The Nor'EasterA Story by Butterfly_Kid It was supposed to be a January night like any other, but a
sudden nor’easter swept across the sleepy Connecticut village of Andover without
warning. It began slowly in the morning, gently showering flurries that formed
unassuming caps of white on every rooftop and car window. Early on, the town
was a picturesque greeting card of glittery white and silver, but as the day
drew on the little white caps became mountain ranges, and in a short while
those mountain ranges became white desert dunes that threatened to cover
everything. Naturally, the village was sealed up. Traffic was non-existent, as
those with the foresight enough to stay home didn’t dare go out on a day like
this. Those foolish enough to try were forced back inside. The windows and
doorsteps of houses began to cover completely. Outside, day had broken and had
passed into night, but to the townsfolk this change went mostly unnoticed. It
was dark inside the houses of the buried little village. It’s that day-long
darkness that can bring out the strangest things in people… Daniel Hascombe was one of the many townsfolk who were smart
enough to stay indoors on this day; he called into work at the paper mill early
that morning and told the boss he needed to take the day off. Daniel wasn’t
sure which sense had told him that today would be a good day to stay home. The nor’easter
took the weather stations by surprise. There had been no forewarning on the
radio, or the television. Maybe, Daniel had thought, it was because he just had
a feeling for these things. Just like how his grandfather knew right when it was
about to rain by the sudden phantom pain that struck his right leg---A leg which had
been taken by diabetes years before. Or maybe, he thought, it was because it
was three years today since his son was taken from him. In fact, it was a snowy
day not unlike this one. He remembered falling to his knees and sobbing on the
work floor of the paper mill when he got the call. He thought about the grisly
appearance of his son’s face and body as he stood over him, half zipped in a
body bag that lay silently on the cold steel table of the morgue. Today, Daniel sat comfortably dozing on his favorite lounger
in the living room, a can of beer warming in his hand. The lounger was his
favorite because he had managed to wear a perfect groove into its cushions.
Ever since that horrible day three years ago, Daniel had spent a lot of time
sitting and drinking on his lounger. It was the only activity that made sense
to him anymore. Daniel knew it was getting late because his wife had long since
gone to bed, but he didn’t bother to check the time. To him, the time didn’t
matter on a day like today. He heard the dog next door barking crazily at the
wind.
On the television, he
could see a fuzzy picture of the weatherman pointing erratically here and there
at animated images of Old Man Winter moving across the New England countryside.
He looked frazzled and confused by the sudden turn in the weather that had evidently
blindsided him. Daniel lazily reached for the remote to turn up the volume. “…Okay folks,” the newscaster was saying, as he brushed the sweat-dampened
hair from his brow. “It looks like we’re going to be dealing with this storm
system for the next 12 to 16 hours. Things are really piling up out there. On
behalf of the news team here at WUHF Tolland, and the State of Connecticut, I
have to urge you all to please stay in your homes, and keep your pets safe
tonight. This storm is showing no signs of letting up yet…” Daniel sighed and drew his can of beer to his mouth. He
frowned when realized that he had emptied its contents. He set it down, got to
his feet slowly, and staggered for the fridge. It was then that he heard the
weatherman say something odd. His voice had changed from its
exhausted-yet-enthusiastic tone into something much lower, much more sinister.
“…And we all know whose fault it is, don’t we?” He asked, now turned toward the
screen, his eyes searching for someone. Daniel paused and looked to the
television. “What?” He asked himself. “I said; we all know whose fault it is, don’t we Mr.
Hascombe?” He was looking directly into Daniel’s eyes now. “It’s because of
that little s**t monster of yours, isn’t it, Mr. Hascombe? Good thing the
little freak is dead.” Enraged and confused, Daniel picked up a heavy glass ashtray
that sat on the coffee table and hurled it into the television screen as he let
out a frightened wail, “NO!” Sparks
flew as the tube went black. Smoke streamed out of the hole that was left, the
electric smell of ozone filled the air. Daniel stood there now, his breath was
heavy, his vision blurred. He felt light headed, drunker somehow. He heard the
neighbor’s dog barking louder. He could hear the wind picking up strength as it
lashed at the windows. Just then a loud wham,
wham, WHAM came from the front door. It snapped Daniel out of his angry daze. He turned around to face the door as
it slammed open, the wind almost tearing it from its hinges. Blasts of air
carried thick, swirling plumes of powdery white into the living room. Little
drifts began to form in the corners of the doorway and windows. Daniel walked
toward it, flakes of snow gathering in his hair and beard, aging him
prematurely. As he passed through the threshold and out into the front
yard, wearing nothing more than a robe and slippers, he felt the cold of the
winter night surround him and consume him. His eyes burned, his vision was
failing him. All he could hear was the wind and the sound of…laughter? Was that…children playing? He could see them now, a group of kids in ski-suits tossing
snowballs and being noisy the way kids at play always were. Just beyond the
group was a solitary child standing in front of the rounded body of a snowman.
His back was turned to Daniel. The group seemed totally oblivious to the blizzard that
had been bearing down on them. When they saw him approach, the children
abruptly stopped their activities and scattered. All but the boy by the
snowman. Daniel slowly stepped forward, his hand outstretched before
him. He was reaching for the boy’s shoulder. He wanted to make contact; he wanted
to turn the boy around to face him, to see him again. Everything felt as if it
were in slow motion now, the snow drifted and swirled before him in beautiful,
dancing patterns. The wind sounded like a whisper. It spoke to him. “Just do it, Daddy. Kill them. Kill them for
me. You know I always get what I want.” The whisper turned to a giggle now,
it became high and menacing. It cut through the air, it was echoing in his head now. It then spoke again as
Daniel took one more infinite step toward the boy. “I just love winter, Daddy…” Daniel’s hand came down hard on the boy’s solid shoulder; he spun the child around to reveal the frozen corpse of his son, just as he had seen him lying there in the morgue that day. His eyes were a dead milky white. His face and chest had a deep, connecting gash through them. His head was partially split down the right side of his forehead. The gash continued down his throat, to his sternum. Below, his belly and legs were crushed; the features of tire treads peppered his torn and bloodied ski-pants. The boy giggled again, his jaw hinged crookedly as his laughter filled the bitter air. He spoke once more. “Look what I made, Daddy…” The boy moved aside to show his father what he had created. The snowman’s torso was covered
with bloody handprints from where the boy had been packing on snow. Fine streams
of red flowed down the body from a scarfed neck before freezing in place.
Daniel expected to see the corn cob pipe, the button nose---and all that---stuck
on an oversized snowball. What he saw when he looked up chilled him solid. He
felt paralyzed, he felt sickened. He fell to his knees, and turned his head
sharply to avert his eyes, but some power drew his eyes upward. He looked into
the face of the severed head of the neighbor’s dog. Clumps of frozen blood were stuck to its light brown fur. “Do it Daddy, kill them. Start with that f*****g dog!” The corpse
child shot and arm up and pointed to the sick parody of a snowman. Daniel rose up and tried to run, but his feet were frozen in place, the wind began to rise, its deafening blast became the barking of a dog. The sound grew louder and louder, as the snowman began to move toward him, vicious canine teeth snapped and snarled at him. He screamed. And the barking grew louder... *** He then jolted back to reality. The distant sound of the neighbor’s dog yapping and howling at the wind had awoken him. He was covered in sweat. The can of beer in his hand had been crushed in his tensed fist. The television before him was playing some obnoxious infomercial about a convenient, at-home snow cone maker. No thanks, thought Daniel, as he wiped the sweat from his brow and rose to his feet. The clock on the wall read 3 o’clock. He began to the climb upstairs to
his bedroom, when he again heard a whisper. He could barely make it out between
the sound of the wind battering the house, and that damn dog barking. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Daddy?”
The voice had asked. Daniel paused on the steps and turned toward the door and
began to walk, on his way he stopped by the fireplace and grabbed a small axe
that they had kept handy on cold evenings. “Give
me what I want, Daddy. Do it!” Nearly hypnotized, Daniel walked out the front door and onto
the snow-covered lawn. He turned in the direction of the neighbor’s house; in
the direction of the barking. A snowplow barreled down the road, the bright
yellow monster pulverizing everything in its path. Daniel caught a glimpse of
it before it escaped his view, and he thought firstly of his beloved son, and
then of killing that dog. “Do it Daddy. For me?
Remember how much we loved the winter together? Remember how you’d do anything
for me?” “Yes, of course,” Daniel said to himself, smiling darkly as he
steadily trudged through the snow toward the neighbor’s house. “Anything for
you, son.” *** The next morning, Gerald Howe of Howe’s Plows and neighbor to the Hascombe family stepped out of his
snowy bungalow. It looked like it was going to be a nice morning. The storm
clouds had cleared, and a deep amber sun was slowly creeping up the horizon.
Gerald had just finished locking up his front door as he headed over to start
his plow up for another day of cleaning the village streets. As he passed the
large bay window in the front of his house, he realized that he hadn’t seen his
dog since last night. He hadn’t heard it bark. His eye caught a reflection in
the window. It looked like a snowman. But he hadn’t built a snowman…He spun
around quickly to see what he had feared was there. A snowman was built in the
middle of his front yard, all right, but--- He doubled over and vomited at the sight of his dog’s
severed head perched atop a lopsided, bloodied snowman. He worked to compose
himself, and got back his footing. He ran to get back inside. To call the
police. To call…someone. He was fumbling with his keys when he felt the hot
breath on his neck; the tinge of death was in the air around him. He turned to
see Daniel Hascombe with a small axe in his hand. His fingers were turning a
deep black. The axe’s blade and handle were crusted with frozen red. The man had
a sickening grin across his dead and blackened lips. Gerald spoke: “Now Danny, what are
you doing with that axe?” Daniel muttered, “For my boy…anything.” “What?” Gerald asked. Daniel began to sob, and shake violently. He swung the axe
as he screamed, the axe landing a blow on his neighbor’s neck. Daniel muttered once again, “Anything”, as his heart began to slow to a stop, and his frostbitten body collapsed into the snow. When his life was almost faded and frozen, he swore that one last thing he could hear was the faint, cheery giggling of his late son. “I love you Daddy.” And Daniel smiled. "I love you too, son..." © 2014 Butterfly_KidAuthor's Note
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Butterfly_KidCanadaAboutPlease read and review. All criticisms welcome! -- I write in my spare time. It's as fun a passtime as reading, really. So that's why I do it. As I continue to get feedback and reviews on the chapters.. more..Writing
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