Snowblind

By R. Saint Claire

Everyone agrees Hoza Drakos is an abusive narcissist who’d be better off dead. But when his battered wife and her best friend (and secret lover) decide to murder him during a holiday getaway, they discover that Hoza is not the only monster lurking in the snow-covered mountain wilderness.

R. Saint Claire’s quick and wicked holiday read is all wrapped up with surprising plot twists, double-crosses, and monsters of all kinds. *This book contains domestic abuse, violence, and vulgar language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Saint Claire
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005676643

R. Saint Claire

R. Saint Claire writes adult and YA fiction and screenplays (horror mostly) as well as poetry and music when the mood strikes. Honors include a Watty award for her horror novel, Code Red, a Webby Honoree for her original web series Gemini Rising, and multiple screenwriting awards. You’ll find Regina and her alter-ego Batilda hanging out on her YouTube channel Regina’s Haunted Library.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The black Mercedes SUV poked its nose hopefully out of the north end of the Lehigh Tunnel, but the fog had only thickened since it entered the bowels of Kittantiny Mountain. Winking red taillights barely moved forward in the misted traffic up ahead. Jutting outlines of rock embankments swelled on both sides of the four-lane turnpike, then disappeared into a heavy gray sky.

Hoza pounded his fist on the horn, its harsh blare shattering the peace of the three passengers.

Donna, who had been dozing on Lorraine’s shoulder in the back seat, jolted to sudden wakefulness. Used to her husband’s explosions, paranoid rants, and night raids, she always slept with one eye open anyway.

Get moving, ya fucking losers ! Hoza shouted, although the only ones who could hear him were the three women in the vehicle: Donna, her best friend Lorraine, and Donna’s younger sister, Jean-Marie, who sat knees-to-chest in the front seat, absorbed in a book.

Be careful, Hoza, Donna cooed from the back seat. That rain is beginning to freeze. Although only in her mid thirties, Donna was already beginning to show lines of stress in her pale complexion and streaks of silver in her shoulder-length brown hair. Her best features were her expressive brown eyes, but even those were ringed with fatigue from the hell she’d been through these past seventeen years.

Hoza laid on the horn again.

That’s not helping, said Lorraine from the back seat, her voice a serrated blade of annoyance.

Unlike Donna, Lorraine was tall and solidly built, her hair short and spiky, and her cute Irish features gave some levity to her serious gray eyes.

Dumb bitch, Hoza snarled through thick lips.

Lorraine began to come back at him, but Donna caught her eye and shook her head. Don’t make it worse, was her motto.

Donna noticed the ruddiness gathering on the back of Hoza’s neck and shuddered. She would have to absorb that anger later. But it would be for the last time. Ever.

She squeezed Lorraine’s hand beneath the down coat draped across their laps for warmth, confirming their silent conspiracy. Lorraine slowly moved her hand to find the warm spot between Donna’s legs and nestled it there.

Donna turned her head to gaze out the rain-lashed window. With a tiny smile tickling the corners of her lips, she recalled the last time she and Lorraine had made love. They had spent a weekend together at the chalet, ostensibly to prepare it for the Christmas holiday. It had been a perfect idyll away from Hoza’s scornful gaze. Soon, the beautiful mountain home would be theirs alone to share.

The next hour of the drive was slow, but uneventful as the women read or dozed while Hoza obsessively switched radio stations in search of something other than this country shit.

When they exited the turnpike, the freezing rain had turned to snow, thick flakes of it becoming slush beneath the heated windshield wiper blades. They were an hour and a half behind in their time and night was closing in.

Who came up with the bright idea of spending Christmas up here? Hoza’s narrowed, reptilian eyes caught Donna’s in the rearview mirror like a mouse in a trap.

She looked away, biting her tongue. The holiday away had been Hoza’s idea from the start. The pressure from running his many businesses along the Wildwood Boardwalk was too much—even during the off-season.

Fuck! Hoza muttered gruffly as he steered out of a skid. The luggage shifted in the back hatch. The muzzle of Hoza’s new rifle, an early Christmas present to himself encased in monogrammed leather, poked Donna’s ear. Nervously, she pushed it back into the cargo hatch.

It makes it worse when you brake like that, Lorraine said in her matter-of-fact way.

You wanna drive?

If you want, she rejoined dryly.

"What I want is for you bitches to shut your mouths so I can concentrate. You too!" He darted a hateful glance at Jean-Marie, who always sat upfront due to carsickness.

Jean-Marie peeked up from her book like a frightened owl. I didn’t say nothing. Her eyes were a dull brown behind her Harry Potter glasses. She resembled Donna only in her petite build and pale complexion.

What are you reading, Jean-Marie? asked Donna, steering the subject into neutral territory.

The legend of the Mhuwe. Jean-Marie pronounced it slowly as muh-hoo-way.

Muh-ho-what? Speak English, demanded Hoza, switching off the radio when the station cut to a commercial.

It’s a Lenape Indian legend, said Jean-Marie with a sigh as if it were common knowledge. The Mhuwe is a man-eating ice giant, kind of like the Windigo from farther up North. There are many myths associated with it, but this book— Jean-Marie tapped the spine authoritatively—gives the true history.

True history, huh? Lorraine smirked from the back seat. She found Jean-Marie annoying and silently questioned why she was along on this outing. Donna had her reasons, but still.

Never one to accurately read social cues, Jean-Marie perked up at the feigned interest. The Lenapes were a great tribal nation. She gazed out the window through sheets of slanted snow. All this was once their land before the white men stole it from them.

White men, my ass, Hoza said with a huff. We liberated this great land from a bunch of savages is what we did.

That’s bullshit, said Lorraine with reddening cheeks.

What, are you gonna say you’re part Cherokee or something? Hoza asked with an ugly, mocking laugh.

No, Lorraine replied tightly. But I am a quarter Mattaponi. That’s a small tribe from Virginia and—

And I’m one-hundred percent Greek, spat Hoza, cutting her off. My people civilized the whole fucking world.

You were saying about your book, Jean? asked Donna, slipping into her usual peacemaker role.

"The Lenape believed that a Mhuwe would eat anyone with a great sin on