A piece clicked into place and his nerves relaxed. The last two pieces were obvious, and once inserted, he held up the wooden box before him and smiled. Take that, you bastard!
A tapping sound came from the front window.
Clark looked up, startled, dropping the wooden cube onto the floor with a clatter.
A man looked in the window at him, face covered in frost, icicles clinging to his hair.
It was Graham.
Chapter Fourteen
Shelby looked up from the floor of the RV at the mayhem before her. She stared in horror as the snowman used its branch claws to tear Joy Drake apart. Thank God her screams had stopped, Shelby thought. The sound had been maddening. But Shelby felt dazed staring at the blood and flesh that covered the walls of the RV.
She looked up and saw Francine, who also looked on in shock. There were blood splatters on the old woman’s white knit sweater, face, and even speckling her gray hair. The snowman in the top hat raised its head now that it was finished with Joy, blood dripping from its sharp white teeth and the tips of its branches, forming red streaks down its white bulbous body. It was grinning, leering at the two of them, before beginning to slide toward them.
Shelby pushed herself up, realizing she had to get out of here, glancing at the open door through which both Mason Drake and Lewis Felker had fled. Mason had bolted like a coward, leaving his poor wife to her fate. Now Shelby realized she had to get out the same way. As Shelby got to her feet, Francine must have thought the same thing, for the old woman snapped out of her stunned state and moved to the door as well, knocking Shelby aside before disappearing outside, the door banging in its frame as she fled.
Shelby went down on her backside hard. When she looked up the snowman had crept closer. She sat up, glancing once more at her avenue of escape when the side door to the RV opened and its frame was filled with white.
Another snowman stood in the doorway, this one shorter and fatter, a red Santa cap with a white furred edge perched atop its head. Beneath its coal eyes was the plump butt end of a broken carrot stick; below that a beak-like opening of a mouth that began laughing.
The other snowman in front of her was grinning, blood dripping from its jaws.
Her way out was blocked.
She screamed.
Fear rippled through her as she knew she was trapped by this insanity. What she saw before her was so crazy she felt like capitulating rather than dealing with the madness of it all. But she thought about what they did to Joy and then she thought of Macey and Luke. She wasn’t about to give up.
Shelby crawled backward, toward the back bedroom, screaming the whole time. Somehow it helped her move faster as she reached up and grabbed the doorknob to the bedroom, turned it and pushed the door open. She scampered back up onto the bed as the taller snowman followed her into the room, the shorter one right behind.
She couldn’t take her gaze off those black coal eyes of the tall snowman. They seemed to sear right through her, as if she could feel the burning heat from the coal. She crawled to the back of the bed, by the headboard. The room was immersed in cold and she wondered if it was emanating from the snowman’s body.
The creature leaned forward, reaching out its branches, the finger-shaped twigs at the end grasping the material of the comforter. It pulled the blanket forward, dragging her with it, toward that drooling grin with the sharp teeth.
Her mouth gaped open in mute horror.
Something grabbed her from behind and Shelby screamed again.
She turned her head to look behind her, trying to fight off the hand that had reached in the busted window and grabbed onto her jacket. She gazed up at this new adversary and saw a large black man’s face.
“Come on!” he yelled. “This way!”
Before she could register comprehension, the man was dragging her out the broken window. As she was pulled out, she glanced back at the snowman in the top hat as it climbed up onto the bed after her.
The man set her down on her feet in the snow.
“We got to get out of here,” he said, grabbing onto one of her hands. In his other hand he held a snow shovel.
Shelby didn’t know who this man was or where the hell he’d come from, and her mind didn’t have time to sort it out before she was whisked forward, glad to have the strength of the stranger’s hand holding onto hers. He led her around to the left side of the RV and ahead she saw a sight that made her want to pull back.
A third snowman, this one wearing a black pork-pie hat, bent down over the prone body of Werner Volkmann, or what was left of him. Pieces were everywhere, splattering the white snow with gashes of red. The thing looked up, its jaws dripping red.
The stranger was pulling her along toward it, but she didn’t have the strength to resist.
“Damn!” the man said, as they approached it, before swinging his shovel and lopping off the snowman’s head. The round head went rolling along the snow-covered road, the hat flying off in the other direction. “Keep going!”
She still hadn’t spoken a word to him, still too stunned to speak. She had been immersed in a nightmare, sure that a horrible death was imminent, and then suddenly whisked away by a man who appeared out of nowhere. Where had he come from? And more importantly, where was he taking her? She couldn’t think, only kept moving to keep up with him, glad he hadn’t let go of her hand.
He dragged her through the snow. Fear must have made her immune to the cold, because she couldn’t feel it, even though the snow was up over the top of her boots. She spotted her minivan as they passed it, buried in the snow. It seemed so long ago that Clark and Graham had rescued her from it. Now she was being rescued a second time. Always the damsel in distress.
As they passed the hatchback, she thought about the couple inside that had died. At least they went peacefully, spared the horrors that followed, unlike Joy Drake and Werner Volkmann. And as for the others, who knew what fate had befallen them? She glanced back to see if the other snowmen were following. There was no sign of them.
When she turned back to the man in front of her, he helped her maneuver around the jackknifed tractor-trailer. Where were they going? She soon found out when she saw the snowplow truck ahead, its lights on and engine running.
“Are you the snowplow driver?” Shelby asked.
“No,” he said. “That’s my rig back there.” He pointed at the tractor-trailer. “But that ain’t going anywhere. This is our ride out. I’ve cleared a path.” He huffed, trying to catch his breath. He moved quickly for a large man. “We should be able to plow our way out of here.”
Shelby stopped, pulling her hand free from the man’s tight grip. He turned and gave her a puzzled look.
“We can’t go,” she said.
“What?” His face was masked in confusion.
“What’s your name?” She kept her voice calm and even, concentrating on her breathing.
“Tucker.”
“Well Tucker, my name’s Shelby, and I’m ever so grateful for you saving my life.” She paused to catch her breath. “But I also have two young children, a boy and a girl, and they were taken by this—” She didn’t know how to explain it. “This horned creature or something. And I have to get them back.”
“You do realize,” he said, pointing in the direction they had just come, “that there was a fucking snowman back there eating some guy?”
“I know.”
“And another one was about to eat you?”
“This thing took my kids,” she said, as calmly as she was able to manage under the circumstances. “Do you have kids, Tucker?”
The man paused. “No,” he finally said. “But I have nieces and nephews.”
“I’ll do this on my own,” she said. “But I’d rather have some help.”
“Damn!” he said, throwing the shovel down in frustration.
She smiled.
Shelby shook her head. “No, but a couple of guys with us spotted a house through the woods with a light on and they headed there to get help.”
“And did they get help?”
She shook her head again. “They haven’t come back.”
“Oh my Christ!” He threw up his hands. “And that’s where you want to go?”
“If we can find them, and whoever else is at that house, maybe we can get some help to find my children.” She stammered, on the verge of tears, trying to hold them back. “I-I don’t know what else to do.”
“Okay,” he said, palms out in a calming gesture. “We’ll go look. Let me just shut this damn truck off before it runs out of gas and we don’t get nowhere.” He went to the plow and climbed up into the driver’s side. The engine’s rumbling stopped and the lights went dark. When he climbed back down he had a flashlight in his hand. “Let’s see if we can find your friends and this house.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “It was this way.” She pointed toward the woods beyond the west side of the highway.
Tucker led the way. “I must be crazy to go traipsing through the woods with man-eating snowmen and horned creatures running around out here.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clark scurried to the front door, heart racing like a kid on – huh – Christmas morning. He grabbed the knob on the door, praying it would open this time, which it did. The cold pushed its way in. He leaned out, looking left.
Graham shuffled over, arms wrapped around himself, body hunched, shivering.
“Jesus!” Clark exclaimed, ushering him inside. “Get in here quick.”
He closed the door and immediately led his friend to the living room, bringing him to one of the wingback chairs beside the fire and easing his stiff body into it. He hadn’t noticed if Sledge’s servant, Wick, kept stoking the fire, but the blaze somehow was still roaring, throwing off its warmth.
Graham’s face was iced over, casting a deathly white pall, his hands were bare, the flesh on his curled fingers a bluish hue. His teeth chattered.
“What the hell happened to you out there?” Clark asked, rubbing the frosted fabric of his friend’s winter coat. His shoulders and arms felt tight. “I looked for you.”
“F-f-f-freez-ing,” Graham managed to utter with great effort.
“I’m not surprised,” Clark said. “You’ve been out there quite awhile.” In actuality, he had no idea how much time had passed. (Time has no meaning here, Sledge had said.) “I’m surprised you’re even alive.” He continued to rub Graham’s back and shoulders, trying to massage warmth into him. At least the fire was hot.
“I f-f-fell into a sn-sn-snow well,” Graham strained to say. “I was b-buried. I couldn’t move.”
“Well, thank God you got out.” Clark looked around for a blanket of some sort, but saw nothing like that in the room. He needed to get his friend thawed out. He looked at his boots, which were caked in snow. His toes must be frozen. But Clark was more concerned about his fingers, surprised the tips hadn’t turned black.
“I saw S-Spencer,” Graham said. “He was just below me in the snow. But I couldn’t reach him.”
He must be delirious, Clark thought, bringing up the brother he lost. He ignored the reference.
“Even after all these y-years,” Graham went on, “I still couldn’t reach h-him.”
“Don’t think about that,” Clark said. “You’re here now. You’re safe.” He almost had to laugh at the thought that Graham was no safer in here than he was outside. How to explain to him everything he’d seen and learned since he’d gotten to this house? Clark still didn’t understand it himself.
But he couldn’t think of that now. His biggest concern at the moment was getting Graham warm. He must be suffering from hypothermia. Clark needed to help him, even if it meant getting Sledge.
“Stay right here by the fire and thaw out, buddy,” Clark said, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to see if I can get you a blanket or something, maybe a change of clothes.” There must be something in this house I can find, he thought. There were three men living here. He thought about that, realizing it wasn’t quite accurate. They weren’t really living.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, before leaving the room.
“I’ll b-be here,” Graham uttered through chattering teeth.
Clark crossed the foyer into the other room, thinking Sledge might have returned there, but it was empty. He looked at the snow globe glowing in the center of the room. The scene inside had changed to an image of the very house they were in now, snow falling down over it. There was one light in the window to the left of the front door.
He turned to go, but something caught his eye. It was the wooden cube puzzle he had solved. It was on the floor where he’d dropped it earlier. Clark reached down and picked it up. Sledge had promised answers if he solved it.
Back in the foyer, Clark glanced up the winding staircase. Darkness saturated the top of the landing. Past the stairway was a doorway leading to what must be the back end of the house. Clark bypassed the staircase, headed for the door, and pushed through it.
Beyond it was a dining room with a long trestle table surrounded by a dozen chairs. Two long candles in brass tapers on the center of the table were lit, casting a dim glow throughout the room, but leaving its edges in shadow. There were two doors in the room, one at the back and one to the right.
Clark went through the one to the right and found himself in the kitchen. The room was dark. Silhouettes of pots and pans hung from a rack suspended over an island countertop. On it was a wooden knife-holder block, the handles of half a dozen assorted knives poking out. It reminded him of the one in Benson Read’s kitchen, the one the old man used to…no, he didn’t want to remember that day.
Clark thought about grabbing one of the knives to at least have a weapon, but were knives any use against dead men? He couldn’t imagine.
A door at the back of the kitchen led outside. He glanced around. There was another door to his right and he opened it. It was a pantry with empty shelves. Dead people don’t need to eat, he thought. (But they drink hot buttered rum?) At the end of the kitchen was another staircase leading up. Beside that was another door, which upon opening revealed a staircase descending into a basement.
Clark felt like he was in a maze. He went back into the dining room and tried the other door. He found himself in some kind of solarium along the back of the house, with glass walls looking out into a garden of snow-covered hedges. Moonlight streaked in through the windows, illuminating plant stands of green ferns, hollies, poinsettias and a tall robust balsam tree in one corner. There was a round patio table surrounded by wicker chairs. A cornucopia centerpiece overflowed with bright ripe fruit. Maybe Sledge sits out here and plays with his board games, Clark thought, chuckling to himself. An image of Sledge, Ferrin and Wick sitting at the table moving tokens around a game board came to mind.
He was getting nowhere and realized he needed to get back to check on Graham. Clark returned to the dining room. A familiar cracking sound came from down the hallway. He stepped out and saw another doorway he hadn’t noticed. It was open a crack and Clark leaned close, putting one eye to the opening to peer in.
Sledge and Wick stood around a pool table playing billiards. Clark pushed the door open and stepped in.
“Lost?” Sledge asked, leaning over the table and taking a shot.
“You could say I’ve been lost all night,” Clark said, watching the eight ball roll across the green felt and drop into a corner pocket. Clark seethed at the calmness of the man. He slammed the puzzle box down on the pool table. “I’ve solved your damn puzzle!”
The old man looked down with disappointment. Clark enjoyed the moment, however brief. Sledge picked up the box, turning it over in his hand, examining it as if Clar
k had pulled some deception.
Wick stood by silent, tapping his cue stick against his open palm.
“Mr. Wick,” Sledge said, “I believe you have some unfinished business to take care of.”
“Yes, sir,” Wick said, returning his cue stick to the rack on the wall. He brushed past Clark on his way out of the room, a mad grin on his craggy face.
“Never send a snowman to do an Iceman’s job,” Sledge said. “Bumbling buffoons.” He laid his own cue stick down on the table. “Well done.” Sledge set the puzzle box down on the table beside his stick. “Though it was designed to be solved by a child.”
“What does it mean?” Clark asked.
Sledge sucked in a breath. “The pieces of the puzzle fit together in an intricate pattern. That’s the beauty of the box. Each piece has to go in place exactly right for the puzzle to be put together. One piece out of place, and the whole puzzle falls apart.”
“So?”
“One thing I’ve learned since I’ve passed on and ended up –” he looked around, “– here, is that our lives are made up of pieces. And if the right pieces don’t fall into place, it can all fall apart.”
This felt like a brainteaser and it hurt Clark’s head. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“On that schoolyard playground more than a quarter century ago, your friend threw a snowball at you.”
Clark’s mind drew up the image he had seen in the snow globe of that distant memory.
“So?”
“When you ducked and that snowball struck my great-grandson Leroy, it set off a chain reaction. A snowball effect that ended with him dying on that train track a year ago.”
Chapter Sixteen
Francine Volkmann wandered through the woods, the numbing cold freezing out the thoughts of the horror back on the highway. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, she thought as she stumbled along. That wasn’t what he had led them to expect.
She had fled the RV and when she saw what had been done to her husband, she kept running, or at least what one could call running considering the waist-high snow she had to blunder through. She was without a coat and at first terror had prevented her from feeling the elements, but now an icy grip sank its talons into her, clawing into her bones. Francine tucked her hands under her arms to keep her bare fingers warm. It didn’t help much and made it awkward to walk. She stumbled often, falling several times, but she always got back up, knowing if she just lay in the snow, death would sweep right over her.
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