Page 9 of Frost

“I figured you’d like a nice American breakfast,” Hans comments and I realize he’s been staring at me. His plate remains completely untouched, his hands steepled above his dish and his dark eyes are honed squarely on me.

I swallow slowly and place my bacon back down on my plate, meeting his gaze. “So when will your sister be getting in?”

Something ticks in his face as if the question annoys him. “Notfor another day or two.” My stomach rolls with unease at his words but I swallow it down. “I do have to run into town after our meal, though. We’re low on a few supplies.”

Low on supplies? Didn’t we just get here?

“Can I come with you?” I ask hopefully. Seeing some other people and getting out of the isolation of the woods might make this feel less unnerving.

“No, princess.” He smiles in a way that I think is meant to be sweet, but paired with the nickname, it makes me want to kick him swiftly in the balls. “You must stay here, I’m afraid.” He seems to see the disappointment on my face and hastily adds, “But next time I’ll bring you into town with me, I promise.”

I must give him a look that betrays my growing unease because his smile suddenly distorts into a scowl. He glares at me as if he’s angry. I shift uncomfortably in my wooden seat.

We eat the rest of the meal in silence, my unease growing with every moment. When I chance a glance up, I notice small crystals of ice forming on the glass of the window panes. A shiver runs down my spine, but I’m not sure it’s entirely from the cold.

SIX

ELISA

Hans left right after breakfast. He didn’t say much about when he’d be back or what there is to do here; he simply warned me not to go into the woods, made me promise I wouldn’t actually, and then stormed off through the front door. Not through the side door I noticed earlier, but the front door. As soon as the sound of the snowmobile engine faded to almost nothing, I ran to the side door, determined to figure out where it led. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I pulled, the door wouldn’t budge. Whatever’s in there, it’s clearly not meant for my eyes.

I scan the kitchen looking for a key but there’s nothing. Pulling open drawers, they’re mostly empty.What the hell?There are a few sets of silverware but most of the drawers are barren. If this is a family vacation home, shouldn’t it be littered with variousthings left and lost throughout the years? I mean, I know I’m an orphan, but even I can tell this isn’t how a family kitchen should be stocked. Opening the fridge, I see some meat packed tightly and some beer. Besides the eggs from this morning, there’s no other contents.

Something about this whole scenario just seems off. Unease rolls through my stomach as I sit in the empty silence. There’s not a sound—not a car, a bird, the wind. I’m used to the sounds of campus, where there’s always someone nearby doing something. Here, it’s just… silent. A slow sense of dread creeps up my spine as if eyes are watching me. I spin to face the large windows out front but there’s nothing there—just empty wilderness as far as the eye can see.

Running down the hallway, I attempt to open the first door but it’s locked. I move to the next door. It’s also locked. Locked, locked, locked. All the doors are locked except for my bedroom and the bathroom. There are no locks on either of those doors.

What the fuck is happening?

Running back down the hallway to the front of the house, I throw open every drawer, cupboard, and cabinet I can, looking for something—— anything I can use. There are no laptops, no tablets, not even a fucking landline. Who the fuck lives like this? It appears as though this cabin is completely isolated from the outside world. Why? Why would anyone choose to remain completely cut off? Is this truly a family vacation home? Or is something more sinister at work here?

I run for the door. Throwing it open, I glance outside. We appear to be in some clearing—a flat, open space covered in snow and surrounded by dense evergreens on all sides. Looming above the trees are large snow-topped peaks. It’s magnificently beautiful but empty. I can see the snowmobile tracks leading away from the cabin but there are no other vehicles. There are no other cabins, no tracks. Nothing.

I can’t even run.

Where would I go?

Turning back around, I close the door behind me. Hans might be a little off, and something strange is definitely going on here, but he’s right—if I leave, I’m as good as dead. I’d freeze before I reached civilization and without a coat or gloves, or boots, frostbite would eat away my flesh. I have no choice but to stay here and wait.

I need to find something to do or I’ll go crazy in here with just my own anxiety to keep me warm. There’s no television, no radio, no cell phone, no laptop. So electronics are out of the question. I don’t even have my e-reader with me. Scanning the room, I notice a small bookshelf to the side. My footfalls are silent against the plush carpet as I make my way across the room to get a closer look. There are several John Grisham novels with cracks in the spine, the Twilight series, and some flowery Colleen Hoover books.

Great.

Your classic, sad, left behind on vacation titles are all here. Too bad none of them are really my style. I prefer a good splatterpunk novella or something absolutely twisted. Glittery vampires—not my thing. Looking down at the next shelf, a title catches my eye: “A History of theMyrkviðr,” is written on a faded blue woven spine in gold foiled print. The book looks ancient. When I pull it out, the cover displays the same title, only now it’s surrounded by trees. This must be some type of history of the land we’re on or something.Myrkviðr. I have no idea what the word means. Grabbing the book, I make my way over to the faded grey sofa. Plopping down, I thumb through the pages. They all seem to be describing different plants and animals local to the area. There are detailed black and white drawings of birds, leaves, trees, small animals, and other creatures. The drawings are clinical and labeled thoroughly. Some of the descriptions Irecognize and others are foreign. I wonder if the world outside remains largely the same, or if time and technology has changed the landscape even in this isolated area of the world. I study each page with interest. If I had my bag with my camera, these drawings would make stunning black and whites. I curse my drugged-up past self for forgetting my bag.

One page depicts something called theVölva. These wild women of the woods seem to have magic powers. The book describes how they practice something calledseidr, a type of ancient magic. Able to see the future and understand fate, they sound cool as fuck. The picture accompanying the explanation is that of a woman draped in capes with runes painted across her face. Braids in her hair frame her wide and glowing eyes. Even though it’s just a drawing, it truly looks as if she can see straight into my soul. My shoulders bunch towards my ears as a shiver runs through me.

Eager to look at anything other than those all-seeing eyes, I continue looking through the book. It seems to have moved into less of a catalog of the natural world and more of a book of local mythology. Each page is more fantastic than the one before. I turn the page again and my blood turns to ice. Staring back at me is a monster. Not just any monster—my monster. The one from my dream. A horrific forest creature that is somehow neither man nor beast. He’s somethingother. Long, slender limbs hold up a muscular torso. His skin ranges from the darkest of smoke at his fingertips to a pale blue of frost across his chest. Each slender finger is tipped with a razor-sharp talon that looks as if it could shred flesh. But it’s the face that has me truly terrified. Pointed teeth stick out from between thick lips. A long, forked, black tongue falls from his mouth down to nearly his chest. Dark orbs sit where his eyes should be, glaring at me from the page. Twisted horns spiral out from the dark hair on top of his head. He looks wild, unkempt, and powerful.

Jokul Frosti.

Jack Frost.

“A giant of frost and ice, Jokul Frosti is the son of the wind god, Kari. After angering the Alføðr, Jokul was banished to the Myrkviðr and tasked with ridding the Norse land of that which rots the earth before the end of each year. By day, he takes the form of Faðr Vetr, allowing him to infiltrate the human realm and learn their sins. By night, he sheds his human skin and roams the land, devouring the flesh of the wicked. According to legend, his curse will only be broken should he find his mate and convince her to melt his frozen heart.”

I stare at the page, reading and rereading. How can this be? This is impossible. There’s no way the monster from my dream is real. Am I losing my mind? Or worse, is something stalking me? What exactly have I gotten myself into?

The thought of a wild beast hunting me, watching me, and biding his time to strike should horrify me. It should make me want to find a weapon to wield, even though I already looked and there are none in this stupid shack. But instead, I feel something strange and different—like an invisible string is wrapped around my insides and is pulling at me. I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the depiction of my monster. Each time my eyes skim a line, the temperature seems to drop lower and lower until I can see the pale wisps of air slipping from between my shaking lips. The room is freezing. The walls are closing in. My chest is tight—so tight, too tight. I can barely breathe. This is impossible. There’s no way I saw this monster in my dream. I’ve never seen this before. What the fuck is happening here? It’s too much. I need to get out of here. I need fresh air. The walls are closing in. Blackness begins to cloud the edges of my vision.