Abandoned Places: Short Chillers

 

I'm ushering in the spooky season with some photos of abandoned places and short flash fiction beneath to give my readers an afternoon thrill. Enjoy!

Church of Purgatory 

Along a dusty untraveled road sat the decaying skeleton of a once grand church.

The curious wanderer stopped at the entrance to squint into the darkness.

"Come in," spoke a disembodied voice. "Come, boy, don't be afraid. We have cast out all the sinners. Repent boy and join our legion in the ether of this cathedral."

The mental ward shut down and the exhausted and financially strapped owner opened the doors and let the patients free. 

They wandered the marshes around the bay, some finding shelter under a suspension bridge, others being captured by the townsfolk and sent to other facilities. 

But, the stubborn ones remained in the facility's pantry, determined to stay no matter what. 

One day, months later, the bank sent someone to slap a sign on the door. The curious worker entered and poked around looking for some expensive bauble he could steal. But what he didn't expect were the hungry feral residents hiding behind the pantry door....

“I’m up here! Please! Hurry!”

He hated kids. He loved dogs.

Wild dogs. Ones that would chase the neighbors away. He'd feed them raw meat on Wednesdays. That is, if they hadn't caught anyone to eat.

A single candle glowed in the attic window each night. Shadows moved within. When the light went out, the chanting began. And continued until dawn...

She had four handymen over the years and yet nothing looked improved to the neighbors. Come to think of it, no one had seen the caretakers either....

The Tenants: Southern Ghost Story

(One of my fictional shorts)

The cicadas and tree frogs rhythmically chanted outside the windows of the carriage house. Judy Childers stepped outside onto the porch. Certain she heard a woman’s anguished scream, she studied the flickering fireflies along the creek and shrugged. No doubt, this city girl just wasn’t used to the sounds of the outdoors.

Whatever made her think of renting a carriage house on a manor estate in rural Virginia for a full summer? There was no air-conditioning. She wiped the back of her sweaty neck and wandered off through the apple orchard and towards the mansion.

She’d been staying in the cottage for a full week with no sign of the owner. The agent assured her the man was a reclusive retired military doctor and was not to be bothered—ever. She wanted to respect the man’s privacy, but she was an artist and the manor home’s beautiful gardens were a wonderland for a series of paintings.

Every night she’d come to wander the grounds like a crazy haunting wraith, cutting pathways through the boxwood maze and hickory grove. Ultimately, Judy always came to rest behind a walnut tree, studying the slats in the plantation blinds of the mansion with the eager eyes of what could only be called a lonely stalker.

Tonight, the sound of shouting within the mansion brought her to life. Worrying for the retired recluse, she rushed the house without thinking, the back door slamming against the wall. She barreled into the kitchen, squinting into the dim room, trying to figure out where the yelling was coming from. Just then, a man’s voice rose up again, followed by another man’s harsh response from upstairs.

Judy plunged up the narrow dark stairs, met halfway in the almost complete darkness by a movement above her. She stopped to study it when the sound of heavy booted footsteps continued and she realized a man was rushing down the stairs. She jumped out of the way and pasted herself to the wall, eyes closed tightly. The steps stopped briefly. An ice cold tingling rushed through her body. The sense of something nearby made her open her eyes and she heard the dark figure finish his descent down the wooden stairs.

More footsteps in the hall above sounded. She looked up to see the outline of a tall body. A hand reached out and flicked on the hall light, casting the man in a backlight.

“I’m sorry.” She explained. “I heard arguing and I wanted to help.”

He descended the stairs to meet her.

“And what exactly were you going to do without a weapon?”

“I was in the gardens when I heard the shouting. I’m afraid he got away.”

“He gets away every night.” He sighed. “He’s never stopped like that before. I think he knew you were there. How interesting.” He drawled as he pulled her along down the stairs. “It is time to go, Miss Childers.”

“You know my name?”

“I know your art. That is why I allowed you to rent the carriage house. I had hoped being an artist, you were a recluse.” He ushered her out the back door. “This house is no place for the inquisitive.”

“I’m really sorry, Dr. Deyden.”

He sighed as he guided her towards the cottage.

“Who was that man?” She asked.

He shrugged.

“Do you mind me painting in the gardens?” She babbled.

“It would please me if you painted the manor home. The place hasn’t been painted since before the Yankees destroyed everything in the Civil War.”

“Gooseneck Manor was in The War?” She asked as she rushed to keep up with his long-legged strides.

“They took it over, scaring out an earlier generation of Deyden’s. They used it as a field hospital. My family got the manor home back following The War, with all its…idiosyncrasies.”

After a lengthy silence, something she was never comfortable with, Judy blurted out. “Are you going to report the robber?”

“Did you see him?” He asked as they stopped at her porch.

“No, not really.”

He leaned against the porch post. “So, when he raced down the stairs, did you feel him go by?”

“I felt a cold breeze.”

“Did you hear a door slam or a car take off?”

“No.”

Judy hated the darkness. She could barely make him out in the porch light clotted by bugs. He wore dark clothing and she could see a hint of deep-set eyes and a slightly crooked jog in the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t enough light to see his age, but she would have guessed his early 40s, maybe.

“I don’t mean to doubt your intelligence, Miss Childers, but as a Yankee, I’m not sure you’d understand the concept of homes having character.”

“Character?”

“Houses hold memories and spirits.” He said slowly.

“Oh.” She grasped his meaning. “Ghosts?”

He nodded tightly.

“So, what went past me on the stairs was a ghost?”

“Just one of the characters of this estate. In fact, one of my great-great-great aunts was kept here when the family fled and forced to be a triage nurse. She drowned herself in the creek. She couldn’t bear to watch the state of human flesh when it was burning and bleeding and festering.”

He seemed like a man stuck in time and bitterness.

“The war’s been over for 150 years.” She reminded him.

“Not in my home.” He said dryly.

The doctor surveyed the darkness around them. “On summer nights like this, right at dusk when it’s more dark than light,” he said in a slow drawl, “you can hear her anguished screams rising from the creek. It makes your hair stand on end. Take care you don’t linger that time of day, Miss.” He turned and left. When the night swallowed him up, she studied the darkness with a healthy amount of fear and awe.


***


It took three more nights of hearing the woman screaming at dusk before Judy decided she’d had enough. She marched over to the manor house to have a real conversation with the doctor. She wanted another human voice and not all the images in her mind of drowning women and chilly ghosts on staircases.

“So glad you could come.” The door swung open and a hand yanked her inside. “How did I know the curious little artist would not take `no’ for an answer?” The slow drawl of his voice sounded menacing. Judy could smell the sour scent of whiskey on him.

She turned to face the doctor in the pale glow of a single candle on the counter. His eyes looked weary, his face unshaven with dark stubble. He looked like he needed a good night’s sleep.

“Tonight, I think I’m going to use a little bait.”

“B-bait?”

“Every generation has managed to banish some of the Yankees from this place. We’re down to two stubborn ghosts; a general and a doctor.”

Barking voices from above sent her eyes searching the ceiling.

“They start that argument every night. Only, when you were here, the doctor saw you on the stairs. I’ve tried for years and never got either to realize I’m here. Of course, I’m not a distractingly beautiful woman.”

She blushed.

“My father banished three in his lifetime. You have to get their attention first.” He ordered. “I just need you to go into the master suite and let them see you. I’ll do the rest.” He offered, nudging her forward.

“Are you insane? I don’t even believe in ghosts, let alone the possibility you can banish them.”

He chuckled dryly. “Well, one step into that room and we’ll see what you think. You get their attention. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Caught up in his crazy scenario, she had to ask, “What will you do?”

“Once they have their eyes on something in this world, they can hear us, as well.”

“Really?” She shivered with childish delight. Being an artist didn’t just mean having a steady hand and keen eye, but it involved a whole world of make believe that was better than the real world. Even the things she painted were enhanced and exaggerated in the way she wanted to see them rather than how they actually appeared. For a strange moment, Judy felt a kinship with this tormented man.

“Upstairs.” He nodded.

She hoped he might climb first, but no such luck. Judy stepped into a long narrow hallway. The ancient boards creaked beneath her feet.

“First door to your right.” He took her hand and guided her into the huge room with a giant fireplace and an imposing four-poster bed.

“Let’s prop you up against the mantle here.” He pressed her against the carved wood and stepped back as if studying a work of art. He had the gall to arrange her long hair around her shoulders. “Yes, that’ll do.”

He leaned against the footboard. “This is the last task for me and I can live a free man.”

“Free?”

“From this responsibility.” He gestured around the room. “To be able to sleep nights. To consider having a wife and raising children without this god-awful loop of history intruding.”

“You were raised here and you turned out all right.” Perhaps that was a hasty assumption.

His head turned quickly and Judy followed his eyes. Not 12-feet away a dark form stood. It leaned forward, fist raised, pounding at the air but making a thumping sound as if striking an imaginary table. She startled.

“Touch your hair. Get him to notice you.” The doctor directed.

Judy’s hand trembled violently as she tried to run it through her tangled hair. The dark figure stopped, its head coming up. It was black as night but definitely a man shape.

“The other will show up close by.” The doctor whispered. “Don’t be scared.”

She followed his eyes focused at the spot on the other side of the fireplace from her. Judy saw the outline of a face and its features and the edge of one shoulder, but nothing more.

“Preen.” The doctor prodded.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and the head turned straight toward her, the eyes narrowing. Both heads were looking her way. Judy’s hand clenched on her breast in horror.

“War’s over boys. You’ve all been called home. The North won. You did it!” The doctor proclaimed in the most awfully imitated northerner dialect ever.

The figures didn’t respond.

“Y-you heard your superior. We won the war, men. Your families await you. Hurry home to your reward.” She gestured to the door.

The figures rushed forward and the doctor grabbed Judy up just in time to avoid the icy breeze that filled the room. The shapes dissipated through the doorway and their footsteps faded to nothing. The room felt strangely light where it once felt heavy. She sighed with relief, nestled safely in his strong arms.

Just when she thought it was all over, the doctor ruined the moment once again.

“Tell me, Miss Childers, how do you feel about distracting a drowned nurse?”

Josiah: Undead Cowboy

You have to watch me. You never quite know what I'm up to. I am going to introduce you to another blog I have that is set up to tantalize you, intrigue you, and make you ponder. Who is Josiah and how did he become an undead cowboy?

Josiah will be all over the place. You never know where he'll show up. This character has a mystery and a story. I hope to make you wonder about him and ponder the puzzle that is...Josiah. (opening paragraphs revealed) He is also on social media, Twitter, Tumblr and YouTube with new entries occurring all month leading up to his "release" on Memorial Day. There are buttons on his blog for all his social media sites and each place will give you new clues about the undead cowboy.

Follow the countdown to May 30th on his blog. Learn bits and pieces of his world.

After all, when a man has walked the earth for 140 years, he has a lot to tell...

Erotic Horror Short: Stalked!

He watched her come every day except Sundays, along the woodland path. The sound of her footfalls on the hard earth of the forest floor drew his attention. It took her exactly 13 long-legged strides to make it from his boulder to the next one. Her breath always carrying the same well-practiced rhythm of a lady jogger who had grown bored with the same routine.

Still, she came six days a week. And so did he.

Her breasts were bountiful and barely contained in her sports bra, bouncing rhythmically with each stride. Their lightly golden tops were sprinkled with freckles that fascinated him to no end and created a tightness in groin as blood directed itself to his growing arousal.

Unaware of his grip on the boulder as he peered down at her, he leaned further to view her taut buttocks straining against the tight shorts. Her athleticism attracted his eye, but it was her long limbs and glistening flesh that consumed his every thought, every minute, of every day, even on her dreaded “day off.”

His breathing see-sawed wildly as he pulled away from the boulder. His body hummed, blood coursing, veins and arteries throbbing, his cock in full erection. His nostrils flared and he growled lowly in frustration.

Tomorrow. Yes, he would have another chance tomorrow to plot how he would take her and get his needs met.

And, so he came the next day. This time, poised near the pathway. A recent rain made all the greenery glisten. The trail was damp but not muddy. Conditions were ideal. She would slow down her pace a bit today for fear of spraining an ankle. He had watched her for months since springtime as she adapted to the fallen tree he placed in her path, giant puddles and piles or rocks.

The woman was smart and set on her course, but he had a greater hunger on his side. This time, she would not get away.

He imagined her flushed skin in his hands, her slick body gliding against him, the scent of her sweat, the salt of her skin, the warm folds and creases that every woman possessed, offering such promise and release.

Trying to hold back his arousal at the hunt, he stepped back into the bushes. It would not be long now. She would pound the ground just feet away from his reach. He could imagine his hands gripping her shirt, pulling her back, knocking her off balance.

His nostrils flared, his mouth salivated, his groin throbbed and his blood surged, barely contained by the constraints of his body. He was giddy with anticipation and the desire to stalk and pounce, to dominate and have that which he had coveted for months on end.

Yes, his patience would pay off now!

The sound of her footfalls brought him to attention. He licked his lips, grasped the limbs, peered out from the greenery to see her sprinting easily over a small puddle and avoiding the boulders he had placed, bringing her directly to him.

He held his breath, his belly tightened, his erection stiffened painfully as he pulled back the bush and grasped her as she passed him by, his fingers catching the edge of her top, pulling her back, just as he had planned.

She cried out as she fell to the ground, the wind knocked from her. The sight of her heaving breasts made him growl lowly as he lunged upon her. Her struggles were useless. She was a runner, but he was pure muscle.

He tore at her clothing, the ripping of it making his mouth water more. She was his, a feast for his desire.

The beast opened his mouth and clamped it down hard on her shoulder, tearing the lean flesh from the bone, chomping wildly. The werewolf tasted her hot blood and continued to chew and gulp her muscle eagerly as appeasement spread through him, making him more determined to finish her off quickly now that she was no longer struggling.

He feasted ravenously on her salty golden skin, reveling in the knowledge she tasted exactly as he had imagined, providing fine lean muscle and just the right amount of female fat content. Men never tasted this good. The women were made to breed. Their bodies had little veins of fat, even on the leanest of them.

Becoming aware of his surroundings now that he had something in his belly, the beast pulled the body deep into the woods where no one would interrupt his interlude with the female jogger and the fulfillment of his appetite.

FICTION SHORT: Throb (Erotic Horror)

I love writing horror fiction and erotic horror fiction. With all this nonfiction book writing, I'm giving myself a bit of time each week to write a horror short that is under 1000 words. This one today is under 500 and an erotic horror piece. There will be another one on Wednesday that will thrill and delight. Be certain you are mature enough to read this. If not, you are learning about sex in entirely the wrong blog unless you plan to have paranormal encounters.

Skin met skin, tacky, moist, heated deeply from within. Undulating against the damp sheets, their bodies met, thrust for thrust in a cadence born from a united goal to seek the thrill.

She coaxed him in soft whispering tones against his sensitive ear. This accompanied a throaty laugh at the challenge and the quest was on. With a staccato of deep thrusts, he made her mood turn in an instant. Now, her nails dug into his ridges of his shoulder blades and then punctured his flesh without his notice. Singularly concentrating on the throb of his shaft and the need to release, the man studied her dark eyes, searching for a sign that she was trembling on the brink.

The woman gasped, arched against him until the moisture of their bodies created a delightful suction. He felt it then, a tightening spasm as she clung to his aching flesh. He bent to her neck, settling his mouth against her skin, biting playfully and then more painfully at the throb of her pulse.

The tremble in her breathing gave him the sign as he bruised her flesh with his teeth and then picked up his cadence. The woman threw her head back helplessly, completely vulnerable to his domination. He lifted his head and studied her expression of bliss as he felt himself rising to the moment, knowing it would be the longest most potent climax of his entire existence.

Then she put her mouth to his throat, nibbling, licking, teasing and whimpering in a soft plead for the hot wash of him within her swollen folds. He threw back his head as the conqueror as he stiffened and spent himself.

Her teeth pleasurably nipped at the pulse in his neck and he grunted in torture and pleasure as her teeth penetrated the flesh, crushing the artery, his hot seed pumping from his body as his hot blood drained from his neck.

Dizzy with a protracted climax, his arms grew weak, his body became cold, his climax petered out, replaced by the warm arousing feeling of blood being sucked masterfully from his body. His heart beat slowed, his breathing quieted as he collapsed atop of her.

She dominated him now, seated atop of him like a wild thing, drinking desperately from his life blood, draining him of all of his life at once. His body satisfied and spent, he sank back into the soft folds of his death bed and gave in to the greatest of releases.

Halloween Series: Short Story: "Drained"

Todays creepy thing in the blog world. He's showing Halloween-ie cool music videos. I love it!

This is another in my Saturdays in October series of short stories. Enjoy!


He never ventured out after dark. It wasn’t that he feared it. No, Holger’s reasons were ever so practical; he had poor night vision. If he even tried to drive on the roads, headlights from oncoming cars looked like blinding sunbursts. He cringed when he recalled the last time he drove at night, precisely one year ago this evening.

The things you do for love.

Pleased that on this Valentine’s Day he didn’t have to trek out to an overpriced restaurant for a meal he didn’t like, he made himself comfortable at home. The whole romance thing was grossly overrated. He knew from experience it was a sticky trap that ruined a man’s confidence. It wasn’t like Jenny Lee had just up and taken his heart with her when she exited his life, but she did leave a bad taste in his mouth.

She seemed like a perfectly sweet and pleasant woman when they met but, over the last year of their relationship, became a demanding, angry, and resentful woman. The distortion of her once delicate features into a twisted rapidly aging face made him shudder.

Did I do that to her like she said?

Admittedly, he did tend to overwork. When he was stressed and tired, he didn’t want any more demands on his weary brain such as pointless conversation. He wasn’t raised in an affectionate family. In fact, his mother was from Holland and his father was from Germany, so it left him rather inaccessible to a passionate Irish woman. It was true he didn’t like kissing. It was a messy business and he had poor enough vision that she was a giant blur up close. So, maybe he could go for weeks without sex and be just fine with it. He was in his 40s now, his drive was waning. And giving compliments? It wasn’t in his makeup. If someone did well, they didn’t need their ego stroked more. Humility was always the best practice.

And how did that philosophy work for you, idiot? Well, it’s her fault too. She should have asked for what she needed, been direct. I’m too tired for games and mind-reading nonsense. The next woman in my life will be ballsy and assertive. And I won’t have to do a thing to please her!

With a sigh, he stroked his terrier, Millicent. The alarm on his watch sounded and it was time for bed. Holger strolled off to the bedroom to begin his methodical routine. First, turn down the bed, gather up his pajamas and socks, go to the bathroom where he would undress from his work clothing and lay out the pajamas while he took a shower for precisely 5 minutes, followed by socks first, briefs next, bottoms, and then top. He would brush his teeth for two and a half minutes, floss and then cleanse his sinuses with a neti pot of warm saltwater rushed through his nostril and out the other. Clear his throat, blow his nose, and turn out the light.

Holger climbed into the center of the bed, lying on his left side facing the doorway. He closed his eyes with a sigh. He was weary, well and truly spent, completely drained. It had been a long week with many demands, longer hours than he liked. In fact, this evening he barely made it out of the manufacturing facility before it got dark with the winter-short days. He sighed again.

A firm knock on the door startled Holger to life. He sat up, confused what to do. Admittedly, it was a Friday night and 10 pm, but he was ready for bed. And now the inconsiderate person at the wrong door was making him put on his slippers and robe.

With a groan he swung the door open, not even caring at that moment if it were a knife-wielding predator. In fact, it might put him out of his bored routine to cut through his mental numbness. His passion for life was completely anemic at this point and there was nothing but cold emptiness within. When he was once satisfied by routine and order, he was now feeling a pronounced howling void.

He blinked against the porch light as it cast a glow on a tall slender woman with long shining black hair and crystal blue eyes. Her skin was pale and perfectly flawless, her lips full and red. He blinked again.

“I’m sorry to bother you. My car broke down.” She pointed over her shoulder. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Me either.” He remarked awkwardly and then realized he should practice the social graces. It was like practicing a foreign land’s customs when it came to niceties. “You need to use my phone?”

She nodded.

He opened the door and let her step inside. She glided in very gracefully, her rounded buttocks and long legs stunning in her dark jeans and high-heeled boots. Holger never considered him self an ass man, but hers was perfectly tear-drop shaped and he was a man who admired details, symmetry and balance. It was in his father’s German blood to look for flaws. He wasn’t finding them.

“Ah, it’s over there.” He gestured to the bar counter.

“Thank you so much. I’ll try not to be long.”

“It’s fine.” He admitted and then looked down at his plaid robe and old-man slippers. He ran a hand through his thick sandy hair and cleared his throat as the woman dumped the contents of her purse on the counter and scattered through them.

“I don’t know my car club’s number.” Her voice was husky with a slow drawl and a hint of foreign accent. She examined each card. “Here we are.”

He was glad he wasn’t needed for conversation because, honestly, he could replay this scene of her in his condo a million times over the next few months, imaging how close he was to having a living breathing woman and a gorgeous one, at that, in his very own home. He’d even be able to contribute to a conversation at work. Finally.

The beauty sighed as she set down the phone. “They said it will be 90 minutes since it is a Friday night and Valentine’s Day, at that.”

She studied him and he felt a flush of self-consciousness in his nerdish nighttime attire. He wasn’t a dresser. In fact, he wore the same things he’d seen his father wear to bed.

“Thank you for letting me use the phone.” She wandered towards the door in a trail of jasmine and sandalwood.

“It’s cold out there.” He told her.

Jesus, you don’t state it as a fact, idiot! You present it as a question. At least act like you have social graces. Pretend to be human.

“Do you have a place you’re going to wait?”

“My car, I suppose.”

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s too cold out there. Why don’t you wait here? You can see the tow truck pull up from my front window.” He nodded.

”I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not. I was just…” He looked around, “going to watch some TV.”

She tilted her head, the veil of black silky hair falling forward. “I don’t think so. I think you were going to sleep and I interrupted you.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t asleep, just thinking of it.” He offered.

She yawned and stretched, her long arms rising above her head, her round breasts rising, as well. He tried not to stare but her nipples were hard beneath her clinging sweater. Holger swallowed past a dry spot in his throat.

“I’m tired too. I don’t blame you. What a week!” She leaned down and undid her boots. Her breasts swayed inside the loose neckline of her cashmere sweater and he could see the rosy tips brushing against the lucky fuzzy cloth. “You don’t mind, do you?” She asked as she kicked the boots aside.

He shook his head mutely.

“I’m Kasha.”

”Kasha.” He said dumbly. “That’s a nice name.”

She wants your name, idiot!

“I’m Holger.”

She stepped up to him. “Holger.” She said thickly. “I like that name. It suits you.”

To his utter shock, she reached out and her fingers curled around the lapels of his robe.

“It’s chilly in here, you like it cold, Holger?” She purred.

Tell her you’re too cheap to put the heat above 65.

“I can turn it up.” Holger told her, his voice lowering strangely. “The heat.” He clarified awkwardly.

“No, I like it. It feels good.” She murmured as she played with the nape of his neck where the hair had been trimmed to try and squelch the natural waves. “What do we do for 90 minutes?” She raised a dark brow, her lips curled into a pretty little bow.

He licked his lips. “I-I don’t have board games or movies. I have books.”

“Nonfiction, no doubt?” She laughed throatily and dropped her hands. “You’re too fun to tease, Holger. You really don’t know how to play games, do you? Another man would have given me some god-awful line and had me spread out on his coffee table.” She waved her hand in that direction.

Holger studied his Ikea coffee table that took three hours to assemble. Somehow, the imagery of her splayed out on the cheap birch wood confused his practical mind. Instead of wondering if it could hold her weight without incident, he imagined her rippling body undulating against the cool surface, a study in contrasts.

Where the hell did that come from?

“W-we could watch the late news, if you like?” His voice squeaked.

She pouted. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you a drink, Holger? Consider me your Valentine’s date.” Kasha winked. She walked confidently into the little kitchen and foraged through the cabinets.

“You’re my guest.” He insisted.

She stopped and pivoted, studying him. “Holger, I suspect you are not a cook, are you? Why not enjoy having a woman in your home for a time? I have no one to share the evening with. We will be a little pretend date. You can be my Valentine for 85 minutes, hmm?” She turned away to pour some vodka into two cups.

He watched her open the refrigerator and search for a mixer. Kasha tapped a red fingernail on each milk carton. “One, two, three. All labels facing forward. In fact, everything is flawless. You’re an engineer, aren’t you, Holger?” She turned and smiled.

He nodded self-consciously, waiting for that moment when the woman would decide he was a settled-in-his-ways middle-aged OCD nerd. He had absolutely nothing to offer in the way of romantic notions.

“I appreciate this more than you can know. I too like things to be in neat order. We’re so alike.”

He wanted to choke on that comment. What could this gorgeous creature have in common with him? They were barely of the same species. She was everything graceful, charming, and captivating, and he was cold and dead inside, an “emotional vampire,” as Jenny Lee like to accuse.

Kasha poured some cranberry juice into the glasses and set the container back on the shelf in the refrigerator in exactly the position he’d left it. She turned and studied him as if looking for his approval.

Holger nodded, his heart beating wildly that such a woman existed that understood he wanted no one marking his territory. She was a guest in his home, and she must leave things as if she had never been there because he had to live there the rest of the time. Jenny Lee never understood that when she came over and began shuffling through his things like a mouse from its cubbyhole while the humans slept. In an ideal world, Kasha would only leave a lingering scent on his sofa and memories of her company as his ideal Valentine’s Day of all time.

“I really don’t want to disrupt your life.” She handed him the drink. “I’m sure I’ve shot your routine to hell, hmm?” She purred as she took a long sip.

“No, really. It’s fine.” He couldn’t have her trying to leave so soon.

She breezed past him, wafting the light scent of her perfume in his nostrils. He watched her get comfortable on his sofa, caressing her glass.

Holger looked around. She had placed herself directly in the center of the sofa, leaving him to have to sit unnatural close to her, but he did it. The drink sent a heat to his groin and he felt relaxed. Alcohol only seemed to make him more sober outwardly, but inside he tended to feel warm and loose and less self conscious.

“What is it you do?” He was immensely proud he recalled that line from the “Bachelor’s Handbook” online.

The beauty dipped her finger into the drink and licked the droplet of vodka and cranberry juice from her long red nail. Normally that unhygienic gesture would have made his stomach turn. Right now, he was fascinated with the drop of red liquid dripping from the squared off tip of her nail onto her tongue. He licked his lips as if he too could taste it.

“I’m on the road much, Holger.” She sighed wearily.

“You travel a lot?”

With photographic memory he recalled rule #7 from the manual “Repeat what the woman says so she knows you listened.”

“Yes. It is my work.” She sighed. “I’m researching the cure for anemia.”

A scientist? His admiration for her soared even higher.

“It intrigues me, helping those who need more red blood cells. Red is my favorite color, you know?” She waved her fingers before him, the perfectly enameled nails taking on a robust symbolism.

Kasha leaned back and sighed, her finger swirling in her cup and sucked on the tip of her finger with pleasure.

Holger choked past a dry spot in his throat and swallowed some more drink.

“What do you do, Holger?”

“I’m an engineer. I work on stress analysis in--”

“No.” She put her hand on his. He studied the red nails and the long slender fingers curling around his squared furry knuckles like beauty and the beast intertwined.

“Where is your passion, Holger?”

“I-I enjoy designing sound amplifiers and speakers when I have free time.”

“You like music, then?”

“Well…” He couldn’t admit that he didn’t like music so much as he appreciated the very best sound recordings and getting the potential of their pure sound to come across through his creations. The challenge was in getting it as crisp and clear as possible.

She sighed and squeezed his hand. “Yes, I understand. You want to master the music beast, not be its hypnotic victim like the masses. I like that.” She purred.

She makes me sound positively fascinating. Where has this woman been all my life?

She looked around the room. “You have no women’s touches, Holger. I take it you are alone?”

He nodded.

“You must not look for the woman. The woman must find you. You are unique. Most women will not understand your ways. There is a method to your orderly world. I appreciate that. The right woman will see that in you and find it comforting. She can count on your stability.” She studied him with her crystalline eyes. “You do not know how to flirt, do you, my dear?”

He nodded, completely hypnotized by the feel of her finger rubbing the back of his hand.

“You like this?” She looked down at their hands and rubbed the silken back of her hand against the hairy back of his. “Women like their men hairy. You know why? Because we like the contrasts. The rougher you feel, the silkier we feel. We’re like kittens rubbing up against men.” She purred.

He shivered and swallowed tightly as she leaned into him.

“Let me guess, your last girlfriend was undisciplined and ruled by emotions? She didn’t understand the benefits of an orderly life and logic-guided emotions?”

“Are you psychic?” He frowned.

She laughed throatily. “I understand what it is like to be ruled by logic and directed by duty and discipline. I could not survive if I weren’t rather ruthless about my business.”

Where had this woman come from, just falling into his lap and on Valentine’s Day as if mocking all the attempts at traditional romance?

It’s surely a statistical impossibility.

She ran her finger along the soft worn lapel of his robe. “I like a no-nonsense man. I’m very frank about what I want.” She lowered her eyelids and studied the tie of his robe, reaching out and undoing it easily. “I’ll make it very clear to you so you’re not left to wonder about the intricacies. Holger, I’d like for you and I to go to your bedroom, remove our clothing, and lie down on the bed. You don’t have to do a thing. I’d really like to do it all. I don’t require any sort of preparation or kind words or show of affection. I’m talking about just pure sexual gratification for the purpose of an orgasm. Are you in?” She raised a brow.

Holger swallowed and nodded silently.

The hypnotic moment was broken as Millicent rushed into the living room and attempted to jump on his lap, only to stop on her haunches and growl lowly, the hairs rising on her back.

“Oh, I love pups. They are so trusting. She doesn’t seem to like the competition, hmm?” She smiled.

The dog raced from the room.

“She’s claimed the bedroom, no doubt. Let’s start here.” She murmured. “I am not a kisser, dear. I hope you don’t mind.”

He cleared his throat. “I-it’s fine.”

The corner of her red mouth drew up. “Oh, I do like you.” She leaned into him and her breath puffed on his neck. It left a strangely cold shiver. Her tongue licked the length of his neck and he moaned lowly, trembling like a young man bursting to pump himself into his date.

Why would this beautiful stranger want to go to bed with me? Maybe she’s going to rob me? Steal from me once I’m asleep? Jesus, who cares? Just, please, let her take what she wants from my body first!

She murmured something about liking his taste and Holger trembled uncontrollably as her teeth grazed his flesh. His entire body responded and he arched up against her as her teeth clamped tightly to him.

“Ah.” He gasped, completely unable to move. His entire body became paralyzed with an astounding combination of pleasure and pain. It was the most alive, animated and impassioned he had felt in his entire life. He moaned out loud as she continued to suckle his neck greedily. Holger’s head lolled to the side weakly and he was barely conscious when she withdrew. He smiled deliriously as his eyes rolled closed, feeling well and truly…drained.

Kasha sat back and studied the man. Jenny Lee had sought her out to drain Holger literally in retaliation for draining her emotionally. The bitter woman was ridiculous and didn’t realize the danger she had posed seeking out her kind. Kasha let her live, but only to learn more about this engineer with the rigid lifestyle, not encumbered by emotions.

She headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower to clean up the blood dripping onto her sweater. She should have known better than to wear cashmere for such a night, but lonely men so loved soft things.

Oh yes, she would keep this newest pet. He was much like her, uncomfortable and awkward with emotions and intimacy. He was a dream mate. In fact, never in all her hundreds of years had she found a man who was more like the undead in his mortal state than a vampire. And now, she had ensured he was drained of the last of his humanity to join her without conscience in search of the “cure” for their anemia.

And Kasha knew just the first feasting she would offer her new lover. A brittle, dried up woman tied up in her car’s trunk.

Jenny Lee.

Halloween Series: Short Story "Killing Season"

This is another in my October Saturday series of short stories I've written. This one involves everyone's favorite--zombies. P.S. Julie from Above-The-Norm and I are hitting major Halloween stuff today and spending the night in a haunted hotel tonight. Expect that I will probably post from the hotel and expect a lot of goofy vids and funny antics in the coming days...


Only four hours had passed and yet Donna McClintock’s life had changed in a way that was irreparable. She stood at the foot of the bed watching her Cousin Joe struggling in the damp sheets. For the past two hours he made seizure-like movements as he panted like a dog on a hot summer day. She turned away, feeling guilty. It would almost be humane if the last breath came soon and the room turned to silence rather than the tension that existed right now.

Donna’s brother Carl and her Uncle Tim had gone for help an hour ago, but the cabin was a good 20 miles from the nearest town. Then, there was still the return trip back with help, traveling down the difficult lumber road.

Joe had tried to rescue the raccoon trapped inside the trash can. Uncle Tim proceeded to mock him and tell him to kill the creature instead of rescuing it. Joe continued with his efforts, only to be bitten as the raccoon scrambled from the can. His father, as usual, just snorted and told him he got what he deserved. How could an animal bite affect someone so quickly? Even if it were rabid, would it cause symptoms within minutes?

In fact, her uncle’s last words were another bullying taunt, “Men are killers. We eat meat. You eat meat. Are you a man?”

Uncle Tim never gave up trying to push his macho hunting mentality on his tender-hearted gay son. It was a reality the man would never accept. Every autumn he dragged the family back to the cabin. This year, with Joe graduating from high school, the family was fed up with the usual drama and refused to come. That left Donna and Carl tagging along for moral support. Without them there to referee, it would have been a bloody battleground.

Joe’s pale gray eyes met hers and Donna gasped. The pupils were strangely dilated and black against his anemic eyes.

“Joe?” She leaned forward.

He began another round of thrashing about, his head twisted upward, the long corded muscles of his neck jutting. He screamed out in an agonizing cry, followed by gurgling and then complete silence.

Donna leaned over her cousin’s body in its strangely epileptic posture. She pressed her fingers to his taut neck to find no pulse. His chest was still, as well. She turned away, took a deep breath and stalked from the room, desperate to leave the scene.

“I’m sorry.” Sandy, her brother’s girlfriend, murmured as she followed her into the living room.

Donna went over to the sofa and slumped down onto it in a boneless heap. For some reason, the tears wouldn’t come. The reality hadn’t quite set in.

A crash and splintering of wood had Donna springing to her feet. Sandy rushed to her side and both women stared into the hazy hallway where Joe stumbled forward from the debris.

“Joe?” Donna called out and stepped forward but stopped herself.

Something was not right about his posture and motions. He seemed robotically driven and mechanically challenged as he unfolded himself to a semi-erect position and then lurched one more time to ratchet himself to his full 6-feet 4 inches.

Donna backed up, pushing Sandy further into the living room area. Then, something inside her split into two parts; the one who wanted to rush forward and help him, and the other who felt an imminent unexplainable threat as she studied his fixed stare and dilated pupils.

The door to the cabin swung open and Carl bounded inside, their Uncle Tim shoving him aside with a meaty hand. Uncle Tim stopped and swayed on his sturdy legs.

“Jesus! Will you look at that? He’s up and around already. I told you he was faking it. He just wanted to get out of hunting. It won’t work this time, Joe!” He lumbered forward.

Joe’s head tilted to the side, his complexion waxy and pale gray, his mouth twisted open, drool dribbling from one corner.

“He’s in no shape to hunt, Uncle Tim.” Carl warned him. “Don’t worry, Joe. We called for an ambulance. They’ll be here soon.”

“You’re not getting out of this. Today, you become a man. You’re gonna come out of those woods having killed!” Uncle Tim vowed.

Just then, Joe’s head swung around and all at once he lunged at his father with a snarl. The two fell with a thud to the floor. Carl stepped forward to offer assistance, but their cousin was atop of their uncle, growling menacingly as he held the big man down. Their slender cousin suddenly had the strength of a lion predator upon its prey. His head lowered and his father cried out as Joe sunk his teeth into the man’s shoulder. Uncle Tim’s legs thrashed wildly as he tried to pitch his son from him, but Joe’s hold on him was rigid and iron-like.

Carl leaned over the pair, trying to pry Joe from their uncle, but his hold was vice-like.

“Donna, help me get him off!”

Donna came over behind Joe, trying not to pay attention to the pleading screams of her uncle and the distinct sounds of hungry feasting. The metallic smell of blood filled the air and Donna fought back a desire to vomit. Joe’s body was rock hard, completely stiff and locked in position. Their uncle quit screaming, his body limp beneath Joe as their cousin began to tear at the tender flesh of his father’s throat.

Carl grabbed up Donna and pulled her away from the grisly scene. The pool of glistening dark blood followed the ancient wooden floorboards, filling the grooves, racing towards their feet. The pair leapt away from the seepage and Carl backed her towards the door and away from the scene. The last things Donna noted as they exited the cabin were the distinct crunching and chewing sounds of her cousin Joe digesting his father’s flesh in a killing frenzy.

Halloween Series: Short Story: The Voice

***Don't miss the last chance to enter the contests I have up this week; the 300 followers, the AZ road trip, the one yesterday to name the clown and....this afternoon another contest goes up, one sponsored by SyFy with a wicked prize!***

The month of October every Saturday expect a new short story. Last Saturday's was scarecrows. This Saturday, well, you'll see....


“This room has just been sitting here ever since we moved in. We ran out of ideas for what to do with all the space.” Jill chuckled.

Ken studied the corner room in the large Charleston mansion. His friends were collectors and, even with eight bedrooms, the place was really just a storage place for a rather obsessive addiction to shopping for antiques and imports, having no children, and way too much old money.

“This’ll be fine.” He smiled. Dust motes floated in the air from the two sunny windows. It was small and pleasant with a simple bed and bed stand, a dresser and a closet. He walked over and tried the door but it didn’t open.

“Oh, we never figured out how they did that. It’s like it’s locked but there’s no keyhole.” She shrugged. “You can hang your clothes in the closet across the hall if that’s okay. Oh,” Jill sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, “I wish we had planned this out a bit better. You must think we’re awful hosts.”

“Not at all.” Ken smiled. “I’m thankful I get to stay here while I’m interviewing. I couldn’t afford a hotel in Charleston for a whole week.”

“It is a popular time of the year, all the ghost tours.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s all ridiculous, you know, but the locals take it quite seriously around Halloween time. Don’t let it bother you. The house has been in Marcus’s family for a century, but I promise, no ghosts. Just a few eccentrics have lived here, including a vaudeville ventriloquist. He did go mad, but he didn’t die here. I promise.” She winked as she left the room.

The room felt inviting when he pulled down the bedspread. The scent of rose potpourri in a dish on the dresser in the chilly humid room filled the air. A moment of nostalgia overtook him. How long had he been working in the North? Too long, it felt. He hadn’t taken the time for simple pleasures like tea in the afternoon or pleasant conversation over a two-hour meal. He was glad to settle in the South again.

Ken drifted off quickly, awakened briefly by a knocking on the wall. He turned over and found a soft spot in the feather mattress only to hear the tail end of a sentence.

“…won’t stop talking. I’m here, you know.”

Ken chuckled as he became alert. It was just like Marcus to come and want to talk to him, probably present a couple of beers and catch up on the titillating details of his newly single life rather than talk about it in front of Jill.

“I am not going to talk to you in the middle of the night. I need sleep.” He sat up and swung his legs over the bed to be greeted with a pitch dark room. The door was sealed. The windows were closed. It had taken on a potent chill in the night. He wrapped the blanket around him and got up to check the hallway.

Ken slumped back onto the bed and pulled the blanket over his head. The clock read 3. He could still get some good sleep in. As he dozed, a few more words rattled off from the darkness, but Ken was so exhausted he fell all the way into a quiet sleep. How long it lasted, he didn’t know. The wall thudded beside him and he sat up and studied the clock, worried Jill was letting him know he’d slept in.

It was 4:30 now. The room was silent. The door was still closed. He lied back and stared into the darkness, cursing the sounds that old houses had to make. Now, he was beginning to feel quite awake.

“I won’t go away, you know. I’ll torment you forever.”

The raspy little voice startled him and Ken knocked over the lamp trying to turn it on. He righted it and got the room cast in a warm glow. His heart thumped wildly. He definitely heard those words. They were very clear and very near. Was Marcus playing a prank? It had been 20 years since college. He seriously doubted it.

Now, fully awake, he went over to the desk and turned on the light, sat down and began to make some notes about how he would answer those pesky unexpected interview questions, but his mind was drifting to that voice. Could he have been partially asleep and didn’t know it? Could a conversation carry through the vents in the walls?

He stilled as he heard a scratching sound across the room. Ken swung around and studied the place, expecting to see a rat. When it stopped, he sat there staring at that door that had no lock but wouldn’t open. He got up to go try the knob again when a loud thump sounded from the other side.

“What the fuck?” He gasped. Ken held the blanket around him as he tested the door.

“Open it, stupid!” The voice growled on the other side.

Ken stumbled back, his foot catching in the blanket; he fell to the hard wood floor, his head striking the edge of the bed frame. Stars glittered in his eyes before he shook it off and scrambled to his feet. The door thumped again.

It had to be some kind of trick. Marcus really came up with a good one. He tried the knob again and still it wouldn’t open. Ken might just have to surprise his friend by calling his bluff.

He sorted through the drawers and then reached into his suitcase and pulled out his Leatherman tool. He dug it into the frame of the door and pried at it as he worked the knob. It wouldn’t give. He felt around the doorknob, shocked it could lock without a locking mechanism. Then, he felt it, a thin film of tin painted over. He pried at it, releasing it from the lock, exposing the hole. He dug the pocketknife into it, feeling for the groove and pressing in while he turned the knob, a smile on his face as he considered Marcus’s surprise.

With a click, the knob turned and Ken pulled it open with a laugh.

“I got you!” He called out.

A rush of cold air and dust assaulted him and Ken stumbled back, squinting into the dark closet. From deep within the void, something lighter showed up. Confused, he backed up until he bumped into the bed. Something clanked against the hard wood floor and then the strip of lamplight struck against a wooden face painted like a human with rosy cheeks, high-arched blonde eyebrows and a hinged mouth.

“God damn!” He nervously chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “The crazy ventriloquist’s doll.”

As soon as he said it, Ken heard a low chuckle. The lifeless eyes stared up at him, the doll on its back helplessly sprawled out but the rumbling sound of laughter emerged from its chest and then its hinged jaw clanked with each chuckle and one arm moved ever so slowly against the wood floor.

Ken didn’t take the time to look back. He ran barefoot, blanket still wrapped around him into the hall. He heard the voice calling out after him as he padded down the oriental runners towards the stairs.

“I’ll find you! My master tried to put me away, but I always found him! I’ll find you too!”

Halloween Series: Short Story "Scarecrow Stalker"

Last October, everyone gave me a wonderful response to my Halloween-based horror short stories so this October, once again, I am doing them. Every Saturday expect a new short story on here, every Sunday expect a new interview with a horror movie killer. It’s just a part of the October fun. No doubt with Dale on a rampage around my apartment, things will get even more unpredictable. As well, I have some fun giveaways for the month. Oh, it’s such a wonderful time to be alive amongst the dead!

Mark didn’t care for the field of scarecrows. Who the hell did this to a perfectly good sloping pastureland? He shook his head and studied the speared figures in the landscape. An entire two acres of land and perhaps 35 or 40 scarecrows. The farmer said it he had one for every year he’d lived there.

He shook his head again and squinted against the setting sun as he headed to the middle of it. Mark’s new employer, Mr. Bailey, wanted motion detector light bulbs replaced throughout the field where a good four tall posts were secured.

He looked towards the distant woodlands and the cornfields and couldn’t figure out how someone would sneak into the property that route and why he needed so many motion detectors when the house and its yard were dark and unlit. It would have made more sense to put them near the doors.

Not willing to question a man who hired him under the books to be at his beck and call, Mark headed towards the pasture, a knot forming in his belly. He hated scarecrows, but he really hated a damn army of them.

The first ones came into focus against the piercing sunlight. Mark walked past them and turned away from the setting sun to study them. The damned insane farmer had taken all his perfectly good pumpkins and used them for all these disfigured and useless crow magnets. Each of them looked misshappen and moldy, spotted and nasty. He walked around and studied one in profile up high on its pole. Flies buzzed around the agonized face and the sweet rotting scent of pumpkin flesh filled the wet air.

Mr. Bailey hollered from the upstairs window for him to hurry up before it got dark.

Mark waved to him in recognition and kept his face focused forward to the first light post, ignoring the flapping clothing around him and the wind picking up, swinging the scarecrows on their posts so that they looked as if they warning him, waving him away from the place. In the deep shadows they cast, he shivered and drew in his jacket.

A gust of wind violently shook the posts, bits of straw fell to the earth. Mark reached the light post as if he’d just found a familiar face in a crowd of angry revelers. He took a deep breath, set down the bag of bulbs and studied the height.

He needed a freaking ladder!

He raced to the shed, got the ladder and used it like a protective device to cut his way through the black flapping jackets and snapping raincoats, frayed flannel plaid shirts and nightgowns.

Good God! Some of the scarecrows were female!

He shuddered again and shoved the ladder against the post, grabbed the bag and scurried up it. The sun was just barely a tiny sliver above the tree line in the distance. Mark unscrewed a bulb and dropped it to the soft grass below, unwilling to take one more second than necessary to get the deed done. There were four bulbs on each freaking post and four posts!

He’d never be done before it got dark!

The squeaking posts whined around him like pleading children. He couldn’t resist the grim desire to view the spectacle. The amber hazy sunlight cast on the pumpkin heads making them glow. The wind created a sail effect on the clothing, making each scarecrow seem to inhale and exhale painfully as they pivoted on their poles, arms swinging stiffly to and fro.

If he studied it long enough, they truly appeared alive!

And, one post stood empty. He studied the ground around it. The scarecrow hadn’t fallen. It simply wasn’t there any longer.

Determined to not look again, Mark clambered down the ladder, tucked it under his arm and continued on for the next post and the next, stopping when he heard the sound of something other than the flapping scarecrows, something with a heavy footfall.

He peered around the moving shapes expecting to see Mr. Bailey himself coming out to nag him to hurry up. The man had been insistent the deed be done before dark or else!

“Mr. Bailey?” He called out as something darted between two scarecrows 20 feet away. “Mr. Bailey?” The dark shape took off quickly towards the rear of the pasture.

Deciding it was best to do this task expediently as asked, Mark reached the last post, it was in the murky between time with half light/half dark and few details in the distance to be discerned. The hoard of swinging and flapping scarecrows were still alive in the steady breeze.

Damn! He shouldn’t have looked again. Now with it darkening so much, the ones in the distance were particularly sinister.

Then his eyes focused on a movement that didn’t belong. Something cutting its way up between the row of scarecrows to his left. Mark screwed the bulb into the socket and scrambled down the ladder, pulling it up and carrying it off at a hurried pace.

The last light post lit up and Mark swung around to study the glaring light over the heads of the scarecrows. Something had to set it off; perhaps one of the scarecrows in the wind?

He turned away and rushed through the next group of scarecrows. One swung and slapped him in the cheek as he rounded one row and began another. He cried out in pain and touched his bloody cheek.

“You fucking stupid useless scarecrow!” He snarled back at the figure.

The bulbs on the post nearby lit up the area in a blinding white light. Mark squinted at the cheerfully carved pumpkin face had rotted more than most, its teeth now furred and green, the head caving in from its own juices, oozing down its chin like drool.

He winced and turned away, feeling the desire to vomit as the sickeningly sweet rotted smell hit him with the next rush of wind.

He took a step forward just as something to his right moved too. Whatever it was must have lit the two posts. Mark stopped and studied the darkness. He took three more hurried steps and it seemed to move right alongside him.

The wind stopped but one scarecrow moved as the black shape brushed by it.

Mark’s heart raced. He felt the distinct feeling of being watched and stalked and it wasn’t one of the damned scarecrows! He took three huge steps and the light nearby turned on. The area around him lit, he squinted and tried to find who had set it off. It wasn’t him. He was far away from the light post.

He tossed the ladder down and raced towards the center of the scarecrows. Footfalls raced alongside him as he reached the last light post pole. The promise of that white post brought with it the knowledge that he would cast the area in painfully bright light and whatever was chasing him would be caught!

He brushed past wilding swinging scarecrows, a tattered hem caught him on the arm and he had to yank to release himself as the heavy-footed follower came up behind him. Mark cried out, lunged towards the white post and then the area went white.

He swung around to confront his assailant, but nothing moved other than the scarecrows on the post, now lit up unnaturally and looking faded, sun-worn and moldy. He swatted at a large horsefly and studied the empty post wondering at its prior occupant.

“You got it done?” Mr. Bailey called out from the darkness outside of the light’s reach.

Mark stepped into the yard and followed the man up to the house. The stocky farmer seemed to not want to carry on a conversation in his own field. Mark followed him inside to the cozy well lit room.

“Need a drink, son?” He asked as he poured two glasses of whiskey.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t want to be out there after dark, okay?”

“Its fine with me.” He agreed as he drank down some of the burning drink.

“It’s just that one of them scarecrows got loose. I put up the lights to keep him from leaving the pasture at night. During the day, he stays on his post. But, nights...” The farmer’s hand shook as he downed the rest of his drink. “Oh, at nights he likes to prowl.”

Mark’s glass slipped from his fingers and fell to his lap, spraying the potent liquor all over his lap, but he didn’t feel it. He studied the posts outside the window in the distance as they began to light up, one after another yet again.

The farmer turned and chuckled. “Oh yes, he’s trapped now. He tries to wander and he sets them off.” He poured another glass of whiskey. “Yeah, it’s a good thing you got done before dark, son. You don’t want to know what happened to the last boy who worked here. Found him the next day, tied to the scarecrow’s post! I almost would have walked right past him, except I could smell the rotting flesh. It’s different than the pumpkin smell. He ain't without a sense of humor." The old man held his glass up to the lights in the distance. "He carved the boy's face up like a Jack O'Lantern." He chuckled and then finished off the liquor.


This is Dale the Doll. I got a video just for you followers....(keep my secret cause I know where your blogs are and I'll come and get ya if you tell!)

Snow Walker

This short story is a part of the Spec the Halls contest for speculative winter holiday-themed fiction, artwork, and poetry. You may find guidelines and links to other entries at http://www.aswiebe.com/specthehalls.html

The house wasn’t horrible. It just sat upon the hillside like a drunken partier on a street curb. Two shutters swung loosely creating a comical winking eye.

"I like it.” Billy announced.

“Really?” Madeline doubted her son really meant it, but lately since the divorce he’d been unusually agreeable to anything and everything. She supposed in his 9-year-old mind, the finality hadn’t set in yet. Right now, it had for her.

Madeline squinted up at the peeling paint of the old Victorian. Her great aunt left it to her. The sour old spinster held no one in true affection, but Madeline had once visited with her mother and picked a bouquet of wild violets as a gift for the lonely woman. Her great aunt recalled that one single act of unsolicited kindness and willed her the house. At least it gave Madeline a way to escape Brian and the new life he’d started with that woman.

“You think we might get snow?” Billy asked excitedly, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets.

“Oh yes, it does snow here.”

“Oh boy!” He raced up the steps to the door.

Billy had never seen snow. If they were lucky and the first one came before Christmas day, it could keep him busy. She worried about switching to a new home in the middle of a school year, but the Christmas break was arriving. Perhaps he could meet other kids before school began again. The other houses around them were on spacious half acre lots, all similar Victorians, but in much better repair. She had her work cut out for her, but then a distraction would be welcome for her, as well.

“Come on mom!” He called from inside.

It didn’t matter what happened in life, Billy made everything else seem petty and inconsequential. Pulled into his world of wonder and excitement, Madeline entered the home and studied the contents. Amazingly, her aunt had kept the interior quite neat.

Pleased to find one less thing to worry about, Madeline dropped their bags and exhaled with relief.







“This town would never have been here if it hadn’t been for a trade.” Norma, the tall masculine-appearing librarian announced this over her teacup.

“Well, I suppose that’s true. Our town does owe the Indians, but at what cost?” Linda the next door neighbor sighed.

“They thought the land was cursed.” Norma explained.

Evelyn jumped in excitedly. “They said the rocks were cursed with the power to animate things. That’s how the windigos came about, you know? Animals wandering the rock quarries, picking up the energy and transforming.” Her eyebrows wiggled dramatically.

“I think its rubbish.” Linda announced.

Madeline tried to keep up with the conversation, but her neighbors acted as if she knew the history.

“Didn’t your great aunt tell you any of this?” Norma asked.

Madeline shook her head.

The librarian paced the floor before the window. “Back in the early 1800s the Native Americans traded this land the town is settled on.”

“For what?”

“Cattle. They herded it 25 miles away and stayed there. This was once Reservation land. They even went so far as to write up a contract relinquishing the land.” She stopped and pivoted, blocking out the light and casting a deep shadow over the women. “Evelyn was right. They had a lot of beliefs involving the geology here. People have been reporting strange creatures for almost two centuries. In fact, eventually the rock quarry was shut down due to so many accidents and that part of town was never built up. We pretty much just drive through it, but don’t stay. No one admits it right out, but it’s because they believe in the windigos.”

“Windigos?”

“It’s an Indian tale of shapeshifters, skinwalkers, you know?”

Madeline thought for a moment. “You mean, werewolves?”

“Oh, all kinds of alterations of owls, wolves, bears, even creatures not seen before.”

“Like what Earl saw.” Evelyn cut in. “My husband Earl saw one two weeks ago and Robert and Jason Mathews saw one just last week.”

“What did they see, exactly?” Madeline was fascinated. She admitted to being a closet horror novel fan. She hid them from Bobby, and Brian always ridiculed her reading “wasteful” fiction, but she liked knowing that for a time the world was scary, but it was all make believe. She wished the bad things in the real world were similarly a falsehood.

“Earl said he saw it standing on two legs, big, dark, and hairy. Like a Bigfoot, really. The Mathews brothers said what they saw was on four legs and enormous.”

“It could have been one of the Drucker’s bison.” Linda scoffed.

“No,” Evelyn shook her head briskly. “Those men are both hunters and they live right next to the farm. They know their animals. This thing was not one of the fenced in bison. It was across town near the old water tower and it was taller than them.”

The women went back and forth with their tales of people seeing windigos. It was exciting to live in a town with a mystique and a history. Madeline found it rather romantic and charming.

The children raced down the stairs and outside, screaming excitedly.

“What’s up now?” Evelyn got up and went to the door and opened it up. “Why, look. It’s snowing!”

“Our first snow of the season!” Linda clapped excitedly. “I so love the first snow.”

“Bobby has never seen snow.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Linda clapped her hands.

The women gathered up their coats and went onto the porch to watch the children racing back and forth in the snow. It wasn’t even tall enough to cover the blades of grass. Madeline went inside and got Bobby his mittens and tossed them to him. His nose was red, his smile was huge, and life was bliss for the boy. She loved his resilience. Already he had five friends on their street and she was rapidly meeting the women and being taken in. With the man from the hardware store scraping the paint from the house and preparing it for painting and another man working on the plumbing, it seemed that it would soon become a real home.

Earl walked up the sidewalk, dodging a snowball. He came up the steps and grabbed up Evelyn’s hand. He smacked a loud kiss on her cheek.

“Oh, Earl!” Evelyn exclaimed. “Tell Madeline about the Windigo you saw.”

“You’re scaring her with stories?” He raised a brow and chuckled. “We want her to stay, not run away.”

“I’d love to hear about it.” Madeline confessed.

“Well, only if you have something hot to drink.”

The women escorted him into the warm kitchen while Madeline poured him some cocoa.

“It was about two weeks ago.” Earl explained, his silvery pale eyes looking out the window as the steam from the cup billowed against his rosy round cheeks. “I was taking my truck out for a ride. I hardly ever get to use it anymore now that we don’t have horses and feed to haul. I was headed up Old Lincoln Road across the tracks and past the cemetery towards Kingston.” He explained. “I was slowing down for a cat crossing the road and when I looked up to continue on, there was something loping down the road away from me, but alongside the road. I took off after it thinking it was one of those bums that keep sleeping in the vacant farmhouses along the tracks. This wasn’t a man, though.” He shook his head briskly, his brow furrowing with concern. “It was tall, real tall. It had these long strides on these thick muscular legs. From head to toe, it was covered in dark brown fur. It had no luster, looked kind of wiry. Never seen anything like it. It wasn’t man. But it wasn’t a goddamned bear.”

“What happened?” She asked excitedly.

“He took about two strides to cross the road and went down into the ravine along the train tracks. He was a big son-of-a-bitch though!” He howled.

“Earl!” His wife scolded. “I hope he isn’t scaring you off. It really is a safe place to live.”

“Yeah, sure.” Earl agreed. “It’s fine here in town. Just don’t want to head towards the mines and quarries. The farms around there closed up during the Depression era. Lots of animals went missing and were killed off. Lots of strange critters. They shut down the mines finally, and the quarry. You’re fine here. Just fine.” He nodded. “We never have trouble in town.”

Madeline would take Earl for his word. If he thought it was safe, it was safe. Whatever superstitions they had didn’t have anything to do with the beautiful little town. Relieved once again there were no shocking surprises disrupting her life, Madeline let her guard down and smiled and laughed for some of the first times in months as she visited with her new friends.







“I really appreciate you taking me to the tile store.” Madeline turned to Max and watched his handsome profile as he studied the rural roadway. It was 40 miles to the store and it took two hours to pick the tiles for the bathrooms, but luckily Bobby was at Randy’s house across the street for the night so she had no rushed scheduled.

It surprised her that Max finished the peeling of the paint from her exterior and then offered to take her tile shopping so he could tile her baths. He owned the local hardware store and although he had workers there, he seemed like a hands-on man. She hated taking him away from work, but his situation was much like hers. He had been divorced two years, but still not comfortable with free alone time.

“You picked some good tiles, Maddy.” He smiled.

“You picked the ones that went in the master bath.” She told him. “You have very good taste. I think you understand what I’m trying to do with the place.”

“I admit I love these old places. I have a wood cabin myself, but the Victorians along your street, they’re picturesque. Always wanted to get my hands on one. You’ve given me a way to live vicariously through you and fix one up.”

“It seems a shame. You should get one.”

“I wanted to buy the one you’re in, but your aunt willed it to you.” He turned and his dark eyes studied her. “I’m so glad she did.”

“Thank you.” She blushed shyly. Their relationship hadn’t shown signs of affection yet, but she wasn’t naïve. He did look at her and speak to her in ways that said he was interested. Surprisingly, as much as she was completely terrified of another relationship, Madeline was not immune to his charm and the giddy feelings it produced.

“Hold on!” He put his arm across Madeline before she could realize what was happening. Their headlights lit up an SUV in the roadway 20 feet ahead of them as it swerved into the oncoming lane as if dodging something in the road.

Madeline made out something enormous and black, bigger than the SUV. Just as they came up on this shadowy figure, Max swerved into the empty oncoming lane, as well. She leaned into her window and looked out at the intruder as they passed it. She had to lean her head back to look up and take in the massive creature. Her eyes locked onto a set of huge eyes, the whites glowing as they passed it. An ominous shiver raced down her back.

“What the hell was that?” Max slowed down and looked into the rearview mirror. Madeline looked into the side mirror. The small car behind them swerved away from the same enormous black creature. The headlights also didn’t seem to reflect on it to reveal any detail.

Max slowed down, letting the car behind them whiz past. He pulled to the shoulder.

“You okay?”

She couldn’t stop shivering, even with the heater blasting on her feet and arms.

“I really don’t want to stop here.” She looked back over her shoulder.

“Yes, right.” He gathered up his wits and pulled back onto the road.

Both of them remained in silence until they reached town.

“What do you think it was?” Madeline asked him.

Max shook his head, his expression grave. “I really don’t know. I’ve seen the Drucker’s bison and they’re not only properly fenced and on the other side of town, but they can’t possibly have shoulders higher than an SUV.”

“You saw that too?” She asked with relief.

He nodded. “When we passed it, did you get a look at it?”

She nodded. “I saw its eyes but when our lights hit it, I didn’t see individual hairs or details at all. It was like a shadow with eyes.” She shivered.

“We’re okay now.” He comforted her as they pulled into her driveway. “You want me to come in for a while? I-I mean, keep you company until you’re settled in.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” She admitted.

They climbed from the car and headed towards the house. The motion detector light he’d installed on the porch lit up the huge snowman Billy and his friends had made. He’d borrowed a kitchen chair to put the head upon it. The thing stood taller than Max and he was a tall man.

“He did a good job.”

She smiled. “He’s so happy here. It’s like he’s just come to life. He was shy before. Maybe he just needed the great outdoors.”

“I grew up here and I have to say having free run of fields and forests is pretty exciting for kids. Makes them strong and healthy.” He leaned forward and studied the snowman. “What are these?” He pointed to the glistening eyes.

“Billy picked those up alongside the road on the way into town. We stopped to eat our lunch. He pocketed those pieces of quartz because he thought they were diamonds.” She leaned in to study the strange glittering eyes. “He found a good use for them. They’re really quite pretty.”

She turned on the switch near the door and the lights on the Christmas tree cast a glowing light on the gifts beneath. Admittedly, she was greatly relieved to not be coming home alone with the images of that thing still fresh in her head. At least a little conversation might distract her onto other subjects. If she even thought back to that incident on the roadway, she felt her stomach turn to ice.








“Oh my God! Did you hear?” Evelyn was bent over, huffing and puffing, her hand covering her large chest.

“What?”

“Norman Pepper.” She wheezed. “At the end of the street.”

Madeline escorted her friend to a chair at the kitchen table and poured her some hot coffee.

“He was attacked.”

“Attacked?” Madeline felt her stomach flip flop. This was supposed to be a safe neighborhood.

“He was taking his trash to the end of the driveway and something came out of the bushes and knocked him over.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Evelyn waved her hand. “He’s a big guy. Takes a lot to knock him down.”

“Did he see who it was?”

She shook her head. “Nope. He didn’t seen him, but he said he was big and vicious.”

“Vicious?”

“Yeah, he had sharp nails or claws. He cut him along the cheek. Not real bad, but hurts like the dickens.”

Madeline was surprised. The encounter with the “thing” the other night and now an attack, could it have been the same creature?

“You’re looking kind of pale, Maddy.” Evelyn patted her hand. “I don’t mean to scare you. It could have been a prankster.”

“Max and I saw something the other night on the road. It kind of shook me up. We don’t know what it was, but it was huge.”

“Windigo?” Evelyn asked excitedly.

“I’d have to say. Honestly, its shoulders were over 6-feet off the ground!”

“Jesus!” Evelyn howled. “You have any liquor for this coffee?”

That made Madeline break into a smile. Leave it to Evelyn to break a tense moment.

“Mom?” Billy called out.

“Yes?” Madeline responded.

He came rushing into the kitchen, boots leaving wet tracks, mittens crusted together with snow.

“Billy.” She sighed.

“I’ll clean it up, mom. I just gotta tell ya.”

“What?”

“The snowman.”

“What about him?”

“Me and the guys named him and gave him a cool snow hat!”

“What did you name him?” She asked.

“Mr. Hamilton.”

“Mr. Hamilton?” She asked.

Evelyn blushed. “The boys must have told him that one. It’s the principal at the elementary school’s name. He’s a big tall…robust man with premature white hair.”

Madeline tried not to giggle in front of Billy.

“Do you think that’s a good name, Billy? Someone’s feelings might be hurt.”

He blinked. “Well, we could call him James. They say that’s his first name.”

“I like that name.” She told him.

Please with his diplomatic skills, Billy rushed off to tell his friends the name was “James.”

“That’s an impressive snowman. For a boy who’s never seen snow, he did quite well. With this cold, it might last a month. You know, we’re all so glad you moved here, Maddy. The place is looking wonderful, there’s another happy boy on the street, and you’re such a good friend.” She squeezed her arm.

Madeline couldn’t help feeling a strange icy fear in her belly. The last time she thought she was blissfully contented, it was all a façade. The cozy life in the suburbs with Brian and Billy was so idyllic in her eyes. Was she being too lulled into contentment here? Could anything be this easy and perfect? The dark thing from the roadway crossed her mind and Madeline frowned. It was like the elephant in the room. At some point, it could upset the balance of hope she’d built.







“Max?”

“Hmm?” He replied as he looked up from the menu. It was Christmas Eve and their first real date at a restaurant. She should be joyous and optimistic, but she couldn’t seem to stop wanting to press at the one tender spot of her life in her new town.

“That thing that attacked Norman Pepper. What do you think it was?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I just heard a bit of the story. He got ambushed putting out his trash can? Could have been a desperate raccoon wanting some food.”

“I take it you’ve seen Norman Pepper?”

“Ex Navy SEAL.” He smiled. “Yeah, I guess that would be a raccoon on steroids. Still, we don’t know the whole story. He could have been startled and made himself fall and is too embarrassed to admit it.”

“True.”

“What are you thinking?” He asked keenly.

Never in her whole life had a man asked her that. “I-I was thinking about that thing we saw near the road and I was wondering if it might have been what attacked Norman.”

He patted her hand. “I doubt it. I really do. You want to know why?”

“Why?” She was hoping for some relief from her anxiety.

“Because if one believes in windigos, they only stay along the tracks and the quarry. None have been in town. If you don’t believe in windigos, then just look at the facts. There were no huge tracks in the snow. In the hardware store, the men were all speculating what it might have been, but there were no real tracks to tell.”

“Isn’t that kind of odd?”

“Not really. Things freeze overnight and become solid. Still, if it had big heavy prints, they’d still be evident.”

She exhaled with relief. “Thanks.”








“Mom! Mom!” Billy screamed.

Madeline was barely awake, rushing from memory down the dark hallway to his room. The door was wide open and Billy was sitting on the window seat, face turned to the yard out front.

“What, honey?” She rushed in, her heart pounding; certain there must be an intruder or something threatening. The floodlight shined on the snow below.

“L-look!” He pointed.

She looked out over the yard. “I don’t know, what is it you’re seeing honey?”

“Mr. Ham—James.” He corrected.

“Oh, honey.” She sighed. “Someone took your snowman!”

He sniffed. “I bet it was Bart and Mick.”

“I don’t think so. They enjoy your snowman as much as you do. They helped build it.”

He turned his blue eyes up to her, filled with tears. “Can we call Max? He’ll protect us.” He boasted.

She patted his cheek and looked out the window. That feeling was there again, the one of worry and dread. It was the same feeling Madeline felt when she saw that huge creature. An ominous doom, as if it personified all her greatest fears in her life in one physical entity. She certainly didn’t want her son spending Christmas Eve worried about vandalism when he should be waiting for Santa.

“I’ll call him.” She had to admit, she wasn’t happy knowing someone got that close to their door to do harm.








“It doesn’t make sense at all.” Max confided as they sat at the kitchen table sipping cocoa.

“Someone was just being spiteful, I suppose.” She told him.

“No. You see, there wasn’t a trace of him. If someone wanted to bust up his snowman, there should have been piles of snow. That thing was at least 7-feet tall.”

“Well they couldn’t carry it away.” She confessed.

“There was a trench along the snow, like someone dragged it.”

“How could they? It must have weighed hundreds of pounds.” She scoffed.

He scratched his head. “Maybe they pushed it onto a tarp and dragged it.”

“Why would they go to that effort?” She asked.

He sighed. “I really don’t know, Maddy.” He put his arm around her and she melted easily into his side. “Now, we have another dilemma.”

“What?” She whimpered, having had quite enough adventure for the past three weeks.

He laughed softly and kissed the top of her head. “It appears you have a Santa bike for your son but it’s not assembled.”

“Oh.” She blushed. “I was hoping he might want to assemble it.”

“Santa doesn’t leave things unmade. Let me assemble it. I’ve always wanted to be Santa.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him lightly. “I’ll go be sure he’s asleep.” She turned at the stairs. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the box near the tree.

“You don’t need to go home tonight. I mean…”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa. I want to see his expression when he finds it.” He offered with understanding.

“Thank you.”








“It’s much too icy to ride!” Madeline laughed as Billy and Max donned their snow gear.

“Come on, mom! Just let me try it up and down the street. Mr. Pepper keeps the road clear. I heard his tractor out there this morning.”

“Aw, come on mom!” Max whined in a kid’s voice.

She laughed and bent to kiss him and stopped herself from that natural reflex. Billy watched them avidly.

“Doesn’t mom get a Christmas kiss? Where’s the mistletoe?” He looked around.

She had actually thrown it out when she went through her and Brian’s things to decide what to take. Well, she hadn’t thrown it out. She had squashed it in his ashtray on the bedroom dresser as a bitter reminder for him.

“We don’t need any, Billy.” Max leaned forward and kissed her innocently.

“Good, now let’s get outside!” Billy ordered.

They were all laughing as Madeline pulled on her coat and followed them as she yanked her gloves from her pockets and began to put them on. She nearly ran right into them on the porch. They’d planted themselves on the top step and weren’t going down.

“What?” She asked.

“Look at this.” Max pulled her up front.

She looked around in wonder.

“What?”

“Mom! Mr. Hamilton is back!” Billy yanked on her arm.

“Oh.” She blinked.

Max looked over at her, his brow rising. “Someone had a Christmas guilty conscience?”

“Must be.” She admitted.

Billy inspected his buddy. “He looks good. Even his hat is still there. His eyes. His nose. His arms.” He chirped.

She leaned forward and studied it. It did look perfectly intact.

“That must have taken a lot of effort.” She commented.

“I bet Santa did it!” Billy sang and rushed off towards the road. It was then that the couple’s eyes followed the trail in the snow where someone must have dragged the snowman back.

“A lot of effort.” Max shrugged.








It was blissful having a real Christmas supper with people to cook for. Madeline sat back in her seat and sipped Max’s hot spiked cider and watched the children play a board game near the fire.

Linda and Peter from next door were pleased to join her and Max and bring their son, Billy’s best friend Randy.

“That was an amazing meal. I can see why you were a chef.” Linda sighed. “I do hope you open that café we were talking about. Main Street could seriously use good food.”

Peter groaned and pulled on his pants. “I have never tasted a bread pudding like that.” He sighed. “What was that flavor in the sauce?”

“Bourbon.” She smiled.

Everyone laughed.

A loud thump drew their attention.

The men went over to the side of the front room.

“Sounded like it was here. Did something fall?” Peter asked.

“Looks intact.” Max shrugged and turned off the light. The women had just arrived when it happened again.

Their eyes wide, they listened in the dark room as a slow, painfully irritating scraping sounded against the glass panes of the window. Max stepped forward, threw back the curtains and in the confusion of the darkness outside, all Madeline could see was a flash of something white going past the window, scraping as it passed behind the bushes near the house.

Max rushed to the front door.

“Max, be careful!” Madeline knew she couldn’t stop him. His protective instincts were strong. She heard him leaping down the steps of the porch. They watched him out the window passing by where the person had gone. Minutes later he came back inside, shivering.

“No one. Not a person in sight.”

“Any tracks in the snow?” Peter asked. “We’re all thinking we have a windigo in our neighborhood.”

“Peter.” Linda chastised.

“Come on, you have to admit, there’s something lurking around our neighborhood. The Bennington’s car was keyed with long scratches, something chased their kids down the street, and Barbara Williams two streets over said that someone was looking in her window.” Peter turned to Max. “What was it you two saw recently?”

“I don’t know.” Max admitted. “I was driving, so I didn’t really catch sight of it.”

“But your headlights had to have hit it.” Peter observed.

“Yeah, but it was just black. No details at all. Maddy saw it as we passed by.”

“I saw its eyes. It was on four legs and had shoulders higher than 6-feet tall.”

Linda sucked in her breath. “Oh, my. That sounds grisly.”

“This thing we just caught a glimpse of was white.” Max noted.

“Maybe another windigo?” Peter offered.

“Listen to you, Peter.” Linda scolded. “You sound like you believe in windigos.”

“I’m not closed to the idea.” Peter admitted. “I haven’t seen one, but I’ve heard people’s stories. They’re very compelling. We know weird things happen near the quarry. I’m not surprised if what we saw was some kind of windigo that somehow found its way to our neighborhood.”

“A polar bear one?” Madeline remarked.

The tension broke and everyone chuckled.

“More than likely it was someone in a white hooded winter coat.” She guided everyone back to the kitchen for hot drinks.

The family put on their coats and left, turning on the motion detector light.

“Hey, Max?” Peter asked as they stepped onto the porch. “Was the motion detector light on when you came out after the…” He looked at the children “person?”

“Yeah, there was plenty of light.” Max admitted.

“Well, at least we know they entered from the front and followed the edge of the house.

Peter turned and stopped.

“Hey, where’s your snowman, Billy?”

Billy rushed forward. “Not again!”

“Someone keeps taking the snowman and putting him back.” Max explained.

“Why the hell would they do that?” Peter laughed. “Hey, look at this.” He nodded to the ground.

“Look at that!” Max shook his head. “They dragged it along the side of the house. Look at the track.” He pointed.

Madeline didn’t like this at all.

“That thumping and white thing must have been the person dragging the snowman away.” Max surmised.

“And his stick arm scraped the window, making that sound.” Madeline felt a flood of relief. This windigo talk was really upsetting her and she didn’t want Billy to hear of it and fear his new home.

“So, you think this prankster will bring it back again?”

“By morning it’ll be back.” Max sighed.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Peter admitted. “We’ll keep our eyes open. It might not be a windigo issue at all, just a neighborhood nutcase.”

“I’m not sure which one is more threatening.” Linda shivered.









“Here’s some cocoa, honey.” Madeline set it down on Billy’s bedside table. He was curled up under a blanket on the window seat studying the yard below as new flakes of snow dropped.

“You’re really staying up all night?” She asked.

He nodded.

“Good thing you took a nap.” She commented as she left.

He’d proposed the idea to have a stakeout and see who was moving their snowman. At first Madeline didn’t want to encourage him to become frightened or to rush outside and act as her defender. Still, she understood, as the man of the house, he now felt a responsibility to answer such puzzles. She made a compromise, asking Max over too. She explained that Billy was to report activity and Max would chase the perpetrator. With them downstairs for the stakeout, sitting before the fire with some hot cocoa with Irish cream, they snuggled comfortably.

“Do you have an idea who you think might be doing it?” She asked Max.

“No. Not a clue. The older boys just don’t have the attention span for it. Someone has a warped sense of humor.”

“I guess they’re not hurting anything.” She shrugged.

“You know what Norman Pepper told me?”

“What?”

“He said his brother was in the SUV in front of us. He saw it too”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He said they just saw a black mass coming onto the roadway and darted around it. No details. Just like what we saw.”

She shivered recalling the eyes staring back from a mass of absolute blackness.

“I’ve heard the stories all my life and people reporting things along the tracks and quarry. I admit I’ve never spent any time down there, just to drive through, but until the other night, I thought it was all a bunch of legends. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s in the rocks.”

“Why do they think it’s the rocks?”

“The Native American legend says that a man on a vision question believed he must swallow a rock to become part of the earth. It resulted in the ability to shapeshift. They believed he still wanders the land and changes shape at will. Now, the town over the centuries has changed the stories around. They came to the conclusion the rocks made the animals in the woods become strange. My high school science teacher thought it was a high concentration of gases from mining that made people see things.”

“They’re all ridiculous.” She scoffed.

“Between this snowman thief and that dark thing on the roadway, I’m beginning to see why such legends began.” He remarked. “There has to be a logical--”

“Mom! Mom!” Billy rushed the stairs in a storm of excitement. “The light went on and I saw it! I saw it!”

“You saw what?” She asked as Billy swung open the front door.

She chased him down with his coat trying to struggle it onto his flailing arms. Max came out, putting himself before them to search the well lit area. His eyes followed the trench of snow towards the roadway.

“Jesus!”

The tone of his disbelief had Madeline swinging her head up from helping Billy into his jacket. She squinted out toward the roadway where a single streetlight lit the snowman heaving forward with stilted jerks, its tree limbed arms shook.

“W-what’s pulling it?” She asked Max, but could tell by his expression he was as horrified as she was.

“Don’t go after it!” She screamed out, but Max was already catching up to it just as a car slowed down to a stop and the window rolled down.

Peter waved his arm. “What's that?” He screamed.

A truck coming the other direction slammed on its breaks just short of the awkwardly moving mass.

“What the hell is going on!” Norman Pepper screamed as he came down from his truck and tackled the snowman. The mass of hard frozen snow cracked into half and fell to the ground with a thud.

“Sorry, Billy.” The big man apologized as he handed him the scarf and hat from the crusty remains.

Billy went to his knees and sifted through the pile of snow. Madeline bit her lip, waiting to see what he would say about the destruction of his snowman.

Billy stood back up, something in each mitten.

“Look! I found my diamonds.”

“Your diamonds?” Norman frowned at him and stooped down to look at the two stones. He picked one up and looked at it in the bright glow of his truck’s headlights. “Son, that’s not a diamond. It’s quartz rock. Only place we have that is down by the quarry.” He looked over at Madeline.

“When we came into town, we stopped near the quarries for a picnic.”

“I’ll be.” He shook his head. “Now, Billy, these are special rocks. I’d suggest you have your mama put them back at the quarry where they belong. We’ll get you some new eyes for the next snowman.” He patted him on the head.

“Okay.” Billy shrugged and raced away to begin the task in the glow of the motion-activated light.

“Y-you’re telling us that s-snowman became animated because of the quartz r-rock?” Madeline asked, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Norman said with great confidence.








Billy stepped back from the snowman and studied it.

“I think I like these better than the buttons.” He studied the thread spool eyes.

“They’re perfect.” Madeline laughed.

“Mom, he’ll be here until it warms up and he melts, right?”

“Sure.”

“I mean, he’s not going to go for a walk, right?”

She nodded. “He’s not going anywhere, honey.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Cause I wanna make him a wife and a couple of kids and maybe a dog!”

“That’s a lot of work. I guess I should start making the hot cocoa for you young men.”

“Yup.” He nodded and rushed off.

Max stepped out onto the porch and put his arm around Madeline. She leaned into him.

“I heard in the springtime a bunch of the men around here are going to rent some front loaders and try and push the rocks along the tracks back into the quarry pit. Away from the roadways.” He offered.

Madeline smiled up at him and exhaled with relief, her eyes following Max’s as he frowned at the yard.

A single huge crow was pecking at the ground along the walkway where the boys left the remains of their lunch, house keys, toys, and other paraphernalia. The black bird picked out a glinting object to fly away with.

“That wasn’t what it looked like, was it?” Madeline frowned, tension filling her body again.

“Yup.” Max nodded as they watched it disappear behind the trees in the distance. “Quartz.”


END