Snowball

by Gregory Bastianelli

  At first he thought he had stepped outside, there was so much white, but that couldn’t be since he was on the second floor of the house. He realized that the walls of the room were painted white and the contrast from the room he’d just vacated had overwhelmed him. As his eyes adjusted, he was jolted by a shocking sight.

  Benson Read, his divorce client from California, sat on a white leather couch. He was holding a kitchen knife coated with red. Droplets dripped from the end of the blade, staining the couch.

  “Good of you to drop by,” the old man said, looking up at him with a crooked grin.

  Numbness ran through Clark’s brain as he tried to comprehend this insane vision. The room looked like the inside of Benson’s house in California, the one Clark visited that horrible day.

  “What the hell’s happening?” He didn’t mean to direct the question at Benson, didn’t even realized he had spoken aloud.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Clark.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Clark took a step back, leaning against the door he had closed behind him, too dumbfounded to go out the room’s only exit. “You’re supposed to be—”

  “Awaiting trial?” He nodded. “Yes, I should be. But I was able to make bail, my new attorney made sure of that. He was a good attorney, the best that money can buy, not like you.”

  “I’m not a criminal lawyer.” Clark felt the need to defend himself. “I’m a divorce attorney.” It sounded outlandish to say it like that. It was downright embarrassing.

  “I killed myself.” The old man rose up from the couch in a slow, graceful movement. “I wasn’t going to risk the chance of going to jail for the assault on my wife.” His tone was acidic. “They were going to charge me with attempted murder. Didn’t they realize I wasn’t trying to kill her?”

  “Of course not,” Clark said, trying to appease the deranged man.

  “I just wanted back what was mine.” He took a stride forward. “What I paid for.”

  Clark thought about Audrey Read lying naked on their bed, her chest sliced open.

  “I know you didn’t want to hurt her.” Clark reached a hand behind him, fumbling for and finally grasping the doorknob.

  The old man cocked his head. “Do you want to know how I did myself in?”

  “Not really.”

  “I used carbon monoxide from the exhaust on one of my cars in the garage at my old house. You remember, the house you couldn’t get back for me in the divorce settlement.” He leered. “But I still had the goddamn garage door opener!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. “I parked in the garage in what should have been my house and ran a hose from the exhaust. I wanted to die in that house so I could haunt that bitch forever and all her fucking lovers.” He cackled. “But somehow I end up in this fucking place!”

  Clark tried turning the knob without the old man noticing.

  “And do you know why I’m here?” Benson asked, taking another step closer.

  “No.” Clark shook his head.

  “Because you ducked from that damn snowball!”

  Clark was bewildered by the old man’s reasoning.

  “And somehow I got caught up in your stupid game.” He lurched closer and Clark smelled the rotten stench from his breath. “So now I’m going to carve your chest open.”

  Benson lunged, knife raised high above him.

  Clark pulled the door open and backpedaled into the hall, bumping into something, or someone.

  Benson let out a cry of rage as he followed him into the hall, knife flailing. In a whir, a dark hand brought a lead pipe crashing down onto the bald dome of the old man’s skull, caving it in down to his eyeballs. That’s when Clark noticed he had bumped into Shelby Wallace.

  Benson’s body stood upright, shuddering, the pipe still embedded in his skull. His head turned to face his attacker, eyeballs barely visible under his crushed forehead. Then his eyes shifted back to Clark.

  “Where’d the fuck the black guy come from?” Benson said, before falling backward into the room.

  “What the hell was that?” Tucker said, eyes wide.

  Shelby clung to Clark. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

  He was still shocked by the sudden appearance of the duo, but relieved by their timing.

  “Shut that door,” he commanded Tucker.

  The big man retrieved his lead pipe, kicked aside the form of the old man lying on the floor and closed the door. Clark grasped Shelby and pulled her close in an embrace.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I would have been,” she said, holding tight, “if it wasn’t for Tucker saving me.”

  Clark looked at the trucker and nodded. The man returned a half-hearted smile. He didn’t exactly look glad to be here.

  “You won’t believe what happened,” Shelby said, looking up at him with moist eyes. “It’s all so crazy.”

  “You’d be surprised what I’d believe. This ain’t exactly Wonderland.” He noticed the knife in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

  She told him about the Krampus stealing her kids and how she and Tucker had come here looking for them.

  “Well, you came to the right place. They’re supposed to be here.”

  “You’ve seen them?” Her face lit up with hope.

  “Not exactly.” He tried to explain as briefly as possible about Thayer Sledge and his twisted games, leaving out the details about the snowball incident. He told her he had seen the snowmen attack the RV in the snow globe.

  “I think the others are all dead.” She frowned.

  “Can’t worry about that now.”

  “Where’s Graham?” she asked, as if just remembering.

  Clark looked down at his friend’s boots on his feet. “He’s dead too.”

  “Listen,” Tucker said. “I hate to break up all this reminiscing, but what the hell do we do now?”

  “How’d you two get in here?” Clark looked from one to the other.

  “Came in the back,” Tucker said, jerking a thumb toward the rear staircase.

  Clark nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind when it’s time to go.”

  “Have you seen that Krampus thing around?” Shelby asked.

  Clark shook his head. “But maybe there’s someone who can help. Come on.”

  He led them down the hall to Ferrin’s room. When they entered, the old man turned to face them with a big smile.

  “At last!” Ferrin cried.

  At first Clark thought Ferrin was glad to see them for some strange reason. But then he noticed opened padlocks discarded on the floor by the man’s feet. He held the keyring in one hand, a rusty key gripped in his fingers. He inserted it into the last padlock on the chains across his chest. With a click, the lock popped open and the chains slithered down his body like metal snakes, curling up around his feet.

  “I’m free,” Ferrin said. He turned to go, ignoring the others.

  “Wait,” Clark implored, stepping forward. “We need your help.”

  Ferrin stopped and looked back. “I’ve helped you all I can. You’re on your own now.”

  “We’re looking for my children,” Shelby pleaded.

  “Some big horny thing took them,” Tucker added.

  “The Krampus? You’ll want to keep away from that one.” He stepped over to a door.

  “We’re not leaving without them,” Shelby said, on the verge of tears.

  “Can’t you do anything to help?” Clark asked.

  “My game is over,” Ferrin said. He opened the door, revealing a closet. A pull string dangled from the ceiling.

  “You can’t just leave us here.”

  He was reaching up to the drawstring but stopped. “It’s up to you now. I can’t do any more for you. Good luck with that madman.”

  “How can we s
top him?” Clark was getting pissed.

  “Beat him at his own game.” He pulled the string and a drop set of stairs came down. Ferrin scurried up them like a rodent and drew the stairs up behind him.

  “This is one fucked-up place,” Tucker said.

  “What now?” Shelby asked, turning to him with desperate eyes.

  “We keep looking,” Clark said. “Search the other rooms.” He hesitated, thinking about what could be lurking behind any of those doors – maybe the Iceman or some other horror. But at least he had some company. It felt better than being alone. He took the knife from Shelby’s grasp and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  Clark went to the door opposite the room they had just been in, clutching the knife in one hand and Shelby’s in the other, not wanting to relinquish either even for the second it would take to open the door. She had instantly become a security he wanted to hold onto for as long as he was able. He looked at the big man behind him.

  “You did pretty good with that thing,” he said to Tucker, nodding at the lead pipe in his hand. “How about you go in first?” He didn’t intend it as a question and he could see from the expression on the man’s face it wasn’t received that way.

  “Of course,” Tucker said, moving to the door. “And my nana told me not to be stupid.” He turned the knob and pushed the door in. It swung slowly on straining hinges.

  The big man stepped inside the room. Clark followed, craning his neck to see around the man’s shoulders. The room held only two twin beds and a dusty lamp on a nightstand.

  Shelby shuddered beside him. “Looks like a kid’s room,” she said, sadness in her voice.

  Clark thought about what Thayer Sledge said about keeping her kids for companionship. Was he preparing this room for them? He decided not to relay his concerns to Shelby.

  “Let’s move on,” he said.

  They went to the next room down the hall. It was empty, with the exception of a large cardboard box in the middle of the room. One flap of the box’s top was open.

  “I’ve seen this movie before,” Tucker said before closing the door.

  “Thayer Sledge needs some home interior design help,” Clark said, trying and failing to break the tension. It made him think. Where the hell was the old man and why wasn’t he after them? Or his psychopathic sidekick? It was as if Sledge was toying with them. Maybe he was watching them in his snow globe, getting a kick out of their helplessness.

  They backed out of the room. There was only one more door they hadn’t tried. As Clark approached it, something stopped him. An icy chill seeped through the wooden door. He shivered. He glanced back at Shelby, releasing her firm grip so he could push open the door. When he did, he received a blast of frigid air. He could see his breath as he stepped into the room.

  It felt like walking into a freezer. In the center of the room was a bed made of ice, a fur blanket draped over it. Large blocks of ice were piled up along either side of the bed. On the wood-paneled walls of the room hung a variety of rusty ice-cutting implements: saws, picks, chisels and tongs.

  “Damn, it’s cold in here,” Tucker said, clenching his teeth.

  This must be Everett Wick’s room, Clark thought. It was more than the cold that gave him the chills in here.

  Shelby came up alongside him. “I remember reading about a hotel in Canada made entirely of ice.” Each word from her lips was followed by a puff of white vapor. “They have to rebuild it every winter, because they let it melt when the summer comes. I always thought it’d be a romantic place to spend a night.”

  “Not like this,” Clark said, shaking his head.

  “I don’t want to wait around for the dude that sleeps in that bed,” Tucker said.

  Clark agreed, glad to be out of the chill of the room, even though there was no comfort in the hallway.

  “What next?” Shelby asked, her brow creased with tension.

  Clark pointed to the ceiling. “Next floor.” He led them to the door he had discovered earlier that opened onto a staircase. He flicked a switch inside the doorway, but no lights came on. Tucker handed him his flashlight.

  Directing the beam of light, Clark saw the staircase spiraled up to the left. He took the first steps, soft and slow, and the others followed. Behind him came an aching creak on the treads, and he looked back at the anguished face of Tucker Jenks, who only shrugged. If that thing were up here, Clark thought, it knew they were coming.

  The top of the staircase dumped them off at the head of a narrow hallway. Down at the opposite end was the large circular window Clark had seen from the front of the house, the one that looked like a giant eye. Some light spilled into the hallway, catching floating dust in its ray. The dust reminded Clark of the snowflakes floating in the snow globe.

  On either side of the hallway was a door. He led the trio down the hall and stopped before them. His eyes looked left, then right, as he wondered which to try first. He leaned toward the one on the left, putting his ear up against the cold wood. He thought he heard a whimper from the other side.

  He looked at Shelby, not wanting to acknowledge what he had heard. He adjusted his grip on the knife and tried the door. It was unlocked. Either Sledge had a lot of trust, or he was welcomed into the room. He didn’t like either possibility. Clark opened the door and crept inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shelby’s pulse quickened as she followed the two men up the stairs, wincing with every step Tucker took and the alarm it heralded. And when they got to the top, she could tell Clark felt something was behind one of the doors. The look on his face as he had listened to the door said it all.

  Please God, she thought, as she entered the room with them, please let me find them and let them be all right. During this whole ordeal, she had never been more frightened than she was right now. Not even when the creature had taken her kids. At least then she knew they were alive. It was the not knowing that left her wrenched in anguish.

  The room was dark, with no window to let in even the stingiest amount of light. Tucker shined his flashlight beam over the rafters. Stringy cobwebs linked the dark timbers. From what Shelby could see, the room was spacious, but crammed with stuff. As the trucker’s light played over the contents of the room, unknown dark shapes revealed themselves.

  The light caught the face of a white wooden rocking horse, dark mane flowing back, nostrils flared wide. Its painted blue saddle bore a chipped yellow star. Next to it was a large wooden steamer trunk, its lid up, overflowing with toys. A large stuffed teddy bear sat atop the pile, its brown fur ragged, one button eye missing. Other stuffed animal shapes emerged from the pile in the trunk: a green frog, a cat wearing a cap, a bespectacled white rabbit in a vest and an elephant wearing a sweater emblazoned with the letter A.

  A stack of books teetered beside the trunk, a striped rubber ball beside it. Next to that was a large bongo drum. Beside it was a wooden toolbox. Dust covered a hammer, screwdriver and monkey wrench sticking out of it. Tucker continued shifting his light around the room. A nearby table held a toy train set, its engine and the first few box cars derailed. In the middle of the circular track was a phalanx of vintage toy soldiers, muskets and bayonets thrust forward, ready to engage.

  Did these toys belong to all the children the Krampus snatched? Was the creature some kind of Grinch that robbed the innocent of their Christmas? When Volkmann told the story back in the RV, he said the Krampus came after the bad children. So why did it come for hers? That wasn’t fair. But then, nothing about this night was fair.

  A scratching sound came from the right and Tucker’s light swung over to catch sight of something small and furry scurrying into a hole in the wall.

  Just a rat, Shelby hoped. Nothing more.

  But the flashlight beam caught something else. It looked like a metal crate for a large dog. She heard a whimpering sound and something moved inside.

  Shelby’s breath
hitched, almost choking on dusty air, as she caught sight of brown hair draped over sleepy eyes as a head rose.

  It was Macey.

  Oh God. Shelby felt a rush of joy as she ran over to the cage, overwhelmed by excitement. She dropped to her knees, reaching her hands to clasp her daughter’s.

  “Mom,” Macey said in a sleepy voice. It sounded like she had been drugged. Had Mrs. Volkmann put something in those cookies she had given the kids? Is that why they’d slept so deeply in the RV’s bedroom? Shelby’s eye caught the snowflake pendant still around her daughter’s neck. She looked upon the wretched necklace with revulsion at just the thought of that snowflake and what it represented, the storm that stranded them on the highway and the nightmarish things it had brought forth. She wouldn’t care if she never saw another snowflake again.

  “I’m here, honey,” she said, frantically scanning the interior of the cage till she spotted Luke.

  “I’m so scared,” Macey said.

  “We’ll get you out,” Clark said, coming up behind her.

  “Is your brother okay?” Shelby asked, worried her son hadn’t stirred.

  Macey looked back and kicked him with her foot. The boy groaned and shifted on the floor of the cage. Shelby smiled, thinking her prayers were answered. But they still had to get out of this madhouse.

  There was a padlock on the gate to the cage.

  “Give me a hand with this,” Clark said to Tucker.

  Shelby reluctantly let go of Macey’s hands and stepped back to let the two men have some room to work. She started to wonder if they’d be able to get them out. Worry sank in again. Nothing came easy.

  Tucker set his flashlight down and inserted his piece of lead pipe behind the padlock to pry it off. Shelby backed up some more as the big man strained, leaning back and pulling with all the force of his big arms. He relaxed, unable to break the lock. Shelby’s heart nearly broke.

  “Let me get a better grip,” Tucker said, adjusting his hands on the pipe. He pulled back again, groaning. There was a metallic pop and the padlock broke open and dropped to the floor with a clatter.