Mountain Dead

by Jason Sizemore

  Let me take you back.

  Let Me Come In

  Lesley Conner

  Lesley Conner grew up along the Ohio River in Ravenswood, WV. In 2004, she graduated from WVU with a BA in English. Today, she lives near Hagerstown, MD with her husband and two daughters, where she's a Daisy Girl Scout Leader, horror writer, and editor for Apex Publications. She's currently working on an alternative history horror novel titled The Weight of Chains. To find out more about Lesley and her writing, check out www.lesleyconner.com, or follow her on Twitter at @LesleyConner.

  Bacon.

  He smelled them. Savory. Plump. Fat with oh so much melt-in-your-mouth blubber. He licked his lips, anticipating the rich grease that would soon be dripping from his jaws.

  The wolf had stalked the three pigs from their mother’s house a few weeks before and watched as they each set up a little home, a sweet home deep in a hollow in the mountains of West Virginia. As walls were raised, the anticipation of the hunt grew. The last few days the urge to jump in, jaws snapping, had almost been too much to resist but he’d held back. It wasn’t fun if it was too easy. Now the houses were complete, the pigs were relaxed, and it was time to sweep in and collect his prize. The first two houses were going to be easy to breach. Straw and twigs! What had they been thinking? But the third - the third pig wasn’t stupid. She’d used red brick and concrete. Even the windows were some type of reinforced glass. Getting piggy number three would be more difficult.

  That was okay. The wolf loved a challenge. It made the meat sweeter.

  He trekked through the forest, an experienced and dangerous hunter, never rustling a leaf or cracking a single branch that might alert his prey. Soon he came upon the first house. It was right on the other side of the tree line, crisp and clean and waiting for him to burst through its flimsy straw walls. He’d eat this one quickly to satisfy his primal hunger. The second he would eat slowly, keeping the pig alive for as long as possible, keeping the meat fresh and warm.

  Crack!

  A nervous squeal slipped from the house at the sound of a snapping limb somewhere deeper in the forest. The wolf’s chest tightened. This was his territory. His hunting ground. If someone else fucked up his kill, then that someone would die.

  He swung his snout back toward the shadows of the forest, drawing in a deep breath. Rotted flesh. Putrefaction. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Scavengers? Probably a stupid coyote dragging road kill back to their nest, and not concerned with pigs or houses. As long as they steered clear, he’d let them pass, but…

  Crack! Crack!

  He heard a chair clatter to the floor within the house and could imagine the pig pacing nervously, occasionally pressing its pink little pig nose to the straw as it tried to determine what was outside.

  The wolf turned, annoyed. Who was stupid enough to be dragging a rotting corpse while charging through the forest with no thought of stealth or surprise? His fur bristled, rage coiling in his legs, bunching the muscles in preparation for a fight. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and the pig squealed with fright. This pleased the wolf. His meal wasn’t going anywhere. It’d still be right there, too scared to leave, while he dealt with the noisy intruder.

  A moment later a buck burst through the trees. Splotchy fur revealed patches of greying skin and open wounds that didn’t bleed. One antler had been broken off, leaving a short dagger of bone in its place. The other was strung with leaves and debris hanging like tinsel.

  Confusion pressed at the wolf’s resolve to defend his hunt. He knew this deer. Or, more appropriately, had known him. He’d been dinner more than a week ago, a mercy killing, the wolf taking him down before the broken antler could hurt the buck’s pride. He smiled as he remembered the fear and panic reflecting in the deer’s eyes as he took a chunk from his neck, hot blood spraying down his throat. He’d gulped down a few mouthfuls of meat before leaving the carcass to rot. He hadn’t been that hungry and the deer had been tough with age.

  Yet, here it was standing before him, staggering slightly but upright. The wolf didn’t understand how this could be. He’d felt the pulse slow and then stop beneath his tongue as he’d lapped at the killing wound. Tentatively, he sniffed the air, and was punched in the gut by the odor of death. His stomach rebelled, making him retch. The deer turned toward the sound, flaring his nostrils, as if scenting for his killer. The one remaining eye rolled in its socket, unable to focus. Flat herbivore teeth snapped together as the deer charged blindly toward him.

  A growl rumbled in the wolf’s chest. He wasn’t sure how he could be facing the buck again, but he had no doubt he’d kill him just as easily as he had the first time. Widening his stance, he watched the deer plunge toward him, antler and bone dagger lowered to gouge him. The wolf twisted away from the broken antler as he snapped his teeth around the deer’s neck. Rancid meat separated from bone, falling limply into the wolf’s mouth, but the deer didn’t flinch, didn’t react with pain. He didn’t react at all to the wolf taking a bite out of him. Instead, he came to a lurching halt and swung his head back in the direction of the wolf, starting his charge again.

  The wolf gagged, letting the hunk of wormy meat splash onto the forest floor in a spray of vomit. He’d never tasted anything so vile, so utterly stomach churning. Fear washed over him as he watched the deer come closer. The vertebrae in his neck gleamed white against the black rot of the meat around it.

  Fear turned to terror when the forest around the buck came to life with movement, limbs bending, brush rustling. As the wolf twisted around to run, the forest exploded with a parade of dead animals.

  * * *

  Louie backed away from the straw wall of his house. It sounded as if the forest had erupted outside of his home, the sound of breaking sticks, crashes, and growls creeping through the crevices. Why had he built his house out of straw? His sister, Penny, had told him it was ludicrous, but it’d been quick and cheap, and he hadn’t wanted to spend ages building something just to keep the rain off his head.

  Something heavy thudded against the door.

  "Little pig, little pig, let me come in." The wolf sounded frantic, enraged by hunger.

  Louie’s heart galloped as he pranced in the center of the floor. Air squeaked past his throat, whispering "No."

  Straw and dirt rained from the ceiling, stinging his eyes as the wolf pounded at the door.

  "Little pig, little pig, let me come in!"

  Louie heard the wolf huffing and puffing, and both walls and pig trembled, but he managed to say "No."

  A roar of frustration answered him. As the walls tumbled down, Louie caught one look of the wolf—eyes bulging, claws and teeth destroying everything in their path—before he turned and ran straight for his brother’s house.

  * * *

  The wolf gasped as straw drifted down around him, floating in a gentle breeze as it twirled to the ground. He saw the pig running across the hollow. He knew where he was headed, knew he should follow, but for the moment he stood still, shocked he’d destroyed the home, ripped apart the only walls between him and the nightmare still pouring out of the forest. He’d only meant to knock, to get inside, not to destroy it, but in his haste it’d all come tumbling down.

  He looked back, grimacing at the sight. Had every animal he’d ever killed—for food, out of anger, or simply for the hell of it—suddenly dug themselves from their graves among the leaves on the forest floor, determined to make him as dead as they were? Some loped along with slow, jerky movements. Others pulled themselves on gnawed limbs, intestines dragging behind them. Grunts and groans measured their effort, but none of them looked as though they would stop anytime soon. If he wanted to stay alive, the wolf had to run.

  * * *

  Louie slammed the door to his brother’s house, clicking the deadbolt and struggling for breath. He’d never ran his overweight porcine butt so far, so fast in his life, and his short legs wobbled, threatening to turn to mush and leave him a puddle on the floor. Danny sat on a chair in the
corner of the room, feet propped on a milk crate, a book resting on his plump stomach. His gaze was on Louie.

  "Hi." He smiled, but Louie could tell it was strained. "I didn’t know you were planning on visiting today."

  Louie stumbled into the room, flopping into another chair.

  "Sorry." His heartbeat slowed and his breathing started to return to normal. "I didn’t plan on coming over, but the wolf attacked me. Blew my house right over."

  Danny’s eyes widened.

  "What? But how? How can anyone, even a big, bad wolf, blow apart a house?"

  Louie shook his head.

  "Penny was right. I should’ve taken more time, made sure it was solid. Straw isn’t the best choice for home construction."

  "Well, I could’ve told you that." Danny chuckled, patting the twig wall at his side. "That’s why I chose something sturdier. Something to really put down roots with."

  Louie narrowed his eyes, ready to question his brother’s thinking when the walls began to tremble with the force of someone pounding on the door. His heart started racing again. The wolf had followed him.

  "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in."

  "Not by the hair on our chinny, chin, chin," Danny croaked.

  Louie stared at him. "Really?"

  Danny shrugged.

  "Little pigs, little pigs, LET ME IN!" The wolf roared the last part, his jagged breath huffing and puffing, shaking the twig walls, threatening to topple them just as easily as he’d toppled Louie’s house.

  Neither Louie nor Danny could manage a "no." Their fear choked them, blocking out reason, blocking out everything except the growling, the clank of snapping teeth, and the pounding of hundreds of feet closing in on the doorstep until they were nothing but fear.

  The wolf had a pack.

  * * *

  The wolf felt his claws sinking into the soft wood of the twig house, but he didn’t care. They were here. The undead. An army of past meals pressed its way toward him, ready to devour him in his turn. He had to find shelter. He had to get in the house, any way he could.

  His claws were a frantic blur, burrowing a hole in the wall. His huffing breath almost blocked out the sounds of the dead behind him. Almost.

  Then his paw was through. He could feel the secure place behind the walls, but just as a smile of relief spread across his face everything came tumbling down. Twigs fell, clattering to the wooden floor. Two pigs stood in the middle of the room, clutching each other, squealing, their snouts twitching as rotten stench filled the space where safety had been. Their eyes were huge, frightened. They didn’t run. Fear immobilized them.

  "Run," the wolf said.

  His roar broke the spell, and they both bolted, heading in the direction of their sister’s house. The house of bricks. That was sanctuary. That was where he needed to go.

  The wolf snapped at the pigs’ heels, urging them to run faster. He’d been stalking the pigs for weeks and knew there was no way the sister pig would let him into her house without her brothers.

  After a half mile or so, they’d put some space between themselves and the undead. The pigs were oinking, struggling for each breath and he knew he’d pushed them too hard. Their panic of being with a wolf was blinding them to their common enemy. He backed off a little, trotting behind them to make sure neither of them collapsed but staying far enough back that they might be able to regain some of their senses.

  When he saw their sister’s house, he shook his head in awe. Even though he’d seen it before, the sheer brilliance of the set up never ceased to amaze him. The Cheat River ran swiftly along one side, providing water for the fields in the front. She’d plowed them since the last time he’d scoped it out, turning the dark, rich earth over in preparation of planting. The brick house backed up to large natural rock wall embedded in the mountainside that would block the cold winds of winter and provide shade during the hottest days of summer. It also meant a predator couldn’t sneak up on her from behind. Between the river and the wall, only two sides were accessible and it’d be easy to keep an eye on those. Sister pig was smart, that was for sure, and her home would be his safe haven.

  Smoke curled from the chimney, warm and inviting. Safety in sight, the pig brothers ran faster.

  "Penny. Penny, open up. We need you," they cried. She opened the door, her eyes widening at the sight of her brothers running from a wolf, all three heading straight for her door.

  One pig inside.

  Two pigs inside.

  The wolf leapt through the air.

  He was here.

  He was safe.

  She slammed the door in his face.

  His snout crumpled as he slammed into the solid oak. A yelp of pain echoed off the rock wall and tears filled his eyes.

  "No. No, this can’t be happening. You have to let me in." It was only a whisper, but the whine in his voice sent a shiver of anger through his body. Who did this pig think she was, locking him out when he’d been the one to spare her worthless brothers?

  "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in." He didn’t hide the growl in his voice. Didn’t even attempt to. She wouldn’t get him to beg. He could hear them through the walls, scurrying around like rodents, the brothers filling the sister in on the events of the past hour. Rage flashed through him. He didn’t wait for a reply before saying it again, his gaze roving the house’s walls, looking for another way in. "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in."

  The undead had caught up with him. If their clamor hadn’t announced them, their smell would have, but the wolf pushed the thought aside. He was on a hunt. A piggy was going to die, no, make that three little piggies, and he didn’t care what else arrived because he was going to kill the bitch first and eat her in front of her brothers.

  There. The stack of firewood. He could jump from it to get to the roof. To get to the chimney. He scrambled to the top of the wood pile, coiled his muscle and leapt, catching his huge claws on the edge of the roof, scrambling to boost himself up. Just as he pulled his massive form over the lip of the roof, teeth sunk into his haunches.

  The wolf glanced back. A bunny clung to him, teeth buried deep in his muscle, back feet bucking wildly, flaying the skin of his leg. A searing pain spiraled through his body from the wound. He jerked his leg, knocking the rabbit free, its teeth tearing a chunk of flesh from him, and sending it plummeting into the mass of undead animals surrounding the house beneath him. When he tried to stand a wave of nausea knocked him on his face.

  The chimney was right there. He had to get to it. Had to show that bitch she couldn’t keep him out. He would get in.

  As he tried to stand again, everything went black.

  * * *

  Penny looked over her brothers, searching for scratches, blood, anything indicating the wolf had hurt them. If he had, she’d kill that mean, old bastard.

  "What happened? Quick, someone, tell me what’s going on." Louie jumped at her clipped words. Danny stood perfectly still, his eye glazed, not reacting at all.

  "The wolf…and then…my house…oh, god."

  "The wolf attacked you? That’s what has you so ruffled? You’re safe, Louie. Chill."

  Danny grabbed her arm, his face pale and slathered in sweat.

  "Not the wolf. What’s after him."

  Something clattered at the edge of the house. Penny stared at the roofline in the corner, listening to the clamoring and scrape of claws. The wolf screamed in pain and desperation above them. It was quiet for a moment before stalking, staggering steps thunked-thunked all the way to the chimney.

  Penny smiled at her trembling brothers as she pointed to the blazing fire.

  "See, not even the wolf is dumb enough to try and come down that way. He’d be cooked alive before he could reach the bottom."

  Just as the words left her mouth, the wolf tumbled down the chimney. Sparks, ash and burning chunks of wood filled the air, sizzling against pink skin and catching the curtains over the sink on fire. Slowly, the wolf stood up, seemingly unaware of the f
ire blazing across his fur. A huge chunk of meat had been bitten out of one of his back legs, leaving the fur around it matted with blood.