me,” she said. “Take a step only when I do. If you lag behind, I’ll stop and wait on you to catch up. Just try not to leave my side.”

  “Done this before?” he asked, trying to smile.

  “Usually trying to get a drunken asshole in bed without being puked on. Never somebody with a fucked-up foot. You’re not going to puke on me, are you?”

  “I’ll try my best not to.”

  “Well, that’s a start. Ready?”

  “Hey,” he said, tilting his head so he could see her. “Look at me.”

  He saw the side of her face, the streaked lanes of his blood on her cheek. Her mouth twitched. She turned to him, but didn’t speak.

  “I would never hit you,” he said. “I swear.”

  She peered into his eyes. He felt them probing inside of him, searching for the lie. He could see she didn’t believe him, but could also detect how much she wanted to.

  “I have a son,” he said. “His name’s Adam.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to share this with her. Usually he kept his personal life a secret. The less anyone knew of him, the better. “His mother has hurt him more than once. I have sole custody of him.”

  “How old is he?” she asked, her expression not changing.

  “Four. He’s staying with Debbie’s mother while I’m out here. I see how he flinches whenever someone raises their voice, afraid they’ll take it out on him, and it breaks my heart. I’m not that person. I promise.”

  Steph continued to look at him. Her eyes began to soften, the hard look on her face relaxing as belief washed over her. She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me all about your son tonight when we’re back at the house.”

  “In your room?”

  “Yep.”

  Ted smiled. He felt so much better. “You got it.”

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s see how this is going to work.”

  Steph started forward, but Ted didn’t move. Something was different. The air around them seemed to change. Stilled. Even the wind’s constant breeze had stopped as a skunk-like stench wafted around them.

  They were no longer alone…

  “What’s wrong?” Steph asked.

  He shushed her. Raised his arm and pointed to the woods. Steph’s head slowly turned.

  Then the woods erupted into a tumult of frenzied shrieks, hoots and yelps, like rampaging monkeys resonating from within. Ted’s bowels turned mushy and cold.

  The owners of the traps were coming to check what they’d caught.

  Randy

  In the living room, Randy stood in front of a window, watching cottony pellets sprinkle down outside. The glass was wet and fogged with little dots trickling down the pane. He wiped a path through the dampness on the glass and sighed.

  Really coming down out there.

  He stared at the woods beyond the field, nothing but oily blackness between the skinny trunks and bare limbs. Everything seemed to be shaded in purple and gray, the color of cold weather.

  They didn’t take a flashlight with them.

  Now that it was snowing, he expected Steph and Ted to bolt out of the woods any moment. So far it hadn’t happened. Five minutes of waiting, he was beginning to think it wasn’t going to anytime soon.

  “See them yet?” asked Shaun from behind him.

  Randy glanced over his shoulder. Shaun was stretched out on the couch, his feet dangling over the arm and crossed at the ankles. Eyes closed, his hands were folded behind his head. Randy thought he’d fallen asleep.

  After five games of Scrabble, Randy was ready for a nap himself. He’d learned how relentless Debbie was when it came to the game.

  “Not yet,” Randy said.

  Shaun sort of bumped his shoulder in a weak shrug. “They’ll be back shortly, I’m sure.”

  A tingle wormed its way through Randy. He didn’t know why he felt so uneasy. Like waiting on a phone call from the doctor when you knew it was bad news. He couldn’t help it, though he had no idea why he was so bothered.

  “Who wants hot chocolate?” said Debbie.

  Randy stepped away from the window as Debbie entered like a waitress, a tray propped on her hand. Three coffee mugs sat on top, thin trails of steam curling from their tops. He could smell the sweetly delicious scent from where he stood.

  “You’re a lifesaver, babe,” said Shaun, sitting up. He took a mug, wincing as if it hurt his fingers. “The cup’s hot.”

  “Can’t you see the steam?” asked Debbie.

  “Now I can.”

  “It is called hot chocolate for a reason.”

  “Oh right,” said Shaun. He blew the steam away and took a careful sip. When he lowered the cup, he had white cream on his lips.

  Randy looked at the two remaining mugs on the tray. Each was topped with whipped cream. He didn’t think they had some in the house. Or hot chocolate, for that matter. Did she bring all this with her?

  Might have. She brought the game.

  “Thanks,” said Randy.

  “My pleasure. It’s my secret recipe.”

  “Is this what was cooking in the Crock-Pot all day?”

  She nodded, her pigtails bouncing. “Yes it is.”

  “Wow,” said Randy, impressed.

  He raised the mug to his mouth. He felt heat on his lips. Warm vapors drifted up his nose. He blew a gentle gust of air into the mug before sipping. The hot chocolate tasted wonderful, creamy and smooth and really hot. It spread warmth through him as it traveled down.

  “My little Girl Scout,” said Shaun.

  “That’s me,” she said. Holding the mug away from her, she sat down on the couch, then slid down the front to the floor. Setting the mug on the coffee table, she leaned over the Scrabble board. And frowned. “Shaun…”

  “What?”

  “Really?”

  “What?”

  “Did you spell out cunt?”

  Randy nearly choked on the hot drink. It burned a path from his tongue down the back of his throat. He gulped it down, hoping they hadn’t noticed his cringe. He stepped over to the coffee table and looked down. The four-letter word stood out from the rest.

  “It’s a word, isn’t it?” said Shaun.

  “Yes, but not in this game.”

  “Fine.”

  “I should disqualify you.”

  “
Thank God. I’m sick of playing this game.”

  “That’s all right,” said Debbie. She looked up at Randy, grinning. “Randy will play with me, won’t you?”

  Randy peered down at her. Her pigtails hung out from either side of her head in perfect arches. Her breasts pushed two firm mounds against her shirt. And the position she was sitting in, with her legs curled out to the side of her, propped on her hand, gazing up at him with her bowed lips formed into a cutesy smile was almost too much.

  How could he say no to that?

  “You bet,” he said.

  “Yay,” she said, clapping lightly.

  A huge gust of wind pushed against the house, making the walls pop like a stiff back. The flames in the fireplace wriggled and fanned outward from the draft coming down the chimney.

  It looked low.

  “I better toss a log or two on the fire first,” he said.

  “That wind,” said Debbie. She wrinkled her nose. “It’s really picking up out there.”

  “Yeah,” said Randy, heading to the fireplace.

  Crouching, he pulled the metal curtain open. It was much warmer over here. Randy held his hands over the flames, rubbing them in the heat.

  “How long have they been gone?” she asked.

  “Over two hours.”

  Debbie didn’t say anything, but Randy saw the frown on her face when he glanced back. He exhaled through his nose. He knew how she felt, though he wouldn’t try to offer any encouraging words. If he did, Shaun would probably spout off something snarky or sardonic.

  So Randy kept quiet as he grabbed a log from the small stack in the cradle. He tossed it on top of the scorched pile. Ashes shot up into the chimney. He added another. Then he took the poker and stoked the flames. Once they spread to the fresh wood, he closed the shield.

  If his knees weren’t starting to hurt, he might have remained in front of the fireplace until the morning. He stood up. The air was noticeably cooler from even at this height.

  “Is anyone else hungry?” asked Shaun.

  “Yes,” said Debbie.

  Randy nodded. “Isn’t Ted supposed to be on dinner duty tonight?”

  “Looks like he’s a no-show.”

  “It’s not dinnertime,” said Debbie.

  “Close enough.”

  “Are there any marshmallows left?” Debbie asked. “We could roast them in the fireplace.”

  “They’re all gone,” said Randy. He hated it too. Debbie’s idea sounded great.

  “Damn,” said Shaun.

  Another burst of wind shook the house, the walls making sounds like crushed cardboard. Randy looked at the window. The snow was coming down so hard now it looked like static.

  “I’ll get dinner started,” said Debbie.

  Not waiting for a response, she got up, took her coffee mug and headed for the kitchen.

  Then the lights went out. Darkness fell over the room.

  Something shattered in the kitchen. “Shit!” cried Debbie.

  “Babe? You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “My mug’s not, though.”

  “Watch your feet!”

  “I have my shoes on. Randy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Candles?”

  “First drawer, above the cabinets.”

  Her shoes made soft squelching sounds over the linoleum. A drawer rolled back on its track. “Got it!” she said.

  “Power down?” Shaun asked.

  “Looks that way.”

  “The wind’s not blowing that hard.”

  Randy agreed. Not hard enough to knock out the power. Though it was still daylight outside, hardly any light came in from the windows. Only the orange glow from the fireplace illuminated the room in a tiny spill on the floor.

  Shaun was a pale shape on the couch that moved slightly. “Think we blew a fuse?”

  “I hope not. The fuse box is in the damn basement.”

  “Got any spare fuses?”

  “Yeah. I left them in a container on top of the fuse box.”

  “I’ll go check it out.”

  “No, you hang tight, I’ll do it.”

  “I don’t mind, Randy. I’m here to help out.”

  “Debbie might appreciate you being here in the dark with her more than me.”

  Shaun was quiet a moment. Then in a coquettish tone, he said, “You might be right.”

  Randy walked toward the back door. Shadows piled down from the ceiling, making it impossible to see. He knew the key rack was over here somewhere. Sticking his hand out in front of him, he wiggled his fingers and felt nothing but open space. He took another step forward, still wiggling.

  A golden ripple of light appeared to his right, unveiling the mantel in the darkness. He turned as Debbie crept closer, holding a candlestick in her hand. Her face was a shadowy mask with bowed strips growing from her head. He couldn’t see her eyes and it made her look slightly demonic in the soft glow.

  “A little light on the subject?” she asked.

  “Thanks.”

  He was glad she’d spoken. Her voice, so familiar, helped relax the pinch of anxiety he was starting to feel in his back. Turning back to the rack, he saw the soft twinkle of the keys, and above them were four tubular forms. He took one down, pointing it at the floor, and tested it. A disc of bright light appeared in front of his feet.

  “Going somewhere?” she asked.

  “The cellar.”

  “God, why?” The shadows on her face stretched into a grimace.

  “Check the fuse box.”

  “I offered to go,” Shaun pointed out. “He said no.”

  Ignoring Shaun’s remark, Debbie said, “You think that’s what the problem is?”

  “I really hope so. It would suck to have to go without power all night. With the phones not working, one of us would have to venture out in the snow tomorrow to report our power’s out.”

  The soft white of Debbie’s teeth appeared in the dark patch low on her face. He supposed she was wincing now.

  “No big deal,” said Shaun. “We can take my ride. She has four-wheel drive. Tried to get Chad to take it earlier, but he said no. Not letting me help out must run in the Bishop family.”

  Randy almost said something to Shaun, but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. That was how he expressed himself, and if Randy was going to make it as a supervisor, it was he who needed to adjust to his workers’ personalities.

  “Be right back,” said Randy.

  “Be careful,” said Debbie.

  “Watch those stairs,” said Shaun. “We didn’t have any salt to put on them, so I bet they’re slippery as hell.”

  “Thanks.”

  Randy opened the door. Cold air swooshed in, flinging his clothes against his body and reminding him he hadn’t put on his coat. Before he could go fetch it, Debbie was already there, holding it out to him.

  “I might need that,” he said.

  “Doubt it’ll help much. It’s really cold out there.”

  Randy traded the flashlight for the coat. He crammed his arms into the heavy sleeves, adjusted it on his shoulders, then zipped the front. He pulled the hood over his head. Now that he was a little better prepared for the cold, he took the flashlight back from Debbie. “Let’s try this again,” he said.

  The wind nearly yanked the screen door from his hand when he opened it. He kept a firm hold on it as he stepped down onto the porch.

  “Good luck,” said Debbie from behind.

  Then the door was closed.

  Randy stood there, peering at the land before him. A layer of white sprinkled across was bright in the dullness of the late afternoon. Daylight was fading fast as the clouds became heavier. Might as well be dusk.

  He looked down. Each step was stacked with snow as if a giant had cut himself
several rows of cocaine. Using his foot, he scraped the white powder away. Some still clung to the wood, but it was clear enough that he trusted he could step down onto it. He did this with each step as he made his way down to the ground.

  Wind threw snow across his face, into his eyes. He pulled the hood lower, though he didn’t know what that might accomplish.

  Randy started walking. He turned left to head around to the back where the cellar was. His feet crunched through the soft snow, hardening it under his shoes.

  He turned the corner. Angled toward the cellar.

  And saw the door was hanging open. The wind made it rock slightly, the hinges creak.

  Debbie

  She shut the door, wanting to peek out the window and check on Randy already. A chill had lodged itself in her spine, even before the power went out. She’d feel better when everyone was back. That was the problem. Too many people were gone, and the weather was bad, so they should be indoors where they were safe.

  Hopefully the roads weren’t too bad. Chad’s Mustang probably wasn’t built for weather like this. At least it’s just snow and not any ice. That would make a drive back treacherous.

  She wasn’t as worried about Ted and Steph. She knew Ted could handle the hike back in any weather. But she wouldn’t be completely convinced of his abilities until they returned safely.

  “You seem tense,” said Shaun.

  Debbie jumped. The flame on the candle lurched as she jerked her hand. His voice had sounded extra loud in the quiet of the room.

  “Wow,” said Shaun, “you are tense.”

  “Sorry. A little jumpy.”

  “Why?”

  “The storm, mostly.”

  “It’s not so bad. We’ve seen worse.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Not in this situation?”

  “Right. And Ted’s gone, Steph’s gone, Chad and Heather…”

  “The mother hen is worried about her chicks?”

  Debbie felt herself smile. “Something like that.”

  “It’s okay. I get it. But you need to remember something.”

  “What?”

  “Mother hen has a big rooster here to take care of her.”

  Warmth spread through her. Sometimes he could really surprise her with his kindness. It wasn’t often that he said something sweet, though his remark wasn’t exactly meant to be anything other than funny. It was how he was raised. By a single father, a preacher, who didn’t know how to show any kind of compassion, in a strict home organized by even stricter rules. Shaun didn’t speak of his childhood often, but when he did, she always felt so sad for him. She pictured a little boy who spent a lot of time alone, too scared to ask his father questions that any ordinary kid might have. He was never abused, just…ignored.