Dead of Winter Read Online Free PDF Page B

basement tunnel with two burly orderlies and two guards carrying rifles mounted with bayonets. The five men relit the torches, bringing light back to the asylum’s dark underground cells. The Crypt was unusually silent.
    The warden smiled, happy that the Cannery Cannibal was finally dead.
    Gustave’s in bloody hell where he belongs.
    They reached the oak door with the black iron bars. It glistened with blood. There were a few teeth scattered about the floor.
    Paddock kept a good distance as the orderlies pounded on the door. “Gustave?”
    Silence.
    “Can you hear him breathing?” the warden asked.
    The orderly pressed his ear to the bars for a tense moment. “Nothing, sir.”
    “Open it.”
    The two guards aimed their rifles. One orderly held up a pole with a metal noose, while the other unlocked the door and pushed it open.
    Gustave Meraux lay face down in a pool of his own red muck. A rat scurried over his protruding backbone.
    “Let’s be quick about this.” Paddock tapped his foot, checking his pocket watch. In an hour, he had an appointment with his favorite prostitute. He couldn’t wait to get between her thighs. After all the stress the day had brought on, the warden was ready to fuck it all away.
    The orderly entered, easing the wire garotte over the dead man’s head. Gustave lay stiff, a bloody pile of meat and jutting bones, looking like some kind of strange fish that had washed up on shore. The stink of the sea was heavy in the air. The orderly stretched out the long pole and pulled the noose tight. A pale hand lurched upward, snatched the pole.
    Paddock gasped.
    At the tunnel entrance, torches began to extinguish. One by one, each section went black, as the darkness moved towards them like a rolling river of ink. Paddock turned back to the cell. In the flickering flame light, the pale-skinned ghoul leaped to his feet. The pole stabbed through the orderly’s back.
    The final torch burned out.
    Pitch darkness.
    Laughter reverberated inside the cell.
    Men screamed. Shots fired. Barrel flames lit up a ravenous face biting into an orderly’s throat.
    Darkness again.
    Paddock pissed his pants. Backed into a cell. Turned. Ran. Stumbled through the tunnel. Past the Crypt’s gate. Tried to lock it. Dropped his keys. Yelped and continued running through the darkness.
    Prisoners howled in their cells.
    The warden fell against the bars. Hands grabbed his arms, pinning him against cold iron. A prisoner mumbled into his ear. “Feed time. Feed time.”
    Paddock fought to break loose.
    The rancid stench of fish guts stung his nose.
    “No, please, no!”
    A slimy hand gripped his cheeks. The Cannery Cannibal cackled. Inches from his face. Warden Paddock screamed as teeth sank into his jugular.

Part Two
    The Messenger
    11
     
    Fort Pendleton
    Ontario, Canada
    The storm’s howl heightened into a maddening shriek, rattling the window panes of Noble House, causing Master Avery Pendleton to wonder if it was more than just the wind.
    “The Beast of Winter has arrived,” Walter Thain chortled, chomping a mouthful with an annoying smack of his lips.
    Pendleton’s gaze went from his glass of brandy to the rotund officer sitting across the table. Red grease stained Walter’s multi-chinned jaw as he stuffed his engorged cheeks with blood sausages. The glutton was eating right out of a silver tin like some mongrel off the street.
    Pendleton scowled at his officer. “Percy’s wife was murdered, and all you can bloody do is eat?”
    “You know what bad news does to me stomach,” said Walter, peeling back another metal lid and pulling a sardine out by the tail.
    “Well, ration your food. We have a long winter yet.” Pendleton tossed a napkin at Walter. “And for Christ’s sake, wipe your chin.”
    Pendleton went to a window, where snowflakes clung to the glass, as if fleeing from a terror that lurked in the storm. The ice crystals gathered around the edges of the window, forming a frost border. Beyond were the