Read Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant for Free Online Page B

bent and patted the ghostly dog. “You got a name, boy?”
    His silvery tail wagged. “Bernie.”
    “Thanks, Bernie.” Jess smiled and fluffed his ear. “You were a great help. I couldn’t have done it without you.” 
    With a deep sigh, he rubbed his head against her leg, then vanished into the eternal night.
    She sucked in a breath and blinked against the tears that threatened to fall.
    Alone again.
    Something in the distance drew her gaze, tearing her from her melancholy. She saw several more flickering wisps along the lake and highway.
    The others were waiting. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. 
    The blood of the innocent called to her from the long and winding road around Fossil Lake. Jess brushed off her jeans and ruffled her wings.
    She walked with purpose toward the lights, an avenging angel, shovel in hand.
     

     

SILVER SCREEN SHADOWS
     
    Mathias Jansson
     
     
    Shadows are moving on my wall
    Characters moving and falling
    Behind the shower curtain
    Blood stains flows
    Black feathers snows
    In my isolation cell
     
    The wall a rear window
    To a place of insanity
    On the hill the house
    In the window my mother
    Waving to me
     
    That night I sewed my first
    Lampshade of lips
    Nitrate was burning
    In the projector light
    And shadows danced on the silver screen
    Only for me
     
     

C-C-COLD
     
    Ken Goldman
     
    Just past the Busk Ivanhoe Tunnel, where the slim road practically disappeared, Matthew turned to Sharon. “The Snowcats will plow through this fucker. They’ll be by any minute, just wait and see.”
    Three days spent shattering his marriage vows (again) had given Matthew the assurance that Mother Nature herself would happily bend over for him, too.
    Sharon did not seem as assured. “I don’t see any Snowcats. Or any tire tracks. I doubt anyone’s crazy enough to come out here in this mess.”
    Bitter cold air from the north filtered through Colorado’s mountain canyons into its basins and valleys to the south. It spilled over the mountain range, funneling through gulches and ridges, gathering strength. Wind speeds reached 75 mph, shredding even the sturdiest cabin roofs while taking down power and telephone lines. Fierce gusts conspired with thick snow squalls creating one bastard of a blizzard.
    It had somehow managed to sneak past local forecasters and their meteorological charts to say howdy to the handful of dumbfounded weekend skiers attempting to maneuver jeeps and SUVs through the tricky passes that snaked their way through the Rockies.
    “How well do you know this road?” she asked.
    The ‘road’ was not really a road at all. Anyone having a passing familiarity with the mountainous terrain knew this half paved rock ridden passage was more of an elaborate trail. And during the winter months when the snow flew, it hardly could be called that.
    “Hey, I know this region like the back of my hand - - or your magnificent cooch, lover.”
    The truth was that this rampaging storm had transformed the terrain into an unrecognizable moonscape an Arctic expedition would have difficulty maneuvering. Matthew turned on the weather station.
    “ . . . vehicles can get only about a mile past the water tunnel above Fossil Lake on the Leadville side. Deep snow has fallen up high so it will be awhile before the road opens. First heavy snow warnings have been posted along the trail at 11,510 feet before the ski hut . . .”
    “We’re past that marker, Matthew. Damn!”
    He already knew that much. Punching off the radio, he also knew that what threatened to bury his Trail Blazer was no longer snow. In under an hour’s time, it had become deep shit.
    “We’re into a full white out here, babe. I can’t even see the moon. I think we may have to pull over and wait this out.” He reached for his cellular to inform his wife he would be late, but quickly decided against making the call. What was happening outside proved difficult enough. He didn't feel like starting another storm