This is part two of a short story by L M Glegg
Part 1 can be found here.
It was 2:03 a.m., to be exact, according to the hands of the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall downstairs. I had awoken to discover Linda missing, and set off to find her. The bedrooms were in the loft, so I thought maybe she'd gone to the main floor to get something to drink. I felt a breeze the minute I turned the corner at the foot of the stairs, and found the front door ajar. The brilliant moon glaring off the snow-blanketed scenery blinded me for a moment as I stepped out onto the porch, but after my eyes adjusted themselves, I prayed they were lying to me. In a pile of crimson snow, its throat ripped out and flesh gashed by knife-like claws, was Linda's limp body. She was still warm as I dropped to my knees and pulled her to me. Kevin and Mindy rushed out to find me clinging in desperation to what was left of Linda, drenched with her blood and screaming her name in disbelief to a cold and unforgiving landscape. Somehow they managed to pull me inside before I froze to death with her in my arms.
Kevin had moved Linda's body and cleaned up the site of the attack as best he could the night before. I went through the motions of helping him shovel out the SUV, trying to keep busy – trying to make sense of what had happened. Our efforts were really nothing more than an exercise in futility, because even though we managed to exhume the vehicle, and there had been some melting since the storm passed, the steep, winding road was still covered by feet of snow. All we could do now was hope there was some sort of patrol or network that kept these distant, sporadically placed homesteads connected on this lonely mountain somehow.
Another full day passed before it struck again. The night it happened we were being battered with a violent windstorm. The hour-long minutes crept by in watchful and morose silence - not only because of what had happened, but also because of what may yet lie ahead. The three of us sat together in the large living room, gripping the few makeshift weapons we could find, intermittently fighting the sleep that was attempting to engulf us from worry and fatigue. A fire roared in the fireplace, but I swear I couldn't feel its warmth. I was as cold and dead inside as Linda's corpse.
An explosive thump sounded outside against the rear wall of the cabin, and we all jumped awake, staring at each other with wide eyes. We were paralyzed until it sounded again. Mindy released a panicked, broken scream then collapsed on the floor in a heap, unconscious. From the window I looked across the valley of snow the wind had carved behind our cabin, and caught a glimpse of a dark figure lumbering into the woodshed. A vision of this shadowy killer mangling Linda flashed through my mind, and suddenly I was alive again. The back door was frozen shut, so with a cry of rage I burst through the front. Kevin placed Mindy on the couch again, then followed, shouting for me to stop the entire time.
I found the woodshed empty of anything living, then began searching every square inch of the surrounding area. It was only minutes later when I found Kevin on his frozen deathbed not far from where Linda lay. I never heard a sound, never saw a sign of his attacker, never knew he had been hit until I came across his lifeless body in the blinding gale.
It's now the end of the first week of our vacation. The tempestuous winds of last night have died off, leaving a tomb-like stillness to dominate the mountain. I sit within this strange silence and stare out the window of one of the loft bedrooms at the snow that is falling again while a single question gnaws at my mind: How did such a picture-perfect start end up this way?
I turn from the mute and leaden sky to gaze at Mindy passed out on the bed. Hysteria and grief finally took their toll on her, but only after we locked ourselves in and I promised that I wouldn't leave the room. I swore over and over I'd protect her no matter what, and she reluctantly curled up into the fetal position and sobbed herself to sleep.
I turn again to stare into the mirror atop the bureau at my own careworn face, trying with all my might to wake up, because the events of these past days certainly can not have happened – it's just not possible. My fingers tremble as they fondle the gold pentagram hanging from my neck, the blessed token that drives away the searing headaches that have plagued me ever since I was persuaded to partake in my first séance a few short weeks ago. I squeeze my eyes shut and kiss the golden symbol that eases my suffering, and when I look once more, I find myself staring into the eyes of the creature that was summoned that fateful night with a haunting chant moaned by a possessed medium in an ancient tongue.
The eyes that glare back at me are distant, yet there, burning deep within my own. I feel a pain-fraught pleasure as the iron claws of the beast begin to push themselves out from the ends of my fingers – fingers that will soon be digging deep into the flesh of another victim. Then, as if in a dream, I see myself inside the creature, small and insignificant, yet bound to it, attempting to scream at the top of my lungs for it to stop as it rips apart its hapless prey - but not a sound escapes my mouth.
I reach for the chain, as if to slip it from my neck and keep the demon locked away, but realize this is nothing more than folly – a day, maybe two, then again the agony would be too much to bear. The merciless headaches would split my skull, and every cell within me would plead for relief, even though I am well aware that relief comes with a heavy price.
“No,” the voice of the beast somehow rumbles from my throat, “I will not be tortured for the sake of another.” I let my hands fall from the chain, and once more find myself blessing the golden symbol that dangles from it for the sacred respite it brings.
I now turn my focus to Mindy's reflection that graces the mirror, a soft, warm body limp and peaceful within the bliss of sleep, and my lips curl into a malignant smile. It is then I realize my solemn promise to her will be broken. It may be only a matter of minutes, or it could be hours; there was never any way to tell. There is only one thing for certain - the creature will return, emerge from within, and I am powerless to stop it. I cannot save her.
The End
Author's Note: When this story is finally compiled with several others into a single volume, it will be credited to R J Spencer, an alternative pseudonym used to distinguish my “Disturbia” from the other genres in which I write.
Copyright L M Glegg 1997 - 2018. All rights reserved.