The Winter People

by Bret Tallent

  And then we'll visit with Barbara for a time, a good long time Nick. The stranger's voice(s) crowded out Barbara's, and even Nick's will to fight it (them). He couldn't focus and the pounding at his temples grew louder still. He felt his eardrums expanding to the point of bursting and he wanted to cry out, to scream. But he couldn't. All he could do was listen to them.

  Wanna know what we did to your buddies Nick? -- No! -- Wanna know how they screamed when we ripped them apart? -- Stop it! -- Wanna know how they TASTED?

  The pain was too much and Nick's body did the only thing it could to fight it. It shut down. Everything went fuzzy and the voices became faint whispers, then nothing at all. Darkness was crowding out all else and the last words of the strangers were nearly lost, nearly. We hope you taste as sweet Nick. Then the darkness became complete and not even the voices of the strangers could filter through. At last, Nick was oblivious to everything.

  ***

  "I sorta rigged it up myself Mike. I got the idea from the TDD in the bedroom.” Hayden motioned to the back of the house with his head.

  "TDD?" Mike queried.

  "Oh. It’s a Telecommunications Device for the Deaf. It's like a digital typewriter hooked into the phone lines. There's a central operator's station that all of the devices are connected to. Then, anyone on the system can talk to anyone else on the system."

  "I see", Mike nodded in comprehension.

  "So I figured, why not with the radio? It's really nothing more than Morse code and a red light, but it lets me contact her, and vice-versa.", Hayden explained, obviously pleased with his handiwork.

  He continued, "It's just like one of those cheap Radio Shack walkie-talkies that have the little Morse code button on them. Only this flashes a light instead of using a tone. I've tuned both sets to a specific unused frequency in the area. It's pretty primitive I think, but it's worked okay so far. The biggest problem was for Barb and me to learn Morse.” Hayden chuckled. His modest nature wouldn't allow himself to blow his own horn too loudly. He looked down at the handset on the desk, slightly embarrassed, and ran one finger along the top of the back of the chair there.

  "So that's how you told her about us and everything, even with the phones out.” Mike realized, impressed. It was quite a job of handiwork no matter how modest Hayden was being about it.

  "That's it. I hope to..."

  "Hayden!?” Barbara's voice was urgent but not panicked, "Hayden, come quick!"

  Hayden and Mike came into the kitchen from the living room and were startled by the picture before them. Nick was slumped over the table and Barbara was just coming up beside him with a wet washcloth. Hayden moved quickly to the table, looked down at Nick, and placed a hand on Barbara's shoulder to turn her to face him. In that moment he saw that Nick was unconscious and there was a trickle of blood running down his lip from his nose.

  "What happened?"

  "I, I don't know? We were talking and he began to rub his temples, then his nose started to bleed.” Barbara recounted, biting her lower lip. Mike took the washcloth from her and started to dab up the blood that had pooled on the table.

  She continued, "I tried to get his attention but he didn't even notice me. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the table."

  Mike laid Nick down onto the bench seat, his arms dangling lifelessly on either side. He knelt beside Nick and held pressure against the bleeding with the now red mottled cloth. Mike felt Hayden and Barbara come up behind him but did not move. He just held the cloth with one hand and affectionately caressed Nick's sweat laden forehead with the other. He was pale and clammy and his breathing was shallow. Mike was worried.

  Then Mike felt Hayden's firm grip on his shoulder and it had a calming effect on him. Hayden squeezed once then just let his hand rest there. Mike turned to look up at him and his eyes were glossy.

  "I couldn't stand to lose another one Hayden, I couldn't.", Mike turned away then, and sighed.

  "You're not going to lose him Mike, he just fainted. He'll be okay, I'm sure of it. It's probably just everything that's happened, and all that rot-gut we drank last night. He did put away quite a bit of it you know.” Hayden's voice was gentle and seemed out of place with his presence. It had a soothing quality to it and it helped Mike to fight back the tears that were trying like hell to fall. Hayden realized that this was very nearly the straw that could break Mike's back; he was close to the point of having had too much happen to him too quickly.

  Hayden looked down at Nick then who had begun to tremble and he swallowed hard. Not both of you, he thought, I don't need both of you falling apart on me. He had told Mike that it was nothing, but it sure didn't feel like nothing. No siree, it didn't feel like nothing at all. Hayden was worried.

  Barbara came up behind them and startled them both, taking each of them suddenly out of whatever thoughts they were involved in. She brandished a pot with water and a fresh washcloth. She pushed Mike away gently and took his position beside Nick. Mike stood beside Hayden, unsure of what to do. There were several moments of tense silence which Hayden finally broke.

  "I've got some things I need to take care of Mike.” Hayden watched Mike closely, who only nodded acknowledgement. He continued, "You stay here and help take care of your friend, I'll be back soon enough. If you get the inkling, see if you can raise someone on the radio. If you can get through to the Ranger Station, get them to send for help. If you get any locals, tell them to bolt their doors and stay put. You got that?" Hayden paused as Mike nodded, and then went on.

  "There's a gun and ammo in the top drawer of the desk next to the radio if you need it, but I want you to stay put. Got it?” a nod, "Okay, I'm leaving now. Take care of both of them." Hayden clasped him on the shoulder again and was gone. He hoped that the responsibility he had just given Mike would give him strength. It was all he had.

  ***

  The snow was beginning to stick to Bud's face and powder him white before Sarah finally decided upon a course of action. She had no idea of how long she had sat there. She figured it was very near to an hour, but it was difficult to say in this cold, this situation. Her joints ached and her extremities were beginning to get numb. A warm place far from here was exactly what she needed.

  Sarah hooked a hand under each armpit of her dead uncle and began to drag him out of the hole they were in. The snow was not solid enough to allow her to walk on top of it so she had to bull her way through it. The effort took every amount of strength that she had and she had stopped to rest several times before reaching the roadway. Raking in huge amounts of frigid air from the exertion caused her chest to ache and each time she stopped to rest was a little longer than the previous one.

  Sarah reached the front of Bud's Polaris only moments before her strength gave out altogether. She let her uncle drop into the snow at her feet and she herself dropped to all fours, breathing heavily. After a moment, her legs weren't quite so shaky and she felt she could stand on them. Sarah made the fifteen or so feet to her snowmobile fairly easily, her strength returning with each step.

  As she climbed onto her snowmobile she went over her plan again in her head. She would tie the sled onto her machine as she didn't figure that she could lift the other. Then she would strap her uncle's body on the sled next to Clayton, she didn't think he was in any condition to protest, and it wouldn't have mattered to Sarah if he did. Finally, she would tow them both into town. Oh well, she thought, it was a plan.

  She was just about to press the start button when a blast of arctic wind nearly took her off of it. It was a wailing cry that pounded on her temples and made her wince. It seemed far away and right on top of her all at once. She broke out in uncontrollable tremors and she was suddenly very afraid. The wind cried again and it was even closer, louder. She instinctively put her hands up to her ears and held them there tightly.

  Something bad was coming, she felt it. It was coming for her, it wanted her, and she felt that too. Sarah lowered her hands and looked around her, moving her head
in quick jerky motions, trying to catch a glimpse of it over here, or a peek at it over there. But she could see nothing, only white, and blowing white, and shades of white. It was right on top of her, she could feel its presence, and it’s evil.

  It was all around her, its cries the wind itself. It was heavy with misanthropy but there was also a joy in it. Not a happy joy, but a gloating joy, a sickly triumphant joy. Then Sarah remembered the flare gun in the folds of her coat and she reached for it, a torch against the dark, a talisman, a chance. She found it and her heart pounded hard with the hope it had given her. Sarah looked down upon it in her hand as if it were a charm that could protect her from the evil that was enveloping her.

  Clayton suddenly screamed a bone chilling cry that could be heard even above the wail that encompassed him. He struggled hard against the ropes that bound him but he couldn't move. He could only rock his head from side to side. And watch it come for him. The way it had surely come for Ted. He continued to scream, as it was his only recourse. But he wouldn't have to scream for long.

  Sarah looked up from the flare gun with the first scream and saw Clayton struggling beneath the blankets and ropes. There was a deep fear etched in his face, a fear she had never seen before. But she saw nothing else. Sarah looked even harder, focused all of her will towards Clayton and still she could see nothing. She was about to shrug it off to his state when they found him, or simply his reaction to the same evil that she felt, when she saw movement.

  It was a shadow, shadows of white against white, barely discernable against the backdrop until it moved. And it did move. So fast it seemed it was a phantom in the wind, a blur. She could make it out more clearly against the dark of the snowmobile and Clayton's blankets, but it was still only a form. Large and hulking, but incredibly quick, it descended upon Clayton before he finished his second scream. And it finished it for him.

  Clayton disappeared behind the shadow and his screams became muffled, and then stopped abruptly with a gurgle and a loud POP! The shadow raised its head and in what appeared to be its mouth, was Clayton's head. His eyes bulging and staring at Sarah, his mouth opened in a scream, it was connected to his body only by a stream of blood. Sarah looked down from it and found a fountain of red, a stream spraying the snow in front of her. It was Clayton's life force polluting the pristine whiteness with its ugly color.

  There was a triumphant ululation in the wind just then, a sick glee. The shadow lowered its head and stared at Sarah, the corners of its huge toothy mouth turned up in a smile. Its eyes were an abyss, black and soulless. Two lumps of coal in a warped and twisted snowman, a snowman with the head of wolf. A wolf mutated by hatred and deviated into a gross exaggeration of anything it might have resembled. Then one of the black ovals closed in what seemed to be a mocking wink, and then there was laughter in the wind.

  Sarah turned hard just then. She had become cold with hatred and loathing. She raised the flare gun and pointed it at what she thought was the thing's chest and pulled the trigger. The flare was a brilliant light in the darkness of the storm and Sarah squinted at it. It stopped suddenly and was held there in the air. Then Sarah realized that it was buried in the chest of the shadow, and it illuminated it in an unearthly glow of red.

  Clayton's head fell from its mouth and landed with a soft thud in the blood darkened snow, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. The shadow cried out in pain and it blended with the wind, mixed with its already rancorous cry and became a part of it. Then the flare exploded and the shadow burst into flames, a human shaped torch that emitted warmth that Sarah could feel from where she was. In a second it was gone, a darkened spot in the snow, a hole melted where it had stood.

  Sarah punched the start button on her machine and it grumbled readily to life. She leaned forward over the handlebars and punched the throttle hard with her thumb. The Polaris lurched forward and shot ahead into the drift covered road before her. She felt the skis get light and even catch air as she cleared the small ridge that had toppled her uncle's machine.

  When the skis again touched snow, the flare gun dislodged from her hand and bounced down the side of the Polaris, lost in the snow. Sarah cursed but didn't take the time to look back. Instead, she gripped the handlebars more firmly and pushed the throttle to its limit. The engine raced and its track threw up a snow rooster tail that was caught by the wind and carried away. Sarah could feel herself pulling away from the evil, but there was something else.

  There was a new hatred in the air rushing past her ears, a hatred of her. She felt it as surely as she felt the evil that had decapitated Clayton. She wasn't quite sure how she knew it, but she knew that they were angry with her. And even angry didn't fully describe what she felt. They were insane with revenge, sick with desire, desire for her. It was crazy, she knew, but she could hear it in the wind. They were coming for her.

  CHAPTER 11

  Johnny could feel the icy breath of the others on the nape of his neck and it made his skin crawl, partly from fear and partly from revulsion. It was clear that the dogs felt their presence as well. They cowered down on the litter and whimpered and whined, searching the trees around them in vain for the source of their anxiety. Johnny bit his lip just then, he very nearly said it. He almost said their name aloud, and that scared him. He was almost afraid that they would answer, would come to call on the one who had spoken it.

  At that moment, for an instant, the tone of the wind changed. It seemed to convey assent. Then, just as quickly, it returned to its morose wail. He knew that they talked in the wind, and tormented in dreams. But he wasn't sure how far their psychic abilities stretched. Could they read his thoughts? Surely not, or they would have descended upon him already. Could they tap into someone else's psychic link with another? Who knew? But Johnny would not put anything past them.

  He knew it was they who brought the storm. They called it. They joined together as one and called it to cover them, to aid them. It was quite literally a psychic storm, the elements held together by pure thought. Evil thought. Their thought. It also explained why Johnny's own senses were heightened today. He wondered then if when the storm subsided he would retain the level of his gift that he now had. If he survived to see the end of the storm, that was.

  Johnny had been climbing steadily since leaving his home, circling slightly to the north. It was a long ride under these conditions and the fear that accompanied him made his pace seem unbearably slow. The ridge line he was following was treacherous and narrow. A wall of aspen on one side, skeletal sentinels in a dead place, and a shear drop on the other. More than once Johnny felt the litter he was towing pull to the right as the snow beneath it gave way and plummeted down the cliff face.

  Ahead of him he could see the wall of clouds that he would enter. The closer he came to it, to touching something so much a part of them, the more his hair stood on end. It was as if an electric current was coursing through his body, activating every nerve. He could feel them too, more so than he ever wanted. It made his skin come alive under the black nylon of his ski suit. He was closer to them now than he had ever been. But he knew that he would get a lot closer.

  Upon penetrating the mass of foreboding vapor the dogs became restless, reacting to every sound. Johnny could feel it too, could feel the anxiety seeping in, but he fought it back. There was an overwhelming sense of dread in the air, so thick it was suffocating. Instinctively, Johnny found himself breathing heavily to compensate for it, and then he exhaled in a heavy sigh.

  The Indian was now in a world that was not his own. He had just opened the door and walked right in. He was an intruder in a place that didn't take too kindly to 'em. In an uninviting place that reeked of depravity and sick desires, and promised only death. The air here was tainted and it caused Johnny to gag. Even the dogs made repulsive gestures with their noses and whined in dissent.

  The darkness of the cloud bank seemed magnified and added to the alien atmosphere. Johnny found it increasingly difficult to see the path before him and even his headlight cou
ldn't seem to cut through the murk. Finally, he closed his eyes and lowered his head. The path before him became awash in an unearthly glow, illuminated to the length of his own vision. It formed a tunnel in the darkness, a negative image.

  Johnny followed it without hesitation, his trepidations ebbing with each yard traversed. The trail veered from the cliff face, entered the stand of aspens, and began to level out. At first the trees became sparser, then smaller, then not at all. There was a bright light from above, cutting through the cloud cover to touch the earth, a circle of our world in the midst of their world, an oasis.

  Here, a strong wind had punched a hole through the clouds and allowed the sun to fall on a barren patch of ground. The snowmobile pulled into the clearing and stopped near its center, its rider crouched over the handlebars. The litter it towed and its contents were dusted in white. Immediately, Johnny felt the warm sun on his back and he smiled beneath his mask. Roscoe and Ouray stared up at it welcomingly.

  Johnny killed the motor and stood to survey the area. He took a tentative step off the snowmobile and found the snow to be as solid as granite. Before him, the mountain jutted upward abruptly, rocky and formidable. A constant wind was channeled down the crag and blasted the ground where Johnny stood. Over time it had removed most of the topsoil and left a barren and lifeless glade. Further away, as the wind dispersed outward in a fan, plant life took purchase. But here, there was nothing.

  Johnny looked upward and let the cold wind hit him squarely in the face. It felt clean and he took in several deep breaths. This was not their wind. It came from Sinawaf, the Creator. It was a direct channel to the outside, and normalcy. It whistled all about the trio but its sound was pleasant. In it there were not the cries and the pleas and sick desires of the others, only the wind.