Wintry Fingers

The fire crackles in the miniature fireplace. I throw all of my snow-soaked gear nearby to roast. There's not much time left in the day.

I need this break though, I'm exhausted from my narrow escape. It was a lucky break to find this empty cottage, but where is the owner? I shouldn't stay long.

Is there any food in here? Rummaging through the cabinets, I find it cleaned out except for cans of expired cat food. Why is it always cat food?

Before I have time to ponder, I hear the wind outside howling, as if in pain.

As I look out the window, I notice the curved icy fingers poking out of the eaves, rattling a bit as the wind shook the roof. Odd. Was that there before?

Shrugging it off, I rest near the fire, soaking in the welcome warmth of the fire. Not too long, not too long....

Creak.

My eyes shoot awake. No, no, no, no... The fire is down to embers now. Looks to be still bright outside. I swear those icy tentacles have grown too.

I put on my gear and prepare to leave.

Meow.

There's a cat here all along? Where? A deeper fear sets in.

Meow.

Cautiously, I wander towards the sound. It looks to be near the front door.

I briefly spot the tail of the cat as it darts past the doorway. The front door is also slightly ajar.

Hiss! Screech! Then a brief silence, followed by crackling noises.

The eerie crackle still haunts me in my sleep. Quickly, and as quietly as possible, I bolt out the back door and into the crisp outdoor air. I need to warn the others.

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