The PickAx House

(Part One) The Woodland Family

(Part One)

The Woodland Family

"Big things have small beginnings, like footprints in the snow."

A scream, a scream came from the distance. A woman's scream. Looking up at the full moon, he seen his breath. The wind screaming at him. Threatening him. So many questions... Was that a scream or was that the wind? How did I get down here? Am I awake or am I asleep? He looked back towards the house. A blood curdling scream cut through the night. He turned back around to see footprints directly in front of him, leading out into the nothingness. He could not see five feet in front of him. He knew they had to lead out into the woods. The screaming continued! It sounded like someone's getting murdered he thought. I have got to help them! He looked down at the pickaxe in his hands, gripping it tighter. He looked back up at the nothingness, towards the thing that was so terrifying, it would make you scream.

(Chapter 1)

Footprints in the Snow

Day 1. 1986. Denver, Colorado. 5 A.M., Tim Woodland was awakened by a strange noise in the attic. Thump, thump, thump. What was that noise? He recalled to himself that this wasn't the first time he had heard it. Sounds like footsteps, but it can't be, because the attic is locked. Thinking, I locked it myself. Suddenly his attention was drawn to the delicious aroma coming up the stairs. Mr. Woodland climbed out of bed, slipping on his old, dusty boots and coveralls. As he stood up, he was reminded of an old familiar pain in his back from working so many years on the farm. He had lived there all his life. He looked young and strong for his age at 56. He had no more help than his wife Mary, 54, and his eldest, living daughter Abigail. She, Abigail, had been widowed at 32. The family had recently hired a new maid earlier that season, Ms. Dolores King. Hired to help around the house and farm before the snow fell. They needed the help because of the sheer size of the farm itself. The farm sat on about 500 acres; it was so vast you could get lost if you weren't familiar with the grounds. It being far enough from the nearest town and surrounding neighbors; Tim always had to take an extra gas can in the winter to make the trip to town and back. The farm consisted of livestock such as: horses, cattle, pigs, chickens and all the other animals you would usually find on a farm. Around this time every year the snow would start to fall, and already it was starting to get deep. It had closed off all the major roads in and out of town.The worst was yet to come, which could make any family feel isolated. Even a family as reclusive as the Woodlands. Such isolation could drive anyone mad; the town folk had a name for it, "stir crazy," more commonly known as cabin fever. Tim knew this year he had his work cut out for him!
He headed downstairs to the noise of Mary and his two grandchildren cooking breakfast, Joseph who was 2 and Susan 7. He seated himself at the head of the table. Susan brought him a cup of hot coffee and the weekly newspaper, The Denver Tribune. The only paper worthy of his reading time, as everyone knew, because it posted the weekly livestock auctions that he visited often. As she sat down the coffee and paper, on the table in front of him where Mary had laid, was a huge breakfast consisting of eggs, bacon, and Susan's personal favorite, blueberry pancakes with whipped cream on top. She pulled up her chair next to his, "Ready to eat this morning, Papa?" He noticed her innocent smile that only a child could have, so warm and inviting. He could tell she was excited to go out and play in the snow today. "I'm sorry baby girl, I can't stay and eat breakfast this morning," he said kissing her head. "I must get an early start on everything, because the snow fell pretty heavy last night. I need to check on all the fences to make sure nothing is damaged. But how about we make a snowman when I get done this evening?" He said with a wink of the eye. "Pinky promise Papa?" "Pinky promise!" "At least take your cup of coffee with you," Mary said. A distinct sound of concern in her voice. "I don't want you catching a cold. I already sent Dolores out to start milking the cows this morning. After breakfast, Abby is going to take the Jeep into town to pick up some last-minute supplies and rations before the storm gets any worse. Would you like her to pick up anything from the hardware store?" "Yes" Tim answered. "Have her pick up a pickaxe, I seem to have misplaced mine."
2.
Tim opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. An immediate breeze rushed past and through him! Not even the hot coffee he was drinking, or the warm sunshine coming over the trees could match the cold shiver he felt, cutting him to the bone. But something did warm his soul, his daughter Abby, she was getting ready to leave. Stopping she said "Daddy, make sure you're careful today. The storm is getting pretty bad." He immediately smiled, "You need to be the one bundling up. Just make sure you're back before dark, the temperatures are getting pretty low tonight! You wouldn't make it two miles in this weather at night before freezing to death!" "Awe daddy, you always worry too much."
3.
He made his way into the barn where the animals were, all the horses on one side, all nestled away in their stalls with hay to stay warm. The cows on the other for being milked. He walked through the enormous barn, built to house hundreds of animals to stay warm through winter. He passed Ms. Dolores milking a cow. "Good morning Ms. Dolores, how is your day going..." While thinking how lucky they were to have someone so caring, kind, and understanding. Hard working as she had been. Needless to say, they were grateful for her. "Is there anything you need?" "No Mr. Woodland," she replied. "Thank you for asking. Almost done here, only a few more and I can move on." "Okay, but watch the new bull we bought last auction, I haven't had a chance to tame him yet." Dolores thought to herself, yeah, he's just stubborn like you. She laughed inside and said, "I will, thank you for the concern, but I grew up on a farm. And I know how cheap you are," she joked, "and the cheaper the wilder." They both laughed.
4.
Mr. Woodland saddled up Sadie, his favorite Clydesdale. She was thick, well sized and sure footed. definitely his strongest horse. He depended on the horse he used to plow the fields. So, he hopped up on her. Assuring her as she assured him, as if an unspoken promise to take care of each other was understood between them.
Now opening the barn door, just moments ago, seemed safe and secure was so different, so strange. This storm had changed everything in such a short time. Outside, it felt so unfamiliar to him, but into the storm he must go, for such responsibilities were his. Yet a strange thought, no, an instinct, kept swirling around his head. Ms. Dolores seemed out of sorts so to speak. As if she was just going through the motions of the day, but something was amiss. He had noticed this lately. He could not put his finger on it, but something was off. She seemed, seemed, almost afraid. No maybe it is just the storm, giving her a feeling of unease. That's it! We can all relate to that he told himself.
As he trotted down the fence line checking on everything, his horse began to act funny. Huffing, blowing and turning circles on him, as if not sure where to go. "Whoa!" he said, "Calm down, calm down." Suddenly a blast of air blew by him, howling, and with it an old familiar smell. A smell you could never forget that he had acquired from working on the farm for so many years. A smell you wish you could forget, the smell of death. It was pungent and putrid. As Sadie reared up and threw him off unexpectedly, she ran off into the storm. He thought to himself, what the hell was that all about? Sadie has never done that before! He stood up and brushed off the snow. The smell rushed by him once again. "Fuck, another animal must be dead. Probably killed by coyotes, must have got out last night." This was not the first time it had happened, and it was pretty common in the area, but lately it had occurred more and more often. He began to look around trying to decipher where the smell was coming from. He noticed it was stronger coming from the woods.
Feeling obligated to check out the smell and see if indeed it was one of his animals, he started walking towards the tree line. He was familiar with this area from hunting in the past. He began walking through the woods and as he walked, he felt as if the smell was getting stronger and stronger. Equal was the strangest feeling of dread in his stomach. He then realized he had not brought a weapon with him. What if the predator was still out there feeding on its prey? What if I unassumingly walked up on a pack of coyotes unarmed, unaware and unprepared? What would I do? He thought. But by this time, he was getting closer and closer to it. The smell grew stronger and stronger until he reached a point that he could not recognize, he could not recall. Suddenly the smell disappeared as if it had never been there. As if it was just in his head, but that could not be, he thought in a state of confusion. He came to the realization he had to pull himself together and tell himself, I am not lost, I am not delusional. He told himself that he is only overwhelmed by the blanket of snow that was lay before him like a sea of clouds, wound so tight his feet could barely move. He felt the panic of claustrophobia setting in as his feet were gripped tight by the snow from them sinking deeper and deeper into the white sea. He felt as if the trees were getting closer and the air was getting thinner, colder. He felt as if he could not breathe. Suddenly everything went quiet, eerily quiet, as if everything were coming into focus and there was something unspoken to fear. He hit his knees, closing his eyes, placing his hands over his face. Counting to himself one, two, three, four, five. He removed his hands and opened his eyes.
5.
Directly before him were footprints in the snow. A man's boot prints, and they aren't mine, he thought. Considering how far I am in the woods; it couldn't have been anyone I know. He composed himself stood up and took a deep breath. Curious and confused, he started following them. Step by step, by step, he followed them. Realizing the footprints in front of him seemed to be fresher than the ones left behind him. He started feeling as if the storm or his mind is playing tricks on him. Step, by step, by step. Think Tim there must be a rational explanation for this. He started running through scenarios in his head. This couldn't be Susan's footprints they are too large; Abby had just gone to town and I know I just seen Dolores in the barn. Step, by step, by step. The dread builds in his gut, making him feel sick. Starting to fear the worst, it began to turn into a deep dark despair as if a darkness were growing in him. Deriving from the fear that was rising and rising and rising. Until he could feel it in his throat and his heartbeat, beat, beat. It could not be Mary she was in the house watching the grandchildren. Step by step, by step, beat by beat by beat, his chest grew heavy. His heart raced. Suddenly, as if time had passed in slow motion, he realized he had lost track of how long he had been following them. He looked up terrified, realizing the steps lead straight to the back door of his house... suddenly a scream came from the distance!