Deep Snow

Extreme snow in the winter is a fact of life in northern Michigan. But this was unprecedented.

“I should have shoveled the snow yesterday,” Scott grumbled, watching as the fresh white stuff fell from the sky and accumulated on top of the earlier snowfall. Twenty-four inches fell the day before per the weatherman with the plastic hair and shit-eating grin, with another seventeen inches to be added on top of it.

Next to him, the dog whined making his need to go outside and relieve himself clear.

“Can’t you wait Marshall?” Scott asked and immediately felt bad for asking the question. Marshall Dylan, named after the main character of Scott's father's favorite show, was almost fifteen years old and it was amazing he could hold his bladder as long as he regularly did. A lot of what Marshall had done in his life was amazing if you stopped and thought about it. From invigorating a very sick and depressed man to rekindling a friendship between father and son long since written off as broken and irreparable. Marshall Dylan had been one hell of a dog.

“Sorry boy,” Scott said dropping to a knee and scratching the elderly, but loyal dog behind his gray ear. Dylan started out life as a Corgi pup and a gift from Scott to his father. But when the elder Donovan died from pancreatic cancer three years ago at the age of sixty-six, Dylan came back to Scott. At first, Scott worried the dog would ruin his bachelor life, but Dylan settled in at the small house on the cul-de-sac like he’d always been meant to live there.

“Are you sure you need to go buddy?” Scott asked eyeing the thick clotted snow falling to the ground. “It’s pretty nasty out there,” Scott continued the whole time lavishing the dog with one-handed affection.

Dylan whined and wagged his short tail between his stumpy rear legs.

“Okay boy, you win,” Scott said never taking his eyes off the scene outside the patio doors.

Scott didn’t like the look of the snow, he was a native of the north and was used to big snows in a short amount of time, but this was all a bit much even for a middle-aged Michigander. The snow, which usually filled Scott with a joy he’d harbored since childhood, looked evil. The longer he stared at the wet mess and blurry air, Scott was sure he saw things moving in the obscured distance. Shapes close to the ground and moving entirely too fast to be real.

The dog whined high and desperate in the stillness of the houses warm interior.

“Alright,” Scott sighed unlocking the doors and cracking them just enough for Dylan to go outside and do his business. The sounds of the blowing wind and the rattling of the windchime he’d forgotten to bring in for the winter broke the stillness of the interior.

Marshall Dylan went outside.

Scott watched as Dylan went deeper and deeper into the storm. The scrappy little dog had a certain area behind the boat shed where he preferred to do his business and rain, snow, or shine he always did his damnedest to make it there. The dog disappeared around the barely visible back corner of the shed, and the stack of firewood piled all around the building and passed from Scott's sight.

That’s when Marshall Dylan started barking.

Scott didn’t think before he acted. His dog, his best friend, and the best thing to ever enter his life was in trouble. Lack of coat, shoes, or even a pair of socks on his feet didn’t stop Scott from throwing the double doors wide open and bounding headlong into the snow and cold leaving the doors wide open and house exposed to the elements.

“DYLAN!” Scott screamed trudging hip deep through the snow and fighting toward the small boat shed. “Dylan I’m coming!”

The dog barked and growled raising the hairs all over Scotts rapidly cooling body. Never in all his years had Dylan sounded like a wild beast. The normally gentle and always playful dog sound like he wanted to rend flesh and spill blood.

“DYLAN!” Scott roared.

A new noise responded to his cries, and it was not the barking of a dog. The low deep rumble made the fillings in Scott’s teeth hurt. Along with his teeth, he was sure he could feel it in the stainless steel pins set in his left leg when he’d been sixteen and suffered a horrible skiing accident. Feet and legs going numb Scott rounded the corner of the shed and was greeted by a sight his brain was unable to process beyond a primal level.

It was a shape, vaguely human in form, composed of shadow and snow. Dylan had his rear up and hid head forward in a clear attack posture while the thing swiped clumsily at the dog.

Scott’s eyes scanned the area looking for a weapon and found a large chunk of firewood to his side. His body going numb and rigid Scott knew he had one chance. With no thought for his own safety, Scott charged the thing and loosed a roar of war.

“GET AWAY FROM MY DOG YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Swinging the improvised club for all he was worth Scott charged the snow creature and attacked. The club impacted and an electric shock ran up Scott's arms as the creature dropped to the ground.

Not waiting for the creature to retaliate, Scott dropped the club and scooped up Dylan in his painfully cold arms. Then he ran straight for the safety of the open patio doors never looking back.

The doors slammed behind Scott once more banishing the outside from the house and sealing them off from the thing in the storm. Dylan shivered in Scott’s cold, snow covered arms, terrified but alive.

“You know what boy?” Scott asked setting the dog on the rug and checking him from wounds of which he found none. “I think it’s time we saw what sunny Florida has to offer us.”

Marshall Dylan barked in agreement.

Outside the cozy house snow fell and accumulated, but inside all was warm and safe.

The End