by Sara Clancy
Something shifted. She couldn’t place what, or where, but it was impossible to deny that something was different. Her skin crawled. Pulling herself to full height, she searched the yard in quick glances. Nothing was missing, at least as far as she could tell, but the uneasy feeling continued to grow within her chest. A chill slipped up along her spine like a skeletal finger and she spun around, her breath caught in her throat. The back of the visitor’s tent was just as empty as it had been before, the shadows too weak to hide anyone or anything. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Swallowing thickly, Ruby backed out of the threshold and firmly closed the door. She was still staring at the wood when Bannock ambled up to sit at her feet. His presence eased the strange sensation and brought a smile to her face. Crouching down, she scratched behind both of his ears at once. But instead of crowding into her, demanding more attention, he stood rigid, his gaze locked on a patch of trees beyond the other side of the road. A slow, deep growl worked its way up from his throat as his ears flattened. Ruby searched the area with a renewed sense of dread. Dozens of shadows lurked within the towering trees, each with the potential to keep a thousand secrets, but she couldn’t pinpoint whatever it was that held Bannock’s focus.
“What is it?” Ruby asked as she rubbed the rising scruff of his neck.
A new tendril of fear curled around her heart when Bannock bared his fangs. The sensation of being watched returned, and she crowded a little closer into the dog’s side.
“That lady at the library, Esther,” Ruby said aloud to break the unsettling silence. “She told me that people go missing in these woods all the time.”
Bannock shifted his weight back and forth. His growl died but his focus remained. Ruby slowly got to her feet, still unable to pinpoint what was setting him off. The feeling of eyes upon her intensified until she expected to feel someone breathing against her neck.
“Maybe we should go ask a few more questions.”
The first step away from the possible safety of the tent was the hardest. Her pride wasn’t enough to keep her at a steady pace. She ran to the cabin and snatched up the van keys and her wallet. Just before leaving, she remembered to make herself somewhat presentable.
The fire-warm air of the cabin was a relief to her numb fingers as she brushed her hair. Wool knit was a horrible idea, she thought ruefully. A small voice whispered in the back of her head that it might not be the only mistake she made.
Quickly brushing her teeth, she changed into a clean pair of sweatpants and wiped down her jacket. It wasn’t the best she had ever looked, but she was beyond caring. Pulling her hood up over her hair, she double-checked that nothing was close to the fireplace and ducked out of the cabin. It was strange to not lock up a place when leaving it. Stranger still not to even have the option. But Bannock’s sudden impatience was a good distraction.
She had to jog to catch up with him before he scratched the paintjob trying to get into the van. He barely moved out of the way as she yanked the driver’s door open. In an impressive feat of agility, he scrambled and leaped until he managed to get up into the high-set seat. Pulling herself in after him, it took her a few moments to organize her knee-length snow coat. It was a lot more material than she was used to dealing with. Tossing her wallet onto the dashboard, she slipped the key into the ignition and reached out to pat Bannock. But he wasn’t sitting with pride on the passenger seat. Instead, he had crammed himself into the limited leg area before it. Curled up tight, he propped his head on the console and watched her with pleading eyes.
His agitation was infectious. Her gut twisted as she glanced around the yard again. Sealed within the car, the already soft noises of the area muffled by steel and glass, left her with a strange feeling of disconnection. It was as if she could see or feel reality but not have both at the same time. One hand pressed against her stomach. She pushed until the quivering, churning sensation settled. Nothing is there, she assured herself. The dogs would bark if something was out there. Still, her free hand subconsciously crept up the side of the door until she found the lock. She flicked it. The sound of each door latching into place helped her feel a little less queasy.
Ruby was still scanning the area as she turned the key. The engine rattled and snarled, shaking the van before it sputtered out. She turned the key again, swallowing hard like that would somehow force down her rising panic. The van groaned again. It’s the cold. The realization battled in her mind. Betsy had said that it wouldn’t work in the cold. But how cold is cold?
Fear rose like bile in the back of her throat as she continued to crack the key. Please work, she begged. I’m not ready to be stuck here. She lost track of how many times she tried, only to listen helplessly to grinding metal. Finally, with a violent shutter, the van relented. Ruby melted against her seat as a sigh of relief slipped past her lips. Winter was arriving quicker than she had anticipated. If it is the cold affecting the van, how long do I have left before it’s useless?
She didn’t want to think about it. But still, the question lingered in her mind as she drove into town. For the first time, she felt every inch of the distance.
***
Ruby sunk her teeth into the stick of jerky as she absently flipped through the pages with her free hand. As the town’s self-appointed historian, Esther had dedicated a whole section of the library to local history. Ruby had only needed to ask about local disappearances to be left with a stack of books almost as tall as Bannock. She had spared a moment in town to buy a new pair of gloves. Fur-lined and long enough to reach her elbows. It was strange how simply having warm hands made her feel like she was in control of her life. Barely more than an hour had passed before the company of the town grew to be too much and she had retreated to the yard.
She spent the day playing with the dogs, taking a few of them at a time for long walks down the road. But the clouds had grown thick and the wind had transformed into a constant force, and she had been forced inside. Learning from past mistakes, she boiled some water and had her sponge bath early. With nowhere to be, Ruby changed into her pajamas, snuggled under the sleeping bag, and devoted herself to searching through the books.
The wind became a wail. It pounded against the side of the cabin as the air thickened and turned gray. Secured in the warmth inside, Ruby had marked the time by how often she had to restock the fire or get something to eat. The few times she used the bathroom, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to close the door. She could endure feeling exposed. It was not being able to see that she couldn’t stand.
Absently chewing the dried, salty meat, Ruby glanced at another photograph of missing people. Most were the same as the ones that hung on the library wall. Black and white images of a time that seemed long ago. While Esther had hinted about more recent disappearances, mostly tourists that locals assumed had lost their way in the seemingly endless forest, the books didn’t address them. Most of them didn’t mention anything outside of the gold rush era.
Turning another page, she was instantly drawn to an array of photographs that spilled from one page to the next. They were all of the same brittle little cabin. At the bottom of the page, there was a brief statement. Skim reading the paragraph, she found that the cabin pictured had once belonged to a family; a married couple, and their three young children. They had all vanished one summer. No sign of attack. Nothing missing.
That makes eight, Ruby thought as she rechecked the names and dates. Eight different families in three years. How can that be normal?
In the far, right-hand corner, there was a small photograph of a poem found carved into the wall of the abandoned cabin. According to the tagline, it was believed to have been put there by one of the children.
“They knock three times,” she read aloud. “Don’t open the door. Once they come in, God sees you no more.”
Ruby stared at the photograph as the lines of the simple poem rolled around in her thoughts. There was something about it that seemed both familiar and alien at
the same time. And the longer the answer eluded her, the more significant it felt. Shaking her head, Ruby flipped the page and tried to dismiss the stray thought. But she couldn’t. Reluctantly, she turned back to the poem, wanting to read more about the missing family. Bannock’s cold, wet nose pressed against the bed-warmed skin of her arm and made her jump.
“You did that on purpose,” she mumbled as she pushed him back.
Bannock nipped at her fingers. She snapped her hand back quickly, but his slobber still covered her skin. With a grimace, she wiped her hand off of the end of the bed. Bannock trotted around so he was closer and tried to chew on her again.
“What is with you?” she said before realizing how bright the fire had become.
Crawling off of the bed, she gently pushed him aside so she could look out of the window. The sky was darkening rapidly. Wind licked past the glass, carrying the snow until it looked like albino tentacles reaching out from an unseen monster. The walls rattled and groaned. And it was almost impossible to see the road anymore in the grayish fog. She had barely an hour left before night would swallow the world. I really need to get a watch, she thought as she snatched up her snowsuit and yanked it on over her pajamas. It was thick and cumbersome, and when everything was zipped into place, she couldn’t lift her arms over her head and her stride was reduced to a swaying waddle. Struggling against the material, she pulled her hat into place, tied down the earflaps, and used her only scarf to cover any other bit of bare skin she could.
Despite all this, the first gust of wind ripped the air from her body. She barely made it a foot from the threshold before she was panting. With every blink, she could feel the moisture on her eyes begin to freeze over. Bannock followed, although resentfully, and his white fur was soon lost amongst the barreling snow.
Each exposed inch of skin froze and cracked, but the space protected by her suit began to swelter. Sweat beaded against her skin as she dragged the heavy jugs about to feed the dogs their evening meal. The sensation was in stark contrast to the few patches of unprotected skin that were brutally ravaged by the cold. Huddled in their houses, none of the dogs ventured out to meet her. As she packed the last items away, it occurred to her that she hadn’t refilled the generator yet.
The snow attacked her skin like hail as she lumbered around to the side of the visitor’s tent. The storm reduced it to barely more than a shadow against the gray. Shielding her eyes with one gloved hand, Ruby spotted the forest. She froze. The generator was only a few feet away, the wind lashed at her clothes, and her lungs were screaming but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Before her, the trees lurked in the swirling fog. There, but not. And she didn’t want to go anywhere near it. She could feel something within the haze. It was watching her. Waiting for her.
Leave, Ruby told herself. Get back in the cabin. But the thought of enduring the night without the floodlights pushed her forward. The hutch that housed the generator was small, and a snowdrift had already formed along the door. The pile looked insignificant but kept the door lodged in place as she tried to yank it open.
The sensation of being watched was back. Ruby snapped around, yet there was nothing to see but ice and snow. She yanked harder. The door remained in place, but she felt the phantom draw closer. The wind drove into her back hard enough to rock her forward. With every blink, she spotted something moving far off, playing through the shadows, creeping towards her. Falling to her knees, Ruby racked her hands into the snowdrift, clearing the space to shove the door wide.
Groping blindly in the space between the bulky generator and the hatch wall, she found the tank of gas and pulled it free, fumbling her gloved hand over the cap. A dark shadow streaked behind her. With a startled cry, she lurched to her feet and plastered her back to the wall of the tent. The tank slipped from her hand.
Gas bubbled out to drench the snow. Shit, Ruby dropped down. No, no, no. More of the precious liquid sloshed out as she fumbled with the tank. The generator, the van, the snowmobile; this was all she had to run them on until her next trip into town, and it was soaking into the snow at her feet. By the time she had the tank in her hands again, half of the gas was gone.
Her hands trembled with more than the cold as she lined up the nozzles and poured the remaining gas into the generator. It gargled down every drop and Ruby felt the empty weight of the gas can with a dizzying dismay. Please, last the night, she thought as she shook out the few remaining drops. The wind roared past her ears, working with the chill to make them ache. How does it turn on? Every part of her ached and throbbed, making it near impossible to think. Each time the answer loomed on the edge of her awareness, another shadow moved. Ruby jabbed at the button, driven on by growing need. Pull the crank. Her hand moved to follow the order. It had just touched the plastic when the streak passed her again. Something unseen slammed into the wall of the tent, creating a loud crack that could be heard over the wind. She screamed and lurched back. Sucking down each breath, she searched for what was out there with her. There was only white.
Her skin crawled, her heart hammered against her ribs, and the lack of a decent breath was making her dizzy. She yanked on the cord again, dragging it out with the force of her desperation. The machine shook, and grumbled for a moment and then became silent. All the while, the demons from her mind were returning. The cold made her sluggish and awkward as she yanked again. And again. Each time the generator promised to come to life and each time it failed. Come on, she begged. Please, just turn over!
The pressure at the back of her mind was too much to endure. The sound of material shredding cut through the gathering night. Something’s on the roof. The thought struck her and her head snapped up. As she watched, a dark shape emerged over the edge of the building. Ruby lurched back. Her feet slipped out from under her and she fell hard against the snow, still clutching the crank handle. The generator roared and whined like a waking beast. Ruby didn’t take her eyes off of the looming shape, didn’t blink, but still lost sight of it as the floodlights turned on and bathed the area in a discolored glow. She tossed the can back inside, slammed the hatch door shut, and bolted for the safety of the cabin. Every step kicked up the powder-like snow. It caught on the wind and froze against her legs, slowing her even more. She didn’t dare look behind her.
Bannock greeted her as she lumbered to the cabin door. Huge hunks of snow covered his fur as he hung his head low, his tail tucked between his legs, a deep growl rumbling up from his chest. He was staring at the roof of the tent. Reaching over him, Ruby pulled the screen door open. Bannock didn’t break his gaze until the metal edge tapped his side. Then he whirled around and frantically clawed at the wood with both paws. Ruby’s gloved hand smacked down on the handle. The second there was the slightest gap, Bannock slammed his body weight against it and shoved himself through.
Ruby threw herself in behind him, tripping in her haste and toppling onto the cabin floor. Warmth coiled around her, seeming to strip the last bit of energy from her bones. Dragging in deep breaths, she finally felt her lungs respond as the ice that encased them cracked. Curling in on herself, she sucked in the dry air, desperate for her head to stop spinning. The snow that clung to her began to melt. It dripped from her hat, ran in tiny streams down her legs, soaked into the layers of her scarf until it was impossible to breathe through the soggy material. Chest heaving and exhausted, she pushed herself up just enough to unwrap herself and toss her scarf, hat, and gloves to the side.
Steadily, warmth began to seep back into her bones and her thoughts took shape. What was that thing? Out of the hazy recesses of her mind, the poem came back to her. Reason wouldn’t push it aside and she finally looked over her shoulder at the screen door. They knock three times, she recalled. Her eyes searched every inch of the screen until she admitted it to herself; it didn’t have a lock. Her fingers felt thick and useless as she clawed at the shoelaces of her boot. Under a layer of snow, the material had stiffened up and her nails nearly snapped before she could rip them free.
; Without it, the boot flopped against her foot as she rushed back to the door. Her fingers were beginning to go numb by the time she finished looping one end around the handle of the screen door. Quickly, she pulled the wood door closed and used the free end to do the same thing in turn. One final tug and the two were securely tethered. Since the screen door opened out and the wood door in, the shoelace insured that opening one would keep the other closed.
Feeling slightly less crazed, Ruby shut the door. She slid the flimsy lock into place and jammed the chair back under the handle. It didn’t help shake the image of the figure watching her. She yanked the curtains tightly closed. But it was Bannock that finally dimmed her crackling panic. He was lounging by the fire, too lazy to lift his head as he watched her move about. Ruby felt empty as she stripped off her suit, restocked the fire, and turned off the overhead light. I’m not worried, she told herself repeatedly. But I’m not going out there again.
Chapter 7
Three sharp knocks jerked Ruby awake. She blinked, her mind as sluggish and slow as her eyelids. As she stared at the far wall, the world gradually sunk back into awareness. The fire had burnt out from its previous blaze into simmering embers. If it weren’t for the numerous cracks and drafts, the room would have been stifling. Ruby remembered her desperation to shake off the memory of the figure she had seen. So she had put the history books aside for the night and returned her attention to her novel. She could remember reading, her eyelids growing heavy. Warmth and a full stomach and Bannock snoozing by the fire. Somewhere along the way, she must have fallen asleep. Her mind snapped into focus when she heard it again. Three hard strikes. Someone was knocking on the door.