Mr. Murder

art."
        "They're dirty."
        "They're beautiful."
        "They're beautiful and dirty," Paige said.
        "I'll make art out here."
        "Snow fall! Snow blow! Snow swirl and whirl and caper!" commanded the dancing Snow Queen as Marty climbed the wooden steps and opened the screen door on the porch.
        That morning the girls had dressed in jeans and wool sweaters, to be ready for the Sierras, and they were wearing heavily insulated nylon jackets as well as cloth gloves. They wanted to stay outside and play.
        Even if they'd had boots, however, the outdoors would have been off limits. This time, the cabin was not simply a vacation getaway but a cloistered retreat which they might have to transform into a fortress, and the surrounding woods might eventually harbor some thing far more dangerous than wolves.
        Inside, the place had a faint musty smell. It actually seemed colder than the snowy day beyond its walls.
        Logs were stacked in the fireplace, and additional wood was piled high on one side of the broad, deep hearth. Later they would light a fire.
        To warm the cabin quickly, Paige went room to room, switching on the electric space heaters set in the walls.
        Standing by one of the front windows, looking through the screened porch and down the dirt lane toward the county road, Marty used the cellular phone, which he'd brought in from the car, to try yet again to reach his folks back in Mammoth Lakes.
        "Daddy," Charlotte said as he punched in the number, "I just thought-who's going to feed Sheldon and Bob and Fred and the other guys back home while we're not there?"
        "I already arranged with Mrs. Sanchez to take care of that," he lied, for he hadn't yet found the courage to tell her that all of her pets had been killed.
        "Oh, okay. Then it's a good thing it wasn't Mrs. Sanchez who went totally berserk."
        "Who you calling, Daddy?" Emily asked as the first ring sounded at the far end of the line.
        "Grandma and Grandpa."
        "Tell them I'm gonna make a cone sculpture for them."
        "Boy," Charlotte said, "that'll thrill the puke out of 'em."
        The phone rang a third time.
        "They like my art," Emily insisted.
        Charlotte said, "They have to-they're your grandparents."
        Four rings.
        "Yeah, well, you're not the Snow Queen, either," Emily said.
        "I am too."
        Five.
        "No, you're the Snow Troll."
        "You're the Snow Toad," Charlotte countered. siX.
        "Snow Worm.
        "Snow Maggot."
        "Snow Snot."
        "Snow Puke."
        Marty gave them a warning look, which put a stop to the name calling competition, though they stuck their tongues out at each other.
        After the seventh ring, he put his finger on the END button.
        Before he could push it, however, the connection was made.
        Whoever picked up the receiver didn't say anything.
        "Hello?" Marty said. "Mom? Dad?"
        Managing to sound both angry and sad, the man on the other end of the line said, "How did you win them over?"
        Marty felt as if ice had formed in his veins and marrow, not because of the penetrating cold in the cabin but because the voice that responded to him was a perfect imitation of his own.
        "Why would they love you more than me?" The Other demanded, his voice tremulous with emotion.
        A mantle of dread settled on Marty, and a sense of unreality as disorienting as any nightmare. He seemed to be dreaming while awake.
        He said, "Don't touch them, you son of a bitch. Don't you lay one finger on them."
        "They betrayed me."
        "I want to talk to my mother and father," Marty demanded.
        "My mother and father," The Other said.
        "Put them on the phone."
        "So you can tell them more lies?"
        "Put them on the phone now," Marty said between clenched "They can't listen to any more of your lies."
        "What have you done?"
        "They're finished listening to you."
        "What have you done?"
        "They wouldn't give me what I needed."
        With understanding, dread became grief. For a moment Marty could not find his voice.
        The Other said, "All I needed was to be loved."
        "What have you done?" He was shouting. "Who are you, what are you, damn it, what are you, what have you done?"
        Ignoring the questions, answering them with