Page 18 of Hallowed & Haunted
Is this how he dies? Frozen to death in an abandoned farmhouse by a ghost who’s going to kill Niillas next?
The thought pisses him off enough to summon one last surge of defiance.
“No,” he hisses through numb lips. “I won’t—I won’t come with you.”
A roar shakes the entire house, furious and definitely not human. Marta jerks back, her ethereal form flickering.
“What—”
Something crashes downstairs, and then there’re thundering steps. A growl fills the air, low and threatening, and Marta recoils.
Is this Niillas, or has the terrible shape from the woods found its way inside and is coming for them?
Sander twists desperately in his trapped position, straining to see through the darkness, expecting—hoping—to find Niillas with his bright flashlight, ready to make some dry comment about Sander getting himself into trouble.
Instead, a large shadow fills the landing.
No flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.
God, please—
“Sander.” Niillas’ voice is deep and rough, as if he were doing a Batman impression and managing not to sound completely ridiculous. “Don’t try to move. I’m coming.”
The shadow is fast and graceful, avoiding wet spots and weak boards as if Niillas can see them in the darkness. How can he make out anything up here?
“Get away from him,jábme.”
It’s definitely Niillas’ voice. Sander could’ve wept with relief.
“No,” the ghost pleads. “He belongs to me now.”
“You’re mistaken. He’s mine.”
Marta hisses, recoiling further into the darkness at the end of the hall. Frost still radiates from her, but it’s weaker now, as if Niillas’ presence is somehow driving her back.
Dropping to his knees unceremoniously beside him, Niillas inspects the floorboards. But even through the haze of bone-deep cold and warm relief, Sander notices something’s off. Niillas’ hands are large and pointy like claws as they reach for the broken floorboards, and he rips the wood to shreds with no evident effort, freeing Sander in a heartbeat. And when he pulls Sander against his chest, he brings with him blessed warmth.
Sander must be hallucinating.
“Does your leg hurt?” Niillas asks, his voice is gentler now that he’s focused on Sander, though still carrying that strange roughness.
“Just a few scratches,” Sander manages as Niillas helps him disentangle himself from the hole in the ground with gentle strength.
In his peripheral vision, he senses Marta drifting closer again. There’s an air of desperation about her that makes Sander feel scared and, at the same time, almost compassionate for her. She must be so lonely. He can barely keep his eyes open against the devastating cold, curling closer into Niillas’ warmth.
“You have to get out of here,” Sander mumbles against Niillas’ neck, though his lips are so numb the words come out slurred. “She’s dangerous. Cold.”
“You don’t understand,” Marta says as if trying to bargain with Niillas. “The troll will get him. It’s out there. Hunting. I can keep him safe if he stays with me.”
“No.”
The simple self-assuredness of the statement fills Sander with relief. He tries to focus on Niillas’ touch, his warmth, but he’s so tired. Maybe Niillas should just leave him here so he can sleep.
“The troll knows he’s here,” Marta insists. “It’ll come for the warm one. Only the cold can hide him.”
“I said no.”
Niillas’ tone brooks no argument, and Marta’s form flickers, becoming more translucent by the second. Somehow, the oppressive cold eases as she retreats down the hallway, her distorted face turned toward them, with an expression that could be disappointment or rage.