Chapter 7 #2
He leans in anyway, his eyes scanning the backseat and landing on a sleeping Phoebe. My stomach twists. Hopefully he's realizing three women against one frail grandpa is no fair match. I wish I could read his mind, because something about this whole interaction doesn't sit right.
Is he planning to attack us? Sexually assault us? Worse?
Calm down, Sabrina. Just because he looks like an extra for The Walking Dead doesn't mean he's guilty of anything other than smelling like death.
"Where yous headed?" he inquires.
"Just up the mountain for some ice-skating—I mean skiing!" I'm such a bad liar, always have been. "But we really need some help getting there."
He takes another peek inside the car and examines the top. "I don't see no skis."
"We're renting them." I really am the worst. "But sir, some chains would really help. I don't think we'll make it in this weather."
"It'll cost ya," he drawls, his tone slightly threatening.
Of course it will. So much for goodwill in a time of crisis and Christmas.
"Look, sir, we don't have—"
"I'll have to take the chains off my old car out back to see if they'll fit. That'll take quite a lot o' work."
"I have a hundred dollars in cash. Take it or leave it," Mara interrupts, her voice steady, like she's negotiating with someone who knows how to count that high. We're cornered in his driveway, but somehow, it feels like we've got the upper hand since we outnumber him.
He gives Mara a hard look, like he's studying her face so he can sketch it later. It's bizarre as hell, and I don't know what to do or say next. And like he snapped out of a fever dream, he says, "Fine. Be right back. Gimme ten minutes."
Without warning, he vanishes into his garage, which appears to be hanging on for dear life in this weather. Mara and I exchange a glance, one that says everything we're both thinking.
Is he coming back with a weapon? Can he be trusted? Is he planning to cut our brakes or pop a tire?
I keep the engine on just in case we need a quick escape. But to where? Without the aid of these chains, we can't make any headway up this mountain.
He returns, chains draped over his shoulders like they're about to be used for torture instead of assistance. The image fits his unsettling vibe perfectly. But instead of attacking us or locking us up with those chains, he drops to his knees and starts laying them out.
It's unnerving, watching him disappear from view, leaving us in the cold, oppressive silence. We can't tell what he's doing or if he's even attaching them properly. None of us would know the difference, but here we are, placing our trust in a man who doesn't even bother to brush his teeth.
Phoebe is still asleep in the backseat, so I shake her knee, my hand trembling slightly.
"Hey, we're getting chains put on." I'm careful to keep my voice low, not wanting the creep outside to hear anything we say inside the locked car.
"Where the hell are we?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes, blinking at nothing but swirling snowflakes and the imposing outline of a dilapidated barn.
"We got stuck," Mara says. She quickly fills Phoebe in on the last hour. "This guy—"
I cut Mara off, the words coming out harsh and judgmental. "This freak is helping us, but we had no other choice."
"Where is he?" Phoebe whispers.
She's right, it's been silent for a while and we haven't seen him, not even a blur of movement.
But without warning, the man appears outside Phoebe's window. Then BANG, BANG, BANG! His fist crashes against the glass, three brutal strikes that rattle the car. The impact is so fierce, I half expect the window to crack into a spiderweb.
All three of us scream in unison, the sound slicing through the icy silence, my heart sinking deep into the pit of my stomach.
Phoebe sees his face, and I watch her turn as pale as the snow outside.
"You okay?" I place my hand on her knee again, but she's frozen. "Phoebe, he wants you to roll your window down."
Phoebe looks like she's seen a ghost, so I roll down Mara's window instead. Better than doing mine. I want him as far away as possible.
"Yur lucky these fit like a glove. Back up a bit so I can secure 'em." I can smell his breath from across the car.
"Okay." I give him a thumbs-up, not sure why. Maybe to give off the illusion everything is fine and safe.
I shift into reverse as the man moves to my side of the window and motions for me to roll it down.
I don't want to. I don't want him grabbing me or robbing us, but I do as I'm told. We can't afford to get stranded here for the night, and there's no way in hell I'm getting stuck here with him.
He adjusts himself in his pants, his cupped hand rearranging his junk in a rather obvious motion. He licks his lips and leans his head an inch inside the car, giving me a slow, unsettling smile. "Back up a bit more, darlin'."
I feel my tires roll over the chains, his voice shouting through the cold air. "Okay, that's good. Yur good. Let me secure 'em."
My window is soon rolled up, but I can hear the unsettling clanking below us. I swear I can feel all three of our heartbeats thumping in sync, racing faster with each passing second as we silently pray he's not cutting the fuel line.
"Mara, get the money ready. I want to get the hell out of here as soon as we can." My lips are tight, my jaw clenched, and Mara quickly pulls out her wallet.
"Okay, okay." Poor Mara. She's as nervous as I am, her movements shaky and unsteady as she fumbles with the money.
"I think we're good," he yells from outside.
Mara rolls down her window barely an inch, careful not to expose too much of her arm, and slips the money through the narrow gap. His grimy, oily hands snatch it from her, counting it right in front of us, taking his sweet time, as if we'd try to stiff him out here, in the middle of nowhere.
"I gotta connect one more chain," he grunts. "But I want one more thing."
He pauses, letting the words hang in the air like a threat. I can feel the blood drain from my face. Part of me wants to slam the pedal and run him over, to never look back. But instead, I sit frozen and caught in the tension.
"I want your socks," he says, pointing at Mara with a revolting grin, like he's playing some twisted game of eenie, meenie, miney, mo.
"My... my socks?" Mara stammers, preparing for something far worse like meeting him behind a tree to do unspeakable things to her.
"Yes," he sneers, eyes glinting with something dark. "Give 'em to me, and I'll finish connecting the last chain."
Mara's eyes roll between confusion and disgust. Her expression says it all: What the actual fuck? She gives a half-hearted shrug, like there's no other choice.
"Okay," she mutters. I watch as she slowly unlaces her boots.
He also watches her, the act uncomfortably similar to a woman stripping naked. Maybe that's the point of him asking.
"Where y'all headed?" he asks us again.
"What the hell?" I curse through pursed lips. I don't want this whack job hearing any of the insults swimming in my brain. I don't even answer him because he's so distracted with Mara.
One by one, she peels off her socks—two layers—and clutches them tightly in her hands.
Then he reappears, his wild eyes gleaming with something far worse than greed. Can't he buy new socks with the money we're giving him? No. This isn't about that. This is something vile. My stomach churns as realization sets in. He doesn't just want to take our money; he wants to scare us.
"Are the chains on?" Mara asks, as if we truly are negotiating some twisted life or death deal.
"You got those socks?" he growls.
"Yes," she replies, holding them out like maybe the fabric isn't as innocent as we thought it was.
"Don'." He gives Mara a bewildered look. She just stares back, equally confused. His accent is thick enough that done sounds more like Don.
Mara throws the socks out the window without hesitation, and I don't think twice. I slam the car in reverse. I can't exactly speed off, but the wheels grip, and it's the first bit of control I've felt in awhile.
The old man fingers the socks out of the snow like they are his prize for doing a good deed.
Mara, Phoebe, and I sit petrified as we watch him hold the socks to his nose and inhale deeply, sniffing them with an almost savage hunger.
I'm fumbling the gearshift so I can take the car out of reverse and into drive.
Just as I start to accelerate, he unclips his massive belt buckle and lowers his pants and underwear to fall at his ankles.
We watch in horror as he begins to rub his penis with the socks, his sickening actions slow and deliberate.
He pumps his fist faster, moaning and shaking from the pleasure.
I smash the pedal down, desperate to put as much distance as I can between us and that. .. thing.
"Merry Christmas and welcome to Frosthaven Falls!" he screams into the void, his voice trailing behind us as we fishtail away, horrified and revolted.