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There, beneath the shadowy evergreens, is a bloom of red against white. A bony man stands above the stain, a rifle pointed at a blurred mass. Misty nudges me, letting out a soft, mournful whine. Below, I watch as Tania trudges through the snow, joining the man at his side. Her arms fly into the air as she speaks, hands cutting wild shapes through the icy cold. The man turns back to the house and begins arranging a neat line of torches, taking time to set them ablaze.

I lean further out the window, straining to see what’s lying in the snow. A clump of ice dislodges from the ledge, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. Both Tania and the man snap their heads toward the house. Swiftly, I duck into the shadows, praying they hadn’t noticed me.

“Let’s get out of here, Misty,” I whisper, dropping to a low crouch and slowly crawl my way to the threshold of the staircase, convinced they could see me if I were to stand.

Guilt coils in my chest. I know I’ve been trespassing on what might be painful memories. But ‌I am not a guest here. I’m a woman marooned without a past, stranded inside a body that really no longer belongs to me. A little spying is a minor sin, especially when danger could wait at every turn. I would stop at nothing to find myself, even if it means stepping on boundaries.

EIGHTEEN

I find my way back to the kitchen, grateful for its repose from the eeriness of the abandoned wing. Misty paces at the door, so I open it and follow her outside. There’s no one out here anymore.

Shivering in the chilly wind, I closely watch as Misty struts into the snow, her nose low to the ground. She sniffs her way up the three steps to the garden, toward the solarium. Strangely, whatever the lanky man had killed—whatever crimson had bloomed against the snow—was gone. Only fresh snow remains, soft and untouched as if I didn’t just witness a killing.

Is it a killing if you don’t know what was killed?

Torches illuminate the small clearing behind the estate giving me a view of the shore below and the treacherous cliff side that lines the edge of this forest.

Misty darts toward the tree line of the forest, lean legs kicking snow behind her. “Misty!” I shout, flailing my arms desperately as my brain momentarily freezes. I scramble in place for a second, then race to the kitchen to find a flashlight. Surprise, there is none. I find another lantern, wrap my sweater tightly around me and follow my dog into the night.

The forest is heavy with silence. The snow holds the moon’s light, casting an eerie glow across the grounds and into the treetops. Shadows sway softly, like things breathing just out of sight. Annoyance comes first, followed by worry. I walk for a while, long enough to forget that time passes, for the night to creep deep into the forest, leaving me with icy breaths and crunching footsteps.

“Misty!” My voice fractures in the dark. I can’t believe I lost my dog. I keep walking until I find her staring at a cleared out dirt road that leads somewhere I can’t see. Her body is once again tense, staring into the unknown. “If this land of dread won’t kill me, I’m sure my dog will.”

I raise the lantern toward the road, its curve in the landscape visible through a break in the trees. The flame flickers with the wind as a hazy sight begins to creep in. I blink a few times, hoping to dispel the foggy vision. It oscillates between hazy and clear for a few seconds, then, with another gust of wind, the haziness clears.

Glancing up, I see the sky is a solid wall of black. The lantern’s weak circle of light buys me a few feet of safety, but beyond that? Anything could be watching and waiting. I should have brought a knife with me.

“Misty,” I whisper, this time tenderly. Her head whips around, and I beckon her toward me. And my dog—naughty, one-eyed dog—lumbers ahead through the break in the trees. “Misty, we’ve had enough creepy shit for today.” I follow her paw prints down a gentle slope that vanishes into soft, muddy slush. She’s standing at the edge of a dark lake.

On the right, the main road meanders through the forest, disappearing from sight like a soft brush stroke on canvas. I shift my attention to the body of water, merely a few feet away. Its surface is half-frozen, ice fracturing like veins across murky water thick with…something unnatural.

Staring at it brings forth an unsettling sensation, like looking at diseased skin. I gag, reeling from the bile that rises in my stomach. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but a phobia of things that looked like diseases might be up my alley.

Misty paces back and forth, her shiny nose skimming the slush-heavy ground at the water’s edge. The snow here is melted—churned, really—as if this path has been used often. There are no footsteps or animal imprints. Doesn’t mean they’re not around. Turning around, I search for any sign of wildlife or anything else that may be following me. The forest is empty. Or it’s simply lulling us into a false sense of security. I don’t trust it. Then the smell hits me. A blast of cold air, sharp with rot. My stomach wrenches again. Still, I step closer, the lantern shaking in my grip. The warm light ripples across the water, and I see shapes: pale, swollen, and half-submerged. In the periphery of light, jagged edges of what appear to be branches stack up against the shapes. I shift my light closer and squint.

There are no branches.

The disfigured blobs that stick out at random angles are hands.

Hands.

Various sizes, drifting beneath the black water. Fingers tangled together. Some curled. Some reach for the surface. Bones sticking out from black, mottled flesh. Bones stacked against the slushy shore.

“What the hell?” I whisper. The hair on the back of my neck rises as I peer across the nebulous lake. Clumsily chopped bodies stained with murky ink drift in the small lake, all bumping into one another. An errant eyeball floats toward me. It stops near the edge of the lake and winks. Is this real? Or could this be another hallucination, prompted by the memory loss?

“Are you two alright?” That familiar voice cuts through the silence like a blade. Kieran stands above us at the crest of the slope, meticulously rolling the sleeve of his coat up.

The lantern dangling in his hand throws long shadows across his face, hollowing his cheeks and igniting his eyes with something between fury and concern.

“Kieran,” I manage, offering a frown, confused by his sudden appearance. I didn’t realize he was home. “We’re okay. Misty just wandered off for a bit.” I glance back at the lake; the bodies are no longer there. Only a thin layer of ice dotted with fallen branches.

Kieran steps forward and anchors a leg into the slope, then extends a hand toward me.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. His eyes scan the area quickly before landing on me again. “I heard you calling ‌her. It’s dangerous out here, especially alone.” His imposing presence sends a chill down my spine. “Call out to her, she’ll come to you.”

I call Misty again, and soon after she lopes up the hill, wide-eyed and panting. She skirts us entirely.

I slide my hand into his. He wraps his cool fingers across my palm and grips firmly.