2. TWO
TWO
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The car rumbled to a stop in front of an older house, isolated from the neat rows of homes we had passed on the way. Its weathered facade loomed against the gray sky, the place that seemed to hold its breath in the silence of winter. Dad was the first to step out; his boots crunched against the snow as he moved toward the trunk. He stopped, looking now at the door through which an old woman stood patiently waiting for him.
The dim porch light framed her, the gray of her hair spilling over her shoulders in loose, uneven braids, its strands flashing dull silver. Deep lines wrinkled her face, tracing years she had left so long behind her. She let her thin hand rise, shaking, in a slow wave to greet our approach.
Dad opened the door for Mom, movements brisk, and she went out, elegant, as if smoothing her coat could shield her against the slicing wind. She moved toward this woman, hand extended. Their fingers clung a moment before the two turned into the house.
I stayed in the car for a moment longer, staring out at the house. Its blackened bricks looked scorched, weather-beaten, and tired. Two large, dark windows flanked the front door, gleaming faintly with reflections of the snow-covered yard. Pine trees with sparse, twinkling lights stood on either side of the path leading to the door, their needles catching flakes that drifted lazily down from the overcast sky. The roof was sharp and stark against the dull backdrop, its edges outlined by a thick blanket of snow.
I finally reached out and grasped the handle of the car door, easing it open so I wouldn't make a sound I didn't need to. My boots bit the snow with a silent crunch. Snowflakes swirled down in tangles around me, catching in my hair and lashes. I tilted my head up for a moment, and let the cold flakes kiss my skin. Despite everything, it wasn't hateable.
The sound of the trunk slamming brought me back to the moment. Dad was wrestling with something, the metallic scrape of iron on paint setting my teeth on edge. He was dragging out the wheelchair for Mel, his movements sharp, irritated. He unfolded it with a violent snap, his face darkened by the shallow scratch he'd made on the car.
It was as if he valued the paint job on his car more than the fact his daughter couldn't walk.
He wheeled the chair to the left side of the car and yanked the door open. Wordlessly, he dragged her out of the seat, hoisting her like a sack of grain. Mel's body was limp but compliant, her head canting slightly as he plopped her into the chair.
"Would you fucking mind?" he barked, his voice sharp enough to make me flinch. Then he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to catch, "One's a plant, the other's dumb."
The words stung across my face, far harder than I cared to admit. One tear had escaped my eye before I could manage to check it. Heart racing, I hurried over to Mel's side, shaky hands grasping for the grips of the wheelchair. She doesn't turn to me; instead, her eyes are fixed somewhere, as always.
She sat straight, her posture impossibly perfect, but she didn't move, not even a twitch.
Her dark blonde hair framed her face, soft curls falling to either side like a halo. Her pale skin was flecked with freckles, dancing across the bridge of her nose. Her lips were delicate and bow-shaped, giving her an uncanny perfection, like a porcelain doll. Yet, it was her eyes that held me, deep brown, almost the color of cognac, too wise for someone only sixteen. Even now, stuck in that state, she seemed more mature than me. I wiped away the tears welling up in my eyes and leaned forward, speaking softly, pretending she could hear.
"Maybe we'll get you a room with a view of the lake," I said, forcing a smile. "Or the mountains. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Behind us, Dad scoffed, the sound sharp, slicing the air. "Why does she keep pretending Mel can hear a damn thing she says?"
I kept my eyes ahead, fingers tightening on the handles of the wheelchair, knuckles white to the black rubber. The air froze thick between us, the kind of silence nobody wanted to break.
I just didn't get the hate. Never did. Even more so, I didn't understand why Mom let it happen, why she never spoke up, never told him to stop, why her silence made her complicit in this quiet erosion of everything we were supposed to be. But I knew one thing, as I pushed Mel toward the old house, snow crunching under the wheels: for her and for me, I wouldn't stay silent.
We reached the front door, and as I pushed Mel inside, I leaned in toward her and whispered, "We don't deserve you, Mel."
The house wrapped itself around us like a heavy blanket, in extreme contrast to the icy grasp of the world outside. There was a roaring fireplace, alive with life; it cast flickering shadows around the walls.
The chill clinging to my skin seemed to recede slowly, melting in the heat. There was a faint scent of wood smoke in the room and of something old, faintly musty as if the house had stood silent for years, waiting.
I looked around, trying to find a place to retreat into and hide in. The house's structure was strange, though, and with one hand still on the cold iron of the wheelchair and the other lightly resting on Mel's shoulder, I just felt kind of exposed, standing here.
Mom stood beside the older woman; her voice was soft, questioning. "Is there anything else we should know?"
The woman nodded.
She spoke, her hands slightly trembling. "Yes. There's a lockdown in the town. Two weeks, starting in December." Her voice was even but had a hint of unease in it. "Dark times. No one goes out."
"Interesting," Dad muttered, a grin tugging the corner of his lip sideways as he turned to Mom.
The woman's eyes flickered in his direction before she looked back at Mom.
"A lot of police patrols," she said, as if sharing a secret, her voice going low. "Ever since that poor woman disappeared. They're everywhere."
"What woman?" I replied, breaking the tension because I had to face her directly.
She stiffened, her gaze avoiding mine as she brushed past me, her lips moving in a near whisper. "You're just his type."
These few incoherent words sent a cold chill down my spine. Frozen, I turned towards Mom and Dad. It went so silent in the room that the sound of the door clicking shut behind her sounded deafening.
"Don't you guys wanna know what's going on?" I asked.
"No," Dad barked, his tone final.
"Joe, please," Mom said softly, trying to temper the sharpness in his tone. Then she turned to me, her eyes calm but weary.
"Every family has secrets," she said. "Maybe that woman has her own. Let's not rush to conclusions."
"Ridiculous," Dad muttered, turning right into the kitchen, his heavy boots making a lot of noise on the wooden floorboards. I watched him cast a sideways glance out the kitchen window and the frozen fields beyond it.
"Mom," I whispered, my voice low so that Dad wouldn't hear me, "I don't like this place." I wrapped my arms around myself as goosebumps prickled along my skin. "It gives me chills."
"Every place we go gives you chills," she replied with a sigh. "We're spending a year here, and we have to adjust," she said, sharp before softening slightly as her eyes flicked to Mel. "Please, for once, just try."
"Fine," I muttered, brushing her off. "Where's the bedroom?"
"Yours and Mel's is through the living room, on the left." Her fingers pointed to the only open door. "Dad and I will be upstairs." The hand motion indicated back in the general direction of battered stairs with scratches etching lines into the wooden handrail. "The bathroom's next to the kitchen.
I nodded wordlessly and reached for the grips of Mel's wheelchair, wheeling her toward the bedroom door. One more backward glance, then I pushed her inside.
It was a basic room, but it was much larger than I'd imagined. At the far end of the room stood a huge window, stretching from floor to ceiling. It overlooked the woods; their branches dusted with snow, dancing in the soft breeze, and behind them, a hill draped in white. I wheeled Mel closer to the window so she could see the snowflakes falling softly against the glass.
"Oh, Mel," I said, dropping down beside her, my voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry."
My head fell into her lap, her stillness was a comfort and a grief I couldn't shake.
I lifted my eyes to the window again, following the way the breeze teased the branches, their movements calm. For a moment, it was almost meditative, something you'd watch in a loop to quiet your mind. But just as the calm began to settle in, a known feeling crept up my spine.
Someone is watching.
My eyes leaped towards the shadow of a tree standing at the edge of the woods. For a moment it seemed to be some great animal, crouched low, its horns curling upwards. Its fur was as thick as the wool of a sheep. Then it moved. Slowly, it rose, and my heart plunged. It was a man.
He was tall, with his face hidden behind the mask from a deer's skull. The antlers cut upwards, ragged and sharp, while the empty sockets in the skull seemed to cut through the glass of my window and fasten on mine. His body was wrapped in something heavy, like fur.
He was watching me.
My breath caught as his eyes locked onto mine. My heart thundered in my chest, and I found myself frozen, unable to look away as he tilted his head to one side, studying me.
Slowly, I sat up, my face pale, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mel, do you see him?"
But Mel's eyes remained on the snow, unseeingly, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary there at all.
I was frozen. My lungs burned, refusing to draw in air as my entire body locked in terror. My eyes followed the tilt of his head, left then right, like some sort of predator sizing up his prey. It wasn't just his eyes that were on me; it felt like his gaze pierced through me, through the walls of the house, to every nook and cranny in our lives that was vulnerable.
And then, like a gasp breaking a dam, I screamed. The sound ripped from my throat, raw and primal, shattering the icy stillness. My eyes squeezed shut, and the image of the man seared into my vision. Footsteps thundered toward me, but when I dared to open my eyes again, he was gone. The window reflected nothing but the still, snowy woods, serene and empty, as if he had never been there at all.
Mom crouched beside me, her face white, her lips uttering some hurried whispers, but I couldn't hear her. The sound was muffled like I was underwater, her voice just a vibration in the air. My hand was shaking while I pointed towards the woods, willing her to see what I had seen. Her gaze followed my finger, but her expression didn't change; her eyes scanned the trees without recognition.
"I knew it," Dad's voice cut through the fog as he stomped into the room. His face twisted up in exasperation. "That shrink shouldn't have taken her off the meds. She's fucking insane."
Mom turned towards him shaking her head. She turned to look at me, as if silently pleading, wondering if she could truly believe what I was telling her. Her confusion betrayed her, her eyes went back searching in mine to outline the bits she could not understand.
"I… I saw…," I whispered, my voice trembling, my lips parched from forcing the words out.
"What?" Dad sneered, stepping closer. "A monkey?"
"No." My voice was more steady now. "There was someone."
"Oh, sure," he sneered. "It's the woods. You know what's out there? Beasts. It's called wildlife." He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You probably saw a bear."
"I know what I saw," I snapped, glaring at him. "It wasn't a bear, there was someone."
Dad leaned down, yanking me to my feet, his fingers not light on my arm. "Quit acting," he hissed in a low, corrosive voice. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Joe," Mom said sharply, stepping between us. She pushed his arm away and spoke in a low but firm tone, "Let her be."
He held the look a beat longer, his expression hard, judgmental, then his shoulders shrugged, and he left the room. Mom followed, casting a backward look at me, closing the door softly behind her.
I stood there, my knees trembling, my mind racing. A tear welled in the corner of my eye but refused to fall. I clutched my wrist in my hand, gripping tightly, as if grounding myself in the moment could prevent breaking.
"I am fine," I whispered, over and over. "I am fine."
But I wasn't fine. Not even close.
I looked at my palms and willed my breathing to steady up until suddenly a loud thud of a snowball at the window got the air huffed out. My head snapped toward the window, and there it was, a small snowman in the yard.
The snowman was not there before.
Three spheres of snow stacked irregularly atop of each other; its arms made of crooked tree branches, its face a rough smile, with coal-black eyes. But there was something wrong. Like it was missing something.
My chest stiffened as I stared at it, a lump welling in my throat. Whoever the man was, whatever mask he wore, it was more real than the one I forced myself to wear every day.
The snowman was a message, I knew that, even if no one else would see it that way. To them, it was just snow. But to me, it was a warning.
Mom's voice cut into my thoughts as she reentered the room, a folded blanket draped over her arm. "We can hang up curtains," she offered, soft.
"Thanks," I said, forcing a smile. "That would be great."
Blocking the view was a relief. As much as I loved the sight of the snow-covered woods, the idea of being watched made my skin crawl. I could leave one side open for Mel, let her watch the snowflakes drift peacefully, and close the other for myself, shutting out whatever lurked beyond.
"Great," she said with a slight smile, her tone light but rushed as if wanting to flee the tension. "It's a deal."
Then she turned and left the room, the door softly creaking shut. I stood there a moment longer, glancing between Mel and the snowman outside. I wanted to look away, but my eyes kept drifting back to the snowman in the yard.
Late afternoon brought with it a creeping chill that slithered into the bedroom, seeping through the walls and settling in the corners. The sun was slipping behind the mountains, casting long shadows that stretched across the room like ghostly fingers. I sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, body taut, eyes not blinking. Every time I attempted to close them, even for a second, his mask would appear, an animal skull with sockets, and twisted horns. It was not the sight of him that froze my blood, but this question, gnawing inside of me; Who was the man behind the mask?
I looked over to Mel. Laying in her bed on the left side of the room, her small form was cocooned in blankets. She had closed her eyes, and her face relaxed softly, as if she floated far away, folded in some quiet dreamland. She lay so quiet, unaware of the horrors that racked my brain. She made me ache. I'd lost the ability to dream anymore.
Dreams were turning into nightmares fractured echoes of fear clawing even at daylight.
I stood, my legs unsteady, and walked to the window.
Beyond the pane of glass, the woods had changed in ways so dramatic that the fading light made an unfamiliar world. It seemed much deeper, darker. The shifting shadows here lived as trees breathed and changed with shifting shades of dark on their own. I misted the glass as I looked without taking any notice of anything; Could he be out there somewhere watching me?
The woods seemed to be calling to me, daring me to find him or to let him find me. I turned finally, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor as I padded back to the bed. Lying down, I pulled the covers over me, the weight of them doing little to still the pounding in my chest. Closing my eyes felt like a risk, but exhaustion tugged at my mind. I tried counting. Numbers came slowly at first, my mind resisting the monotony. By the time I reached ten, I could feel my body begin to relax. At twenty-three, the weight of being awake began to lift, pulling me deeper into the stillness, and I was falling asleep.