A short story by Dan Jire
The snow crunched beneath three pairs of nearly immobilized boots. Red, blue, and green, each pair matched the heavy snow overalls, coat, and hats. Their gloves were socks, because as best the father of these children tried, for the life of him he could not find where his wife had packed their gloves.
The father had torn apart a good junk of the children’s closet, the hall closet, and the Christmas decorations in his search. He remained inside, tidying his mess, while glancing every few minutes out the frosted windows to see his three kids colorfully obvious in their hilly backyard.
Sam punched Mike. But the padding of the winter coat caused no registering of the assault. Mike just wanted to get up the hill and see how far he could sled this year with their new plastic disc sleds their mother had bought and father had discovered in the attic as soon as it was announced that school was cancelled and the father realized his one day off would be accompanied by three restless boys who had a habit of talking on and on, barely a pause for breath.
But the cold air had taken most of their breath away, and so had the laborious effort of lifting their knees through nearly two-feet of snowfall.
Mike reached the top of the hill first. He put his sled on the ground and sat on it. It compressed the snow and he did not go, despite shimmying his body.
“I need a push,” Mike said.
Sam eagerly took the opportunity to slam into his brother’s back. Sam face planted in the snow as Mike’s sled took off, spinning as he whisked down the hill towards the tree line.
Sam pulled his frosted face from the snow and said, “Dagobah…”
The third brother, and the youngest was Kenny. Kenny had second thoughts about the speed of the sledding. He figured he’d get hurt if he let Sam push him.
Mike hooted at the bottom of the hill, having thrown himself from his disc before he crashed into a tree. He trudged through the snow to collect his sled. Standing beneath a snow covered and lone holly tree, Mike shook it, screaming, “It’s a blizzard!” Repeatedly, of course, until the holly tree revealed all its greenery and rich red berries.
“My turn,” Sam declared, lying on his stomach. “Well. Push me, Dingus!”
Kenny tried. But Sam inched forward until Mike’s packed path swept him down the hill.
“You push like a girl!” Sam screamed all the way down.
By then, Mike had begun to hike back up the hill. He paused to mold a hard snowball and then tossed it. He struck Sam square in the back.
“I’ve been shot!” Sam said, rolling off his sled. “Man down, man down!”
“Come on, Kenny! It’s awesome!” Mike said, just before Sam retaliated with a snowball—though it sailed past Mike’s face. “I’ll give you a push.”
Mike reached the hilltop.
Kenny eased onto his sled and though it felt like death to say it, Kenny said, “Not too fast.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Mike shoved Kenny and off he went so fast, he blazed a new trail parallel to Mike and Kenny’s path. Kenny almost formed a smile, but his face was wet and icy.
“Wampa attack!” Sam yelled, running as fast as he could at Kenny, which wasn’t very fast at all.
Seeing Sam coming, Kenny tried to steer away. He shot down a steeper section towards the trees. He didn’t slow down.
Faster and faster, he went.
“Bail!” Mike yelled. “Bail!”
Kenny didn’t. Not in time. He crashed into the holly tree. Hit it so hard that more snow came off it along with old branches.
For a second, Kenny did not scream. And then the pain caught up with him.
Mike jumped on his sled and slid down to his youngest brother.
Sam, closer, just stood there watching for a moment, thinking Kenny was overreacting. Then he knew their dad would kill them if Kenny got hurt.
The father glanced out the window again, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. He’d turned on the television to watch the storm coverage—quite thankful that he didn’t have to commute today. The morning crew joked about the snow being attributed to a strange meteor that altered the storm’s path unexpectantly. They laughed it off as the meteorologist tried to explain it. They switched back to the traffic report.
Then he heard the shuffling of snowsuits and whispers. A cold air snuck through the electric warmth of the house.
“That better not be an open door,” he said sternly. The whispers continued unabated. “Boys. If you come inside now, you don’t get to go out again later.”
“We’re going back out. Just needed something!” Sam called from the mudroom.
“Alright, when you do come back in, I’ll fix us some grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Maybe some hot chocolate if I can find it. I swear your mother…”
Kenny’s lips were blue, cheeks red, and tears frozen as he hadn’t gotten up. He stared up at the holly tree and swore a face within the branches and leaves stared back. Silently snickering, the tree loomed over poor Kenny like a big bad bully. Like Sam on his worst days, angry and spiteful. Something in Kenny’s leg twisted, like a needle at the doctor’s office only bigger and longer. Kenny wanted it out. But he couldn’t reach that far down his leg, and he couldn’t walk on it to get to his dad.
Kenny thought he might die if he had to wait on Sam and Mike any longer. He mouthed the word, “Popsicle.”
Sam and Mike arrived. Sam had pruning shears and Mike had a roll of paper towels, duct tape and a blanket.
“We’re going to have to amputate,” Sam said in a stuffy doctor’s voice.
“No,” whimpered Kenny.
“We’re not. We’re going to cut it out,” Mike said. “Just relax, here’s a blanket to keep you warm. Remember don’t scream. You don’t want to get in trouble with dad. We barely got out of there without having to do chores.”
“Yeah.”
“What… are you c-c-cutting?”
“The branch. See mom’s tree cutting scissor things.”
“They could probably cut though bone,” Sam added.
“Let’s take a look.” Mike opened up the torn snow pants a little more.
Sam toyed with the shears, cutting the cold air. “Mom is so gonna kill you.”
“Did you move? We told you to hold still,” Mike said.
“I didn’t move,” Kenny promised.
“It’s gone deeper.” Mike showed Sam.
“I can probably use these like tweezers.”
Kenny cried.
“Relax. Almost got it you baby.” Sam clamped the branch, just enough that the shears wouldn’t clip it. And began to extract.
Kenny screamed. Mike muffled him with the roll of paper towels.
“Relax, it’s almost over. Just take a breath. Easy, easy.”
“And I thought they smelled bad on the outside,” Sam said, leaning back as the branch came out by nearly a foot.
Kenny bit into the roll of paper towels.
“Dude, it’s still coming.”
Sam fell over.
“Did it break off?”
Sam looked at the end of the sheers. “I think I got all of it, look. It’s a wonder it didn’t poke out your eyeballs.”
The branch was near three feet in length, covered in blood.
“You’re going to be okay,” Mike told Kenny. “Let’s get you sealed up and on your feet. Remember. Don’t tell dad.”
The father smirked. He’d found not just hot cocoa mix, but a big bag of marshmallows. He felt like he’d won father-of-the-year. He fired up the stove and heard the boys trespassing in the mudroom.
“Too cold for you all?”
“It’s just Kenny.”
“Yeah, Kenny’s too cold. He’s coming in. We’re not.”
“Alright. Kenny, do not leave that room until all your clothes are off. Your mother will kill me if there’s wet snow all over her hardwood floors. You hear me?”
Kenny tried not to sound pained, but he did. “Yes.”
The boys whispered and then went back outside.
“Hey, Kenny, how many marshmallows do you want in your hot chocolate?”
Kenny didn’t answer.
“Kenny?”
The father went into the mudroom. Kenny was still in his boots and trying to take his snow pants off. His naked leg was covered in blood.
“Oh, Kenny, what happened, buddy?”
“Ow, ow, ow. I sled into a tree.”
“Let me check it. Did you break it? Can you walk?”
Kenny nodded, his teeth chattered.
The father helped Kenny undress. Then he cleaned up the cut and then tore up the house looking for bandages. He was flustered when he returned. He carried Kenny into the living room and set him up with blankets and pillows. The hot chocolate boiled over.
“Give me a push,” Sam said as they went up the hill.
“Nah.” Mike watched the back of the house. He could just see that the lights were on. If they were in trouble, surely, he thought their dad would have called for them already. “I kinda wanna go in. But we can’t.”
“Want to play like we’re on Hoth?”
Mike shrugged.
“Come on, I spotted a probe droid down below. Follow me, Chewie.”
Mike cocked an eyebrow. He was not going to be Chewie, but Sam had already started jogging back down the hill, pretending like he held a blaster in his hands.
“There… it’s—it’s… the dark side!” Sam attacked the holly tree, kicking it and hitting it. “You killed my brother!”
Mike joined it. Finding a downed branch, he made static sounds and swung it, battering the branches.
Sam jumped on the tree, and began to climb it until his weight made it bend over.
“Dude, sling shot me!”
Mike helped pull the top of the tree down, so that it looked like Sam dangled from a catapult.
The tree cracked. Sam fell off. The tree flopped up, smacking Mike. Mike fell over, blood gushing from his nose.
“Own sit,” he muttered. “Sit mind hose.”
Sam chuckled.
The tree stood behind him and waited.
“It’s still in me,” cried Kenny.
“What? What’s still in you?”
“The tree branch.” Kenny squirmed. “It’s growing inside me.”
The father didn’t know what to do. He tried to hold Kenny steady, but Kenny thrashed. The father didn’t want to have to brave the weather to go to a hospital, but he also didn’t know why Kenny was acting this way. He gave up trying to contain Kenny’s thrashing. He flung open the backdoor and hollered. “Sam, Mike! In here now! Right now!”
Mike tried to wipe the blood off his face as he jogged to the house.
The father yelled, “Ah, ah, go through the mudroom. And take off all your stuff before you track snow. Now!”
The father slammed the door and attended to Kenny again.
“Just take it easy. Show me where it hurts?”
Kenny drew a line up his thigh, into his stomach and then across to the opposite side of his chest.
At first, the father saw nothing, but then next to Kenny’s clavicle it looked as if he had an extra bone pushing up against his skin.
“Sam! Mike! Hurry it up!”
The father picked up the phone to call his wife, then thought again. He slung open the mudroom door. Mike was on the floor.
“What happened to you?”
“I gut watted by twee.”
“Where’s Sam?”
Mike shrugged. “White be eye me.”
“What happened to Kenny? How hard did he hit that tree?”
Mike shrugged.
“Go get some real clothes on. I think I need to run Kenny to the hospital.”
Kenny screamed.
The father dashed back into the living room.
Kenny’s body contorted awkwardly, bridging up in an unnatural way. The sound of his bones snapping as something pushed out from within. A tiny branch sprouted from his bleeding eye.
The father stuttered in his step and speech, he grabbed the phone. The line was dead this time. He went for his cellphone, but he already knew the storm had screwed up the signal.
“Mike!”
Mike hopped out of the mudroom in just his underwear.
“Take my cellphone and try to get a signal. Call 9-1-1 when you do and let me know. I’ll talk to them.”
Mike saw Kenny.
“Oldie sit.”
“Where’s Sam? I need Sam!” He flung open the side door and looked outside, both ways. Then ran back in and opened the backdoor. This time, he braved his bare feet upon the snow-covered deck. “Sam!”
His voice echoed through the snow. He dashed back inside, his ice cold feet burning. He threw boots on and ran out the front door. The streets had still not been cleared. He looked across at his neighbors, but all the houses were darkened.
“Sam!” he called again. “Where are you, you stupid brat?”
There was a ripping sound, and then something flopped behind the father, back in the living room.
He dashed in and vomited.
Kenny had been completely disemboweled. Where he had arched so strangely and crookedly were the strange skeletal branches of a tree, which then took a step forward, like a three-legged spider—tall as the ceiling.
The father looked up from his vomiting with only enough time to see the branches thrust into his eyes, stabbing him into the floor.
Mike tried to get a reception on the top floor. He tried all the bedrooms before going into his parents’ room which overlooked the backyard. One bar lit up at the back window.
“God id! I tink!” Mike dialed 9-1-1. Then something not white caught his eye outside.
Red soaked the snow in two large patches and one small patch. The small patch wasn’t far from where Sam’s blue knit hat lay. The large patches had a bit of blue jacket and pants as well.
The call failed. Mike had dropped his hands to his side. He looked at the phone and raised it to the window once more to get a signal.
“Come on, sit. Sit. Irk! W-w-irk!”
A clatter like a woman in heels arrived behind him.
Outside the window broke, a tree branched stretched outside, stained with blood. Then the branch cleared the broken glass and crawled back out, heading back into the woods. As the snow continued to fall and cover up all the blood stains and tracks.
THE END.
©2024 DAN JIRE all rights reserved
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