Standing high on the slope of a mountain, Omar couldn’t help but smile. He was getting close to Saffron, or whatever the town was. His back ached from the package still strapped to him. His arms and legs were heavy.
But Omar hadn’t seen or heard the Snowstalker in at least an hour. He’d been able to walk the entire time without any more visions. Perhaps he’d been right; his faith was protecting him. Omar was going to be alright.
He forced himself to keep walking. It was cold as fuck. The little bits of skin peeking out from inside Omar’s outfit were starting to turn red. Omar might need to go to the hospital himself after making it to town.
The hospital. That’s where Aubrey was volunteering. Whitney’s daughter. Whitney, who had turned the gun on herself. It played again in Omar’s head. How was he going to tell Aubrey what had happened?
What about Wallace? Was he still out here? Had he been killed, too? Without a gun of his own, maybe the Snowstalker had simply pulled out all his organs. Who knew how it normally killed?
But if he was here, was he lost? Or maybe he was having an easier time finding his bearings than Omar was. Part of Omar wanted to call out to him, but he was afraid. Afraid that the Snowstalker might hear and come after him again—he didn’t want to tempt fate by inviting it to test his faith directly—and afraid to tell Wallace what had happened to his wife.
The moon had hidden behind some thin clouds, making the woods much darker than they had been just a few minutes ago. The cold even seemed to bite a little harder. Omar had to keep going; he had to make it to Saffron before he froze to death.
“I hate this!” Omar cried through clenched teeth.
He was so tired. He was so frustrated! All Omar wanted to do was make his delivery! He wasn’t a bad person; he didn’t deserve this. Why was he being tested, of all people?
“Just gotta get through. Just gotta get through. Just gotta…”
The package was so heavy…
Omar sank to his knees, then sat down entirely. His pants were soaked through from the snow. He really hadn’t meant to be trekking through the wilderness dressed like this. Fuck, he didn’t want to stand up. Sitting here was a bad idea, though. The Snowstalker would be able to simply walk up to him from behind like this.
Maybe he should close his eyes and wait for that to happen.
No. No, no, no. He couldn’t start thinking like that. This was hardly the first time that Omar had thought about giving up. Depression had hit him hard in his late teens, though he wasn’t sure why. His parents just making him unhappy with his life, probably, but Omar could never shake the feeling that there was something else missing that had nothing to do with the two of them.
With a massive groan, Omar forced himself onto his knees and then back to his feet. He wasn’t going to give up. Not tonight. Omar needed to keep going, not just out of spite or hope, but because there were people who were counting on him for a change. There was a mission to complete.
His breathing was a little ragged. All of Omar’s muscles ached. But he could keep going. The end was coming up. Nothing could stop him, now. It was so fucking cold. Why was it so fucking cold? It didn’t need to be this fucking cold.
When was the last time Omar had even seen his mother? It had been months, hadn’t it? Nearly a year. She wasn’t in the best health and had been pressuring him to send her money to help pay for medicine. He didn’t really think that she needed the money; it was more about making sure he felt indebted to her.
She hadn’t even really asked for it. “The responsible thing to do would be to set aside some of that money for your mother’s needs,” is what she had said. Guilt really seemed to be the only way she knew how to communicate. “A good man would put his family’s needs first.” But a good mother would let her child get on with his life.
Omar knew that he wasn’t going to be able to cut her out of his life. Not her, nor his father. That wasn’t the kind of person he’d been raised to be. They’d made sure of that. He’d feel way too guilty.
Was Omar’s father even aware of him when they weren’t standing in the same room? He wouldn’t put it past the old man to genuinely forget that he had a son, from how little he seemed to care for Omar. “I’m not going to fight your battles for you,” he had said once when a young Omar had complained about not having anything to eat.
Omar had always hated the distance between them. Maybe he hated that he didn’t have anyone to run to when he wanted to escape his mother’s behavior. He deserved that much, didn’t he? He deserved at least one good parent. Or, if nothing else, at least one parent who didn’t completely suck.
He felt like shit for thinking that way. They were his parents. Omar owed them more loyalty than that. But there was a chance that he would die tonight. Couldn’t he be honest with himself about what he actually thought?
A howling wind stung Omar’s eyes, forcing him to stop and close them for a moment. He shook his head and continued on. If he stopped now, he might never get the strength to start up again.
It dawned on Omar that, for all his insistence that he didn’t want to let his parents’ behavior control him, he had never really moved on. The impact of his treatment at their hands still lingered. As much as he tried to hide that from himself, he was still afraid of disappointing people, still determined to get affection from indifferent authority, and struggling to maintain a relationship with a girlfriend. All that abuse really screwed him up in the long run, hadn’t it?
“I can heal, though, right?” he huffed, eyelids growing heavy. “Nobody’s broken forever.”
He hoped.
The Snowstalker—there was no doubt in his mind that it was the only monster in these woods, so it must be responsible—had confronted him with all the ways that his parents had mistreated him in his life. Seeing it all at once was overwhelming. Omar hadn’t quite grasped just how all-encompassing it had been. Still was, in some ways.
He’d been stuck in the same spot for so long. But now—Omar took another slow step, then another—he could finally start to move forward. To get out of the murky darkness and shed the damage that his parents had done to him. It wasn’t going to be easy, but the creature had, if inadvertently, shown Omar that he could recognize and fight the way his parents had made him.
It felt like something was missing, though. Some piece he wasn’t quite getting. But what else was left to understand?
A strange sight up ahead shook Omar out of that thought. It was a small building. As he got closer, Omar could see that it was made out of wood and nearly completely dilapidated. The shack must have been well over fifty years old and was completely overrun by plant life.
Every muscle in Omar’s body ached for him to stop, but he kept going. Stopping now was death. To sit down was to surrender. If there were buildings around, even in this state, then the town couldn’t be too far away.
“Can’t hear the damn thing anymore,” he muttered, grinning madly. “Fucker’s run off. It gave up on me.”
Omar was in the home stretch, now. As long as there were no surprises—a sudden chasm or something—he was certain to get to Saffron (or wherever he was headed). He’d find somewhere to sleep, it didn’t matter where, and in the morning he’d send out a search party for Wallace.
The sound of someone crying out caused Omar to jump. Was that him? Was that Wallace? Had he made it this far? Somehow, Omar found the strength to run, the package weighing down heavily on his back and threatening to trip him every step of the way. The closer he got, the more Omar could hear someone struggling with something.
Moonlight started to fill the woods again as the clouds dispersed, and Omar saw in the distance to shapes grappling. Wallace was on the ground, trying to roll out from under the Snowstalker, which had him pinned. It was trying to lock eyes with him!
Omar grabbed the gun and pulled back the hammer. His aim was all shaky and the target was thrashing around. It took a second for Omar to steady his breathing. With one last breath, Omar fired a shot. It hit the creature, which jerked and hissed in pain.
Another bullet, which also made its mark. The Snowstalker shrieked and threw all its force onto Wallace, leaving him completely immobile as it peered into his eyes. Omar fired again, and the bullet landed into the soft tissue of the creature’s neck. It fell off of Wallace, hissing and wailing as blood spurted everywhere.
Omar started to run, but the monster had already started to get to its feet and was hobbling away. He raised the gun again, but the Snowstalker shrieked and Omar’s vision went blurry. Omar covered his ears. When he could see again, the creature was gone.
Wallace was climbing to his feet, shaken but not visibly injured. The creature’s blood was all over him, but there were no tears in his outfit. Omar had gotten there in time to prevent a slaughter, but the monster had still gotten Wallace to stare into its eyes.
“Are you okay, Mister Jordan?” he asked slowly, putting the gun back into his coat pocket. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Wallace grumbled.
Omar nodded, then glanced away and added, “I haven’t seen your wife since we got separated.”
Wallace just nodded and started muttering to himself. Omar’s breath caught in his throat. This was bad. It was almost exactly what had happened to Whitney.
But Omar had the gun this time. All he had to do was get Wallace to Saffron and turn him over to someone who could put him on suicide watch. Everything was going to be fine.
“Let’s keep walking, Mister Jordan,” Omar said, turning away.
After a few steps, he heard Wallace start to follow him. So far, so good. Omar just had to keep him talking and distracted.
“Keep talking to me,” Omar said. “What are you feeling, Mister Jordan? I need you to answer.”
“Everything hurts,” Wallace muttered.
“I’ll take you to the hospital when we get to town.”
Behind him, Wallace stopped.
“Not the hospital,” he whispered. Omar turned to see Wallace frozen in fear. “I can’t go there.”
“Wallace—”
“I… I… Oh, fuck!” He doubled over. “Why does this hurt so much?!”
Omar took a few steps forward, then froze. Tears formed in Wallace’s jacket and pants as sharp, jagged brown spines tore through the fabric. Wallace fell to one knee as chunks of hair started to fall out. He looked up at Omar and Omar stumbled back, falling and dropping the gun.
Wallace’s eyes were glowing red and his jaw had torn in two, forming two bony mandibles. Skin was falling off of his face, revealing a brown hide underneath. Omar scrambled to grab the gun, and when he looked up again Wallace had stood on shaky legs, bloody skin falling off of his hands, which had more long razors hanging from them than fingers Wallace once had.
Ten shots left. Omar pointed the gun and fired. Nine, eight, seven. Each one landed close to the center of Wallace’s chest, causing him to stagger but not stopping his forward march. The toothy mandibles opened and Wallace let out a deep, throaty roar before charging.
Omar turned and started running. Wallace was slower than him, stumbling forward like he was still learning to walk. Taking a deep breath, Omar swung around—nearly losing his balance when the package wanted to keep moving—and pointed the gun. Six, five, four. Two shots missed, one hit Wallace in the shoulder. He did not stop moving.
Pointing the gun down, Omar fired again. Five, four, three, two— There! One of the bullets lodged itself in Wallace’s leg and he fell. Wallace started to drag himself forward on his arms, blood dripping into the snow from his injuries and from his open mouth.
All his instincts were telling him to run away, but Omar just gulped and stepped forward. The gun was shaking in his hands and there was no way he could make this next shot. He prayed that it would land, and that it would work. All of time seemed to stand still for a moment, then Omar squeezed the trigger and a bullet found its mark right between Wallace’s eyes.
Wallace fell face down in the snow, unmoving. Omar stood perfectly still. The creature wasn’t breathing, and for several minutes Omar stared, unblinking, daring for it to move.
Finally, Omar collapsed to the ground and took a long, deep breath. Then he bent over and vomited all over the snow. He fell to the side and landed in the snow.
For a while, Omar just screamed in frustration.
Personal theory, the Snowstalker reveals one's true nature and makes it reality. For Wallace, that was a monster, for Omar... Well, we'll just have to see..
Oh wow. I hope he turned into a monster and that wasn't an illusion created by the snow stalker to truck him
Yeah, it's a messy affair to be with a gun that matched with bullets that killed its legal owner.
@Thatsnoreason for real.