Chapter 2
My body is stiff from the position I fell asleep in, and my shoulder and back throb as I sit up. The dull gray daylight filters through the curtains while the snowstorm rages outside, icy snowflakes pounding against the windowpanes.
Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I stretch my limbs and crack my back, trying to shake off the shitty night of sleep.
My dreams of sugarplums quickly turned into nightmares of something banging on the door, with my hand just inches from the handle before it was blown off its hinges.
Shadows swirled through the living room, blending with the violent storm outside as it rushed in, wrapping around me and forcing me to the floor.
The shadows thickened, blocking me from the frigid wind, closing in and nearly stealing my breath.
I woke up just as the shadows began to part, revealing whatever was hiding within them.
I kept drifting in and out of sleep throughout the night, aware that I was tending to the fire.
Each time I fell back asleep, I found myself back beneath the shadows, their tendrils wrapping around me and holding me in place.
I would feel their soft caress moving across my throat and down my sides, brushing gently beneath my breasts and down to my hips, causing heat to swirl in my lower abdomen and leaving me yearning for more every time I woke up.
I should have been fucking terrified, like any normal person would have been.
But no, I was a horny bitch with her hand pressed between her legs, trying to find release in the short time my eyes were open.
It was as if the nightmare didn’t want it to go too far, as if it was controlling me—which sounds insane.
I’ve definitely been in isolation for too long already.
Regardless, it’s been a while since I’ve been laid, and honestly, I’ll take whatever I can get—dreaming or not.
I check the time on the mantle clock and see that it’s only 6:30—much earlier than I’m used to waking up since my profession keeps me active late into the night.
I wipe my hand across my face as I stand up and shuffle to the kitchen to brew a much-needed pot of coffee.
As it drips, I scan the cabin, my eyes catching on soot that covers the floor around the fireplace, and I start to pale.
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat as I approach the scuff marks that break up the smooth layer of ash. This isn’t caused by the wind blowing down the chimney when I let the fire get too low, and these are not human footprints—ruling out any suspicion of sleepwalking.
I lower myself and trace my finger through the soot around the unmistakable hoofprint that looks as though a huge horse trotted through here on near-silent feet.
What the fuck?
This must be a dream—it's got to be.
I pinch my arm hard and gasp in pain. Okay, I’m definitely not asleep. This feels very real and terrifying. Panic starts to overwhelm me, causing my knees to buckle as I suck in a shuddering breath.
Get your fucking shit together, Nicolette.
I step back and stare at the floor. There’s a logical explanation for this.
.. right? Maybe it's just the early signs of cabin fever. I’ve been alone for so long out here, and I’m starting to go stir crazy—that’s all.
Once I have some coffee and see a bit more daylight outside, I’ll have a clearer mind about everything.
I grab the broom and dustpan from the closet, sweep up the soot, and dump it back into the fire, ridding myself of this insanity and ignoring the feeling of being watched that prickles up my spine.
Instead of spiraling, I take my time with my morning routine: drink my coffee, sear my skin in a quick hot shower, and then settle back on the couch to disassociate from the lingering thoughts and get lost in my book.
But no matter how hard I try, my mind won’t focus on a single task.
Instead, it’s being pulled in a dozen different directions.
I snap the book shut and drop it on the side table, trading it for my phone, where I pull up my bank account and double-check that all the zeros I’ve hustled for are still there.
The corners of my lips curl up at my most recent payout, the urge to pull off another heist almost driving me crazy—but it’s still too soon.
Even as I open the dating app, I know I need more time for things to settle, to make sure the trail leads to a dead end, not right to the front door of this cabin, and to remind myself not to get fucking greedy.
Well, greedier.
A cold gust of wind blows through the living room, and my head snaps up. My eyes flick to the still-roaring fire even as a shiver runs down my spine. Paranoia prickles across my skin, and I close out the app, ignoring the slew of unread messages, and toss the phone to the other side of the couch.
Nobody's coming for you; get the hell over yourself.
Dropping my head against the back of the couch, I run my hand over my face, squeezing my eyes shut as I press my thumb and finger against my eyelids until I see stars.
I sit there in silence; the only sound filling the room is the roaring fire, and I let my thoughts drift.
I lose track of time as I shuffle through memories of past Christmases, each one growing bleaker as the years pass, until the sound of a quiet thunk pulls me back to reality.
I raise my head slowly, my eyes fluttering back open, and expect it to be nothing more than my imagination or the wind rattling against the house. But the culprit of the sound is lying in the middle of my living room floor—a large, black rock. Except, it’s not a rock—it’s a fucking lump of coal.
I stare into the fireplace, my mind racing to find an explanation for why there’s a lump of coal sitting in the middle of my living room, as if it’s a ticking time bomb.
My fireplace is wood-burning, and even if an ember had exploded, there would be a cloud of dust with pieces scattered across the floor.
It wouldn’t be so perfectly chiseled, as if it were recently plucked from the depths of the earth.
My eyes dart to the window, expecting it to be shattered, but I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if someone threw something through the glass. Not to mention, it would let in the storm that continues to rage outside.
It’s no secret that I’ve fucked over a lot of people in my adult life, and maybe they’ve finally caught up to me.
But every explanation I can come up with seems impossible—unless they dropped it down the chimney, and I would’ve definitely noticed someone stomping around on my roof.
Plus, no one is stupid enough to climb up there in the middle of a blizzard.
I’m in the middle of nowhere, on what would be a nearly impassable route in this weather, and completely off the grid.
No one is finding me out here or online, with my various VPNs and satellite internet bouncing off the nearest ranger’s tower, making me nearly untraceable.
I’m fucking smarter than that.
I reach down and pick up the piece of coal, feeling its weight in my palm.
I bring it close to my face and examine it, though I’m not sure what I’m looking for.
A message, maybe? Something to prove I’m not just making this up?
I know the ghost stories and legends about these woods, and while I don’t buy into the supernatural, I also realize there are things in this world we can’t explain, and I’m not about to try and piss off some ancient entity.
I like it out here, and it would be a real bitch to have to pick up and move.
I bought this cabin from a hunter’s grandson, in cash, with no questions asked.
It’s the perfect size for someone like me, with an open living room and kitchen area, a small loft accessible by ladder, and a single bedroom with a full bath.
I renovated it myself, keeping the outside looking as run-down as possible, while making the inside a cozy cottage in the woods—Sleeping Beauty style.
The wind picks up outside, and the wooden siding creaks from the impact as I slowly approach the front door and pull back the blackout curtain.
I'm met with frosted glass and the dull morning light.
I wipe my hand over the freezing glass, and the ice melts into liquid that drips down my fingers.
The snow presses against the house, with drifts climbing up the surrounding trees, seeming to be waist deep.
Well, shit. I might be stuck here longer than I originally expected.
I narrow my gaze, searching for any tracks in the snow, but the fierce winds are the perfect accomplice for anyone trying to hide here. Taking a deep breath, I shake off the eerie feeling of being watched, just as my stomach growls loudly—maybe some food and more coffee will help take the edge off.
The bacon sizzles in the cast-iron skillet as I make another cup of coffee, loading it up with sweetener and creamer. I turn up the radio, letting the overly cheerful Christmas tunes drown out the sound of the howling wind, and focus my mind on something other than this creeping feeling at my back.
I tend to the cabin, making sure all drafty cracks are sealed and that I have everything I need for the next few days.
Although it’s a bit late to go into the outside cellar, a woman has to do what a woman has to do to survive, and if that means digging in the feet of snow for potatoes, then I will fight off the frostbite when that time comes.
The snow keeps piling up inch by inch throughout the day.
The heavy clouds above prevent the sun from breaking through, making the already-short daylight hours feel as if it’s been an endless night.
Soon, all light disappears from outside, plunging the forest into darkness, with the space between the trees becoming depthless.
I close the curtains, taking a peek outside for any trespassers, and add more wood to the fire. The flames lick at the hearth, sending heat throughout the room. I settle back on the couch and curl up under a fleece throw, finally relaxing with my mind at ease for the first time today.
Another cold breeze slips through the space, sending a shiver down my spine.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the wind grows louder, swirling around the cabin.
The wooden supports creak as if they’re buckling under the weight of the snow and ice.
The radio crackles, cutting off the cheerful Christmas tune, and the static rises to a deafening volume before suddenly cutting out.
I rise to my feet, my body trembling in sync with my racing heart, while anxiety crawls across my skin like fire ants.
The wind's roar suddenly ceases, as if someone hit a mute button on the storm.
The wind, the crackling fire, and the cabin's creak all fall silent.
I suck in a ragged breath, my legs refusing to move as I remain frozen in place.
My eyes flick to the front door and see that the deadbolt is still firmly locked.
I take another steadying breath, the air fogging in front of me as the temperature plummets.
Just as I manage to calm my racing heart, the door begins to shudder as if someone is pounding on it from the other side, and the sound floods the room at full volume.
I cover my ears and cringe, my red curls falling over my face as I duck my head down until everything settles again, and the room is filled with the haunting melody of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” from the radio.
I slowly look back up at the door and gasp as I see the glow of a red eye peering through the small crack in the curtains hanging over the front door’s window.
Watching me.
Suddenly, the front door swings open as a blood-curdling scream escapes my lips, echoing through the room as I fall backward onto the couch. The cold wind and snow blow in around a large figure as its hooved foot clacks on the wood floor; the hardwood creaks under its weight, threatening to buckle.
“Nicolette Evergreen,” a deep voice echoes through the swirling storm, my name ringing out in the cabin. The wind shifts and the snow clears, revealing a monster beneath the blanket of white.
It stands nearly eight feet tall, with thick black horns curling out of its head, surrounded by long black hair that falls past its shoulders.
Gold piercings decorate its pointed ears, sparkling in the light.
Its lips, pulled into a malicious-looking smile, are adorned with snake bite piercings—gold loops pulling tight against its skin.
The upper half of its massive body is covered in an array of tattoos, symbols, and characters I don’t recognize, with a black leather harness crisscrossing over its torso, seemingly the only thing keeping in the packed muscles beneath its dark gray skin.
Its chest is broad, its nipples pierced, and long, muscular arms end in black, clawed fingertips adorned with gold rings.
Tight, black leather pants slim down its legs, revealing black fur that ends in enormous hooves as it steps further into the cabin.
Its eyes are black, except for its irises, which burn bright red like hellfire, and they seem strangely familiar to some I’ve seen before.
“W-who the fuck are you?” I try to spit out the words, but they’re breathless, as if the air has been sucked from the room, fear clawing up my throat.
The monster’s lips curl into a devilish grin as it kicks the front door shut, its sharp teeth glowing red from the fire's flames, chuckling darkly. “Your nightmare before Christmas.”