The twins, dragging their blankets behind, wiggled through the crevice under the foundation, finding themselves in a small depression under the foot-wide floorboards of the greenhouse. They pushed two of the old floorboards loose and slid them over, exposing a wide space. Then both scrambled up into the greenhouse. They cloaked themselves again in their blankets, even though it felt a bit warmer here. But the air smelled stale. Sean led his sister over to the outside door of the greenhouse and signaled Wait. He spit several times on the hinges, which were a bit rusty from years of non-use. Finally, with care, they both quietly leaned in and managed to force the stuck door open just enough to squeeze through.
Outside, the snowing had subsided, but the temperature had continued to drop.
It had to be below freezing.
“Let’s get our bows,” Sean whispered, pointing at the storage shed in the center of the turnaround. Glancing back at the house and seeing no one watching out the glass of the front door, the twins made their way quickly to the shed. Their unstrung practice bows were hung on pegs inside the unlocked shed—neither was weighted or balanced like their more expensive competition bows left down in Carlsbad and up at their uncle’s place in Sacramento. There were five or six arrows in each of the two hanging quivers, but none with razor-sharp hunting tips; only thimble-like blunt metal practice tips. The practice arrows were better than nothing.
Sean said, “We need to get away, find a sheltered place to hide for three or four hours until dawn, when it will hopefully warm up. We won’t make it very far in the dark in this chilling cold, wading through deep snow. Especially if our Converses get wet.”
“Let’s hide out in the horse shed down on the old wagon trail,” Sinead suggested. “Then maybe we can get out to Highway 121 after the sun rises and hitch a ride.”
~
Down at the horse shed, the twins huddled under their two blankets, their feet remarkably dry but frozen numb, both teens much too cold to sleep, the two gunshots continuing to echo frightfully in their memories. They took off their shoes and rubbed some life into each other’s feet. Somehow they managed to weather the remaining few hours of night, shivering as much with fear as with the icy chill. They knew the killers would be coming for them soon.
8
The three cohorts found the basement empty shortly after shooting the twin’s parents. But, knowing the two youngsters couldn’t get far in the knee-deep snow during the freezing night, Little Anthony had suggested, “We’ll wait until dawn, then track the lil shits’ footprints in the snow. We’ll catch up to them wearing our snowshoes. Let’s get a few hours rest.”
~
As the sun rose over Mt. George, the three easily tracked the twin’s footprints down to where the youngsters had left the access road to wade through deep snow to reach the old wagon trail. It had stopped snowing sometime during the night, but was freezing cold.
The killers, who had abandoned their turbans and masks, paused on the wagon trail, Little Anthony pointing down at the old horse shed. “The lil shits are holed up down there. See where their fucking tracks are leading?”
They walked several hundred yards closer, until they were easily within shouting distance. Little Anthony signaled for the trio to stop. Then he yelled, “Come out, you two. We ain’t gonna hurt you if you give up. We just wanta ask you a few questions. Then you can go back up the mountain to the warm house, where we left your folks tied up. They’re really worried about you.”
9
The twins had heard the killers coming before the leader shouted out. Sean shook his head emphatically when the man said that they wouldn’t be hurt. “They won’t let us off this mountain alive, Sinead,” he whispered, his lips blue with the cold. “Our folks aren’t tied up at the house, they’re gone. And now we’ve seen the killers’ bare faces through the cracks in the shed wall, and know their first names.”
Sinead nodded, trying to stomp feeling into her still chilled feet. She was so tired.
10
The luminescent creature appeared again just beyond the blackberry bushes below the capped spring.
Repeat saw it first and shouted, “L-L-Look! It must be Tinkerbell!” Then he began to run awkwardly in his snowshoes toward the hovering translucent apparition.
Suddenly, he disappeared, falling into the capped-spring depression. He didn’t come up. The brothers ran to the edge of the hole and looked down.
“Jesus,” Jake said, careful not to fall in and join his friend, who was not moving, his head twisted slightly to the side, his forehead and face completely covered with blood. He looked up, but the iridescent creature had disappeared. “What the fook was that thing?”
“Who knows,” Little Anthony said, pulling his brother back. “Repeat is history, man. Leave his ass.”
They stepped back from the pit and glared down at the horse shed.
They both jacked rounds into the chambers of their automatics.
11
The frozen, frightened twins watched the accident play out through the wall cracks, the two killers standing still now at the edge of the capped spring, looking frozen, frightened twins watched the accident play out through the wall cracks, the two killers standing still now at the edge of the capped spring, looking mean-spirited and menacing.
Finally, Sean seemed to come to life. He strung his bow and, even with frozen hands, notched an arrow. “Dad said that his Grandpa Harry claimed we came from Gaelic warrior stock, Sinead. We can’t just wait here to be shot to death by these two ruthless assholes. It’s time for us to stand up and fight back!”
Jacked up on adrenaline, Sean stepped to the shed doorway and let an arrow fly. But he was too amped up, and his fingers too numb with cold. He missed, the arrow flying over the heads of the two killers. But they were surprised and ducked defensively, without getting off a return gunshot.
Sinead had been blowing her steamy breath on her fingers, and stepped into the doorway, a hard, brittle glint in her blue eyes. Unconcerned about being fully exposed, she took careful aim, and let fly an arrow.
It hit Jake in the upper thigh.
The big man howled and reacted instinctively, breaking the arrow off and saying, “I’m hit, Anthony, I’m hit!” He winced with pain and gasped, “The lil shits shot me with a fookin arrow!”
Little Anthony fired off a quick shot to make the dangerous archers duck back into the shed. Then he assessed the damage to his brother. “You’re bleedin, man … but it doan look too deep. Here’s my snot rag. Tie it tight round your leg. We need to get you off this mountain. Can ya walk?”
After pressing the handkerchief down hard for a few moments and then tying it against the broken-off arrow wound, Jake tried putting weight on his injured thigh. Painfully, he successfully shuffled forward a few steps and stopped. He gritted his teeth and mumbled, “Okay, it’s bleedin and hurts big time, ya unnerstan. But maybe we can make it to the truck.”
Little Anthony faced to the south, the old wagon trail covered with snow but visible in some windblown places. “Okay, the pickup isn’t too far off in that direction. C’mon, man.”
Jake limped along behind his brother, leaving a trail of crimson spots in the wake of his snowshoe prints.
12
Encouraged by the killers’ sudden departure, Sean said with a grim edge of enthusiasm in his voice, “Let’s follow them!”
“Yeah, after what they’ve done, we can’t let them get away,” Sinead said, her tone even more hard-edged than her brother’s.
The two freshly invigorated archers were only fifty or so yards behind the fleeing killers, although they couldn’t see them clearly because big snowflakes had begun to fall again, quickly covering up the men’s snowshoe prints. But the wounded one left a trail, visible just under the layer of new-fallen snow … tiny scarlet flowers.
~
The twins waded through the snow, tracking their prey.
13
The Arthur brothers stopped to catch their breath, Little Anthony wor
riedly glancing back. He saw the telltale red spots disappearing back into the snowfall. “I think those two kids are probably stalking us, Jake. They’re dangerous with those fucking bows.”
The wounded brother glanced down and frowned at the red drops visible even under the new snow, and nodded.
“Can you make it to the pickup by yourself?” Little Anthony asked. He pointed up into a nearby thick cluster of low-growth madrone trees. “I’ll hide up there and ambush their country asses.”
Jake nodded, and then with a pained look of resignation on his features, he shuffled off along the trail southerly … leaving larger, fresh bloody drops in his wake.
14
Even without snowshoes the twins were making good time, the new snowfall not too deep on this section of the windblown trail, which ran mostly along solid bedrock.
As they approached a section winding by a steep, forested slope ahead, they slowed and finally stopped. The luminescent apparition had appeared again, hovering over a nearby cluster of ghostly trees, just barely visible through the continuing snowfall.
Sinead said, “Our friend is signaling something to us, Sean.”
He nodded, searching the ground sloping up to the trees, and finally spotted several snowshoe tracks not completely covered yet. He whispered back, “One of the killers is hiding up there in that madrone clump.”
The strange hummingbird had delivered a third Christmas present to the twins.
“I’ll drop back completely out of sight, and then circle around behind him. In five minutes you make some noise down here, and draw his full attention.”
~
Sean came down slope behind the gunman, glancing toward the wagon trail, Sinead not visible through the heavy snowfall—
“Hey, Sean, catch up,” his sister shouted.
The killer stood, lifted his automatic out front like a short dowsing rod, and moved slowly downhill to get a better shooting view.
Sean blew steamy breath onto his cold fingers for a moment, notched, and then let fly an arrow, hitting the man high in the middle of his upper back.
“Ugh,” the killer grunted, but stayed upright, jerked around, and fired off a shot wildly.
Sean notched another arrow, aimed carefully, and shot the killer in the left side of his chest. A heart shot.
The man tumbled face down into the snow, just before Sinead appeared with a notched arrow ready in her bow. “You got him, Sean! Good!”
“Let’s get the other wounded one,” Sean said with fierce determination, leading his sister back down to the wagon trail, where they saw the bloodstains leading off south—
Boom.
The loud blast echoed around the startled teens.
Sean reached up to his left ear lobe, feeling as if he’d been stung by a wasp.
Looking back on the trail, about fifty feet away they saw the little man. He wasn’t dead, but his face was dark scarlet with dried blood. He’d fired off a shotgun round, most of the pellets flying harmlessly over the twins’ heads, but one stray had nicked the tip of Sean’s ear lobe. The killer jacked another shell into the chamber of his sawed-off shotgun and sighted at the pair—
Thunk.
The small man suddenly straightened up and shuddered violently, his eyes wide and shocked … the tip of a sharp hunting arrowhead was poking out of his throat.
Just visible a few feet back on the trail was Uncle Mike, notching another hunting arrow. But the little man had tumbled forward face-first into the snow. And he wasn’t moving.
Uncle Mike picked up the shotgun and hurried up to the twins. “I saw what happened to your folks up at the house. So sorry—”
He stopped as the words caught in his throat. He brushed at his eyes, sucked in a breath, and in a hoarser voice, said, “Then I tracked the snowshoe prints down to here.…” He paused to catch his breath. “You’re hit,” he added, finally noticing Sean’s left ear.
Sean nodded, wiping blood from his ear lobe and said, “Not bad.”
Sinead gently patted his wound with the tip of her blanket cloak. “I think it’s okay,” she said. “Let’s get the last one, Uncle Mike. He’s wounded and leaking blood big-time.” She pointed south along the wagon trail.
“You okay to follow, Sean?” Uncle Mike asked.
Sean grinned wryly and said, “My ear’s so numb from the cold, I can’t feel a thing. Let’s get him.”
~
The three tracked the trail of snowshoe footprints and covered red flowers.
Finally, they spotted a Dodge Ram pickup parked ahead with a driver.
Cautiously, the twins spread out beyond either side of the trail, all three moving forward, alert for any aggressive movements.
Nothing.
They moved a few steps closer.
The wounded big man was slumped forward over the steering wheel … alive, but out cold. He’d apparently fainted from the loss of blood.
They disarmed the unconscious killer, tied his wrists together with plastic cuffs that they’d found in the big man’s backpack.
The terrible Christmas nightmare had finally ended for the twins.
EPILOGUE
The translucent hummingbird appeared over a spot just north of the vacant horse shed. Then, it separated into hundreds of tiny dots, which hovered for a moment … then gently floated down to earth like luminescent greenish-blue snowflakes.
I SAW SANTA
Steve Rasnic Tem
Tommy was eight years old when he first saw Santa in the flesh. Not some bloodless department-store Santa, but the real Santa who came through the chimney and ate whatever you left out there for him to eat and left whatever gifts he felt like leaving you.
Tommy had a habit of getting up most nights and wandering through the house. He was a little clumsy and was always running into things, always afraid his parents would hear him and lose their minds. That was a funny expression but he knew it was true. He’d seen them do exactly that—get so mad their faces changed until he didn’t recognize them anymore and then they’d do things, stomp around and break his toys and hit him and stuff. Tommy was big for his age but he wasn’t very strong. He got hurt easily. But at least he didn’t complain about it. He kept his mouth shut when he got hurt.
Christmas Eve when Tommy was eight years old, he couldn’t sleep. He lay in bed for a couple of hours just staring at the ceiling and listening to the house. They had an old house that made a lot of noise: pops and cracks and little stepping sounds like mice or cockroaches moving across the kitchen floor, or maybe even little men—who could know for sure? When his mom and dad were asleep and it was quiet enough he heard those little steps almost every night.
He got up that Christmas Eve and walked down the hall. He was really careful when he crept past his mom and dad’s bedroom. He could hear them snoring—his mom sounding like she couldn’t breathe, like someone was putting a hand over her mouth and then taking it away over and over again—she gasped like she was dying—his dad snarling and snorting like he was furious. Sometimes his dad talked in his sleep, and although Tommy couldn’t understand the words he knew they were angry words.
His mom’s fat black cat Mimi passed him in the hall. Mimi was his mom’s cat because she was mean and scratched everybody else. His mom said it was because she was the only one who fed the damn thing and if some people would only do their share of the work then maybe that cat would like them too. Tommy tried to do his chores right but his mom said she might as well do them herself than let him screw things up again. Tommy didn’t think the cat would like him even if he did feed her every once in awhile.
Tommy made it all the way downstairs to the living room without waking them up. He was proud of himself. Some day he would be the very best in the whole world at sneaking around. He just had to keep practicing.
Tommy pulled out his little red flashlight and let it shine on the floor and at the living room furniture and finally at the Christmas tree in the corner, dark now with its lights out. Tommy thought the tree was
pretty special when they had the decorations on and everything all lit up. It didn’t look that special now, though, all skinny and dark. Some of the ornaments lay scattered on the floor—Mimi liked to pull them off. He turned his flashlight off and on real fast a few times hoping that would make the tree special again but it didn’t.
Tommy crept closer and shined his flashlight on the presents lying under the tree. There were new ones with his name on them, and they all said they were from Santa. But they were wrapped in the Christmas paper his mom had bought at the grocery store last week. He’d asked her about that before. She told him Santa might bring the presents, but she sure as hell had to wrap them.
Tommy could tell he didn’t get anything he’d wanted. None of the packages were shaped like a football or a basketball or any other kind of ball. That was all he’d asked for. He’d learned not to ask for much, so that there would be less disappointment when he didn’t get it. He picked up each wrapped package and shook it and was pretty sure they were all clothes. Well, he always needed clothes—he outgrew everything so fast. They were always telling him how much money he cost them. But he’d been hoping for something a little fun this year.
He heard a noise like a knock or a thump so he ducked behind the couch and put his ear against the floor. He figured he could hear someone coming from anywhere in the house that way. Then he heard steps across the floor, and then there was this thrumming inside his head like some kind of engine noise. He opened his eyes. It was Mimi, staring at him with her eyes wide. He waited for her to claw him but she didn’t. Maybe she was in one of her rare good moods. Tommy put his head back down and closed his eyes, and eventually he went to sleep.
He woke up again and it was still dark, still the middle of the night. His ears were ringing like when he had a head cold, like someone was holding him underwater. He crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the couch and looked around.
Christmas Horror Volume 2 Page 4