Stupid poop-head.
It had been wrong for his mom to invite her know-it-all boss up here to ruin their Christmas. Now he might be ruining everything.
A third shot boomed outside.
Jason cracked open the bedroom door and another shot rang out, this from the front of the house.
Barnabas tried to force his way through the crack in the door.
“No, Barnabas. You need to stay here.”
Barnabas didn’t like it much, being such a good soldier and all, but that thing was too big.
Jason closed his bedroom door and rushed downstairs into the entry.
Mom had her ear pressed to the door.
“I told him he’d be sorry, the stupid jerk.”
Mom looked worried, not angry. She didn’t say anything.
“There’s more than one and he can’t kill them all. Some of them might get into the house or barn. I told him.” Jason pressed his ear to the door.
She grabbed and pulled him close, her ear still pressed against the door.
A fifth shot rang out, a sixth. Their sound echoed through the forest.
“What the hell are you?” The big poop-head sounded plenty scared.
Jason and Mom were both scared too.
Barnabas frantically barked and clawed from upstairs. He smelled those things out there. They didn’t scare him at all. Nothing could scare Barnabas.
“You want Barnabas to come downstairs?”
Mom didn’t answer.
Another shot boomed and echoed through the forest.
The poop-head pounded on the door and Jason pulled away.
She grabbed the bottom of the heavy bar, lifting.
“No, don’t.”
The pounding grew louder and Mr. Kirby shouted, “Carolyn, let me in.”
She lifted the bar.
Panic grabbed Jason and Jason grabbed the top of the bar, pushing down with all his weight. “No, Mommy. Don’t open it.”
Tears ran down Mommy's cheeks, his too, both so scared.
She looked at him, her lips moving.
He couldn’t hear her words. His heart pounded too loud.
She pushed Jason away, stood between him and the door, lifted down the bar and set it aside.
Jason rushed around her and tried to stop her. “Don’t, Mommy. Don’t.”
Barnabas barked upstairs, telling her not to do it.
She turned the latch and opened the door.
The sudden blast of cold air and fear froze Jason. He couldn’t move.
A large creature climbed the front steps on all fours, something like he’d never seen, not even at a zoo, not even on National Geographic. Its angry eyes glowed bright red, glaring at the poop-head, not at Jason or his mom. Blood oozed from two holes in its face.
The poop-head had backed into a corner on the porch. Only his rifle barrel showed, pointing at the thing. The rifle boomed. A bright light flashed from the barrel.
The creature flinched backward then leapt onto the porch, quick as a cat. It stood on its hind legs, much taller than the poop-head, taller even than John Crow.
“Father, is that you?” The poop-head didn't sound scared anymore. The rifle dropped onto the porch and the poop-head stepped over it, looking up into the creature’s eyes.
Those eyes had turned from red to blue. The creature and the poop-head knew each other. The creature's eyes quickly returned to red. It leaned forward and swiped with long, gleaming claws.
The poop-head's head flew off, thudded into the open door and dropped to the stone floor. His sad, fading eyes stared up at Jason. Dark blood oozed from his severed neck.
Jason’s mom screamed in horror at the crunching sound as the creature tore open the poop-head's chest. It lowered its head and ripped inside the chest with bared teeth.
Jason couldn't help himself. He had to watch.
The creature lifted its head and chewed something from inside the torn open chest. Still chewing and swallowing, it turned slowly toward them, blood cascading from its slack jaw.
“God, no.” Mom pushed the door but it wouldn’t close, not even with Jason helping. The poop-head's head blocked the door from closing. His staring eyes had glazed over like ice.
The creature on the porch whaled into the night. Its loud, shrieking, hyena kind of laugh hurt Jason’s ears.
They pressed against the door harder, trying to force the poop-head's head out of the way.
A low growl came from outside.
Jason and Mom flew across the living room, staring at each other, forever in flight, her eyes full of love, saying goodbye.
Jason landed on his shoulder and slid to a stop against the couch.
Mom slammed into the couch and sprawled onto the floor next to him, still looking at each other.
What did John Crow say?
Jason remembered. He jumped to his feet and blocked his mom’s head from turning, not letting her look, keeping his back toward the entry. “Don’t look, Mommy. If you don’t look into his eyes, he can’t see you.”
Jason wanted to look but didn’t. He looked instead at the glass angel on top of the Christmas tree.
Claws scraped against the stone steps behind Jason, the creature climbing down into the living room.
Lord Jesus.
Jason's voice didn’t work, only his inside voice.
Barnabas howled and clawed from upstairs.
Their new clock chimed the time and Jason found words. “Look at the glass angel, Mommy. Pray to Jesus to keep us safe.”
He prayed, "Keep us safe," again and again until the clock stopped after twelve chimes.
A cold blast swept into the room from the open front door and Jason turned slowly, looking down at the floor, not daring to look into its eyes.
It had gone.
Chapter Twenty Three
By late January, Ellen Winslow had finally convinced herself to drive all the way up to this God forsaken wilderness. Snow had been piled deep on both sides of what that handsome older man had called River Road. He seemed nice enough.
Cute too.
Olen. A nice name.
His coffee tasted good, waiting to get her gas tank filled.
She stuffed her cigarette into the ashtray, so full she could barely get it in there. She hoped it would go out, still smoking a little. She rounded a curve and saw the dead-end
