by Josh Olsen
The sight of this, and the dull throbbing of his back muscles, violently coddled Jason back into reality.
"Macklin...I..what am I...doing....God damn. My back." Jason breathed out, stepping toward Macklin.
Clark eyed him suspiciously, whether as a precaution or because his tired eyes begged to rest on something.
"Macklin I'm sorry, I... I don't know what got into me...I.." Jason stumbled with his words, embarrassed, but the turmoil still spun inside his mind, begging for an outlet.
Macklin's voice shook as profusely as his outstretched fist, "Sheriff, I'm...Oh god, I'm so sorry."
Jason spoke up, "Macklin I was way out of line, it's my fault.”
Macklin fell back into the chair behind him, his hands rubbing his eyes, kneading the sleep from them. "My wife...we lost our baby last night."
Jason's heart sunk, "Macklin I'm...Oh God, I'm sorry." Jason sunk into his chair, spinning aimlessly on the rusted wheels.
Wrought with guilt and confusion, Jason stared out the window. The early morning light just crossing the peaks of the mountains, illuminating the fallen snow, the sun shimmered off of their white crystals. The towering, ominous pines swayed in the chill of the morning air. Swaying back and forth, the tall husks of lumber stirred. Menacingly almost, they moved. The army of pines surrounded the town, commanded by their celestial general. They moved in perfect unison, creaking back and forth in the silence of the snow. An army, circling, moving in on its enemy.
Chapter 36
Howard Bell stretched out in his armchair,yawning. The sleep on his breath emanated chills that cascaded down his sides. This ground level suite he sat in, was graced with a large window providing a view of the surrounding forest. It was unlike him to have a smaller suite such as this he now resided in, but he had taken the room as a last effort to return to his roots. His latest works had been, lackluster to say the least. Hollow attempts to connect with the readers he had lost and his followers saw straight through it.
Washed up, a footnote, all the things they had called him, the things he’d read in the papers.
He had always hated the cold, the unforgiving bite of the snow.
“Poetic in a way,” he thought to himself, “That something so beautiful would carry the harshest sting.”
But, it was his only recently failing career that had forced him outside of his comfort zone into these jagged, icy mountains, and hopefully, he thought, back into the nebula of prosperity his career had once been.
It had come to him late at night, so late he hardly had the energy to scrawl down a few barely legible sentences before he dozed off. The setting for his next book, one that would draw him back into the light. A period piece, not his typical bread and butter but it was risks like this that great art was made from.
A deserting Union soldier during the civil war, lost in the pursuit of his destination, untouched by the ravages of war, takes up refuge from a blizzard in a small cabin. The sole owner, a beautiful southern belle by the name of Anna. Of course these forlorn individuals were destined to fall madly in love, the danger and scandal of this forbidden affair only fueling the burning passion between these two lost souls.
“God.” he thought to himself, “It’s garbage, utter trash.” Disgusted with himself, he flung his coffee mug across the room, the ceramics shattered on the gloss of the thick wood beams of the room.
Sitting back in his chair he lit a cigarette. It had always been in the back of his mind, though he wouldn’t always acknowledge it. He realized now that part of him hoped to die when he had made the journey up here. He was after all nearing the better part of 60.
A cold perhaps, or age. If he just drifted off in his sleep, little more than a shrug or head shaken in pity would await his memory if he did. No reason to suspect a thing.
“I am after all an old man,” he had thought as he packed his bags. Anxious to get away, anxious to leave his world, the world he scorned. The ex wives.
“Wives” he chuckled to himself, “Nothing more than shrieking vultures, their beaks dripping with saliva, waiting to pick my corpse clean.” His adopted children were no better, all awaiting a piece of his pie.
He stood up, his feet shuffled in his slippers. Discernible veins pulsating and writhing with his steps. Pulling a tin from his trunk he produced his pills, a flask of gin was next. Shuffling back to his warm seat he stared out over the vastness, the seemingly endless cloud covered mountain tops that stretched out for miles. “I might as well have something to look at as I go.” he said, settling down in his chair. Holding the pills in his frail wrinkled hand, he took a deep breath.
A man appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, pounding on the window, his hands soaked in blood, streaked across the clean glass. The noise had caused Howard to jump, the pills fell from his hands and rolled on the floor.
“Oh God, You need to let me in!” The man pleaded, his face distorted with fear that he had never seen the likes of in his 60 years.
Howard trembled, his body shook from fear and the age that plagued it. Frantically, he looked back and forth, his mind raced, searching desperately for a way to help.
“Oh God, there it is! Hurry!” The man shrieked again, pleading with him through the glass.
Howard trembled, paralyzed by fear, he saw it. Just at the edge of the woods, an enormous figure, still distorted by the dimness of the early morning, crept toward the man. Its movements inhuman, the creature was a foul, sordid sight and it sickened Howard’s stomach the more he stared at it. Though he didn’t know why.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t help the man that pleaded for his life, just inches from him, separated by a mere pane of glass.
The man screamed, a chilling wale echoing off of his very bones. The creature was close now, inches from the man.
The man outside made no sound now, trembling in the snow, steam wafted upward from his panicked breaths. Rearing up, the beast lunged at him, taking them both through the window. Glass exploded in all directions, slashing at Howard’s skin as he fell backwards in shock. The ghastly creature tore at the man who now offered little more than a gurgled whimper as his eyes rolled back in his head.
Howard scrambled to his feet, his old joints begging for rest. Glass cut his feet as he fled the room, tearing open the door, he burst into the hallway shrieking. The beast tearing at its mutilated prey behind him.
Chapter 37
“Now, some of you are going to ask me for an explanation, but you’ve all seen what’s left of Elroy’s house by now, and you should know. I don’t have anything for you that you can’t try and figure yourself.” Jason said.
His officers, or rather, some of them sat in front of him in the station. Most had opted to stay home with their families after the events of last night and the wreckage that the sun had revealed today. Jason didn’t blame them.
Clark sat to the side, smoking a cigarette. The freshened bandages on his hand yellowed from the toxic smoke.
Jason’s wife Sandra and his 2 kids sat in his office in the back. Sandy, her gaze wrought with worry sat fixated on her sewing. Of course she worried about him, as anyones loved ones would that have someone dear working on the force, she knew that, and after all these years she had grown accustomed to that stagnant worry that plagued her mind, always reminding herself of its existence from the pit of worry deep in her stomach.
But this was different, Jason had always been her rock, her reassurance. She thought of his voice. “All’s well down here baby doll.” his gruff tone over the phone as she would hear every night when the worry and panic grew too great and she frantically dialed the phone. That was all it took, just his voice to melt all her “what if’s” away. Make her feel as if all was right in the world, but when Jason had burst in the door an hour ago, she had seen a look in her husbands eyes that she had never seen in her life.
“Now I don’t know what Sanders has said to any of you, but this takes priority, this…thing. It is a bigger threat to you and your families than those asshol
es I can promise you that.” Jason said.
Murmurs were heard throughout the men, Jason was never one to speak ill about Sanders, a reminder of the silent truth that they all knew, they lived in Sanders pocket. Some laughed to themselves in disbelief, shaking their heads, whether in denial or defiance Jason didn’t care, he continued on.
“Report to Dane to be separated into your patrol groups, but first, call your families, tell them to lock the doors and stay away from the windows, it will keep them safe.” Jason said again, reassuring himself as well as best he could.
“You lying sack of shit!” A voice burst from the crowd, Anderton, another man that Jason had his suspicions about stood up.
“I was at the paradise, whatever that thing was got into a room on the 3rd fucking floor!” The man’s words shook, a combination of fear and anger powered his voice as he spoke.
“You’re gonna tell us with a straight face we’re safe in our little cabins? The Paradise is a goddamn fortress!”
The men all erupted into a roar of noise as he spoke, others looked at each other in disbelief, some rushed to the phone.
Jason struggled with his weary mind to formulate a response, peering over the shouting heads, he could see his office door, still shut.
“Thank God.” he thought.
The heavy oak door to the entrance of the station was heard down the hallway, swinging open it clattered as it shut, the howl of the wind cut off as footsteps clomped up and down.
The borderline hysterical men jumped back, startled, they stared at the archway in the hall. Tensing up, they held their breath staring as the footsteps drew closer.
The thin figure of Ray Alberts swung around the corner,
“Sheriff!….What in..” Ray stopped, the pack of men standing ready to pounce exhaled loudly as they saw the thin, wiry figure of the photographer.
Jason snapped back into reality, if only for a moment. He struggled to keep his mind focused. Seeing a familiar face, he breathed a sigh of relief, forgetting for a moment. “Ray, what-“
Ray cut him off, his brow furrowed with concern, “Sheriff, something big is going on outside.”
Chapter 38
The muffled sound of the outside, covered in snow was overshadowed by the hiss of snow hitting hot engine, and the whir of spinning tires trapped in the snow. Stretched down the road into the head of the mountain pass, was a line of cars, bumper to bumper. At least 40 automobiles struggled to move in the snow. Some slid forward haphazardly gaining ground in various directions. In the distance, underneath the archway of trees, down further into the mountain pass, figures trudged frantically through the snow back toward town.
A family approached Jason, a man and his wife, sheltering their 2 kids with their coats as they trudged through the snow toward the station.
“Are you the Sheriff? Please, you’ve got to help us. Something attacked the hotel, dragged a couple of people away, we need to get out of here, please!” hysterical, the man ignored his wife’s muffled insistence that he quiet down, the children below them, cried, eyes red from tears.
“Oh God,” Jason whispered to himself.
The mess of dirty black snow and multicolored metal of automobiles dried his tired eyes out at the sight. He opened his mouth to speak, to plan, but he was cut off.
“Everyone, lets go, Anderton, take 3 men over there and start bringing everyone inside, leave the cars in the road, Clark, come with me, lets see how far down this shit show goes.” Macklin yelled out.
Clark, startled at the orders and confidence the young man exuded, drew his coat closer around him and followed. The other men struggled through the snow toward the cars, some of their eyes cautiously darted around the tree line, searching.
“Wait a God Damn minute!” Dane shouted from the doorway, leaning on his crutches, “They can’t all fit in the station!”
Jason took charge, quickly.
“The Casita!” he shouted. Some of the men stopped and had to think for a moment, searching for the image in the back of their minds.
The Casita was the smaller, older motel within the borders of the town. Everyone had wondered for years how it had managed to stay in business so long, with The Paradise just up the road.
But the owner, Mr. Morales, was one determined son of a bitch, as the locals put it. Migrating to the town from god knows where, he had erected the motel with private contractors, putting touches from his “homeland” as he called it.
The old rundown building was furnished with elaborate Spanish and Mexican architecture. Known as the MexMotel around the town, Mr. Morales insisted he was well versed in his culture, though he didn’t look to have a lick of spanish in him, the town didn’t care either way.
Jason knew these rich snobs wouldn’t like it one bit, but it would have to do.
“Well, what the fuck are you standing around for?” Jason shouted, pulling his hat down tighter he followed Clark and Macklin.
The men continued toward the cars as Jason struggled to catch up.
Reaching the end of the cars, Jason saw it, a massive pine tree had collapsed, blocking the road out of town, the only road. What he didn’t see was Macklin or Clark, some of the people exited their cars, noticing Jason, and tried to get his attention. Jason didn’t hear them, except for a faint hum that buzzed somewhere outside of his mind.
“Jason!” Clark’s familiar voice found Jason’s wandering mind and brought his attention to the two of them, just off the road near the tree. Jason almost didn’t recognize it at first, the snow had almost completely camouflaged it from the naked eye, he had to squint to figure out what he was looking at.
Realizing what it was, his heart jumped up into his throat,
“Dark red Range Rover.” Nate’s voice echoed in his head.
Clark and Macklin stood stone faced, staring into the drivers side door that stood ajar. Jason walked around to meet them, but vomit rose in his stomach as soon as he saw it. Blood was everywhere, soaked into what was left of the seats, the metal of the doors twisted and gnarled. Blood ran red down the sides, frozen to the sides of the cars, animal tracks were close in the snow, from deer and rabbits, no doubt licking the salty liquid from the mess of twisted metal.
Jason doubled over, retching, vomit painted the snow a sickly green.
“Oh God…..” Jason coughed out. “Clark,” He said standing up, “Take my badge, keep those people back, Take Macklin’s radio, tell the station we need a Jeep out here to bring these people back to town, No way in hell these cars are getting anywhere in this snow.”
Clark took the badge and fought the snow back to the main road.
“Macklin, give….read me that license plate number you took down a couple days ago. The Clawsons.” Jason said, stooping behind the vehicle, wiping away snow from the back, searching for the plate.
Macklin put it together quickly, “Oh my God, Sheriff….” his voice faded out to a mumble, trying to make sense of it.
“Just read me the plate,” Jason said, breathing on his snow covered hand, fighting off the bite of the cold.
Macklin produced the spiral notepad from his pocket, flipping through the pages, the falling snow sticking to the paper, he found it, “49-Y2815” “Sheriff, do you think that, thing, Elroy?” His words came out jumbled, his fear hindering his voice.
Jason stood up, not speaking he walked around to the opposite side of the car.
“Oh dear God,” Jason trailed off, he thought for a moment as he stood up, wiping some of the stray sick from the whiskers around his mouth, “Macklin make sure to remind me to find that man Nate Clawson and tell him the news when we get back.”
