by Ron Ripley
Rowan nodded.
"Yes," Higgins said in a small voice. "You were just a boy, but you remember there's something out there."
“It’s where we should go,” Rowan said, unable to keep the urgency and fear out of his voice. “If it’s the same thing, then we have to.”
“I will,” Higgins said. “I will. I won’t be sending anyone out there.”
The captain stood up and looked at Rowan. “Remember Rowan, that was my brother Paul who went missing when you and my nephew were just boys. If anyone’s going out there to look for those boys, it’ll be me. The rest of you will look in the safer places, just in case we are wrong on this one.”
Higgins pulled on his hat and left.
Rowan watched him go and clenched his hands into fists as he thought, We’re not wrong. Not with this one. Not at all.
Chapter 40: A New Ally
Shane stood in the center of Preston Road. His mind still reeled from the revelation about Patience and the fact that there was another boy trapped with Broken Nose.
The strange ghost that appeared before him wasn’t the shock that it might have been earlier.
Shane looked at him, tightened his grip on the iron, and asked, “Are you with Broken Nose?”
“With who?” the dead man asked, his English accent was thick and hard on the ears.
“Evidently not,” Shane said.
“Are you Shane Ryan?” the ghost asked.
The question caught him off guard and Shane nodded.
“Ah, a good piece of news,” the ghost said with a grin that revealed yellowed and broken teeth, and more than a few were missing. “Frank will be pleased to receive it.”
Shane’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Frank’s here?”
“Aye,” the ghost nodded. “He is indeed. Well-armed and ready to assist his friend in need, as am I.”
Shane narrowed his eyes, examined the rough appearance of the dead man before him and asked, “And what was your price?”
“Hah!” the ghost exclaimed. “You’re as quick as your friend, that you are. And Jack appreciates it, so he does.”
And Jack’s mad, Shane realized as he waited for Jack to answer his question.
The ghost cleared his throat, winked and said, “I would like to leave this bonny land, once and for all. Young Frank has agreed to assist me, so he has.”
"Fair enough," Shane said. He shivered, glanced around at the snow-covered area, and said, "Will you bring Frank here, to me? I'll be in that cabin."
Jack frowned. “I thought your friend and I were here to help you leave, not help you stay, Master Shane.”
“There’s a boy,” Shane said, turning and walking towards the cabin. “I won’t leave without him.”
Jack appeared in front of Shane, anger flashing in his eyes. “What’s this? I’m not here to rescue any bloody brat, my boy. Only you. ‘Twas all I enrolled for.”
“Then go and wait then,” Shane said, keeping his anger in check. “I won’t leave him to be tortured.”
“Who has him then?” Jack snarled.
“Broken Nose. The Indians,” Shane replied.
Jack's eyes widened, the snarl vanished between pressed lips, and he nodded, saying in a small voice. "Aye, then. We'd heard, so we did, of what the wild savages did to their captives.”
“Nothing good,” Shane said over his shoulder. “I can tell you that for certain.”
He climbed the steps onto the cabin's small porch and closed the door over. Shane walked into the bedroom, picked up the bag of rock salt, and brought it out into the small den. He poured a large semi-circle around the door, wide enough so it could still be opened, but small enough to keep anything dead at bay.
When he had finished, he paced the room. He wanted to go out after the boy, but if Frank was coming to the cabin, and he had weapons, then he would have to wait.
We’ll have a better chance of getting him out together, Shane thought. A sudden realization flashed through him, and Shane hurried into the kitchen. He dug around under the sink and found a bottle of starter fluid for a fire. In the cabinets above the sink, he found a box of kitchen matches. He brought both items out to the den and put them down by the rock salt.
He looked at all three for a moment and then nodded.
Broken Nose, Shane thought, I am going to light up the night sky when I burn your bones.
Chapter 41: Danny Wakes Up
“Danny.”
The voice was soft and insistent.
“Danny.”
His name was pronounced a little louder. He felt a hand on his arm.
Danny struggled to open his eyes, but it felt as though there was a cloth on them, too heavy to be moved. When he reached for it, he discovered his arms were held down.
“Danny.”
Danny recognized the voice.
“Rowan?” Danny asked, the name came out cracked and broken, the syllables hurting his throat.
“Yes,” Rowan Little said, relief in his voice. Danny felt a friendly pat on his arm as Rowan continued to speak.
“Danny,” Rowan said, hesitant at first. “Where did you get Matt’s snowmobile from?”
A painful memory seared into Danny's mind. The raw image of Clark's mangled body flooded his thoughts, and Danny struggled to get away from it.
Rowan's hand tightened on his bicep. "It's alright, Danny. It's okay. I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to tell me where you got the sled from."
Shuddering, Danny nodded. He swallowed several times to get enough saliva together to moisten his dry mouth, and he managed to whisper, "Preston Road."
Rowan squeezed his arm and then let go. Danny heard metal squeak, and Rowan's voice came from a little further away. "What happened to Matt Rushford?"
"I don't know," Danny hissed. It hurt to talk, but he wanted to tell Rowan what he knew. "A ghost grabbed me. It's crazy, but it's true. It killed Clark. Was going to kill me, too. A guy named Shane pulled me out. He tried to save Rushford, but the kid died of shock. We were going to get away on his sled, but he sent me off. Something about saving a boy."
“This man, Shane,” Rowan said, his voice coming closer. “He stayed behind to help someone else?”
Danny could only nod.
“When was this?” Rowan asked.
“Right before I crashed,” Danny answered. “I’d only been on the ice for five, maybe ten minutes.”
“Alright,” Rowan said. “I’m leaving, Danny, but you’re in good hands. You’re in Elliot Hospital. I’ll check on you soon.”
“Rowan,” Danny said.
“Yes?”
“Why can’t I see?” Danny asked.
It took a moment for Rowan to respond.
“They’re not sure how much damage you suffered on your ride,” Rowan explained. “They’re not taking any chances. Your Dad’s on his way up from Massachusetts. He’ll be here soon to sit with you. Alright?”
“Alright,” Danny whispered.
He listened to Rowan leave the room, door opened and closed with a gentle whisper. The lock clicked into place, and Danny was left alone in the darkness. He felt fear creep over him. Weeping, Danny lay in the darkness and waited for his father.
And he wondered, for the first time, if he would ever see again.
Chapter 42: The Band’s Back Together
Shane heard footsteps on the porch, and he squeezed the handle of his iron.
The door was eased open, and Frank stepped into the room. He smiled at Shane, looked around and stepped over the line of salt. On one shoulder, a duffel bag was slung, and he extended his hand.
Shane shook it, grinning with relief. “I am happy as hell to see you, Frank.”
“I would have been here sooner,” Frank said, putting the bag on the floor, “if you hadn’t been so stupid as to leave without anybody.”
Shane shrugged the rebuke off and looked out the door. Jack stood on the porch, back to them. “Your friend came with you.”
“Jack?” Frank
asked, squatting down to open the duffel bag.
“Yeah.”
"Yup," Frank said, pulling out a sawed-off shotgun and handing it to Shane. "He came along. I thought he was going to take off soon as he told me where you were."
“Why didn’t he?” Shane asked, opening the weapon and making sure there were rounds in the two chambers. The glint of brass told him it was loaded.
“Here,” Frank said, handing Shane a pair of black, iron rings. They were a snug fit on the index finger of each hand.
“Jack told me he wants to see if he can kill a ghost,” Frank said, putting a set of rings on his own fingers. He pulled a second shotgun out, and a box of shells, too. “Brian and I loaded up about twenty of them.”
“Brian Roy?” Shane asked, surprised.
“Who else was I going to go to?” Frank said, straightening up. “Looks like you have the makings for a good bonfire.”
“I hope so,” Shane said. He bent down, put a loose knot in the plastic bag of rock salt and then added it, the matches, and the starter fluid to the duffel bag before shouldering it.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Frank said, and Shane did so.
By the time Shane finished, Frank's face had paled and tightened. A cold, hard look had crept in his eyes, and he said, "Are you ready to get the boy?"
Shane nodded.
Without any other words, they left the cabin. Jack opened his mouth to call out a hello, but he closed it when he caught sight of their expressions. Instead of asking any questions, he fell into step with them.
“Jack,” Shane said.
“Aye?”
“Could you scout ahead a bit, tell us what you see?” Shane asked.
Jack gave a lopsided grin and raced ahead, disappearing between two cabins. Shane and Frank continued on in silence. Their feet plunged into the snow, the traveling difficult. Soon, Shane’s thighs began to ache, and in the trees around them night birds called out.
They passed between the same pair of cabins Jack had, and then through a small yard and into the trees. The pines and evergreens were old, far older than any Shane had seen before. Passages between the trees were narrow, some piled high with snow that had drifted down, or fallen from the branches above. There was a sense of age to the forest, and Shane understood he had never been in woods as old as the one they walked through.
Jack appeared before them and held up his hands in mock surprise as both Shane and Frank snapped the shotguns up into firing positions.
“Not that lead will hurt old Jack now,” Jack said, winking and lowering his arms.
“It’s salt,” Shane said, “and it’ll send ‘old Jack’ right back to wherever he came from.”
Jack looked from Shane to Frank, and Frank nodded. “Salt sends you back to where you’re bound, Jack. And while the button’s in my pocket, I’ve heard it’s not a terribly pleasant experience.”
Jack inclined his head. "I'll take your word on it. I hope, as well, that you'll take mine. You have a way to travel yet, but they're waiting for you. A pair of them, red children of the forest with cruel knives that yearn for your flesh, aye."
“I’m sure they do,” Shane said. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, the mucus running freely from the cold. “Frank told me you wanted to see if you could kill one of them.”
“So I do,” Jack said.
“Did you try?” Frank asked.
Jack shook his head.
“Why not?” Shane asked.
“Because,” Jack said, wearing an expression of innocence. “There were two and not one of them.”
Frank snorted, and Shane shook his head.
"Lead on, my lion-hearted friend," Shane said, gesturing with the shotgun.
“Aye,” Jack said, grinning. “That, I shall. We’ll fall on these heathens together, and write our names large with their blood. Or whatever it is we have now.”
Shane didn’t reply. He was focused on the boy, and finding him as soon as possible.
Chapter 43: In Darkness
Mark Rushford woke up in horrific pain. His leg throbbed, and he remembered everything.
He lay in darkness, unable to see anything. With a trembling hand, he felt around his eyes, fearing he had been blindfolded. But he hadn't been. He couldn't see for the simple reason that there was no light.
Mark licked his lips, shifted his weight and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his scream of pain in check.
The air around him was warm, and he felt sweat trickle down his back. He could smell dirt and rotting leaves. In the darkness, tiny feet skittered across a stone.
“Is anyone there?” he whispered.
“Yes,” a voice answered. It was a small child, but whether the speaker was a boy or a girl, Mark couldn’t tell.
“Where are we?” Mark asked, his voice trembling. “What’s happening here?”
“We are in Hell,” the voice responded. “We are being punished for our sins.”
“What?” a note of panic crept into Mark’s voice. “I’m not dead. I can’t be dead.”
“No,” the voice agreed. “You are not dead, although you may well wish you were before this is done.”
The sentence sent a stomach-knotting chill down Mark’s back.
For a moment, Mark said nothing, listening instead to the rapid beating of his heart. Trying to keep his mind off the pain of his broken leg, Mark asked, “What’s your name?”
“Jonathan. What is yours?”
“Mark,” he answered. “How did I get here?”
“Patience brought you,” Jonathan replied, and the hatred in his words made Mark shudder.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” Mark said after a pause. “How did my patience bring me here? I’m confused.”
“No,” Jonathan snapped. “Patience is my sister’s name. She brought you here. As she brought me. As she brought so many of us.”
Mark began to ask how, and then he thought of the little girl on Lake Nutaq.
The hands reaching out from her chest and pulling him in.
“But that wasn’t real,” Mark whispered. “None of it was real. Not that part.”
“Silence!” Jonathan hissed. “Someone is coming!”
Mark whimpered but held his tongue.
The air went from warm to cold in the blink of an eye, and Mark’s fear magnified.
A deep, male voice asked a question in a language Mark couldn’t understand, but the words were quickly followed by the sound of a young girl translating.
“Broken Nose would like to know how you are doing,” she said.
Mark was too afraid to answer.
Broken Nose chuckled and spoke again.
“He says you have nothing to fear, Mark,” the girl said. “Someone is coming to help you.”
“She lies,” Jonathan whispered.
“Leave here, Jonathan!” the girl snapped, and Mark understood that she was Patience, Jonathan’s sister. To Mark, she said, "Best to answer him, Mark."
Mark stuttered, and his response tumbled out of his mouth. "I'm afraid, and I think my leg is broken."
Patience translated and Broken Nose’s response was both quick and frightening.
“The man, Shane, and his friends will be here, soon,” Patience said, “and then you will all suffer together.”
Silence followed her statement and warmth crept back into the room. Mark closed his eyes and held back tears. The blood in his head pounded in time to the throbs of pain which emanated from his leg, and suddenly, Mark understood he was going to die.
He thought about Matt and wondered where his brother was. Then a terrible thought crept into his consciousness, and Mark cried.
"Why do you weep?" Jonathan asked in a small voice with a hint of condemnation.
“Because I think my brother’s dead,” Mark moaned.
“Ah,” Jonathan whispered.
As he sobbed, Mark felt a cold, comforting hand come to rest upon his head.
“At least, Mark,” th
e dead boy said, “he is not trapped here, like me. A handful of my teeth scattered in a savage’s grave keeps me from God.”
And while he cried harder at the thought, Mark understood Jonathan was right.
Chapter 44: Thinking About the Past
Rowan sat in his personal vehicle, parked almost a mile from the entrance to Preston Road. He had the heat turned up to the maximum, and even with the hot air blasting out of the vents, he couldn’t get warm.
The idea of going down among the cabins made him feel like a little boy again. Like a frightened eight-year-old who was about to stumble onto something terrible.
For most of his life, Rowan had fought the memories of that blizzard.
Other people liked to chat about the storm, ask one another where they were, what they were doing.
Not Rowan.
Every heavy snowfall reminded him of that blizzard.
He and William Higgins had gone with William’s father, Paul, out for some cross-country skiing. Mostly, it had been for Rowan’s mother to have a little peace and quiet. He and William were best friends, and they’d been driving her up one wall and down another after being stuck indoors for days. Paul had cut down two pairs of skis for the boys, waxed the wood, and fitted each ski with leather ties to fit around their boots. He had even trimmed some poles for them.
The day had been quiet, the world smothered beneath the snow. And while the air had been cold, stinging what little parts of Rowan's face weren't hidden by his scarf; it was beautiful to be out of the house.
Paul had been trying to tire the boys out, which was why he brought them out as far as Preston Road. If Paul had stopped there, decided to turn around and head back the way they had come, then all would have been well.
But he didn’t, Rowan remembered. And it wasn’t.
Rowan stuffed the memories down, as far as they would go into the back of his mind, and forced himself to think about Preston Road in the present. He needed to go in there, to look for Matt’s body, and possibly find out if something truly had grabbed Mark.
The way it had seized Paul.
