Winter Prey

by T. M. Simmons

  "They move like lightning, or so I understand. Few have ever survived a windigo attack. Those who have mention they sensed more than actually saw this thing. Felt the wind from its passage, if it didn't grab them right away. And descriptions of it — a tall beast with long, wooly hair like a primitive mammoth, but it walks upright. Red-rimmed eyes that glower with evil, razor teeth, a smell like death itself. There are only three accounts of what it looks like that I could find anywhere. They were all the same, and all from survivors who escaped while the person they were with was carried off. The attacks were swift, over nearly before the person left alive could understand what was happening."

  "And?" Kymbria prodded.

  "I think that thing lingered here. Wanted us to know it was here before it left."

  She frowned. "What makes you think that?"

  He drew his gaze away from the lake. "I think you know, Kymbria."

  She bit the inside of her cheek. The pain helped her focus as it cut through her mental confusion. Someone…some thing had been there.

  "We need to call Keoman," she whispered.

  "Probably," Caleb said. "Right now I'm going to get something out of my truck. Then go down on the lake."

  "No!" she insisted with a fierce shake of her head that tumbled her hair around her face. She brushed it back and said, "Not alone. You're not going down there alone. It might still be around."

  "Maybe," Caleb agreed. "But I carry my own protections. Evil can't harm me when I use them."

  "Evil," Kymbria murmured, then wished she could take back the word.

  Caleb backed away a step and studied her. Was he trying to determine if she was lying? Which she was, but only because she needed some time to come to grips with this herself. She had to get out of here. Trying to handle this new symptom — unexplainable as it was — was too much. Being a new mother, managing everything on her own since Rick's death, even with her mother's help, was overwhelming. She'd put her trust in Keoman, but his advice was to leave until he had time for her. She'd known Caleb McCoy less than twenty-four hours, and had no business even thinking of leaning on him.

  But damn, she wanted to. He seemed to be willing.

  Keoman had completely ignored the fact something had disrupted a spiritual ceremony geared specifically to her desperate need. Or at least, the Midé didn't care enough to try to ease Kymbria's concerns by discussing the failure, the reason behind it, with her. Caleb, on the other hand, appeared not only concerned about her, but also protective.

  Caleb laid a hand on her arm, and she realized she'd been gazing past him, lost in her thoughts. "I want you to promise me you'll stay here while I go out to my truck. Not try to slip down to the lake."

  "You've got to be out of your mind." She chuckled wryly. She was the one with the mental problems, not him. "I'm about as likely to want to face whatever this monster is as wish one of my flashbacks on myself."

  He gently touched her shoulder. "At some point, you may not have any choice."

  His words sank in and she gasped. "You mean that…that thing might try to control me? My mind?"

  "It's been known to happen…with some entities. Neither one of us knows enough about this beast to discount that."

  He knows. He knows I'm hearing that thing…if that's what I'm hearing.

  "Go get what you need out of the car. I'm not going anywhere. Now, or when you go down to the lake. I'm staying right here."

  "I'm leaving the door open for the few seconds it'll take me to get to the pickup and back."

  "Scarlet won't like that," she said with the small laugh she could muster. She walked over to the hearth, knelt and said, "Here, sweetie. Let's you and me get closer to the fire."

  Scarlet pulled her nose from beneath her tail. Before she obeyed, she lifted her head and stared at the front cabin windows. Caleb walked away, and Scarlet slunk over to Kymbria, belly crawling along the rug, until Kymbria reached out and pulled her close.

  Scarlet shuddered, but Kymbria didn't believe for an instant it was from the icy breeze that infiltrated the cabin through the open door. Right now, she wanted her old self back as much as her mother did. The self who enjoyed life, strode forward to meet it rather than shiver in fear at possibilities of dark thoughts. Not only thoughts, though. Visual images from the past intruded in her life, images as real as if she were experiencing the horrors all over again. Images that could engulf her without warning.

  God, she wanted out of here. She'd lost even more confidence in herself. Maybe she should call her mother and ask her to leave Risa with her brother Pete's wife, come up here and ride back to Duluth with her. If she disassociated on the drive back, a definite possibility with worsening PTSD, who knows where she and Scarlet would end up?

  She didn't have time to try to marshal her thoughts into firm decisions. The door closed and Caleb strode back into the room. In his hand, he carried a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun, and he now wore both a silver pentagram around his neck and a round pouch the size of a small orange pinned over his heart. The purple material of the pouch bulged, and the ends of a purple ribbon trailed down his chest.

  The look in Caleb's eyes reminded her of a medicine man preparing for a healing ceremony to fight whatever demon had sickened a tribal member. She'd seen eyes like that before, since the eyes were the only thing visible behind the sacred masks the healing men placed over their faces. They wore medicine bundles, also, but their weapons were large rattles with spiritual symbols on them, not shotguns.

  She tipped her head to indicate the gun. "That's loaded?"

  "Yes."

  "Silver shotgun shells?" she asked in a dry attempt at humor. "This isn't a vampire."

  He said with utmost seriousness, "One shell is filled with double-ought buck, the other a mixture of rock and sea salt, and they're both consecrated. Although I really don't think this thing is still around. It probably came and did whatever it had in mind, then went back to its hole."

  "You know for a fact that consecrated buckshot and salt will stop a windigo?"

  "No," he admitted. "I haven't found a damn thing in my research that works successfully against this monster. But it's all I've got."

  "These shells have worked before, though?"

  "Honestly? I've never had to use them. I've used my other protections in dicey situations, and they've never let me down. I stayed away from the sinister side of paranormal investigation until…until this year. But people I respect assure me that one or the other of these shells has worked for them when they were attacked by a demon or some other type of malevolent entity."

  Kymbria stroked Scarlet one final time and rose. "I hope the hell they were being honest with you. Maybe instead of Keoman, we should call Sheriff Hjak. Let him look into this."

  "And tell him what? That we heard a weird howl on the lake?"

  He was right. They couldn't waste Hjak's time with might-be's.

  Caleb reached in his coat pocket and held two shells out to her. "I was hoping maybe your dad had a shotgun in his arsenal."

  "He does," she said. "A double-barrel, although it's not sawed off." Understanding what Caleb had in mind, she retrieved the steel gun cabinet key from the drawer, opened the cabinet and removed the battered shotgun her dad used for bird hunting. Expertly, she broke the chamber open and loaded a shell in each barrel.

  Caleb indicated his approval with a nod, then pulled his sat-phone out of his other pocket. "What's your phone number? Both of them. I want to program them in here."

  "Why?" she asked, although she wasn't adverse to that. "You'll just be down on the lake, a hundred feet away."

  He only looked at her, a no-nonsense expression on his face. She recited her numbers for him, designating which was the cabin phone and which her sat-phone. Then he started for the front cabin door. "Is that the outside light switch there?"

  "Yes," she answered, and Caleb flipped the switch. The security lights illuminated the front of the cabin well, and the one down by the lakeshore gleamed a large ci
rcle in the snow covering the ice.

  When she started toward Caleb, he shook his head. "Stay back in the open, not by the door. Give yourself some room to fight, if you have to."

  Without waiting for her reaction, he opened the door, closed it behind him, then walked towards the steps leading down the bank. Kymbria moved to where she could see him cautiously traverse the snow-covered flagstone walkway between the shrubs her mother had planted. He gazed around him, taking in his surroundings rather than striking off hell-bent-for-leather commando style, ignoring any safety measures. Her estimation of him rose immensely. She'd seen Marines and Seals use their training in the same manner.

  Caleb was also placing his safety in the hands of his own protective elements, his firm belief in them. She shifted the shotgun to one arm and clasped her spirit bundle.

  When Caleb disappeared over the bank and down the steps, Kymbria waited only a few seconds before she disregarded his orders and started to walk closer to the front windows. He might not be able to shout for help, should he need it. Or get to his cell phone to call her. She needed to keep an eye on him. Do her part, if necessary.

  Before she reached the window, Caleb appeared racing up the steps. He tore down the path and hit the cabin door, threw it open, slammed it shut and leaned against it, gasping. A horror-stricken look filled his eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Kymbria's mouth dried and her senses numbed. She didn't want him to tell her what he'd found. She didn't want to know.

  "You can call Hjak now," Caleb finally gritted. "The bastard left us a present. We've got a body for the sheriff. Part of one, anyway."

  Kymbria collapsed in a chair. She gripped the shotgun so tightly a small splinter of wood from the nicked and scratched stock pierced her finger. Realizing what she was doing, she shoved the shotgun at Caleb. Instead of taking the gun from her, he knelt in front of her and cupped her chin in his free hand.

  "I'm sorry," he said, green eyes darkened to near emerald with concern. "I'm sorry as hell. I should have controlled myself better. Not fallen apart like that and told you what was down there. It's gone, though. The monster's gone."

  When she only stared at him, unable to speak, Caleb lowered his tone of voice to a soothe. "Kymbria. Honey, listen. There's no danger now."

  She cleared her throat. "What's…who's…?"

  He laid his shotgun down, took hers and put it beside it. Hands gently but firmly on her shoulders, he said, "I don't know, but you're safe. Do you need another drink? Something stronger than beer? You have to steel yourself, because…well, once I make that phone call, we'll have to talk to people."

  She swallowed and lifted her chin. "I'll handle it," she whispered. "And without a drink. But why? Why here? Why…me?"

  "I don't know," Caleb admitted. "Maybe it's not you. Maybe it's me. We'll get to the bottom of it. I promise you."

  She leaned into him and buried her face on his shoulder. Deep, wracking shudders trembled through her.

  Shit, shit, shit! It's not here because of Caleb. He's not the one hearing it. Why is this happening when I was just starting to gain control again? What's doing this to me? Where have all my strength and steadiness gone? Where's the person I used to be? How can I ever get her back? Can I?

  Although she knew in a corner of her mind they needed to call Hjak immediately, Caleb held her close, not rushing her. He cupped the back of her head, his palm stroking her hair, down her back in comfort. A moment later, Scarlet whined near her ear, then a warm tongue bathed her cheek.

  Disgusted and determined to end this frightened-rabbit business, she took a deep breath and pulled out of Caleb's embrace. Scarlet immediately thrust her head between them, whining in distress, and Kymbria pulled the dog close, burying her hands in the silky fur.

  "Go ahead and call Hjak," Kymbria told Caleb. "Do you have his number?"

  "It's in my phone," he assured her, though he didn't immediately reach for his sat-phone. "Are you going to be all right?"

  "I'm not sure how I'm going to be," she said frankly. "But call, Caleb. We can't put it off."

  He pulled out his phone and started to push a button. Then he obviously thought better of it, probably thinking the details of what he had to tell the sheriff might send her over the edge again.

  "Stay right here," he murmured as he rose, "with your dog."

  He couldn't move too far away in the cabin, but he walked into the kitchen. She could hear only a murmur, not his words.

  Like the voice on the edge of understanding. Fuck it. I'm not going to think about that right now. Someone's dead.

  Caleb's tone hoarsened right before he snapped the phone closed. Then he collapsed in one of the chairs beside the table.

  "My God," Kymbria whispered. "He's probably remembering what happened to his wife and son."

  She gently pushed Scarlet away and walked into the kitchen, where Caleb now had his phone on the table, his head buried in the crook of his arm.

  Caleb's gorge rose in his throat, despite his fight not to spew. The security light had illuminated the body — partial body — on the lake bank all too well. Had the fucking monster intentionally dropped the remnants of its latest prey where man-made light would glow on it to the best advantage?

  Right now, he cursed his research into this evil entity, his knowledge of how it fed. Cursed the fact that it had left the head in place on the desiccated skeleton. He shivered in loathing and revulsion as Mona and Skippy's faces superimposed in turn over the face of the man lying dead on the frozen lake. Skippy's face appeared first, blond hair curling and silky, blue eyes shining with love whenever he scampered toward his daddy's outstretched arms. Mona's face during those happy years, the years before the discord started, blue eyes darkened with the passion they once shared. Then…the thing on the lake that had once been a man, now only a bare skeleton with a skull and mop of black, straggly hair.

  Was that what his wife and son looked like after the Colorado monster finished with them? His vision of their faces morphed into looks of horror so deep it filled Caleb with a sickening dread. Had they faced death conscious?

  A hand stroked his shoulder, and Caleb surged from the chair. It clattered to the floor as he held his palms out to ward off the intrusion into his despair. He'd kill that damn thing if it touched him again….

  Even when he recognized Kymbria, the concern on her face, he couldn't bring himself to speak.

  "Touch your protections, Caleb," she insisted.

  He shook his head. Her words didn't make sense. He couldn't interpret them though the roiling senses, the guilt that sapped his energy and overrode his reason.

  She started towards him, and he snarled, "Stay back. I…just stay back!"

  "Touch your protections," she repeated. "Please, Caleb. It will help."

  He frowned, and this time when she cautiously approached him, he didn't move back. Couldn't really, since he stood against the door. She gently reached out, took his hand, and guided it to the purple bundle of protections pinned over his heart.

  He sighed as that terrible images in his mind receded. When Kymbria opened the clenched fist on his other hand and laid his palm over the silver cross, he huffed a deep exhale of relief. Reality returned in full force, replacing the mixed images of here and then. He was grounded in a cozy cabin kitchen, not a deep cavern where bones crunched under his feet and stalagmites pierced butchered bodies. Where terror and despair lingered in the air long after the souls had left the body. Where, hopefully, the spirits had finally escaped the torture.

  Some linger, though. Some are too confused and horrified to welcome the light.

  He'd never found the inner lair — the storeroom — yet somehow he could visualize it, the contents. Damn the research!

  "Sit, Caleb," Kymbria said, urging him back to the table.

  He righted the chair and complied. She left him and opened the refrigerator door, and he remembered her own near collapse a moment ago.

  "Are you O.K.?" he asked. "Hjak's on his
way."

  "About as O.K. as you. I'm going to make us some hot chocolate."

  Her words threw him for a second. Hot chocolate? What the hell? Then a chuckle burst from his throat. No, more of a giggle, a sound that a woman would make. Before he could snatch control, an eruption of laughter mixed with hysteria shook his body.

  Kymbria hurried back to him. "Touch your protections!"

  Realizing he'd dropped his hands — no, not dropped them, but instead, released his hold on the bundle and silver cross to cover his eyes — Caleb scrabbled against his chest until the two items filled his hands again. It took a few seconds longer this time, took him also willing himself to believe and dredge up his faith, but finally a measure of calm descended.

  He stared up at Kymbria's worried face. "I can't sit here with my hands on my protective elements the rest of my life. And how the hell will hot chocolate help?"

  "Mom always fixed me hot milk after a bad dream," she said. "But as an adult, I prefer chocolate in my milk. It can't hurt."

  "Oh, it can hurt, Kymbria," he refuted. "Skippy and I used to enjoy that after we'd stomped around in the snow or skied."

  She sat in the chair beside him, yet didn't try to touch him again.

  "You know something, Caleb? Sometimes, if you don't fight the memories, they're easier to handle. Even the good ones."

  "The good ones hurt the most."

  "Yeah, I know."

  She stood and returned to the refrigerator. While she prepared the hot chocolate, Caleb forced himself to deny the visages of his wife and son and deliberately examine his memory of the sight on the lake, the vision frozen in his mind in the few seconds before he'd been able to wrench his gaze away. No matter how disturbing, any information he could gain about this beast would be additional clues on how to destroy it.

  With an effort, he steeled himself and eased his hands away from his chest. As hard as it was, he didn't want the consecrations to interfere with what he remembered. Nothing new visualized, only the skeleton, remnants of ligaments shaping it into what had been a man before the windigo fed. Why had it left the head intact?