The setting sun reflected off of the surface of the frozen river, casting an eerie glow over Ethan’s face. He stared at the glimmering white ice floating downstream, cold water lapping up through the cracks between the large chunks of frozen water. The light danced along the ground as it shimmered through the leaves of the tree on the other side of the river, ancient and creaking with every blow of the wind. If Ethan had looked behind him, he would have seen large, dark clouds looming over trees for miles. If Ethan had turned on his radio, he would hear panicked meteorologists talking about how this storm could leave snow up to ten feet, and that everyone should stay at home. If Ethan had known these things three days before, he wouldn’t have rented the cabin in the woods for a week. Ethan continued to stare at the ice.

Tom sat in the cabin, reading a worn copy of The Bible. Tom was a friend of Ethan’s (they were both teachers at a New Hampshire high school), who had asked if he could join him on the trip to Maine. He was a very religious man, who always carried a copy of The Bible with him, and prayed many times a day. He had a long, gaunt face, and eyes sunken deep into their sockets. Small creases lined his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot from all of the reading he had been doing. His long, light brown hair with streaks of grey was tied back in a small ponytail, which hung limply behind his head. He sat in a creaky wooden chair, next to a well made bed and a stone fireplace which hadn’t been lit in years. A large backpack sat next to the bed, filled with sweaters, long sleeved shirts, jeans, and other pants. Ethan insisted that he didn’t need to bring that much clothing, but Tom refused to bring any less than seven pairs of each kind of clothing, as he also believed in cleanliness, and didn’t want to wear unwashed clothing. Tom was wearing an ugly, red wool sweatshirt, khaki pants, and sneakers, as well as having a large metal watch on his right wrist. The thermometer next to the yellowed, dirty window read 51 degrees. Tom looked up from his Bible as the green door to the cabin creaked open and Ethan walked in, wearing a Concord High School tee-shirt and jeans.

“What are you in here for?” Tom asked, knowing how Ethan wanted to spend every waking moment outside.

“Its getting colder out there,” Ethan replied, “Wanted to get my sweatshirt.”

“Oh, ok.” Tom said, slowly returning his eyes to the Bible. The thermometer read 43 degrees.

Ethan walked back outside, the cold air nipped at his reddening cheeks and blew back the dark hair from his receding hairline. He looked out into the forest, crowded with trees. Fog was rolling between them, seeming to come closer to him, as if it was trying to catch him. Above him, a tall grey cloud was floating through the sky, and suddenly the world became dark as the clouds blocked out the setting sun. Light no longer danced along the ground, wind whistled through the air, leaves rattled against each other. A single snowflake landed on his shoe. The thermometer read 31 degrees.

Inside the cabin, Tom had stopped reading the Bible and was leaning over a cooler sitting on the ground at the end of Ethan’s bed. He grabbed a bottle of water. There were four bottles left. There was also a small amount of fruit, such as apples and grapes, as well as a few packs of deli meat and bread. Outside of the cooler were two cans of beans. Ethan had told Tom that it wouldn’t be enough, but Tom didn’t want to waste any food, and insisted on bringing only what they needed. Now Tom was regretting his decisions about the food they would bring, and knew they would have to end the trip early if they ran out. He tucked the bottle into his pocket and creaked open the green door, and saw Ethan standing straight ahead, grey hoodie zipped up, and had his hands in his pockets. Tom thought about how strange the weather was being, since three days ago The Weather Channel had forecasted that the week would be the warmest of February. The thermometer read 26 degrees.

“Ethan!” Tom said loudly, “You want to come inside?”

The cold air felt like pins and needles on his cheeks.

“We should start a fire in the fireplace.” Ethan said as he turned around, with a worried look upon his face.

“Ethan,” Tom replied, “That thing hasn’t been lit in years, who knows if it sa-”

“Help me find some wood.”

Tom went back in the cabin, put the now freezing water bottle on his bed, put on his jacket, and went back outside. Ethan had pulled his green tee-shirt over his nose, to protect himself from the wind, and was picking up logs and sticks. Tom’s eyes burned in the wind as he walked towards Ethan. The fog was now covering the river to the left of them, and the trunks of far away trees were all but nonexistent. “You got any idea what’s going on? I thought it was gonna be nice out.” Tom said quietly, trying to spark some sort of conversation.

“Well Tom,” Ethan replied, with a hint of hostility in his voice, “Looks like the weathermen were wrong.”

The radio sat at the bottom of Ethan’s bag. It had no batteries, Ethan had left them at his house.. The one thing Ethan had forgotten was the most important right now. It’s dull black speaker sat in the darkness below a pair of sweatpants, begging to be used. A single snowflake fell past the thermometer that read 9 degrees.

The door swung open and Ethan followed Tom back into the cabin and placed the logs in the fireplace. Ethan noticed Tom roll the bottle of water underneath his bed, but didn’t care, because they had enough water for however long they would stay in the woods. The old chair scraped against the floor as Ethan dragged it over to the fireplace, with a box of matches in his hand. He sat in the chair, and flicked the match against the box, it lit instantly, and Ethan placed it near some twigs (which would burn easily) at the bottom of the pile of wood, and it was all on fire in a matter of minutes. Tom had put some extra logs beside the fireplace for when they needed to add wood, but knew they would have to use it wisely if the weather stayed like this. The thermometer read 2 degrees.

Tom sat worriedly on his bed, hoping that the fire wouldn’t jump out of the fireplace and burn the cabin down. It looked safe enough, but he wasn’t sure. Night had completely fallen within the next ten minutes, and neither Tom nor Ethan could see the snow falling outside. The back of Tom’s head fell against the scratchy old pillow, and he stared up at the ceiling, which was covered with cobwebs. He noticed a small crack between two old, yellowing pieces of wood, and looked up at the dark cloud. A single snowflake fell through the crack and on to his arm, melting and dripping on to the green comforter of the bed, leaving a dark circle.

Ethan was laying on his side, facing the wall, feeling the warmth of the fire on his back. Next to his bed was a window, and he noticed a small amount of snow building up on the sill outside. The thermometer read -5 degrees.

They both fell asleep around the same time, which was roughly ten o’clock. Tom woke before Ethan, and instantly felt the cold air on his skin. The fire had gone out overnight. He looked over to the window, and saw nothing but white snow pushed up against the window. The thermometer pressed against the window read nothing, all of the mercury had gone to the bottom, which was labeled -20 degrees.

If Tom or Ethan had been able to go outside, they would have seen that the snow was still falling, and that the top of the roof formed a triangular bump in the now five and a half foot deep snow. No animals were in sight, spare a few birds flying by and chirping in the frozen world. The lucky animals had burrowed underground, but if you had taken away all of the snow at that moment you would see small animals lying frozen and dead all along the ground, the -30 degree weather had slowed them down, before they were trapped in snow. A fat squirrel lay up against the door of the cabin, and when Tom went to open it, its round body fell inward along with an avalanche of snow.

A freezing gust of wind blew snow through the door, and Ethan jumped up from his bed. “TOM!” Ethan yelled, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Tom had crouched down near the floor, shivering, trying to push the snow back out of the door. Large flakes floated down by the door and blew in. Ethan kicked the snow out of the way and slammed the door shut. He was gasping for breath. “Start a fire.” He ordered.

The heat of the fire melted the snow, slowly but surely, and when the snow was almost gone, Tom noticed the squirrel’s twisted paw sticking up through the mound of snow. “What are we gonna do with that thing?” He asked.

“Why are you asking me?” Ethan replied angrily, “You got it in here, you take care of it.”

“Well I don’t think we can put it back outside, theres at least four feet of snow.”

“Do something with it, for God’s sake, I don’t want to smell that thing rot, and I know you don’t either.”

Soon the round animal was sitting alone in a pool of cold water, and both Tom and Ethan found themselves staring at it. Its small black eyes stared blankly at Tom, and its paws stuck out as if it was still trying to climb its way out of the snow. Tom stared blankly back into its black eyes, thinking about how it must have felt for this creature, as it tried to climb its way out of the falling snow, pulling its heavy body up and up, and how it eventually must have sunken down and accepted its fate. He saw fear in the creature’s eyes, and prayed that the animal had not died in vain.

“Stop staring at that thing and put some more logs on the fire.” Ethan said.

Tom stood up, still looking at the squirrel, and walked over to the pile of logs, which was growing smaller every hour. There were four logs left. Tom put two of them on the fire, and then layed down on his bed, and went to sleep. He dreamt of the squirrel, and its final struggle. When he awoke, Ethan was placing the last log on the fire.

Tom had moved the squirrel under his bed, and every now and then he would pull the bloated body out and looked at it. Ethan watched Tom stare at the thing as he put some turkey on a sandwich. Ethan was confused as to why Tom was so attached to the obese little furball, and why he hadn’t thrown it out the door. Little did Ethan know that at night Tom would put the squirrel in the cooler and take the food out, and would return and put the food back in when he awoke before Ethan. Ethan had been confused as to why the thing wasn’t decomposing already, and Tom’s maniacal freezing of the body was the reason it hadn't.

Outside, the sun fell, as did the snow, and now there were more than eight feet of the white substance. The family of the dead squirrel was burrowed underground, right below the cabin. The hole to their burrow was to the left of the front door, explaining how their other family member had wound up frozen above them. The youngest squirrel woke to the sound of panic above them the next morning.

The fire was dying. Ethan and Tom had been blowing at the embers for tens of minutes, hoping to cause some sort of small flame. Charred logs still lay in the fire, not entirely burned, but also no longer on fire. Twigs were piled around the bottom, and red embers danced below them, and Ethan was blowing at them violently, while Tom sat on his bed, reading his Bible. Ethan looked over to him. “How many pages are in that thing?” He asked.

Tom looked startled, “What do you mean?”

“How many?”

“Roughly four hundred.” Tom replied, his voice quivering, as he flipped to the back of the book.

“Give it to me.” Ethan said in a stern voice.

“No.”

“Give. It.”

“Ethan, you know how much this book means to me-”

“GIVE ME THE BIBLE!” Ethan roared.

The squirrels huddled against their mother.

Tom’s hands shook as he handed the book to his friend. Please don’t hurt it please oh please. He thought, Oh God please oh please I beg of you. Ethan flipped through the pages, their yellow paper crinkling in his fingers. Tom watched blindly as Ethan ripped fourteen pages from the back of the Bible. Fire leapt from word to word, twigs around the words of God crackling with flame. Tom reached under his bed to reach for the dead squirrel. His hand grasped air. He looked over to the cooler, and Ethan followed his gaze. The lid was clamped shut, and what was left of the meat, bread, and fruit lay next to the one can of beans that remained. Ethan rose, and stepped towards the cooler. He clicked in the buttons on the side, and flipped back the lid. The squirrel’s blank eyes stared up at him.

Birds flew away. The baby squirrels hid next to their mother.
The yell could be heard for miles.

Ethan picked up the fat carcass of the animal. The fire roared now.

“Why was this in our cooler?” Ethan grumbled.

Tom sat silently, staring at the dead rodent in Ethan’s hand. It’s gonna be OK little buddy. He thought. Ethan won’t hurt you. I promise. A small, chirping voice resonated in the back of Tom’s mind: Oh please don’t let your friend hurt me we’ve been through so much together. The small black eyes looked solemnly at Tom. Tears welled up in Tom’s eyes. I don’t know if I can stop him.

“LOOK AT ME TOM!” Ethan bellowed, “TELL MY WHY THIS LITTLE-”

The noise of Ethan talking was drowned out by the words in Tom’s mind.

Oh please don’t let him hurt me.

It’s gonna be OK.

You are my best friend.

Ethan threw the carcass into the green door, and it bounced back onto the floor with a deep thud. The animal’s limbs were now bent in unearthly angles, and one of the long front teeth had cracked and fallen onto the floor. A small gash on the squirrel’s rear was slowly pouring thick, cold, pink blood onto the floor. The face was still pulled back in fear and anguish.

“I don’t know why that was in there.” Tom whispered, before looking up at Ethan.

The look in Ethan’s eyes was one of sadness, confusion, and anger. He bent down, picked up the fat rodent, and threw it into the crackling fire. A single teardrop rolled down Tom’s face. “Could I have a sandwich?” Tom said, his voice cracking.

Ethan sat back down on his bed. The smell of burning flesh and fat filled the room, and Tom gagged. The last pack of deli turkey was lifted off of the floor, and the room remained in awkward stillness, as the sound of Ethan unwrapping the meat filled the room. He took two of the last three pieces of bread and placed the turkey on it. Only a rotten apple, a can of beans, and one bottle of water remained. Ethan sat and watched Tom eat the sandwich, and watched Tom’s tears drip down onto the floor. “Buddy,” Ethan said, with a friendly tone, “Why were you keeping that thing?”

“I - I - I kept it,” Tom stammered, “Because I told him all about me, and he told me all about him, we were like friends.”

“What?” Ethan asked, confused.

“I heard it talking. He told me about his family. He had a wife and two kids.”

Ethan sat up straight. He knew what was happening. Tom was going insane. “You know he wasn’t actually talking to you, right? You were just hearing things.” He said, reassuring himself there wasn’t something else at play here.

“All of God’s creatures deserve respect.” Tom said, looking up at Ethan, “That little rodent deserved life just as you or I. He also deserved to be respected in death. I was going to bury -”

Ethan sighed, cutting Tom off. “That fat little thing died because he deserved it. If he couldn’t get back to his home, if he wasn’t naturally able to, God wanted him to die. Its just natural selection. You know, survival of the fittest.”

Tom finished the sandwich, and lay down on his bed. The sun had begun to set behind the dark clouds. Ethan laid down as well, and stared up at the ceiling. Ethan was asleep within ten minutes. The snow continued to steadily fall outside, but it was snowing less, and the storm would soon be over. The bones and remaining bits of flesh of the squirrel had set to the bottom of the fireplace. Darkness covered the world.

The mother of the two squirrel pups underneath the cabin stuck her nose upwards when she heard the thud of footsteps above her. She cowered down next to her children, and went back to sleep. It was one o’clock in the morning, and Tom had gotten out of bed. He was rifling through his backpack, trying to find the cross he had brought without telling Ethan. The rough piece of brown wood shook in Tom’s hand, and he looked at the long end of the wooden “t”. His head turned slowly towards Ethan, and saw a small, round bump in his pocket. Tom tiptoed over to his sleeping friend, and carefully eased the pocketknife out of Ethan’s pocket. He returned to his bed, the fire crackling violently, shedding an orange tinge upon the room. Water dripped through the crack in the ceiling as Tom started sharpening the cross.

On the morning of the fifth day, Tom got up before Ethan, and put the knife back in Ethan’s pocket. The cross was sharpened to a point, and was hidden underneath the blankets on Tom’s bed. A bird called outside, and a far away chirp responded. Tom looked at the food on the ground. There was only a bottle of water and a can of beans left. The windows were covered with white, and Tom constantly thought of the prospect of the windows breaking, and snow pouring in, and smiled. Tom felt like he was living the last hours of his life, and he was perfectly comfortable. He sat down on his bed, and waited for Ethan to wake.

Ethan jumped when he opened his eyes. He had slept late, but he hadn’t noticed. He saw Tom, sitting on his bed, smiling, shoveling cold beans into his mouth with his hand, a half empty bottle of water sat next to him. “Hello, Ethan.” Tom said, swallowing his beans. “Did you have a nice sleep?” He tilted his head, like a dog asking for a treat.

Ethan had his eyes wide open, and all of the grogginess that waking up brings was flown out of his body. Tom’s eating the last food. He thought, his palms getting moist with sweat, curling into fists. Tom took one more handful of beans into his mouth before dropping the can on the floor, which made a tinny noise, before rolling slowly towards the fire. He then guzzled the remaining water, and sat there, giggling, beans squished around his mouth, and water running down his chin.

Ethan had no idea what to do, so he pulled himself towards the wall and sat up straight. Tom began talking in a high pitched, sing-songy voice, “Don’t let your friend hurt me, Tom. We’re best friends. I’ve told you everything about me. We will be friends forever.”

Tom’s eyes flashed with madness, and Ethan could see the veins bulging out of his neck and eyes. Then Ethan noticed that the fire was out. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. “Let me show you something, Ethan!”

Tom turned around, and reached for the sharpened cross underneath the blankets. But before he could grab it, Ethan stood up and charged at Tom, grabbing him, and sending them both into the window over Tom’s bed. The top of Tom’s head hit the window pane, and the cold glass shattered across the bed, and snow poured in. Tom’s face was covered in the white powder, and he started to scream. The mad look in his eyes terrified Ethan. They were inches away from each other’s face. Tom lunged his head forward and bit Ethan’s nose, and didn’t let go. Ethan pulled back, letting pieces of skin from his nose stay in Tom’s mouth. He reached for his nose, and noticed Tom reaching back under the blanket, Tom turned around and was holding a small piece of wood.. He raised the sharpened cross above his head, screaming, “I AM THE MESSENGER OF GOD! I WILL WIPE THE FACE OF EVIL OFF OF THIS EARTH, AND A NEW DAY SHALL COME WHEN MAN AND BEAST LIVE TOGETHER IN HARMONY, FREE FROM THE POWERS OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU!”

He charged at Ethan, and sent the sharpened end of the cross deep into the side of his thigh. Ethan screamed, the splintery wood felt like getting a thousand shots in one place, sending splinters across the flesh and muscle underneath his skin. Tom slowly pulled it out, and raised it again, aiming this time for Ethan’s chest. Ethan put his hands above his body, to block the blow of the cross. Tom had a ravaged look in his eyes, as he thought he was about to get revenge for the squirrel. The pups nestled next to their mother. The green door creaked with the weight of the melting snow. Just as Tom was about to send the cross through Ethan’s ribs, the door burst, sending snow across the floor, pieces of old wood in every direction, and covering up the charred wood in the fireplace.

Tom was disoriented, and looked around at the door, a shocked look of happiness and fear crossed his eyes. Ethan stood up and pushed Tom backwards into the snow on the ground, and bounded out the door, climbed up the snow, and ran off in the winter wonderland.

Tom eased himself up, and looked towards the door. Kill. He rose to his feet and slowly walked his way out of the door, and up the white mound. A sheet of ice lay over the snow, crunching slightly with every step. Tom followed Ethan’s footprints across the white wasteland, his feet crunching in the icy covering of the snow, Ethan’s blood leaving a trail of red dots across the snow.

Ethan walked as fast as he could away from the cabin, his body freezing cold, since he was only wearing sweatpants and his Concord High tee-shirt, and thin socks on his feet. His eyes burned in the cold air, and the reflection of the sun off of the snow burned his retinas. His leg suddenly fell through the snow, white powder swallowing him up to his stabbed thigh. He looked behind him and saw a small figure, standing in the trees far away next to the cabin, holding the cross in his hand. “TOM!” He screamed, “STOP IT! PLEASE! I’M SORRY FOR BURNING YOUR SQUIRREL.”

Ethan looked down at his leg, or what he could see of it, since it was thigh deep in the snow. He laughed nervously, thinking of how this was how it would end, and his final words being an apology about burning a squirrel. He looked back up at Tom, who was now only meters away, his brown wool sweatshirt clinging to his skin. The cross was held limply in his hand.

Kill. Tom walked towards the man who was stuck in the snow. Kill. Ethan’s eyes were those of a puppy who hadn’t been fed in days. Kill. Tom stood over the whimpering man. Kill. Tom heard a quiet cracking noise. Ethan looked down at the snow, and then back up at Tom. The bloody, sharpened cross fell to the snow, leaving a red stain spreading around the snow. Crack. Tears were in Ethan’s eyes, and his face was lit eerily from the light of the reflective snow. Ethan knew what was happening. They were on top of the river. Tom fell to his knees, and began reciting the Lord’s prayer.

“Our father in heaven”

The snow started to shift.

“Hallowed be thy name”

Tears were streaming down Ethan’s face.

“Your kingdom come”

A loud crack resonated through the forest.

“Your will be done”

The snow fell through the large crack in the ice.

“On Earth, as it is in heaven”

The snow created a small canyon, and both Ethan and Tom fell inward.

“Give us this day our daily bread”

The cold water touched Ethan’s leg, and he shivered.

“And forgive us our debts”

Tom fell onto his face, now lying prone on the snow, sliding towards the water now lapping against the deep snow.

“As we also have forgiven our debtors”

Ethan flailed in the cold water, as his body became numb and began to sink.

“And lead us not into temptation”

Tom slid into the water.

“But deliver us from-”

He was cut off as his head was dunked into the freezing water, and his body soon followed. The cold wool weighed him down, and he slowly sank downwards. The snow covered the hole in the ice, and both Tom and Ethan sank slowly towards the bottom of the river. Ethan had fainted, both because of the cold and the trauma, and died within one minute underwater. Tom continued to struggle in the water, trying to pull himself upwards, the heaviness of the clothes on his body, and lack of energy, weighing him down. After upwards of two minutes of struggle, he gave up hope, and let himself sink to the bottom of the river, where he lay next the Ethan’s body. He thought one last word as he died.

Evil.
The calm above them returned. Nothing remembered they had ever fought, except for the crack in the river. Nature continued as normal. The bodies washed downstream, and would come to a stop on the edge of a nearby lake. The cabin had collapsed under the weight of the snow as the two men died. The squirrels slept under the ground. The thermometer read 36 degrees.

Taken from The Portland Tribune, March First, 1999:

Two bodies were found on the coast of Churchill Lake, belonging to Ethan Rosenfield (32) and Thomas Bates (46), whom were reported missing by their families on February 27, following the blizzard. Police are investigating to whether any foul play was involved, but no details are being given to the press at the time. A memorial service is being held tomorrow at the Concord High School in New Hampshire, where the two men worked. Funerals will be held for the two men following their autopsy. These are the 43rd and 44th casualties that have occurred during the blizzard.


The sun danced along the dirt on the floor of the forest. The smell of freshly cut wood filled the air. A cabin made of yellow, new wood stood adjacent from the river, and the silence was beautiful. The brown water lapped against the stony shore of the river, pulling rocks down under, and pushing old rocks back up. Adult squirrels ran around the bases of nearby trees, while the elderly squirrel mother slept underneath the new cabin.
May was a time of peace for this area, following the weeks of investigations by the police department. They had finished investigating the scene a week before the end of April, only missing one key piece of evidence. The park where the cabin stood had lost popularity after what the owner of the land called “the incident” occurred. On May second, the first people would come to the park since it closed temporarily for a month.

The sound of a small child running through the forest echoed between the trees. He burst into the opening. “Wow.” He said, “Mommy, is this where we get to stay?”

“Yep.” The middle aged woman standing next to him said, breathing heavily, her long black hair laying raggedly on her shoulders. On her back she wore a large hiking backpack, and she was also holding a small Spider-Man bag in her left hand, which belonged to her son. “I’m going to put our stuff in the cabin, OK?” She continued, “You can stay out here, as long as you don’t go too far away.”

The small boy nodded, and his mother slowly walked into the cabin, opening the newly painted green door and walking in. The little boy ran towards the shore of the river, and sat on a large rock that was slightly out into the water. He looked down into the murky water, and saw bright green algae that had grown over the rocks that were underwater, and once in a while he could see a small fish go by. He stuck his small, pudgy hand into the water, and tried to grab a rock. Instead, he felt his hand grasp around something that felt nothing like a rock, and was stuck to the bottom of the river. He pulled as hard as he could and felt a pop, as his hand flew out of the water, a rotten piece of wood in his hand.

The cross shimmered in the sunlight, clumps of green algae dripping down into the water. The sharp point Tom had used to stab Ethan was gone, and lay shattered underneath the rock that the little boy sat upon. The boy considered calling his mother to show her the cross, but decided it was best not to. The boy’s mother hadn’t told him what had happened there, fearing he wouldn’t want to go, and if she had seen what the boy was holding she would have called the police, saying they might have found evidence. But she would never see the cross.

Part of the wood fell apart in his hand, and slimy algae continued to slide across his hand and into the water. He flipped over the cross and saw words deeply cut into the back of the wood:

For Thomas, From Mother

His young mind assumed that Thomas must have been someone who had lived long ago, maybe a Revolutionary War spy, or a pirate. He kept staring at the cross, and decided it was of no use to him. He raised it above his head and threw it into the water, where it fell into pieces and sank to the bottom. The young boy turned around and ran to the cabin.