The wind howled outside the old cabin, its icy breath rattling the windows and sending flurries of snow swirling through the cracks in the door. It was the dead of winter in rural Maine, and the cold seeped into every crevice of the small, wooden structure. The fireplace crackled with a weak flame, struggling to fight back the freezing air that seemed determined to invade. Inside, the dim glow of the fire cast long shadows across the room.
Old man Isaac sat in his favorite chair by the hearth, his wiry frame wrapped in a thick wool blanket. His granddaughter, Lily, sat on a nearby rug, playing with a set of old wooden blocks that had been his when he was a boy. Her giggles, soft and sweet, seemed to warm the air in the otherwise frigid room.
"I remember," Isaac began, his voice a low rasp, "when I was your age, snowstorms like this could last for days. We'd be stuck inside with nothin' to do but tell stories and play games."
Lily looked up from her blocks, her bright eyes wide with curiosity. "Did you have visitors, Grandpa?"
Isaac chuckled softly. "Not too many. Just the wind and the snow. Sometimes it felt like the snow was alive, the way it danced outside the windows."
Lily tilted her head, listening to the wind as it howled and whistled through the cracks. "It sounds like someone's out there now."
Isaac’s smile faded a little. The wind had taken on a peculiar tone, a high-pitched wail that seemed almost... human. He shook his head. "Just the wind, sweet girl. Just the wind."
But Lily wasn’t so sure. She stood up and walked over to the small window, pressing her face against the cold glass. Snowflakes swirled in the dark outside, and the tall trees surrounding the cabin swayed in the gale. Yet, as she squinted through the blur of snow, she thought she saw something—a shadowy figure standing just beyond the tree line, motionless.
"Grandpa," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Someone’s out there."
Isaac grunted and pushed himself out of his chair, joints creaking in protest. He shuffled to the window and peered out, but all he saw was the relentless storm. "Ain't nobody out there, Lily. Anyone who’s got sense wouldn’t be out in weather like this."
Lily frowned, but she didn’t argue. She knew what she’d seen, or at least thought she had.
Isaac ruffled her hair and smiled. "Why don’t we tell a story, huh? Something to take your mind off the storm."
She nodded, settling back down near the fire, though her eyes kept darting back to the window.
As Isaac sat back down, a sudden knock echoed through the cabin—three sharp raps on the door. Both of them froze. Isaac’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t seen anyone approach, and in weather like this, it was unlikely anyone would be out there. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Stay here," Isaac murmured, his voice barely audible.
Lily nodded, wide-eyed, clutching one of her blocks like a talisman.
Isaac moved toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest. He hesitated for a moment, listening. The wind howled outside, and something about it now seemed wrong. It wasn’t just the wind anymore. He could hear something else—a faint, distant cry. It sounded like a child’s voice, calling from far away.
Swallowing his unease, Isaac slowly unlatched the door and opened it a crack. The cold air rushed in, biting and harsh. But there was no one there—only the snow swirling in thick, blinding waves. He looked out into the night, scanning the shadows.
Then he saw it—a figure standing just beyond the porch, hunched and covered in snow. It was small, too small to be an adult, and it moved slowly, almost like it was floating.
"Hello?" Isaac called, his voice hoarse.
The figure didn’t respond. It stood there, unmoving, as the snow whirled around it.
Isaac’s heart raced. "Do you need help?"
Slowly, the figure turned its head toward him. In the dim light, Isaac could just make out a pale face, gaunt and hollow-eyed. But it wasn’t the face of a child. It was something much older, something much more terrifying.
Isaac slammed the door shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He turned to Lily, who was now standing, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
"What is it, Grandpa?" she whispered.
Isaac shook his head, trying to find the words. "It... it was nothing. Just the storm playin’ tricks on me."
But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. That thing outside—whatever it was—was no figment of his imagination.
Suddenly, the temperature in the cabin plummeted. The fire in the hearth flickered and dimmed, as though some unseen force had sucked the heat from the room. Isaac’s breath came out in visible puffs, and the shadows on the walls seemed to grow darker, deeper.
Lily whimpered, clutching her block to her chest. "Grandpa... I’m scared."
Isaac moved toward her, but before he could reach her, the door rattled violently, as though something was trying to force its way inside. The knocking came again, louder, more urgent, shaking the walls of the cabin. The wind outside howled in a frenzy, and through the window, Isaac could see the snow twisting into wild shapes—whirling, dancing like snow devils across the ground.
The knocks turned to pounding, and the voice—no longer distant—called out, clear and sharp, right at the door.
"Let me in," it whispered. "It’s cold out here."
Isaac’s blood froze in his veins. He recognized that voice now. It was the voice of his daughter—Lily’s mother—the one who had disappeared years ago, lost in a winter storm much like this one.
But she was dead. She had been gone for so long.
"Grandpa?" Lily's voice trembled, her eyes filled with tears. "Mommy’s back?"
Isaac stared at the door, the weight of the past crashing down on him. He wanted to believe it, wanted to believe that somehow, against all odds, she had returned. But deep down, he knew better.
"No, Lily," he whispered, shaking his head. "That’s not your mother."
The pounding stopped abruptly, and the voice changed—becoming colder, darker.
"Let me in," it hissed, its tone twisted and cruel. "You can’t leave me out here forever."
Isaac stepped back, pulling Lily close to him. The room grew darker still, the shadows on the walls stretching, twisting like they were alive. The temperature dropped even further, and a strange, suffocating pressure filled the air.
Then, with a deafening crash, the door burst open, and the cold rushed in like a flood. The figure from outside loomed in the doorway, snow swirling around its ghostly form. Its face was now fully visible—hollow, skeletal, with eyes that burned with an unnatural, malevolent light.
Lily screamed and buried her face in Isaac’s chest.
Isaac took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest. He could feel the cold, icy tendrils creeping closer, wrapping around them, pulling them toward the thing that had once been human.
"Go away!" Isaac shouted, his voice breaking. "You’re not welcome here!"
The figure took a step forward, its twisted smile widening. "I’ve come for what’s mine," it said, its voice a low, chilling whisper. "And you can’t stop me."
Isaac’s mind raced. He knew the old stories, the tales of spirits that haunted these woods, creatures that lured the living to their doom. But he had never believed them—until now.
With a sudden burst of strength, Isaac grabbed a burning log from the hearth and held it out in front of him, the flame casting flickering light across the room.
"Back!" he shouted. "Get back!"
The figure hissed, recoiling from the fire, its glowing eyes narrowing with rage. For a moment, it seemed to hesitate, as if the flames were holding it at bay.
Isaac didn’t waste any time. He grabbed Lily’s hand and pulled her toward the back of the cabin, toward the old root cellar where he kept his supplies.
"Come on, Lily!" he urged. "We’ve got to hide!"
But before they could reach the cellar door, the figure surged forward with a bone-chilling scream, its form dissolving into a swirling mass of snow and shadow. The wind howled through the cabin, and the walls seemed to close in around them.
Isaac’s grip tightened on Lily as he threw open the cellar door and pushed her inside. Just as the darkness closed in around them, he slammed the door shut, sealing them inside the cold, silent cellar.
For a moment, all was still.
Then, from above, they heard the soft, slow creaking of footsteps—moving through the cabin, searching.
And the whisper followed them down into the dark.
"You can’t hide forever."
