A Fictional Musing: Dead of Winter

I wrote Dead of Winter for a 24-Hour Short Story contest.  At noon, a prompt and a word count went live. All contestants then had 24 hours to write, rewrite, edit, and submit. My focus for this story was a surprise twist at the end. The story earned an honorable mention. 

Happy Reading. 📚

📷 Credit: MaggooArts

Dead of Winter

Moving to the mountains to escape humanity was the best decision I’d ever made. I was so much more at peace with my own existence, and that felt good after years of misery. 

It had been almost five years since I’d lost my partner. It was one of those wrong place, wrong time sorts of things. A terrible accident. But man, I missed Carmel. His smile could light up the world like the sun was doing just now.

I paused at the top of Eagle Point and took in the glorious view of nature. The snow was melting, but there would be more by nightfall. Winters could be brutal on the mountainside. 

My hard-fast rule is: I don’t dare go out in the dark or in a snowstorm—there are far too many dangers, like freezing to death. My closest help was a windy 45-minute drive up a mountain. And that was on a good day. 

I heard the rushing water of the stream before I saw it. The sound of running water always soothed my soul, and I almost smiled. 

Until I saw them. Bare footprints in the snow by the frosty edge of the stream... 

What on earth? How could that be possible? There weren’t other people up here. And bare feet would be a killer in winter. 

“Hello?” I cupped my hands around my mouth, “Is anyone out there?”

The snow blanketed everything, and silence responded. The sun drifted behind storm clouds, and fresh flakes began to fall. 

“Damnit!” 

I raced back to my cabin to grab leftovers from the fridge. While that heated, I rummaged through the closet for camping gear. Just in case someone was trapped out there, I had to help.

The snow was light, and there was enough daylight for my mission.  I made it to the stream's edge and back with my supply package.  If someone were stranded out there, they would at least have a bowl of warm food, a fork, some water, and a blanket.

The next day I awoke early, anxious to get outside and check on my stranded Stranger. As soon as it stopped snowing and the sun rose above the tree line, I raced to the edge of the stream.

My eyes widened in surprise. The plate and fork were spotless, right where I’d left them. The blanket was gone. 

I continued my mission for the next several days, leaving food and water for the stranded Stranger, no longer barefoot. I smiled at the tracks of the boots I’d left on the second day. 

The smell of snow filled the air as I retrieved the dishes.  A storm was coming. A bad one. And soon.

Back at the cabin, I prepped an extra large supply package for the next day and crossed my fingers I could get it to my Stranger on time. 

Shortly after dinner, something revolted in my stomach. I sat hugging the toilet as the fever ravaged my body, burning me from the inside out. I could do two things: lie in a heap or crawl to the bathroom for sink water. Sickness struck hard and fast.

In one of my more lucid moments, I crawled to the phone, but there was no dial tone or Wi-Fi. Nothing. And a blizzard raged outside. 

I glanced at the supply package that never made it to my Stranger and my near-empty bottle of Tylenol, and I cried. The storm will kill the Stranger outside and me inside.

Tormented, I collapsed on the couch. Even with all the blankets wrapped around me, I shivered and sobbed myself to sleep.

A door slammed in the distance. 

Startled, I sat up, blinked several times, and froze. People. Here. Who? And Why?

Even though I heard the voices and the heavy footsteps on the front stoop, I jumped at the knock on the door. 

“Hello, we’re here to help.” A deep voice called. “Miss Jones, Louise? Ma’am?”

Another knock. “Louise, it’s Dr. Phillips. I’m here with the Sherriff. Your sister called in a wellness check when she hadn’t heard from you. Are you okay?”

I was alive, but my Stranger probably wasn’t. At least there was help right outside the door. 

I gathered myself, still wrapped in blankets, and shuffled to greet my visitors. 

“There you are, Louise,” Dr. Phillips said when I opened the door, “And now, I’ll count backward from ten, bringing your awareness out of hypnosis and back to the present. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Welcome home, Louise.”

I fluttered my eyes open and sighed, “That was a great session, doctor. I feel like I’m making breakthroughs.”

“You are, Louise,” Dr. Phillips smiled, “I’m proud of your determination for regular sessions. Now, go back to your room and journal about the Stranger. Who was it today? And why did you create the storm instead of saving the Stranger today?”

With a nod, I grabbed my journal and strolled back to my room at the Eagle Point Mental Institution. I would get out of here one day as soon as I could figure out why I killed Carmel in the dead of winter. 

The End

Were you surprised? 🤔

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comment section. 

Thanks so much for stopping by! ✌️

~Aspen