The Winter People

by Rebekah L. Purdy

  I twirled some noodles around my fork, slurping it into my mouth. We were all quiet—any attempt at conversation felt forced and uncomfortable, like we were a bunch of strangers. Dad asked about school. Mom talked about sewing. Dad burped a rancid beer burp.

  And that was it. I played with my food, pretending to be engrossed in each long, stringy noodle. Then the weather report came on in the other room, indicating we were in for a heavy snow this weekend. Lake effect. Seven to ten inches of fresh powdery stuff.

  “I suppose that means you’ll be staying inside all Christmas break.” Dad slammed his can of beer on the table. It sloshed over the edges, spilling.

  I noticed the odd silver ring on his finger. Gothic markings surrounded by what looked like snowflakes. Where’d he get that?

  Mom dropped her fork to her plate with a clang. “Rich, don’t start. Not right now.”

  “Then when is a good time? Never?”

  My appetite lost, I pushed my plate away. My eyes flickered to Mom who stood to clear the table.

  “I think I’ll just do these dishes real quick then head for bed,” she said and I jumped up to help her.

  Where was the Dad I remembered? The guy who gave me piggyback rides and bear hugs? He got up, jerked the fridge open, and pulled out another beer. He staggered into the living room where he turned the channel to the sports station.

  “Don’t forget to make me a Christmas list.” Mom wiped down the counters.

  “I’ll do it later.” I gave her a quick hug before going to my room. I grabbed a pen and some paper and started my list, feeling about as festive as the Grinch.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  At about ten, I switched off the light, staring at my ceiling. Dad’s shouting carried from the next room over. “She’s never going to learn if you baby her.”

  “She’s getting better.”

  Something crashed into the wall, then more arguing.

  With my head buried beneath my pillow, I tried to shut them out. But each word they said to one another, each bad thing that Dad said about me, penetrated the thin walls.

  Thirty minutes later, I’d heard enough and tossed back my covers.

  I scribbled a quick note and left it on my bed, telling Mom I’d gone over to Grandma’s. I needed to just get outside and run.

  I could do this. I’d made a lot of progress this winter. I just needed to forget the bad things that had been happening. Like the accidents and the stuff at the library. My mind made up, I grabbed my coat and boots. With my parents’ fighting, they never heard me sneak out the back door.

  The twilight-shrouded yard looked menacing, but I had to get out of there. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I ran like a banshee trailed me. On occasion I lost my footing and slipped, but I never stopped. Once I got to my grandparents’ place I’d be safe.

  My breathing came in loud gasps. My pulse pounded an eerie chorus in my ears; with each cold nip at my skin I visualized a frozen death. Then there it was. Grandma’s house. My sanctuary.

  Key in hand, I rushed to unlock the door then slipped into the kitchen. I bolted the lock tight behind me and flipped on several lights. In a matter of seconds, I stood hunched over the kitchen counter. If it wasn’t so late, I’d call Kadie.

  A teakettle caught my eye and I gave a sad smile. Grandma would’ve made me tea if she were here. And it would soothe me, chase away the chill that saturated my bones. I calmed at the thought, pushed away from the counter, and kicked off my boots by the door. Dropping my coat over the back of a chair, I headed toward “my” room. A room designed for me long before I fell in the pond.

  I hadn’t slept over in ages, and the familiarity of Grandma and Grandpa’s house comforted me.

  All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and forget life for a while. I turned the handle, giving a slight push. The scent of cedar and flowers welcomed me. I flicked the light switch on, which brought the overhead fixture alive, bathing the room in dim light.

  I stared at the whimsical walls painted for a young girl obsessed with fairytales. There were trees and woodland creatures, fairies and princes taking up every square inch of the murals. The large four-poster bed was hand carved, with roses and fairies decorating each of the poles. Lacy curtains with garlands of fake red roses hung down like the bed belonged to a princess. There were lamps with wooden fairies etched on them and several framed photos of my grandparents and me scattered about the room.

  Bookshelves lined either side of the bed, filled with stories about magic kingdoms. With a sigh, I stood glancing at each memory I’d lost. Why had it taken me so long to come back in here?

  The antique armoire caught my eye. I grinned. In a few short steps, I stood in front of the massive mahogany cabinet, jerking the doors open.

  “You kept them,” I murmured and reached in to pull out the costumes Grandma had made me for dress up. Princess gowns, fairy wings, and dresses for gardening. I set the clothes aside to search the back of the cabinet. My fingers touched a lacy material and I tugged the hanger out.

  This one looked bigger, like it had been made recently, and I held it up to me, spinning around in circles. I saw a few others the same size. Feeling like a child, I stripped out of my pajamas, which was hard to do in the sling. But I managed to slide the long white gown over my head. A perfect fit, the way the lace clung to my curves, falling away in waves at my feet. Small red roses were sewn into the bottom of the fabric, the long sleeves see-through. I glided across the room, pretending to dance in the arms of a secret lover.

  After I stopped, I collapsed on my bed, noticing my old music box. A wooden chest, carved with tiny footprints and trees. My hands trembled as I reached for it. I flipped open the top and watched the boy and girl figurines dancing around in the woods. The tinkling of music sounded haunting and familiar. Similar to the music I’d heard when I was with Nevin. That was odd.

  Focused on the boy and girl spinning together, my eyelids became heavy. So tired, I yawned.

  I step into the backyard, the wind swirling my gown. All around tiny lights blink, weaving between trees and snowflakes. Nevin stands near the big maple staring at me, dressed in white pants, and a dark tunic. His blue eyes glow, a smile tugs at his lips.

  “You’ve come at last. We’ve been waiting.” He points to the others. Faeries enter the clearing, followed by satyrs and fauns. Willowy figures encircle us, watching our every move.

  I twirl around, staring as small men carry wooden chairs to sit on and lift silver flutes to their lips. Nevin offers me his arm in time with the enchanting song. He pulls me close, dancing me across the snow covered landscape, twirling and spinning me around. Each movement precise and elegant like the figures in my music box. Unlike them, however, he dips me back and my hair grazes the ground.

  His fingers trail along my back, making me want more from him. But still we just dance; each note sends us gliding and moving as one.

  “I wish we could always be together.” My head touches his shoulder.

  “We can, right here, right now.” He presses me closer to him. “You’re mine, Salome. You always have been.”

  The woodland creatures applaud our dancing then begin to dance as well, moving as if we are in a giant outdoor ballroom.

  And I’m dizzy with happiness. This is where I belong. With Nevin.

  I shivered, sitting up in bed the next morning. With the blankets clutched around my shoulders, I staggered into the hallway to check the thermostat. When I’d gone to bed last night it had been set at sixty-five. But the inside temperature indicated fifty-four. A brisk breeze carried down the hallway and caught strands of my hair.

  I wandered out into the living room to find the slider-door ajar and footprints covering the deck and yard.

  “What in the?” I jerked my boots and coat on over the lace gown.

  I examined the prints. Some looked like hooves, others like tiny footprints. Oh my gosh. Last night had to have been a dream. Maybe I was still asleep.

  I rushed into the yar
d, spinning around, staring at even more footprints. There were some of my own, and some that belonged to someone else. I tilted my head upward, staring at the pond and the gazebo. And there he was. Watching me.

  “Nevin.”

  Within seconds, he joined me. “You look so beautiful.”

  I blushed, meeting his gaze. “Thank you, but—”

  “I’ve missed you.” He smoothed my hair. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.” A ghost of the music from my dream flitted past.

  “Where were you?” I asked, wondering if I imagined him holding me. Embarrassment sank in as I remembered the dream I’d had of him last night.

  “Away, but I’m here now.”

  “Were you here last night, I mean out here, dancing?” God, I sounded like a lunatic. Why didn’t I just ask him if he had wings?

  But he only smiled. A secret, sexy grin. Then he hugged me tight.

  I would not have the answers I sought today—but no matter, I knew where the hidden key was. For the first time in days, I felt like I could finally handle going into the secret room. And I vowed to discover everyone’s secrets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grandma’s phone rang. I picked it up to find my mom on the other end.

  “You need to come back home now. We’re putting the Christmas tree up today.”

  “Tell her to hurry up,” Dad grumbled in the background.

  “Has he settled down?”

  A deep sigh sounded. “For the most part. I’m s—”

  “Be there in a minute.” I hung up the phone to avoid hearing how it wasn’t my fault they were fighting. I cast a longing glance at the door to the hidden room. It’d have to wait. A part of me was relieved to put it off, but, on the other hand, I was anxious for answers. Either way, I didn’t have a choice.

  By the time I got home, Dad already had the tree in the stand and Mom was untangling lights. Our red and green storage boxes sat in the middle of the floor with their tops off, revealing an array of ornaments. An angel collection, blue and silver glass bulbs, and tiny red-and-white candy canes glittered in their cases. Along with several homemade beaded ones I’d made when I was younger.

  “Hey, why don’t you throw on a Christmas CD?” Mom handed a line of lights to Dad, who stood on a ladder.

  “Sure.” I attempted a smile for her sake and thumbed through several CDs before finding one.

  With musical bells tinkling through the speakers and the decorations going up, I thought things would start to go back to normal. But it didn’t. Granted, there was no fighting, but the awkward attempts at conversation were almost worse.

  Where the hell was the holly jolly, ho-ho-ho shit?

  Once everything was put strategically on the tree with Dad making his adjustments, he plugged in the lights. We hovered there watching the rainbow of blinking colors move in time with the music. It was calming and beautiful. And it reminded me of when I was a kid, the whole magical feeling about Christmas.

  “I’m going to go into town to do some shopping.” Dad pulled on his heavy Carhart jacket. “I’ve got some last minute gifts to buy and I’m out of beer.” He tucked his wallet into his back pocket and left.

  Mom looked disappointed as she watched him get ready to leave, but when she saw me staring, she clapped her hands together like I was eight years old again.

  “I’ve got everything out so we can make cookies,” she said.

  Sure enough, there were various Christmas-themed shades of frosting, colored sugars, sprinkles, nuts, chocolate chips, and our circa-1940 cookie cutters laid out in the kitchen. Next to those sat several bowls of dough ready to be rolled out and cut.

  So I grabbed a festive holiday apron that read, RUDOLPH ISN’T THE ONLY ONE WITH A RACK. And Mom sported her, I’M SANTA’S HO-HO-HO apron, a gift from Dad when he used to be home more. She set to rolling out the dough, her mouth drawn into a frown.

  “What’s wrong with Dad?” I placed a doughy wreath on the cookie sheet.

  Her eyes shifted away. “He’s stressed.”

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

  The rolling pin slammed down with a little more force than necessary. “Some of it.”

  “He never used to be like this.”

  “No, he wasn’t, not until after—”

  “Until after I fell in the pond.”

  Not meeting my gaze, she slid the first pan of cookies into the oven, adjusting the dial to the correct temp.

  “It didn’t bother him right away, but after a few years and the therapy, he realized things might be more complicated.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “He just wanted you to be normal again.”

  Biting back tears, I pretended to be interested in stirring a dish of frosting. “He stopped coming home.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re such a smart, beautiful girl.”

  “Who has lost her mind,” I snapped. “It’s okay to say it out loud, Mom—Salome’s crazy—she’s off her fucking rocker.”

  Her face turned a bright shade of burgundy. “Don’t you ever use that type of language again, you hear?” She swung the spatula around in the air.

  “Yep. Loud and clear.” I chopped the cookie snowman’s head off with the cutter.

  “I’ve got enough to deal with, without fighting you, too.” Her voice sounded tired. “Let’s just pretend to have a Merry Damn Christmas.”

  For some reason, hearing her curse made me laugh—uptight Mom cussing. Soon we were both giggling like maniacs, and it felt good.

  And we kept smiling until Dad came thumping through the door, bags in one hand and a twelve pack of beer in the other. Once again, the strange ring caught my eye. His gaze met mine. For a moment, his eyes seemed to change color. But I chalked it up to the lighting.

  Mom tossed the leftover decorations into storage bags.

  “Head into your room so I can get the gifts brought in,” Dad said.

  “Rich, you smell like alcohol. You can’t be out driving like that.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he pushed around her and trudged outside.

  After setting the apron on the counter, I went into my room, flipping on my radio to hear the traffic reporter warning people to stay off the roads. There had already been several slide-offs due to the ice and snow. I switched it off and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

  A few minutes later, Dad barged into my room, eyes dark.

  “Go shovel off the porch,” he said.

  “Rich, she’s in a sling.” Mom came up behind him.

  “Sh—shut the hell up.” His voice slurred. “She’s fine. Getting some winter air will do her good.”

  I stared at him. “Are—are you serious? It’s dark out there.”

  “Serious as a heart attack. Get off your ass and get it done. You need to get outside more. Face the winter. In fact, it’d be a good idea for you to leave the property every now and again.”

  Terror enveloped me, twisting my stomach like it was in a blender. This was insane. I couldn’t go out there. Not tonight. Something felt wrong.

  “Honey, just scrape it right off the porch onto the ground, no lifting,” Mom murmured. “And if you need to come in, just do so.”

  “No. She has to get used to this. You can’t baby her forever.”

  And they broke off into another argument about me. With my coat and mittens on, I went onto the porch. Streams of snow blew in from the trees, creating a blanket of white in the air.

  “Just get it done and get back in,” I said aloud as if that would make me work faster. Holding the shovel with my good hand, I scraped it across the wooden planks, jarring myself every time I hit one of the cracks between floorboards.

  My hair prickled on my neck and I glanced toward the woods. For a moment, I swore I saw a pair of fiery red eyes following my every move. My knees trembled. I reached for the railing to keep from falling.

  “Can’t avoid me forever, Salome. I’ll come when you least expect it.”

  �
��No.” I backed up until I bumped into the porch swing. It swung back and forth, chains creaking like the damned had come back to haunt me.

  “Oh, yes. I can almost smell your blood. See your terror as I watch you die.”

  Dropping the shovel, I skidded across the slippery surface and barged into the house. Eyes closed, I leaned against the door and slid to the floor.

  “You done?” Dad peered up from his magazine.

  “N-no.” My body quivered. “I um—I can’t do it.”

  His chair crashed to the floor as he bolted up. “You’re going to deal with winter one way or another.” He stormed over and gripped my arm.

  “No—please, don’t! Please.” Panic embraced me as I tried to jerk free. Not outside, I couldn’t go back out there. “There’s something in the woods.”

  He shoved me outdoors, knocking me from the porch onto the ground. Then he slammed the door shut. The deadbolt clicked into place.

  Oh God, he was out of his mind.

  My arm throbbed as I pushed myself to my feet and rushed to the porch. I twisted the handle, pounding on the door.

  “Please, don’t leave me out here.” Tears traced my cheeks. I punched the door then ran around to try the windows, but none of them budged.

  From inside, I heard Mom shouting at my dad to let me in, then came the sound of breaking glass and more yelling.

  The shadows in the yard became longer, creeping closer to me. I pressed my back against the house, crying and screaming.

  “Poor—poor Salome. Nowhere to hide.”

  With horror, I watched a tree on the other side of the gate tip downward. Its bare branches reached toward me. Vines shot through the wrought iron, slithering like snakes.

  Oh my God, I was going to die.

  “Mom!” I kicked and clawed at the door. Taking a running start, I rammed into the wood, but I bounced off, falling to the ground.

  I scrambled away, crawling on my knees, trying to grip the railing. Something latched onto my leg, dragging me backward. Snow seeped into my clothing.

  “No,” I shouted until I thought my veins would explode.