What The Winter Brings

Suspense Stories | May 5, 2020 | 6 min read
2 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Suspense Stories

What The Winter Brings

What does the winter bring?

The icy wind wafted through the window kept ajar by a collection of old books. Frost slowly building up on the thin, torn up pages. Once a present from a proud parent now a reminder of when life was better. Just him and his mother when his father worked from dawn till dusk at the corn mill just to be able to send their son to the capital. Pushing the thick homemade woollen blanket from him and rising slowly from his bed. Glancing across the room at the tall wooden mirror, carved with old, pagan-looking symbols all around the frame. His tired eyes scanning his reflection up and down with a five-o-clock shadow surrounding his long but stiff mouth. Trudging over to the cheap, government supplied cupboard pulling out his jacket and pants while brushing the frost that built up over night. Putting on the rest of his uniform before taking one last glance at his ice infested apartment before heading out.
 

Sneaking down the half-rotten stairs of the large concrete state housing building, to the barren, lifeless concrete streets lined all with the same car, the only sound being boots on the soft snow laying over the bluestone streets. Passing street after street of remarkable similarity until reaching a large red brick building, two large flag poles baring the flag of the nation and of the military. Pushing the large engraved wooden doors apart and heading into the lobby. The walls where covered with propaganda posters mostly bright red with yellow text next to lists of prohibited behaviours. The walls themselves where in a state of disrepair with frost lining the corners of the room. The receptionists had themselves huddled with a thick blanket around the cheap heater. Passing by them into a room on the right guarded by a depressed looking man in a tattered uniform, currently half-asleep, slumped against the wall. Sneaking inside trying not to wake the guard up entering his office.
 

His desk was empty after all, everyday he did the something over and over again. Go to some poor village in the occupied lands to steal their grain.
 

He pulled the hand me down chair from his supervisor as a promotion present of sorts, a line of poorly groomed men filed into the small office waiting to receive the orders, the same orders, the same orders they had from the past 3 months now. Raising his hand, the men nodded and filed back outside, followed by the commander. Marching through the soft snow towards an old, rusty and frost ridden cattle train. Forcing the doors to the first carriage open they climb up before closing them back up with a thud. He slammed his curled fist against the sub-zero walls of the carriage before receiving one back. Suddenly the train came to life the low hum of the engine clashing with the whirling blizzard that had picked up outside. The train lurched forward into the thick white blanket of snow that had been falling and was continuing to fall. It had begun.  
 

The quiet rumble of the train being overpowered by the soft pitter-patter of snow on the roof. The wagon was frost ridden with the large doors shaking off large clusters of icicles at each twist and turn of the train. A pile of rock-hard logs stood, surrounded with paper scraps . A jerry can full of a thin blue liquid, possibly antifreeze, was laying against the wall. As the trains shook side to side, waves of varying sizes formed in the liquid.
 

Pulling the icy door ajar and viewing the endless snowy fields overshadowed by the sun setting over tall, lifeless mountains. A small humanoid figure darting around in the shadow of the mountains. Watching us, watching the train. Closing and opening the door, the figure was gone. Perhaps it was his imagination. Before taking one last view of the dying light and tall, doomish mountains then returning to the safety of the cattle car. Their rifles, now frozen stiff, lay in corner of the car adjacent from it was a group of grim soldiers huddled together for warmth. A large makeshift blanket, woven together like a woven basket from the scraps of wheat still in the car.
 

A loud thump came from the engine room, as the train started to slow down. We had arrived at our destination. Pushing himself up slowly from the ice coved floor and forcing the large doors open revealing the village. A thick darkness surrounded the village cut through only by the candles placed sporadically around the sides of the path.  The houses had thatched roofs long overdue for repairs, the walls were thick with rot and grime, some of which consumed the whole wall. Long wire like stalks twisting around the chimneys and the decrepit church. The dirt road however was clear, with imprints all over the sides of the path.
 

Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Inside the houses. In the church. From the darkness. All are watching. All are viewing.
 

Snow once more began to fall down from the skies in a soft, gentle kind of way. Stepping out of the large metal box that had contained them was a breath of fresh air for all involved. He felt watched as if people inhabited this strange village but had locked themselves inside. But something felt off as if the people had many eyes, all locked on the strange intruders to their village. Dragging a gothic style lantern off the floor of the car and put his cigarette lighter up to the wick, lighting the lantern.
 

The light shone over the dusty path, through the seemingly empty houses and just reaching the cobbled town square. Marching down the path into the cobble square, roads leading off each side. Large wooden gallows built in the centre, something hanging from its rotten rope. A corpse with large portions seemingly removed like a charismas chicken, dangling above a pool of its own blood.  Small candles surrounding the gallows, mixed in with idols made from wood, seemingly painted with scenes not unlike those of roman gladiatorial scenes in which a criminal would be thrown to the lions.
 

They must not forget their goal. They came here to collect wheat. It was too dark now to continue on. Even if they wanted to do their job and leave as soon as possible. They retreated back down the path, sprinting as fast as possible, dirt flying everywhere. Climbing back into the cattle car and shutting the large, rusted iron doors faster than they had ever moved before. Snow was now continuing to build up faster and faster with it now coming down in droves. Deciding to lock the door and go to sleep to leave tomorrow.
 

A loud scratching sound came from outside the door. As if a large bone was dragging against the corrugated iron side of the car. The clanging moved upwards onto the roof. Bone dragging behind all the way.
 

A shriek. A shriek that shouldn’t exist. As if it was saying it was in pain. Or is that what it wanted. For us to think it is in pain.
 

The clanging continued until it lost interest, pushing itself off the car landing on the path with its bones, clicking and clacking together. Nudging the door slightly ajar to view what had climbed all over the car.
 

A huge hulking beast. Multiple different types of skin sewn together. Bone jutting out of the torso. Long bolted together bones made up its legs. The residents had reason to lock themselves indoors.
 

They had no time too lose, jumping out of the cattle car and into the locomotive. Stepping over the sleeping driver and starting the motor. A loud roar of the engine as it sprang into motion. Dragging the assortment of cattle cars away from the hulking terror.
 

We got away. But are we safe?
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Elle Riva Dec 1, 2020

Such a wonderful long story.

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