Wicked Winters: A Collection of Winter Tales

by Lucy Smoke

  “It suits you.” I grabbed another cushion and playfully whacked her hip with it. “Next time, don’t scare the shit out of me.” I laughed. “No more screaming unless something bad happened. Agreed?”

  She nodded, not listening, and turned back to the window and its sparkling view. Spectacular. “You better find your bedroom.” She waved me away.

  Leaving her behind to her daydreaming, I headed into the corridor, and the next two rooms were small and nothing compared to Britta’s, but at the end, I entered another, and I lost my breath.

  It was twice the size of Britta’s. I smirked, well aware she’d complain when she saw this. The room had two walls of windows, an enormous king size bed in the center, a fireplace against one wall, and my own personal bathroom with a tub. Yes! Oh. My. God. It had gold feet. I collapsed onto my back on the bed and lay there, laughing, unable to believe we were here. I pinched my forearm, and it hurt. Okay, maybe I wasn’t dreaming.

  We had a permanent home.

  No, not just any house. We had a mansion.

  Euphoria washed over me from head to toes.

  Dragging myself up, I told myself I needed to bring our bags up, then take a long hot shower before working on the fireplace. After that, food. Near the window, I glanced outside to the spectacular yard, where the land stretched outward toward the base of the mountain. How much land did my uncle own? To the right stood the distillery, where I caught movement near a cluster of pines.

  Pressing myself against the glass, I squinted for a better look. A deer trotted out, followed by two more. The bigger one had a gray streak across its brow, and they all sported large antlers.

  Fuck, no!

  Had they tracked us home from the mountains? They all looked up as if spotting me. For the longest pause, we stood there, locked in each other’s gazes, frozen. What were they doing?

  They turned around in unison and vanished into the woods.

  What the hell?

  3

  2 Weeks Later

  I inhaled the sweet notes of pear while I swirled the glass of schnapps under my nose. “Divine.”

  I took a sip and let it linger in my mouth before swallowing. The amber ambrosia slid past my throat, heating me at once. A creaminess lingered with a hint of citrus. I closed my eyes, drowning in the aftertaste.

  “Krampus Schnapps is our best seller at this time of the year,” Manuel said with a strong German accent.

  I opened my eyes to find him standing across the bar from me, smiling. He was an older man with hair silvering at his temples, a medium build, and a long, salt-and-pepper beard. My distillery had its own bar for the staff, and clients who flew in to visit us. With each passing day, I learned so much about whiskeys and schnapps, but there was always more. It would take me months, maybe years, to be fully immersed. For once, I felt as if I had a purpose. Something to focus on that would benefit my sister and me.

  “It tastes like Christmas.” The warmth in my chest spread, and I needed a glass of this magic concoction before heading outside to tackle the growing coldness.

  “Many in Europe offer a glass of this schnapps to Krampus on December 5th. They believe he can’t resist the drink, and it gets him drunk so he doesn’t steal their kids to punish the naughty children. An old superstitious tale from these areas to get children to behave before Santa arrives. It’s become a tradition, so our sales soar in December.” Manuel took a mouthful of his own glass, savoring the taste. He was the manager my uncle had appointed to run the distillery, and I saw why. He organized everything from ordering ingredients, to running the factory, and oversaw the deliveries to different parts of Europe. So I decided I’d jump into the client side of things first, get to know our customers, network, and find new avenues. I wanted to feel needed.

  He eyed the window where feathery snow cascaded during another overcast morning. I hadn’t seen a clear sky or the sun since we’d arrived two weeks ago.

  “Will you be okay to take out today’s delivery?” he asked. “I can come with you?”

  I finished my schnapps, loving how it warmed me. “Ringsted’s only a couple of hours away, so I’ll be fine. Plus, Jakob owns a small franchise of bars throughout Austria, so it’s the perfect time for me to introduce myself as the new owner.”

  Manuel collected my glass along with his and placed them into the dishwasher behind the counter. “The team has loaded the small van and it’s in front of the house waiting for you. The address is in the car. I’ve contacted Jakob with a message that you’ll be visiting him this morning.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  Manuel rounded the counter and walked toward me. “I’ll make sure the place runs as smoothly as possible until you’re caught up.”

  “Thanks.” I hopped down from my stool, and we both stood in silence.

  “You have your uncle’s eyes.” His voice cracked slightly.

  “I’ve never met him, but everyone speaks fondly of him.”

  Manuel folded his arms over his small potbelly. “He had a huge heart but struggled to open it to anyone. Which is fine because he always did right by me.” He patted my shoulder. “We all live with our demons the best way we can.” He marched toward the rear door and vanished out the back, which led into the warehouse.

  Since moving here, I’d pushed my past out of my thoughts, and I intended to keep it that way. I headed outside as the snow came down, each touch a tiny kiss across my skin. With hands deep in the pockets of my puffy windbreaker, I closed the distance between the house and me. Yet Manuel’s words kept twirling in my mind about living with demons. Did he know about my parents from my uncle? Was that why everyone treated Britta and me so nice and bent over backwards for anything we needed? I sure hoped not because I hated pity. My younger years had been fucked up, but I preferred to forget about them.

  But if my uncle had known this whole time about our past, why hadn’t he helped us? I wondered what had gone down between my dad and his brother to make them stay apart for so long. Not a day passed when I didn’t speak with Britta.

  Regardless of his reasons, he’d left us his home and business. It turned a healthy profit. And I embraced my new life because now Britta and I faced a decent future—a better-than-decent future. Yet in the back of my mind, curiosity burrowed deeper, a need to discover the whole of my uncle’s story. Maybe one day, I’d get Manuel to open up and tell me more.

  White covered the yard, and I passed a snowman we’d built yesterday. It was still in one piece, with a carrot for a nose.

  I glanced behind the snowman to the pines as I did every day I walked this path, remembering the three deer. Since my first day here, I hadn’t seen them, but I stared in that direction expecting them to turn up again. They never did, and part of me felt as if they had checked on us to ensure we’d arrived home. There was no rational explanation for why I felt that way, but I didn’t push the idea away. It was better than looking over my shoulder in case any berserker deer charged from the shadows.

  Britta burst out past the front door dressed all in red, bundled up in a beanie, gloves, boots, and a long coat. “I’m coming too!” her excited voice boomed.

  She darted toward the white van. I heaved a long sigh as I walked over to her. I held her shoulders and crouched down. “Not today, okay? I have to visit a client and it’s my first time. Next visit, you can come along. Deal?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, her gaze swinging to the house behind us. I turned to find Jana rushing outside holding a banana.

  “Britta, I made palatschinken. Those thin pancakes you like with banana and cinnamon filling.” Jana’s strong German accent had her clipping her words. She was Britta’s babysitter and homeschool teacher, a woman in her sixties who lived nearby. All her children had moved out after her husband had passed. Now, she loved helping me out, and helping Britta learn the local language. She was a blessing, and it was refreshing to have her in the huge house with us. I still wasn’t used to large living quarters. Britta and
I had only ever lived in a one-bedroom apartment.

  “I’m going with Nickie,” Britta snapped.

  I shook my head and stood up. “Not this time. But when I come back, how about we plan an afternoon of snow angels? Plus, we need to get your applications ready for the local school.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “Fine, but don’t be late.” She stormed past me and Jana, then vanished into the house.

  “Sorry. She’s a handful,” I said.

  Jana shook her head, her hair loosening from her silvering bun. “Not at all. Children push boundaries. She will be all right with me. I brought a jigsaw puzzle of the mountains for us to do.” Her smile was warming, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her Britta hated puzzles. Yet Jana had a way of convincing Britta to do things I never could.

  “You go on now.” She waved me to get into the van, so I smiled and climbed inside. In the passenger seat was a notepad with the address and names of the clients whom I was visiting, and I started the engine. I added the location in the GPS.

  The sooner I left for Ringsted, the quicker I’d return. I was excited to visit the nearest town and familiarize myself with the area. A buzz curled in my chest to discover what was near us. Strapped in, I waved to Jana and drove away.

  An hour into the drive, and all I’d seen was an endless sea of pines, a winding road curving between two mountains, and snow. No one traveled between the towns it seemed, or at least not today. Back in California, it had been rare to travel during the day and find a major road abandoned, but this new place was growing on me. No angry drivers or fighting in a store. Last night, Britta and I had gone out for schnitzel at a local restaurant, and we’d walked straight in, getting a table. And everyone had been so nice, even though we couldn’t speak German.

  I breathed easier. We had a roof over our heads and food. And for our first Christmas in Austria, I intended to spoil Britta. Including getting a real tree for us to decorate. I tapped my fingers to the German tune on the radio, loving everything about this place so far, and for the first time in so long, maybe my whole life, I’d woken up with a smile on my face every morning.

  Up ahead, the road diverged in two. To the right, the woods grew sparser, and it seemed lighter, while on the left, the forest thickened, the skies darkening as if a storm approached.

  A quick check and the GPS pointed left. Of course it did. But this wasn’t a spooky movie where I screamed at the kids not to take the dark path. This was real life, and that stuff didn’t happen. Besides, I was halfway to Ringsted, so I’d get this done and return home before the storm hit.

  Fifteen minutes later and the road had grown narrower, the snow falling faster and thicker. On the seat next to me was my phone with one bar. If I got stuck or something, Manuel would come for me. Fuck, stop thinking that shit.

  I gripped the steering wheel and pushed forward, going slowly because it felt as if I swayed across the road. God, someone would think I was a drunk driver, unable to drive straight.

  A sudden clunking sound came from the motor and the vehicle slowed as if it were on its last legs. Panic struck my chest, and I pumped the pedal. The vehicle stopped moving, as if I’d run out of gas. Except I had a full tank. What the hell?

  I steered off the road just as the engine died.

  “Dammit!” Snatching the phone, it showed no service. I huffed and climbed out. Frosted air forced its way into my lungs. I rubbed my hands before opening the hood. The gigantic pines seemed to close in around me, towering over me like guardians. It wasn’t midday yet, but a dimness settled over the landscape. With the hood up, a quick scan with my limited knowledge showed nothing smoking. And the oil gauge appeared normal, so I shut the lid and checked the tires. No punctures or flats, not that either would stop a car like this. It had to be the battery, so maybe I’d find jumper cables in case someone passed. Surely, people out here came prepared, so I headed to the back and pulled open the door.

  I faced a wall of wooden crates filled with schnapps and whiskey, and peered past them but saw nothing that could aid me, so I slammed the door shut.

  “What to do, what to do?” I mumbled to myself as I scanned around the pines, the branches laden heavily with snow. I supposed it made more sense to walk back to the fork in the road, where I last remembered having phone reception.

  A light breeze blew past, and I wrapped the coat around my body, my ears frozen, the cold stinging my eyes. I hadn’t brought a hat or scarf, which was dumb in hindsight. I attempted to start the van once more, hoping the car trouble had been a fluke. Except it made no sound. I sighed and grabbed my phone, purse, and keys.

  With the car locked, I journeyed back the way I’d come. A sudden explosion of squawks came from around me, and I jumped out of my skin. A crowd of blackbirds fluttered out of the tree and vanished overhead, snow from those branches hitting the ground. That was when I spotted a red smudge amid the white, like a speck of blood. Except this was something bigger, and I eyed the object, curious. Leaving the road, I passed several trunks. I reached down and pulled the fabric free from the white powder, finding a hat.

  Not just any, but a Santa hat. I laughed to myself. Someone’s party had ended up in the forest. Their loss was my gain. I dusted it and dragged it over my head, covering my ears. It fit snug, and a warmth smothered me at once as if I had stepped in front of a fire. The heat traveled down my body, and within moments, a fiery sensation flushed through me.

  I took the hat off and studied it, but the earlier high temperature I’d felt dissipated. There was no tag to show what material it was, but I needed an entire wardrobe made of this fabric for the winters in Austria. I dragged the hat back over my head, swimming in the sudden warmth.

  When a guttural growl came from deeper in the forest, I flinched and pressed myself against a tree, my breath locked in my lungs.

  I peered out from around the pine, scanning the woodland. Nothing out of the ordinary. God, had a wolf made that sound? I darted back to the van, unlocked the door with a click, and scrambled inside, my skin crawling. I locked myself inside, and dumped my purse on the passenger seat. Maybe walking wasn’t such a good idea if I had no clue what lurked in these woods. But sitting here all day and night wasn’t an option either, even with the world’s warmest hat. I’d freeze to death once night hit.

  I studied the woods for any kind of movement. Only the breeze stirred, sending the branches into a soft sway. Insisting I visit the new client on my own had been a mistake. A fucking grand one. So I’d sit here for a while because whatever had made the sound would leave when it sensed no activity. And someone might travel past and stop to help me.

  High hopes, but that was all I had to hold on to, so I reclined in my seat. I pulled out the phone from my pocket to play a game, but then set it on the passenger seat, needing to reserve the battery for as long as possible.

  All right, I could do this. I lived near a forest, and that meant being in the wilderness, occasionally getting stuck out here. Still, unease coiled tight in my chest that I’d gotten stranded out here and Britta would freak if I was home late. Jana wouldn’t leave her alone, so that calmed me. She seemed like a woman who took care of any situation. Thank goodness I’d bumped into her at the grocery store. Well, more like she’d dropped a can of pickles and I’d collected it for her, then we’d got to talking. I picked up my phone—still no reception. I cursed under my breath, the earlier panic swelling in my chest.

  A loud crash echoed nearby, and I jumped in the seat. Then something slammed into the passenger side of the car. I flinched, paralyzed with fear. The whole vehicle swayed from side to side, the bottles in the back clanging followed by the distinct sound of smashing glass. I clasped the door, the phone dropping somewhere at my feet.

  “What the fuck?”

  I shot a glance at the passenger’s side mirror. A black figure on hind legs darted out of sight. A bear. Was that a freaking bear?

  Panic clawed though me, rocking me with the urgency to run. Escape. Oh, god. Oh, god.r />
  When the vehicle came to a complete stop, I plastered myself to the seat, my pulse racing. Checking every mirror and window, which showed nothing. Just a silent forest, but without a shadow of doubt, I was not leaving the confines of this van. Not in this world with angry vicious animals out there. Walking to town could take thirty or forty minutes. Maybe longer, making me easy prey for whatever was out there. It was better I stayed in the vehicle, as someone might spot me if they passed.

  Hell, when I got back home, I’d read up on what lived in the Austrian Alps. And how to deal with them. Then I was getting a gun and knife.

  I reached over and opened the glovebox. Rummaging through papers, I found no weapon. The middle console only had a lighter, so I pocketed it just in case. And behind me were boxes of booze, and now the vehicle flooded with the waft of alcohol. A bottle was a better weapon than being empty handed. Jagged glass was a deadly tool, so I twisted in my seat and broke the seal that kept the closest box shut. I grabbed a neck and yanked a bottle out. Then I sat in there, cradling the honey-colored whiskey in my lap, my knees bouncing.

  Hell. I’d moved away from California to avoid danger. Now look at me. Trapped in the forest in winter with an insane bear wanting to kill me. At least if I faced a druggie, I had the possibility of negotiation, but out here, it was me against the wilderness. Animalistic and raw. What did I know about living in the woods? Zilch.

  I kept checking the mirrors. No bear in sight.

  “I’ll wait it out,” I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. They said on documentaries to play dead with a bear, so I’d lay quiet. But the car suddenly felt smaller, and my lungs strangled. Just like the times I’d hide under the steps a child. Mom and Dad hadn’t been able to find me, but one day, they’d heard Britta’s cries. When they’d ripped open the door, their twisted faces had been covered in shadows and so much anger. They hadn’t seemed like themselves. The bruises and cuts on my back and the legs had lasted for weeks afterward. At least they’d spared Britta, but she’d cried every time she’d looked at my black and puffy eyes.