Stephen (ed.) - The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror 18

That night, as Judith coughed, I used the knife to scrape the last of the meat from the pelt. Then I stretched it on a frame, the way papa taught me, and put it just close enough to the fire so it would dry without shrinking. Mama gave Judith more of the bark tea. Daniel sharpened the knife and the axe. As their metal scraped on the stone, I went to the window and looked toward the lamplight in the shed, where papa guarded the cow.

Judith died in the night. She kept coughing, and her chest heaved, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her cheeks were scarlet, but she kept fighting to breathe. Then her lips got blue, and her face, and after two hours, she died. Mama held her, sobbing. Daniel kept looking at the floor. I stood at the window and stared at the dark of the shed.

A shadow ran between the cabin and the shed. Another shadow, dark against the snow on the ground. The howls were very close. I heard a shot, but mama didn’t react. She just kept sobbing. I’m all right! Papa yelled. They’re running away! But just in case, don’t open the door!

Then the night was silent, except for a rising wind and mama’s sobbing. We need to tell papa, I said. When it’s light, Daniel said. It won’t help Judith if we bring him in now. Mama started murmuring, In the valley of the shadow. I went over and took her hand. I’m sorry, mama, I said. Her eyes were red. Fear no evil, she murmured, holding Judith.

When papa came in at dawn, he stopped in the doorway and knew immediately what had happened. His face looked heavy. He closed the door and crossed the room. He knelt in front of mama, who was still holding Judith. Lord, give us strength, he said. Through the window, I saw more tracks in the snow. Papa sobbed. I wanted him to know I was brave. I’ll do my chores, papa, I said. I’ll take care of the cow.

My coat barely kept me warm as I milked the cow, then fed her in the pen. I took a pitchfork to the manure in the shed, throwing it in a pile at the side of the pen. Four brown specks watched from the rim of a hill.

Mama dressed Judith in her best clothes, her “church clothes”, mama called them, although we hadn’t see a church in two years. Papa set Judith on the kitchen table. We took turns reading from the Bible. About Job and Lazarus and Jesus on Easter morning. Except mama. She sobbed and couldn’t bring herself to read. Then papa and Daniel put on their coats and went to the shed, where they got the shovel and the pickaxe. They spent the rest of the day digging. I was reminded of when they buried my other brother and sister when we lived in another valley. This grave was in a nice spot near the apple tree. Judith would like that. Judith loved apples. The ground was frozen hard, and Daniel and papa were soaked with sweat when they came back to the cabin.

Daniel spent the night in the shed with the cow. Papa and I stayed up with mama as she held Judith’s hand. We prayed more. Eternal life, papa said. I expected to hear them howling, but there wasn’t any sound, not even a wind. Daniel came in at dawn. I’ve never seen him look so exhausted. I went out and took care of the cow.

Then we said our last prayers. Judith’s face was grey now. She seemed a little swollen. Papa carried her outside into the cold. The rest of us followed. Mama sobbed as Daniel and I guided her. When papa set Judith into the ground, mama murmured, Not even a coffin. Don’t have the wood, papa said. She’ll be so cold, mama said.

Papa and Daniel took turns shoveling dirt. Mama couldn’t bear to look. I took her back to the cabin. Papa carried stones from a fence he was making and put them on the grave. Daniel went to the shed. I heard hammering, and Daniel came out with two branches nailed to form a cross. Papa pounded it into the ground.

Papa stayed in the shed that night. At dawn, we heard him wailing. Daniel and I ran to the window. No! papa screamed. He charged toward the apple tree. No! he kept screaming. Daniel and I raced out to see what was wrong. Dirt was scattered over the snow. Rocks were shoved aside. The grave was empty. Papa’s voice broke. Fell asleep! No! Didn’t mean to fall asleep!

Eternal life, mama said. I didn’t hear her come up behind us. She wasn’t wearing boots or a coat. Judith has risen, she said. A swath in the snow went across a field and into the woods. Monstrous paw prints were on each side. The sons of bitches dragged her that way, papa said. I never heard him speak that way before. Daniel hurried to the cabin to put on his coat. He and papa followed the tracks. Risen, mama said. I helped her back to the cabin. From the window, I saw papa and Daniel disappear into the woods.

It snowed again. I stood at the window, straining to see. I leaned against the wall and must have dozed. The gust woke me. The door was open. Snow blew in. Papa! I cried. Daniel! Thank God, you’re back! You had me so worried! But no one came in. The wind blew more snow. Mama? I swung toward the chair by the fire. The chair was empty. Mama! I rushed to the open door and saw footprints going away. I grabbed my coat and hurried outside. The snow filled the footprints. I tugged the door shut. The quickly vanishing footprints led me toward the apple tree. They went past the apple tree. Then I couldn’t see them any longer in the gusting snow. Mama! I screamed. But the wind shoved the word back into my mouth.

The snow swirled thicker. The air got darker. I stumbled forward but didn’t know which direction to take. Then I realised that I didn’t know how to go back even if I found her. I couldn’t see the cabin. My tracks were almost full. I followed them as best I could. The wind seemed to push me to the ground. I thought I saw a low moving shadow. I struggled to my feet and ran, only to bang into the corral near the shed. But I knew where I was now and stumbled forward, whispering Thank God when I bumped into the cabin. Inside, I sank to the ground before the fire.

I woke in the dark and heard them. I heard the cow panicking. Then the only sound was the wind. In the morning, there was two feet of snow. It took me a long time to stamp through it to get to the shed. Somehow they got the latch open. The cow was all over the inside. Mostly blood, hide, and bones. Hooves. The head. Its eyes were wide with shock. I saw where the tracks went off in the snow in single file. The first one made it easier for the second, and the second made it easier for the third and fourth. Oh, they’re smart, all right, papa had said.

They’ll eat mama next, I thought. They’re probably already eaten papa and Daniel. When there’s nothing else left in the valley, they’ll come for me ? For a moment, I couldn’t move. What am I going to do? I thought. What would papa do? Think like papa. I don’t need to go out, I realised. I could stack wood in the cabin. I could bring meat from the storage pit. I had carrots, squash, potatoes, and apples in the root cellar. I could stay inside all winter. I’d need water, but if I was careful and I opened the door real quick and scooped a pail of snow, I could close the door before they got me.

I dug my way down through the snow to the boards across the storage pit. Unlike the rocks on Judith’s grave, the ones on the boards were still there, maybe because they were heavier. I pried two parcels of horsemeat from the frozen pile. The rest was stuck together so solid, I couldn’t get at the lamb meat under it. I stacked the parcels in a corner of the cabin. I planned to stuff myself on it before it rotted. I carried tools from the shed – the shovel, the pickaxe, the hammer, and the pitchfork. I spent the day bringing in wood. I kept looking over my shoulder as I split logs. My arms ached. Too soon, it was dark. I went in, cut away a slice of thawing meat, and cooked it over the fire. It was tough and bitter, but I didn’t care. I ate it in a frenzy and fell asleep.