Cold Chills (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 3)

by Scott Langrel

  “And I assume you already know that reason,” McCoy said. “The Yuki-Onna. We need to know how to stop it.”

  “What’s this? The great Finn McCoy comes groveling at our doorstep? Seeking assistance with a simple ghost, of all things. My dear McCoy, I hadn’t realized you’d fallen on such hard times.”

  “Funny. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the Fey since this ‘simple ghost’ moved into town. What’s the matter? You fellas scared of a little haint?”

  “The Fey fear nothing,” came the haughty reply.

  “Great. Then you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand here, right?” McCoy said.

  “The Yuki-Onna is of no concern to the Fey. Simply put, it’s not our problem. Even someone of your limited intelligence should be able to understand that.”

  “If not for McCoy, then for me,” John said, ignoring McCoy’s warning glance. “I need to know how to stop this thing.”

  “My dear boy, I’d like to help you. I really would. But the Fey are not in the habit of coming to the aid of humans. There is a truce between us. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I’m half Fey,” John said defiantly.

  “Yes, you are. And we have great hopes for you. But you need to sever your alliances with dullards such as Mr. McCoy here. You have great potential. It’s time you began to realize that.”

  McCoy looked at John. “I told you this would be pointless. Come on. We can make better use of our time.”

  “Finger painting, perhaps?” the dryad asked.

  “So you won’t help me?” John asked before an enraged McCoy could reply.

  “Sorry. I hope you don’t take it personally.”

  “Ah, it’s all right. But maybe you can help me next fall, when I’ll be looking for a job.”

  “You have a job,” the dryad said casually. “You’re the sheriff.”

  “Not for long. Not after losing so many people during this storm. I’ll be lucky if they don’t run me out before next election.”

  The dryad said nothing, having apparently overlooked this possibility. McCoy stifled a smile. Big John knew what he was doing, after all.

  “Hopefully,” John continued, “the new sheriff will be easy to work with. Assuming he’s okay with the fact that fairies exist, that is, and doesn’t go running his mouth to the outside world.”

  “Apparently, McCoy is beginning to rub off on you,” the dryad said irritably. “That’s not a good sign. You should look into it.”

  “I will, since I’ll have plenty of time on my hands.”

  The dryad sighed, the sound of the wind whistling through fall leaves. “Harumi,” it said.

  “Harumi?”

  “Do try to distance yourself from the riff raff,” the dryad said. And then it was gone, leaving John and McCoy staring at a perfectly normal dogwood tree.

  “Harumi?” John asked again. “Is that Japanese? Maybe it’s some type of spell or ritual.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” McCoy said.

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “It’s a name. I think the dryad just gave us her name.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  After checking to make sure the library was locked up tight, Frank returned to his vehicle and started the engine. He tossed his cell phone on the dash and held his hands up to the heater vents in anticipation of the warm air which would soon begin to fill the Tahoe’s interior.

  The snow was still coming down. Frank couldn’t recall ever before seeing such an accumulation in Shallow Springs, which generally received less than a foot of snow over the course of an entire winter. It sort of blew the whole global warming theory right out of the water, as far as Frank was concerned.

  As soon as the air began to defrost the windshield, Frank put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the library. The town reminded him of a scene from some apocalyptic movie—no cars travelled the streets, no pedestrians trudged along the sidewalks. The storefront windows were dark and silent. Christmas decorations, meant to inspire joy and festivity, were somehow merely unsettling.

  The library was two blocks from the sheriff’s station. It was a pleasant walk under normal conditions, but Frank was willing to bet a person making the trek now would be half-frozen before the trip was through. If the sun had popped out that very second, it would still take weeks for all of the snow to melt.

  As he passed by Gravely’s Hardware, Frank caught the subtle hint of movement near the front entrance. Tapping the brakes, he looked back and caught a glimpse of something white moving in the shadows in front of the store. He came to a complete stop in the middle of the road, put the vehicle in reverse, and backed down Main Street until he was sitting directly in front of the hardware establishment.

  He fumbled with his spotlight, turned it on, and scanned the front of the building. Red and green flags, attached to the building’s awning, fluttered and danced in the wind. Otherwise, the sidewalk was deserted. There was no trace of anyone, human or not.

  Frank scanned the sidewalk in both directions. It was deserted. He returned his attention to the storefront, and was instantly drawn to the plate glass display window. Had someone just moved inside the store? He’d only caught a brief flash, and it may have simply been the reflection of his spotlight.

  Still, he ought to go and check the front door, at least. Though Shallow Springs was a small community, crime was not unknown there. The region had its share of drug problems, and if there had ever been a perfect time to break in and loot a business, it was now.

  The thought lingered, however, that it might not have been a burglar he’d glimpsed. He was sure he’d seen something white. Just like the white kimono the woman he’d seen earlier had been wearing. The woman who, according to the sheriff and McCoy, was not a woman at all, but something sinister and supernatural.

  Frank remembered the saying that there were no atheists in a foxhole. It could also be said that there were no non-believers on a snowy night with the power off all over town. Or, if there were, Frank was currently not among their numbers.

  He weighed his options. The station was less than a minute’s drive. He could easily go back and tell the others what he’d seen. Or what he thought he’d seen. Or he could call them, and backup would be there in no time.

  But what if whoever or whatever he’d seen was gone by the time help arrived? How would Frank look—a grown man, and a deputy besides—sitting in his vehicle, afraid to get out and check a door to make sure it was locked? He didn’t need a fortune teller to show him how it would appear after the fact.

  Resigned, Frank left the SUV running and got out of the vehicle. He didn’t bother moving it to the side of the street; he could leave the road blocked all night long and it wouldn’t matter. There would be no traffic until morning, at least.

  Slowly, he made his way over to the storefront. Though snow had drifted in under the metal awning, it was not nearly as deep on the sidewalk in front of the store. There were footprints, and they looked to be fairly fresh, but they may have been made earlier in the evening. It was impossible to tell.

  Frank took hold of the handle on the front door and pushed, fully expecting the door to be locked. To his surprise, it swung inward. A small bell attached to the top of the door jingled as it opened, announcing Frank’s presence. He froze, listening for any sound coming within the building. From the shadows inside, no sound came.

  Frank switched his flashlight on, laid his right hand on his weapon, and eased inside. It wasn’t much warmer inside the store than it had been outside, but at least he was out of the biting wind. He stood just inside the door, sweeping the interior with the flashlight’s beam. The light created shadows which moved and jerked along the walls, but he saw no sign of anyone.

  Below him, a noise rang out—a metallic clang which reverberated throughout the building. Frank stood still, trying to pinpoint the sound’s location. It had come from somewhere beneath his feet, so the building obviously had a basement.

  Swell. It wasn’t bad enough t
hat he was wandering around inside a dark building in the freezing cold; now he was going to have to make his way into the basement. As a general rule, Frank avoided horror movies, finding them to be either too gory or too unrealistic for his tastes. But he had sampled enough of them to know that the basement was the one place you didn’t want to go. Nothing good ever happened in the basement.

  Maybe he should call for backup now. Given the unlocked door and the banging noise, he would no longer appear frightened, just prudent. To do that, though, he would have to go back out to his vehicle. The sheriff’s department didn’t have access to shoulder mics like most cops had nowadays, so he was limited to the radio in his SUV. And, like an idiot, he’d left his cell phone on the vehicle’s dashboard.

  The banging noise came again, followed quickly by another sound which could have been a heavy object being scooted across the floor. That sealed it. There was definitely someone downstairs. Frank turned and looked through the window at the Tahoe, and then turned back to the store’s dark interior. He made a decision.

  Moving slowly, Frank eased toward the back of the store. He’d been in Gravely’s hundreds of times, but he had never before been in the basement. He thought he knew where the door was, though. He navigated his way through the aisles carefully, stopping occasionally to listen. He heard nothing more.

  Frank came to a door which was marked Employees Only. By his best estimate, this was the door which led down to the basement. He tried the knob and it turned freely in his hand. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t creak as he eased the door open. He could see no way to keep it propped open, however, so he stepped through and gently shut the door behind him.

  A flight of concrete stairs disappeared into a black abyss below him. Instinctively, he looked around for a light switch, then realized that it was pointless. He shined his light down the stairwell. The stairs paralleled the back wall down to a small landing, at which point they doubled back in the opposite direction. Beyond that, he could see nothing.

  Frank took a deep breath and began to descend the stairs.

  ***

  “So we have a name,” John said as he and McCoy walked from the rear parking area behind the station back to the front of the building. “What do we do with it?”

  “We use it to try to track down when and where she died,” McCoy answered. “I still think finding her remains is the best option we have. It’s the only way I know of to release a spirit which was once human.”

  “I thought the Yuki-Onna wasn’t a regular spirit.”

  “The same rules should still apply. Certain laws and rules govern the existence of the paranormal world, just as we have to abide by the laws of physics. The rules are just a little different.”

  “Get me a copy of that rulebook, first chance you get,” John said. He stopped, causing McCoy to swerve to avoid bumping into him. “What’s going on down there?”

  McCoy followed John’s gaze and saw a vehicle, its headlights on, sitting in the middle of the street a couple of blocks away.

  “Is that one of yours?” he asked John.

  “Can’t tell from here. But it could be. I’m going to go check it out.”

  “I’ll go with you. Something doesn’t look entirely right here.”

  “We need to tell Deidre and Amanda where we’re going,” John said as he walked to his vehicle.

  “Radio Deidre on the way,” McCoy said. “I’d just as soon Amanda sat this one out.”

  They hopped into the Tahoe and drove down the snow-packed street to the abandoned vehicle. As McCoy had guessed, it was a department SUV.

  “That’s Frank,” John said. “Or his vehicle, at least.” He pulled to the side of the street and shut the engine off.

  McCoy got out and walked over to the SUV.

  “There’s footprints leading over to Gravely’s,” he yelled at John. “Frank must have gone in there.”

  “What would he be doing going in there? Stan closed it up several hours ago.”

  “Don’t know. But I guess we’d better find out.”

  They walked over to the front door. John gave it a push, and it swung open. He turned to McCoy, eyebrows raised.

  “Maybe Stan forgot to lock the door,” McCoy offered.

  “Maybe. I’ve never known him to do that before, though. Frank must have seen something to draw his attention to the store.” He stepped inside, McCoy close on his heels.

  “Stay behind me,” John said. “And if you’ve still got your gun, it might come in handy about right now.”

  “Not if it’s the Yuki-Onna,” McCoy replied, pulling the nine millimeter from his waistband. “Though I suppose she wouldn’t have had to unlock the front door.”

  “Could be looters. Keep your eyes open for anything.”

  McCoy followed John as he made his way down the middle aisle. On either side, shelves of tools and supplies bore silent witness to their passage. John kept his flashlight beam low to the floor, and they paused every few steps to listen for activity within the store.

  “Shhhh!” McCoy said, freezing in place. “I heard something. Sounded like it came from the basement.”

  “What was it?” John whispered.

  “I couldn’t tell. It sounded like metal grating against metal.”

  “Well, I don’t see anything going on up here. Let’s check it out. The basement door’s back here.”

  John led the way to the back of the store. Pausing at the door, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open. He leaned in and shined his flashlight around.

  “See anything?” McCoy asked in a hushed tone.

  “A whole lot of dark. Come on.”

  McCoy slipped through the doorway and eased the door shut behind him. John was already descending the stairs, the beam from his flashlight bouncing off the brick walls.

  While the gun offered McCoy some measure of comfort, he felt naked without his knapsack and walking stick, having left both items back at the station. He hoped that whoever was lurking in the basement proved to be nothing more than human.

  John reached the lower landing and waited for McCoy to join him. There was no door on the lower level; the landing simply emptied out into the basement, which was comprised of one large room. It was obviously used to store seasonal items and surplus stock for which there was no room on the main level. Here, there were not so much aisles as there were pathways which wound their way through stacks of goods on wooden pallets and unused shelving and display racks.

  On the other side of the basement, the glow of a flashlight was visible. It was stationary, as though someone had either set the light down or dropped it. John began to pick his way through the piles of equipment and merchandise, heading toward the general vicinity of the light. It was so cold in the basement that their breath escaped in icy plumes.

  As they neared the source of the light, the sound of muffled voices became audible, as well as an occasional clang as someone hit something metal. John was tempted to shut off his light, but the pitch blackness of the basement would have made it impossible to navigate between the rows of retail merchandise. The best he could do was to partially shield the beam with his hand and continue on.

  Suddenly, there was a loud clang followed by shriek of pain. Abandoning caution, John raced ahead, leaving McCoy scrambling to keep up with him. The beam from John’s flashlight cast wildly-flickering shadows across the pallets on either side of them. More than once, McCoy dodged the attack of an oncoming phantom, only to realize that it was merely a shadow. They rounded a corner and nearly collided with Frank and an older gentleman in a white parka.

  “Jeez!” Frank squealed, holding a hand to his head. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Sheriff.”

  “You?” John wheezed. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “I was just helping Stan here check the water pipes. To make sure they weren’t freezing, you know, because the heat’s off. I banged my head on one of the pipes, not looking where I was going.”

  John leaned against a pallet
of rock salt and holstered his gun. “We thought someone was looting the store. You left your vehicle running in the middle of the street, by the way.”

  “Dang,” Frank said. “I forgot about that. Sorry. I caught a glimpse of Stan going into the store, but I couldn’t see who it was. So I came in to check it out.”

  “I would’ve used the back entrance, normally,” Stan Gravely said. “But the lock was frozen, so I had to come around the front.”

  “Well, no harm done,” John said. “Are you about finished here, Stan?”

  “Yeah. We were on our way out. I think the pipes’ll be okay if they get the power back on by tomorrow.”

  “All right. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  As they turned to leave, a loud bang sounded from the upper floor. McCoy thought he heard a faint jingle.

  “That sounded like the front door,” Stan said, frowning.

  “Maybe it was the wind,” Frank offered.

  “Could be Deidre,” John said with little conviction.

  “Maybe,” McCoy said, his frozen breath billowing out before him. “And maybe we’re in trouble.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Are you having any luck?” Amanda asked. Her eyes were beginning to cross from looking at the computer screen for so long. She took another sip of coffee before realizing that her bladder was almost full, too.

  “No,” Deidre replied, her voice weary. “I haven’t come across any Japanese names on any of the lists so far. If someone from the Land of the Rising Sun is buried in Shallow Springs, it must be under an assumed name.”

  Amanda sighed and leaned back in her chair. It all seemed pointless. There had to be an easier way of finding the Yuki-Onna’s identity. If she had to spend another hour going through cemetery lists, her eyes would be permanently damaged.

  “I’ve been cross-referencing with death records and marriage records, and still nothing,” Deidre said. “This sounded like a good idea when McCoy brought it up, but it’s just not panning out.”