Halloween and Other Seasons

“My God!” Mary shouted, as Adam thrust himself up to go look outside. “Don’t go near the window!” she pleaded.

But he was already there, peering into the foggy swirls of dust. “I can’t see anything. It had to be part of the roof.”

Mary set about calming the children down. Lucy began to cry, and Cindy, the older, tried to go back to sleep.

“Adam, please, get away from the window!”

“I see…”

Another tearing groan from above.

“Adam!”

He shrank away from the window as something hard hit it. It rattled, but, somehow, it did not break.

“What was that?” Mary asked anxiously.

Adam moved cautiously to the window again. “I don’t know. But I thought I saw something moving out there. A light.”

“A car?” There was desperation edged by hope in Mary’s voice.

“I don’t see how it could be a car, with the road gone. Maybe some sort of plow or truck…”

Silence stretched between them, as Lucy again fell into a shuddering sleep.

“Mary, I have to go out there,” Adam said finally.

“No!”

“This place won’t last the night. I have to see what that light was.”

As if in answer, there came a great rumbling sound from above them on the mountain. Something huge and heavy-sounding slammed into the cottage.

Mary looked with fear from the shuddering back wall to her husband. “You won’t come back.”

“I…just have to know if there’s a safer place for us.” He looked down at the two fitfully sleeping children. “You want me to take the chance of not going?”

Mary was silent.

Adam retrieved his parka and began to shrug into it.

The wind and dust whipped into a fierce cacophony of sound, as if waiting hungrily for him to leave the cabin.

He hesitated a moment, looked back at his wife, then unbolted the door and stepped out.

~ * ~

Immediately, the wind tried to yank the door from his hands. Groaning with effort, he pulled the door shut behind him. He stood with his back plastered to it for a moment, trying to see through his dust-blinded glasses.

There was movement ahead of him.

Something…

Up where the road had been, the wall of dust was still held in check. Adam tried to pick up some hint of why so much silt could flow so fast so far and then suddenly stop. He knew that was the spot where the car had been washed over the cliff—he could see the vehicle canted on its side at the bottom, its headlights like beacons, dust duned slightly up one side—and he could swear there had been no natural obstruction, a wall or damn, to keep the wall of dust at bay.

Dry lightning flashed again.

In front of that wall, something did move. A lone figure in a dark parka, barely visible against the black background through the churning wind and dust, was moving along the heaving backdrop, making its way to the path down to the bottom of the valley and the cottage.

The figure made its way to the bottom of the slope.

It stood motionless.

“Hey!” Adam called, but he could feel the word ripped from his mouth and snuffed out by the storm. His lips were coated with dust.

The figure turned toward him.

Carefully, Adam stepped away from the cottage—and was immediately thrown down by the wind.

He nearly panicked. It felt as if hands had taken hold of him from below and were yanking him down into the dust, trying to suffocate him. There were little bits of something in the ash that broke apart—he remembered the chicken bone he had found before.

Then, abruptly, whatever had held him let go. He was up on his knees, panting into the wind.

Behind him he heard frantic tapping on a window and looked back to see Mary’s frightened face at the picture window, gesturing wildly with her hands—

There were hands on Adam, helping him up.

“Wha—?”

He looked up into a dark, hooded face. He could make out no features.

“Thank you!” he shouted into the wind, regaining his footing.

The figure made a gesture and the two of them made their way to the front door of the cottage.

Mary pulled the door open, then slammed it closed behind them.

“Are you all right?” she said frantically to Adam, clutching his arm.

Adam nodded, spitting dust, beginning to regain his breath.

The children had stirred, and sat up, rubbing their eyes. Lucy sobbed out, “I want my Harry doll!”

The newcomer, turning away from them, shrugged out of his coat and began to shake the dust out of it.

“Some night,” he said, matter-of-factly, turning around. He was tall, strong-looking, a weather-beaten, dark, almost cordovan color. His voice was deep and his large yet delicate hands looked as if they could pull a tree out of the ground without cracking any of the roots.

“That was your van that slid over the precipice?” the man asked. He was smiling, and he hung his parka over the back of one of the chairs at the small table.

“Yes, it was,” Adam replied, realizing that even with the mud and rain and what he had been through, it was nevertheless time for social conventions, including chitchat, to be adhered to. “You’re from around here?”

“You might say that,” the man said, laughing softly. “This place belongs to me.”

He thrust out his hand, so quickly that Adam nearly jumped.

“Please forgive me!” Adam said, taking the hand and noting the soft yet firm grip. “We just didn’t know. We never would have barged in if we’d known someone was living—”

The man’s laughter cut him off. “Did you have a choice?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” Adam answered. He gave a short laugh himself, then asked, “Have you ever had a storm like this before?”

“Never anything quite like this,” the man answered.  He glanced out the picture window, then back at Adam. “Shall we have some tea?”

“I grew up here, and never heard of a dust storm in North Carolina before,” Mary said suddenly, almost belligerently.

The man turned his eyes on her, and smiled.

“And for that matter,” Mary continued, “I don’t remember there ever being a cabin down here.”

There came a loud banging, which made Mary gasp: it sounded like something living was being ripped away from the roof.

“Don’t you think—?” Adam began.

The man waved a hand in dismissal. “Nothing can be done, now. Come, have some hot tea.” He was already drawing water into a pot and laying out utensils and cups on the table.

The two girls had risen; Cindy padded over to Adam and tugged at his sleeve.

Her voice was small: “Daddy, are we going to slide away like the car?”

Adam was about to answer when Mary spoke up. She had wandered to the picture window, and was staring out through the swirling dust to the top of the valley where the road had been.

“Why hasn’t the wall of dust come down on us?” she said, in a careful, even voice.

There was sudden silence in the room.

“Come, don’t be bothered with that,” the man said after a moment. He put his hand out to Mary, seeking to