The Winter People

by Bret Tallent

  But before he could have time to think any further, the hair on the nape of his neck stood up on end and he was overcome with a terrible sense of dread. He had the feeling that he was being watched, that he wasn't alone anymore. His heart tried to inch its way up in his throat and Dave swallowed hard to keep it down.

  The icy draft that had been catching Dave on the right rear side suddenly grew warm and it made him start to tremble. He turned to face it and saw the form looming over him.

  Suddenly, Dave wasn't bored anymore.

  ***

  Syrhal picked at his teeth with one razored nail, the bone fragment lodged there irritated him. He sucked on it, probed it with his long pointed tongue, and then picked at it some more. "This is not satisfying,” he thought, "this is not satisfying at all." It was much too quick he decided, no time for fear. Their flesh was sweet, yes, the meat was good. But, there was more to the hunger than food, much more.

  He finally spit the chunk of bone out onto the floor, and then looked around the hidey hole. The two in this hole called "Diner" had tasted good, but they did not satiate him. The hunger was difficult to control, and the blood cries of the prey infuriated and frenzied him. Try as he might, he could never seem to make it last, and that frustrated him and made him hate them even more.

  Syrhal had not felt hatred like this in a long, long time. Absentmindedly, he gingerly ran a finger over a long scar nearly lost in the fur of his left shoulder and breast. He thought back momentarily to their first feeding many seasons ago, after the arrival. He thought back to the puny man-thing that had killed many of his brethren and nearly killed Syrhal himself. It caused his hatred to grow even more and it felt good.

  There was so much hatred in fact that his flesh could not contain it. His enmity swelled up inside him and burst forth. Syrhal became wild then and tore into the room. He smashed and tore and threw and slashed. He was a white blur in the destruction, set out against the red splattered around the room from his feeding. The light, the light above hurt his eyes so he smashed it too. With one sweeping blow from his huge hand, the fluorescent bulbs popped and scattered their remains upon Syrhal and the other debris in the diner.

  He screamed as he rendered, ululating his agony. He cried out to his brethren, joined in their song in the wind. All the while, the burning was there, twisting his insides into painful knots. He'd fed on the fat thing, and the burning remained. Then he'd ravaged the life out of the skinny female thing, and still, the burning was there.

  Then, Syrhal knew what he must do. He would find others and make it last with them. He would ease the pain of the hunger, and exact his rancor. A wicked grin inched its way onto his twisted face and his eyes narrowed. Syrhal slipped quietly out the door and was lost immediately in the storm. His figure became a ghost, and then disappeared entirely, the dark edges of his smile the last thing visible.

  After all, it was the feeding time.

  ***

  Barbara Smith had fallen into a fitful sleep. After Nick and Mike left, she had cleaned the kitchen then settled down in her favorite recliner to read. She was snug and warm, bundled in a quilt that her grandmother had made, and had dozed off almost immediately. Just as quickly, she began to dream.

  The dream was familiar to her though she had never had it before. There were underlying feelings and emotions of something she couldn't quite grasp, but still they were familiar. As with all things familiar, there was a certain amount of comfort, so she let herself move towards the dream. She allowed it to take off and lost herself in it.

  She stood in a void of white with neither dimension nor sensation. Before her a shape materialized from the white as if coming out of a mist, it was Hayden. Barbara heard him speak her name and he extended a gloved hand out to her. In the misty altered reality she took it and found herself sitting behind him. There was a wind on her face and it felt brisk and clean, and somewhere near she heard a muffled buzz.

  Every sound was sweet and she tried to focus on them in the dream but its progression wouldn't allow it. So she simply cherished the sound for the moment and went on. Again, Hayden's voice rang out, soft and beautiful. He turned and looked at her and his face was full of life, his cheeks red. She studied him in this dreamy aura and saw a Hayden of many years ago.

  Though his features were as they were this morning, there was youth in his eyes, his expressions. Even though she knew how old she was, Barbara was also young at the same time. They were in two times at the same time. She was Mrs. Smith and little Barbara O'Neal, all at once. She was who she was, living a moment from the past, and who she is, dreaming it today. It was a moment she only now realized was happening.

  Hayden was taking her out on her father's new Snow-Cat. It was a crisp winter evening and the full moon in the clear December sky shone off the snow and illuminated the world in an eerie false day. The brisk wind tossed her hair around and kissed lightly at her cheeks. In front of her, her arms stretched around the young man that had caught her fancy so many months ago. She squeezed him tight just then.

  But then Barbara remembered that moment all together and panic rose up in her. She screamed but her cries were lost in the roar of the engine and wail of the wind whipping past them. They rode on in the night, flying as fast as the machine could carry them. Barbara tried to just let go and fall off but her arms were leaden and she didn't have the strength to move them. She tried to get Hayden's attention but she couldn't move at all, and when she opened her mouth only a little squeak came out.

  The trees flew by in a rush but she recognized the surroundings and the panic inside her grew. Then the trees disappeared and there was only the white void. Only it wasn't the white void, they were on the lake. Hayden had taken her out onto the lake as he had done all those years ago, racing toward its center. They were soaring across the ice, lightly blanketed with snow. And with each yard they moved, Barbara's panic grew.

  Then there was no sound but the creaking and moaning of the ice. It was so loud it pounded painfully at Barbara's temples. But still she could not move. She could only stare at Hayden's back, she could only sit there and let it happen all over again.

  There was a thunderous crash as the surface gave way and the back of the Snow-Cat dipped into the icy water. Suddenly, Barbara was standing off to the side watching the scene as a spectator. It happened just as it had all those years ago except that she wasn't on the machine, it was only Hayden. She didn't sink in the water, Hayden didn't save her, and she wasn't deaf.

  But Hayden was still struggling with the Snow-Cat, the skis still catching the edge of the ice. The motor roared and the track kicked up water behind him. But every time he made a little progress, the hole opened up a little more and Hayden would lose whatever ground he had managed. Then the seat was under water and Barbara saw terror on Hayden's face.

  Finally, Hayden let the machine go and lunged for the edge of the ice. The headlight disappeared beneath the black surface as Hayden clawed at the ice. Every time he tried to pull himself out, the ice would break and he would fall back into the water. But Barbara couldn't help, she could only watch. She could only see him struggle; see the expression on his face. Then his face changed.

  He was no longer the Hayden of yesterday and today, he was only the Hayden of today. Barbara felt it in herself as well, she was no longer in the past, and she was no longer in two different times. With that realization, her hearing was gone. She could only watch the scene in silence, watch her husband die.

  Hayden struggled in the arctic water, his clothes soaked and tugging on him, pulling him downward. His skin was ghostly white and his eyes opened wide in fear. The intense cold was numbing him and his movements became sluggish, slow. He was near to exhaustion, near to giving up when the ice finally held his weight.

  The big man pulled himself half out of the water and rested his torso on the glacial surface, panting heavily. Barbara's fear eased and she tried to go to him, but still she could not move. So she only stared at him, sprawled on the ice, hanging hal
f way into the icy waters of Steamboat Lake.

  Suddenly, a huge white hand tipped with long razored nails thrust up out of the water; followed by another, and another. They clawed at Hayden, grabbed him around the arms and waist. Then another hand erupted from the lake and sank its nails deep into Hayden's back. He arched in pain, his mouth open in a silent scream.

  Then all the hands yanked him under the surface and he was gone.

  ***

  Barbara awoke, startled and confused. She jerked her head upright and blinked several times. Her body racked with tremors and she felt very cold, a cold that seeped deep into her bones and froze the blood there. She pulled the old quilt up tight and stared off at the wall, puzzled. She vaguely remembered a dream, but its contents escaped her.

  She concentrated on it but that only made her head ache. Finally, she shook it off with a shrug. But, she couldn't seem to shake the feeling of anxiety that had come over her. She was nervous and she hadn't the faintest idea why. She decided to ignore it and go back to her book. "It was nothing.” her mind said.

  But, she may well have changed her mind if she could have heard the death song of the wind, rattling through the eaves.....or the pounding at the front door.

  CHAPTER 14

  Hayden stumbled weakly from the home of Ellis Campbell, the taste of bile still fresh on his tongue. He pulled a handful of snow from the large drift next to him and thrust it into his mouth, then spit several times. The cold powder removed some of the taste and cleared his head a little. He leaned against the porch railing with one hand and then wiped his mouth with the back of the other.

  After sucking in a couple of deep breaths of the frigid air, followed by a hard swallow, Hayden pulled his face mask up. He then pushed off of the railing and moved toward his snowmobile. His previous path was now only an indentation that sucked at him with every step. He was still somewhat shaky and found it increasingly difficult to move around in the deep snow. The cold was finding its way into his joints and extremities and his feet and hands were beginning to ache.

  But Hayden was determined now, determined and scared. In fact, he was more scared now than he had ever been. Something bad was happening to Copper Creek, something evil. He'd felt it before but had ignored it, rationalized it. But he couldn't ignore what he had just seen. He couldn't ignore what he was feeling all around him. There was evil in this place, as real and tangible as the snowmobile he now sat upon.

  The moment that Hayden let go and accepted that thought, it became all the more present. The evil was so thick he could reach out into the wind and touch it, feel it. Then, he realized that the wind was a part of it, and so were the snow, and the clouds. He was enveloped in it. It filled his lungs and made him want to gag, and he could smell it now. The air was rotten with it, hatred and death.

  Hayden suddenly became anxious to leave and go back to town. He reached for the key and found that it was already in the "on" position. A brief moment of panic swept over him but he remained calm and reached for the start button with his thumb. Nothing. He pushed it again and still nothing. "Damn.", he muttered, and the panic tried to rise up in him again but he fought it back.

  He reached down to the pull rope and yanked on it. The machine caught a few times then fell silent. He pulled again and gave it some throttle this time, but still it wouldn't start. He held the throttle down and tugged on the rope again, then again, and again. A cough, a sputter, but still it wouldn't start. Then Hayden smelled gas. "Damn.", he said again.

  Hayden released the throttle and jerked at the cord several times more until he had to stop and rest. He was panting heavily and the bitter-cold air hurt his lungs. Suddenly, Hayden was startled by a blast of wailing wind that echoed painfully in his ears. His hair stood up on end all over and he could feel it crawling beneath his clothes. He jerked his head around several times but found nothing, except that his panic was back and this time he couldn't quite make it go away.

  The wind howled again, closer, and Hayden knew that something was coming. He grabbed the cord and began yanking on it for all he was worth. He pulled, and thumbed the throttle. He played with the choke, and pulled some more. He gave it a final mighty tug and the engine sputtered, then caught. He gunned the throttle to keep it running and looked around expectantly. Nothing.

  He searched the trees and the side of the building. Nothing. He stared through the huge icicles that connected the eaves of the cabin to the frozen ground, their heavy crystalline forms distorting whatever lay beyond them. Nothing. Yet, peering through the bars of ice, Hayden did see something. For an instant, he was transported to an alien world, a frozen place that reeked of depravity, prehistoric in its savagery. A place that belonged with the evil around him.

  A shrill cry intruded upon the scene and startled Hayden, hammering at his eardrums. The icicles exploded into the storm and Hayden flinched away from their debris. He jerked his head around again, wild eyed. Again, nothing. Hayden breathed a heavy sigh but did not relax. He eased the machine toward the back of the cabin and the trail that led to a clearing. Being in the trees made him nervous and although it was somewhat out of his way, he much preferred the open ground.

  By squinting and concentrating, Hayden could see the clearing through the trees. But he saw something else too. There was something moving through the trees ahead of him. Shadows. There were white shadows in the trees, showing up momentarily as they passed in front of an aspen or pine. Hayden's blood ran cold and he began to tremble. He stopped the machine and looked around him. There were shadows to the left and the right, and shadows creeping along the wall of Ellis' cabin behind him. They were like ghosts in an enormous cemetery.

  They were specters that floated between graves and danced across the land, apparitions that melded with the landscape and lost themselves in the ice and snow. They were graceful and swift, not bound by earthly restraints. Hayden watched them with awe, until his terror kicked him in the temple. He jammed the throttle and shot forward. The wind screeched angrily all around him and pounded painfully on his eardrums, but he ignored it.

  Hayden jumped a drift, brought his machine up on one ski and missed a tree, then entirely ran over a smaller one. Branches smacked at his windshield and legs as he flew through the trees. He rode faster than he dared; adjusting his course to miss what he could, and avoid the shadows. The shadows that were closing in on him.

  The clearing was very near; he could almost feel the promise of its safety. Still he flew, driven by terror. Hayden was nearly there when a shadow stepped out in front of him. It was a mammoth before him, a mountain. It stood there, grinning, arms outstretched to welcome him. Hayden's heart stopped just then, there was nowhere else to go. Trees bordered either side and just beyond it was the clearing.

  Hayden did the only thing he could think of, the only thing his terror would allow. He pushed the throttle as far as it would go, hung himself low on the seat, and headed straight for it. He was nearly upon it when the snowmobile shot into the air and nearly bucked Hayden off. He glanced back and saw a fallen log across the path, exposed where his track had hit it.

  Hayden was jolted and nearly dislodged again as he hit the thing and glanced off its chest. The world had gone silent except for the high pitched whine of the two-stroke set free, and a painful cry somewhere below. Then Hayden could hear nothing but his own heart, and a distant prayer in the back of his mind. He saw only a blur of white, and then his world went upside down. Or rather, Hayden did. The snowmobile rolled over in mid air and landed on its side out in the clearing, then continued to roll, finally resting upright.

  Hayden's grip never faltered and the engine had revved high during the entire crash. When he came to rest, the spinning track dug into the soft powder and kicked it up violently. Hayden was hanging off the side of the snowmobile, a death grip on the handlebars all that tied him to it. The machine lurched forward in jerky motions as it tried to dig itself out of the hole it had made, dragging Hayden along with it.

  His weight off th
e one side caused the machine to lean and turn to the right. Finally, it found purchase and shot out into the snow field, moving in a huge arc to the right. Behind him, Hayden could actually hear the heavy breathing of the thing he had hit, chasing him. After about fifty yards he heard nothing but the wind and took the chance to stop and climb fully on his snowmobile.

  As Hayden hoisted a leg over the snow covered seat, he noticed the ski. The left ski was twisted outward and up the side of the motor cover. Just above the top of the ski ran four deep gouges in the fiberglass body, stopping at the front of the track. Hayden paused for only an instant in disbelief. Had he landed any other way than the way he had, he would have gone nowhere.

  Hayden shook his head then quickly raked the packed snow from the instruments. Behind him he heard a screech that chilled his blood and caused his panic to return. It was a deafening roar that caused the muscles in his neck to tense up from the pain in his ears, and it was incredibly close. It was nearly upon him, its evil preceding it like a noxious odor.

  The big man leaned to the right and hit the throttle, his hands trembling inside his gloves. The machine moved out jerkily, the twisted ski catching occasionally on the snow. He shot across the field in an "S" pattern, trying to maintain a straight path. The snowmobile fought him the entire way and he felt himself tiring quickly. Between the cold and the manhandling he had to do, not even his immense fear could carry him much further. But, he was sure they were still chasing him.

  Although he had managed to distance himself somewhat, the course he was forced to follow was not nearly as quick as he'd hoped. He had risked a peek back a time or two and had seen nothing, but that did little to ease him. Hayden could feel them behind him, could feel each powerful step they took, pounding in his chest. Yes, they were after him, he could smell them. Their rancor tainted the very air he breathed.