Cold Snap

A horror story in the middle of winter and a stranger that won't leave you alone.

photo by Plato Terentev

The cold came down hard the second week of January. Worst I seen in twenty years of livin’ up on Kettle Ridge.

Me and Dawson been together goin’ on six years now. We got us a little place at the end of Baneberry Road where nobody much bothers us. Dawson works third shift at the box factory in town. Leaves ‘round nine every night, don’t get back til after sunrise. I do odd jobs, fix tractors, repair fences, whatever folks need done.

Most people ‘round here don’t say nothin’ about us. They got their own problems to worry about.

“Supposed to drop below zero tonight,” Dawson said, stompin’ snow off his boots at the door. His cheeks was red from the wind. “Radio says pipes is gonna freeze all over the county.”

“Already brought the generator in,” I told him. “Got extra propane, too.”

He nodded, hangin’ his coat on the hook. But he didn’t move from the doorway.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Some fella followed me halfway up the mountain.”

“Followed you?”

“Yep. A big truck. Stayed right on my bumper from town. Pulled off when I turned onto our road.”

“Probably just headed the same direction.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Next mornin’ I went out to check the woodpile. Snow drifted up past the pile overnight. That’s when I seen the footprints.

They came up from the tree line, circled the house once, stopped outside our bedroom window. Then went back the way they came.

“Dawson,” I called inside. “Come look at this.”

He came out in his long johns and boots, squintin’ against the white.

“The hell?”

“Somebody was watchin’ us sleep.”

We’d had trouble before. Few years back, some boys from town thought it’d be funny to throw bottles at our windows. Call us names. One of ‘em said next time they’d bring gasoline.

Sheriff didn’t do nothin’ about it. Said boys will be boys.

“You think it’s startin’ up again?” Dawson asked.

“I don’t know.”

That evenin’ we ate supper quiet. I kept my shotgun propped against the wall near the door.

“Maybe we should stay with your sister for a while,” Dawson said. “Til this blows over.”

“I ain’t runnin’ from nobody.”

“It ain’t runnin’. It’s bein’ smart.”

“This is our home.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. “Ain’t no home worth dyin’ over.”

“You’re gonna be late for work,” I said.

He glanced at the clock. “Damn.” He grabbed his coat, kissed me quick. “Lock up behind me. I mean it, Curtis.”

Third night of the cold snap, headlights swung across our front windows ‘round midnight. Dawson was at work. I was sittin’ by the fire, readin’.

A truck pulled into our drive. Sat there idlin’ with its high beams on, pointed right at the house.

I grabbed my shotgun and moved to the window. Couldn’t see nothin’ past them bright lights.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Then the truck door opened and a man got out. Big fella. Built like a wrestler. He walked toward the house and stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “I know you’re awake in there,” he called out. “Saw you move past the window.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m lookin’ for somebody. My brother. Went missin’ last week. Drove through here on his way to Pittsburgh. His phone pinged a tower ‘bout two miles from this spot. Then it went dark. Ain’t nobody heard from him since.”

I stayed quiet. Kept the shotgun raised.

“Somebody round here knows somethin’. I can feel it.” He took a step closer. “And I’m gonna find out what happened to him. Whatever it takes.”

He stood there a long time, starin’ at the house. Then he turned and walked back to his truck. The engine revved and he backed out slow, takin’ his time.

Next mornin’, I told Dawson about it.

“What’d he want?”

“Says his brother went missin’. Thinks somebody round here knows somethin’.”

“Why’s he comin’ to us?”

“He’s goin’ to everybody, I reckon. Castin’ a wide net.”

Dawson paced the kitchen. “We should call the sheriff.”

“And tell him what? Man knocked on our door?”

“He was trespassin’. Threatenin’.”

“He didn’t threaten nothin’. Just asked questions.”

Dawson stopped pacin’. “I don’t like this, Curtis. I got a bad feelin’.”

“It’ll blow over. Man’ll get tired of lookin’ and move on.”

I drove into town that afternoon. Asked around about the man with the big truck. Didn’t take long to get answers.

“Name’s Ted Moody,” said Scott at the hardware store. “Been stayin’ at the motel all week. Comes into the diner every mornin’, shows people a picture of his brother. Gettin’ more aggressive about it too.”

“Aggressive how?”

“He grabbed poor old Ernest Jenkins by the collar yesterday. Said he knew people round here was hidin’ somethin’. Sheriff had to calm him down.”

“He dangerous?”

Scott shrugged. “Man lookin’ for his brother? Hard to say what he might do.”

That night, Ted’s truck came back. Parked at the end of our drive. Headlights off this time. Just sittin’ there in the dark.

Dawson was beside hisself. And he had to leave for work in an hour.

“I can’t leave you here alone with that man out there.”

“I’ll be fine. Got the shotgun.”

“I’ll call in sick. Just this once.”

“We need the money. You know we do.”

“Then I’m callin’ the sheriff,” he said.

“Fine. Call him.”

Sheriff Benton showed up twenty minutes later. We watched from the window as he walked over to Ted’s truck, had words with him. Ted’s arms was wavin’ around, pointin’ at our house. Sheriff shook his head, pointed down the mountain.

After a few minutes, Ted started his truck and pulled away. Sheriff walked up to our porch.

“He’s gone,” he said when I opened the door. Didn’t wait to be asked in. Didn’t ask if we was okay. “Told him to quit botherin’ folks. But I can’t make him leave town.”

“Understood.”

He gave us a long look, the kind we was used to. “Yinz stay outta trouble now.”

Then he left.

Dawson grabbed his coat. “I gotta get to work.”

I walked him out to his truck.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too. Now get.”

I watched his taillights disappear down the mountain. Then the road was empty and I was alone again.

The long hours stretched out ahead of me. The house was quiet. The fire crackled. I waited til’ I was sure nobody was comin’ back. Then I pulled on my boots and coat and grabbed my flashlight.

The root cellar sat about fifty yards behind the house, built into the hillside. My granddad dug it out back in the sixties. Ain’t nobody used it for years before I come along. Dawson don’t even know it’s there, hidden behind the brush. And I dragged branches behind me, erased my tracks in the snow as I went.

I cleared the snow away from the door and lifted the latch.

The smell hit me first. Sweat and fear and piss and damp earth. I’d put plastic down on the floor but it don’t catch everythin’.

Travis Moody looked up at me from where he sat chained to the support beam. His eyes was wild above the duct tape coverin’ his mouth. He’d lost weight since I picked him up last week. They always do.

“Your brother came by again tonight,” I told him, climbin’ down the ladder. “Sat in his truck for damn near an hour. Got my Dawson all worked up.”

Travis made a sound behind the tape. Desperate. Pleadin’.

“Says your phone pinged a tower two miles from here before it went dark.” I pulled up the old stool and sat down across from him. “Good thing I turned it off when I did. Good thing I know these hills better than any cell tower.”

I liked it down here. Liked the quiet. Liked havin’ somebody to talk to during all them long hours when Dawson was at work. Gets lonely up on this mountain by yourself night after night. A man needs company.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Your brother ain’t gonna find you. Nobody ever comes out here but me.”

I stood up and walked to the workbench I’d set up against the far wall. Looked at the tools laid out nice and neat. Took my time choosin’. I picked up the hacksaw. Tested its weight in my hand.

I walked back over to Travis. Crouched down until we was eye level.

“I’m afraid we gotta speed things up a bit.”

Travis started cryin’. I didn’t mind. Nobody could hear him down here.

I got to work while the wind howled and the temperature dropped.

I always did love a long winter.

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