The Shuddering

by Ania Ahlborn

  “Remember why it took us so long to get up here?” he finally asked. Both Jane and Sawyer looked up with matching expressions—they were surprised to hear him speak. After such a long silence, his own voice made his skin tingle. “The last time we were supposed to come up here was two winters ago, but Jane refused to come up. Remember why?”

  “That guy,” she said. “The cross-country skier. It was in the news.”

  “It wasn’t just one guy,” Ryan said. “They focused on the one guy because he was a pro, an Olympian, not some amateur on his day off. He did that shit for a living. There were four other people with him.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Jane confessed quietly.

  Ryan shook his head, tapping a finger against the floor, punctuating his point. “We nearly called this one off too.”

  “Wait.” Sawyer sat up from his slouch, squinting at Ryan from across the room. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we’re not supposed to be here.”

  Jane and Sawyer looked at each other. He could see it on their faces—they weren’t getting his point.

  “The cross-country team,” he continued. “They were missing for nearly a week. They found the guy dead, found all of them dead. They went off the designated trail, which was no big deal because the guy was a pro. And then they found the entire team dead in a snowed-over pass.”

  Jane’s eyes went wide. She shot a look at Sawyer, then looked back to her brother. “What happened to them?” she asked.

  Ryan shook his head.

  “What?” she insisted.

  But Ryan remained silent.

  “No,” she said, her tone stern. “You can’t just bring something like this up and not finish. What happened to them, Ryan?”

  “They thought it was an animal…” he said, sounding almost desperate.

  “They were eaten?” Jane’s tone rang with alarm.

  “Holy shit,” Sawyer whispered.

  “And you still brought us here?” She was on the verge of hysteria. “You still brought us here, Ryan? You knew there was something out there and you dragged us up here anyway?” A sob wrenched its way out of her chest. “How could you? Lauren’s gone,” she cried. “She’s gone.”

  “Animal attacks happen all the time,” Sawyer said softly, trying to calm her down. “There’s no way we could have known, Janey. They’re so rare…” But his nerves were buzzing. Those skiers hadn’t been eaten by wolves or bears or anything of the sort. The hellions lived out in those woods. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

  “It was a one-in-a-million chance,” Ryan told them, searching for a sign of understanding, of forgiveness. “One in a billion, Janey.”

  “Well, congratulations.” Jane’s words hitched in her throat. “You won…the fucking…lottery.”

  “These things…” Ryan hesitated. “They’re like out of a nightmare. They’re impossible. They can’t exist. They’re huge, like seven or eight feet tall. Skinny but strong. They can jump like cats, climb trees…”

  Jane’s eyes grew wider with each detail, her expression a mask of horror.

  “And their teeth…”

  “Their teeth,” Jane whispered, her bottom lip trembling at their mere mention.

  Ryan fell silent, staring at the floor, seemingly overwhelmed by his own description, as though listing off their traits somehow solidified that the things he had seen outside were real.

  Finally, Jane spoke into the quiet.

  “So it’s true, then… We are going to die.”

  Sawyer watched Ryan ease the pantry door open a crack while he pulled Jane into the farthest corner of the storage room. He stood in front of her like a sentinel, feeling her breath hot against the back of his neck as she jabbed her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. Had it been any other time, he would have savored being so close, but his attention was on Oona, on thoughts of getting to April. The husky stuck her snout against the crack of the door.

  Ryan shot a wary glance over his shoulder. Sawyer could see it in the way he was clinging to Oona’s fur—he was preparing himself for the worst. If the coast was clear, Oona would come get them without incident. If the creatures had somehow gotten inside the house—climbed through broken windows, scavenging for food—she wouldn’t come back at all. Leaning in, Ryan pulled the dog into his arms, momentarily burying his face in her neck. A second later he pulled the door open and let her scramble into the kitchen, allowing her to escape without giving himself enough time to reconsider.

  They waited in a silence so oppressive Sawyer had to concentrate on breathing just to get enough air. He was anticipating a terrible yelp, a crash of pots and pans against the floor, a window breaking, or that god-awful clacking of monstrous teeth. His arms broke out in gooseflesh as he pictured one of those creatures catching Oona in its jaws, shaking her like a dog shakes a toy.

  Jane moved behind him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He glanced back at her and she gave him an embarrassed look.

  “I need to go,” she whispered.

  Sawyer nodded in mute understanding and turned his attention back to Ryan, still crouched beside the door, waiting for his beloved pet to return with good news. Sawyer swallowed against the lump in his throat, the backs of his eyes suddenly burning at the flash of a childhood memory: crawling into the backseat of a car, needing to pee five minutes later. It was something he’d never get to experience as a father—the frustration, the annoyance, the amusement of a little boy who looked just like him, or a little girl who looked just like April, begging him to pull over. There would be no trips to the toy store, no birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese’s. He would never get to freeze in the late-October cold, standing on a sidewalk just beyond a stranger’s front door, watching his kid trudge up the front steps, a plastic pumpkin floating just inches from the ground. He wouldn’t get the opportunity to pull into a McDonald’s drive-through and buy a Happy Meal—a secret he and his mini-me would keep from Mom. And the old Fraggle Rock episodes he had started collecting the day after April had given him the news—he’d never watch those now, his arm around a little kid, a bowl of popcorn between them both, because Ryan was right—the odds that April was still alive out there were slim to none.

  Just when he felt like he was about to lose it, Oona stuck her snout into the crack of the door and blew air through her nose.

  “Thank god,” Ryan said, letting the pantry door swing wide, both hands plunging into Oona’s fur. “Good girl.”

  “Can I go?” Jane asked from behind Sawyer’s shoulder.

  Sawyer nodded and stepped aside, and Jane slunk out of the pantry, wary as she disappeared down the hall. He followed Ryan into the kitchen, looking around the place for signs of anything strange, but the cabin appeared untouched—just as they had left it about an hour earlier. If they hadn’t known any better, it would have been easy to pretend nothing had happened. The only difference between now and then was that it was snowing again, big fluffy flakes the size of silver dollars falling from the sky.

  And Lauren and April were gone.

  Sawyer approached the kitchen door, his fingers pressing to the glass, feeling the cold it was holding back. If those savages hadn’t gotten to April yet, the cold would have done her in hours ago. He told himself that she was dead, that she had to be dead, because the idea of her still being alive out there was too much to bear. If he’d just been less rough with her, she wouldn’t have stormed off on her own. If he’d just insisted that she come back inside, Ryan and Lauren wouldn’t have gone to get her. Lauren would still be alive as well.

  He nearly jumped when Ryan’s hand fell onto his shoulder.

  “Stop thinking about it,” Ryan told him.

  “Easy,” Sawyer said softly.

  Ryan shook his head, assuring Sawyer that he knew his request was next to impossible, but he was right: They had to focus on facts, not assumptions, and the only thing they knew for sure was that the three of them needed to
get out of there; they needed to get to safety. The sooner they could come up with a plan that wouldn’t get them killed, the sooner they could find April and bring her home.

  Sawyer turned away from the door, and for the first time he realized just how many windows were in the cabin. Those things could come crashing through the glass and end them all. “It isn’t safe in here,” he said. “We can’t stay in here like this.”

  Ryan nodded, looking around as if coming to the same realization. “It doesn’t help that this place is massive either,” he muttered. “Pops didn’t consider what a pain in the ass it would be to secure this place in case of an apocalypse.”

  “What if we choose a room?”

  “What, like the pantry? It took us less than an hour to start going nuts in there.”

  “We should at least board them up,” Sawyer insisted. The idea of just sitting there waiting for something to happen was insane.

  “With what?” Ryan asked. “Furniture?” He glanced down the hall to see if Jane was there, then took a step closer to Sawyer, lowering his voice. “Those fucking things tore one of her legs off like it was nothing. You think they aren’t going to be able to get in if they want to?”

  “So what are we supposed to do, just wait for them to come get us?”

  “We’ll gather up a bunch of supplies, stick to one area, and if they come, then we’ll have to fight.”

  “Fight.” Sawyer gave Ryan an even look. They were both thinking the same thing: how in the world were the going to fight those things? Sawyer hadn’t seen the exchange, but if they had been able to rip one of Lauren’s limbs from her body it meant that they were impossibly strong.

  “Look, everything has to have a weakness. Those pieces of shit have an Achilles heel; we just have to find it.”

  Jane stared at herself in the guest bathroom mirror. She looked tired, haggard, as though she’d been up for days. Dropping her gaze to the sink, she turned on the cold water. Her hands were shaking badly.

  She had imagined herself in bad scenarios before—a lone gunman trudges through the halls of Powell Elementary, his sights set on Ms. Adler’s second grade class. She had envisioned herself blocking the door with her desk, then grouping everyone in a single corner, all of them low to the ground, soft whimpers of fear slithering across the linoleum floor. Despite it being no match for a gun, the pepper spray in her purse had made her more confident. If anything did happen, at least she had some way of defending herself.

  The pepper spray had been a gift, still in her purse upstairs. After she had an incident in a parking garage with an inebriated bum, Ryan had picked it up for her at a sporting goods store. He had offered to buy her a gun, insisting that it was no big deal, that he’d drive her out to the gun range a couple of weekends in a row, that they’d get her a license to carry a concealed weapon, but guns scared her. She had watched one of her uncles aim through a scope and shoot an elk dead during a hunting trip when she was a kid. Ryan had been there, running toward the carcass as fast as he could after their uncle said it was safe. Growing up in Colorado, hunting was a part of life. Every other restaurant had a stuffed head mounted on the wall, proclaiming the majesty of the Rockies by displaying the dead. The Adlers eventually stopped going to their father’s favorite barbecue joint because of all the taxidermy on the walls. Jane had burst into tears over a plate of pulled pork, insisting that the deer that hung over the fireplace in the center of the dining room looked sad, like it had been crying for its mother when it had been killed.

  She splashed water onto her face, remembering her father’s toughness. He would have told her to put her war face on—this was no time for tears, but time for defense. Jane looked into her own eyes, water sliding down her cheeks, her bangs wet, slashing across her forehead like war paint. Her fingers tensed against the edge of the sink. Whatever was out there wasn’t going to win. She wouldn’t let them. She didn’t care how big they were, how vicious—Ryan and Sawyer were her family, and nobody fucked with Jane’s family.

  Shoving herself away from the counter, she stepped out of the bathroom and launched herself up the stairs, taking them two by two. In the master bedroom, she grabbed her purse and dug through it, sliding the pepper spray into the back pocket of her jeans, then moved across the room to the large armoire against the far wall. The snow was dazzling in the enormous window that overlooked the mountains, and her heart twisted inside her chest when she stared out onto the white landscape. April hadn’t been that bad. Jane had been quick to judge her, blinded by her own resentment, as though April had stolen something from her, when that hadn’t been the case at all. Jane wished she had tried harder to make her feel more comfortable within the group. She wished she had prodded her for conversation, had asked her about her likes and dislikes, had tried to be her friend. But now April was out there somewhere, potentially huddled beneath a pine, hoping to God that someone would come for her. Jane couldn’t help but feel that was partly her fault. Her eyes filled with tears at the thought before she squared her shoulders, glaring at her own reflection in the window.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “Get it together.” Ryan and Sawyer needed her. There were only three of them left, and all three of them had to get out of there alive. She looked away from the trees, pulled the heavy doors of the armoire open. The scent of cedar wafted out of its interior, enveloping her in a smell that would always remind her of this cabin, of the forest, of winters and fire and the open air. There was a quilt folded in quarters at the bottom of the cabinet, a few matching pillows piled on top. Jane dropped to her knees and shoved both hands beneath the blanket, feeling around until her finger found the small hole at the base of the wardrobe. It was funny how parents thought they could keep hiding places a secret, especially from a pair of rambunctious twins. She hooked her finger along the edge of that hole and pulled. A small door whispered upward. Shoving her free hand into the hidden compartment, she felt her fingers kiss the cold surface of metal. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the barrel of her father’s gun, drawing the pistol out of the dark. It was heavy in her hand, ominous despite its stillness. Carefully placing it beside her on the carpet, she stuck her hand back inside the compartment, feeling around for the box of shells she knew was there. But her heart tripped over itself when she grabbed the paper box by its top; it felt lighter than she had expected. The soft jingle of metal against metal had her tearing it open, horrified as a grand total of four hollow points rolled against a brown cardboard backdrop.

  She gathered the box and the gun together and dashed out of the room, concentrating on the stairs, worried that the gun would leap out of her hands and shoot up the place. She found the boys in the living room, Sawyer staring out the window with his arms wrapped around himself, more than likely contemplating running out into the snow. Ryan sat on top of the coffee table, surrounded by a menagerie of kitchen knives like some part-time ninja. He looked confused, as if unsure what their exact purpose was. Jane stepped over to her brother, presenting the gun and the box of shells the way someone would present a king an extravagant gift.

  Ryan blinked, then looked up at his sister. “Where did you get this?”

  “Dad’s bedroom,” she told him. “The old armoire.”

  “Jesus,” he said, taking the gun from her. “I forgot this was there.” He slid the clip out of the handle, Jane’s heart stuttering when she saw it. The clip was empty. They had four rounds. That was it.

  “I can’t just sit here and wait,” Sawyer announced, turning away from the window with determination. “I’m going to find her.”

  Ryan’s expression wavered between boldness and fear. “It’s insane,” he said.

  “We have a gun,” Sawyer reminded him.

  “And what if it isn’t effective?”

  “And what if it is?” Sawyer asked. “What if April is out there and we can just shoot those damn things and bring her back inside? Will you be able to live with that?”

  After a beat of hesitation, Ryan slid the
rounds into the clip and replaced it in the handle of the gun.

  “Fine,” Ryan said. “Let’s go before I change my fucking mind.”

  Jane’s entire body prickled with nerves at the thought of it—both of them going out there, regardless of how many weapons they took.

  “I’ll go by myself,” Sawyer told him.

  “Like hell you will.”

  “Who’s going to stay with Jane?” Sawyer’s gaze paused on her, and she gave him as brave a smile as she could muster.

  For a moment she wanted to insist that Ryan stay, if only to keep one of them safe. But letting Sawyer go out there on his own was suicide.

  “I’ll be okay,” she said softly, fighting the urge to fall into another fit of terrified hysterics.

  The boys shuffled out of the room to prepare themselves against the snow while Jane sank down upon the windowsill, trying to keep it together, her gaze fixed on the deer feeder in a small clearing just beyond the house. Ryan had tossed a bale of alfalfa into it just like Jane had asked, and a family of deer was slowly approaching, thankful for the food during such a storm. Jane leaned forward, her forehead kissing the glass as she watched them, their skinny legs punching holes in the snow. But her attention wavered when a single pine shuddered in the distance, followed by another, then a third. Her eyes went wide as snow fell from the trees. She opened her mouth to yell for the guys, but she couldn’t catch her breath. The deer began to bound away from the feeder, suddenly alerted to another presence, but a smaller one lagged behind. Jane’s palms hit the glass, as though knocking on the window would somehow encourage the fawn to hurry. Before she could give a startled cry, a monster leaped from the tree, pinning the deer down against the snow.

  Jane screamed, stumbling away from the window, her hands pressed over her mouth. She could hardly process what she was seeing as her heart clenched behind her ribs, unable to believe how enormous the thing’s teeth were, how utterly emaciated it was, before it was joined by a member of its pack. The newcomer shoved the first away from the deer, determined to claim the kill for its own, tearing into the animal’s jugular as Jane continued to back away, wide-eyed, her breath escaping her throat in tiny, suffocating gasps. By the time Ryan skidded back into the living room, there were four of them fighting next to the feeder, snapping their jaws at each other, their guttural squeals loud enough to hear from inside the house.