Bruce Memblatt
Snowbound
You could hear the breath of the wind everywhere like the snow. Merciless white mile after mile fading into the immeasurable distance surrounded the solitary cabin in the white nowhere. The path leading to the cabin was carpeted and guarded contemptuously like everywhere the eye could see with a layer of snow that almost made it vanish. A frozen branch jittered against the door bending like a knife in the unforgiving wind. James threw another log on the pile and listened to the crackle of the fire. As the flames shot the wind shadowed the fire’s leap with a howl like a thousand wolves. He’d need more kindling, but there was enough to get him through the night, “ if not I can always throw Jasper on the fire”, he grinned at the dog sleeping against the door. Jasper’s eyes opened ever so slightly and James could have sworn the husky old German shepherd smiled. James Morton was where he had to be. Away from the noise and the world and the pages and pages of words he’d have to memorize when he returned to civilization. Now this frozen place was home. He was a rugged pioneer in a rustic cabin in the woods alone with his dog and the fire and his imagination and, of course, the TV. “Ain’t nowhere in the world without a TV right, Jasper?” The old dogs tail wagged against the door.
The strange dichotomy of his life; he became an actor when he fiercely detested the spotlight and all its trappings. By every account James should have been a writer, or a painter or just about anything that would have left him surrounded in the solitude he craved, expansive as the great white outdoors. He didn’t like to talk to people much; he was content to be alone with his thoughts and his books even as a child. But he joined a drama club when he was sixteen, something to keep his mom happy. Someone told him he was good. Strangely acting came easy so he made it a career. James managed to get paid pretending to be other people much to his surprise, and not when he thought about it, when he took to the stage he was the outgoing man the foolish world could understand. It’s not likely most people would know his name but he carved a nice niche for himself in the theatre, but now there was the fire. Another log. It was lonely outside the window not the kind of loneliness he knew. A desolate detachment howled in the wind. The defiant enormity of it sent a chill through him that felt colder than the ice and the searing wind.
The flicker of the fire illuminated the walls in the darkened cabin. James caught the reflection of the flames in Jasper’s eyes as he stepped across the room. He ran his hands along the soft burgundy and gold afghan that wrapped around the back of the couch as he approached the door. Good old Jasper would need a bit of air before bed. “Hey Jasper...” he began to call and almost as if Jasper knew what was going to follow the old dog sprang up on all fours shaking himself off, his cold nose eagerly pointing at the door. The door barely opened and Jasper was in the thick of it. As James held the door he just caught a glimpse of the sickle as it sped towards his neck. He could hear the crisp sound of the steel whiz through he air. He lunged like a bullet towards the floor, covering his head in anticipation of the blow to follow. When he cautiously peered up it was nothing more than a branch dangling in the wind. He didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry as he climbed off the floor and wiped the snow away, kicking his boots, and cursing the cold.
“Jasper,” he cried, the dog had disappeared into the night. The play he was working was by some new and important playwright who was just about as new and important as last year’s new and important playwright. He sighed while he stood in the doorway waiting for Jasper’s return. The wind and the night seared his skin. His eyes scanned the dark tableau. The shadowy trees in the distance. The only light visible was the light from the bulb hanging aloofly above the porch. Not even the moon graced the night. Suddenly he heard the sound of Jasper panting heavily. He couldn’t make him out right away but he quickly called,“ Jasper, git, here boy, “ and he heard the dog’s breath getting louder. The poor thing shook like he’d seen a ghost. “There’s nothing to worry about, old boy,” he whispered as he ran his hands through his fur. The dog seemed to calm down at his touch then he leapt through the doorway. James looked around for a moment searching the night, for what he didn’t know, and then he followed Jasper into the cabin. “Poor guy. I think we could both use a drink,” he smiled and Jasper’s tail began to wag as he parked himself down near the sofa. Did the old dog see a sickle heading for his neck too? Maybe it was a shadow. Maybe it was a wolf. Lord knows what was out there in the brutal wind. Silently he promised Jasper the next night he wouldn’t walk alone.
There was a bottle of whiskey on the counter in the kitchen waiting for James. And maybe a small swig for Jasper in his water dish. He stood and grabbed the bottle and a small glass from the cabinet above the sink. Then he sat the bottle on the coffee table by the couch and poured a glass. If he loved anyone it was long ago. A girl he met at the stage door one night after a performance of Our Town. She had a haunting name. She was called Nevreseen because her father died the day before she was born. The girl was half Cherokee. She was dark and beautiful. He’d never met anyone like her before, or since. But he loved playing the stage manager paticualry in the third act in the cemetery. What he liked most about the narrators role was the limited amount of direct interaction he’d have to have with other actors. Other actors. The thought made him squirm, but the girl. She made him feel like he didn’t want to be alone, at least some of time. There were other times she made him feel such rage. He clenched his fists. His jumbled thoughts told him the whiskey was talking .He heard the sound of the wind picking up howling like a son of a bitch then the sudden crash of a window shattering. That damn branch. Glass shot across the floor like jagged beads. The window by the door was gone. Jasper starting barking wildly knocking over the bottle and the booze ran across the floor.
After cleaning up the glass, and covering the window with a blanket James thought it was just about time to call it a night. It was going to get fucking cold in that cabin fire, or not. He’d secure the broken window in the morning. As he walked up the narrow staircase Jasper followed closely behind. The door to the bedroom was getting closer he was just a few feet away from blessed rest. Then he saw it. There was something seeping under the door. He thought it might be oil, maybe a pipe somewhere was leaking. He felt the warm promise of rest disappear as he quickly lurched the door open. Blood. Red rivers of death. Red murder like water.. Red seeping red flowing red crying dying murder. Red flooding like the end of the world. Red buckets like you’ve never seen. He jerked back and tore down the hall like lightening. He turned the corner feeling his heart brace, blood everywhere unbelievable blood. When he glanced back it was instantly gone Gone. The room appeared perfectly comfortable, warm and inviting. The bed was draped in a soft blue woolen spread, next to it the night table with the familiar small brown lamp and Jasper curled up on the floor near the bed.
Stunned and shaken James stumbled in to the room. He checked the closet. Checked under the bed. Checked everywhere, everything looked as ordinary as it could be. He began to wonder if he could be the target of an elaborate April fools joke. But it wasn’t April it was January and the whiskey was gone. Was his sweet solitude taking its toll on his mind? You reap what you sow. The third possibility; the cabin was haunted. Haunted by something cruel born from an unimaginable darkness he somehow awakened. James believed things like that could exist. A mysterious unseen world breathing just below our earthly façade waiting to grab us if we accidentally, or intentionally trespassed on its intangible border. Exhausted, cold and frustrated he finally climbed on the bed. He’d try to sleep. Sleep came quicker than he thought.
The morning brought the sun and the memory of a dream. A dream of Neverseen. Neverseen all in white floating like an angel through a fog. Serene and tall with her long black hair billowing behind her. She didn’t speak, not a word. She floated through the mist like a dream within a dream. Her lips were deep red and cold and her eyes were vacant. Silent. The dream was silent as a grave. James fumbled out of bed stretching his arms in a jumbled wave. He saw her cold hands reaching through the water as he held her head and then he almost stepped on Jasper’s paw as he rose. Jasper jumped up and playfully tried to knock him down as his groggy master patted him on the head. “Morning, Jasper. Breakfast soon,” he yawned to the dog. Then he stumbled across the room. It was good to see the sun through the window reflecting off the white horizon, if it weren’t for the dream and the wind and the thousand other things that made the world so strange.
Down in the basement James knew he had to have a plank of wood, or some piece of something he could use to board up the broken window. The broken window, he thought broken window, broken dreams. When was the last time he saw Neverseen. Was it a year ago? Was it two? He couldn’t recall but he knew something was wrong. Something somewhere had to be terribly wrong. He thought about the pool. He thought about her laughing. In the corner under the small window covered in snow he saw it, a piece of wood that would do the trick. Fortunate, he thought because going into town that day was out of the question. The enormous task of digging out the car, never mind the roads, thinking about the prospect was enough to make bones chill. Bones in the dream. Nerverseen walking like the dead like the silent dead. As he reached for the perfect piece of wood he felt a sudden jerk. He fell back from the force of the thud upstairs then he heard another, and another, louder, then another, louder and louder. Something stamping. Something large. Something running. He could see the floor above shake. Fuck. The light bulb on the wall dangled like it was about to fall and crack across the floor shattering into a thousand pieces. More glass. More thuds. Then in moments that are more terrifying than explosions, nothing. Nothing but an eerie silence. Jasper. He bolted for the steps. The sound of his heels as they hit the wood echoed through the basement boomeranging against the glossy gray floor like gunshots. He could feel his breath shorten as he gasped speeding to the door.
The front door swung wildly in the wind, creaking and squeaking in unrelenting rhythm inviting the cruel blast to fill the cabin with frozen air. Air so cold and penetrating every bone in James’s body winced. The flames on the fire shot and weaved vainly fighting the strong breeze as it forced through the room. The coffee table was overturned and the lamp on the table lay shattered on the floor. Jasper. He ran into the kitchen calling his name. He ran upstairs. There was no sight of the dog anywhere. The last resort the thought he didn’t want to think about was Jasper frightened and alone in the searing wind, or hurt, or worse, possibilities he couldn’t bear to contemplate. He ran outside. He saw the footprints in the snow leading towards the wood. He picked up his pace. White whizzed by. Trees whizzed by. The sun reflecting off the snow blinded his eyes. He stood at the edge of the wood calling “Jasper” Jasper!” Crying, begging “Jasper come here. Please, Jasper Come here!” Out of nowhere he felt a vibration. It was his cell phone. The one that hardly ever rang. Shit! He reached into his pocket and pulled the insipid thing out. The voice on the other end was that damn playwright. “Did you read the play yet? ”
“What? ”
“Read the play now.” And then the caller quickly hung up. The phone fell to the icy ground.
James knew from early on that there were strange and unusual things in the world .He knew there were things that could never be explained. On a summer day when he was just ten years old by the pool in camp he had a bloody vision. It was like a flash that seared across his mind. Seconds later there was a boy with his neck spilt open at the bottom of the pool. He knew something was going to happen before it happened. It was a rare occurrence for James but like everyone, inklings, sometimes he just knew. Sometimes he had to make it happen. Now standing there at the edge of the wood everything in his being told him he had to read that play. He had to read it now. He stepped off the ridge of snow by the end of the wood promising Jasper he’d quickly return, feeling like the lowest worm that ever crawled upon the earth.
He had the play tucked away in a briefcase on the dresser in the bedroom. The plan was he’d read it when he got home, but plans can unfortunately change. He thought maybe he’d pour through it one night by the fire if the snow got too bad, or if he got too bored. Its title was Snowbound, which made him chuckle when he reached the cabin and the snow began to cover the ground. He pulled the briefcase off of the dresser and placed it on the bed. Then he began to read.
James: If not I can always throw Jasper on the fire. (He grins at the dog. The dog is sleeping by the fire. )….
James: Ain’t nowhere in the world without a TV right, Jasper?( The old dogs tail wagged against the door)…..
He couldn’t believe his eyes. On the next page:
(He lunges like a bullet towards the floor covering his head in anticipation of the blow to follow.)
God dear god oh god what was happening. He turned the pages faster and faster.
James: There’s nothing to worry about, old boy. (He whispers softly running his hands through dog’s fur.)
The next page…
(He glances back. The room stands perfectly comfortable, warm and inviting. The bed is draped in a soft blue woolen spread, next to it a night table with a small brown lamp on its top. Jasper is curled up on the floor near the bed)….
The next.
(In the basement he tries to recall the last time he saw Neverseen. Was it a year ago? Was it two? He’s unable recall exactly when it was he killed her.)
when it was he killed her.
when it was he killed her.
KILLED HER
.Strange things happen strange things happen strange things happen strange things happen strange things happen strange things happen. Strange things happen on the edge of the earth there are wild screams. Strange wild screams cry in the wind on the edge of the earth and death like you’ve never seen.
It couldn’t be. He shrieked to the walls,“ I didn’t kill her!” He couldn’t have killed her
He didn’t think he killed her. Strange things happened. He could barely catch his breath. He clenched as he pulled frantically trying to push his legs against the edge of the bed but they wouldn’t budge. Frozen. Suddenly the ceiling began to crack. Then the sickle, the sickle was coming at him. It whizzed by his head. It was real. It grazed his back as he lunged out the bed. Red. The floor was drenched in red. Blood. Red rivers of death. Red murder. Red seeping red flowing red crying dying murder. Pools of red. Red flowing like the end of the world. Red buckets like you’ve never seen. His feet slipped and slid across the bloody floor as he fled. He was dying he must be dying. The steely sickle rose high and drew towards him with swing after swing after swing. The clipped whiz sent shivers through bones he didn’t know he had as the blade drew closer and closer. He fell on the floor into the blood. Into the pool of blood. He crawled fast as he could to the door. The blood was poured out of the room in waves of red. Red death seeped down the stairs. He grabbed tightly to the railing and stumbled down the stairs still slipping and sliding as the blood dripped down the steps. Wherever he looked there was blood. As he entered the living room he saw her like in the dream, Neverseen.
She swept through the room as if in a trance. He hair billowed behind her like in the dream. She turned her head and he saw her cold purple lips. In the dream her lips were red now purple purple lips like death. Purple lips in the pool Her eyes were vacant. She moved detached. He had to touch her. As he lunged towards her he tripped over the coffee table. He felt the chill of snow on his hands as they broke his fall. He looked up from the floor and his eyes couldn’t believe the sight they held. Strange things The ceiling had vanished .The sky opened in the room. Snow was falling everywhere. Cold like death everywhere. He was surely dying. He was too stunned to move. Suddenly the sickle struck hard near his feet and he lurched off the floor. Neverseen still moved through the room like a frozen doll. Snowflakes fell on her dead purple lips. The sickle swung closer. He could feel its breath crawl across his skin. He darted to the floor, but his eyes never left Neverseen. He waited on the floor for the sickle to rise. If he could just get her out of the cabin, out the door, somehow he knew. As the sickle pulled back he leapt towards Neverseen and with all his might he pushed her through the door.
Like magic, like sweet magic she came to life. The color rose in her cheeks and her lip’s blossom returned. The sun was shining more brilliantly than he’d ever seen and “Damn!” Jasper was running out of the woods towards them. Neverseen drew closer and wrapped her arms around James’ shoulders. He felt the warmth of her breath, and as he pressed his lips against hers he was engulfed in beauty like he’d never seen. He imagined it was how heaven would be if he hadn’t had to kill her.
And then the final blow...