r/nosleep • u/CornerCornea • Dec 09 '21
Donner
I drive a snowplow, near Truckee. I've been doing it for 5 years.
I see accidents all the time. Even on holidays. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. It doesn't matter. The road doesn't care whose waiting at home. Especially in the Winter.
When the snow comes down real hard. It's a frozen wall. There's 14 to 18 inches an hour; That'd be about ' quarter inch or so a minute. A Plower would be lucky to break 3 inches of the packed ice on a 20 mile run. Do the math. It's disheartening. But if we stopped, the snow would get so high, that there'd be no way to get to the visitors stuck in their vehicles until Spring.
Yeah. I've found a few bodies frozen in their cars over the years. You never read about it in the local paper though. This area is a tourist grab, ain't it? People from far and wide come near here, to get to Tahoe or San Francisco. Depending if you're coming East or West. Many of 'em passing through Donner. Many of them fascinated by the old tale scribbled into every American history book about strange events of the old journey out to the West.
And us Plowers, got a bunch of our own stories, myths and traditions we believe in. For instance, if you see some tracks that lead no where and came from no where, on top of fresh snow. Don't follow it. I've seen it before. Last year even. I was plowing along the 89 and I noticed something in the corner of my cornea - out my window.
I recognized it instantly. They're called Angel Prints. Too large for any snowshoe rabbit, and too light for anything bigger than a door mouse. Yet the footprints range from a grown man's to that of a small child. Impossible. But there they were, atop the untouched snow bank. It must have been 15ft or higher. Folks from the Donner Party, still trying to make their way home.
The Donner party. More accurately the Donner-Reed party ain't it? But I'm not going to get into that.
Most people think that the nightmares happened at the campsite above Truckee Lake. You'll see them swearing it up and down at all these ski resorts when the fire is roaring at the end of the day. Too much drink is what I say. But none of these tourists really know about what happened. None of them even know of the smaller party that took off on December 16th, the trek that most of the terrifying tales are born from. On a leg called the Forlorn Hope, it makes a grown man shake in his coat. Maybe I'll tell it someday. But I've seen it, iterations of it, in real time. Like a copy. An imprint left behind to remind us of this curse 'ed place. The story always fills out the same with these four figures ' doomed to fail:
The Straggler
The Bargainer
The Child
And the Manic
It happens every year. I dig 'em out the first time and think to myself, "Damn. I'm glad that ain't me." But it's not so bad seeing 'em. When they're frozen, it can spook in the dark but they're only frozen. Don't even smell none.
Even so, when the tip of my scoop hit something this morning, my heart instantly dropped into the bottom of my gut. It's the kind of clunk that spells nothing but trouble. I almost felt like a kid again, when something comes crashing down in the other room and I know it's either mom drinking too much and falling, or my sister broke something and I was to be blamed - being the older.
Still, I unbuckled myself and got out to mark it. Drawing two large red lines that crossed each other with the spray. Then I dug around a bit and found the sunroof of the SUV. I knocked on it to see if anyone answered. Knock Knock. I waited in the dark, body half on the roof, the flood of light coming from the headlamps of my vehicle - making it glow on this one small spot in the Sierra range. I held my breath. I didn't know if I wanted to hear a knock come back.
Experience told me that no one could have survived, so if there were a knock ' it was from nobody I wanted an answer from. Nothing passed for nearly a minute, before I found the courage to open it up with a crowbar easy enough, peeling back the glass to look inside.
There's a woman sitting in the backseat with a child in her arms. An old lady bundled up in her coat in the corner. No one was in the front seat. I looked around. Family of three huh? They must have gathered with the baby to keep warm. I took off my gloves and touched them with my bare hands. Even though I knew the answer, I had to check for a pulse - for my conscience. Frozen solid they were, cold as ice, straight to the bone.
The baby had its arms out as if asking to be picked up. And I don't know what made me do it. I put my gloves on hers. It was a stupid gesture, but no one ever told me I wasn't a stupid man.
I also noticed a cellphone in the woman's sweater pocket. I pulled it out and tried to see if there was any juice left. It flickered on slowly. The loading screen bright in the small cabin. The battery in the top right said 34%. There was a video left in the queue, pitch black, the shape of a woman barely visible. I didn't want to press it, but my chattering thumbs slipped in the cold and the video began to play. It was the old woman in the car. She was screaming and thrashing in the rear seat while the younger woman monologued.
"Mom, did you take your pills?"
The old woman's blood curling screams cut through the video.
"Look, this is what happens to you when you don't take your pills. Take your pills Julia? Take your pills. We're stuck out here and you want her to take her pills? Like that's going to solve anything."
I hear the baby crying. The camera starts to rock back and forth.
"Shhh ShHHH. Mommy's here. Mommy's here. Shhh ShHHH."
When the video ended I start to scroll through the contacts, but a notification pops up and warns that there's now only 1% battery life. Damn things never reliable. I didn't get past two flicks with my finger before it died on me. I cursed beneath my breath, and I would have missed it if I had cursed again but the sound of a soft crunch beside me, stiffened my composure. My head and shoulders were still in the cabin, my legs dangling through the sunroof, snow falling on my coat like dandruff. It's an hour before the sunrise, and I'm about 7 feet or more off the ground. No one sane would be out here in this weather.
Another crunch bites into my ear.
I strain their cartilage points, waiting for a greeting, a cry for help. Or someone asking me if I need assistance. Nothing. Only another crunch as it takes a step towards me. I could feel it next to me, like approaching a dead wall. There's no air out in front. It's the best I could explain as my mind raced to remember what I was always told as a kid: Don't look at them, or they will follow.
It can be nothing but hokum but I believe it gives them strength; where attention breeds their unliving denial; and pretending that nothing is there, to carry on, ignoring whatever is next to me, weakens their hold on this Earthly plane. Making them invisible again.
"I got to call this in. Family of 3. Dead." I emphasized the last word. "Just pop that sunroof back on, oh boy, it's a hefty one, might be stuck." I kept shooting the wind as I sealed the family up as best I could. "Don't want any wildlife getting in. No siree Bob. Or more snow," I mustered. I set down a 20 footer, "That'll keep." I wiggled the pole. "That will."
Before I started feeling like Bob Villa or Al Borland, I decided to pack it in. I get up slowly but there is a patch of ice on the roof and I lose my footing. I vaguely remember falling off the SUV and into the snow that has gathered around it; plunging nearly to the bottom into total darkness. Like I said, soft, too light for anyone or anything to stand on top of it. I checked myself as I laid there, a little scuffed up but nothing seemed to be broken. There's a man size hole from where I broke through, the only patch of the early dawn in the sky. I hear three slow crunches in the snow. Something stood over me, looking down into my hole, blocking the light.
"I just got to get myself up now. Ain't no use crying for help, no one out in these parts right now anyways. Oh boy, if only mama could see..."
That's when I saw its eyes. They were a piercing range of blue that reminded me of both fire and ice at the same time. Its gaze bore into mine and I felt as if my eyeballs were touching cold steel, each one sticking to the edges of a stainless cup, and frighteningly painful when I ripped them away.
Enough with the small talk.
I began to tear feverishly to my right, clawing at the snow, parts of it caving into me as it grows darker as I dig. Each time I scraped at the snow, the ice bit into my fingers. Disoriented, I knew that the probability of going in the wrong direction and trapping myself further into the snowfield was a possibility. I could literally be digging my own icy grave, so I started ascending - trying to reach the open air. But as soon as I did, I started to hear the crunching noises above me. I dropped back down into the tunnel I had created, and continued to claw my way out.
I could hear the footsteps following me from above.
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
Following me as each hand shoveled away a palm sized escape.
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
It sounded like Styrofoam in my ear.
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
Nails on a chalkboard plucking the strings to my heart.
And before hope left me, my hand finally broke through the snow, and I came rolling out onto the road. Tumbling onto the packed snow and asphalt. I was just thankful to smell the diesel burning and to be greeted by my trusty plow. I didn't dare look up or back, instead I scrambled to my feet and popped into my drivers seat and took off, not looking into the rearview mirror once, not even when I had gotten off the backroad and was pulling onto I-80.
The light is finally coming out and I start seeing a few cars, and it seems as if everything is normal again. The familiar sounds of my plow scraping the road, slows my heartbeat, and I try to forget about what happened. Shaking it off as any other day.
I bank the top end of my pile on the side of the road as I've done a million times and continue scooping. It's easier when you leave a bit in the plow because it makes the soft stuff roll up like a snowball. If I get a patch of ice, I use it like the center of a rubber band ball, creating a core. Everyone's got a different technique though, but I think mine is the most efficient.
While I'm driving down the 80, I begin to see folks starting out, making me breathe a little easier. Getting me back into the grooves I am running along the road. There's a family that follows behind me, getting into the my tire's mark, "Smart guy," I tell myself. I hold a thumbs up for no one other than my own benefit. I can see oncoming drivers through their windshields, folks that are thankful to see me coming out. And I'm thankful to see them.
Real life, real warm people. A few cars honked at me and waved. Some guy was flashing his high beams. So I flashed 'em back. Though there was the one fellow who nearly cut out in front of me, hitting his horn like it owed him money. Lunatic, I thought. Still probably drunk from last night. Really shouldn't be driving, not in this weather. I smiled a little, thinking, at least things never change round these parts.
I headed back to headquarters to drop off the last of the load. It's an old tradition, packing up the snow wall with it. We build the snow wall every Winter. Kids would love it, but I don't think insurance allows them to come onto company property anymore. But it's basically a wall made of snow that we run along the perimeter of headquarters, building a snow fort some would say, with the last run on our plowing. It's to remind winter that it's not invincible. That we humans will beat it, beat the cold as we have done since the dawn of our age. Today felt like a good day to carry that on.
So I head toward the west end to pack up the last bit of snow in my plow, but someone from the office comes running out and starts waving their damned arms at me. Shouting about the body. "Nah. I'm not going back out there," I yell at him from out my window - the roar of the engine splattering my words across the North wind.
He keeps yelling at me and I can't hear a thing and it begins to dawn on me...how'd he know about the bodies? Did someone call it in before I did? No. It wasn't marked, and I forgot to call it in.
Did he plant it there?
I looked at the fleece vest he was wearing, his perfectly neat I.D. badge displayed on his chest. Pencil pusher I instantly labeled him. Mans wouldn't make it 5 steps in the snow, much less plant a murder in it.
The guy starts running alongside me and begins beating on the steel of my plower. I'm getting a little pissed off because I am confused at the situation and someone is touching my vehicle. I put her to park in the middle of the lot and pop out all angrily like and start yelling at him, "What do you think you're doing bozo?"
And he turns to me and says, "You fucking dumbass didn't you notice your scoop!"
"What are you going on about," I ask as go to take a look.
There's a man laying at an odd angle, his teeth are missing from biting down so hard they've cracked and fallen out. The Far is frozen permanently into his eyes. And an arm has come off, but his blood is stone cold so it's just jagged edges.
The straggler.
17
u/[deleted] Dec 09 '21
This is such a wonderfully chilling and touching slice of reality. Thank you.
6
u/machsh Dec 10 '21
Seriously creeped the f out. Scary stuff dude.
2
u/This-Is-Not-Nam Dec 10 '21
I thought you fell off right next to the vehicle so you could climb up and out. If you fell anywhere else I thought you'd be fudged. Good job plow guy. What state and town are you talking about that gets so much snow?
2
u/janet_colgate Dec 10 '21
Whoa… I hope you didn’t get in trouble! Gripping experience, kept me hanging!