Harmon approached the park from the northeast, cutting through deep woods that ran along the winding creek. A shortcut through a walking trail led into the park, but the route was hazardous as the trees sprang to life and whipped him. The trailer nearly tipped as the snowmobile swerved. One swift blow from a branch as thick as a man’s arm shattered the windshield. He kept his head low and finally made it through, steering into a clearing.
He took a moment to find his composure, and his bearings. He could barely see ten feet beyond the skis; again his eye played tricks. A few young evergreens dashed in and out of perception. Above, seemingly right on top of him, that creeping moon betrayed its presence with an ominous glow beyond the clouds. It seemed a face behind the curtain of the storm, waiting to render itself full and grotesque; waiting to grin upon him before it swept down and devoured him whole.
He carried on. As he reached a slight rise, the Ski-Doo struck something solid lying in his path. Blood splattered his visor as whatever it was rolled up the cowling and shot over him. He came about in a wide arc and stopped, catching the thing in his high beam. He cleared the blood away and flipped up his visor.
An animal … but exactly what, he couldn’t say. Four stunted legs lay twisted and bloodied in the snow. Its head had been ripped from the body. The thing had drab olive fur, and paws that seemed almost human.
He scanned the area for tracks and found several not five paces from his machine. They were long and wide, far larger than he had ever seen. And despite the swirling wind, he picked up the telling scent of blood.
Blood … and something else. Deadness, certainly, mixed with the subtle smack of beast.
A bear … but somehow not.
He re-examined the tracks. There were at least two distinct sets, perhaps three. Maybe four.
His nostrils flared. Whatever they were, whatever had tracked and killed this bizarre creature, they were all around him.
Panic struck him. He hurried to the snowmobile and slid onto the seat. He gunned the throttle. The engine sputtered then engaged, and the machine limped forward, the trailer rocking in tow. He veered left, turning around, and kept on in the direction he hoped led to the sledding hills. He dodged another cluster of hostile trees, but as he sped over a crest and into a small dip, something huge cut the sharp beam of his headlamp. It held no solid form; it appeared wraithlike, hovering in terror caught in the light the way it was, and with one stirring swoop of what seemed wings of snow, it slipped into the night and was gone.
Harmon flipped down his visor. He raced on, coaxing more from the engine than it had ever given. It had been a long time—a good thirty years, although it felt like yesterday—but he knew now he was heading in the right direction. He could feel that ghostly fever reaching out for him. Touching him.
His boy was near.
He swerved around an expansive plot of snow-covered gardens, but as he straightened out, a massive tremor surged beneath him. His grip on the throttle faltered, his body shifted, and the skis whipped right, spilling the snowmobile onto its side. There was a sharp din as the trailer shot forward and struck the machine, its contents tumbling into the snow as it flipped. The ground rumbled at a deafening level. The light from the headlamp danced about as the snowmobile rocked and rolled, and Harmon’s brittle bones bore the brunt of this wild ride.
The tremors lasted a score of seconds, then ended abruptly, as if someone had simply turned off the jackhammer he had been strapped to. He braced himself for the aftershocks he knew were coming, but when nothing happened, he struggled to his feet. He stiffened then, crying out as the creatures fed on his legs. He waited for them to settle with filled bellies, and only then did he flip up his visor to assess the damage to his train and its all-important cargo.
The snowmobile sat on its side, the engine stalled. The trailer had not fared as well. Its left ski had snapped off. The right was a twisted hunk of metal. His splitting ax lay three-quarters buried, its hickory handle sticking out like a short flagpole. At least the gas was still gas.
Harmon reached for the ax. Something rose above the din of the engine and the whistle of the wind. He froze, hunched over, eye wide and searching, hand poised to snatch the ax.
He sniffed slowly, drawing a deep, heavy breath.
They were back.
He waited, still as a stone.
Two … three growls. Maybe more.
He glanced around. His vision teased him, for barely within the realm of the headlamp, pairs of devilish blue eyes peered back at him. They appeared fleetingly, fading in and out of the storm, drifting left with each apparition. Whatever these things were, they were circling.
The eyes were hypnotic. Their color swirled like dancers draped in sapphire. As Harmon followed them, he began to lose himself, as if caught in a blissful dream. His arm and legs felt heavy. His mind drifted. His eyelid began to flutter, and he feared he would fall fast asleep where he stood.
Slowly, he moved his hand toward the ax. It seemed an impossible task; those eyes possessed him. He felt about for the handle, and as his fingers found it, the growls rose. He managed to grip the ax, but then something mammoth struck him and laid him out in the snow.
The thing was as big as a grizzly, pinning his left leg with two huge paws. Blood caked its enormous muzzle. Its snow-white fur was a blur in the storm, and its eyes, burning into him now, had grown to the size of small fists.
Harmon struck its jaw with his right foot. The shock drilled him with pain. The beast roared, baring the longest fangs he could have imagined, then sunk them into his leg. He screamed, and then they were on him.
Pain tore into his right shin as what little flesh remained there was ripped from his body. He shrieked. Another set of jaws gnawed at his helmet. He started to roll to his side trying to break free, and at that moment, a chorus of wails pierced the night.
What he saw sickened him. Two of the beasts—polar bears if bears at all—howled in agony, their jaws blistering under the attack of a thick green slime. Their teeth grew longer as the meat that housed them peeled away. Their tongues boiled and burned with a slick hiss. They tried to lap at his tainted blood, and as the caustic sap ate their throats, they keeled over and died.
One kept on at his helmet, batting it with a paw. The other paced anxiously, watching keenly to see if this one-armed tree-beast was worth its effort. The ax was just out of reach, and so he rolled over and snatched it up. He swung the blade up blindly and missed. The animal snarled as it ripped a claw at him, then backed off with a growl.
The torture in his legs nearly hobbled him, but he managed to rise and face them in turn. The beast that had snarled rose on its hind legs. It must have stood ten feet, fangs bared, claws ready to strike. It stared with those deep blue eyes, and again he fell dizzy, nearly succumbing to a dreamy slumber.
Harmon blinked a few times, clearing his head. In one swift motion he brought down the ax, driving the blade into the animal’s belly. It stuck, and a hard yank pulled it free. A crimson river followed. The beast roared. It clawed at him and struck the side of his helmet. He slid sideways, almost toppling, but stayed on his feet. The other one defied him, snapping at his legs, and the ax cracked its skull with one quick blow between its eyes. Blood gushed from the wound and the thing staggered and fell.
Harmon whirled about. The wounded beast dropped to all fours and hunkered as if ready to spring. It tried seducing him with its luring glare, but he forced himself to look away. He brought the ax up, and at this the beast charged, clawing his arm and driving him off balance. He backed off and steadied himself, then swung without thought. The blade ripped a gash into the side of the animal and it howled. He brought the ax back hoping to finish it, but as he did, his chest tightened, the torture inside his body bringing him to his knees. The beast would have him, he knew, he would die here and now, but then, only by the grace of God, it took flight and vanished into the storm.