1
Itold myself this was a good idea, that locking myself away in a cabin in the middle of nowhere until I finished this damn book would jump-start my creativity.
How wrong I’d been.
The snow had started as a whisper, and by nightfall, it was a roar and a whiteout.
My laptop sat on the kitchen table, silently mocking me. Being an author was supposed to be the dream job. It was fun, sure. It was an outlet for all the wild stories rattling around in my head. But sometimes, I got… stuck. So I’d decided that getting away from the world might help. It had, at first. Then the storm rolled in, and it wasn’t letting up soon.
I stood at the window, mug of tea in hand,watching thick, wet flakes blur the world outside. Everything became a smear of white noise.
The storm howled around the cabin like something alive. My reflection stared back as a pale, sleep-deprived writer on a brutal deadline. I knew my eyes were ringed with exhaustion, the kind that made reality feel like a dream.
Holiday lights framed the window, red and green and irritatingly cheerful. I traced their glow with my gaze and muttered, “Guess I’m the Grinch now.”
My phone buzzed across the table, rattling against the wood. I turned and grabbed it.
Kai:How’s it going? Need help fleshing shit out?
I groaned and texted back:Deliriously working. A storm just hit, but the cabin’s still standing. Barely.
Three dots blinked, vanished, blinked again.
Kai:You got this. Don’t overthink the trespasser scene. Make it crazy. Readers are gonna love it!
Make it crazy.The unofficial tagline of my career.
I took another sip of lukewarm tea and sat down, determined to power through. The cabin was warm enough, but I’d dragged the space heater under the table, anyway. It smelled faintly of burned dust. Common sense told me to turn it off. I told common sense to shut up.
Outside, everything blurred together. Wind,snow, and branches creaking as ice smacked the windows.
I flexed my fingers and started typing.
The horror-erotic romance was one I loved working on, and I forced myself to focus.
He wore a mask because he was scarred and dangerous. He came at night, his presence thick enough to choke the air. He watched her through the window, waiting for her to see him, too.
I groaned and hit backspace. Too dramatic. I tried again.
The masked man stood at the tree line. He watched, waiting as the storm erased his footprints as fast as he made them.
Better. Moody. Mysterious.
I got up, set down my mug, grabbed the vodka and an energy drink, and made myself a pick-me-up. Settling back at the table, I drank and typed until the words flowed.
Then… three faint taps. Soft. Measured.
I froze and looked toward the door. Probably just ice hitting the wood. But when it came again, closer this time, my pulse spiked.
“The weather,” I muttered. “It’s just the fucking storm.”
Silence answered back.
I exhaled, took another long drink, and went back to typing.Coming to a cabin in the middle of nowhere was the worst idea ever,I thought. But when Kai booked me the trip, saying it would do wonders for my creativity, I agreed. She was always right.
I sent Kai a message complaining about the storm but told her the isolation was helping. My gaze drifted to the Christmas tree in the corner. It looked like something straight out of a fifties department store catalog.
Perfect in a way that felt unnatural.
