snowy blanket covered his
body, the frozen earth stealing what little heat remained. He raised his head
and noticed conforming lines standing out against the random, spiky branches of
the leafless trees. He rubbed the snow from his eyes and looked again, pushing
himself up until he was on his hands and knees. He stumbled forward until the
outline turned into a cabin, much like the first one he had found.
The cabin stood
in the snowstorm, its chimney a defiant, obscene gesture to the raging
elements. One door and one window faced Samuel, like they had at the other
cabin. However, this one seemed a bit larger. He held his hands out, hoping to
reach the door before the storm claimed his soul. Samuel staggered forward and
fell on the step. He reached up with one hand until he felt the brass knob, and
the touch jolted him like a bolt of electricity, reminding him that failure to
open this door meant a cold, slow death. His right hand seized. Samuel could
not make his fingers grasp the knob with enough strength to turn it. He would
not even consider what would happen if the door was locked. Samuel let his
right hand fall, and lunged at the knob with his left. Snow caked his head, and
his feet tingled with the itchy pain of frostbite. Samuel felt his fingers claw
the knob. He grasped it and turned his wrist. Without the clinking sound of the
opening strike plate, Samuel assumed he was dead: that the door was locked. However,
Samuel’s left arm fell at an angle as the door to the cabin swung open. He
raised his head and smiled. Samuel crawled across the threshold with a final
lunge and rolled onto his back. He used an elbow to slam the door shut, and it
shook the cabin without a sound. Samuel looked around and closed his eyes. His
breathing slowed as relief and exhaustion pulled him into a state of
unconsciousness.
***
It was the
crackling fire that woke him. Samuel heard the hiss and pop of firewood before
he smelled the rustic aroma of the hearth. He smiled with his eyes closed,
savoring the sound and smell, senses he sometimes neglected in life and never would
again, thanks to this locality. Samuel caught whiffs of scents, but again,
nothing that lingered for more than a few moments before he lost it.
He debated
whether or not he had perished. Maybe it was true. Maybe there was fire. Maybe
he was in Hell.
Curiosity won
the mental duel, and Samuel opened his eyes in the glare of the bright yellow
and orange flame. He placed a hand over his forehead to shield himself from the
unexpected light, blinked, and saw chasers, like an ascetic emerging from a
cave after years of meditation. The warmth relaxed his muscles. As his vision
returned, he noticed a fuzzy aura at the edges of it. He pushed up onto his
elbows and looked around the cabin.
The hearth sat
inside a black potbelly stove. A single iron pipe ran at an angle from the top
and into the brick chimney, which extended up the wall and beyond the ceiling. A
saucepan sizzled, with tendrils of enticing steam spiraling away from the
stovetop. He turned to see a wooden table with two chairs, one at each end. A
napkin holder, candles, and steins sat on top. His rucksack sat next to the
door, along with a pair of suede boots that he did not recognize. Above the
boots, and suspended by a single iron hook, was a long, black, leather trench
coat. Samuel smiled, thinking of the futuristic sci-fi heroes laden with
enormous weapons. A single leather reading chair sat in one corner, swirled
sides with brass rivets holding the soft leather tight over the cushions. Samuel
thought he could become lost in that chair with the help of a good book and a
glass of wine. His eyes moved through the cabin so quickly that he did not
notice that a thick, plush sleeping bag held his body like a cocoon. He felt
his feet. They did not tingle with the burning pain of extreme cold, but
rather, his toes wiggled in warm comfort. He glanced at the window next to the
door and saw nothing but a charcoal square,
body, the frozen earth stealing what little heat remained. He raised his head
and noticed conforming lines standing out against the random, spiky branches of
the leafless trees. He rubbed the snow from his eyes and looked again, pushing
himself up until he was on his hands and knees. He stumbled forward until the
outline turned into a cabin, much like the first one he had found.
The cabin stood
in the snowstorm, its chimney a defiant, obscene gesture to the raging
elements. One door and one window faced Samuel, like they had at the other
cabin. However, this one seemed a bit larger. He held his hands out, hoping to
reach the door before the storm claimed his soul. Samuel staggered forward and
fell on the step. He reached up with one hand until he felt the brass knob, and
the touch jolted him like a bolt of electricity, reminding him that failure to
open this door meant a cold, slow death. His right hand seized. Samuel could
not make his fingers grasp the knob with enough strength to turn it. He would
not even consider what would happen if the door was locked. Samuel let his
right hand fall, and lunged at the knob with his left. Snow caked his head, and
his feet tingled with the itchy pain of frostbite. Samuel felt his fingers claw
the knob. He grasped it and turned his wrist. Without the clinking sound of the
opening strike plate, Samuel assumed he was dead: that the door was locked. However,
Samuel’s left arm fell at an angle as the door to the cabin swung open. He
raised his head and smiled. Samuel crawled across the threshold with a final
lunge and rolled onto his back. He used an elbow to slam the door shut, and it
shook the cabin without a sound. Samuel looked around and closed his eyes. His
breathing slowed as relief and exhaustion pulled him into a state of
unconsciousness.
***
It was the
crackling fire that woke him. Samuel heard the hiss and pop of firewood before
he smelled the rustic aroma of the hearth. He smiled with his eyes closed,
savoring the sound and smell, senses he sometimes neglected in life and never would
again, thanks to this locality. Samuel caught whiffs of scents, but again,
nothing that lingered for more than a few moments before he lost it.
He debated
whether or not he had perished. Maybe it was true. Maybe there was fire. Maybe
he was in Hell.
Curiosity won
the mental duel, and Samuel opened his eyes in the glare of the bright yellow
and orange flame. He placed a hand over his forehead to shield himself from the
unexpected light, blinked, and saw chasers, like an ascetic emerging from a
cave after years of meditation. The warmth relaxed his muscles. As his vision
returned, he noticed a fuzzy aura at the edges of it. He pushed up onto his
elbows and looked around the cabin.
The hearth sat
inside a black potbelly stove. A single iron pipe ran at an angle from the top
and into the brick chimney, which extended up the wall and beyond the ceiling. A
saucepan sizzled, with tendrils of enticing steam spiraling away from the
stovetop. He turned to see a wooden table with two chairs, one at each end. A
napkin holder, candles, and steins sat on top. His rucksack sat next to the
door, along with a pair of suede boots that he did not recognize. Above the
boots, and suspended by a single iron hook, was a long, black, leather trench
coat. Samuel smiled, thinking of the futuristic sci-fi heroes laden with
enormous weapons. A single leather reading chair sat in one corner, swirled
sides with brass rivets holding the soft leather tight over the cushions. Samuel
thought he could become lost in that chair with the help of a good book and a
glass of wine. His eyes moved through the cabin so quickly that he did not
notice that a thick, plush sleeping bag held his body like a cocoon. He felt
his feet. They did not tingle with the burning pain of extreme cold, but
rather, his toes wiggled in warm comfort. He glanced at the window next to the
door and saw nothing but a charcoal square,
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