back to my room, pleasantly worn out.
I got the cadence of the staircase quickly: five regular stairs followed by three to ten regular paces of flat landing, then the next set of steps. Bump, bedumpt, bedumpt, swish, swish, swish. There was the occasional turn, so that it wasn’t a straight shot down to the lake, and I assumed that during the day, the walker would be treated to various vistas or landscaped intervals. I counted about twenty of the steps-and-strides combinations, and made it down to the bottom after several minutes of hard work. I wasn’t worried about getting lost, even though the snow was heavier now, as the railing would lead me back to the top of the stairs and the back of the hotel.
There was a little beach down by the lake at the bottom of the steps, where the pines fell away into a circle. Maybe when it wasn’t covered by an even layer of snow that seemed to flatten and compress the difference between shapes and heights, you could identify boulders, chairs, perhaps outdoor grills and chimneys for lakeside gatherings. There was a raised area to the right, which was a gazebo or covered deck, which might have been ideal for small wedding parties, maybe a buffet or the bandstand for larger affairs. With the blanket of snow, it was impossible to tell but imagination filled in the spaces. Trees spread out to both sides beyond the clearing, and it looked as though paths followed the circumference of the lake to the left and right. Mountains rose upinto the clouds across the lake, lit and shadowed by the snow. On the left-hand side of the clearing, I could see the dock, all closed down for the winter, and the ice spread across nearly half of the lake.
I didn’t dare go down off the stairs to explore, though if the weather cleared up, I promised myself a walk around when it was a little easier to navigate. I looked out across the lake, through the veil of falling snow, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the moon, through a break in the wispy clouds. The vision lasted no more than two seconds, and it was quickly covered up again.
I had just turned around to go back when I heard a tremendous thud, followed by a sharp noise like the crack of a rifle. That surprised me, but I immediately attributed it to snow falling off weakened branches and a branch cracking under the weight. It didn’t end there, though; I heard rustling/crunching noises that were too large to be scattering squirrels or birds and too small and consistent to be branches settling or rebounding.
It sounded human.
I felt my mouth go dry again. “Hello? Is someone out there?”
The noises ceased suddenly, only to be replaced by what sounded like gargantuan moaning. That definitely sounded like something alive, in the animal-not-tree sense.
“Hello?” I tried again, feeling nervous and vastly stupid, all at once.
Nothing was to be heard but the wind, the snow, and the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. In the two minutes I’d stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the cold had driven its way through my parka and into my bones. In the long ten seconds during which I’d heard the not-quite-natural noises, it froze the heart of me as well. I wanted to be out of there, now.
Sue’s ghost story in my head, I turned and ran up the stairs, stumbling over the roughness of the terrain, gratefulfor the handrail and the fact that I could see no other footprints but mine as I ascended, as hastily as I could. Whatever was out there, hadn’t come from the hotel, and so therefore was probably not human. My movements were clumsy, and I knew that I was probably just scaring myself, but that didn’t keep me from slogging as fast as I could until I got to the top and ran around the front to the doors of the hotel.
I don’t care how dumb I might have looked: You don’t go wandering out by yourself in the middle of a snowstorm and then go off to investigate unearthly noises when instinct is telling you to run the hell out of there as fast as you
I got the cadence of the staircase quickly: five regular stairs followed by three to ten regular paces of flat landing, then the next set of steps. Bump, bedumpt, bedumpt, swish, swish, swish. There was the occasional turn, so that it wasn’t a straight shot down to the lake, and I assumed that during the day, the walker would be treated to various vistas or landscaped intervals. I counted about twenty of the steps-and-strides combinations, and made it down to the bottom after several minutes of hard work. I wasn’t worried about getting lost, even though the snow was heavier now, as the railing would lead me back to the top of the stairs and the back of the hotel.
There was a little beach down by the lake at the bottom of the steps, where the pines fell away into a circle. Maybe when it wasn’t covered by an even layer of snow that seemed to flatten and compress the difference between shapes and heights, you could identify boulders, chairs, perhaps outdoor grills and chimneys for lakeside gatherings. There was a raised area to the right, which was a gazebo or covered deck, which might have been ideal for small wedding parties, maybe a buffet or the bandstand for larger affairs. With the blanket of snow, it was impossible to tell but imagination filled in the spaces. Trees spread out to both sides beyond the clearing, and it looked as though paths followed the circumference of the lake to the left and right. Mountains rose upinto the clouds across the lake, lit and shadowed by the snow. On the left-hand side of the clearing, I could see the dock, all closed down for the winter, and the ice spread across nearly half of the lake.
I didn’t dare go down off the stairs to explore, though if the weather cleared up, I promised myself a walk around when it was a little easier to navigate. I looked out across the lake, through the veil of falling snow, and was rewarded with a glimpse of the moon, through a break in the wispy clouds. The vision lasted no more than two seconds, and it was quickly covered up again.
I had just turned around to go back when I heard a tremendous thud, followed by a sharp noise like the crack of a rifle. That surprised me, but I immediately attributed it to snow falling off weakened branches and a branch cracking under the weight. It didn’t end there, though; I heard rustling/crunching noises that were too large to be scattering squirrels or birds and too small and consistent to be branches settling or rebounding.
It sounded human.
I felt my mouth go dry again. “Hello? Is someone out there?”
The noises ceased suddenly, only to be replaced by what sounded like gargantuan moaning. That definitely sounded like something alive, in the animal-not-tree sense.
“Hello?” I tried again, feeling nervous and vastly stupid, all at once.
Nothing was to be heard but the wind, the snow, and the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. In the two minutes I’d stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the cold had driven its way through my parka and into my bones. In the long ten seconds during which I’d heard the not-quite-natural noises, it froze the heart of me as well. I wanted to be out of there, now.
Sue’s ghost story in my head, I turned and ran up the stairs, stumbling over the roughness of the terrain, gratefulfor the handrail and the fact that I could see no other footprints but mine as I ascended, as hastily as I could. Whatever was out there, hadn’t come from the hotel, and so therefore was probably not human. My movements were clumsy, and I knew that I was probably just scaring myself, but that didn’t keep me from slogging as fast as I could until I got to the top and ran around the front to the doors of the hotel.
I don’t care how dumb I might have looked: You don’t go wandering out by yourself in the middle of a snowstorm and then go off to investigate unearthly noises when instinct is telling you to run the hell out of there as fast as you
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