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THE
EVERLASTING
WINTER
By Seth Lesondak
A road stretches for miles
Always in winter
Snow fills the surroundings
Thickly, quickly falling
A figure waits in shadow
Hidden by the snow
And a heavy overcoat
He is unseen but for the closest observer
Of the night
I walk slowly, with heavy but muffled steps. The snow is thick, illuminated strangely by the orange streetlights. My hands are cold but I ignore them. I wait and wait some more. Maybe the night will not yield, but I still must see, for I am still hungry, my energy low.
The snow thickens with my approval. The thicker, the better, for the snow is my cover, and without it I am much to visible. The night is almost spent, though my senses tell me that my wait will end before the sun raises.
* * * * * * * *
The couple were tired, worn out from their spring break in New York. The flood of relatives and celebration had been exhausting. Mary dozed quietly in the passenger seat, while her husband, Lenny, drove into the night his eyes drooping lower with every passing minute. The radio softly played Thelonius Monk. Lenny’s vision was beginning to blur from fatigue. The radio was softly lulling him to sleep, pulling him away from the road. He began to lose control, his senses dulling. And then all Lenny saw were drifting clouds on a sunny summer day.
* * * * * * * *
Finally, my wait is over. The helpless victim is gliding through the snow drifts. The snow is powdery and very cold, so it does not inhibit his progress. The cars exhaust pipe is melting a stream of snow into water, which instantly freezes, leaving little ice puddles behind it. It is but fifty yard away from me and closing. I stand up and hold out my thumb in a standard hitchhiking signal. Their time is up.
* * * * * * * *
Mary awoke to the sound of static on the radio. Her husband looked dazed, bleary eyed and confused. As she looked out the darkened window, Mary saw why. They had stumbled into a winter wonderland, which was rather odd considering that it was springtime. The snow was swirling viciously, shooting out of the dark at the car windows. The car was moving slowly, obviously through a snow drift. Though confused, Lenny drives on.
“What’s going on?” Mary asked. Her husband glanced at her.
“No idea,” Lenny replied. “I think I fell asleep at the wheel, and then I woke up to this.” He glanced out the window. “Thank god we weren’t killed is all I can say. I have no idea where we are though. Or why its snowing in may.” They both continued to stare out the window. Orange street lights were lighting their path, though mostly they just give an aura of orange to the snow. And then a shadow appeared among the haze, blurry, outlined in a mass of falling orange snow.
“What’s that?” Mary asked, leaning forward. The figure grew clearer. It was a man, tall and burly, hidden by a large overcoat, wool pants, giant boots, gloves, and a scarf and hat that obscured all but his eyes. His was still mostly in shadow, but obviously holding out his thumb.
“He’s a hitchhiker,” Lenny replied his voice strained with confusion, “but what’s he doing out here?”
“No idea. Pull over though. The poor guy must be freezing.” Lenny pulled the car to a stop in front of the man.
* * * * * * * *
The prey are hooked. Now all I must do is lure them in. The car pulls to a stop in front of me. They role their window down, but I ignore it and step into the back.
“Take to Hemmingway. Its about 6 miles north of here.” I try to make my voice as humane as possible. I do not want to worry them yet. Not until the car is moving.
And then the man says to me, “Sure thing. We kind of stumbled across this place by accident. Where are we exactly?”
“We are very close,” I reply softly. He does not press me.
* * * * * * * *
The hitchhiker was beginning to make Lenny nervous. His eyes would flicker back in forth. Even though the car interior was warm, the man would not take off his coat. He never talked. Sometimes, when he glanced in the rear view mirror Lenny would have sworn that the man was leaning toward him, like a beggar asking for spare change. Something smelled odd as well. Like cinnamon sort of, or nutmeg. It was making Lenny worry.
* * * * * * * *
Now is my time. The man is getting suspicious, worried. I cannot let it continue. I watch the mirror, waiting for a slot of time where his eyes are not on me. And then it is time. I lean forward, pulling the knife from beneath my coat. I shove the knife quickly into his back, clamping my hand over his mouth. The hand is not necessary. His death is to quick to allow for a scream. I glance at the woman. She is still asleep. I will deal with her a little later. Quietly, I move the body to the back seat and take the wheel. I swerve the car around. My senses tell me that I am only three miles away from the church. Knowing that it is no longer necessary for me to hide myself, I unwrap my scarf and pull of my hat. Then I turn my attention to the road.
* * * * * * * *
Mary woke up from her second nap of the night with her head lulling toward the window. The snow was still falling thickly, making it hard to see out. With a groan, she turned her head toward Lenny. But Lenny was not there. Instead, the grinning head of a snowman turned to face her. He was made of snow, but with bits of facial flesh hanging off of his head. He had eyes like a humans. They were piercing her. She tried to scream, but a snowy hand clamped over her mouth. The snowman produced a chunk of snow from nowhere and stuffed it into her mouth. Then he took some more and shoved it into her nose. She tried to gasp but instead inhaled snow. She was choking, flailing her arm. Again she tried to scream but it only made the situation worse. She was losing her sight, her eyes were dimming. She struggled some more but the snowman was pinning her arms to the seat. She remembered a time when she was a child that she had tried to swallow a spoonful of cinnamon. It had stuck to her throat and made it hard to breath. This was a million times worse. And then all she could see were shapes. Then she jerked and lay still.
* * * * * * * *
I lay the bodies down in the church. Its door is ripped of its hinges and a gaping hole in the wall behind the alter reveals a junkyard of cars, mostly covered in snow. I am hungry so I go to select a body. The new ones must mature for at least a month before they are ready for eating. After I am done, I look toward the horizon. The sun is just starting to rise. My timing is perfect. I lay down down below a pew and melt into state of sleep.
Seth Lesondak