Chapter 1: The Snow Devil’s Warning

When I was a kid, my grandpa used to drive this old, beat-up Chevy pickup—the kind that had way more rust than paint. He’d load up seven or eight folks from our little Appalachian town, hauling us all the way out to Maple Heights so we could buy piglets from the Johnsons’ farm. I can still smell the hay and diesel, remember the way we’d pile in—some crammed into the cab, the rest of us bouncing around in the truck bed, wrapped up in flannel shirts and beat-up old Army jackets, trying to stay warm. On the way back, fat snowflakes started falling out of nowhere, swirling in the headlights like confetti. Everyone in the truck bed started freaking out, voices getting louder over the rattling tailgate. Earl Simmons—always the first to get jumpy—said, his voice shaking, “Mr. Walker, before the snow buries the road, we better find a place to hole up.”

The second Earl finished, Tommy Harris—never one to miss a chance to spook people—jumped in with, “Yeah, let’s hide fast, man. If we wait ‘til the road’s gone, we’re toast. That thing’s gonna be out there in the snow, just waiting for us to get close, and then—boom—it’ll snatch us up.”

Our town had this old, jumpy superstition about heavy snow, especially the kind that piled up real quick, covering the hills in minutes. Folks would start swapping stories as soon as the first flurries hit, like winter itself woke up something in the woods.

On nights like that, there were always stories about a monster that came out—a thing as white as the snow itself, blending right in, impossible to spot until you were just a step too late. The grown-ups never told those tales straight, but we’d heard enough whispers to fill in the blanks ourselves.

Grandpa squinted through the windshield, his face set like stone. He always looked like he was chewing on something big. “Quit your panicking. Road’s still clear. That thing won’t show up yet. Just a few dozen yards ahead, there’s an old hunting cabin. We’ll hole up there ‘til it lets up.”

No sooner had Grandpa finished than Big Dave Holbrook, riding shotgun, started laughing. He was three sheets to the wind, as usual, and waved his bottle, nearly sloshing the last of it everywhere. “Yeah, what’s everyone losing their minds for, huh? That snow beast y’all talk about—just a big old bear, if you ask me. There’s enough of us—what’s a bear gonna do to a crowd?” He grinned, slouching back, looking pleased with himself.

The second Dave said the name, everyone’s faces changed. Eyes went wide, and you could feel the fear ripple through the truck like a cold draft. Even the air got tight, like the whole world was holding its breath.

The old-timers always said the Snow Devil could hear things for miles. Saying its name was like ringing a dinner bell for it, and nobody in town ever called it that out loud. It was one of those rules you just didn’t break—like not walking under a ladder, whistling after dark, or leaving your boots facing the door on a snowy night.

Earl snapped, voice tight and sharp, “Dave, are you nuts? Why’re you tempting fate? You wanna get us all killed, or what?” He shot Dave a look that could cut glass.

Dave loved his whiskey, but he couldn’t hold it. Two shots and his mouth was running off before his brain could catch up. He just grinned, slurring, “Y’all are such chickens. I ain’t scared of no Snow Devil.”

That’s when Grandpa reached behind the seat, grabbed the old leather belt he kept handy just for times like this, and smacked Dave across the back a few times—hard enough to make everyone in the truck flinch. The sound cracked through the cab, sharp as a gunshot. My heart jumped into my throat.

He hit him hard enough that Dave sobered up a little. Eyes watering, hands up, surrender in his face. The whiskey haze faded from his eyes, replaced by real, gut-level fear.

Grandpa said, cold as the snow outside, “Say one more word. I’ll toss you out in the snow myself. You wanna see what’s out there? Be my guest.”

Dave’s bravado crumbled. His eyes went wide and he whispered, voice shaking, “Please, Mr. Walker, I’ll shut up. Don’t leave me out there. Please.”

No sooner had he finished than Earl snapped, “You should kick him out! He just said it—bet that thing already heard every word. Probably waiting just up the road…”

I looked ahead. The mountain road was already white, stretching out forever, headlights carving a tunnel through the falling snow. The trees on either side looked like ghosts, half-swallowed by the storm.

It was dead quiet. Too quiet. Like the Snow Devil was standing out there, just past the edge of the light, watching us. And we hadn’t even noticed.

Dave yelled, voice cracking with panic, “Earl, you even human? With this much snow, even if we don’t run into that thing, I’ll freeze to death anyway, you know?”

Earl just sneered, “Serves you right.” He folded his arms, eyes locked on the dark outside. I could feel the tension thrumming between them.

Dave’s face turned beet red, veins standing out in his neck, and he looked like he was about to curse back—when Grandpa cut in, his voice sharp as a slap. “Enough! Knock it off. You realize what time it is? Still got energy to fight?”

After that, Grandpa just kept driving, knuckles white on the wheel. The truck rumbled on, engine growling against the wind, and inside, you could almost taste the fear in the air.

Everyone in the truck got real quiet, eyes darting to the woods, scared stiff of running into the Snow Devil. Nobody said a word. You could almost hear hearts beating.

The snow kept coming, piling up a good six inches in the time it took to drive a mile. The truck’s tires crunched and slipped. Outside, it looked like the world had been erased. Gone. Nothing but white. I swallowed hard.

Suddenly, Dave, who was sitting on the tailgate, asked in a shaky voice, “Did one of you just call my name?” His voice was thin, almost lost in the wind. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine.

Everyone looked at each other, fear in their eyes, silent accusations flickering between them. Nobody wanted to be the first to say anything.

Earl said, “Dave, quit messing around. Nobody called you.” He shot Dave a hard look, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Dave’s eyes were huge, full of terror. He shouted, “I swear I heard someone call my name! The voice was weird, and if you listened close, it didn’t even sound human, not really. It was like it came from everywhere at once.”

As soon as he finished, everyone looked like they’d seen a ghost. Faces went pale. Mouths hung open. Eyes darted to the windows, searching the swirling dark.

Grandpa narrowed his eyes, jaw set. “Don’t panic. We’ve got numbers, and we’re almost at the cabin. Just hang on.” His words came out clipped, urgent.

He kept the truck rolling forward, wheels spinning a little on the slick road. The headlights cut through the swirling snow, but it was like driving through a dream. Nothing felt real.

But we’d barely gone another forty feet when suddenly Dave let out a blood-curdling scream from the back. It was a sound I’d never heard from a grown man. A sound that made your skin crawl and your heart stutter.

By the time I whipped around, Dave was gone. Just gone. All that was left were deep claw marks in the snow and a splash of blood, bright against the white. It looked like something had reached right out of the woods and yanked him away. My stomach dropped.

Earl, who’d been sitting right beside him, was splattered with blood. He stared at his hands, shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

He cried out, voice breaking, “Dave got dragged off by that thing!”

Everyone in the truck lost it. Eyes wide with panic, voices rising in a jumble of prayers and curses. Somebody started crying. Others just stared out into the dark, waiting for something else to move. I held my breath.

Grandpa said, voice steady but grim, “Don’t panic. Let’s get to the cabin first. When the snow stops, we’ll head home.” He sounded like he was talking himself down as much as us.

He pulled the truck up to the old cabin. It was big, two stories tall, pitch black inside except for a sliver of gray light leaking around the doorframe. The place looked abandoned. But it was shelter. That was all that mattered right then.