Judy knelt down beside him, the wind whipping her hair back and forth as the storm raged behind her. Her hand traced the hollow of his cheek as she caressed his face, in her eyes he saw that she had made a terrible decision.
“No,” he shouted, the words torn from his lips by the ceaseless wind as she stood up and turned to face the raging storm.
He struggled to pull the steel strand back through his palm, a white-hot pain lancing his hand as the strand became tangled in the fabric of the glove he wore. He yanked at his hand, screaming in a helpless rage tinged by a searing agony as Judy vanished into the swirling curtains of snow that surrounded them.
Suddenly the winds of the storm ceased, their howling voices fading into a preternatural stillness as the solitary sound of footsteps came from beyond the curtains of snow that continued to fall from the gray sky above. A color that perfectly matched his mood as an overwhelming sadness wrapped him in its chilly embrace.
Chapter 32
The sun shimmered with a golden light against the clear blue of an unblemished sky. Teddy lay on a beach towel spread out on the warm sands of a strip of beach that vanished into the distance to either side of him. Though the beach was crowded with other visitors, he didn’t seem to mind as he watched a group of small children along the water’s edge. They were gathered around a young girl, no more than three, who squatted at the water’s edge, doing something with her hands that was hidden from his view.
“Hey Mom,” one of the children looked up and shouted to an older lady on Teddy’s left who appeared more interested in the book she was reading than in what her son wanted. “Hey, Mom, you gotta see this,” the little boy persisted, “she’s making mini tornadoes out of the water.”
The woman waved a disinterested hand at her son and Teddy allowed himself to relax.
A shadow fell across him and he looked up at the slender silhouette of the person standing above him.
“Is this spot taken?” Judy said as she settled onto the beach towel beside him.
“Not at all, just don’t tell my wife.”
Judy smiled as her features came into view, her right eye had become a very light gray, almost white, in sharp contrast with the soft brown of her other eye. The color of her eye matched the jagged streak of pure white hair that bisected her skull, starting directly above her right eye, and ending below her left ear. It was a feature that had brought many compliments in the past, as well as an equal amount of jealous anger when Judy was unable to divulge exactly how her hair had gotten that way.
After all how did one explain what they experienced without the listener believing that a night in a padded cell might be in order.
Judy glanced at their daughter Harriet who had become the center of attention for several older children gathered at he edge of the surf. They each shared that streak of white hair, but where Judy’s was flat, Harriet’s hair was full-bodied and quite curly. Both of Harriet’s eyes were the same shade of gray as her mother’s right eye, giving her an eerie appearance. In addition to the odd coloring, there was timelessness in her gaze. Her eyes like those of an old man who had seen more than his share of the world.
“What’s she doing?”
“It would appear she is making mini tornadoes out of water.”
“We’re gonna have to teach her not to do that in public.”
“She’ll be all right as long as no adults notice, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t believe what they’re seeing.”
“But when she gets older,” Judy said.
Teddy stopped her, “everything will be fine, she’ll learn.”
They had discovered Harriet’s special ability, a gift from her other father, when she was two. Judy had been bathing her and she had stepped away for a moment to retrieve the shampoo. Upon turning back to the tub she discovered that Harriet had created a water funnel that stood a full foot above the surface of the water, controlling it with her hands as she giggled in delight. Judy had been so startled she’d screamed, causing Harriet to lose control, soaking Judy to the bone as the funnel exploded.
Teddy had come home that evening to find Judy trying unsuccessfully to coax Harriet to do it again, a pan of water sitting on the coffee table in front of her. While they were in the kitchen talking about what had happened, Teddy glanced into the living room to see Harriet standing in front of the pan of water, her hands held out before her as she controlled the undulating movement of the funnel of liquid that was slowly growing above her, a smile of pure, innocent, joy lighting her features.
It all made sense then. The old gods, they still existed, ancient deities brought to these shores by early immigrants who had spoken of them in the old country, creatures of legends and folklore, beings of myth who wanted the same thing any of them did.
The immortality that came from having children.
The group around Harriet split up and she stood watching the ocean with old eyes as a piece of ice, a side effect of her little trick, tumbled in the waves crashing against the shore. Slowly it melted into the warm waters as a heavy sadness settled over Teddy.
When she got older he knew she would leave them and return to the frozen north. After all it was in her nature, they had been blessed with the task of caring for her as she grew up, but when she became an adult that need to know would send her away in search of an answer neither of them could provide.
“Are you happy?” Judy said as she rolled onto her side to look at him.
Teddy rolled over to face Judy as he considered her question. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. He was no longer a call center supervisor, having decided to go into retail after they moved to Florida. The pace was slower and the money wasn’t too bad. He had Judy, and for however short the time might be, they had Harriet. But he had learned something even more important than the fact there were other jobs besides management.
He had discovered that most of the time you did what you had to. But sometimes, you did what was best for your loved ones, cherishing every moment you had with them, as you were never sure when that time would come to an end.
Richard Schiver
May 25, 2014
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Now for a sneak peek at a current work in progress.
A Father’s Love
Chapter 1
Shadows danced across the window of Christine’s darkened bedroom as she lay in bed with her stuffed bunny, Puddles, held close by her side. With the blankets pulled up to her chin her gaze moved among the objects in her room around her. The deep shadows had transformed once innocent objects into nightmare images that gathered around her.
“It’s okay, Puddles, it’s just your magination,” she comforted her stuffed bunny.
Puddles had seen better days. One plastic eye was missing entirely, all that remained of the other was the white portion, the black pupil having vanished long ago, giving the bunny the appearance of a one eyed zombie. The fabric was threadbare in places, testament to having been dragged along behind her in her travels, and one floppy ear had been reattached so many times it was a full two inches shorter than the other. At one time Puddles had been a garishly bright blue with a white chest and belly. But several years of constant use, along with the occasional washing, had caused the colors to fade to a ghost of their former brilliance.
Though threadbare and beaten there as no doubt Puddles served a very important purpose. Simply put he was Christine’s security blanket. To anyone else he was a worn out old toy ready from the garbage. But to Christine he breathed with a life that mirrored her own. He was her protector. Her confidant. Her sole playmate in many of the games she thought up on the spur of the moment.
A present from her Daddy before he left them. The day he gave him to her he told her Puddles was a special bunny. That Puddles had Daddy’s love for her locked up in his heart, and that as long as he was by her side, her Daddy would always be with her. She couldn’t understand why
her Daddy had left. Only that he had to go help some people in a place called Iraq, and that he wouldn’t be coming back.
Mommy said he was in Heaven now where he could watch over them and the thought of never seeing her Daddy again filled her heart with sadness. But knowing that Puddles was a part of him provided some measure of comfort. There had been several times when her fear of the night, and the unknown, had gotten the best of her and she snuggled so close to Puddles in her search for the safety her Daddy once provided she was certain she could hear the faint but steady beat of her daddy’s heart deep in his fuzzy chest.
He would protect her, she was certain of it, as only a child could be confident in the promises of another.
“She takes all the bad little boys and girls,” Marjorie whispered in her mind. Marjorie was one of her friends at Brenda’s, the woman that watched her while her mother worked. The words stoked the fear nourished by the shadows around her. They had only recently moved to Porter Mines, she and her mother, searching for a new beginning to an old life, so neither of them was familiar with the legend of the Witch.
With Marjorie’s words in mind her gaze settled on the stack of boxes sitting drunkenly in the corner. Wrapped in shadows they had become a crouching beast. A thing of fangs and claws ready to leap out and devour her the moment she looked away, she wasn’t entirely confident Puddles could protect her from such a thing. To the left stood her Little Princess table where she served tea to her collection of stuffed animals. The shadows had transformed it into a frighteningly alien object whose long shadows er little reached out for her like the searching fingers of some nameless thing.
Wind whistled along the eaves beyond her window and in that mournful voice she imagined she heard her name. Soft footsteps moved across the ceiling above her head. She did not like this new house, not one little bit, and she wiggled deeper into the blankets as the moonlight pouring through her curtained window was broken by dark clouds that slithered across the moon’s impassive face, casting shadows that danced across the far wall.
Her gaze remained fixed on the stack of boxes as the room darkened around her. She was watching for the slightest movement, ready to pull the blanket up over he head at a moment’s notice.
“So fast it’ll make your head swim.” Mommy would always say, and Christine smiled at the idea of anyone’s head swimming.
From the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement, and swiveled her head in that direction, instinctively pulling Puddles closer to her. It was just the trees outside her window.
The light of the moon illuminated the tops of the bare trees behind the house. Ghostly fingers reaching for the night sky as the wind set them to dancing with a hypnotic regularity. The wind whispered beyond her window, seeking entry as the walls around her creaked under its touch.
The she heard it. Calling to her softly in the night. A child’s voice whispering, not from outside, nor even from within the room around her. This voice came from within her mind.
“I have a secret.” The voice promised with a sinister whisper and Christine’s gaze was drawn to the window. To the band of emptiness that stood as a barrier between her bed and the window. Throwing back her blankets, with Puddles clasped tightly under one arm, she darted across her room to the window that looked down from the second floor upon the back yard.
The pale light of the full moon illuminated the forest behind the house. The shadow of the house itself lay like an ebony ocean across the back yard, reaching into the trees whose slender trunks glowed with a silvery radiance in the effervescent light. Something moved among the trees. A white spot that winked in and out of sight among the tree trunks as it slowly approached the deeper shadows crouched in the back yard. As the object stepped into view Christine realized it was a young girl dressed in a white nightgown. Behind her lay a pulsing cloud of emptiness, like a flowing train of deepest night, throbbing with a life of its own. She understood that the shadow was as much a part of the girl, as the girl was a part of it, and a cold chill of fear slowly slithered down her spine.
“I have a secret.” A young girl’s voice whispered in her mind. Though it sounded like a young girl the voice was ancient, as old as the earth itself, carrying with it a primitive terror that reached back to the days of the caveman who dared not stray far from their fires at night for fear of what lay in the shadows beyond.
The young girl passed into the deeper shadows of the back yard. A spot of white surrounded by an ebony emptiness. From the black depths of the room behind her came the sound of a door slowly swinging open on squealing hinges. She turned from the window as a black shape materialized from the closet. A pulsing emptiness much darker than the shadows through which it moved.
Christine ran from the window, crossing her room as she sought to escape into the hallway. At the door she twisted the handle in her hand as something old, carrying the chill of the grave, clamped down on her shoulder.
She screamed.
***
Susan moaned as John’s calloused hand slid across her bare belly and dropped into the narrow dip between her thigh and stomach. His fingers followed the slight crease to that dark region nestled between the vee of her thighs. She shuddered with expectation as his fingers caressed her gently and his warm lips closed over her erect nipple. She moaned as the heat of his body radiated with a warmth that enveloped her in its loving embrace.
She reached out so she could guide him into her. But her fingers found only the cold empty sheets.
“No,” she whispered as she struggled to recapture the warmth that had enveloped her. A cold chill slithered along her side and she recoiled from its icy caress. For a brief moment she teetered on the narrow boundary between deep sleep and semi-consciousness before slipping over into a nighted abyss.
Images flashed through her mind, snapshots of her past frozen forever in time. John at the lake, a devilish smile on his face with a vast expanse of water spread out behind him. John in the hospital holding the tiny bundle that was his daughter, Christine, in his arms as he gazed at her with rapt wonder.
With each image, she felt a deep sense of longing tinged by an even deeper sorrow. The images took on a more somber form.
A copper colored casket it’s surface gleaming in the bright sunlight. An American flag folded and presented to her by a soldier who looked too young to be involved in such serious matters. A row of soldiers in full dress uniform standing at attention as the distant notes of a single trumpet echoed with a forlorn voice.
Susan awoke with a start, panting to catch her breath as her head swiveled first one way then the next.
A child’s scream sliced across her consciousness and she was driven fully awake as the last vestiges of her dream faded into the darkness of the night around her.
The scream came again. She threw back the covers, swung her feet over to the floor, and raced for the door only to trip over several boxes she had yet to put away. She fell to the floor the fibers of the Berber carpet rubbing coarsely against her bare flesh. It was then that she realized she was wearing only a pair of panties. Slipping on a robe she hurried from her room as Christine cried out again.
Susan stepped through the door into Christine’s room and flipped on the wall switch. Light filled the room and she found Christine curled up in a corner with Puddles clasped close to her chest. She was staring at the closet door with an expression of utter terror.
Susan crossed the room and knelt down in front of Christine. Touching her shoulder she found her shivering beneath her sweat drenched nightgown.
“It’s okay, Sweetie, mommy’s here.”
Christine glanced from the closet to Susan then back again, and Susan was struck by the look of hopeless dread on her face.
“Mommy?” Christine said in a quavering voice.
“It’s okay, I’m here now.” Susan wrapped her in her arms and Christine clung to her neck as she lifted her from the floor. Puddles slipped from between them and fell to the floor.
“Don’t forget Pu
ddles.”
Susan knelt down as best she could and retrieved the stuffed rabbit.
“Let’s get you back into bed.”
“No,” Christine moaned as she tightened her grip around Susan’s neck.
“But, sweetie, you have to go back to bed.”
“She’ll get me if I do.”
“No one’s going to get you.”
“She said she was coming to get me.”
“Who said that?”
“The witch.”
Susan pried Christine’s arms from around her neck and looked about the room.
“I don’t see a witch.”
“She’s in the closet,” Christine whispered as she pointed at the closet door.
Susan approached the closet. Christine slipped down from her bed and followed. Susan opened the door and Christine stepped behind her leg as she flipped on the light. Susan leaned into the closet and looked first one way then the other.
“Nope, no Witches in here,” Susan said.
“Are you sure, Mommy?” Christine asked.
Susan moved around the clothes hanging from the rod. She looked up, down, and in every corner.
“Absolutely, you’re closet is Witch free, guaranteed.”
Susan turned from the closet and got down on her hands and knees next to the bed. She pulled back the sheets hanging to the floor and peered into the darkness beneath Christine’s bed. A cold chill washed over her and she shuddered as the sheets fell back into place.
“No Witches under your bed.”
“Are you sure, Mommy?” Christine asked.
“Absolutely, I pronounce your room Witch free.”
Susan pulled herself to her feet and lifted Christine back into her bed. She then sat on the edge of the bed as Christine slipped under the comforter.
“You know sometimes when you’re in a new place you might think you see things that aren’t really there?”
White Walker Page 14