William Smith opened the door a crack, letting the howling wind sweep through the small room carrying a drift of snow with it.
Only the storm answered with its continued roar, sometimes louder, sometimes softer.
William slammed the door shut. Snow settled around the room.
William started at the door a moment, shaking his head
There had been a knock and a voice calling his name. He heard it. It was real. He knew it wasn’t his imagination.
William had been alone since he drove off those pesky natives a few months back. Oh, sure, they were out there, watching him, but they stayed away.
He settled in front of the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around him. Even wearing every stitch of clothing he owned and sitting in front of the roaring fire wouldn’t keep the chill out. How much longer would the storm last?
The knock came again, louder. This time the voice was clear, “William Smith!”
He jumped up, grabbed his gun and headed for the door.
William went out and shut the door behind him. No sense losing any of the very little warmth in his tiny cabin.
The voice came calling again, cutting above the wind.
Through the snow he could see a silhouette. A large buck was just a little bit in front of him, not too far off. The voice seemed to be coming from its direction.
William felt the hunger pangs. That buck would feed him for the rest of the winter, that was for sure.
He pushed his way through the drifts towards it. The buck itself seemed to be having trouble in the deep snow and stayed just a few paces ahead, just slightly too far for William to be sure of his aim. He only had one shot without a lengthy reload, he had to make it count.
He pushed on, not feeling the cold, thought only on the deer.
But it wasn’t just the thought of food. Something out there was pulling him. He could feel warmth, comfort and companionship if he just followed that voice, followed the big buck.
William could barely make out the buck through the blinding blizzard, but he knew he was getting closer. He had to go just a little farther, follow that calling just a few minutes more.
The house was great and Jeremy got it for a steal. The legend of that frontiersman, William Smith, made the house all that more enticing. Nobody ever found out what had happened to him, but the legend says he would hide in the woods, calling people’s names, sometimes disguised as a huge buck deer.
Of course it was just Jeremy’s luck that he had moved in just before the first big storm of the season. The roads would be closed for days. Oh well, he had plenty of food and he had tested the generator. No problems. The place even had decent cell reception for being so far out.
Jeremy cranked the heat up to 75. He’d be nice and toasty.
There was a loud knock at the door.
Who could that be?
“Jeremy! Jeremy Vance!”
He opened the door and walked out a few steps into the blowing snow.
The door slammed behind him, but he ignored it.
There was something out there calling, calling, pulling, pulling.
Barefoot and wearing just his boxers and a t-shirt, Jeremy walked away from the house out into the worsening blizzard, following that huge buck and its calling voice.
This was written for Sue Vincent’s weekly writephoto challenge. This week was based on Sue’s lovely photo at the top of the page and the key word “Calling”. I thought “The Calling” sounded Stephen King-ish, so….