It was well below frigid in the woods, and darker than black. Omar’s breathing was ragged. His whole body ached from trying to run. The weight of the package was almost enough to drive Omar to his knees. Still, he kept walking.
Every snapping twig could be the creature. Every rustling bush sent Omar’s mind into a frenzy. Comprehensible thought was simply beyond him at the moment. The only thing that mattered was moving forward. Maybe to Saffron, maybe to another town, maybe to nothing. Standing still, though, was death.
He should drop the package. Even in his current state, Omar knew that abandoning the medicine gave him a better chance of survival. But that was his purpose for being here. People could very well die if he gave up. And the package would never be rediscovered if he left it in the woods.
The Snowstalker didn’t really exist, did it? Could it have been someone in costume? No… that didn’t make sense. It’s movements were too inhuman. It had shrugged off the bullet too easily. That screech… there was nothing else like it in the world.
Wallace and Whitney were dead. That much was obvious. Eaten, no doubt. He couldn’t stop the image from playing over and over again in his mind. That was going to happen to him, too. Nothing Omar could do would be able to stop the Snowstalker. Unless it was full. That may have been his only hope.
Omar kept walking, heading uphill. If he could find a high point, he’d be able to see the nearest down. A risky decision, but better than giving up and freezing to death.
Then Omar blinked and his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t in the woods anymore, but rather his father’s office at home. The temperature was bearable in here, as evident by the living plants in the corners. Sunlight poured in from windows on either side of the room. Omar’s father, Navid, was sitting at his desk, looking down at a document he was filling out.
“Father,” Omar found himself saying, unsure of where the words were coming from. “I got accepted into the pre-med program.”
His father replied with barely a grunt, not even looking up from his documents.
“But…” Omar continued, “the cost of housing is higher than I anticipated. I could really use some assistance.”
“You’ll manage,” his father said, still not looking up. “Make yourself useful to your employer and leverage that to negotiate for a higher salary.”
“It’s not a salary position,” Omar mumbled. “I’m getting paid hourly.”
“A salary position will pay better. Aim for that.”
“Yes, father,” Omar said, turning to leave the office and stepping right into the kitchen, where he sat down at the table and looked over at his father. His father, who now towered over Omar even while sitting, had his nose in a book. The stew in front of him was entirely untouched.
“Father,” Omar said, his voice coming out as a squeak, “I got all As on my report card. Does this mean you can play with me?”
His father didn’t answer right away. Omar’s hopes started to fall. Finally, his father glanced up and replied, “Not right now, son.”
Omar blinked and shook his head. He was in the woods again, in the middle of the night, surrounded by starving cold. How had he gotten here? Omar was standing high on a mountain, looking out at the twinkling lights of a town in the distance.
Was that Saffron? Was that Wilmington? Omar didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He steeled himself and started walking. He was going to see this through, monster be damned.
What had been that vision, though? Omar had never experienced anything like that before. Was he losing his mind? Was the cold causing him to hallucinate? No, that had felt way too real to be just a hallucination.
Did it have something to do with the monster? Omar really didn’t know anything about the Snowstalker. The sheriff had been pretty stingy with information. Did that mean that the Snowstalker was nearby?! It would have to be, if it were causing him to hallucinate!
Oh, no, what if there was more than one?! The whole forest could be crawling with Snowstalkers! No, no, that was ridiculous. One could evade notice by the world at large, but a whole forest of them? There had to be only one. Just one, which Omar wasn’t likely to run into again.
A gust of wind fell over Omar and he shivered. He couldn’t get the creature out of his head. His mother would tell him all about shayatin growing up. Invisible creatures of hellfire, whispering temptation into the ears of good Muslim men and women. They taught sorcery and caused personal calamities.
“If you were a good boy, this wouldn’t have happened to you,” his mother, Yasmine, said.
Omar was sitting on the couch, his arm in a cast and sitting on the arm rest. He was back in his childhood home. It was late evening and they’d just gotten back from the hospital.
“A shaytan must have seen that you were sinning and decided to teach you a lesson,” his mother continued. “What were you doing wrong, Omar?”
“Nothing!” Omar protested.
“Don’t lie to me,” his mother warned, narrowing her eyes.
“I didn’t, I swear!”
“That’s it,” she muttered, standing up. “If you won’t be honest with me, you’ll have plenty of time to think about what you’ve done. You’re grounded, Omar.”
“Not fair!” Omar cried.
Suddenly, Omar was sitting on the floor, playing with his toys. His arm was no longer in a cast. Or had that happened yet? Either way, something felt wrong, so he stood up and walked over to his mother.
“Mama,” he asked, “can I get some dolls like Maria has?”
He yelped when she struck him across the face and covered his cheek with his hands. His mother was scowling, absolutely fuming at him. It didn’t sting much, but Omar felt tears welling up anyway.
“Don’t you talk like that, Omar,” she said. “That is no way for a man to behave, you hear me? Dolls are only for girls. Do you want to be mistaken for a girl?”
“I’m sorry,” Omar whined.
She took him by the hand and led him out of the room. Omar was still rubbing his cheek where he’d been hit. He didn’t want his mother to be upset with him! No matter what, he was never going to do that again; he wouldn’t make her upset with her by acting girly again.
Omar closed his eyes and shook his head. A howling wind was in his ears. He took a long, deep breath of cold air, then opened his eyes.
These visions had to be supernatural. Why, though? What was doing this to him? Were the woods themselves supernatural? Was there something else in here beyond the Snowstalker? And why these memories? Just to torment Omar with how his parents had treated him?
“Nothing about tonight makes any fucking sense!” Omar growled, shoving his hands into his pockets and forcing himself to continue.
He distinctly remembered that event with his mother. Afterward, Omar had started to shun the girls in his class because he didn’t want any of their girliness to rub off on him. He’d felt very lonely in class after that, for some reason.
Omar pushed his memories to the side for a bit and started jogging. The sooner he got out of these woods, the better. Regardless of what direction he was heading in, any town would be a nice reprieve from this shit.
“That is no way for a man to behave.”
He winced, but started jogging faster. Was that a memory or an auditory hallucination? Omar wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter, one way or another.
“A shaytan must have seen that you were sinning and decided to teach you a lesson.”
This wasn’t punishment. It couldn’t be. Omar hadn’t done anything to suffer. Allah was too kind to punish Omar like this. The Snowstalker wasn’t a shaytan; it couldn’t be. But whatever was stirring these memories might have been.
“If you were a good boy, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Shut up!” Omar growled, covering his ears.
“What were you doing wrong, Omar?”
A scream broke the night and shattered Omar’s concentration. He skidded to a stop and looked around. That had been a high-pitched scream. Was that Whitney? It sounded like Whitney. Fuck! Was she still alive?
He ran in the direction it had come from, but was moving blindly through the dark woods. How was he supposed to see anything out here?! There were new sounds up ahead, though, so he pressed on. It sounded like Whitney was struggling.
There! Up ahead! Signs of movement. Moonlight glinted off of a white antlered skull as a massive figure grappled with Whitney. It was grabbing both of her arms and she was kicking wildly at it. With a shove, the Snowstalker pushed her to the ground and jumped on top of her.
“Missus Jordan!” Omar cried, rushing forward.
The creature glanced over just as Omar ran into it. All of his momentum came to a stop and the monster shifted just a hair’s breadth. One of its arms lashed out and Omar was thrown into the snow, rolling over and smashing against a tree.
Omar saw Whitney reach into her coat with her free hand and draw the gun. The Snowstalker reached out, latching onto her head with its other hand and pinning her down. Whitney struggled to aim as the creature’s head got close to her own.
The two locked eyes and Whitney went limp, lowering her arm and almost dropping the gun. Then her arm tensed up and she fired a single shot into the creature’s shoulder. Throwing its head back, the Snowstalker let out another screech that ripped the air and forced Omar into a fetal position.
He heard a hiss and the sound of footsteps, along with a cloak dragging in the snow. When Omar looked, the creature was gone, a trail of black blood indicating which direction it had run off in. Whitney was climbing slowly to her feet, shaking but uninjured.
“Are you okay?” Omar asked, springing up and running over. He did his best to ignore the new bruise on his back. “Let me help you up.”
Whitney took his hand and stood up, saying nothing. Her face was pale and her eyes were darting around wildly. Omar noted that her breathing was a little uneven.
“Are you okay?” Omar asked again, but again Whitney didn’t respond. “Come on, let’s go.”
He started to walk in the direction of the town, but Whitney didn’t follow. Omar bit his lip and walked back to her, then waved his hand in front of her face. She seemed to notice, but said nothing. Taking her by the arm, Omar pulled her along, and she didn’t resist.
After a while, Whitney pulled her arm away from Omar and started walking on her own. He kept one eye on her and the other on the forest ahead. She was so quiet and it was making him uncomfortable.
“We’re going to make it to Saffron, together,” Omar promised, but she didn’t look over at him.
Was this just shock? Omar couldn’t shake the feeling that the Snowstalker had actually done something to her. But that was probably just the panic at the edge of his consciousness talking. Once they got to town, he’d take her to the hospital, and a nurse or doctor would be able to take care of her. All Omar had to do was get her there in one piece.
It would probably help if she weren’t so stuck in her own head, though.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer, now,” Omar lied. “We’ll be there soon and someone is going to help you feel better. And you’ll get to see Aubrey again. Won’t that be nice?”
Whitney’s eyes widened and she started shaking her head.
“No, no no no. I can’t… I can’t… Please don’t make me—”
“Okay!” Omar cried, starting to panic. “We don’t have to do that. What about Wallace? Your husband? We’re going to meet up with him, soon.”
Wallace was probably already dead.
That seemed to make Whitney a little calmer. She stopped shaking and folded her arms, eyes on her feet. At least she was still walking.
Omar groaned quietly to himself. What was he supposed to do? He’d never dealt with someone in this kind of mental state before. It was an entirely different branch of medicine. He was simply in way over his head.
They stopped speaking to each other after that. The longer they walked, the less certain Omar was that he was heading in the right direction. Whitney was supposed to be the expert, here. But she was completely helpless.
Finally, the sound of footsteps behind Omar stopped. He turned to look. Whitney had curled up on herself, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Missus Jordan…”
“I can’t do this,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “I just can’t. It’s too much. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Omar took a few steps forward and asked, “Missus Jordan, what are you talking about?”
“It’s my fault; it’s all my fault. I could have stopped it.”
“Missus Jordan, come on.” He took her by the arm. “We need to keep walking or we’ll freeze out here.”
She nodded and followed his lead. Every now and then, he’d hear her footsteps slow and turn to look at her, but she didn’t stop again. She was clearly still very stuck in her head, though.
“I’m a terrible person,” he heard her mutter. “I don’t deserve to live.”
Omar stopped. She did too. Neither moved for a while.
“Whitney, I’m going to take the gun from you, okay?” Omar asked.
Whitney slowly shook her head and stepped back, already unzipping her jacket.
He charged at her, but she ducked out of his way. Omar stumbled, but managed to stay standing. When he’d turned around, Whitney had the gun in both her hands, but pointing to the ground.
“Whitney, give it to me!” Omar demanded.
She shook her head and raised the gun. Omar charged again. Whitney closed her eyes and dug the barrel beneath her chin.
There was a loud pop and her body fell, the snow behind her coated in a fine red mist.
While quite dark. I dig the way this monster "changes people" by revealing truths to them. It's a cool twist.
Well, fixing your relationship, be there for her daughter and not remain as a bitter memory would have most likely been better, but I guess this ain't this type of story, poor girl, even if she never loved them as much after suffering, losing your parents is still a heavy blow.
Welp that's ONE way to deal with a character who's an abusive Mom...
huh. this is engaging. :)