It was December.
I remember because Mom kept saying how fast the year had gone. I was staring at the frost on the window, tracing shapes with my finger while Dad carried logs for the fire. The house smelled like cinnamon, and the sound of laughter echoed between the walls. My little sister was tugging at my sleeve, asking me to play, and for a brief second, everything felt whole, glowing, safe.
That's the last clear memory I have of them.
After that, it all turns to blur—like snow smudging footprints until you can't tell where you came from. One moment I was warm, watching the fire, and the next—darkness. Cold. The crunch of snow in my ears, not my feet, because I couldn't feel them at first. I was lying there, half-buried, my eyelashes stiff with frost.
When I opened my eyes, the world was white. Not soft white—blinding, endless, swallowing white. I pushed myself up, legs trembling, heart hammering, and I called out:
"Mom?"
No answer.
"Dad?"
Only the wind, low and hollow, rushing through trees I'd never seen before.
I don't know how long I stood there before I began walking. My breath came out in sharp clouds, disappearing too fast, like I was losing pieces of myself with every step.
---
At first, I told myself it was a game. Keep walking. Find home. Mom will be waiting. I repeated it in my head like a song: walking… keep walking until you find home.
But the forest didn't end. The snow kept falling, covering my tracks as though I was never there. My memories began slipping too—faces blurred, voices muffled. I tried holding on, but the more I thought about them, the more it hurt.
Then the shadows started.
At first, I thought it was just branches moving in the wind. But they moved differently—slow, deliberate. I caught them at the edge of my vision, long fingers stretching across the snow. Every time I turned, they vanished. My chest tightened.
"Who's there?" I whispered, though my voice was so small it broke apart in the air.
No answer. Only crunching snow, not mine.
That's when I ran.
---
Nights bled into days—if you could call them nights. The sky stayed gray, heavy with storms. I stopped counting time. Hunger gnawed at me, but fear was louder. Fear that if I stopped walking, the shadows would finally catch up.
Sometimes, I thought I heard voices in the wind—Mom calling my name, Dad shouting for me to stay strong. I chased them, but they always drifted further, luring me deeper into the forest.
Then, one day, I found someone.
A boy. My age, maybe. He was huddled beneath a broken tree, shivering, his face pale, lips cracked. For a moment, I thought he was another shadow trick, but when he lifted his eyes, I saw something real—fear, like mine.
"I'm Jeremy," I said. My voice sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else.
He hesitated. "…Eli."
Eli and I walked together after that. We didn't talk much; words froze before they reached our mouths. But his presence made the silence less cruel. Sometimes, he pointed out things I'd missed—a stream hidden under ice, berries frozen on a bush, the glow of stars through clouds.
For the first time, I felt hope.
But hope is dangerous.
---
The storm came suddenly. Wind shrieked through the trees, snow whipping into our faces. We staggered forward, blinded, the ground shaking beneath us.
"Jeremy!" Eli shouted, grabbing my arm. "We need shelter!"
We stumbled toward a cluster of rocks. I don't know how long we hid there, curled against the stone, teeth chattering. The storm raged on, and then—a crack, sharp and final.
The tree above us split.
I remember Eli's eyes widening, the shadow of the trunk falling. I tried to reach for him, but my hands were numb, useless. The crash was deafening.
When the snow cleared, I was alone again.
Eli's hand, pale against the snow, was the last thing I saw before it disappeared beneath white.
---
I kept walking after that, but something inside me broke. My footsteps felt heavier, slower. My thoughts twisted. Maybe Eli wasn't real. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe I've been walking forever.
The shadows grew bolder. I saw them crawling between trees, whispering in voices that sounded like my family. Come home, Jeremy. Just one step closer. I covered my ears, but the voices lived inside my head now.
Days blurred. My stomach hollowed out, my lips cracked. The cold was no longer outside—it was inside me, bone-deep.
And then came the snowstorm.
---
It was different from the others. This one was alive, furious. The wind screamed like a thousand mouths. Snow cut my skin like knives. I stumbled, fell to my knees, tried to get up, but my body wouldn't listen.
"I… can't…" My voice broke. My hands wouldn't close into fists. My fingers felt like glass, fragile, ready to shatter. I pressed them to my lips—no warmth.
My chest burned. Each breath was fire and ice.
I can't breathe.
The shadows circled closer, their edges sharp, their whispers deafening. Give in, Jeremy. Rest.
I closed my eyes. For a moment, I thought that was it—my last breath dissolving into the storm.
But when I opened them, everything was quiet.
The snow had stopped. The sky was clearer than I'd ever seen. And in the distance, there was a house.
---
It was small, wooden, with smoke curling from the chimney. My heart surged. I stumbled toward it, dragging my heavy legs through the snow.
Home.
I climbed the steps, each one creaking beneath my weight, and pushed the door open.
Inside, it was silent. No fire in the hearth. No footprints on the floor. Dust clung to the air, as though no one had lived there for years.
"Mom?" My voice cracked.
"Dad?" Nothing.
The rooms were empty. All of them. Except one.
On the table lay a letter.
The paper was yellowed, edges curled, ink blurred as though someone had cried while writing it. My hands shook as I picked it up.
Jeremy, it began.
Just my name. Nothing else at first. I read on, desperate, but the words tangled, incomplete. Sentences cut off mid-way. We tried… the storm… if you… remember… always… shadow… find light…
The last line was smeared, unreadable.
I stared at it, my chest hollow. Was it from Mom? Dad? Eli? Or something else, something that had been watching me all along?
The shadows gathered in the corners of the room. I could feel them. Waiting.
I sank to the floor, clutching the letter, and whispered to myself:
"Keep walking, Jeremy… happiness is closer… one step closer…"
The shadows pressed in.
The house groaned.
The air grew still.
And then—silence.