Bone Snow

by David Haynes

  He shuffled into the snow, feeling the cold gnaw at his ankles and shins.

  “Sota?”

  He knew it was stupid. The man was dead, long gone, but he called out anyway. What else could be making that sound? He lumbered forward again, the chill engulfing his knees.

  A soft and motherly voice drifted to his ears, seeming to float over the glittering snow. Was that Grandmother Hisako’s voice?

  He stopped. A hunched figure sat on the snow, cradling the baby in her gray, woolen blanket. What was she doing over this side? They’d put Sota here to save her from having to see him. The boxer wanted to protect her. Stupid man.

  The crackling sounds were coming from her. Or rather the baby. She held the child close to the snow. Was she trying to kill it? The child was partially hidden beneath the blanket but he could see its dark silhouette against the snow. Her voice suggested she was encouraging the child, urging it on.

  Kenta moved forward again. It was difficult, especially since his bones felt like they were becoming icicles with each step. He needed to get closer. He could take the blanket and search Sota for…

  Where was Sota? The woman was crouching over the spot they left him. Was she trying to rob him?

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Get your hands off…”

  She turned toward him. He stopped mid-sentence, a half-memory coming back to him. The boxer had Kenta pinned against the wall. He was hitting him, knocking his head back against the bricks, his vision was clouding, his legs betraying him. She was there, the ugly, deformed woman, the witch of a thousand nightmare fairy tales staring back at him. Her mouth an ugly sneer and her eyes like oil, spilled into the waves, rolling in, rolling over.

  “My baby,” she said, pulling the blanket away from the child.

  He looked at the child. The infant bobbed its head up and down, pecking like a bird. Sota’s corpse lay beneath it. Exposed bone as white as the snow itself lay discarded to one side, pecked clean of flesh. Shattered bones, cracked and splintered, jutted from what was left of him. The cracking sounds he’d heard from the other side of the wall were from the baby. They were the echoes of a child crunching through a body.

  He couldn’t move the light away, or take his eyes off the woman. The snow glistened; the wind howled outside. It was a folk tale. Which one? Something was familiar. She smoothed the baby’s patchy black hair away from its face. There were blackened smudges all over the child’s skin, like bruises except they looked alive, like they were writhing as it consumed Sota.

  He’d seen pictures, beautiful hand-drawn sketches that showed this scene, or something almost the same. They had scared him. Grandmother Hisako had read the stories to him, stories his own mom had refused to translate. She’d shown them to him when his parents were out, drawing his attention to the woman, to the child she carried. They were ancient pictures, from the days when the people believed in spirits in the old folk tales.

  Yuki-onna.

  He remembered it now. The Snow Woman. She killed men in the frozen forests, freezing them to death with her breath and beauty. Preying on their need to protect her and her child, and finding themselves frozen to death with their bodies and souls consumed by her.

  “Yuki-onna,” he whispered.

  The child stopped feeding, burying its withered head inside the blanket again. The infant was hideous, impossibly alive, impossibly feeding on Sota’s now unrecognizable corpse.

  It struck him that this had to be a dream. It couldn’t be real. How could it? This was nothing more than a memory of an old folk tale his grandmother had told him as a child. The beating he took from the boxer must have prized it loose from somewhere. Yet he could feel the cold, the burning sting of freezing snow and ice on his flesh.

  The Yuki-onna gathered the blanket about her body. Only her snow-white face and jet eyes remained exposed. Her skin was almost translucent, completely flawless. She was not the old hag he’d seen a few moments before, the witch-crone of nightmares, but a beautiful young woman. More attractive than any of Sota’s baishunpu girls.

  She moved toward him, seeming to float above the snow. Her hand was outstretched, fingers curled toward his cheek. She shouldn’t touch him, he remembered that. If she touched him her curse would take him, making her impossible to resist. He tried to move away but the snow was deep, around his thighs now, creeping up to his crotch. He felt the withering chill grip his balls.

  “Baby,” she whispered, offering the child to him.

  She wants my help, he thought. She wants me to feed her baby. Not with milk or with food but by my nourishment, by my soul.

  “No!” he screamed, falling backward. His legs flicked up from beneath the snow, catapulting him down the slope and away from her. She kept coming, looming above him like an angel, an angel of horror and death. The infant’s lips were pulled back, revealing teeth that were blackened stumps. The child cried, wailing dismally like the wind outside.

  He used his hand to push backward, sliding on the snow. He wanted to scream, to call Uncle down and for him to take care of this…whatever this was. But he couldn’t, his voice was frozen against the back of his throat.

  He scrambled out of the alcove on his hands and knees, sniveling and crying, tears freezing painfully against his cheek as soon as his eyes released them. He could hear her behind him, close to his back. An icy wind emanated from her, fizzing and crackling as it cooled the air. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t allow the Snow Woman to touch his skin.

  As he cleared the alcove, the snow lessened, making it easier for him to move. His hands could get purchase, his feet could push against the concrete slab beneath him. He kept going, crawling like a baby, until he felt nothing but ice beneath his fingers. He could no longer feel her breath on his neck. Only then did he turn and look back. The screen on his cell was damaged, cracked from using it as leverage to help him crawl. The flashlight gave off a jagged light and it illuminated her like a jigsaw puzzle.

  She was hardly there at all, somewhere between light and shade, her skin as white as the snow itself and her eyes beguiling and dark. The haggard old woman was gone again. In her place, standing at the threshold of snow and ice, was a vulnerable girl cradling her newborn baby. She looked pathetic.

  “Stay back!” he said, the image of the Yuki-onna still burned into his eyes.

  She didn’t attempt to come any closer, seemingly preferring the uneven footing of the snow to the slightly less treacherous ice. Without a word, she slowly sat, crossing her legs, pulling the baby to her chest and watched him.

  They stayed locked together like that for a minute until he shivered so violently it jarred his skeleton, forcing an involuntary gasp from his lips. It broke the spell. He got to his feet, keeping his eyes on her and then backed away to the stairs, feeling behind his body for a wall.

  As he moved away, all that remained of her in the jagged kaleidoscope his cell light gave out was a lonely figure hunched in the snow. A siren, waiting for an unsuspecting wanderer to approach her and offer help. In return, she would kill them and feed their souls to her monstrous baby.

  He backed up the first three steps and then stopped. Someone grabbed his shoulder and shoved him forward.

  “What the hell are you doing down here?”

  13

  Chris couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even nap. He could hear the others. Leo was snoring and Kim and Sam were lying next to each other. Sam kept crying out, whimpering like a baby. That was why Kim was sitting with him, trying to keep him calm.

  He wished he could have done more. He should have done more. He was only four years older than the two kids but he felt much older than his years. He always had.

  When he graduated high school, he had wanted to join the Marine Corp. It had been a dream since he could walk. His grandpa had been a Marine, fought the Nazis across Europe, kicked their asses. That’s what he wanted. But it hadn’t happened.

  Dad had a heart attack a month before graduation, so he’d deferred. A year later Dad had gone fr
om a man who looked and acted half his age to an old man who couldn’t run the store anymore.

  That day had always been coming, no getting away from that, but he’d hoped to have done his service, seen some action and been made a man by then. It didn’t work that way. When the family called, you went running, that’s how things worked. He became a security consultant, the best one he could be. He didn’t want to let anyone down. He wanted to do his duty. It wasn’t the duty he’d expected or dreamed about, but it was important all the same.

  Security consultant. It was a joke really. He was a salesman. Nothing more. Not that there was anything wrong with that. His dad had invented the name of the position to make him believe he was something more, but he knew what it meant. They both did. Sometimes Chris would look at his dad and see the pain in his eyes. He didn’t want his son working the same job he’d been working for the last forty years. And certainly not now it was on the brink of going under. They couldn’t compete with the bigger stores, that was the problem. And the regulars who came in for pieces of hardware or batteries for their alarms had moved out of the neighborhood or died. It was grim.

  The only reason he was here now was that they were desperate to keep a new account, so he’d felt there was no other option than to come out and take a look. It was his duty. Chris rubbed his eyes and stretched his back. Maybe tomorrow he’d talk to the local radio station again and run an ad with them, perhaps even run a sale at the same time. It would cost but with any luck they’d recoup the outlay.

  What would he have done to that murdering bastard if he’d been a Marine? He’d have taken him apart, that’s what. He’d have done what Leo was close to doing, but he’d have finished the job. He’d have killed him.

  The day those two bums came into the store and tried to put the squeeze on his dad, he’d been out. When he came back and saw the state of his dad, he got so angry he smashed his fist through a window at the back. It needed ten stitches and it hurt like hell. All he wanted to do was find those guys and hurt them too. Dad was no shrinking violet but that had scared him. It was a week before he could stand to be in the store alone again.

  What right did they have? What made them believe it was okay to bully someone who was just trying to scratch out a living for himself and his family? Chris had gone looking for them, driving around the block night after night, peering into the darkness looking for…looking for who? He had no idea what they looked like; the description his dad had given the cops had been vague and full of frightened confusion. But going out looking for them had been the right thing to do, his duty as a son and a goddamn security consultant.

  He opened his eyes, feeling a rising sense of frustrated anger building up in his mind. What right did anyone have to do that?

  He caught a flickering light play on the wall of the storeroom. Kenta. It had to be. It was followed by some soft steps and then the man appeared on the threshold. It appeared he was looking at them, checking they were asleep. Was he going to try and sneak in and kill them?

  Chris kept still, waiting for him, his body tensing up. He’d get more than he bargained for if he stepped anywhere near to this mattress. He held his breath, willing him to come closer, close enough so he’d have an excuse to beat the life out of him. But he didn’t. He paused for a few seconds and then turned around. The light danced across the walls, and then faded away. It didn’t go out. It just lessened.

  What was he doing in there? Ookami had told him to stay put and whatever else Kenta was, he was obedient to Ookami. Subservient even. Most of the time. Should he wake him? Ookami was one of those men who kept their anger in check, kept it buried until it couldn’t be held any longer. And when it erupted, it was like a bomb had detonated. That’s how men like that operated.

  He glanced over. The man was sitting upright, his head leaning back against the newspaper stand with his mouth open wide. He was snoring too, just like Leo. He didn’t look quite so dangerous now. It was a shame Kim made him hand over the gun. He could have walked into the storeroom, put two rounds into Kenta before anyone was even awake. It would be too late for anyone to do anything about it, he’d be dead.

  But that wouldn’t be right. That would be cowardly. He didn’t need to sneak around. Neither of them was armed. It would come down to strength and courage. Kenta might know a bit of martial arts but he was a coward, he didn’t even know the meaning of the word courage. Or duty. Someone needed to show him what right and wrong were really about.

  He watched Ookami for a couple of minutes, waiting for a sign that he was awake. He had a feeling that even if he weren’t awake right now, he’d be able to move from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye. If he thought someone was going to take a shot at Kenta, there was no doubting where his loyalties led.

  The light in the storeroom had gone. He knew where Kenta was. There were only two places; upstairs to Leo’s apartment and downstairs to the basement. He wouldn’t dare go into the apartment. Alison would raise the roof and then all hell would break loose. The guy was a moron, but even for him there were limits.

  That left the basement. What did he want down there? The girl? Maybe he thought he was due some recreational time with her. That would fit his character; take what he could from someone who was as vulnerable as a child. Someone who couldn’t fight back.

  He watched Ookami for another minute, feeling anger bubbling away in his guts, then turned to the others. None showed any signs of life. Now was the time to move. He had to stop Kenta, prevent him from hurting anyone else. He eased off the mattress, grimacing at the squeaking sound. He waited for another couple of seconds and then stood up. Right now, Kenta was the faceless man who’d put his dad in the hospital. He was responsible for everything. He gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

  The storeroom was empty, just as he’d imagined it would be. In the corner, Leo’s punch bag stood sentry over the basement stairway. A faint, dismal flickering light seeped to the top step and then died. Chris cocked his head and listened. He could hear panting, gasping and then Kenta’s voice. The bastard was talking to her but it wasn’t a friendly voice. It was filled with violence. He was attacking her.

  He took the stairs as quickly as he could, following the light. The temperature dropped perceptibly with each downward step. Scuffling and scraping sounds rose up and then a fierce blast of freezing air made his eyes water. It had to be colder down here than it was out on the street.

  He reached the bottom step.

  “What the hell are you doing down here?” he shouted. Kenta tried to turn but he grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, shoving him forward. He slipped and fell to the floor, his cell skittering across the icy concrete.

  Kenta rolled onto his back and held his hands up. “Hey! Just calm down, would you!”

  “I asked you what you were doing down here?”

  “Just looking for a blanket, something to keep me warm. Jesus, man. No need to shove me like that.”

  Chris looked down at him, squirming around like a roach. He should just step on him. “Where’s the girl?” he asked.

  Kenta gestured with his head. “Back there.”

  It struck him that Kenta didn’t sound quite as confident as he usually did. Where was the sarcasm, the never-ending digs? Was he scared? Chris nearly smiled. The guy was scared of him. And he should be.

  He reached down for the cell. Cracks moved out from the center of the screen like a spider’s web.

  “Looks like you’ll need a new one of these?” he said. “Won’t be a problem though, will it? You’ll just help yourself to the one you like. No need to pay, Mr. Kenta, you just take one. On the house.”

  “Listen, man, we need to get out of here. We need to…”

  “Shut up!” he barked back. “You don’t get to tell me what we should do.”

  Kenta held his hands up again. “Take it easy. I just think we should go back upstairs and chill out. That’s all.”

  “You scared?” he asked.

  “Fuck you.”


  “Thought so.”

  He lifted the cell and aimed the flashlight into the darkness. It gave off very little light and what it did give off created more shadow than illumination.

  “What did you do to her?” He could see a vague outline at the other end. The girl had moved. Or Kenta had moved her. She was sitting on something, something that elevated her a little.

  “Nothing? I didn’t touch her!”

  “Yeah? So why is she there and not in the back like she was an hour ago?”

  Kenta got to his knees. “Listen, you want to go talk to her, find out if I did anything, be my guest, but I’m getting the hell out of here.” He tried to stand up.

  Chris put a heavy hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “You’re going nowhere, not until I find out what you were doing, what you were really doing?”

  “I told you! I was…”

  “You like dead girls? That it? You been messing with Michelle, you murdering bastard?”

  The rage erupted. He hit Kenta across the face with the back of his hand. The blow knocked him sideways. He raised his hand again. All the frustrated anger at the injustice of this last year came snarling forward. It had been waiting for a moment like this, a moment where it could be unleashed in all its glory onto the person responsible.

  “Baby.”

  A faint whisper, cold and miserable, landed on his ears as if someone were standing beside him. He held the blow intended for Kenta in check, glancing over his shoulder. There was nobody there.

  Kenta touched his already wrecked and swollen face. “You bastard,” he said.

  “Shut up,” he snapped back. The voice had thrown him. It was the same word he’d heard the girl repeating. Baby.

  He peered into the darkness again. “Did you hurt her baby?” He raised his hand again.

  “My baby.” Her voice fell on him again. He felt a cold blast of air against his skin. He shivered, turning full circle. It must be the acoustics of this place that made it sound like she was next to him and not at the other end of the room.