Chapter Twenty

Whirling like a dervish and punching wildly at the air, Carlo staggered through the deep snow in an attempt to free himself from the children. But as he spun away, tripped and fell into the road, he realized they were gone. He struggled to his feet, and with a quick pivot, frantically searched the trees.

The man in the dark overcoat was gone as well, leaving behind only the cold and gusting wind to fill a landscape both beautiful and deadly. Snow continued to fall, the flakes delicate and tiny now as cloud bursts of Carlo’s breath escaped him one after the next.

Night was coming. Fast. Within moments there would be no light but the moon.

Carlo brought his hands to his head, ran them through his wet hair. He was freezing, his head and body ached and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The terror refused to release him, and instead burrowed deeper. “What’s happening to me?” he asked the sky, voice raspy and weak. When it gave no answer, he pushed on toward the main house, toward Katherine, his legs somehow still carrying him as his splintered mind struggled to hold itself together.

I’m going to make it, he told himself. Keep moving, almost there.

Amidst the madness, the one thing that had always comforted and protected him emerged and took hold in the forefront of his mind. Humor had always gotten him through, and now his mind raced in an attempt to locate one of the jokes he’d heard over the years—any joke—but he couldn’t seem to remember any. I’m Carlo Damone, he thought. I’m the life of the fucking party. Like whistling past a graveyard, Carlo forced himself to follow that train of thought, knowing it would eventually lead somewhere and help center him. “Guy walks into a bar,” he said suddenly, breathlessly, “with a—with a parrot on his head. Bartender says, ‘Can I help you?’” He stumbled in the snow and nearly fell before catching his balance. “Parrot says, ‘Yeah, get this guy off my ass.’”

Carlo laughed, telling himself it was funny, the funniest goddamn thing he’d ever heard. His laughter, empty and dull, echoed through the night then vanished, swallowed by the howling winds and replaced instead with a quiet, pained whimper.

Because it wasn’t until he’d made his way over an embankment leading to the house that he saw the body in the snow. And this time, it was no nightmarish hallucination.

Lying faceup in the snow between the cabins and the main house, only the upper portion of the body was visible. It faced the house, which was clearly its destination, but had fallen a few dozens yards short of the steps leading to the sliders. From the initial appearance, it seemed like the person had been running through the deep snow, run out of steam, collapsed to its knees then fallen backward, where it had remained until it froze. Draped in a thick sheen of ice and snow, one arm was at its side and partially buried in the snow. The other was extended out in front of and above it, fingers reaching toward the sky as if trying to touch something just beyond their grasp, or perhaps in an attempt to ward something off.

Carlo recognized the painted fingernails, the gaudy jewelry and the fashions only one person would wear in such weather, and as he did so, his knees gave out and he sank into the snow next to her. He harbored hope that perhaps there was some chance he’d reached her time, but it was transitory. Marcy was gone, eyes open and still filled with the terror she’d been experiencing when she’d died, mouth still wide like a gaping wound, forever frozen in mid-scream.

“Motherfucker,” Carlo growled with what little strength he still possessed. “She never hurt anyone, why would you—how could you do this to her?”

Because loss—death—is a part of life. Isn’t that what we’re taught to believe?

He scrambled to his feet and staggered about drunkenly, searching the growing darkness for the voice he was certain had just whispered in his ear. But he was alone in the snow now, alone with what remained of Marcy.

In the distance was her SUV, crashed. Anyone coming here would see this scene and quickly determine that she had been the one to crash it and had then attempted to make it to Katherine’s house in the blizzard, only to fall short and freeze to death in the snow just feet from the steps. A tragic series of events to be sure, Carlo thought, but nothing unexplainable. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you, James? Like one of your fucking stories or poems, it’s all plotted out, isn’t it?” A gust of wind hit him and nearly knocked him back into the snow. “We’ll see, you fucker. If you touched one hair on Katherine’s head, I swear to God I’m gonna kill you.” Though he couldn’t see him, Carlo knew James was there. “You hear me?” he screamed into the night. “I’m gonna fucking kill you with my bare hands!”

Carlo steadied himself, turned away from the wind and looked at the house.

Like the cabins, the main house was dark, but he knew Katherine was somewhere inside, and that he’d find her there. He also knew she wouldn’t be alone when he did. Steeling himself, Carlo trudged forward through the snow, calling Katherine’s name again and again as he made his way toward the steps.

 

 

Katherine felt herself rising, moving slowly but steadily up through the water and toward the surface, toward the light. As her body ascended, in the darker waters below and to her sides, she saw numerous small forms floating along with her. But these other beings were not seeking the surface as she was. Instead, they remained motionless, their small bodies bobbing lethargically, vacant eyes watching her with indifference through the increasingly murky water.

She was within a few feet of the surface when her chest constricted and she again became cognizant of not being able to breathe. Panic set in, but she was almost there. Moving in what felt like slow motion, Katherine reached for the surface with both hands and kicked her feet. The light became brighter, and the water above her began to ripple, disturbed by her impending arrival.

As Katherine broke through the surface she gulped in a deep swallow of air and coughed it back out. Treading water, her hair soaked and matted against her face, dripping into her eyes, she turned slowly in the water in search of the shore.

Until something like small hands closed around her ankles and yanked her back down with a single violent tug.

Katherine.

She opened her eyes. She was back in the house, facing the sliders and sitting on the floor with the shotgun in her lap. The same as she’d been before. Barney lay sound asleep in the chair, and Katherine could hear the strange dripping sound again, and smell the peculiar odor she had prior. Snow had accumulated halfway up the sliders and continued to pelt it with tiny crystals that made an eerie ticking sound against the glass. Like little fingernails tapping it, she thought. Beyond it she could see nothing but the night and more blowing snow.

The dripping sound continued, louder now.

In the distance, or perhaps only in the deep recesses of her mind, she swore she heard a faraway voice calling her name.

Katherine tightened her grip on the shotgun. She could not be sure, but she thought the sound and smell was coming from behind her. The voice she could not pinpoint.

Until a blurry dark mass crashed against the sliders with a resounding thud, pounding against the glass with deadly purpose.

Startled to terror, Katherine screamed, leveled the shotgun and fired.

With a deafening boom, the intruder was blown back and away, airborne and off the steps into the night, wrapped in a shower of shattered glass, blood, and spitting snow.

 

 

Carlo wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. All he knew was that he was on his back and his abdomen felt like it had been hit by a midsize car. Pain spiked across his chest and across his groin, and a sticky bile and coppery taste coated the back of his throat and inside of his mouth. His first impulse was to scream and writhe about, to move and get to his feet if he could, to inspect himself and to see how badly he’d been injured. But none of that seemed quite possible now. His mind and heart were racing, but his body remained still and quiet; the only things moving within it beyond his control or influence, acting instead on their own and without regard for his condition.

The sky above was dark and hard to see through the ocean of snowflakes, but he thought for a moment he had seen the moon.

He tried to breathe, but with each new breath there came more sharp pain and a gurgling, bubbling surge of blood that exploded up from somewhere deep within him. It burst from his mouth and spattered his chin and face with crimson, and Carlo wondered if perhaps he had died, drowned in his own blood.

But he could still feel the snowflakes peppering his face. They felt good, cooling and comforting somehow.

Carlo tried to speak but only managed to vomit more blood and bile.

And then through the darkness came the faces. The faces of children…or something like children, creations close but not quite exact, not quite perfect. They hovered around and above him, peering down at him with curiosity and a look of near delight.

This is a nightmare, Carlo thought. It’s all a nightmare.

He remembered the dream from the night before, he could see it all playing out before his eyes like a movie projected on an enormous screen, and realized this wasn’t all a nightmare, but the nightmare.

And just as in the dream, he heard James laughing somewhere in the night.

Despite what you might think, I always liked you, Carlo. I wish there was another way, some different ending, but there isn’t.

“Wake up,” he gasped, choking. “Please, I—I want to wake up now.”

Don’t we all?

Though he could no longer feel much of his body, Carlo suddenly sensed motion.

The memories of the dream dissipated, and he again saw the faces staring down at him. He struggled to see beyond them and up into the dark, snow-filled sky above instead.

It was moving, passing over him.

They’re dragging me, he thought. Christ, they’re dragging me through the snow.

In limited moonlight, and through the swirl of snowflakes, the children soundlessly and slowly towed Carlo back through the deep snow until they had reached the frozen surface of the lake.

On the way he lost consciousness twice, and thought he’d died both times.

When he felt the ice cracking and opening around him like the ragged jaws of some ravenous predator, Carlo realized he hadn’t been that lucky.

One by one, the children slipped under the ice and vanished into the lake beneath him, then reached back up with their tiny hands and pulled him under the surface along with them.

Carlo felt a rush of freezing water wash over him, and with a final attempt to scream, felt his abdomen and chest compress as he choked on another explosion of blood.

With arms out at his sides, head back and mouth still bloody and frozen in anger and agony, Carlo’s body spun slowly, gracefully turning along the opening until it was pulled from sight and beneath the ice.

From a distance it looked as if the lake had come alive and devoured him.

And it had.