The Shuddering

his fingers as he swept them through the snow, grabbing hold of his weapon. The tips of his digits were beyond red, a bright magenta Don had never imagined flesh could turn. He’d lost his gloves when he had first spotted those shadows, obscured by branches but undeniably standing in a pack. Reeling with fright, he had run in the wrong direction—away from the cabin rather than toward it…because they had blocked his path.
    The tree in front of him shuddered, and before he could react, one of the things that was tracking him leaped at him from the high branches of a pine. Don instinctively swung the ax over his head as the creature bolted for him, lodging the blade in its monstrous skull. The thing fell at Don’s feet, convulsing, teeth clacking together as it bucked in the snow, giving Don his first look at what these creatures truly were. The twitching savage looked just like his father had described: all awkward angles, nothing but skin and teeth. He didn’t think to pull the ax free from its skull when he stumbled away, desperate to put distancebetween himself and his childhood nightmare, the snow beneath the beast soaking up red so dark it nearly looked like oil. He reeled around, ready to run. And that was when he saw them, lined up like undead soldiers just beyond the trees, still hidden by branches as if afraid to come into full view. Don couldn’t see them outright, but he could make out their shapes: skinny, sinuous, terrifyingly tall.
    They only come when it snows , his dad had told him, repeating the stories his own father had whispered into his ear in the dead of winter. As a kid, Don assumed it was why he and his family packed up their stuff and left the cabin when the weather got bad. But as he grew older, he reasoned the stories away. Myth. Legend. Whatever he called them in the past made no difference.
    The snow buffered all sound save for the haggard shudder of his lungs. His pulse whooshed in his ears as he tried to take in everything around him, every possible angle from which he could be attacked. Steam crept past his lips, coiling upward like smoke, making it harder to see. When the convulsing beast finally went still, something in the air shifted. Perhaps that was why the creatures had been keeping their distance. They had been watching, waiting to see the outcome of Don’s attack on their comrade. But when that monster’s movements went static, Don’s blood ran cold. A low, unified growl sounded from the trees. It rattled deep in their throats, an eerie, almost human quality to its tone.
    It may have been smarter to stand motionless, to play dead. But Don didn’t think.
    He turned and ran.
    Twisting against the bulky padding of his coat, he was shocked at how difficult it was to move, having completely forgotten how tough it was to trudge through the waist-deep snow. He tried to slog through it as quickly as he could, his breaths coming in panicked gasps, the growling behind him rising involume, becoming more aggressive, like the grunts of wild boar, the snarling moans of chattering hyena.
    He was still running the wrong way, away from home rather than toward it, but they had left him no choice. He’d circle around, get back to the house, save both himself and Jenny—
    Oh god, my Jenny .
    She was alone.
    She’d be afraid.
    She’d be waiting for him, chewing her fingernails, wondering where he was.
    He had to get back to her, had to keep her from stepping outside to search for him. He had to survive to save her, had to get back…had to—
    Something hit his right shoulder.
    He spun around like a top, lost his footing, and fell into the deep powder that covered the ground. Scrambling back to his feet, Don instinctively grabbed at his right arm—fire seizing his biceps, snaking up to his shoulder—while he searched the trees for the creature that had buzzed him, that had clawed him so fast he hadn’t even caught its approach. The winter chill bit through the slash in his sleeve, down puffing out of the tear like a tiny cloud, almost immediately turning red from the blood that was sheeting down his arm. Oh god . Oh Jesus. He pulled his hand away from his arm, his fingers slick, sticky with red.
    The damn thing could have taken him down, but it hadn’t. They were toying with him, playing a game of cat and mouse. He was still alive, left to fend for himself.
    Inside his head, his daddy leaned in and whispered, They never let anyone get away, Donnie. Inside his head, Jenny