Status: Done. Possible sequal maybe?
Snow
Spilled my words and disguise
The snow started last night, but it never stopped. Mom and Dad had been gone for hours to help with shovelling it away in the town center; they left before I even woke up. Our town was far too cheap to have a snow plough, so everyone pitched in to help when the snow got too heavy.
My dark hair was plastered to my back from the shower I’d just taken, as I slowly descended the stairs. The days were getting shorter and shorter as it approached midwinter, and though it was only 6pm, the sun was already low in the sky. It had always creeped me out a little to be in the dark house alone; ever since my brother moved to Toronto for university.
It had snowed so heavily now that I wondered if my parents would be home tonight at all. Our home was by no means close to the town center, and they’d been gone all night more than once, due to snow. Those nights were full of nightmares, of hearing noises that may not have even been there, and never led to anything.
I turned the TV on and switched it to the news, trying to make the atmosphere more normal; it was a stupid move. I watched an article about some politicians, and then something about moose, before they repeated the headlines. The major story of the day was that a sadistic murderer had escaped from prison, and had been sighted in a town only twenty miles or so from the one I lived in.
A mug shot of the man, who looked about thirty, with short light brown hair, dark eyes and a small evil smirk which made me shiver, appeared on tv, along with a message to call 911 immediately if anyone spotted him. I had to turn the television off when they started talking about exactly what crimes he was in jail for; it sounded more like something out of a horror movie than a real life man who could be somewhere in my area.
I was too paranoid to do much after that. It took all I had in me just to go into the kitchen and heat up some left over lasagne that I found in the fridge. It didn’t taste too great (Dad definitely didn’t like Mom for her cooking abilities), but eating kind of distracted me from the thoughts of the man that could be the reason my parents weren’t home yet for all I knew.
When I finished my food and washed the plate I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wandered aimlessly around the kitchen and dining room, until I settled on a velvety seat in the living room, staring out the large glass doors.
The way the light reflected in the glass unnerved me, and I stood up to close the curtains. It wasn’t until I was halfway there that I noticed the man standing in the snowy garden. He had short brown hair, dark eyes, and was a little taller than average. He looked familiar; where had I seen him before?
I reached for the phone on the coffee table a few steps in front of me the second I realised who he was. I started to type in 911, but I realised that there was no dial tone. It had to be the snow, there was no way he’d cut the phone lines, right? I couldn’t help it, I put down the phone and turned to stare.
His clothes were slightly damp looking, and his head and sholders were covered with tiny flakes of snow. The glare on the glass from the living room light made it hard to see him properly, and it took the lack of footprints in the snow for me to realise what I should’ve known all along; the glass was reflecting what was behind me.
When I turned around, he was a little closer; his teeth showing as he smiled a last, sinister smile.
My dark hair was plastered to my back from the shower I’d just taken, as I slowly descended the stairs. The days were getting shorter and shorter as it approached midwinter, and though it was only 6pm, the sun was already low in the sky. It had always creeped me out a little to be in the dark house alone; ever since my brother moved to Toronto for university.
It had snowed so heavily now that I wondered if my parents would be home tonight at all. Our home was by no means close to the town center, and they’d been gone all night more than once, due to snow. Those nights were full of nightmares, of hearing noises that may not have even been there, and never led to anything.
I turned the TV on and switched it to the news, trying to make the atmosphere more normal; it was a stupid move. I watched an article about some politicians, and then something about moose, before they repeated the headlines. The major story of the day was that a sadistic murderer had escaped from prison, and had been sighted in a town only twenty miles or so from the one I lived in.
A mug shot of the man, who looked about thirty, with short light brown hair, dark eyes and a small evil smirk which made me shiver, appeared on tv, along with a message to call 911 immediately if anyone spotted him. I had to turn the television off when they started talking about exactly what crimes he was in jail for; it sounded more like something out of a horror movie than a real life man who could be somewhere in my area.
I was too paranoid to do much after that. It took all I had in me just to go into the kitchen and heat up some left over lasagne that I found in the fridge. It didn’t taste too great (Dad definitely didn’t like Mom for her cooking abilities), but eating kind of distracted me from the thoughts of the man that could be the reason my parents weren’t home yet for all I knew.
When I finished my food and washed the plate I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wandered aimlessly around the kitchen and dining room, until I settled on a velvety seat in the living room, staring out the large glass doors.
The way the light reflected in the glass unnerved me, and I stood up to close the curtains. It wasn’t until I was halfway there that I noticed the man standing in the snowy garden. He had short brown hair, dark eyes, and was a little taller than average. He looked familiar; where had I seen him before?
I reached for the phone on the coffee table a few steps in front of me the second I realised who he was. I started to type in 911, but I realised that there was no dial tone. It had to be the snow, there was no way he’d cut the phone lines, right? I couldn’t help it, I put down the phone and turned to stare.
His clothes were slightly damp looking, and his head and sholders were covered with tiny flakes of snow. The glare on the glass from the living room light made it hard to see him properly, and it took the lack of footprints in the snow for me to realise what I should’ve known all along; the glass was reflecting what was behind me.
When I turned around, he was a little closer; his teeth showing as he smiled a last, sinister smile.
♠ ♠ ♠
Title credit: Wires and the Concept of Breathing - A Skylit DriveKind of irrelevant, but whatever. This is different from anything I've written before, so I hope it's alright.