Cold Chills (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 3)

by Scott Langrel

  Puzzled, Jessica looked back to where the woman had been standing.

  There was nothing there but the blowing snow.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” Amanda asked as she helped settle Jessica into the back of John’s Tahoe. The sheriff had pulled a blanket out of the cargo area and had wrapped it around the shivering girl, who seemed to be in the process of shaking off the effects of a deep and suddenly-interrupted sleep.

  “I’m okay, just a little cold. Sheriff Talbot, do you have to tell my parents?”

  “Afraid so, Jessica. What in the world were you doing out here, anyway?”

  “Going to a party,” Jessica said sheepishly. “Hailey Nash was having one tonight, and my parents wouldn’t take me in the car.”

  “Well, I can pretty much guarantee you that Miss Nash’s party has been postponed.”

  “I kind of figured that. That’s why I was heading home, when I saw that lady.”

  “Can you describe the lady?” McCoy asked. He had finally, after several minutes, caught his breath enough so that he could talk without wheezing.

  Jessica shrugged. “She had long, black hair. And she was wearing some kind of robe or nightgown, but she didn’t look like she was cold.”

  Behind Jessica, Amanda mouthed the word ghost. McCoy answered by noncommittally raising his eyebrows.

  “Did you see her face?” McCoy prodded.

  “I couldn’t really see. I could tell she was smiling, and she kept motioning for me to come closer. I kind of got the feeling, though…”

  “What?” Amanda asked. “You felt what?”

  “Well, like I said, I really didn’t get a good look at her face. But I think she was Chinese, maybe.”

  “Chinese?” McCoy asked.

  “Yeah. Just the shape of her face and all. But I didn’t get a good look at her eyes. Sheriff Talbot, can we go now? I might as well get this over with.”

  John glanced at McCoy, who gave a slight nod. “Sure thing, hon,” the sheriff said. He shut the vehicle’s door and walked over to McCoy.

  “Frank will be here in a few minutes. He’ll take you down to the station, and I’ll meet you there after I drop Jessica off.” He looked at Amanda. “Will you two be all right alone for a few minutes?”

  “Hey, I’m with the famous Finn McCoy,” Amanda said. “I got no worries.”

  “Good,” John smiled. “We’ll discuss what happened here when I get back.” He walked back to the SUV, got in, and pulled out.

  “So what are you thinking?” Amanda asked as the sheriff drove away. “It has to be a ghost, right?”

  “And a Chinese ghost at that,” McCoy mumbled. “I don’t know. I’m not saying a spirit couldn’t freeze a person solid, but the energy it would require—that would be something I’ve never seen before.”

  “Do any of the Fey fit Jessica’s description?”

  “Not really. The only things that would come close are banshees or Fir Darrig, the shapeshifters. And neither are in the habit of freezing people.”

  “Well, what did you see?”

  “Not a lot. I was too far away to get a good look at this—woman. When I yelled at the girl, the thing just kind of dissolved.”

  “But you, of all people, have to have some kind of idea.”

  “Maybe. But I’ll need my knapsack and access to a computer.”

  “Your knapsack is still in John’s vehicle. They’ve got computers at the station,” Amanda said.

  “Well, then.” McCoy said. “I guess there’s nothing to do but wait on good ol’ Frank to get here.”

  ***

  Despite being a self-described man of action, Frank Bacon didn’t like driving in the snow at night. He didn’t mind it so much during the day, but in the darkness, the falling snow and glare from the headlights conspired to render Frank nearly blind. The deputy suffered from nyctalopia, or night blindness—a condition he had deftly kept off his resume when he’d been hired by the department.

  On clear nights, Frank had no problem negotiating the county roads. But in the rain, snow, or heavy fog, things tended to get a bit hairy. So far, it had not hindered his ability to perform his duties, and so he’d felt justified for failing to mention the condition on his application. Tonight, however, was the worst by far. He was driving like a blind granny.

  As he neared the intersection of Mosswood and Oak, Frank saw a woman standing on the side of the road. She was visible only briefly as the vehicle’s lights washed over her, but it was long enough for Frank to get a good look at her: Asian, mid-to-late twenties, long black hair, and wearing a kimono. It was enough to cause him to slam on the brakes.

  The deputy put the SUV in park and hopped out of the car. Of all the sights he might have expected to see on such a night, the Asian woman was pretty far down on the list. He turned his head, searching for her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hello?” he called. Only the wind answered. Frank walked around the vehicle, searching each side of the street, but came up empty-handed. There was no sign of the woman.

  He walked over to the spot where he’d seen her standing. The snow here was undisturbed; there were no footprints to be seen.

  Confused, but certain there was a logical explanation, Frank walked back to his vehicle and continued on. The thought that he may have just witnessed something supernatural never occurred to him. Frank Bacon was, after all, a man of reason.

  Frank was relieved when he finally saw McCoy and Amanda in his headlights. At least half of the trip was over. Now, the challenge would be to drive back without revealing his condition to his passengers.

  McCoy climbed into the front passenger seat, while Amanda hopped in the back. McCoy removed his hat and shook the snow off of it. He grinned at Frank.

  “Good to see you again, Deputy Frank. How’s it hangin’?”

  “It’s hanging well, thank you. And yourself?”

  “A might bit chilly, but good, otherwise,” McCoy replied. “Ready to get us back to the station?”

  “Those are my orders, sir.” Frank pulled out and made a left at the next block, then took another left, putting him back on Oak. He then backtracked the way he’d come, slowing noticeably at the intersection as he scanned both sides of the street.

  “Looking for something?” McCoy asked.

  “No,” Frank answered. “I mean, not really. It’s just that I thought I saw someone standing over there a few minutes ago, when I was coming to pick you up.”

  “Really?” McCoy asked. “It didn’t happen to be an Asian woman with long, black hair, by any chance?”

  Frank nearly skidded off the road. “How did you know that?” he asked, amazed.

  “Lucky guess?” McCoy offered.

  “Mr. McCoy—″

  “I saw her, too. About twenty minutes ago. But she vanished right in front of my eyes.”

  “That’s impossible,” Frank said.

  “That I saw her twenty minutes ago?”

  “No, that she simply vanished. People don’t do that, Mr. McCoy.”

  “You’re exactly right. They don’t.”

  “Right. Good.” Frank thought about it for a moment. “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that it wasn’t a person.”

  “With all due respect, sir, that’s nonsense. Of course it was a person. I saw her myself.”

  “Did you stop?” McCoy asked.

  “I did, in fact.”

  “Did you find any footprints?”

  “Well, no. But the wind could have erased them.”

  “The snow’s over a foot deep. It would’ve had to been one hell of a wind.”

  “Then maybe I checked the wrong spot. It’s dark and snowing, and I was concentrating on my driving.”

  “The sheriff told me about your eidetic memory,” McCoy said. “So I’m not buying that one, either.”

  Frank started to reply, thought about it, then said nothing.

  “Did it ever occ
ur to you that what you saw might not have been human?” McCoy asked.

  “What? You mean like a ghost? That’s preposterous.”

  “And why is that?” McCoy was clearly enjoying this game. He found it suitable payback for the ride earlier. Not to mention, Deputy Frank needed to be educated if he was going to be of any help later.

  “Because ghosts don’t exist,” the deputy replied, though he sounded less sure of himself than he had earlier.

  “Then how do you explain what you saw?”

  “I’m not sure. But there has to be a logical explanation.”

  McCoy sighed. “Maybe the most logical explanation is that you saw a ghost. What was it Sherlock Holmes said about the truth?”

  “He said, ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’. But the existence of a ghost is impossible in the first place.”

  “More impossible than a human leaving no footprints in the snow? Come on, Frank. Now you’re just being stubborn. Have you lived in Shallow Springs for long?”

  “I was born and raised here.”

  “Then surely you’ve heard the stories about me. You know what I do.”

  Frank nodded sheepishly. “They say you’re a ghost hunter, like those guys on T.V.”

  “I prefer the term paranormal handler. But you’re on the right track. Do I seem like a nut job to you?”

  “Well, no. You seem fairly sane. But you just can’t ask me to believe in stuff like that. It’s just make-believe, stuff created to scare folks.”

  “Then why did Sheriff Talbot send for me?” McCoy asked.

  Frank gave a small shrug. “I just assumed it was because you two are pals.”

  McCoy decided to try a different tangent. “I’m sure you heard about Elmer Jenkins and Katie Daniels?”

  “Yeah. I was one of the first there when we found Elmer. It was awful. I’d never seen anything like it before.”

  “So you saw the way he was frozen?”

  “I sure did. But I wish I hadn’t.”

  “And you didn’t think that there was anything strange about the condition of the body?”

  “Of course I did. It looked like he’d been stored in a freezer for a month. But there’s not necessarily anything supernatural about that.”

  “The temperature was in the upper twenties that night. Not nearly cold enough to freeze a person solid in a matter of hours.”

  “So maybe someone sprayed him with liquid nitrogen or something,” Frank offered.

  “Okay. So you find it more plausible to assume that someone in Shallow Springs killed poor Elmer with liquid nitrogen than to entertain the notion that a supernatural force may be at work?”

  “I’m sorry, but yeah.”

  McCoy saw that this was not a battle he was likely to win in the short time before they arrived at the station. Hopefully, it would be enough that he planted a seed in Frank’s mind, so that the deputy would be open to extreme possibilities later down the road. He didn’t want Frank seizing up at an inopportune moment.

  “How long has it been bothering you?” McCoy asked.

  “Excuse me?” Frank looked puzzled.

  “The night blindness.”

  “What are you talking about?” the deputy asked. His nervous expression, however, gave him away.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. But I will tell you how to cure it, if you’re interested.”

  Frank sighed. “I’ve already tried vitamin A treatments and corrective lenses. Nothing seems to help.”

  “Then listen closely to Uncle Finn. You’re going to need some leaves from a wood apple tree, a few corns of black pepper, some sugar, and some water. Mix the ingredients and drink twice daily. I’ll write down the exact instructions, if you’d like.”

  Frank gave McCoy a doubtful glance. “That sounds like some witch doctor’s potion.”

  “Just try it. You can thank me later. You want me to write it down or not?”

  “Sure,” Frank said without much enthusiasm. “I’ll try anything once.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’ll get you the list when we get to the station. And, once we get there, I want you to do something for me.”

  “I’ll try, sure.”

  “Draw me a sketch of the woman you saw tonight.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not a very good artist, Mr. McCoy.”

  “That’s okay. It doesn’t have to be a Rembrandt. Will you try?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask,” McCoy said, and turned his attention back to the falling snow.

  Chapter Ten

  “We need to get back out there,” John said impatiently. “You probably saved Jessica Stillman’s life. But there’s no reason to believe that it—whatever it is—won’t go looking for another victim.”

  “You’re right,” McCoy answered as he dug through his knapsack. “But, so far, we’ve been neglecting Rule Number One.”

  “Which is?”

  “Always know what you’re up against. I startled her back there, and she fled. We might not be so lucky the next time.”

  “I can’t just sit here on my hands, Finn. I have a duty to protect the citizens.”

  “I realize that, and I’m only asking for a few minutes. If I’m right, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

  John gave McCoy a hard stare. “Ten minutes. After that, I’m going back out, with or without you.”

  “Fair enough.” McCoy finally found what he was looking for: a small glass vial containing a clear liquid. He uncorked the bottle and held it up to his nose.

  “I knew it,” he said after several sniffs.

  “What’s that?” John asked.

  “Nelumbo nucifera. Japanese lotus oil. It has a variety of applications, including aromatherapy.”

  “And that’s important why?”

  “It’s the scent I smelled when I sensed the spirit. Try saying that three times fast.”

  “So the spirit smells like lotus oil. Is that a clue?”

  “The Japanese part is the most important. Remember what Jessica said? That she thought the lady was Chinese?”

  “Japanese, Chinese. What difference does it make?”

  “Quite a bit. Come on. Let’s see if Frank is finished with his project.”

  As it turned out, Deputy Frank’s artistic skills were not nearly as bad as he’d let on. From his sketch, one could clearly make out a young Asian woman. McCoy studied the drawing for several moments.

  “Most definitely Japanese,” he pronounced at last. “You can tell by the oval structure of the face and the large eyes.”

  “Wow,” Amanda said. “And here I was thinking you just knew about ghosts. You can really tell that from that sketch?”

  “Enough to be ninety percent sure,” McCoy replied. “And that, my friends, tells us what we’re dealing with.”

  “Which is?” John asked.

  “A Yuki-Onna,” McCoy said. “A Japanese snow spirit. Though how she ended up in Shallow Springs, I haven’t a clue.”

  “Yoko Ono?” John asked “What the hell is that?”

  Frank cleared his throat. “A Yuki-Onna is a figure from Japanese folklore. She is a spirit who appears on snowy nights and ambushes travelers, freezing them with her icy breath. She often appears as a beautiful woman with long black hair and blue lips.” He stopped when he realized the others were looking at him in amazement.

  “What?” he asked. “I read a book called Kwaidan several years ago. The Yuki-Onna was mentioned in one of the stories.”

  “Damn,” McCoy said. “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday.”

  “Frank, did the book describe this Yuki-Onna’s origins?” asked John.

  “Most legends agree that it is the spirit of someone who perished in a snowstorm. Some are more specific, saying that she is the spirit of a woman who died while searching for a lost child in the snow.”

  “Could
it be the ghost of someone local?” Deidre asked. “Does anyone remember anything similar happening around here?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t. But maybe it happened long ago. What about you, Finn?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” McCoy said. “Kids have gone missing from time to time, but I don’t remember any that specifically vanished in a snowstorm. It might be worth our time to check local records, though. How far back do they go?”

  “Back to the eighteen-hundreds,” Deidre replied. “But you’d have to go to the library to find the older ones.”

  “Wait,” Frank interrupted. His gaze bounced from John to Deidre. “You’re not really taking this seriously, are you? A Yuki-Onna is a myth. It’s not real.”

  John and Deidre looked at each other and seemed to come to some sort of silent agreement.

  “Maybe,” Deidre said slowly, “it’s time you were initiated into the club.”

  “What club?” Frank asked.

  “The People-Who-Know-Some-Strange-Shit-Happens-In-Shallow Springs-Club.”

  Frank turned to John. “Is she serious?”

  “I’m afraid so. You remember last year when those people attacked the town?”

  “The people who had been missing for years? Sure, I remember.”

  “Well, they weren’t really people, per se.”

  “Not people?” Frank asked, confused. “Then what were they?”

  “Fairies,” Amanda said.

  Frank regarded her incredulously. Then, slowly, a smile began to spread across his face.

  “I get it. You guys are putting me on. You actually had me going for a minute.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Deidre protested. “I saw them. Ugly little things. I also saw a bunch of grass dolls come to life and battle the fairies. Oh, and Paul Kenner turned into a demon.”

  “You’re nuts,” Frank said, the smile gone. “Paul Kenner died with the other deputies that night. I remember.”

  “You remember the official story,” John said. “The one we made up to protect the town. But we’re telling you what really happened.”