Heart of Ice (Deadman Series Book 6)

by Linell Jeppsen

  It placed Chance’s semi-conscious body against the far wall and turned around to look down at the trio of men who followed. What do they want? Why don’t they leave me and my prize alone? It glared down into the valley, its bright red eyes trained on the leader of the posse.

  As it studied the man’s features, the human consciousness trapped inside its mind suddenly made the connection. Its keen eyesight saw the high chiseled cheekbones, the bright green eyes and dark, sweeping brows; they were the same as the young man who lay unconscious in this cave. The man who followed had to be this one’s father or older brother.

  Snarling, Lenny plucked the boy up in his arms again. This one is mine! he thought savagely, possessively. I will not give him up!

  It did not occur to the beast that the entity inside its own soul was culling its human victims. Sorting them as memory served: this one was good to me once, this one was cruel. Many of the men who hung from his shrine were long dead and forgotten look-a-likes; the unfortunates involved guilty only of resembling people in Lenny’s former life.

  One of the victims, an extremely tall Swedish farmer, was brought down by the other Wendigo but a long-buried memory surfaced in Lenny’s mind…that of another extraordinarily tall man in his former life and one whose kindness was unsurpassed.

  The monsters had fought for two days over the poor farmer’s body but, in the end, Lenny had prevailed and placed the man’s broken body high in the tree’s branches. Then it cavorted and danced around the tree’s trunk in solemn worship as its fellow growled and hissed in fury.

  Another prize in the memory tree was the dead body of a little girl; Lenny himself had killed the child although he hadn’t meant to. He knew that this girl was not the young, female dwarf he had once fallen in love with but her small compact body, wide brown eyes, and soft brown hair had stirred his memories like a spoon in a tasty soup of hope and desire.

  Once again, he was forced to fight his companion as the other Wendigo was furiously indignant at being denied the tender flesh of one so young and sweet with life. But Lenny, the younger and stronger of the two monsters, had won that battle and danced its macabre waltz beneath the tree for days after.

  The young man lying in his cave now had stirred his senses once before just a few days ago. It would have been easy to kill him then; he was all alone and completely helpless against the Wendigos. Yet Lenny’s memories sprang to life at the sight of his red hair and green eyes.

  A young newspaper vendor, a boy who looked very much like the man in his cave now, had once treated him with friendliness…something so rare, so unexpected in those days that the dwarf had never forgotten. So, for now, Lenny wanted to keep his victim alive and safe. The beast’s practical mind knew it would be impossible to keep this human as a pet but the emotion raging inside its soul begged for the human’s salvation, both from the other Wendigo and the trio of men who tracked them.

  Glancing down at the human beings making their way up the scree and broken rock of the deer path leading up the high hill and the cave he sat in, Lenny watched as the man in the lead—the one who resembled his victim—pulled a long shiny stick from the side of his saddle and aimed it in his direction.

  The beast cringed but the entity inside of its soul smirked. There is no way the bullets inside that man’s gun can reach this far, it thought. Still, the rifle’s loud retort echoed through the hills and to Lenny’s shock and dismay a large caliber, silver-coated bullet pinged off the stone in front of the cave.

  Ducking, the monster gazed down at the three men who were now hidden out of sight behind a copse of willow and aspen trees. It searched the area and saw the still-smoking bullet lying behind a pile of rocks to the left of the cave’s entrance; it bent low and moved in a crouch to retrieve the offensive item.

  Reaching down, it picked up the bullet then let go with a shriek of pain. Staring at the blisters bubbling up on its slimy fingers, the monster roared in frustration. “SIIIIIIIIERRRRR!” it screeched.

  The other Wendigo stepped into sight about fifty feet away. It was stooped over in agony and parts of its body seemed to be sloughing off like a snake’s skin. It was too weak to roar but it nodded slowly and said, “Cooooooom, Nowwwwww!”

  Lenny glared at its friend, rival, enemy, maker, and helpmate for a second or two, then ducked inside the cave and picked Chance Wilcox up in his arms. The young man, who had just started to regain consciousness, jolted awake and tried to fight but the monster slapped his face in rage.

  Chance swooned against the pain and darkness clouded his vision. Right before the monster clobbered him again, he thought he had heard a rifle shot. Maybe his father was coming for him? But before he could call out or fight for his life, he was rendered as helpless as a child with his nose broken, both eyes swelling shut, and blood filling his mouth from two shattered molars in back of his jaw.

  The monster once known as Lenny the Spoon clutched the young man’s body to its chest and followed the other Wendigo up another little-used path and further into the trees of the North Idaho woods.

  *

  Roy dropped his spyglass and said, “Chance is alive!”

  “Let me see!” Matthew demanded.

  The sheriff handed over his telescope and watched his friend as he panned the glass over the hillside. “Where did they go? Roy, did you see which way they’re headed?”

  Roy nodded, “Yes, to the left of that cave and further up the hill. They’re moving fast though… we better get a move on!”

  Dicky took the lead this time, having moved ahead and out of the way of Matthew’s shot. His small horse was as sure-footed as a goat on the slippery slope although the other two animals snorted and heaved in near panic.

  Looking up at the dark lavender sky, Matthew knew that if he hoped to find his son in one piece they needed to hurry. It was closing in on darkness now, the sun having set twenty minutes ago behind the high lip of the valley below.

  The three men gained higher, flatter ground and their horses settled into a quick trot. The silvery ash that served as the beast’s blood was widely scattered now and Roy nodded in approval.

  “Don’t know how much blood those critters can lose before they die but it looks like the one we shot is about done for.” Turning to face Matthew, he added, “That was a fine piece of shooting back there.”

  Matthew shrugged. “I missed, though, didn’t I?”

  Roy replied, “Remember, the silver bullets move slower than lead. I think you would have killed that monster if you were just a bit closer.”

  “Can’t wait to find out,” Matthew said and pulled up on his reins.

  He had just seen a flash of red in the near distance. For some reason, the beasts had stopped and seemed to be a mere fifty or sixty yards ahead of them.

  Matthew gestured silently and the other two men crowded close. Keeping his voice to a whisper, he said, “Looks like we’re going to get our chance now, boys. I think we should split up and surround them… do you agree?”

  Roy and Dicky nodded, and Matthew said, “God be with you both. Now… as quiet as mice, let’s go get my son!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lenny

  The three men slid off their horses, pulled every firearm they carried from their saddles and gear kits, then checked their ammunition. Their hearts pounded fiercely but steadily… they were old hands at this kind of work. Over and over again, the lawmen had been forced into stopping desperados of every ilk; in their minds, these two supernatural monsters were no different than any other outlaw. The beasts held their boy captive and they would stop at nothing to get him back.

  At Matthew’s silent prompting, they split up and walked as quietly as possible toward the pool of red light painting the small clearing ahead. They spotted one of the monsters dancing about the area howling, hissing, and holding Matthew’s son high in the air. They quailed at the sight and acknowledged the beast’s strength as Chance was a big man at 6’3” and over 200 pounds in weight.

  Alt
hough the posse had no way of knowing, each of them shared the same thought: it looked as though the red-eyed demon was offering Chance up to God in heaven or preparing, after some inexplicable ceremony, to sacrifice his body as tribute. Matthew swallowed in dread and ran as swiftly as possible over the forest floor to see if he could fill the monster’s body full of silver before that happened.

  For a middle-aged man, Matthew moved as fleet and silent as a deer and had just come up to where the forest’s shadows intersected the lurid red light cast by the Wendigo’s eyes when something as hard as iron hit him across the face. He fell over, gasping in pain, and tried to gather his scattered wits as blood ran in sheets down his face and neck.

  The other monster which had been lurking in the shadows had dealt the blow. A six-inch gash ran from the top of Matthew’s right ear to just above the bridge of his nose. Worse, the cut was deep and his skull throbbed with concussion. Swallowing the pain, he tried to get up on his knees to face the threat but the monster kicked him in the chest so hard his body flew into the air and rolled backwards.

  Stunned, Matthew gazed up at the first stars of twilight swimming in the heavens above him. A frustrated frown creased his forehead as he realized that, not only was his head split wide open, but now he might have a broken collarbone and possibly a number of broken ribs.

  The Wendigo bent over him, its eyes boring red holes into Matthew’s soul. Then it placed one huge slimy paw on his chest and its mouth moved into a rictus grin of triumph. At once, Matthew felt his chest turn to ice—the cold so deep, so intense his gasp of agony froze in his throat. As the monster drew close, it breathed deeply and started to suck at the air escaping Matthew’s mouth.

  At the same time, Matthew’s feet grew warm and then as hot as the flames of hell. Screaming, Matthew shook his head in sorrow and shame. Chance, I’m so sorry I can’t help you! he thought frantically. I love you, son…

  All of a sudden, the monster jerked and howled in agony. Dicky McNulty had snuck up behind them and his diminutive feet were planted wide as he held his pistol in a two-handed grip. Even as Matthew opened his eyes against the pain of his own death, he heard one silver bullet after another enter the beast’s head, neck and shoulders.

  The creature snarled and roared in fearsome fury but there was no escaping the deputy’s bullets for, as soon as his right-hand pistol was empty, Dicky pulled another gun from his left holster and started shooting again. Six more shots entered the beast’s body and, finally, its roars turned into whimpers and it staggered away into the shadows.

  The red in its eyes faded and, as Matthew and Dicky watched, the lantern orbs turned green, faded again, then closed. The monster fell to the ground and the men saw its body twitch twice and then turn to ash. Within seconds, the only thing left of the Wendigo was a pungent, slightly greasy pile of silvery sludge.

  Matthew lay his head back on the ground for a moment and tried to muster the energy to rise and fight for his son but heavy, insistent shadows licked at his eyes and his heart. Before he could do anything, he passed out from the shock of his injuries.

  Hearing an insistent snarling, Dicky glanced over his shoulder and saw his boss Roy Smithers engaging the other monster. The beast was clutching Chance’s unconscious body to its chest and the sheriff could not get in a killing shot so he was plugging away at the beast’s lower legs and feet.

  The Wendigo hopped from one foot to another, screaming some sort of gibberish and occasionally using Chance’s still body as a shield. Dicky stared down at Matthew, knew there was nothing he could do right now, and circled around in the dark to intercept the beast from its blind side.

  Within moments, two pistols were barking and coughing in the dark as the monster howled in rage. At one point, knowing it could not adequately defend itself with the human in its hands, the beast threw Chance down on the ground and turned to face the tiny man who had snuck up from behind.

  Lunging, the monster came within inches of plucking the man into the air and pulling him to pieces but Roy finally had clear sight of the thing’s broad back and, holstering his pistol, lifted his silver-shot filled shotgun to his shoulders.

  “Get down, Dicky!” the old man yelled and started pulling the trigger.

  The retort was stunningly loud and, for a moment or two, the men’s ears rang and their vision was obscured with smoke, dust and powder. Then the smoke dissipated and they saw the Wendigo, still upright but swaying back and forth on its feet.

  Roy’s shotgun had blown a large portion of its shoulder and right arm into shredded bits; half of its horrid head and face were gone. Yet its hellish eyes glowed red and it made its halting way toward Chance’s unconscious body.

  “Goddammit!” Roy muttered and fumbled for his second pistol.

  Aghast at its strength and seeming invulnerability, Dicky ran a few feet away and picked up the rifle he had stashed behind one of the tall pine trees ringing the glade when he had first arrived.

  Running back, he pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and prepared to shoot again but stopped and stared as he saw the beast fall to its knees and bend over Chance’s body, crooning softly and stroking his cheek.

  It was impossible to determine exactly what the monster was saying but both Roy and Dicky thought they heard the beast whisper, “Thank you, young man. TTT—Thank you…” Then it convulsed and fell over with a resounding crash.

  The men stared as the beast lay dying and gasped as bits and pieces of its flesh melted away like candle wax. Matthew had woken up a few minutes earlier and, after much effort, had managed to rise to his feet and walk into the clearing.

  He joined his friends and gazed down upon the beast in consternation as the Wendigo disappeared and another very small human shape took its place. As more and more of the monster’s body melted away, Chance woke up; both of his eyes were ringed with bruises and his jaw was swollen to twice its normal size.

  Climbing to his feet, he came to stand by his father and friends and watched as the dwarf stared up at the stars wheeling overhead. He was an ugly, scarred little man covered in blood and slime. But when he smiled up at the sky, all three men saw the beauty and the majesty in the dwarf’s expression.

  Matthew felt his knees grow weak and he was not sure if it was from his injuries or the awe that rocked his very soul. Chance knelt by his side and tears leaked from his swollen eyes. “Oh, Pa… what is it? How?” he choked.

  Matthew shook his head in both pity and shock. “I don’t know, son. I don’t feel like I know much of anything right now.”

  Lenny “The Spoon” Turnbull swiveled his head and smiled at the men looking down at him. His body was riddled with bullet holes and tiny red-tinged bubbles ringed his lips but his eyes were clear and the joy in them was unmistakable.

  He gazed at Chance for a moment and whispered, “Did I hurt you, boy? If so, please forgive me. You were so kind to me once…” He coughed and fresh, red blood coated his chin.

  Peering up at Matthew, Lenny asked, “Are you this one’s pa?”

  Matthew nodded silently and the dwarf grinned. “You raised a fine boy.”

  Lenny studied the other two men for a second and it looked as if he wanted to speak to them as well but then his eyes wandered back up to the stars and he smiled again.

  “Finally…” He shuddered. “Finally, I can go back home.” The man’s small fingers dug into the bark and loamy dirt as he murmured, “Martha! Martha, I’m coming home!”

  With one final gasp, the dwarf known as Leonard Turnbull died.

  Epilogue

  So now I think you will understand why this document will never see the light of day.

  There are a number of reasons no sane man would want this file made public. For one, we buried the dwarf in an unmarked grave, deep in the wildling woods of North Idaho. This particular deed would be viewed as not only un-Christian but suspicious and, possibly, unlawful by the “powers that be.”

  Another thing that gives us pause: Although my wife Annie has numer
ous resources and journalistic tricks up her sleeve, she has never been able to truly establish the dwarf’s identity. The closest she has ever come was the mention of a certain Leonard Turnbull—Actor Extraordinaire—who played the part of Quasimodo in the Bantam Brother’s Circus rendition of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” in the years 1844-6.

  The one photograph available is washed out and faded. The dwarf on that particular stage could have been anyone but for a familiar cast to the young man’s beautiful smile and long wavy hair.

  Unfortunately, that one clue began and ended the search as no other mention was ever made of either the dwarfish actor or the circus in question…except for the fact that one of the Bantam Brother’s Circus owners—along with the leading lady in The Hunchback of Notre Dame—were tried and found guilty of murder and eventually hanged in Kansas City, Missouri in the year 1848.

  As for me and Chance…we have recovered from our injuries—more or less—thanks to Roy Smithers, his posse, and the timely arrival of Private Trevance and his troops.

  I have no way of knowing how long I was gone searching for my kidnapped son but Private Trevance and Jacob, after seeing no sign of the monsters for hours, wasted no time in getting themselves and the rest of the family out of the cave, up the hill and away to safety on the wagon back to Wallace.

  Once the Lindsay’s were ensconced in a suite of rooms in town, the private traveled quickly to the Army garrison and begged help in chasing down a band of highwaymen who were terrorizing his vicinity. A fabrication, to be sure, but the good private was well aware that if he had spoken the truth, he might have found himself trussed up in a padded room in the closest lunatic asylum.

  Instead, he followed our trail and led the troops up into the high woods where they helped patch our injuries and get us back to town. They made no remark on the small burial mound with its rough cross that sat at the edge of the clearing, or the strange and horrifying tree that was decorated with the bodies of many of the area’s missing persons.