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Authors: Jeff Mariotte
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twenty minutes straight.
After thirteen minutes she gave up and went back to the window. The day had darkened, as more layers of cloud, she supposed, passed in front of the sun. Still nothing falling, but she was more convinced than ever that it would.
Turning to go back to her computer, movement attracted her attention. Someone passing through the trees across the street. She knew the people who lived in the little house over there, the Sawyers, an elderly 68 SUPERNATURAL
couple who rarely ventured outside. The person in the trees was neither of them, but he seemed to be skulking toward their house. Brittany backed away from the window a bit, pulling the sheer curtain between herself and the man. He looked like an old guy, grizzled and stooped. His coat was leather, she thought, and he wore tall boots pulled up over his pants, and on his head he had one of those hunting caps with the earflaps you could pull down.
As she watched, he closed in on one of the Sawyers’ windows. He looked old for a Peeping Tom, but then again she wasn’t sure if there was a particular age range for that kind of thing. Either way, she didn’t like the looks of him.
Then he turned a little and something in his right hand swung into sight. He was carrying a rifl e!
Brittany released the curtain and dashed to her phone, beside her computer. She dialed 911. A moment later a dispatcher came on the line.
“There’s an old man across the street, in the woods, and he has a gun,” she said quickly. “By the Sawyers’ house.”
“Do you know the address, ma’am?” the voice asked.
“He’s across the street, not here. I don’t know their address offhand.”
“I understand, ma’am. I have your address, and I’m dispatching a sheriff’s officer out there right away. Has the man seen you?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Witch’s
Can
69
yon
“Stay indoors, ma’am. Officers will knock on your door and identify themselves, but don’t let anyone in until they do.”
“Okay,” Brittany said. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Do you want me to stay on the line?”
“That’s okay,” Brittany said. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Hands shaking, she put the phone down and cautiously returned to the window. When she got close, she lowered herself to her knees and crept the rest of the way, peering out with only her eyes and forehead exposed.
Snow had started to fall, big white flakes of it drifting slowly earthward.
It wasn’t fair. She had been waiting for this moment, for the first falling snow, to go outside and revel in it.
Across the way, she couldn’t see the man with the gun anymore. She hoped he wasn’t already inside the Sawyers’ house, terrorizing those nice old people. In the distance, she could hear an approaching siren.
The sheriff’s car, already on the way. She allowed herself a smile. They’d be here soon enough, and the whole thing would be over, a strange adventure, and she could go out and luxuriate in the day, more alive then ever.
A noise from behind startled her. Brittany spun around, rocking on her knees, barely able to keep her balance. Had he come into her place?
But no—there was someone inside her living room, but it wasn’t the old man. The intruder looked 70 SUPERNATURAL
like something out of a movie, an Indian, but old-fashioned, wearing leather leggings, bare-chested, with bands around his arms and legs and a red cloth wrapped around his head. He glowered at her through small, dark eyes.
The most disturbing part was not his fierce gaze or even the tomahawk clutched in his fist, but the gaping wound in his broad chest, as if he’d been cleaved open by his own weapon. The sides of the wound were pale, not red, as if the wound was old. No blood ran from it, although she could see what must have been bone and muscle inside.
A scream caught in her throat, and only the faint-est squeak emerged. She could hear the sirens now, just outside. She had dropped to one knee, with
After thirteen minutes she gave up and went back to the window. The day had darkened, as more layers of cloud, she supposed, passed in front of the sun. Still nothing falling, but she was more convinced than ever that it would.
Turning to go back to her computer, movement attracted her attention. Someone passing through the trees across the street. She knew the people who lived in the little house over there, the Sawyers, an elderly 68 SUPERNATURAL
couple who rarely ventured outside. The person in the trees was neither of them, but he seemed to be skulking toward their house. Brittany backed away from the window a bit, pulling the sheer curtain between herself and the man. He looked like an old guy, grizzled and stooped. His coat was leather, she thought, and he wore tall boots pulled up over his pants, and on his head he had one of those hunting caps with the earflaps you could pull down.
As she watched, he closed in on one of the Sawyers’ windows. He looked old for a Peeping Tom, but then again she wasn’t sure if there was a particular age range for that kind of thing. Either way, she didn’t like the looks of him.
Then he turned a little and something in his right hand swung into sight. He was carrying a rifl e!
Brittany released the curtain and dashed to her phone, beside her computer. She dialed 911. A moment later a dispatcher came on the line.
“There’s an old man across the street, in the woods, and he has a gun,” she said quickly. “By the Sawyers’ house.”
“Do you know the address, ma’am?” the voice asked.
“He’s across the street, not here. I don’t know their address offhand.”
“I understand, ma’am. I have your address, and I’m dispatching a sheriff’s officer out there right away. Has the man seen you?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Witch’s
Can
69
yon
“Stay indoors, ma’am. Officers will knock on your door and identify themselves, but don’t let anyone in until they do.”
“Okay,” Brittany said. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Do you want me to stay on the line?”
“That’s okay,” Brittany said. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” Hands shaking, she put the phone down and cautiously returned to the window. When she got close, she lowered herself to her knees and crept the rest of the way, peering out with only her eyes and forehead exposed.
Snow had started to fall, big white flakes of it drifting slowly earthward.
It wasn’t fair. She had been waiting for this moment, for the first falling snow, to go outside and revel in it.
Across the way, she couldn’t see the man with the gun anymore. She hoped he wasn’t already inside the Sawyers’ house, terrorizing those nice old people. In the distance, she could hear an approaching siren.
The sheriff’s car, already on the way. She allowed herself a smile. They’d be here soon enough, and the whole thing would be over, a strange adventure, and she could go out and luxuriate in the day, more alive then ever.
A noise from behind startled her. Brittany spun around, rocking on her knees, barely able to keep her balance. Had he come into her place?
But no—there was someone inside her living room, but it wasn’t the old man. The intruder looked 70 SUPERNATURAL
like something out of a movie, an Indian, but old-fashioned, wearing leather leggings, bare-chested, with bands around his arms and legs and a red cloth wrapped around his head. He glowered at her through small, dark eyes.
The most disturbing part was not his fierce gaze or even the tomahawk clutched in his fist, but the gaping wound in his broad chest, as if he’d been cleaved open by his own weapon. The sides of the wound were pale, not red, as if the wound was old. No blood ran from it, although she could see what must have been bone and muscle inside.
A scream caught in her throat, and only the faint-est squeak emerged. She could hear the sirens now, just outside. She had dropped to one knee, with
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