Ashtrays to Jawbreakers: Christmas Edition Read online

  On the ninth day of Christmas my warlock gave to me,

  Nine ravens flying, eight mummies moaning, seven vultures circling, six ghosts haunting, five garlic cloves (EEK!), four howling dogs, three black cats, two screeching bats and an owl in an old oak tree.

  On the tenth day of Christmas my warlock gave to me,

  Ten witches brewing, nine ravens flying, eight mummies moaning, seven vultures circling, six ghosts haunting, five garlic cloves (EEK!), four howling dogs, three black cats, two screeching bats and an owl in an old oak tree.

  On the eleventh day of Christmas my warlock gave to me,

  Eleven ghouls screaming, ten witches brewing, nine ravens flying, eight mummies moaning, seven vultures circling, six ghosts haunting, five garlic cloves (EEK!), four howling dogs, three black cats, two screeching bats and an owl in an old oak tree.

  On the twelfth day of Christmas my warlock gave to me,

  Twelve caldrons bubbling, eleven ghouls screaming, ten witches brewing, nine ravens flying, eight mummies moaning, seven vultures circling, six ghosts haunting, five garlic cloves (EEK!), four howling dogs, three black cats, two screeching bats and an owl in an old oak tree.

  Viv Drewa –author of “Owl of the Sipan lord”, “From the pages of grandfather’s life” and “Angler and the owl”, is a Michigan native who has enjoyed reading and writing since 1963. Though she studied medicinal chemistry at the University of Michigan her passion has always been writing. She was awarded third place for her nonfiction short story about her grandfather's escape from Poland.

  Later, she rewrote this story and was published in the "Polish American Journal" as ""From the Pages of Grandfather's Life". Viv then took creative and journalism courses to help in her transition to fulfil her dream of becoming a writer. She worked as an intern for Port Huron's 'The Times Herald", and also wrote, edited and did the layout or the Blue Water Multiple Sclerosis newsletter "Thumb Prints." She spends her free time working with physically and mentally challenged adults; a cause close to her heart.

  ©2014

  Snow. Not unusual in the highlands of Scotland at this time of year, but...

  It looked the same, smelled the same; it blanketed the ground in the same manner as normal snow. But...

  Dan McCrae pulled the cap tighter over his ears. "Back soon, love," he called.

  "Uh huh." Janet appeared in the doorway, brushing an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. "Try not to be too long, Dan. Dinner'll be ready in about half an hour."

  "No worries." He pulled his gloves on. "I just want to check on the sheep." He blew her a kiss and opened the door. "Christ," he said. "Colder than a witch's tit out there." Ignoring Janet's mock-outrage, he said, "Ten minutes, fifteen max." He slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Grinning, Janet returned to the worktop and continued preparing vegetables.

  It was dark already. Dan grabbed the heavy duty flashlight from the charging unit near the door. The wind howled, driving flurries of snow between the buildings. Each step was a muted crunch as the thin layer of white was compacted beneath his feet.

  The flashlight was useless, its beam reflected back by the swirling white spicules. Visibility was a few yards at best.

  Dan stumbled across the yard towards the barn. The exposed skin of his face was numb before he'd managed a dozen steps. Cursing, he leant into the wind and tried to walk faster.

  The barn was a vague shadow against the blackness when the scream rent the air, shrill and piercing above the low moan of the wind.

  "Jesus Christ!" Dan stopped, listening. He shook his head in frustration. The storm made it impossible to discern direction. He swivelled in a slow, careful circle, halting with the barn off to his left.

  The cry sounded again, a high-pitched bleat of terror that was almost human in its expression.

  He took a step; another. His foot was raised to take a third when a commotion sounded in the barn, pulling him back to reality.

  Dan had always considered sheep to be dumb creatures whose main achievement was working out which end to eat with. The commotion coming from his left didn't sound like sheep - it was too full of pain and suffering.

  "What the -" Half a dozen steps brought him to the door. His hand was raising the latch before he thought about it.

  Even as his brain processed the thought that this might not be the best idea he'd ever had, even as he began to drop the latch again, the door burst open, internal pressure forcing it wide against the wind. Dan grunted as he stumbled back, his knee buckling under him after the heavy wood smashed into it.

  Cold seeped into his body from the snow compacted under his back. The flashlight was torn from his grip and rolled away into the darkness, its beam winking out.

  A gust of snow whirled out of the barn. Dan barely had time to register that it was moving against the wind before it was gone, swallowed up by the night. The heavy door blew shut with a thud as he struggled to his feet.

  The barn was eerily quiet when he limped inside. Storm noise was muted by the walls, reducing howling gales to a muted moan. A high, coppery smell filled the air. Dan fumbled for the light switch. A quick prayer that it was working, and he pressed it.

  Two overhead arc sodium lamps popped as they lit up, bathing the barn in light. Dan stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

  "Good God," he breathed, dumfounded. His feet moved of their own volition and he was aware of the door pressing into his back before he turned and bolted back out into the night.

  ***

  Janet glanced at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. She fussed with her hair, tucking it behind her ear. A small voice whispered to inside, gnawing away her sense of calm.

  Where was he? It wasn't like him to be late, not without good cause.

  Perhaps there was a problem with the barn, something that he had to attend to. Or maybe one of the sheep needed...something. That's all, she told herself.

  Are you sure? The sly voice of doubt was back, louder this time. Surely he would've let you know. After all, the barn's not more than a hundred yards away, hundred and fifty at most. He could've - no, would've - popped back if there was a problem.

  She nibbled the inside of her lip until the coppery tang of blood filled her mouth. Another glance at the clock decided her. She turned the oven off and pulled the tie on her apron, lifting it over her head.

  She was halfway into her boots when the Dan shot through the door.

  "Jesus," she said, hand clutched to her chest. "You scared me, Dan." Her voice was squeaky, uneven. "What's matter? You've been ages!" She finally registered the whiteness of his skin and the glassy quality of his eyes. "Dan? Honey, what's the matter?" She stood, senses screaming that something was badly wrong. He hadn't moved as yet; just stood there, his chest heaving. She took a step towards him, stumbling over the untied lace and he caught her in his arms.

  "The barn," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

  "What about it?" She searched his face. Her heart slowed a little as she saw spots of colour in his cheeks. His eyes no longer possessed that dreamy, faraway look that had scared her so badly.

  "They're all dead," he said in the same, bored tone he'd use when talking to their accountant.

  Her hand shot up to her mouth. "What?" She took a step back on legs that no longer felt quite steady until her backside nudged the dining table. Her eyes never left his as she fumbled a chair out and sank into it. "But..."

  He shivered and his eyes focussed on her for the first time since he'd returned. She saw dawning horror in them as he started to shake. "Oh God, Jan, it's like an abattoir in there."

  She frowned, confused. Her lips were stained crimson where she'd chewed her knuckles hard enough to draw blood. What he'd said made no sense. She'd been picturing an outbreak of foot and mouth or some similar disease; when he'd said they were all dead she'd taken him to mean that some were dead, and the rest either would be soon or would need putting down.

  "Dan, honey, what
do you mean?" She tried hard to keep her voice calm and level.

  "The sheep," he said. His eyes had drifted again, staring at a point somewhere over her left shoulder. "Something's torn them apart. All of them. I heard it." He shuddered and the tension left his body as he crumpled.

  She was just in time to break his fall as he fainted.

  ***

  The storm abated at some point during what was quite possibly the longest night of Janet's life. Dan had returned to a soupy state of semi-consciousness after what felt like an age. He'd been terrified of the storm, flinching each time a gust of wind rattled the eaves. She'd bolted the door and closed the blinds, turning on all the lights before pouring a couple of shots of whisky. She grimaced as the unfamiliar spirit blossomed heat in her stomach. Dan's teeth chattered as he took a drink, spilling almost as much as he swallowed; but the whisky seemed to calm him - his hand was steadier for the next sip.

  "There was nothing I could do," he said hollowly. "I could hear them in there, dying."

  "Shh, it's okay," she said, knowing that it was anything but. "We'll sort it out in the morning." She forced a laugh and wish she hadn't - it sounded shrill and nervous to her ears.

  He shook his head. "Not in this."

  "No, not in this. When the weather lets up."

  He grimaced. "I don't know if I can go back out there."

  "We'll go together," she said. "Maybe it was a trick of the light."

  He gave a harsh bark that she realised was an attempt at a laugh. "What light?" He shook his head.

  She refused to give in. "Well, maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was blowing through the barn in a way that made it seem like...whatever you heard."

  Again, he shook his head. "It wasn't the wind," he said. "It was..." He trailed off, staring into space.

  "Dan?"

  He looked round in a panic. "What if it comes this way!"

  "What if what comes this way?" She tried to keep her frustration hidden. "I don't even know what it is. You've not said. But a fox, or a feral cat wouldn't-" She broke off as he shook his head.

  "I don't know what it was, but it wasn't a fox, or anything like that."

  Sometime after midnight the wind began to ease. Janet finally fell asleep curled over the table; Dan remained seated watching the door.

  ***

  The morning sky was bright and clear, washed clean by the storm. Almost a foot of snow blanketed the ground, crisp and powdery. Janet's eyes felt swollen and grainy as she stretched, working the kinks out of her spine. She stiffened as the events of the previous evening returned to her. "Dan!"

  "Easy, Janet," he said. "The storm's finished." There was a brittle edge to the calm of his voice.

  "The sheep," she began.

  "Yeah." There was a sigh. "I suppose we'd better go and have a look."

  "Just give me a minute," she said.

  It took less than five minutes for her to splash some cold water on her face and brush her teeth. When she returned to the kitchen Dan was already bundled up against the cold. He cradled his shotgun on one arm.

  She stared at it. He knew she didn't like guns and normally went out of his way to spare her the sight. "Is that necessary."

  He nodded. She waited, but he said nothing further. Rolling her eyes she pulled on her cold weather gear.

  "Ready?" he asked. She nodded.

  The walk to the barn took just over a minute. Once they reached it, he stood there for a moment before looking shamefacedly at here. "I can't," he said, his voice trembling.

  She nodded and reached out.

  The door opened noiselessly on well-oiled hinges. The ripe stink of blood and faeces hit her like a hammer, making her gag. "Jesus," she gasped.

  She took a step forward. It was enough. She stood there for perhaps a second before bolting; plenty of time for the scene to sear itself into her memory. The sheep had huddled together in their final agonies. Their bodies were obscenely naked, stripped of fur and skin; flensed corpses that glistened red and purple in the diffused light.

  She made it outside before her stomach revolted. The splash of bile and half-digested food hitting the snow was enough to cause her to spasm again.

  "Dan," she panted, bent over with her hands on her knees. "What the hell is going on?"

  There was no answer. She straightened, hissing at the bruised sensation in her stomach. He was standing at the corner of the barn. "Now do you believe me?"

  She nodded. "What could do something like that?"

  He shrugged. "You tell me." His throat worked. "It's like nothing I've ever heard of." He looked like he was going to say more; after a moment he fell quiet.

  "What is it?"

  He shook his head and pointed round the side of the barn.

  The thin crust crackled as her boots sank into it, powdery crystals sucking at her feet. Each step was like wading through water.

  "What's that?" The pristine white field was marred by a greyish patch in one corner.

  He shook his head, pulling her back. "Where d'you think you're going?"

  "To have a look," she said, slipping her arm free. "Something weird's going on. That might give us some answers." She didn't add that she would do almost anything to distance herself from the barn. "You coming?" She started walking without waiting for a response.

  ***

  She was halfway there when he caught up with her. "Jan," he said, "there's something I didn't tell you about last night."

  She nodded, out of breath. The snow clung to her legs as she waded through it, each step a struggle.

  "Something came out of the barn when I opened the door."

  She stopped to catch her breath. "A fox? Something like that?"

  "No." He was shaking his head. "I don't know what it was, not really. It was dark, and snowing. It looked like a mini tornado made out of snow."

  "What?"

  "I know how it sounds," he said, "but it's true. And here's the really weird thing. I didn't think about this until later, but it was moving against the wind."

  She stared at him. "Dan, what's going on?"

  "I wish I knew," he said. He checked the shotgun, holding it in a not-quite-ready pose. "Trouble is, I'm not entirely sure I want to know."

  She took his arm. "Come on," she said. "We'll have a look and then go and report it. God knows, we'd look stupid if the police turned up just for a rabid fox or something."

  "You really think that's all it is? A rabid fox?"

  "Let's just check it out," she said, resuming the slog through the snow. He had started to follow her before realising that she hadn't answered his question.

  ***

  "What in God's name is that?" Janet stared at the swirling cloud. As Dan had said, it resembled a mini tornado about five feet high and made out of snow.

  Or, mostly snow. Tattered remnants of...wool?... lent the whiteness a greyish hue.

  There was a click as Dan raised the shotgun.

  "Dan," she hissed, "what're you doing? You can't shoot a cloud of snow!"

  "It's not snow," he said with glassy calm.

  "But you still can't shoot it!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because..." Janet stopped. Why not indeed? "Oh, do it then."

  The shotgun roared. The cloud wobbled on its axis for a second. Nothing changed.

  Dan's expression was grim. He broke open the shotgun and reloaded. Janet put her hand on his arm. "Wait," she said. He looked at her.

  "What?"

  "Let's go back," she said, almost tripping over the words as they tumbled out. "We can phone the police and let them deal with it. There's something very wrong here."

  He nodded. "Too much dispersion," he said. "I need to be closer."

  "What!"

  Like a teacher with a stubborn child, Dan patiently explained. "The shot spread too wide to cause any damage. I'm going to get closer so that the shot doesn't have chance to disperse. That way, I think I might be able to kill it."

  He ignored her babbled protestations an
d stepped closer, raising the shotgun at point-blank range.

  The next few seconds stretched on forever in Janet's mind. She could see each detail in minute detail. The way his finger whitened as he squeezed the trigger; the roar as one of the barrels discharged; the slight kick of recoil.

  Then everything returned to normal speed. A patch of clear sky was visible through the cloud for a second. A high, keening wail sounded on the threshold of her hearing. The cloud wobbled more erratically this time.

  And then the tendril of snow that whipped out and lashed itself around Dan's waist. She had time to see the shock in his eyes before he was jerked forward, into the cloud.

  The screams began almost immediately. The translucent quality of the snow became tinged with red as the millions of tiny particles that made up the cloud ground together, acting like a high-speed grinding wheel.

  Clothes were shredded and dumped, before the cloud began to tighten its grip on Dan. Hair and skin were abraded away, leaving only a flensed body. Dan's screams ceased when his larynx was eroded.

  And the cloud moved away, leaving him standing there.

  Janet's sanity began to crumble as the hideous thing that had been her husband moved. Oh God, he's still alive!

  Her legs unhinged and she sank to her knees. Without conscious thought, one hand scrabbled for the shotgun. She was sobbing as her hand found the walnut stock and pulled it closer. The snow - although she doubted that it was snow - spun in lazy circles off to her right. The pink of Dan's blood was fading as it - what, consumed it? She noticed that it was bigger now, almost a foot taller.

  And it's going to be hungry again, very soon.

  The thought spurred her on. Dan's mutilated body sank to its knees; she could see his eyes on her, pleading with her to end his agony.

  She took aim and pulled the trigger. He collapsed without a sound in a widening patch of red.

  She went away then, her mind disengaging in an effort to protect the remaining shreds of sanity.

  When she returned, it was growing dark. Her body was already suffering the onset of hypothermia. The cloud was almost white again, and it was moving closer. Hungry, she thought. She tried to heave herself to her feet and failed; it was just too much effort. A sigh. She hoped it would wait a while longer, until the cold shut her system down for her. She would take the painless death from freezing over the unknown agony that the cloud offered any day. She wished she'd saved the last of the shotgun shells for herself.