“Fuck it,” I grumble as I pull the car door handle, simultaneously throwing my weight against the door.
I hear the layer of ice that formed around the door crack loudly as the door pops open. Thank fuck it came open easily enough. I count my blessings as I quickly stumble out into the snow. If I hurry, maybe they will hear me.
Cold air bites my skin, but I ignore it as I quickly shove my hair back from my face with one icy hand, my head whipping around as I get my bearings. Unlike earlier, my view is no longer hampered. I can see the trees clearly and the faint glow of moonlight peaking through the clouds. It is still snowing, but the snow has slowed to a gentle fall of fat, lazy flakes. I don’t see any sign of the sleigh, or its passage on the road, but I can still hear it! It must not be traveling on the road. Instead, it seems to be going along some path hidden among the trees.
A little voice in the back of my mind reminds me that it is insane to leave both the car and the road, but desperation is far louder. Clutching my blankets around me, I rush toward the sound, my voice rising to a panicked shout.
“Wait! Come back!”
I run toward the departing sound of bells. The snow weighs down my feet, which only gets worse the moment I leave the road. The only thing that seems to be going in my favor is the fact that the clouds have moved away from the moon so that its light reflects off the snow. It is not yet the full moon, but it is almost there and is shedding enough light that I am not stumbling blindly among the trees.
Clutching my blankets around me, I pant frosty breaths into the air laboriously as I trip and run clumsily through the clinging, deep snow. I lose my balance and fall to my knees in thesnow only briefly before I stagger to my feet and keep running. The sound of bells always remains tauntingly just ahead of me, leading me through the confusing twist of trees. Loud enough to follow but never within my reach. I do not know how long I jog or where I’m even at in relation to the road anymore. The activity keeps me warm enough, especially with the blankets wrapped around me, but it is not a pace I can keep up, and my feet are beginning to feel like blocks of ice, making it increasingly difficult to run. The fact that my skin is prickling with an unfamiliar sensation I’m putting down to oncoming frostbite or something, though I am surprised when the heaviness in the air that has been gradually crushing me the entire time I’m running suddenly lifts from me completely.
I break my pace, slowing down to a walk intermittently in order to catch my breath between the sporadic frantic jogs through the snow. These breaks are becoming more frequent, however, and I’m starting to feel foolish when I jog to a halt and bend over to rest my hands on my knees while I drag in deep breaths of air. I don’t think I can run anymore, but it seems that the tinkling of bells is lingering in place—waiting for me.
I take one step forward and then another, forcing myself to continue walking toward it through the snow despite the increasing protest from my body when suddenly the sound stops. I freeze, my blood running as icy as my nose on my face as I stare blankly at the dark woods just ahead of me. I stagger forward in a panic, a small sob working its way up though I’m too cold for a single tear to squeeze out from my eyes. I break through the trees in a panic only to come to an abrupt stop at the sight just ahead of me.
“Holy... shit,” I whisper. “No way.”
Sitting within a small clearing just ahead, there is a cabin. A not just some abandoned hunting cabin, cold and dark in the offseason. No, this one glows with warmth and there is a festivewreath hung on the door despite being out in the middle of nowhere without even a hint of a road leading up to it. It looks positively magical. And warm! With numb feet, I stumble hastily forward. There is no sign of the sleigh, but who gives a shit? All I care about is the fact that I will be warm again. Eager to get inside, I stomp my feet in front of the door, kicking off the worst of the snow clinging to me, and I knock on the door.
No answer.
Stepping over to the window, I peer inside and my breath is literally taken away by the cozy sight. It looks like a holiday postcard. The fire burns cheerfully with stockings hung and trimmed garlands hanging from every conceivable surface. A plush high-back antique chair faces the fire with a warm knit throw draped over it. At its side I see a table; and on the table is a steaming cup of cocoa with no less than three fat marshmallows floating in the large mug, and a plate of gingerbread men beside it. My stomach gurgles with an unhappy complaint, reminding me that I would have been at Mom’s house already by now and sitting down for a meal. A huge dose of sugar isn’t a good substitute for dinner, but it is enticing with a homey coziness. Unfortunately, I can’t see any sign of anyone inside.
I frown as I attempt to look further into the cabin, but the hall leading off from the living room is completely dark. Perhaps they cannot hear me? Just entering an unknown cabin is stupid, and yet so is standing outside the door freezing to death. Desperation wins, and I try the handle, not entirely expecting to be open. The knob turns easily under my hand, and the door swings open as if under its own power, startling me. Warmth rolls out over me, bringing with it stinging pinpricks of circulation. I’m not even aware of stepping inside until I am standing beside the dark green chair, shivering, with the door closed behind me. My eyes slowly trail around the room before landing on the dark hall.
“Hello? Is anyone there? I’m sorry to just barge in, but my car broke down and I got lost.”
The fire in the hearth crackles merrily for a moment, and I catch the distant strains of a holiday melody playing from an unseen part of the cabin.
“A lost traveler? Oh my,” a voice murmurs with a soft, melodious and androgynous cadence from the dark. “Sit, eat, and warm yourself by the fire.”
I glance toward the chair again, now feeling a bit uneasy. “Do you perhaps have a phone I can use? My family is expecting me, and I really need to get a tow.”
“No phone. Many apologies. I can return you once the snow lets up,” the voice replies.
“But the snow isn’t so ba—” I go silent as I look at the window. Since entering the cabin, snowfall had returned with renewed vigor, perhaps more so since it appears that a strong wind is now whipping the flakes around the cabin, turning the world outside the cabin walls completely white.
“You see?” A soft chuckle sends a prickle up my back. “Eat. Drink. Get warm. Make yourself... comfortable.”
I glance again toward the chair, this time noticing a thick flannel gingham nightgown laid across its seat. I don’t recall seeing it there before, but the allure of being warm and dry is too overwhelming to ignore.
“All right,” I hear myself say from between stiff lips. Why not? At this point, strangely, I am willing to take my chances with disembodied voices and offerings of free, warm clothing. “Is there a place I can change?”
