The night sank deeper into the woods, wrapping the cabin in silence. The wind had grown restless, rattling pine branches and carrying snow against the windows in soft flurries. Inside, the fire burned low, its orange glow pulsing weakly against the walls. The warmth that had filled the little home earlier now faded to a creeping chill that made the floorboards cold underfoot.
She stirred beneath the quilt, pulling it tighter around her. The bite of winter slipped through the gaps in the old cabin walls, and she shivered. Her hand found Ethan's arm, shaking him gently."It's getting colder," she whispered, her voice still heavy with sleep. "Can you put more wood in?"
He kissed her temple before rising. "Stay warm," he murmured. "I'll take care of it."
Ethan pulled on his coat and stepped into the night. The door creaked shut behind him, cutting off the fragile warmth of the fire. Outside, the air was sharp enough to burn his lungs, each breath a plume of frost. Snow crunched under his boots as he crossed the porch to the woodpile stacked against the cabin wall. The forest loomed around him, endless and still, its shadows layered thick between the trees.
He worked quickly, splitting a few logs with practiced motions. The axe rang out against the wood, echoing faintly, as though the forest were holding its breath. He stacked the cut logs under one arm, his eyes flicking uneasily toward the tree line. Nothing moved. No birds, no animals. Just silence.
Inside, she had risen for water, her throat dry. She moved quietly, the boards creaking under her bare feet as she filled a cup from the jug and sipped. The firelight threw shadows across the cabin walls, bending with the flames.
And then she froze.
Her eyes caught on the window.
At first, she thought it was a trick of her weary mind, but her breath stuttered in her chest when she realized what she was seeing. Two figures stood at the edge of the tree line, still as statues, half-shrouded in falling snow.
They were tall. Too tall. Their bodies impossibly lean, their pale faces faintly gleaming in the moonlight. They didn't move. Didn't speak. Just… watched.
The cup trembled in her hand, water spilling cold across her skin. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as panic coiled in her chest.
The door opened behind her with a rush of cold air. Ethan stepped inside, shaking snow from his shoulders, the bundle of wood under his arm. He looked up instantly at her rigid stance.
"What is it?" he asked, setting the logs down by the hearth.
She turned slowly, her face drained of color, her voice trembling. "There… there were people. Standing out there. At the tree line."
Ethan's eyes hardened. He strode to the window, gaze scanning the snow. His hand drifted instinctively toward his jacket, where his pistol waited. But outside, there was nothing. Only trees swaying, snow falling soft and quiet.
Her hand shook as she pointed. "They were right there, Ethan. I saw them. Pale as ghosts."
He lingered at the window, jaw tightening. Then he pulled on his coat again. "I'll check it out."
"No!" She rushed forward, clutching his arm, her eyes wide with fear. "Please. Don't go out there. Not at night."
He looked at her for a long, tense moment. The fear in her eyes gave him pause. Slowly, he exhaled, then pressed a hand against her cheek, steadying her. "Alright. I won't."
Instead, he reached for the phone on the table. The signal was faint, but he tried anyway, pressing the digits with quick, anxious movements. The line barely began to ring when—
CRACK.
The front door exploded inward. The wooden frame splintered, slamming against the wall with a thunder that shook the whole cabin. Snow and wind rushed in, scattering embers from the fire.
Ethan dropped the phone, instinctively moving in front of his wife.
And then, impossibly, they were not alone.
Two pale figures now lounged on the couch as though they had always been there. They hadn't walked in. They hadn't crossed the threshold. They had simply… appeared. One moment the cabin was empty, the next, predators had taken up seats by the fire.
The man reclined with casual arrogance, his long hair falling like black ink around his face. His smile was sharp, mocking, his eyes gleaming with unnatural hunger. The woman crossed her legs beside him, crimson lips curling upward in amusement.
Ethan's breath hitched. His wife clutched the back of his shirt, her body trembling behind him.
"You don't mind, do you?" the man said smoothly, his tone laced with sarcasm. He gestured toward the broken doorway with a languid hand. "It's bitter out there. The woods are crawling with things that bite. Best we stay where it's warm."
The woman chuckled, the sound light but predatory. Her gaze slid from Ethan to his wife, lingering on the curve of her belly. Her smile widened, slow and deliberate."Such a cozy little home," she purred. "Such a precious little family. Shame to waste it."
The fire hissed, spitting sparks into the silence.