It's Not A Falling Tree

Chapter 2

A thick blanket of snow falls as Linda Kurtz looks out her window and pours a can of Pepsi into a tall glass packed with ice. She's careful as she fills her cup, adding liquid incrementally, trying to keep the beverage from fizzing up and spilling over onto her kitchen counter. When the glass is finally full, she brings it to her lips and takes a long sip. There are only six cans left in the fridge, and she isn't sure if that will be enough to last her through the blizzard.

------------------------------------------

Five miles away, Tom Cooper buttons his tan Carhartt coat up and opens his front door.

As he steps outside, he swears under his breath. He's upset that there's more snow than he was promised by the weatherman last night, and absolutely livid at the fact that he has to be outside in the middle of a goddamn blizzard. And for what?! Just so that he can stop what he is sure is a tree branch from banging into his house.

Trudging through the snow, he mutters to himself, spewing a vile list of curse words in growing agitation as he draws nearer to the source of the noise. But, just as he rounds the corner of his yard, his swearing stops.

He sees something, a horrific and twisted form, the sight of which chills him far more than the wind whipping against his face ever could. There's no time for him to react, and though he opens his mouth to scream, he's dead before he can make a sound.

------------------------------------------

Charlie, a well-fed Yorkshire terrier with a plump belly and a small bladder yips impatiently and looks up at his owner.

"Wait," Linda commands, as she heaves a shovel full of wet snow off the steps leading up to her front porch. She's trying to clear a path for Charlie so that he can relieve himself, but the snow is falling fast and it's slow work.

When she's finally moved enough snow, Charlie leaps past her, takes a few steps onto the freshly shoveled ground and begins to urinate. As he does, he reflects on how unpleasant this whole experience has been. He's not happy that he can't pee on one of his favorite trees around the house, nor is he a fan of how cold his paws are. Nonetheless, he refuses to be seen as a "bad boy," so he does his business dutifully before running back onto the porch and barking at the front door.

Once back inside, Linda dries Charlie off with a towel before removing her boots and coat and walking over to the wood burning oven in her kitchen. She stretches her numb hands over the iron stovetop and lets the heat warm them. For a brief second she considers the logistics of using a fire to get rid of excess snow piling up outside, but quickly reconsiders when she imagines the conversation she'd have to have with her husband if she accidentally burns the house down.

When her hands feel better, she bends over and picks Charlie up before sitting down at the kitchen island and putting him in her lap. This pleases Charlie, who snuggles up against her chest and closes his eyes. He's glad that his mommy understands the proper way to treat someone who has just undergone a treatment so cruel as being forced to go outside in such cold weather.

As she sits and cradles her dog, Linda looks out the window and watches the snow whip through the air. It's the worst storm she's seen in years, and definitely the worst blizzard she's had to deal with all by herself. With her husband overseas for work until the end of the month, and her daughter and grandchildren twenty miles down the mountain, it would be just her and Charlie for the next few days until the snow plows made it down the dirt road that led to her house. Usually, the thought of being alone doesn't bother her, but in the face of the storm raging outside, she can't help but wish for a second pair of hands around the house.

Freeing one arm from under Charlie and adjusting her grip so she doesn't drop him, she reaches for the half empty pack of Marlboro Reds in front of her, grabs a cigarette and puts it in her mouth before realizing she doesn't have a lighter. She looks down at the sleeping dog in her arms and sighs. It's going to be a long couple of days.

------------------------------------------

Andrew isn't sure if he's dreaming or not. He thinks he is, but he can't quite tell. Everything feels fuzzy and he's having trouble concentrating. Most of his thoughts are only half formed fragments that dissipate before they ever become whole. The only clear thing inside his head is The Voice and he can't argue with her, he doesn't know how.

He's sitting on a boulder and watching the thing eat an old man who was unlucky enough to nearly walk into it when he rounded the corner of his house. The sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing should be horrifying, but it's not. It's just happening and he's just watching. He doesn't feel any emotion about it one way or another.

When the creature is finished, it shakes a bloody piece of tan fabric from its jaws and makes a low groaning noise. Andrew gets up from his perch and grabs ahold of the rope he's tied around its neck.

Through his eyes, the Voice watches as the boy leads her chimera off toward more meat. She'd forged the monster from the fresh caracasses of a deer and bear that she found lying beneath the snow. It took a great deal of effort, but it was necessary. Soon the creature will have fed on enough humans to assume a form like that of her ancient familiar and gain the strength necessary to break her chains.