Sebastian Westbrook is the pseudonym for an unassuming young undergrad from the UK, just starting his adventures in writing. He enjoys RPG video games a little too much and spends more time on them than he should. When he can peel himself away, he reads fantasy fiction in the main, but also enjoys the horror genre, particularly movies.
COLD
by
Sebastian Westbrook
The moment I step outside the jewellery store, I feel the chill.
I continue my journey home through the cold air of the early afternoon. It’s a bit late in December to be buying Christmas gifts, but work has been hell lately and I’ve had no free time. My leave only started today; I stepped off the train barely an hour ago.
The temperature is dropping. I swear it wasn’t this cold when I entered the store. My jacket had been open; now I’m pulling it tight against the insistent wind. It’s not making this walk any easier, pushing me back towards the doors. No reason to go back inside: I’ve spent all my salary on the ring already. I’d better get a move on. Sylvia’s waiting.
As I continue my journey, six blocks from home, I notice a man walking down the street opposite me. His arms are crossed as he shuffles at a snail’s pace down the pavement. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so slow. The cold air jostles him aggressively as he shivers in the winter weather. Could the temperature have dropped yet further? It certainly feels like it. The air stings my exposed skin like a swarm of a million angry wasps. It must be some way below zero. I really need to get home. I need to see Sylvia.
I continue and it’s starting to snow. It’s pretty light at first and looks unlikely to stick, but it quickly begins to thicken. Thank god I’m fully kitted out in winter clothes. I told Sylvia I wouldn’t need them, but she insisted I didn’t leave without them; I pull the scarf she sent me up over my mouth.
I keep walking; the snow becomes heavier. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flurry swerve in the air from it’s downward trajectory and make a beeline for a young woman’s back, equally desperate to be out of this weather. It’s weird. It almost looked like it was chasing her. I put it down to the swirling wind blowing it around in an arc and disregard it as purely coincidence.
Later – two blocks from home – and the snow is up to my ankles. It’s started falling faster and faster and now I’m trudging through it as quickly as I can. I see another man, younger than the last one, who looks as if his foot is stuck in something. I can’t see what he’s pulling at, but perhaps he stepped in a pothole concealed by the white sheet covering the streets. The snow almost looks as if it’s sucking his foot down into the pavement. “This isn’t right,” he complains, to no-one in particular. It’s certainly eerie: snow doesn’t usually fall this fast. I can’t let his plight concern me though. Syliva’s waiting.
A gale has started blowing. Hard too. I’m half convinced it’ll knock me off my feet if it gets any stronger. It’s certainly slowing my progress. I’m struggling to just walk against the force of it. I turn a corner and expect some respite, but it’s as if whichever direction I turn, the biting wind stops and starts blowing in the opposite direction, like it’s trying to keep me from going any further. I’m starting to feel a little uneasy. The weather: it’s against me. Two blocks is suddenly a challenge.
But I’m driven: I push on, almost there, just a couple hundred yards left. I see something in the distance through the snowstorm, a few doors down from my house. Silhouettes, all perfectly still, holding unlikely positions. I push a little closer.
Oh god. It’s people! Not just people, but people frozen solid! There’s a daughter and her mother reaching for each other, but they were too late and didn’t make it. An elderly couple holding hands that have frozen together after suffering the same fate. A man inches away from the safety of his home – I recognise him as our neighbour, Tyler – taken by this malicious winter cold before he could open his door. All of them like a macabre tableau of life-size sculptures.
I have to help. Maybe I could scratch off the frost from their skin. If it comes off, they might still be alive under there. Maybe they haven’t been here too long. I should start with the little girl. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. She’s doesn’t deserve to go out like this at her age.
I try to move but my feet won’t respond. I’m rooted to the spot. Looking down, I’m chilled to the core. Fuck me, my feet are coated in frost, and it’s slowly starting to creep up my legs, like a rising tide of ice. I can feel the chill encasing my shins. I try to reach down and pick it off but it doesn’t budge. No. I can’t end up like these people. I need to get out of this. C’mon, you stupid frost! Get off me! It’s up to my waist now. God, it’s so cold it burns. C’mon, come loose! I’m not stopping. I need to get to Sylvia. She needs to know I’m okay. We were supposed to spend Christmas together, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some dumb frost get in my way! Oh god, it’s spreading over my arms. If my hands freeze, I can’t attempt to free myself.
My hands freeze and I can feel the frost rising up my neck. My whole body is rigid but it stings like hell. I fear this is the end. I hold Sylvia’s face in my mind. I visualise her smile and play her laugh in my ears. I’m so sorry, Sylvia. I swear it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry anyway. I know how much you were looking forward to this year… And me: I was ready to propose.
I’m so sorry, Sylvia. I won’t be back for Christmas.