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Chapter 11
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Wind Chill Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12Emma stared through the sparks, willing the space inside the doorframe to glow a bright, molten red. Sweat slid down her forehead and past her eyes behind the goggles, blurring her progress. She didn’t stop until the torch’s nozzle began to sputter. Turning it off, Emma lifted the goggles and wiped away the perspiration to observe her handiwork.Not bad, but I better make this quick. If that metal cools off, I’m screwed.She picked up the sledgehammer resting at her feet, adjusting her stance to accommodate its weight before taking a swing at the door. The faux-wood veneer split under the blow, the metal behind it denting. Emma stumbled back, aiming her next shot. The glow inside the door was already starting to dim.Man, I better make this count.She huffed, reared back, and struck out with everything she had. When the hammer connected, the door flew open, crashing into the wall on the other side. Straight ahead of her, a desk rested against the far wall, her father’s
Wind Chill Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13Emma took a seat on the floor after another few hours of scouring her father’s personal effects. A mess of open books and printouts littered the floor around her. The clutter of literature and ramblings had yet to shed any additional light on the situation.Emma’s fingers dug into her stomach, the tightness in her gut making her wince.Crap . . . I only had a couple bites to eat all day, didn’t I?She slunk back downstairs and into the kitchen. The room seemed darker than the day before, and each groan of the appliances sent her fingers fumbling for the pistol at her side. Guilt tightened around her heart like a noose when she saw the table still waiting to be set and the empty skillet sitting on the stove range.He was here just this morning, wasn’t he? Cooking for me. Trying to do something nice for me. And where the hell was I when he needed me?Emma rubbed her head, the image of her father working the stove shifting to the one of him hammering the car’s alternator
Wind Chill Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14Emma glowered at the sea of remaining paper waiting for her in the desk drawers. Sifting through the contents, she collected everything that seemed pointless and set it aside with the rest of the refuse on the floor.Okay, fuck the DIY and paranoid stuff. Let’s focus on the really weird shit.Left with only her father’s collection of folklore, Emma dug in. It took a conscious effort to take the material seriously, and she found her eyes rolling at more than one of the entries. Every ridiculous creature and legend she’d seen on TV seemed present and accounted for.Thunderbirds, the Dover Demon . . . goat . . . men? With axes? Seriously?A chuckle started up in Emma’s throat and died when she thought of her father painstakingly gathering all the information before her now, trying to put a name to the thing that had festered inside his wife. Inside him.My father, the monster killer. My father, the monster. Jesus . . .Her mood continued to sour into disquiet the further
Wind Chill Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15Emma perused the assortment of tools lining the safe room wall with her bug-out bag in hand.Cripes, it feels like I’m shopping in a hardware store.Her fingers brushed the handle of an axe before drawing away and grabbing the hatchet beside it instead. She lifted the sheathed blade free of the pegboard, testing the weight with a practice swing. Satisfied, Emma pulled a roll of duct tape down and secured the handle to the side of the bag.I just hope this’ll do the job. The rifle’s heavy enough on its own. The last thing I need is unnecessary weight.Returning to the spot that had held the blowtorch, Emma propped her rifle against the wall and picked up two of the spare fuel canisters. It took a fair bit of jostling to maneuver the containers to a standing position around the bottles of water, spare magazines, and pressure-sealed meals she’d packed. Just in case. A sigh came out as she zipped the bag and hoisted it onto her shoulders.I guess you finally rubbed off on
Wind Chill Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16The creature moved first.Emma gawked as the fingers on the giant’s hand extended. They drove toward her like the talons of some monstrous bird of prey, blotting out everything but the slices of the death head’s grin between. The palm was nearly pressed against her face before she managed to react.No!Emma dove out of the way. She didn’t see the blade connect. There was only the wet sound of skin splitting and the vibration running up her arm. Her feet kicked open air as they left the ground. A fresh blast of ice and decay gave her just enough warning to release the handle before the wendigo’s teeth gnashed for her throat. The dead tree fell in the snow beside her. A slight grunt came from above while the beast wrenched the hatchet free and tossed it aside.“That was very rude of you, Emma. You always did have lousy manners. I’ll have to leave part of you in the corner for time-out.”Lying there, Emma took in the expanse of it from spider-veined legs to sunken cheeks.
Wind Chill Epilogue
EPILOGUEEmmett Kinley kept his eyes on the road.The lush spring greenery made him want to raise the windows until the car was an airtight box. Even cloistered inside the vehicle, he fancied he caught a whiff of wet grass and lilac. His finger stabbed the button for the windows. The pressure didn’t ease until the cabin appeared in the distance.No choice but to suck it up now. I don’t know why I keep comin’ back here.No sooner had the thought passed his mind than he felt like hitting himself.Because he was your boy, damn it. And he deserves to be remembered.Emmett punched the wheel hard enough to activate the horn.I told him winter was gonna be bad that year. The worst in a century, I said. I told him to pack heavy to cover him and that drinkin’ buddy of his when he insisted on goin’. I told him not to risk traipsin’ outside when it got that damn cold. Why the hell didn’t he listen?He took a deep breath, then tried to snort out the scents he imagined he’d sucked in.I ju
Wind Chill The Fear Merchant
THE FEAR MERCHANTThe Jack-o’-lantern on Roy Wallace’s porch was in desperate need of a Botox treatment. A mere week after Halloween, rot was already hard at work on the toothy grin. The corners of its mouth had drooped into a grimace, and the gourd reeked of sweet decay and old smoke. His face twisting into the same mask of displeasure, Roy didn’t know what to blame: the odor or the house across the street.DiStefano . . . how am I supposed to compete with that prick?He considered ending his creation’s torment with a boot through the face as he looked upon the parade of children passing through his neighbor’s door.Damn, they’re still going over there? The line looks even longer than it did an hour ago.Roy hissed out a sigh to match the one blowing through the dead leaves on his doorstep.I haven’t seen those piled up in twenty years.He could almost feel DiStefano rubbing his nose in them.Fucker got his first visual effects Oscar the same year I washed out of FX school. Al
Wind Chill Bang!
BANG!Richard swayed in time with the piano music seeping up to him through the roof. The vibrations tickled his feet through the soles of handmade Italian shoes, as did the conversations of the diners still inside the restaurant—and their heartbeats. Elongated ears trembled at the sound of the door opening below. He grumbled in tune with his stomach at the sight of the couple walking out arm in arm.Wonderful. Another pair of bloody lovebirds.Richard pulled a silver pocket watch from its place in his vest.There are only four people left inside and dinner service ends in fifteen minutes. His stomach growled even louder than before. If I have to skip another meal, so help me . . .Five minutes passed before fresh footfalls sounded below—the remaining patrons all leaving the same table. He waited while they exited to the sidewalk and said their goodbyes. Two cars roared to life and buzzed down the street. Aching from the cacophony, Richard’s ears still picked up the click of high
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