Hiding out in an abandoned shack from their abusive pasts, Allison and Ethan Bryson entertain themselves by imaging all sorts of curious characters near the frozen lake outside their hut.
But after Allison witnesses a man murder a young woman and di...
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The crunching of snow and snapping of twigs outside the shack stirred me from sleep. I sat in bed and focused all my attention toward the door, listening for evidence of the intruder again.
When another twig cracked, I gently shook Ethan awake.
"Ethan? Ethan?" I whispered into his ear. "Someone's out there."
He grunted and turned over. "Huh?"
The synchronized thump of footsteps was suddenly more pronounced, causing my nerves to go haywire in anticipation.
Immediately, the thought of the young man with hair like the sun and the girl who accompanied him wouldn't leave my mind. Maybe they came upon the shack and were curious to explore it.
Ethan threw the blankets aside. Instead of lighting the handheld lamp, he left it on the nightstand and tiptoed around the edge of the bed. I remained seated and watched as he crept to the window and peeked through a sliver in the curtain. The muted moonlight that peered through the thin curtain detailed the outline of the tall, thin frame of his silhouette.
"Who is it?" My whisper was loud enough to travel the room but low enough to stay within its walls.
Ethan turned his ear to the window and pressed his index finger to his lips. His apprehension briefly paralyzed me, but my panic won out as I crawled out of bed and went to the bookcase where we kept Henry-a fifteen inch, rusted hatchet.
Over the years, we had used the hatchet for crushing, digging, chopping, and cutting, but tonight we would use it as a weapon if need be. I gripped the hatchet in hand and stood next to Ethan by the window.
"See anyone?" I held my breath in anticipation.
"I don't see anything, but I hear footsteps." Ethan took the hefty hatchet from my fist.
I went ahead of him to the door and waited with my ear near the wood, hearing nothing directly on the other side.
Finally, he moved around me, untied the fabric lock, and inched the door open ever so slowly.
The occasionally creaks and groans from the door heightened my anxiety and I grabbed his hand to retrieve the hatchet. It wasn't there. He must've placed it back on the shelve, being that he never wanted to unnecessarily escalate a situation. Either way, I held his hand for support as we stepped out the door and into the freezing night.
The moonlight shined through the trees and reflected off the snow, and the cold air sent shivers through me.
I peered past the thick trees that hid our hut, looking for movement of any kind. Nothing caught my eye but the footprints in the snow at our feet. The fresh, powdery snow made the prints look more like pressure dents than detailed outlines.
Ethan brought his finger to his lips again, suggesting we remain quiet. I stayed mum as we slowly followed the footprints around the side of the hut, toward the sound of heavy breathing near a bush.
