At the Door

It was one of those situations in which time loses all meaning. One hour became two, two became three, and so on. At some point it doesn’t feel like it matters anymore. The airline was hedging their bets against the incoming storm, which would supposedly bring over 15 inches of snow to the ground, depending on which apocalyptic news program you chose to watch. Channel to channel, the newscasters and weather-people urged people to stock up on supplies, ensuring panic. There was something fetishistic in the way they talked about it — how they couldn’t stop talking about it. The word dangerous was thrown around with thinly veiled excitement, as was the advice to get ready and stock up. We were captured, fully, by it, needing to know what key piece of information they were saving until after the next commercial. It was impossible to escape. Stay right here for more about what’s shaping up to be the storm of the decade, directly after the break.

The atmosphere in the airport terminal was heavy. As was the physical atmosphere, because the heat was turned up to the inferno level. It was natural for people to get caught up in the game of it, even if it meant we were destined to plummet to our deaths or, perhaps more mildly, have the flight cancelled.

I had to re-read the same paragraph in my book several times, and cursed myself for getting caught up in it just like everyone else. It was now 9:10. Part of me wished that they would just cancel it and send us on our way. That way, at least, I’d have an iron-clad excuse for not showing up. But still, I hung on, waiting for the final bell to ring.

Flight 546 to Buffalo will now begin boarding

I closed my book, a crappy mystery that I picked up at the airport bookstore because I forgot to bring a book of my own. There’s a comfort in knowing that the handsome — but not too handsome, it’s important to note — detective is going to solve it in the end, but it does’t exactly make for an enthralling read.

The announcement created a new kind of nervous energy; some were excited to finally get out of the airport, while others didn’t think that we should be flying at all. I watched a dad gently try to wake up his sleeping daughter, who was curled up in chair with a pillow that they must have brought from home. It was pink and had flowers on it. A soft and familiar thing of comfort. It struck me then that it was silly that adults were expected to take all situations in stride, without the help of something as benign as a pillow or an old stuffed animal. We like to make life more difficult for ourselves. “It’s time to get on the plane,” he said, but she pushed him away, eager to get back to her dreams.

An old song popped into my head. No lyrics, only an ugly bass. It was like a dead man trying to remember how to play. I think it was a song about a flood.

I grabbed my bag and handed my ticket to the woman up front. She smiled and thanked me, but it was impossible for her to hide the exhaustion. I hoped that other passengers wouldn’t give her a hard time, but I wasn’t about to hold my breath.

A scene from twenty years ago. I wanted to start a band but couldn’t play anything. Peter said that he would try learning how to play bass if I was serious, but the idea fizzled out, as most tend to do. I remember punching him in the face and breaking his nose, though for the life of me I can’t remember why I would do that. I’m sure that I’ve apologized for it over the years.

I only agreed to do this because Peter and Ann were relentless. It ended at the point at which I felt more like the bad guy and not someone who was practically being taken hostage. “In case you forgot, we’re getting old now. Decrepit.” Ann said to me one night over the phone. I shrugged, momentarily forgetting that she wasn’t standing in front of me. We were hundreds of miles apart, but drinking together. It had been a long time since we had seen each other, and keeping in touch had proven difficult in that distinctly adult way in which anything requiring effort outside of your average day felt like too much. Still, she was as easy to talk to as always, and I treasured that. She picked the right moment to pitch me on the idea. We’d all meet up near where we went to school and spend the weekend together. It was a setup for a movie, but it was also real life.

Chris would be there, but I only assumed that — I refused to ask directly.

We took off after a gentle warning that this was going to be a rough one. The man next to me was already drunk but did a decent enough job of hiding it. It was his hazy eyes that gave him away. “We’ll be lucky to get there at all,” he said, and smiled the smile of someone who is sure that they’re the only one who has it all figured out. “Ya know?” he prompted. “Oh yeah, I know,” I replied, semi-playfully. “No, buddy, you really don’t.” I felt an irrational urge to interrogate him. What do you know? I would yell in his face after grabbing him by the collar. He closed his eyes and was asleep in moments, while I was left throttling him in my mind.

The worst flight I was ever on was when I was 13. My parents and I were visiting family, like we did once or twice a year. As we took off and the plane was no longer level with the ground, I imagined what it would be like to crash just after takeoff, how sad and pathetic it would be to die in fire and bent metal without really getting anywhere. It was an obtrusive thought, seemingly coming from nowhere just to spike my anxiety — which it did, beautifully. I was a walking wreck for the entire trip and had to be bribed to board the plane back home.

This flight turned out to be only a little worse than that, which is probably saying something, though I don’t know what. Sometimes you get tossed around by the storm of the century, I suppose. I closed my eyes and tried a few breathing exercises, which only worked between brain-rattling jolts. I couldn’t stop thinking about the drunk guy next to me, who’s head lolled and shook with the equally drunk plane.

During one spectacular drop in altitude, a woman behind me actually screamed.

There was no service during the flight, which was just as well since I was in to state to talk with another human. When we landed, it was in relative silence. Nobody applauded, like they sometimes do after an iffy flight or when the pilot really sticks the landing. Pale faces all around. I looked down and noticed that I had been grabbing my knees. A quick check out the window confirmed that the snow had only just started here and was coming down lazily. A sick joke, surely.

The guy next to me woke up and belched. “How was that for you?” I asked, feeling emboldened by my psychotic hatred of him. “weather,” he said quickly, all mashed into one word. I could have been imagining it, but to me he looked a little disappointed. And then I felt sad for him that he didn’t get to go out in the frozen fireball that he had been hoping for.

On the way out of the plane I passed the girl and her pillow. She was hugging it tight to herself, but otherwise looked okay. Her parents were a different story. They both looked as if they had been through such hell that landing couldn’t even provide enough relief. I waved to her and she waved back shyly.

That song played again in my head as I walked through the small, sad airport. A big black cloud comes.

Ann was supposed to be outside waiting for me. The thought started off a fluttering in my chest that created an acidic mix of excitement and dread. I felt like a kid again, and I hated it. The snow was coming down a little steadier now but it wasn’t all that cold. If there weren’t so many cars honking it might have been nice. I spied the grey Honda Civic that Ann said she’d be in. The window rolled down and a hand shot out, waving excitedly. I threw my bag in the trunk and opened the passenger door and was treated to an absurd blast of heat, and someone who wasn’t Ann. “Welcome, buddy,” said Peter. “Oh, hey,” I said, feeling instant embarrassment about just how disappointed I was. “What happened to Ann?” An internal clock sprang up in my mind, counting down the hours until I could go back home. I hated myself a little for it, but we’re all the person that we are, and that’s kind of that.

“She said that she had too much to do, so she sent me instead.” He smiled. He was glad to see me, which made me feel worse. The radio was tuned to a weather report. The revised total snowfall is… “Do you mind if I change it? I can’t listen to this anymore.”

“Go ahead,” Peter said, keeping his eyes on the road. He hadn’t changed all that much; he had glasses now, and a short beard. I fiddled with the radio, trying to recall any of the stations that I used to listen to — the only ones that played anything good. If they were still out there, I couldn’t find them. Eventually I just clicked it off and surrendered to the silence, which was plentiful. “So, how have you been?” Peter asked, unwilling to let me escape so easily. I shifted in the seat — I had too many tells. “You know, mostly working. There’s not really time for much else. How about you?”

“Oh, so you have been working?” I thought Ann told me something different. But that’s great.” The snow was delicate, like floating sparkles that seemed to float over and around the car. “Yeah, well, I am. So I don’t know why she said that.” I felt sour. The first thing I did, after not seeing Peter in who knows how long, was lie.

“You probably don’t think this is a very good idea, right? Us all meeting together, and now there’s this super storm or something. The truth is that this was the best time for all of us to do this. We didn’t want to cancel because then it would be too easy to not go through with it. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I get it.“

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

He had been nice enough to let me off the hook for my lie, but I hated the way he said “we.”

“I mean, you could also take the weather as an omen, and that would be, well, it would be bad.”

“Uh, yeah. I suppose you could do that. But let’s not.” He chuckled and I decided I meant it as a joke.

The drive to where we were staying was steady and there wasn’t much traffic, because nobody in their right mind wants to be out during an apocalypse. The spell of the snow was still holding; it wasn’t a threat yet, just beautiful and soft. Soon it would eat all the sounds of the night.

It had been a long time since I had driven in snow, and I began to feel grateful for Peter’s expertise. City roads quickly gave way to forested country land that could be called beautiful or depressing, depending on your disposition.

We turned onto a dirt road and Peter put on the high beams. The cones of light brought more trees into view but they didn’t extend all that far. Not being able to see much of anything made me uneasy. Living in a city for so long taught me to distrust things that weren’t lit up at night. “We’ll be there in a minute,” he said, his eyes fixed forward in concentration. “Did you guys have trouble finding the place earlier?” I asked, amazed that anyone could find it at all, daylight or not. The car rumbled a bit on the unpaved road in protest. “Yeah, a bit. But you remember what it’s like out here, it’s not all that bad.” I watched the trees go by, some so close that I was sure that we were going to hit them. “I remember.”

I knew from Ann that Peter was working as an illustrator and still spent a lot of time up here. Maybe even had his own place, if I remembered correctly. There was something melancholy about him, but it always fit, like it was just a regular piece of him. Sitting next to him in the car made me feel unmoored, unstable. Peter had figured something out that I never quite had.

As the car moved slowly along, the snow started to come down harder. Peter made a right turn, and there was the house, waiting for us. It was tucked in tight, like how many of these off-the-beaten-path places felt both freeing and claustrophobic at the same time. “If I had kept going straight we might have gotten lost out here, and when you factor in the storm that might have been that. Who knows.” The lights were on, coming out from the windows in a warm, welcoming glow. “We better get in there before it becomes white-out conditions and they have to come shovel us out,” Peter said as he pulled up beside another car.

The door was open before I could find the bell. Ann was wearing a red sweater and holding a drink in one hand. She looked like I remembered, but her hair had an auburn tinge to it. “You wear glasses now,” I said. “I do, and they’re really nice ones, too. Come in already.” I walked through the threshold and into another time, some noteworthy chapter in the life of a nobody.

The room was warm. It was nice. “It’s coming down but it’s not too bad yet,” Peter said as he undid his boots. I took my jacket off and ran my hands through my hair, getting little drops of water everywhere. I made an apology face that I was hoping had sufficient charm.

Chris was sitting in a chair with a book in his lap. “What’s up?” He said without getting up. “Good to see you,” I said. He raised a glass of wine in return. “Chris is here with his wife, Jen. I think she’s in the kitchen.” It’s an art to act less surprised than you feel, and it’s not something I have ever been good at. “Oh, yeah? When did you guys get married?”

“About six months ago, comrade.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“Mmhmm. Thanks.”

I didn’t look at Ann by I could feel her looking at me, sizing up my reaction or level of embarrassment. “How was the flight?” Chris asked, which brought me out of my head in a way that I appreciated. “It was great. Just delays, you know. Nothing really to report.”

“That’s good,” Ann said.

“I guess I’ll go introduce myself to your lovely wife.” Ann put a hand on my shoulder. “Jen’s in the kitchen. Come on, I’ll take you.”

“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why I never mentioned it,” she said under her breath as she lead me through the house. “It’s fine.”

The way to the kitchen wasn’t long, but it did involve a sharp right turn that felt out of place, like whoever designed the house wanted to keep people on their toes. The hallway was on the narrow side, forcing me to follow behind.

The kitchen smelled like warm sugar. “Jen, this is John. The other friend that we told you was coming.” Jen smiled and instead of extending a hand, walked around the floating island and gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. She had long blonde hair that was perfectly tied back. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. I cringed and hoped it wasn’t too obvious. “Right back at ya,” I said. “Jen works at a children’s publishing house, so let her know if you need any kids books. For some reason.”

“Oh, do you have kids? Actually, you look more the uncle type.”

“Not a father for sure, and not an uncle unless there’s something going on that I don’t know.”

Jen laughed generously and openly, sparking a jealousy in me that that made me sick. “Well, I’m going to find my room and put my stuff down. It was nice meeting you, Jen. I’m sure we’ll chat more later.” Ann led me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “You, me, and Peter all have rooms up here. Chris and Jen are downstairs.” The stairs creaked under our weight in a satisfying, old house way. The upstairs hallway had photos of beaches and smiling people on the wall. They reminded me of the kiosks you see at the mall that use stock photo samples, as if these people wanted to fill the house with life but didn’t have any of their own to spare.

The small room had a window with bright blue drapes that fluttered in the wind, which was only possible because the window was open. The screen was keeping the snow out, but not the intense chill. “Well, that sucks,” I said as I went to close it. “Oh, that’s weird. I don’t know who would have opened it.” She crossed her arms and tucked into herself. “Well, we’re in the middle of nowhere, in the snow, so it was obviously the ghost that lives here,” I said. Ann shivered a bit. “That is the only possible explanation.”

The bed was small; a twin, and there was a full-length mirror in the corner. The dresser was old and worn, likely here because it was something the owners didn’t care all too much about anymore. “Yeah, so, sorry again about the Chris and Jen thing. I really don’t know why I never mentioned it. It’s just one of those things.”

“Six months is a long time to not mention something.”

“Well, yeah. True. I guess I just didn’t really think that you’d care. And also I guess I wasn’t convinced that you were really going to come.” I looked her in the eyes and found the glint of truth that I was selfishly hoping wasn’t there. “It’s fine. And I almost didn’t come anyway, so you were close to being saved from whatever this is.

It’s always difficult to ignore the urge to push the pin in. The mood in the room shifted, letting both of us know that there wasn’t anything left to say just then. There was too much space and time that had to be dealt with. “I assume we have flashlights here,” I said. “Just in case.”

“Yeah, we have a few. They’re downstairs somewhere.” I followed her out of the room and though there were many things to say, I chose to say none of them.

Back downstairs, the wine glass that Chris had been nursing was now empty and he and Peter were huddled close together, speaking low. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Ann said as we walked in. “No, no, just your general, all-purpose plotting,” Chris said. “We were actually having a serious conversation about the weather and what we’re going to do,” Peter said. “We might get stuck here for a few days.”

“Well, I didn’t choose this getaway for us,” Chris said. He seemed to look everywhere except at Ann. She flustered, even though it was obvious that Chris’ face had taken on a pinkish hue. “It’s funny you say that, because I recall us having this discussion before and deciding that we were going to roll the dice regardless.” He shrugged.

“Are you trying to blame Ann for dragging your new wife to a house in the middle of nowhere right before a snow storm?” I said. Peter looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “We’re all here, and we’re all going to have an amazing time regardless of whatever the hell happens with the weather. Sound cool?” Chris laughed. “Yeah, that’s cool with me, buddy.”

“I’m going to step outside,” I heard Ann say. She moved quickly.

I followed her out, taking it as a good sign that she didn’t mention that she wanted to be alone. It was cold but not painful yet. The snow fell in sheets, like rain that was taking its time. She took out a cigarette. “I didn’t know you still smoked.” She shrugged. “Was this was a stupid idea?”

“Not yet. Right now it’s just misguided, but we haven’t gotten to stupid yet. There’s time for that.” She laughed, the smoke escaping in excited bursts. The small ember at the end of her cigarette filled with life, reminding me how, more than once, we had fought about her smoking.

The way that the lazy, overweight snow came down was mesmerizing. “I thought that the worst that could possibly happen was that we got snowed in for a bit — it would be something to bond over,” she said, the smoke curling away from her. I watched her, and I watched the empty space that I was supposed to fill with more words of some kind flit by. Instead, I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe the problem isn’t really the weather. Maybe the problem is that we just don’t like each other anymore. Not when we’re actually in front of each other, anyway.”

“I can admit freely that I don’t like Chris. That’s not breaking news.” It took a moment for her to respond. “I guess you thought your instincts told you that was going to be funny. You know, he’s not crazy about you either, and he has good reason for it.”

“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “That he does.”

Come Sunday morn the first-born dead

There was a loud cracking noise from somewhere in the distance. It was like a shot, and both of us jumped. Ann dropped her cigarette but came to her sense quickly enough to stomp it out. “What the hell was that?” I said. “I don’t know,” she said, moving closer to me. “Probably a branch snapping from the weight of the snow. We should probably go inside now.” She nodded, shaken.

When we opened the door, the sound of music drifted out. There was nobody sitting in the living room, but someone had put some Herbie Hancock on the stereo. “Hello?” I said, but there was no answer. “Guess they can’t hear me over the music, but it’s not like we were even gone that long.” Ann walked over to the coffee table where a glass had been knocked over. “That shit’s not okay, we’re going to have to pay extra if any of us damage this place. At least it was empty.” I walked halfway up the stairs and called out, but again nobody answered. “They’re probably all in the kitchen or something. Let’s go.” We went down the hallway that connected to the kitchen, and noticed the smell of warm cookies. The apron that Jen had been wearing was crumpled on the table, and the cookies were laying out on a tray. “Hey, where the fuck is everyone?” I yelled out this time. A laugh came from further back in the house. “Back here!” someone said. We went through the door on the other side of the kitchen and down another hallway. “House is a bit bigger than I first thought,” I said. Ann made a noise that I took as agreement.

We found them all huddled around the back door, looking like a bunch of kids. “We were calling for you guys,” Ann said. “Come take a look at this, but you might not be able to see it anymore,” Peter said as he moved out of the way for her. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“So,” Chris said,” “it’s tough to see now because of the snow, but try and look out into the distance, kind of towards the middle.” I expected her to turn around and call them all idiots, but she didn’t. “You should check this out,” she said to me without turning my way. I went over and at first saw only the same snow coming down just as hard. But then there was something moving, maybe. Something large and white but I could only tell by its outline. There were two pinprick points of red light that could have been eyes, if that’s what you wanted to see. “Do you see it?” Chris said. “Yeah, well, I see something.” Sometimes it looked like it was standing still, and at other times it appeared to be swaying with the wind, which was picking up.

I backed away from the door. “I’ll give you a three out of ten on the spook scale, but I’m not going any higher than that,” I said. “At least get into the spirit a little,” Chris said. “It’s creepy. Right, Jen?” Jen had moved back to tend to her cookies. “These are good to eat now, guys,” she said, ignoring Chris. “Who noticed it first?” I asked. “Jen did,” Chris said. “The lights are probably from a water tower, and its form or whatever is just the wind and snow playing tricks.” Chris laughed, and not a polite laugh, but a full-body event. “Jesus, we’re not idiots. You think that we think it’s some snow-yeti monster? Holy crap. Get over yourself, please. It’s just fun to pretend.” Jen had a worried, anxious look. “It doesn’t look like it’s fun for all of us.” Chris went over to Jen as if I reminded him that she was there. “You’re fine, right? No big deal.” Her eyes lit up with a fire that spoke of trouble. “You know I don’t like being scared, but yes, I will be fine.”

There was another crack, but this time it was harsher, closer to a whip snap. I moved back to the door and saw flashes of white light. “It looks like at least one power-line snapped,” I said. “We’re lucky we still have power if that’s the case,” Peter said. “Even if we lose power we’ll still be fine. We have the flashlights,” Ann said. When I checked the window again it was like the thing had moved several feet. “Yeah, it kind of goes back and forth like that,” Peter said over my shoulder. “I’m the one who saw it first.” There was an intensity about him that I never remembered seeing before. “It wasn’t Jen, it was me. I was standing in the kitchen and then the lights appeared. It was like something opening its eyes.” He reached out and touched the glass, leaving a handprint.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. No need to worry at all,” Chris said, his voice becoming more supportive. “Let’s grab those cookies and head back into the living room.” When nobody moved Ann sighed and grabbed the plate. “Now you’ll have to follow me.”

When I got back to the living room Peter was there, sitting on the couch. “Hey, how did you get back so fast? I was just talking to you. You were behind me.”

“No, you weren’t,” he said, with a strange, demanding confidence. Nobody else seemed to notice as they shuffled over to the couch. I looked behind me, not sure what I was expecting to find. The lights behind us were off, and the hall created a sort of tunnel that went straight toward the back door. I didn’t remember being able to see the door from here before, and seeing it now made me feel like I was floating. From where I was standing I could see clearly outside, as if the world just outside that window was lit up just for me. I could see the snow thrashing against the glass, trying to get in.

The music was still playing, which made me realize how silent it was in the kitchen. Peter took out his sketch pad and pencil and was busy working on something. “It’s cool that you still draw, Peter,” Chris said. “It’s my job,” Peter said flatly. Chris shrugged, a motion that seemed to say well, if you say so and sat next to Jen, who was looking better now that she was on the other side of the house.

“I think it would look like this. Obviously it’s a rough take,” Peter said after several more minutes of furious scribbling. “Oh, come on,” Ann said when he flipped the book around. It was a quickly drawn outline of a creature that had the smashed-in face of a bat but with something like a snout, like a wolf might have. It had horns on either side. “I think this is what it looks like. Or would look like,” he said. “Okay, not so fun anymore. How could you have possibly gotten that idea? There was no face out there,” Chris said with a level of harshness that he may or may not have intended.

Peter looked like a dog who had been slapped on the nose, the burst of confidence he flashed me earlier long gone, like it was never there. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry, Jen. I just wanted to get my thoughts down.” He packed his things up. “Is that something you actually saw out there?” I asked, but he had withdrawn again. It was comforting, in a way, how he hadn’t grown out of these sullen moods.

“So what’s the plan now?” Chris said. “Sleep wouldn’t be the worst idea,” I wanted to say. “Let’s sit around and talk,” Ann said. “That’s what people are supposed to do in these situations.” I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t going to happen, whatever it was that she wanted to get out of this. It was too late for any of that. “Alright,” I said, and grabbed a cookie, and then a seat.

“We could play a game,” Peter said, but he was looking beyond Ann, to the backdoor. I could sense its gravity, pulling him to it. He wanted to open the door, to let it in. It was cold outside.

Chris had an arm around Jen’s shoulders. She was trapped in here with us, forced to come so Chris wouldn’t have to walk into this alone. She caught me looking and smiled. It was a small, kind thing that smile made me feel small. Maybe I didn’t know what I was talking about, maybe she was excited to be here, to meet the people that used to be her husband’s best friends — and the person who stole from him. Maybe it was none of my business. I returned the smile as best I could and busied myself with another cookie. Chris leaned over and whispered something in her ear.

The lights flickered. Acting on cue, we looked at them and willed them to resist. They flickered once more and then went out. There was another crack that sounded so close it could have come from inside, like someone throwing down a piece of plywood. “Well, shit” Ann said. “More branches must be coming down,” I said. Peter went to a window and looked out. “Really can’t see much of anything anymore. It’s all gone.”

“It’s going to be fine, Jen, really,” Chris said in a loud whisper. I felt an ugliness slither its way through me.

Someone touched my shoulder. It was soft and their hand glided like a blanket sliding off. When I reached my hand up there was nothing there, but my shoulder was warm. “Let’s grab those flashlights, folks,” Ann said. Chris and Jen had to share, but otherwise there was enough for everyone. Part of me expected them to not work but they all turned on with a satisfying click. The living room was filled with a focused light that cast new shadows around us.

“We could play something dumb,” Ann said, “like truth or dare.” She looked to me for support. “Let’s do it,” I said. Ann, like the rest of us, was here but not fully; she wouldn’t bring all of herself. But I wanted more.

“Okay, let’s play,” said Chris, his voice smarmy and dark. My thoughts stumbled, falling over each other in a race to catch up to him. I was looking the wrong way when the car hit me. I thought, absurdly, that someone should stop him before he even began. As if I deserved that. Ann had never been bold enough to talk about it over the years, not in any meaningful way. What we had was fragile, and neither of us wanted to damage it. Chris pointed his flashlight at my face, causing me to turn away. “Why did you do it?”

As the words left him, so did the drive for a show. What was left was someone looking for release. “Why did you do it?” He repeated. “Chris,” Jen said, but then trailed off. “We were going to publish together, and then you stole it from me.” His voiced had a far-off quality to it. This kind of true, living regret doesn’t involve raised voices; It’s like something wrapped around your bones. It becomes a part of you, always. “I might have been able to sue you, but someone convinced me that it was a bad idea. I think they were wrong.”

“I never knew that,” I said truthfully. It could only have been Ann. She was the only one who would have tried to rescue me from myself, even if I knew what I was doing. I looked to her but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I did it because I thought my work was better, and therefore could be worth more. And we wouldn’t have been able to meet in the middle. Not that I tried.” Peter coughed. Chris moved the light away from my face. It happened a long time ago. I made a little money then. The damn thing is out of print now.”

“I should have sued you. I should have done something. I should have tried,” he continued, as if he had only been talking to himself the entire time. “I think we should let this drop for now,” Jen said, but there was no force behind it.

“Do you have money now?” Chris asked, sounding worn out, like a piece of him had given in. “I don’t. I don’t have much of anything.”

“Do you have a job?”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“Where did Peter go?” Ann said. “What?” Chris said. “Peter’s not here,” she continued. “I wasn’t exactly watching him, but I didn’t see him get up. I think he’s been gone for a while.” I looked over to where he was sitting what felt like minutes ago to see that she was right. “He was sitting right next to me,” said Ann. “How could he have gotten up without me knowing?” Chris shrugged and leaned back into the couch. “He’s a quiet guy, you know.”

“Don’t you feel like we should get up and look for him?” Jen said. “Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Ann said. “Wandering around here during a blackout could be dangerous, I suppose,” but she wasn’t the first to get up. I panned my light around the room and came back with nothing. “I don’t know. He’s around somewhere.”

“Let’s go look upstairs,” Ann said, looking over at Jen. “The two of you can look down here. I assume that won’t be a problem. Does that sound good to you, Jen?”

“It does.” She was up before Chris could say anything. I couldn’t see his face anymore but it wasn’t hard to imagine what it looked like. “Actually,” Jen yelled as she and Jen started up the stairs, “the two of you can eat each other alive for all I care.”

“At least she left me the flashlight,” Chris said. “Nice of her,” I agreed. We sat in silence after that, listening to the creeks and groans of the house as the snow settled firmly on top of it.

“Is this the sort of thing you were imagining would happen when she persuaded you to come?” With just the two of us left it felt like the air was clearer, as if the others took the baggage with them when they left. It was a nice thought. “I guess we’re not too off from what I was picturing.”

“Then why come? It would have been easier for you to continue to stay away, right? Live your own life.”

“I came because I wanted to make her happy.”

There was more silence, but there wasn’t turmoil in it. There was an unspoken understanding that there would be no coming back from what we had been through, and that was okay. We didn’t know each other anymore. “Good luck,” he said, before standing up and soon leaving me alone. I knew that I should join the hunt as well, but it felt nice to finally be alone. I could hear the shuffling of feet upstairs and the force of the wind outside. I turned my flashlight off and looked up at the ceiling, getting lost in the vague details that I could still make out.

“Hey.” It was a whisper. It could have been anything; the hissing of a pipe, a curtain being parted. But it wasn’t any of those things. “Hey,” it said again, soft but insistent. It was close, but there was also something old and faded in it, as if it were carrying crushed, old leaves.

I turned my light back on and panned around the room. Peter was standing near the door, facing me. His glasses were fogged, as they would be if he had just come in from the cold. “Where were you? Everyone is looking for you. You shouldn’t wander off like that in a blackout.”

“There is a way out behind you,” he said, in that same whisper of an autumn from so long ago. “Through the window, also. Upstairs. There is a way out. It is also a way in.” I knew that if I turned around I would see the back door again. Perhaps this time it would be be closer, the hallway somehow having contracted. I would be able to see clearly outside, and then I could open it and step out.

I didn’t turn around.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” I said, but he wasn’t standing by the door anymore. There was a sound of wet sloshing, like trudging through melting snow. I saw the wet boot prints on the floor, and how they led to the back of the house. I watched Peter open the door and felt a blast of cold wind force its way inside and spread itself over the first floor, as if it were trying to settle in as quickly as possible. It was so cold that I turned my face away, but in that moment he had gone. The open door looked back at me.

I walked over to the door, careful to avoid the snowmelt that Peter had left behind. I could have grabbed my jacket and gone outside to look for him. I could have even called his name to see what, if anything, answered me.

The red pin-prick eyes lights were out there, brighter and more inviting than before. The figure swayed hypnotically, and I remembered what Peter saw and so I tried to see it as well.

The click of the lock was loud and harsh, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time.

As I walked back into the living room, attempting to shrug off the chill that had wrapped itself around me, I thought of Peter and how he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to go after me if I walked outside in this weather. He’d go out, he’d get lost. Maybe that would be the end for him.

The stairs made horrible groaning noises under my feet. My instinct was to shift my weight to quiet them, as if I were hiding.

“If anyone is up here, I found Peter.” It was close enough to the truth. The upstairs hallway was painfully cold and my breath came out in visible puffs. I shoved my hands in my pockets. The storm had visited this part of the house and was content to be here, spreading out comfortably. “If you’re pretending not to hear me, that’s really not cool.” I walked by my room, which had the door open. The window was open again, letting the howling wind roam freely. This time, however, the screen was broken. The snow had reached the floor and bed, leaving cold water and half-melted bits of ice.

There was the sound of breathing, a slow intake and exhalation of breath, like an old man resting in his chair. It was coming from all around, it was coming from the walls. It was demanding to be heard, and I felt like I was stuck in this room, or could be, if I just turned around and slowly closed the door.

The window was frozen open and I had to push hard to get it to move. It did so slowly, in protest. The breathing continued while I worked at it, making me feel tired.

There was someone outside. They moved through the snow forcefully but without hurry. I put my head out the window and felt the full sting of the storm rushing at me, making it difficult for me to keep my eyes open. When I yelled out Peter’s name the wind seemed to carry it away.

I closed the window with a final push that caused it to slam shut. My face burning from the cold, I turned to leave but something kept me from reaching the door. I closed the curtains, which brought a small sense of relief.

There was creaking from above me. It was like being in a coffin. weather sour taste rose from some pit in my stomach.

A yell rang out from another room, sounding like pain. “Hey! Are you okay?” I answered it. “We’re back here!”

The hallway was dark, even with the flashlight. It was the kind of dark you see as a kid, when everything you knew disappeared or became something new. I found them a couple of rooms down, bu the first thing I saw was a figure lying on the floor. It turned out to be Jen, clutching her ankle.

“I think she just walked into something,” Ann said before I had a chance to ask. “You look terrible. Your face is all red, were you outside?” I looked away, embarrassed, and motioned for her to get her light out of my face. “Sort of. I stuck my head out a window to look for Peter.”

“And? Did you see him?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I saw something, but I don’t think it was him.”

Chris had Jen back up on her feet with an arm around his shoulder. “What do you want to do? Should we stay up here or do you want to try going down?” The house answered through a series of groans. “I think we should go downstairs,” Jen said. “But somebody has to go down first, because we’ve been hearing a lot of strange things. Somebody has to go down first.” She looked to Chris. “You take her,” he said to me, and we delicately transferred Jen over to my shoulder. “Be back soon.”

Ann stood apart from us. “Does your ankle hurt?” I asked. “Yup,” she replied.

“It’s freezing down here.” Chris’ voice careened up the stairs, causing Ann to jump. “And there’s snow all over the floor.” We could hear him moving, first walking slowly and then closing a door. “It’s pretty cold up here, too,” Ann yelled back. I struggled to try to come up with anything else to say to Jen, but nothing was right. My relationship with Chris had finally been defined, and on some level that meant my relationship with her had as well. She was nice, and I wished that things were different.

“You know, the window’s open in your room,” Chris said to me when he got back. “Did you try to close it?” I asked. “I did not. Also, the front door was open.”

“Why would the door be open?” Jen asked. Chris’ exhaustion shone clearly on his face, telling us all that we needed to know. “Maybe Peter went out and didn’t close it all the way,” Ann said. “Whatever. Ready to get going?”

Together, with Jen between Chris and I, we made slow progress down the stairs. Ann followed behind but stayed close. The couch accepted our tired forms gratefully. There were noises, then, coming from the back of the house; the sounds of rummaging, of utensils clanging together. We all looked but nobody moved. “I’ll take this one,” I said, and left before anyone could answer.

The walk to the kitchen was peaceful in its own way and I already knew what I would find once I got there.

The fridge was ajar, like someone had just been through it and forgot to close it. Peter was standing in front of a cupboard, searching through it methodically but with some hurry. “There really isn’t anything to eat in here besides those damn cookies,” he said. “Piss poor planning.” He was wearing his coat. “Where have you been? We were looking for you.”

“Oh, you were? Well, I’ve been here. I’ve been around, like you’ve been around.” He waved his hand through the air, not pointing anywhere or ant anyone. “Did you go outside earlier?”

“No, why would I do that? It’s awful out there. I’m wearing my coat because it’s freezing in here.”

“We’re all in the living room if you’d like to join us.”

“You guys don’t like me very much, do you? Or maybe it’s that you don’t respect me — probably never have.”

“What are you talking about?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Nothing, just stuff you think about when you’re alone. Let’s go.” He came close to me, almost too close. I smelled something strong on him. “Have you been drinking alone down here?” He smiled but didn’t answer. “You know, technically this house was never ours, right? We’re just renting it for a few days. But even when you do that, the place could still feel cozy, like a version of home. But not here; this place isn’t ours at all.” I felt guilty and I knew that he could see it, sense it. “You understand me. You understand because you’re alone,” he said as he walked passed me.

“Look who it is!” I heard Chris say from the living room, which now felt like another place entirely.

They were chatting on the couch. “So you never went upstairs?” Peter shook his head. “I was down here the whole time, looking around. Didn’t mean to worry any of you guys.” He gave me a quick smile. “Well, not all of us were worried,” Chris said, not quite under his breath.

“I’m not sleeping up there,” Jen said. “Even if I could get up there comfortably, I still wouldn’t.” Chris poured more wine. “Then let’s stay down here,” Ann said. “All of us together.”

There couldn’t have been much left to the night, but we spent it sprawled out on the couches, the hazy space between comfort and not.

The light that began to filter in was cold and white. My back and neck ached when I woke up, as I knew that they would. Jen and Chris were still asleep, so I got up as quietly as I could. I found Ann sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, looking out the window. “Somehow we never made it over to this room,” I said as I sat next to her. She motioned for me to lower my voice. “How did you sleep?” I asked. “Not sure that I ever did, but that’s okay.” I put my hand on hers. “Look outside,” she said. I could see the snow, but it also didn’t look nearly as bad as it did last night. “With a bit of elbow grease I think we could get out of here by this afternoon, assuming that there will be flights.” I said. “Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to.” She was quiet for a few moments and I wasn’t sure if she heard me. “Gently wake up Chris and let’s get started.” She laid her head against my shoulder. “Let’s all go home,” she said. “That’s what I want.”

Chris was not pleasant. His bloodshot eyes exploded open, and there was menace in them. He calmed down once I told him what the plan was. “So we get to leave today, huh? I guess that’s for the best. You must be thrilled.” I patted him on the shoulder and went back the where Ann was. “Have you seen Peter?” I asked. “No, I haven’t. His things are gone, and so is his car. He must have worked double-time to get away from us. But he has a place somewhere around here I think.”

In the kitchen I found a folded piece of paper on the counter. It was the sketch that Peter drew of whatever was outside. He signed it at the bottom, signaling that it was finished. I folded it back up and put it in my pocket.

The three of us dug the car out while Jen waited inside. It didn’t take as long as I thought, and by late morning we were clear to leave. Ann and I locked up the house after Chris and Jen left. Jen and I hugged, Chris and I shook hands. I had called the airline earlier to check on flights, and there was one that I could take as long as the weather held. “That sure was something last night, wasn’t it?” The woman said over the phone while booking my ticket. “It was,” was all I could think to say.

The drive back to the airport was quiet. If there was anything that had to be said, it would be said later, over the safe distance of a phone line.

Right then, in the moment, would have been best, before anything could have been lost. But that’s not how people work.

We drove by a water tower on our way, not far at all from the house. It had two red lights, lazily turning off and on. I tried to think of that old song that was stuck in my head, but it was gone.