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“If it’s a pond then it will be frozen.”

She hoped he was right.

The light didn’t seem far away, but already Poppy felt like a lead weight in her arms. The cold had seeped through all the layers of her clothing and she felt as if her bones were turning to ice.

They stumbled, keeping their focus on the light that came and went.

“It’s a house!” Matt yelled finally, his voice carrying over the howl of the wind. “It’s a house, and there’s a light on. We must have crashed into their wall. Let’s hope someone is home.”

The wind lessened for a few brief seconds but it was enough for them to get a proper view of the house, nestled in a dip against a backdrop of snowy trees.

Elsie gasped. “It looks like a fairy tale house!”

Brooke shivered. Bad things happened in fairy tales, didn’t they?

Elsie must have had a similar thought because she clung tightly to Matt’s neck. “Strangers live here. We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Sometimes it’s okay to talk to strangers,” Matt said firmly. “And whatever they’re like, it’s going to be better than the alternative.”

Brooke frowned. Was he talking about freezing to death, or the prospect of spending Christmas with her parents?

The weather, of course. The cold, the snow and the stress were getting to her, that was all.

She kept thinking of her timetable, her lists, all the hours of planning she’d put into this trip. All of it now buried under a snowdrift, along with their belongings and the Christmas food for her mother.

As she ploughed clumsily through the snow to the front door, she hoped they weren’t going to regret this. It could be a case of being out of the frying pan and into the fire, although the way she felt right now, a fire would be more than welcome.

4

Mabel

Mabel was drinking tea in the kitchen when she heard a hammering on the front door.

She tensed and then forced herself to relax.

“It’s only the wind,” she told the cats, reassuring herself as much as them. Crumpet stood up and arched his back. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Crumpet yawned, as if to say, Me? Worried?

But then the hammering came again, louder this time, and it occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t the wind.

She sat straighter, her spine rigid.

She took a breath and tried to stay calm.

Someone was out there. But who?

No one she knew would be out on a night like this. She did her best to discourage visitors, and although various members of the small community who lived in and around Sugarbrook did still insist on knocking on her door to check on her periodically (and leave her the occasional apple pie), she was confident that no one local would venture out in this weather.

Who could it be? Who with any sense would be out on a night like this?

A stranger.

Whoever it was, she wasn’t answering. The last thing Mabel wanted was strangers in her home, particularly stupid strangers who had chosen to ignore the very clear warnings not to travel. There was no good reason for anyone to be on the road this late in the day.

The hammering came again and Mabel gave a huff of disapproval and picked up the broom that she kept close to the back door.

“Are they planning to break the door down if I don’t answer it?” She said it crossly, trying to neutralise the quaking in her stomach.