Black Frost Read Online Free PDF Page A

before it
could char. Ashley went inside to start her homework, her furry pal
right beside her, while I finished making dinner.
    As I pulled the aluminum foil packet of
potatoes and onions off the hot grill and onto the same platter as
the t-bone, I couldn’t stop thinking about the description Ashley
had given and the entry in my GrandFather’s journal. Another
thought occurred to me as I entered the house, taking a last look
around the gloomy yard…..it was way too late in the season and too
cold for bees or hornets of any kind to be active.
     
    After dinner, while Ashley tackled her math,
I took a close look at Charm’s neck, struggling to keep the wiggly
dog still. I found a particularly good scratching spot on her back
and she stilled long enough for a careful inspection of the heavy
choke chain collar. Link by link, I looked, checking the thick
furry neck underneath as well. Just near the part of the collar
that held her tags, I spotted something foreign. At first I thought
it was a twig, stuck to the aluminum rabies tag, but then I noticed
it was sharp and greenish in color. Grabbing the tick tweezers that
we keep handy, I pulled it off and then rummaged in the junk
drawer, at last finding my GrandFather’s old magnifying glass.
    It resembled a bee’s stinger, blown up about
a hundred times. Over an inch long, the black tip glistened wetly,
the other thicker end seemingly burned off. I moved to the kitchen
sink to catch the better illumination from the overhead light, but
fumbled the plastic tweezers, dropping the stinger into a dirty
steel colander. It hit the metal, sputtered like a drop of water on
a hot skillet and was gone – evaporated into smoke.
    “Whatcha’ doing dad?” Ashley asked.
    “Er, thought I found a tick on the fur bag
over there, but just dirt,” I lied, not wanting to sound crazy to
my thirteen-year old. Teenagers always think their parents are
nuts, they don’t need any additional proof.
    “Oh..well, can you help me with this
problem?” she asked, her attention back on her math book.
    “Sure, honey,” I replied, looking in vain for
any remnant of the stinger.
     
    After getting through her math work, I
grabbed a flashlight and a can of Raid Hornet spray. Thinking of my
GrandFather’s journal, I cautiously made my way back to the old
foundation, approaching slow and stealthy. There was nothing to
see, either in or around the crevice that Ashley had pointed to,
although the sand at the bottom of the hole was disturbed. Nothing
clear enough to call a track or sign, but disturbed,
nonetheless.
     
    Shivering for a moment in the frosty night
air, I glanced back at our little Bear Mountain. At that moment a
greenish light flashed, like lightening, but close to the hilltop,
lighting the trees around the crown. Puzzled, I watched for a
moment to see if it repeated, but nothing happened. I shuddered one
of those full body shivers you get from time to time, the kind that
have nothing to do with temperature. My grandmother used to say
they were the result of someone walking on your ancestors’ graves.
She’d say it in a spooky voice, then laugh and ruffle my hair.
Still thinking of my grandparents, strange lights and cold weather
bugs, I headed back into the warmth and light of the little
farmhouse.
     
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    Friday dawned wet and cold, typical for
November in upstate New York. A front had moved through in the
night, replacing the frost with rain that wanted to be snow or
sleet. Watching Ashley through the shop window, I was struck by how
grown up she was looking, despite the hoodie pulled over her shiny
black hair and the iPod earbuds. She glanced back my way, probably
unable to see me in the dark window, and my heart leapt into my
throat. She could have been her mother’s twin, except for the green
eyes.
    Swallowing the loss I felt every time I
thought of my wife, I poked the forge fire a bit, then looked back
in time to see the yellow bus swallow my daughter into its