My area often doesn’t get a lot of snow during the Winter months. It’s a small Town barely mentioned on any major maps of the country. Yet for whatever reason we do get snow randomly during any type of season for some ungodly reason, it’s like the Earth suddenly decides to slam us with a few thousand pounds of snow all at once.
Being a small town where everyone knows each other, goes to the same school, and works at the same totalitarian overlord supermarket or factory, it’s a good thing everyone is so close to each other, otherwise someone could die with how fast the temperature drops in the winter.
Suffice to say, it’s miserable during the brief random periods we get actual snow, usually my dad, if he remembers enough, has my brother help him collect firewood from the forest in the backyard.
Of course even with the tons of snow burying everything usually, the Teachers still want everyone to go outside and nearly freeze to death getting to the bus stop, usually my parents have to fight tooth and nail for them to shut down school.
This time though today my parents relented after the principal explained how my brothers grades were failing, and that was enough to convince my dad to drive him over. I had to stay home due to a massive cold and my mother didn’t want anyone else to get sick at school already dealing with the shitty weather.
My parents said to me since it wasn’t snowing that bad yet, they would be going to the store to grab us some emergency food in case the power did actually go out.
And let me tell you about that “store” - it’s the tiniest store you could possibly imagine. I’m not kidding; you walk in, take 20 steps, and you’re pretty much at the back wall where they keep the canned beans and dusty old bags of chips. The ceiling is so low that even I have to hunch down a bit, and I’m not exactly a giant.
It’s the kind of place where you bump into Mrs. Jensen from down the street every time you go, and she insists on talking about her day for a good 20 minutes.
Anyway, my parents bundled up into their winter clothing, promised they’d be back before I knew it, and headed out into the gathering snow to their car. The wind had picked up a bit, but the snowfall wasn’t too bad at that point.
A couple of hours passed, and I was starting to get that nagging feeling in my gut as I was watching TV. You know the one that tells you something’s just not right? I tried to shake it off, blaming it on my fever and the general creepiness of the snowstorm. But then, my phone rang.
I glanced at the caller ID, and it was Mr. Thompson, our grumpy old neighbor. My dad used to tell me he was a war veteran of some kind and spent most of his free time either yelling at the neighborhood kids throwing baseballs in his lawn, visiting his wife’s grave, or watching TV.
He’s a miserable guy but he’s also one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet once you get to know him. He rarely ever called, and I figured he must’ve needed something important. With a sigh, I answered, mentally preparing myself for whatever he was going to complain about this time.
“Sam,” his raspy voice crackled over the line, “I need a hand with something. Are you interested?”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unusual request. This was usually the part where he’d talk about his war days and ramble on about them for twenty minutes.
“Sure, Mr. Thompson, what do you need help with?” I responded while scratching my nose.
He explained that his house could use a good cleaning, and he was willing to pay me 20 bucks for my trouble. Now, I might’ve been feeling under the weather, but I wasn’t about to pass up 20 bucks for a bit of cleaning. Plus, it might be a welcome distraction from the worry gnawing at the back of my mind. My parents still weren’t back yet.
“Alright, Mr. Thompson, I’ll be right over,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite my unease.
“Good lad. Just make sure to bundle up. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here,” he grumbled before hanging up the phone.
I agreed, pulling on my warmest clothes and trudging through the barely an inch high snow to Mr. Thompson’s house. His house was only about thirty feet away from mine, but the short walk felt like an eternity in that already biting cold, the temperature was dropping and it was dropping fast.
To explain the situation with the street our houses are on, the area has very few houses with people in it. it’s my mom and dad’s house, someone I’ve never met staying in one house usually blasting his music throughout the neighborhood, or empty/abandoned houses. Mostly everyone lives closer to the Supermarket and it takes an extra ten minutes for us to drive to it down to the actual town center.
Mr. Thompson’s been staying near the house we live in for over ten years, even as everyone moved to be closer to the store and other markets we have near the hospital, shopping area, and sheriff’s department.
I finally reached Mr. Thompson’s front porch, and as I knocked on the door, it swung open almost immediately, revealing Mr. Thompson himself. He was a tall, wiry man with a permanent scowl etched onto his weathered face. His silver hair was a bit unruly, and he had piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. As if testing you in some way, like he was sizing you up.
“About time,” he muttered, stepping aside to let me in. I could already feel the warmth emanating from the house, a welcome relief from the icy air outside.
As I stepped into his cozy living room, I couldn’t help but notice once again the countless trinkets and memorabilia scattered around the place. Military medals hung on the wall, and old photographs from his war were arranged in frames on the fireplace mantel. It was like stepping into a time capsule of his life. It was the one reason why I always sort of liked coming over, even if Thompson was a miserable bastard on some occasions towards my Mom.
“So, you’re here to help me clean, huh?” Thompson said, raising an eyebrow at me while looking around at his furniture. “Not the most exciting job, I’ll admit.”
I chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease now that I was out of the cold. “Well, 20 bucks is 20 bucks.”
Mr. Thompson smiled then handed me a worn-out mop and a bucket. “Alright then, lad, let’s get to work. Kitchen’s that way.”
I nodded and set to work, mopping the kitchen floor while he dusted the shelves. It was strange being in his house. Usually, my dad would be prying me away from helping him, but today he was nowhere to be found.
“Come on, put your back into it Sammy. In the army they’d work us like total dogs and make us clean the shitter afterwards.”
My knees were starting to ache near the middle of the cleaning and we weren’t even halfway done yet according to him, but I persisted on.
In the middle of Mr. Thompson getting more cleaning supplies out of the bathroom upstairs which took him a while to get up into in the first place, I went to the nearby window in the living room and looked out into the snow.
It was hard to see outside with how much it was snowing, but it was overflowing with snow as the wind was picking up, shaking the shutters of the house as the wind hit the house. I saw something that caught my eye though as I looked out into the blinds.
At the end of the street on the corner, there were five people shuffling around in the snow. This wouldn’t be outrageous in say a normal storm but this was beginning to get into a full on blizzard and it was strange to see people walking around and not in their hot cars.
Their movements were…. bizarre. It’s like they were taking very slow and not at all fast steps through the cold snow across from my viewpoint. They didn’t look in my direction at all even though I think I was clearly visible just standing there. You figure they’d be trying to get to the warmest areas possible like a house, but they just walked by Mr. Thompson’s house, slowly disappearing into the mist.
Mr. Thompson came down eventually and after he took a quick break from walking we went back to cleaning. In the middle of cleaning, Mr. Thompson looked over at me with a confused expression on his face and asked me something.
“Where’s your family?” Mr. Thompson asked, breaking the silence. “Your dad would usually be bugging you to come shovel his driveway by now.” While pointing his thumb back at the door and dusting off a photo of him and his wife.
I paused, not quite sure how to respond myself honestly. “They went to the store,” I finally said. “But they haven’t come back yet.”
He grunted, a furrow forming on his brow. “The storm’s picking up out there. Shouldn’t be out in this mess.” As he looked at the analog clock near his TV, the time read three PM and they left over seven hours ago. They all had off work due to the weather suddenly shifting.
“I know,” I replied, my worry resurfacing. “I’m starting to get bothered by it a little.”
Mr. Thompson studied me for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “They’ll be fine, Sam. Probably just stuck at the store or taking their time. You know how it is with young people, no offense.”
We worked in silence for a while after that conversation, cleaning up his cluttered living room. After what felt like an eternity of scrubbing and dusting, he finally called for a break. We settled down on his old, worn-out couch, exhaustion beginning to set in for the both of us as he handed me my twenty dollars. But I was less concerned now about the money and more concerned as to where the hell my parents were.
As soon as we sat down, the power went out.
Thompson shook his head, a grim look on his face. “I’ve been through my fair share of storms, but this… this is something else. Nature’s angry at us it seems.” I stole a glance at Mr. Thompson, who was lost in thought with a worried look on his face as he stared at the blank TV screen. After a moment, he turned to me.
“You’re not going back out there, Sam,” he said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re helping me for money or not. This storm is getting worse by the minute, and I’m not letting you risk your life in this mess walking back to your house. So, you better get comfortable here in the living room. We can keep an eye on the news and wait it out.”
I wanted to argue, to insist that I should go home and make sure my family was okay. But as I looked out the window again and saw the snow whipping around in a frenzy, I knew he was right. This storm was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and Mr. Thompson’s concern was genuine for once.
Just as I was resigning myself to the possible fate of having to listen to his war stories to pass the time, Mr. Thompson surprised me. He picked up his phone and started dialing, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He put the phone to his ear and spoke in a hushed tone, asking two people to come over from what I could hear.
A short while later, the doorbell rang, and Mr. Thompson opened it to reveal a couple of his war buddies. They greeted each other with hearty handshakes and a few shared jokes before Mr. Thompson explained the situation. It turned out that he had called them over to help keep an eye on me and the situation outside.
“Sam, meet Jack and Mike,” he said, introducing me to his war buddies. “They’re gonna help me make sure you’re safe until this storm blows over.”
I was taken aback by the gesture. These were tough, no-nonsense guys, Veterans who had seen their fair share of challenges. Mike was a taller guy than the both of them, myself included. but he was noticeably more quiet. And Jack was more your standard aloof old southern hick who spoke in a funny accent like Mr. Thompson occasionally did while arguing with someone.
And here they were, willing to watch over a worried teenager stuck in their midst. As if sensing my unease, Jack clapped me on the back with a friendly grin. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ve been through worse than a snowstorm. We’ll keep you company while your Daddy and ma are out.”
Mr. Thompson and Mike got busy closing all the windows and even wedged a towel at the bottom of the front door to keep the heat from escaping. They were taking this seriously, as if they were preparing for a battle of some kind.
And then the old man went over to the phone as the other two were talking amongst themselves, He picked up the phone again and dialed a number. I realized he was calling the store where my parents were supposed to be after he identified a cashier my Mom always talks to by name.
“Yeah, hey Martha. this is Robert Thompson,” he said in his no-nonsense tone. “I’ve got a young neighbor here, Sam, and his parents are at your store. Can you confirm if they’re okay?”
I watched Mr. Thompson’s face go from focused to pale, his expression slowly morphing into one of shock and disbelief. Jack and Mike looked over at him in silent confusion as he spoke more to the person on the other end.
“What do you mean they never walked into the store?” Mr. Thompson demanded to know, his voice cracking with concern. “They left his house hours ago. There’s no way they could’ve gotten lost in this town.”
The tension in the room was palpable as Mr. Thompson listened to the voice on the other end of the line. I could practically feel the worry radiating off him in waves. And then, his expression turned even more confused as he heard the response.”
“Martha, you’re saying there’s a bunch of people just standing outside the store? Not moving? In this freezing weather? Do you know how fucking cold-“
Thompson paused, as if the other person was chewing him out. I cracked a grin out of a habit of seeing him out of his element and pushed to curse.
“Martha, I get it. You’re not seeing things, didja try asking them what’s wrong or why they’re just standing there?”
Mr. Thompson sighed as the voice started up again, barely audible from the receiver.
“Look if they’re not going to buy anything and just standing there call the police, I don’t know what else you want me to say-“
Mr. Thompson took his ear from the old fashioned phone, and spoke a few more times “Hello? Martha?”
the line went dead all of a sudden, as did the power only moments later. Thrusting the room into an immediate chill besides the burning fireplace.”
The tension in the room was intense as we all waited for him to hang up the phone. When he finally did, he turned to us, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“They’re… they’re outside the store,” he stammered, struggling to find the words. “A group of them, just standing there in the cold. Not moving. Martha said they look sick or something, like they’re in some kind of trance but she couldn’t get a good look at them. Then the line dropped.”
My smile dropped from my face and my mind blurred for a minute as I processed the information. What could cause people to stand outside in the freezing cold like that? It wasn’t like today was a black Friday sale and everyone was lining up, especially not in nearly sub zero temperatures.
“What are we going to do?” I finally managed to ask, my voice was barely a whisper.
Jack exchanged a serious look with Mr. Thompson and Mike, the weight of the situation evident on their faces. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, and his posture steadied.
“I’m going to call the cops,” he said firmly, his fingers dialing the number with practiced ease. “..Maybe they can send someone to figure out what’s going on at the supermarket. Get them help if something’s going on, maybe she can’t hear them and they’re having an emergency?”
I nodded, grateful that at least someone was taking action. As Jack talked to the person on the other end, I thought about my little brother, probably still at school. Was he safe? I hoped that the school had taken precautions to keep the kids inside, away from whatever was happening out here.
While Jack was on the phone, Mike spoke up. “I’m going to go get my gun from upstairs. Left it here yesterday after we went hunting. Just in case.”
As Mike disappeared upstairs, Jack finished his quick call and turned to us. “I bribed one of my cop buddies with a promise of a few beers to come over and keep an eye on things. He said he’ll head here as soon as he can. They’re getting a lot of calls right now for whatever reason.”
Mr. Thompson nodded, his eyes fixed on the window as if expecting something to materialize out of the storm, before going down into his basement and getting a box of something I didn’t recognize a few moments later.
They were these old looking radio equipment, most of them looked broken or the metal was rusted on the system itself.
Thompson threw the useless looking ones out of the way and grabbed this old phone looking device.
“What’s that?” I inquired as I stood next to the fireplace, trying to get myself warm as possible in the cold air.
“It’s basically a shortwave radio system that people don’t use much nowadays thanks to them mobile phones. I’ve got one of them here and I gave another one to my friend who lives next to the Supermarket a bit up the road.”
Thompson pushed the push to talk button and tried broadcasting over the interface the storm was causing.”
“Daley boy, are you out there? Pick up. It’s getting really bad out here.”
Nothing. No response for thirty seconds.
“Dale? Are you there? I told you multiple times that you should always-“
A voice gruffed over at the receiver, it sounded pissed.
“I’m here, what is it Thompson? I’m building something right now in my garage.”
“Oh thank God, listen Dale the storm’s getting really bad in our area. Can you check on Martha at the market? There’s a bunch of people just hawking over her not going into the store. We need you and your trailer to get us that generator you were talking about a few days ago also. Our power got knocked out.” Thompson finished.
“Yeah, yeah I’ll look outside and-“
Static. Static was the only thing we could hear on the other end that came out in a hellfull instant.
“Dale? Are you there? What’s wrong?”
“Sorry I busted my damn radio after dropping it accidentally. But I can see the store from my House.”
“And?”
“Well I can see the police are over there and they’re……”
“Oh my God…”
“What? What do you see?” Thompson demanded to know.
“They’re shooting them. The police are shooting at the people outside the store.”
Thompson looked at us with an angry expression on his face, thinking Dale was pulling a prank on us.
“What do you mean the police are shooting them?”
“I mean they’re shooting them, Robert! I can see them unloading on them right now and-“
“Hold on…. something’s coming this way-“
“Dale? Dale, what is it? What do you mean Dale?”
The line went dead for a final time.
Jack’s face had gone pale, and I noticed sweat beads forming on his forehead. His phone suddenly started ringing at that moment, the shrill sound slicing through the silent atmosphere. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen for a moment before answering, his hands visibly shaking.
“Hello?”
He put the call on speakerphone, and the voice of his cop friend he mentioned earlier crackled through the speaker.
“Jack, I’m on my way. Should be there in about ten minutes. Just hold tight, okay?”
But before anyone could respond, a noise erupted from the other end of the line. It was a guttural, unnatural sound, like a distorted scream mixed with glass gently cracking.
“Jack, I’m on my way. Should be there in about ten minutes. Just hold tight, okay?”
“Jack, Hold tight.”
“Jack, I’m on my way.”
“Jack.”
“Ja…ck…”
“Jaaaaaaaaaaack…”
It kept repeating his name over and over again, it was like a creature that didn’t understand Human language mimicking what it thinks a human should sound like. there was an icy flare to its voice, like it was creaking with every single motion it did over the phone.
Mike grabbed the phone out of Jack’s hands and hung up as Jack stood there frozen in place with a horrified expression on his face, with Mr. Thompson racing to his big gun safe in the corner to try and unlock it.
There was another ring yet nobody dared to pick it up. To even entertain the thought of interacting with whatever that thing is.
“You have one missed call from Lt. Bradley.”
“You have two missed calls from Lt. Bradley.”
Mike turned off the phone himself, cutting off the calls from whatever that….thing was.
The room was heavy with tension, the unsettling silence broken only by the sound of our own breathing. Mr. Thompson’s furrowed brow was evidence of his growing unease.
“Something is very wrong here,” Thompson finally said, his voice low and intentionally quiet. “We need to get upstairs. It might be safer and hotter than staying on the ground floor.”
Mike’s face paled, his eyes darting towards the front door as if considering his options. “I can’t. I need to check on my boy back at home. Make sure he’s okay.”
Mr. Thompson’s expression hardened. “Mike, it’s not safe out there.” His southern accent came through as he took a step towards him.” You heard that broadcast. You heard that call. We need to stick together and stay put.”
Mike’s hands clenched into fists, his desperation evident. “I can’t just abandon my son, Robert. I need to make sure he’s alright. He’s only eleven years old!”
“Mike, we can’t risk it,” Mr. Thompson’s voice was stern, his gaze unwavering as the two men were bickering heavily now, nearly yelling at each other.
“I ain’t askin’ you to be the hero again or anything,” Mike fired back, the tension in the room getting thicker. “I just need to be sure my boy’s safe.”
While those two kept on arguing, I looked at Jack as the tension was flaring in the room. He caught my eye and motioned toward the stairs while the others were full blown shouting at each other.
“Let’s go upstairs, Sam,” Jack said, his voice lower and more calming. “They’ll figure things out eventually.”
I nodded, glad for the chance to get away from all the yelling. We made our way up the stairs, and Jack led me to a guest bedroom room at the end of the hallway. He closed the door behind us, like he was shutting out the craziness downstairs.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying to sound calm even as the sweat from his forehead was dripping down his brow. “They’re just having a heated moment like those two always do. It’ll blow over soon kiddo-“
Then out of nowhere, there’s a loud crash, glass breaking and panicked shouting followed by what sounded like Mr. Thompson screaming and a gun being fired again and again.
“What’s happening down there? What’s going on?!” I said to Jack as the noises were still violently going on downstairs with the sounds of a struggle echoing throughout the house.
Before Jack could even respond, there’s this awful choking sound coming from downstairs, like someone’s struggling to breathe. I’m frozen in place, and we both turn towards the closed door as we hear more and more steps in the living room.
Then a large icy shattering could be heard, I don’t know how to describe it. It was like if you smashed glass or ice with a hammer and the chunks exploded everywhere across concrete.
Then, nothing. Just shuffling noises were the only thing we heard. There was at least five sets of footsteps walking around downstairs in a slow and methodical way seemingly in random directions, like they were looking for something.
“Sam,” Jack turned to me and looked right into my eyes as he spoke, gripping my shoulder so hard it still hurts. “I need you to listen carefully. Take this.” He handed me his gun, it’s a big Pistol of some kind. I think it’s a revolver. his fingers were lingering on mine for a moment as he stared into my eyes.
“I’m going to go out there and see what’s going on. But I need you to promise me something – no matter what you hear, no matter what happens, do not open this door. Understand?”
My heart was practically beating out of my chest at this point, I nodded as the saliva was filling my mouth before I gulped, gripping the gun tightly in my hand. “I promise.”
The entire house was quiet, aside from the sound of crinkling glass every few seconds and wind blowing in from downstairs. Jack slowly opened the bedroom door and stepped out, and I quickly locked it behind him.
I heard him moving down the old stairwell, each wooden step was creaking loudly as he headed down slowly. A voice soon came from downstairs, Jack’s voice.
“My God, Bradley? Is that you?” I heard Jack say from the bottom of the staircase as I put my ear against the wooden doorframe, straining to hear any more noises or voices.
I could hear glass crinkling downstairs and slow shuffling, straight towards the staircase.
“Bradley, what the fuck is wrong with you?! What’s that all over your face-“
I heard Jack scream loudly as there was more glass cracking downstairs and another crash. there were at least six more pairs of footsteps that were running up the stairs as I heard Jack yelling. He was pounding at the bedroom door, begging me to let him back in as I heard this sickening freezing noise coming from the door as his cries slowly died out.
Then nothing.
Nothing but the sound of the wind slowly coming from downstairs.
The only sound I heard after five minutes was the noise of something hard and solid slamming against the door and something slowly trying to open the door through with the door knob.
It’s been over an hour now and I don’t know what to do. I think the bedroom door can hold against whatever’s trying to get in, I’m hoping.
If anyone is in the area please, help me. The Police aren’t picking up and nobody’s answering me when I call them, all the phones are down in the area.
It’s getting so cold now. I can hear the wind rushing into the house from the downstairs window, the house is freezing…
I hope it warms up soon.