The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 18

by Stephen Jones (ed. )

  In the cabin, we found Judith coughing in a chair by the fire. Even though the logs roared, she couldn’t get warm. Her face was red. Has anybody seen Chester? she asked. I thought a moment. I hadn’t seen the dog since the morning. And where’s the cat? Judith asked. I looked at the others, who frowned. Did they smell what was out there and run off? mama asked. They’d need to be awfully scared to do that, Daniel said. Maybe they didn’t run off, I thought.

  Yip, yip, yip, yip. We turned toward snow blowing at the window and listened to the howls. They were close. I’ll make coffee and warm us up, mama said. Yip, yip, yip. The howls sounded closer. Papa stopped unbuttoning his coat. I’d better stay with the cow in the shed.

  Dawn was only a few hours away. The morning light was grey from the clouds and the blowing snow. As Judith coughed, I peered through the frosted window and saw papa step from the shed, which was large enough to hold him, the cow, and bales of alfalfa stacked at one end. He looked pale. Stiff. His shoulders were hunched. It was the first time I thought of him as old. He peered around, ready with his rifle. Then he motioned for me to come out and start my chores and milk the cow.

  The day was busy as we raced against the night. Daniel went with papa to the woods at the edge of the valley, rigged ropes to logs, and dragged them back for more firewood. They had the rifle. I washed clothes and helped make mutton stew while mama used snow water for a sponge bath to try to lower Judith’s fever.

  The only smoke in the valley is from our chimney, papa said when he and Daniel got back. Through the window, I saw it snowing again, flakes hitting the pane. Mama turned from wiping Judith’s brow. I guess more people moved on than we thought, she said. Maybe that’s why those things are coming here. After the drought and the fires, there’s no game in the mountains. And all the other farms are deserted, papa said. There’s no other livestock in the valley.

  After supper, Daniel put on his coat. He took the rifle off the shelf. You spent the last two nights in the shed, papa. Tonight, it’s my turn.

  Yip, yip, yip, yip. In the dark, I listened to them. Judith kept coughing. Mama came in with tea from bark that papa said would lower her fever. Maybe we should have moved on, I heard mama say to herself.

  Just before dawn, I jerked awake when I heard a shot.

  I’m okay! Daniel yelled from the shed. The moon came out! I saw them coming! Five like you said! One was limping! Probably the one you shot, papa! I put a bullet into it! The others ran off!

  In the morning, we all dressed warm, except for Judith, and went out to see what Daniel shot. The sky was cold blue. The sun glinted off the snow, making me squint. A breeze numbed my cheeks. We let the cow into the pen next to the shed and fed her. Then we walked a hundred yards, following more blobby, mis-shaped paw prints. We came to something in the snow. Fine shot, papa said. At night, with no sleep, at this distance. Daniel looked pleased. I had the moon to help me, but thank you, papa, he said.

  The snow was red. The thing was brown with pointy ears and a black tip on its tail, just like papa described. Its sharp teeth were bared, as if it died snarling. The cold wind blew snow across the ground. Hard to tell, Daniel said, but that looks like a bullet wound in its right front leg. Probably my shot, papa said. And that’s your shot through its chest. That’s what brought it down.

  The reason it was hard to tell is that the animal had been chewed on. Its stomach was gnawed open. Its left flank was raw. Damned things ate one of their own, papa said. That’s how hungry they are, mama said. I didn’t know they got this big, papa said. It was five feet from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail. Must have bred with something else.

  But the mutilation isn’t just from being eaten, Daniel said. What happened to its paws, its ears, and the snout? From the fires in the mountains, papa said. I couldn’t make myself look at it any longer. Its paws had awful scars as if a fire had melted the pads. Its fur was singed. Its ears had ragged edges. Its snout was deformed from having been burned. This one got trapped up there in the flames, papa said.

  Yip, yip, yip.

  We turned toward the nearby hills. In daylight? papa asked. They’re howling in daylight? I never heard of that. Yip, yip, yip. They’re watching us, Daniel said. Yes, papa said. Ruth, get the knife so we can skin what’s left of it, he told me. Even if it’s scarred, we can use the pelt. There’s no point in wasting anything, including this. Plus, I want them to see what we do to them. I want to put the fear of God into them. Mama said, You talk as if they’re smart and can think. Oh, they’re smart, all right, papa said. When I was a kid, a trapper told me these things hunt in packs better than wolves.

  That night, as Judith coughed, I used the knife to scrape the last of the meat from the pelt. Then I stretched it on a frame, the way papa taught me, and put it just close enough to the fire so it would dry without shrinking. Mama gave Judith more of the bark tea. Daniel sharpened the knife and the axe. As their metal scraped on the stone, I went to the window and looked toward the lamplight in the shed, where papa guarded the cow.

  Judith died in the night. She kept coughing, and her chest heaved, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her cheeks were scarlet, but she kept fighting to breathe. Then her lips got blue, and her face, and after two hours, she died. Mama held her, sobbing. Daniel kept looking at the floor. I stood at the window and stared at the dark of the shed.

  A shadow ran between the cabin and the shed. Another shadow, dark against the snow on the ground. The howls were very close. I heard a shot, but mama didn’t react. She just kept sobbing. I’m all right! Papa yelled. They’re running away! But just in case, don’t open the door!

  Then the night was silent, except for a rising wind and mama’s sobbing. We need to tell papa, I said. When it’s light, Daniel said. It won’t help Judith if we bring him in now. Mama started murmuring, In the valley of the shadow. I went over and took her hand. I’m sorry, mama, I said. Her eyes were red. Fear no evil, she murmured, holding Judith.

  When papa came in at dawn, he stopped in the doorway and knew immediately what had happened. His face looked heavy. He closed the door and crossed the room. He knelt in front of mama, who was still holding Judith. Lord, give us strength, he said. Through the window, I saw more tracks in the snow. Papa sobbed. I wanted him to know I was brave. I’ll do my chores, papa, I said. I’ll take care of the cow.

  My coat barely kept me warm as I milked the cow, then fed her in the pen. I took a pitchfork to the manure in the shed, throwing it in a pile at the side of the pen. Four brown specks watched from the rim of a hill.

  Mama dressed Judith in her best clothes, her “church clothes”, mama called them, although we hadn’t see a church in two years. Papa set Judith on the kitchen table. We took turns reading from the Bible. About Job and Lazarus and Jesus on Easter morning. Except mama. She sobbed and couldn’t bring herself to read. Then papa and Daniel put on their coats and went to the shed, where they got the shovel and the pickaxe. They spent the rest of the day digging. I was reminded of when they buried my other brother and sister when we lived in another valley. This grave was in a nice spot near the apple tree. Judith would like that. Judith loved apples. The ground was frozen hard, and Daniel and papa were soaked with sweat when they came back to the cabin.

  Daniel spent the night in the shed with the cow. Papa and I stayed up with mama as she held Judith’s hand. We prayed more. Eternal life, papa said. I expected to hear them howling, but there wasn’t any sound, not even a wind. Daniel came in at dawn. I’ve never seen him look so exhausted. I went out and took care of the cow.

  Then we said our last prayers. Judith’s face was grey now. She seemed a little swollen. Papa carried her outside into the cold. The rest of us followed. Mama sobbed as Daniel and I guided her. When papa set Judith into the ground, mama murmured, Not even a coffin. Don’t have the wood, papa said. She’ll be so cold, mama said.

  Papa and Daniel took turns shoveling dirt. Mama couldn’t bear to look. I took her back to the cabin. Papa carried stones from a
fence he was making and put them on the grave. Daniel went to the shed. I heard hammering, and Daniel came out with two branches nailed to form a cross. Papa pounded it into the ground.

  Papa stayed in the shed that night. At dawn, we heard him wailing. Daniel and I ran to the window. No! papa screamed. He charged toward the apple tree. No! he kept screaming. Daniel and I raced out to see what was wrong. Dirt was scattered over the snow. Rocks were shoved aside. The grave was empty. Papa’s voice broke. Fell asleep! No! Didn’t mean to fall asleep!

  Eternal life, mama said. I didn’t hear her come up behind us. She wasn’t wearing boots or a coat. Judith has risen, she said. A swath in the snow went across a field and into the woods. Monstrous paw prints were on each side. The sons of bitches dragged her that way, papa said. I never heard him speak that way before. Daniel hurried to the cabin to put on his coat. He and papa followed the tracks. Risen, mama said. I helped her back to the cabin. From the window, I saw papa and Daniel disappear into the woods.

  It snowed again. I stood at the window, straining to see. I leaned against the wall and must have dozed. The gust woke me. The door was open. Snow blew in. Papa! I cried. Daniel! Thank God, you’re back! You had me so worried! But no one came in. The wind blew more snow. Mama? I swung toward the chair by the fire. The chair was empty. Mama! I rushed to the open door and saw footprints going away. I grabbed my coat and hurried outside. The snow filled the footprints. I tugged the door shut. The quickly vanishing footprints led me toward the apple tree. They went past the apple tree. Then I couldn’t see them any longer in the gusting snow. Mama! I screamed. But the wind shoved the word back into my mouth.

  The snow swirled thicker. The air got darker. I stumbled forward but didn’t know which direction to take. Then I realised that I didn’t know how to go back even if I found her. I couldn’t see the cabin. My tracks were almost full. I followed them as best I could. The wind seemed to push me to the ground. I thought I saw a low moving shadow. I struggled to my feet and ran, only to bang into the corral near the shed. But I knew where I was now and stumbled forward, whispering Thank God when I bumped into the cabin. Inside, I sank to the ground before the fire.

  I woke in the dark and heard them. I heard the cow panicking. Then the only sound was the wind. In the morning, there was two feet of snow. It took me a long time to stamp through it to get to the shed. Somehow they got the latch open. The cow was all over the inside. Mostly blood, hide, and bones. Hooves. The head. Its eyes were wide with shock. I saw where the tracks went off in the snow in single file. The first one made it easier for the second, and the second made it easier for the third and fourth. Oh, they’re smart, all right, papa had said.

  They’ll eat mama next, I thought. They’re probably already eaten papa and Daniel. When there’s nothing else left in the valley, they’ll come for me? For a moment, I couldn’t move. What am I going to do? I thought. What would papa do? Think like papa. I don’t need to go out, I realised. I could stack wood in the cabin. I could bring meat from the storage pit. I had carrots, squash, potatoes, and apples in the root cellar. I could stay inside all winter. I’d need water, but if I was careful and I opened the door real quick and scooped a pail of snow, I could close the door before they got me.

  I dug my way down through the snow to the boards across the storage pit. Unlike the rocks on Judith’s grave, the ones on the boards were still there, maybe because they were heavier. I pried two parcels of horsemeat from the frozen pile. The rest was stuck together so solid, I couldn’t get at the lamb meat under it. I stacked the parcels in a corner of the cabin. I planned to stuff myself on it before it rotted. I carried tools from the shed – the shovel, the pickaxe, the hammer, and the pitchfork. I spent the day bringing in wood. I kept looking over my shoulder as I split logs. My arms ached. Too soon, it was dark. I went in, cut away a slice of thawing meat, and cooked it over the fire. It was tough and bitter, but I didn’t care. I ate it in a frenzy and fell asleep.

  In the night, I needed to relieve myself. I used a pail in a corner. In the morning, the smell was so bad that I wanted to carry the pail outside and dump it. But it stormed in the night, and now there was three feet of snow. I was only a foot taller. Besides, I knew it wasn’t safe to go out. There were animal tracks in the snow. Across from the cabin, eyes glared from the shed’s open door. I was forced to relieve myself in the pail again, and the stench got worse. I knew I wouldn’t be able to bear it for a whole winter.

  What would papa do? I thought. I got the pickaxe, went to a corner, and chopped the dirt floor. I got the shovel and scooped out the dirt. I kept chopping and scooping. My arms ached worse. But eventually I had a hole deep enough. I dumped the pail of waste into it, covered the waste with dirt, and still had plenty of space to dump more.

  I heard scratching on the other side of the wall. They must have heard me digging and burrowed down through the snow to the bottom of the wall. I put my ear against the logs. I heard them out there trying to dig under. But clever papa had built the wall with two logs below ground to guard against flooding. I listened to them working to claw through the frozen ground. But it was too deep. They clawed and clawed, and at last I no longer heard them.

  Again it snowed. In the morning, the drifts were close to the window sill. Deformed paws scraped glass. One of the things stared through the window, its dark eyes, scarred ears, and teeth-bared, misshaped snout making me think of the devil. In a rush, I closed the inside shutter. I was frightened and sickened, yes, but I also closed the shutter because the thing was so smart I didn’t want it to see what I was doing. I went to the shelf where papa kept the box of poison he used on prairie dogs. We need to kill them so our animals don’t break a leg in one of their holes, he said. I cut off a slab of horse meat, sliced it open, filled the cavity with poison, and squeezed the meat together. As I went toward the door, I heard wood creaking above me. I saw that the beams were bent from the weight of the snow and dirt.

  Need to be quick, I thought. While the thing scratched at the window, I went over to the door. I lifted the latch as quiet as could be. Then I said a prayer, jerked the door open, hurled the meat over the top of the snow, and slammed the door shut. Or tried to. Some of the snow fell, blocking the door. Panicking, I scooped frantically at the snow. I heard one of them straining to run through the drifts toward the open door. My heart beat so fast, I thought I’d be sick as I scooped the rest of the snow away and slammed the door. Something banged against the top and growled.

  I trembled. Then I opened the shutter. Sunlight off snow almost blinded me as I saw three of them fighting over the meat. They had burn scars all over them. One didn’t have a tail. Another didn’t have lips on the left side of its jaw. The fourth, the biggest, was the most deformed of them all. Its scars made it seem it had huge warts all over its snout. It glared from the door to the shed. When it snarled, the others stopped fighting and turned to it. With another snarl, it moved forward, its mashed paws finding purchase in the snow. It sniffed the meat and growled for the others to leave the meat alone. Two stepped back. But the one without a tail took its chance, bit into the slab, and ran off. At a distance, it gobbled the meat and sat contentedly. In a while, it squirmed. In a while longer, it writhed, vomited blood, and died. This took a long time.

  Gathering clouds brought darkness swiftly. As snowy wind shrieked past the cabin, I cooked horsemeat, but not before I used papa’s soap to wash my hands. Make yourself clean, he often said. It’s the difference between us and animals. I pushed the blanket from the wall at the back of the cabin and went down the sloped floor to the root cellar, from where I brought back potatoes and carrots. I set them on a clean spot next to the fire. I listened to the shriek of the wind and the creak of the roof beams.

  After a while, I had an idea. I filled a lantern with coal oil and lit it. Certain that the storm was too fierce for the things to be prowling out there, I went to the door. I had a moment’s doubt. Then I knew that papa would be proud of me for being so clever. Breathing quic
kly, I put on my coat, opened the door, closed it behind me, and crawled up through the snow to the top of the drift. The wind was so cold, it made my face feel burned. Shielding the lantern, I squirmed through the gusts. When I saw the dark outline of the shed, I hurled the lantern through the front door and raced toward the cabin. Glass broke. Behind me, flames whooshed as I slid down the trough I had made. I fumbled at the latch, shoved the door open, kicked fallen snow away, and slammed the door.

  Outside, one of them wailed. So numb I didn’t feel the cabin’s warmth, I ran to the shutter, opened it, and saw the fiery shed. A thing raced from the door, its fur ablaze. Yelping in agony, it fled into the darkness. The flames on it got smaller in the distance as it raced away. The alfalfa in the shed ignited. The fire grew larger, the shed’s walls and roof collapsing, sparks erupting. Soon, the wind and the snow killed the blaze. I closed the shutter and went to the fireplace, where I discovered the potatoes and carrots were getting soft. The horsemeat tasted better as I got used to it. I dozed on a blanket near the hearth. Sometimes, the creak of the roof beams wakened me.

  Then silence wakened me. I raised my head and saw cracks of sunlight through the boards of the shutter. It was the first quiet morning in several days. I went to the pit in the corner, relieved myself, shoveled dirt down, and washed my hands with papa’s soap. I nibbled on a piece of leftover potato, the skin crusty, the silence encouraging me that the fire had killed the remaining three. I went to the shutter, swung it open, and one of them charged through the window. The crash of glass, the rage in its eyes made me scream and stumble away, knocking against the table. The force of its attack carried it two-thirds through the window. Spit flying, it dangled, thrusting with its paws to get all the way through, and suddenly yelped, blood spurting, a shard of glass in its stomach holding it in place.