The Yellow Pine

Chapter 24 - Snowbound

Flora watched the fat, white flakes drift down silently outside the window and pile up on the ground and branches outside. There was definitely a certain beauty to it, but the thick silence and rising snowbanks made her feel like she was being slowly buried alive. She had the house to herself, as usual these days. Jen and Dad were at the theatre - again - along with more than half the town. She hadn't set foot there since she'd quit the play, and it seemed like she'd ceased to exist as far as her father and step-mother were concerned. The two college kids from down the mountain who had ended up joining the troupe had taken rooms at the incomplete Tip-Top Hotel, but they, like everyone else on the cast, might as well just move in to the theatre. When they weren't there, they were moping around town looking sickly and depressed, as though without a rehearsal to work on or lines to run they had no purpose in life. Debra Jo Cooke, her first friend in Cambria, had gone from being a warm, caring, and fastidious woman to being the sort of bedraggled crone one expects to see in a horror film, and the twins looked like walking skeletons these days. She'd seen them and their parents driving home the other night, and the entire family slouched low in their seats as though half dead, refusing to return her friendly wave even though they looked right at her.

She'd packed her bags two days ago, and had made plans to stay with friends at school, but then the snow had started and the roads at this altitude got bad quick. Bad roads wouldn't stop the theatre troupe, though. They had beaten a path through the snow, and would march along, bundled up and silent, every morning and every night to get to that damn theatre. She was grateful for Roland and Maisie, who, apart from the odious Lester Byrd, seemed to be the only residents she knew that weren't a part of what she thought of as The King's Cult. Since Thanksgiving, she'd been over to their house several more times for dinner, and just a chance to get away from her silent, lonely existence for a while. Together, they had bagged up supplies for Evie and taken them out to her alley. The poor woman had hidden when she saw them coming, so they just hefted the bags over the wall and left them there for her to go through on her own time. She sincerely hoped the woman was okay. She'd considered bringing her to the house and giving her a bed to sleep in, but Roland had warned her that she might be dangerous, despite her helpless appearance. Instead, he'd offered Evie a room at the hotel, but she'd refused, shouting at him from behind a trash can until he went away. He finally just told her that he was leaving room 101 open for her, and that she could go there whenever she needed to, but so far, she hadn't taken him up on this offer.

She'd seen the newest residents, Corona and Selena Crispin, only once so far. They were leaving the Bear Paw Diner as she pulled in, and she missed the chance to introduce herself. They seemed to be in a hurry, and kept casting dubious glances at the Pine View Theatre as they hustled into their car. Not that she blamed them. Since it had been repainted that hideous, noxious yellow, the building looked like a squat, rotting toad. Come to think of it, she didn't know when her dad had done that at all. She didn't remember anyone mentioning hiring painters, nor had she seen any around. She just drove by one day and there it was in all its disgusting, yellow glory. She noticed that Cooke's Cookies was now the same wretched shade, as though the theatre had a pustulent infection that was spreading.

Sighing, she closed the curtains and went to the kitchen for some hot tea. Luckily, the Carters had taken her down the mountain with them to do some grocery shopping just before this winter storm had hit, or else she'd be living on water and crackers by now. All the way down the mountain Maisie had sang a made-up song about "bread and milk and eggs" that had them in stitches. Something about "It's snowing, it's snowing, we gotta get bread and milk and eeeeeggggsss! 'Cause whenever it is snowing we make French toast and warm our legs!" The deep Seasonal Affective Disorder that had covered the town over the past weeks couldn't dim that little girl's cheerfulness for a moment.

She took her mug of tea and a book to the bathroom and settled in to take a nice, hot bath. She was just about to doze off in the steamy tub, when a sudden thump made her splash soapy water on the pages of her book and nearly drop it into the bath. She sat the book on the toilet lid beside her and sat up, suddenly very awake and alert, listening. Just as she began to convince herself it was just snow falling off the roof and relax, the loud thump came again. This time, she screamed. Climbing out of the tub and wrapping a towel around herself, she called out, "Dad? Jen? Is that you guys?" Silence. She stood in the middle of the tile, dripping and shivering for several moments. So much for a relaxing bath before bed. She drained the still-steaming water from the tub, and dried off, cautiously listening for any other noises, but there was only the soft ticking of the clock in the living room.

A few minutes later, she was climbing into her bed with her gown sticking to her damp skin. She'd walked through the house and checked all the doors, but no one else was there. Deciding that it had to have been a tree branch cracking under the weight of ice and snow, she settled in to sleep, while the snow continued to fall heavily, covering up the clawed prints outside the bathroom window.

In the Carter house, Maisie was also watching the snow fall, but with a much more energetic attitude. "Can we build a snowman tomorrow, Daddy?" "Sure, honey, if it's the right kind of snow." Maisie frowned. To her mind, snow was snow, and all snow is meant to be played in. She imagined that parents made up the whole 'right kind of snow' business just to get out of playing in the snow, because they were old and got cold easily. Roland seemed to read her mind, and recanted, "Well, whatever kind of snow it is, we'll get out in and have some fun anyway. Go on and get some sleep. Is B'loga going to sleep in here with you?" Maisie shrugged extravagantly, pulling her bony shoulders up to her ears. "If he wants. He can take care of himself, Daddy." Roland smiled. "I know he can."

B'loga was thoroughly enjoying the snow already. He burrowed down into it and rolled around joyfully, not unlike a ferret. He tunneled along for several feet at a time, pausing from time to time to listen for the discreet little scritchings of mice and squirrels. Then, he would tunnel closer to them until he was close enough and spring out of the snow, flinging the white stuff in every direction like a geyser, and pounce on a tasty morsel, swallowing it in one bite. Not as delicious as kitten meat, to be sure, but good enough. Suddenly, his head poked up out of his snow tunnel, and he cocked his head to the side, listening intently. Something had just changed in this world. He could feel it. Giving up the hunt for tonight, he hurried back to the house, where he could be close to his friend. She would need him soon. As a dark shape passed overhead with the rustle of dry, leathery wings, he crouched down low and buried his brown coat underneath the white snow to hide. After it had passed, he darted as fast as his legs would go to get to Maisie and her father.