Cold Silhouette

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Freshly graduated, Evan stepped out of his car and into the driveway of his new home, a fresh apartment in a quiet suburban neighbourhood, far from the buzzing noise of campus life and my family's constant presence.

He had finally done it—he was free. No more overbearing parents, no more curfews, no more lectures about what he should do with his life. This was his space, his future, his fresh start.

But as Evan fumbled for his keys, unlocking the front door, a knot tightened in his chest. Something about the house felt... off.

It wasn't just the unsettling quiet of it, the kind of silence that felt too heavy to be natural. There were odd sounds, creaks in the floorboards, whispers of wind against the windows—but none of it made sense.

The house looked normal enough, with its pale blue paint and neat front porch. But as soon as he stepped inside, he noticed the little things. The air felt colder than it should have been for an early summer evening. The shadows in the corners of the hallway seemed too deep. The dim light of the living room lamp cast an eerie glow on the walls, making the house feel more like a museum than a home.

He shook it off, trying to rationalize his unease. It was just nerves, he thought. This was his new life, after all.

But as he dropped his bag on the couch and looked around, he couldn't help but feel as though something was watching him. A subtle, lingering presence. He turned around, eyes darting acutely from one corner of the room to the next, but nothing was there. Still, that unsettling feeling pressed in on him, thick as the air.

A sudden draft stirred the curtains in the open window. He stared at them for a moment, before hearing the faintest sound—a soft rustle coming from upstairs.

"Hello?" His voice cracked slightly as he called out, but only silence answered. He exhaled slowly and headed up the staircase, each step creaking louder than the last, a rhythm that made his skin crawl.

'Was it always like this?' he thought slightly ashamed at his fear.

The second floor was just as eerily quiet. It was sparsely furnished—just a bed, a dresser, and a desk against the wall.

He dropped his backpack on the bed, deciding to settle in for the night, but that nagging feeling didn't go away. It felt like the house itself was holding its breath.

Maybe he was just overtired, he thought. He'd been living off caffeine and adrenaline for weeks, trying to finish his final semester and then pack up his entire life to start this new chapter.

Evan couldn't shake off the odd environment of the house, he had checked every room and found nothing to ease himself. Laying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Evan tried to will himself into sleep. But the more he tried to ignore it, the more the feeling pressed in on him.

Finally, exhaustion won out. Evan drifted off into a fitful sleep, the hum of the house surrounding him, as though it were trying to lull him into something darker.

When Evan next opened his eyes, instead of the familiar bedroom, he found himself in a room that was cold and dimly lit. His mind raced as he pushed himself up.

The walls were made of what seemed like packed snow and ice, not wood, and the ceiling had a low, domed curve—like the inside of an igloo. The air was freezing, biting at his skin even through the layers of clothes he'd worn to bed.

His heart began to pound in his chest as he looked around, panic rising. Where was he? What had happened?

The house—the quiet neighbourhood all of it was gone. In its place, he was surrounded by the cold and snow.

He stood up, shivering, his legs unsteady beneath him. Only then did he notice the storm raging outside, a fierce, unrelenting blizzard battering against the small igloo. He stumbled to the opening, a small hole in the ice where the door would have been, and peered out. Through the swirling snow, he saw little more than white. Nothing seemed familiar. The land stretched out for miles, covered in thick snow, with no signs of civilization in sight.

A distant, guttural noise reached his ears. A cry, followed by hurried voices and the sound of boots crunching through the snow. People. They were coming.

Before Evan could react, a figure stepped into the igloo, blocking the entrance. A woman, pale-skinned, with dark blue hair pulled back into a messy braid. Her eyes were wide with urgency as she scanned the room.

"Hide," she ordered, her voice sharp, but with a certain tremor to it. "They'll be here soon."

Evan barely had time to process her words before she grabbed his arm, dragging him through the cramped interior of the igloo. Her grip was strong, but there was something frantic in her eyes. She moved quickly, pulling him toward a small opening in the far wall—an entryway hidden behind a stack of furs.

"What's going on?" he gasped, barely able to keep up with her pace. "Where are we?"

The woman didn't answer, her breath coming in quick bursts as she shoved him toward the opening, urging him into a narrow passage that led into the dense forest beyond.

The snow outside was so thick it felt like the world had been swallowed whole.

"Stay here," she said breathlessly, turning to face him. Her face was tight with fear, but there was something else in her gaze—a raw, aching desperation. "I'll be back. Stay hidden. Do not move."

Without waiting for his response, she disappeared into the storm, leaving Evan alone in the cold. He crouched down, taking shelter behind the gnarled trunk of a massive tree that rose from the snow like a sentinel. The bark was thick and twisted, its branches knotted together as though they had been shaped by something unnatural.

The wind howled through the trees, and Evan tried to make sense of the situation. His heart raced in his chest as he huddled deeper into the tree, wondering if he was dreaming. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. Didn't he just move in?

He could hear the voices growing closer now, their language unfamiliar but urgent. The sound of boots crunching through snow, the rustle of clothing, and the low murmur of conversation, all cut through the storm like a knife. Panic rose in his chest. What were they looking for? Why was the woman so afraid?

A flash of movement caught his eye. He looked up just in time to see figures approaching—dark shapes through the white blur of the storm. They were tall, cloaked in furs and carrying weapons, their faces hidden by thick scarves. They were searching for something or someone.

Evan's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a deafening drum in his ears. His breath came in shallow gasps, the cold air stinging his lungs, but he couldn't risk making a sound. His body felt frozen in place, locked in an instinctive crouch as the figures passed, their boots crunching through the snow like thunder, the sound growing louder, and closer.

He could feel their presence—like a weight pressing down on him, suffocating him with every step they took. His skin prickled with the certainty that one of them would turn, see him, and everything would be over in an instant. His hands trembled in the snow, the frigid earth seeping into his bones as he clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

He pressed deeper into the snow, his back to the tree, praying that it would conceal him. The wind howled in his ears, but beneath it, he could hear their voices, Low and Harsh. The language was guttural, foreign to him, but the anger, the tension in their words, was unmistakable.

He could feel them—right there, just past the tree, just inches away from discovering him. He wanted to run. But his body refused to move. Every muscle screamed for him to flee, but his mind told him that doing so would mean death.

The air was thick with tension, the world narrowed to the storm and the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears. The seconds stretched, each one an eternity. His fingers dug into the icy ground, his skin numb, his body frozen in place from fear.

And then, just as Evan thought he couldn't hold out any longer, there was a sharp tug at his arm—a hand, cold and firm, pulling him backward, yanking him out of his hiding spot.

A breathless, panicked voice hissed in his ear, so close that he could feel the heat of it against his skin. "Don't move!"

It was her. The woman. Her grip was ironclad, pulling him behind another tree, her fingers biting into his arm like a vice.

The woman quickly hid herself against the gnarled tree trunk, shoving him into the thick snow as she crouched beside him. Her eyes were wide, wild with fear, but they were also sharp with purpose. He could feel the urgency in her every movement, her breath coming in short bursts.

 Evan's mind was spinning with a hundred thoughts, each more frantic than the last.

Who were they? What did they want? Where am I?

Before he could think any more he noticed how silent it had become.

No sound. No footsteps. Only the howling of the wind and the storm, drowning out the world around them.

The figures had passed.

Finally, the woman's hand loosened from his arm. She didn't speak, but the look in her eyes was enough. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he exhaled, the relief in his chest like a slow, jagged tide pulling back.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the snow around them, her hand still tight around her blade, and Evan could feel the weight of what she was about to say before the words left her mouth.

"They're gone. For now," she whispered, voice hoarse, shaking. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, but it was hard to tell if it was from fear or the cold.

Her eyes were full of something else too—something darker. "But we need to move. Now."

Finally, after what felt like hours of stumbling through the snow, they reached a clearing—a small village, nothing like the one Evan had left behind. The houses were small, simple huts made of timber and snow, the roofs heavy with the weight of the storm. Figures moved between the huts, their faces hidden beneath layers of clothing, their eyes sharp and wary as they watched the snowstorm. No one spoke.

"What is this place?" Evan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman glanced around as if checking to see if anyone was nearby. "A village. A place to survive."

The word hit Evan like a punch to the gut. Survive. He couldn't grasp the full meaning of it yet, but the fear in the woman's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from one of the nearby huts. Shouts echoed in the air, followed by the sounds of hurried footsteps, and the tension in the village rose in an instant. The woman grabbed Evan's arm again, pulling him toward the largest hut at the edge of the clearing.

"We need to go inside," she hissed, her voice desperate. "Now."

Evan didn't resist. He could feel the pulse of something—danger, urgency—surging in the air around them. Whatever had happened to him, whatever world he had stumbled into, it wasn't just a snowy, isolated Place. It was something much colder.