Cold Chills
A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller
Scott Langrel
Copyright©2013 by Scott Langrel
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
SelfPubBookCovers.com/Shardel
Other books in the Finn McCoy series:
The Grass Monkey and Other Dark Tales (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Prequel)
Homecoming (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller #1)
Shadows in the Sand (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller #2)
Dark Hollows (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller #4)
To be notified of new releases, please contact the author at
[email protected]
Table Of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
"And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity."
- Edgar Allan Poe, "The Black Cat"
Prologue
The snow fell wet and heavy, a cause for celebration among the children and a bane for their parents, who were already imagining school closings and treacherous commutes to work. The holidays were looming—a mere three weeks until Christmas—and so the wintry weather was not entirely unwelcomed by the majority of the residents of Shallow Springs. The snow which covered the ground and clung to the limbs of winter-bare trees glistened in the fading light of the day, lending a magical quality to the landscape.
The only reason the snow mattered at all to Elmer Jenkins was that he was afraid the liquor store might close early, thus denying him the liquid temperament he sorely needed to put up with his nagging wife for any amount of time. Why he had married the woman in the first place was a source of never-ending wonderment to Elmer. He supposed it could be chalked up to simple lust; Lola had been pretty hot back in the day, or at least as hot as Elmer was ever likely to get a hold of. And she’d been the first girl to ever show more than a passing interest in him.
Though the weather was already causing problems on the roadways, it was even less conducive to a walk through the woods. But Lola had refused to let him take the car, and the forest offered a shortcut that would shave ten minutes off Elmer’s trip. And it wasn’t even really a forest, to be perfectly truthful—just a couple of wooded acres that separated Elmer’s home on Valley Avenue from the southern end of Main Street. By utilizing the shortcut, Elmer could be in the town proper in ten minutes. If he walked along the road, it would take double that.
In the spring, summer, and fall, it was an enjoyable hike. The path which wound through the woods was flat and wide, and offered numerous places along its length where a man might pause and take a swig or two in private, without having to worry about who might be watching. On warm and sunny days like that, it might take Elmer nearly an hour to go to the store and back, and he was more often than not a little wobbly by the time he returned home.
On those occasions, Lola’s nagging would increase to nearly insufferable levels. By then, though, Elmer usually had enough whiskey or rum in him to deflect the brunt of his wife’s wrath. And if he didn’t, he would disappear into the basement until such a time that all of the nagging in the world failed to dampen his high spirits.
Now, however, with no alcohol in his system and the cold wind ripping at his overcoat, Elmer was not in a particularly good mood at all. He was not a young buck anymore; travelling through the woods in a snowstorm made him feel more foolish than adventurous. He should have taken the car, Lola be damned. It was high time he started putting his foot down where his overbearing wife was concerned. He was fifty years old, for Pete’s sake, and Lola was not his mother.
Elmer stopped to get his bearings. Though he wasn’t worried about becoming lost—a ten minute walk in any direction would bring him out somewhere—he was having difficulty staying on the path due to the rapidly accumulating snow. It was already several inches deep, and though Elmer would have sworn he could traverse the path while blindfolded, the snow had turned the once-familiar landscape into something alien and unrecognizable. The silence was complete; usually, he could hear the traffic on nearby roads. A shiver ran through him, and he couldn’t blame it entirely on the cold.
Rubbish, he thought. It was nothing other than his own head messing with him. He had walked this path hundreds of times, and had never come across anything more threatening than a squirrel. Everything looked different in the snow, that was all.
Elmer shook his head and continued on. He hadn’t thought to put his galoshes on before leaving home, and his shoes were getting wet. It didn’t matter if he strayed from the path a bit; if he kept heading in the same direction, he was bound to come out on Main Street eventually.
At least he could see where he was going. Though darkness had fallen, the snow gathered and reflected what little light there was, allowing Elmer to make his way without walking headfirst into a tree. Not that he was moving fast enough to do much damage. He realized he would have to pick up his pace if he didn’t want to be wading through a foot of snow on the return trip.
Maybe it was best that he hadn’t brought the car. The roads would be slippery by now. The county boys had a tendency to drag their asses when it came to plowing the roads anymore, and there would probably be a handful of wrecks before the night was over. Bob Lyle had always kept the road crews on their toes when he’d been the sheriff, but now Lyle was gone and that Talbot boy was in charge. He seemed like a nice enough kid, but he just didn’t command the respect that Lyle had.
Lyle had been a good man—hard, but fair. He’d let Elmer go on more than one occasion when Elmer had been behind the wheel and soused to the gills. Since Elmer was apt to drive no more than twenty miles-per-hour when tipsy, he wasn’t likely to kill anyone, but a lot of cops would have hauled him in just the same. Elmer hadn’t had the nerve to try John Talbot, though. He had the feeling that the young sheriff wouldn’t be so lenient.
Elmer figured he should be getting close to town by now, though he could not see any lights and could hear none of the usual traffic. But he had been walking for at least ten minutes, hadn’t he? Was it possible that he had become so disoriented due to the snow that he’d gotten turned completely around? That was as good an explanation as any, because he should have come out of the woods by now.
He was left with two options. He could either pick a direction and keep walking, with the full knowledge that he had to come out somewhere, or he could follow his own footprints back to the house. Going back home seemed to be the most logical choice because his feet were really starting to get cold, but he was loath to face Lola with no alcohol in his system. And what if the snow didn’t stop anytime soon? He could be stuck at home for days without so much as a beer.
No, that was simply unacceptable. He would make it to the liquor store, the weather be damned. Once he got a sip or two of rotgut in his system, he wouldn’t be so cold anymore. And it would make putting up with Lola a damned sight easier.
<
br /> Elmer turned to his left and began to trudge through the snow. Here and there, the wind caught the freshly-fallen powder and whipped it into dancing snow-devils, which spun crazily on the forest floor and then zipped out of sight. Thankfully, there was little underbrush this time of year, and the trees were spaced far enough apart so that Elmer could walk without having to constantly dodge them. That was a good thing, because he was beginning to breathe hard in the cold night air.
He paused and leaned against a scraggly pine to knock off some of the snow which was caking his shoes. The leather boots were insulated, but not waterproof. Already, he could feel that his socks were becoming damp, and soon they would be soaking wet.
Perhaps he would be able to bum a ride back to his house after acquiring his booze. On a night such as this, surely no one would be hard-hearted enough to refuse him a ride at least part of the way. The people of Shallow Springs were generally a good lot, though Elmer had to concede that there seemed to be more assholes in the group than there used to be.
Elmer finished kicking the excess snow from his boots and started to continue on his way. He took two steps and stopped, surprised to see that he was not alone in the woods. Twenty or thirty yards ahead of him, a woman stood watching him through the blowing snow. Though his visibility was limited due to the darkness and the weather, he could make out her form clearly against the white background. She appeared to be wearing something that looked like a sheet, which was draped across her narrow shoulders and tied at the waist with some kind of belt. Her hair was long and black, and blew off to the side as it was caught in the gusting wind.
“Hello?” Elmer called, unsure of whether or not he should trust his eyes. He didn’t recognize the woman, though her wildly-flying hair partially hid her face and made it impossible to tell her identity.
The woman neither replied nor moved. Elmer stood his ground, unwilling to move any closer. Something about the whole situation just didn’t feel right. The woman was not dressed for the freezing weather, yet she didn’t appear to be in distress. In sharp contrast, Elmer was literally shivering from the cold. He’d known some cold-natured people in his time, but there was no way this slim waif of a woman could be traipsing through the forest, wearing nothing but a thin robe, and not be freezing.
A thought occurred to him. Maybe he had inadvertently wandered near a house. It was certainly possible, because many of the homes which lined the street bordered the wooded area at the rear of the properties. Perhaps the woman had seen him through a window and had come out to see if he needed help. It was the only scenario that made any sense.
“Ma’am?” he yelled over the wind. “Do you live around here? Is your house nearby?”
Instead of answering, the woman waved her hand as if motioning for Elmer to come closer. Maybe she hadn’t heard him over the blowing wind. Elmer, now more aggravated than cautious, sighed and started toward her. He couldn’t afford to dally too long. It was getting late, and the liquor store would be closing soon, snow or not.
“I asked if your house is around here,” Elmer shouted as he walked. “You’re not lost, are you?”
The woman said nothing but continued to wave him closer. He was near enough now to see that she was smiling, and that she appeared to be of Asian descent. Funny. Elmer didn’t know of any Asians living in the Springs.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Elmer huffed as he drew close. “I’m Elmer Jenkins. Live over on Valley. I was asking if you live—″
Elmer stopped short as he looked at the woman’s face. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties, and she was a looker. But that wasn’t what drew Elmer’s attention. Her skin was pale—almost white. And her lips were blue, the color of the sky on a cloudless winter day. She must have been walking in the snow for hours to look like that.
“Gosh, Miss!” Elmer stammered, his urgency to make the liquor store before closing time all but forgotten. “Are you okay? I think we need to get you inside. Is your house nearby?”
The woman remained mute. She gave Elmer a sad smile and pursed her blue lips, as if silently asking for a kiss.
“Ma’am, I really think you need to get—″
The woman suddenly leaned forward and blew in Elmer’s face.
The pain was so intense that, for a moment, Elmer thought he’d been burned. The skin on his face felt as if it were on fire. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but his jaw wouldn’t move. All that escaped him was a pathetic whimper. He sucked in air violently, and the pain in his lungs was instantaneous. That’s when he realized he was not on fire, after all.
He was freezing.
Elmer started to turn, but the freezing sensation had already spread down his body and into his legs, locking his joints. He could feel the cold burrowing its way further into his body. In his last moments of coherent thought, Elmer imagined he could feel his blood freezing within his veins. He looked into the woman’s face and saw only sadness there.
Then his eyes glazed over, and he saw no more.
When they found him the next morning, Elmer Jenkins was frozen as solid as the frigid landscape which surrounded him.
Chapter One
Finn McCoy took a sip of coffee and looked through the frost-covered window at the frozen tableau outside. It was a beautiful sight. The snow was still falling steadily, though not nearly at the unprecedented rate which it had the previous night. Nothing moved in the subdued morning light; the white blanket which covered the ground remained unmarred even by the tracks of small animals. The wind, which had moaned and howled through much of the night, had finally exhausted itself and ebbed away, leaving the world silent and still.
McCoy turned from the window and walked over to the small kitchen table, noticing that his leg offered very little complaint as he did so. It had taken over a year, but the limb was finally getting back to normal. Well, as close to normal as it would ever get, he supposed. But he no longer walked with a pronounced limp; it was still there, but it was so slight that no one but himself seemed to notice. He didn’t awaken each morning in pain anymore, either.
On the plus side, he’d managed to make it another year without getting killed or maimed worse than he already was. There had been a few close calls; an encounter with evil water spirits on the South Carolina coast, and a pesky ahool which had attempted to set up residence in Shallow Springs. For the most part, though, things had been pretty calm.
Even the Fey, the malevolent fairies which inhabited the woods and waterways around Shallow Springs, had been silent and invisible. A year ago, McCoy would not have believed that the evil creatures would hold up their end of the truce he’d negotiated, but he’d not even as much as sensed the presence of a fairy in several months.
A commotion from the bedroom broke the stillness of the morning and interrupted his thoughts. Obviously, Amanda had arisen.
“Finn? Shit! It’s after seven! Why didn’t you wake me? I’m going to be late!”
“Calm down,” McCoy called. “Nobody’s going anywhere. Take a look outside.” He took another sip of coffee and waited for Amanda to check the window. An audible gasp confirmed that she had seen the snow.
“Wow,” Amanda said as she walked into the kitchen. “This is the biggest snow I’ve seen since moving here.” She went to the cabinet and fetched a mug, filled it with steaming coffee, and settled into the chair opposite McCoy.
“It must seem piddling compared to snows in Wisconsin,” McCoy said as he drained the last drop of coffee from his mug. “But this is the biggest one I’ve seen in years, and I’ve lived here all my life.” He rose and walked back over to the window. “I just hope the cable doesn’t go out. I don’t want to miss Springer.”
“Ah. The life of a famous paranormal handler. Watching Springer in your underwear.”
“I’ll have you know that I plan to put pants on. Probably.”
“I realize it’s a big decision.”
“Well, it is,” McCoy said playfully. “Especially since you’ll be here with
me today. I was thinking we could both run around in our underwear.” He walked back over to Amanda and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Maybe we could just go back to bed. It doesn’t look as if we’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”
“True,” Amanda purred. “But I need to shower and brush my teeth. It feels like a monkey slept in my mouth. And I’ll have to call work in an hour or so and let them know I won’t be coming in.”
“I doubt if anyone will make it into the office today,” McCoy said. “But do what you gotta do. I think I’ll have another cup of coffee.”
“While you’re up…” Amanda said, handing McCoy her mug.
“Great service is my goal.” McCoy was heading toward the coffee maker when the phone rang.
Amanda rose to answer it. “It’s probably someone from the office calling to tell me not to bother trying to make it in.”
“You might want to tell them tomorrow’s questionable too, if the snow doesn’t stop.”
“You’re just trying to keep me here all to yourself,” Amanda teased. She picked up the phone. “Hello?” Her smile faltered, replaced briefly by a look of confusion. Then her smile returned as she recognized the caller’s voice.
“John Talbot! How have you been, you overgrown teddy bear?”
Across the room, McCoy nearly dropped his coffee mug. A sinking feeling suddenly emerged deep within his gut and began to set up shop.
If John Talbot was calling this early, then it probably wasn’t simply to talk about the weather. McCoy only hoped that it had nothing to do with the Fey. He’d probably jinxed himself earlier when he’d marveled at how long the truce had held.
“No, he’s up,” Amanda was saying. “Hold on just a sec. I’ll put him on.” She turned to McCoy and held the phone out.
McCoy eyed the phone as if it had suddenly transformed into a rattlesnake. Hesitantly, he took the phone from Amanda and put it up to his ear.
Cold Chills (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 3) Page 1