Chapter Text
I’m going to go become a Visitor tonight.
I'll make myself cry for a little while.
Cry for a little while.
Cry...
***
Spruce boughs of the forest, twisted long shadows, the creak of heavy snowcaps over the tall grass in the fields. The howl of the blizzard and the cold, cursed cold slipping beneath the jacket, roaming across the creaking floorboards of the house, whispering through the bathroom draft, rattling in the pipes and the cracks beneath the windows. If I can feel cold, do I exist?
Where’s that draft coming from?
That’s the front door standing wide open.
That’s the cold from outside wandering between the lonely walls, over frozen puddles of blood, stirring the dirty curtains. There’s nothing left to stop the frost from crawling through the house now; every door came off its hinges while he slept, everyone’s gone. All that’s left are puddles of ice, stiff chunks of bodies, blood beneath the fingernails. Did somebody break into the house?
Then why is he warm?
That’s frostbite. Final stage.
That’s why the long fingers feel like living fire, burning hot. That’s why the capillaries in the eyes burst. It’s all frostbite; neither the old blanket nor the warm parka that once seemed huge on him managed to keep it away. Probably because back when he wore it, he’d only just gotten into university; right? Probably because he hadn’t grown into himself yet, hadn’t started smacking his head against the doorframes in his father’s house.
Yes. That’s right.
The door’s beyond fixing now. Bodies in the living room, bodies in the kitchen, bodies in the study. The cold barrel in the Homeowner’s hands saved no one and nothing except his own skin. They were scared of him. They left him untouched. Everyone else got torn to shreds. Nausea crawls up his throat; a trail of the Storyteller’s organs stretches all the way into the hallway. The heart’s hard as stone. Smells like iron. Feels warm on the tongue.
Did I do this?
No. I couldn’t have.
You couldn’t have.
I’m not a Visitor, am I? I have a home. I can’t be a Visitor.
You’re not a Visitor, sweetheart.
Something warm near the ear, a soft buzzing inside the skull — wife’s voice, mother’s voice; thin like singing:
Nobody’s coming into this house anymore. You need to go. It’s dangerous alone.
Alone is dangerous. That’s true. Need to... Need to zip the jacket tighter. Need to grab: cigarettes, her photo, the poster. The rifle... No. Leave it here. Need to go.
Through the pine boughs, through the tall grass, through the dark forest. Toward light, toward the warmth of a house, toward other people; toward people who’ll help. Toward people with whom there won’t be hunger and loneliness.
Didn’t I like being alone?
You liked being by yourself. Nobody wants to be lonely.
Through pine boughs, thick resin, through the pale light reflecting off the snow and stabbing into aching eyes. Need to make it before nightfall, before he freezes; while the snow’s only knee-deep instead of up to the sweater. Need to keep walking, find a house, find another Homeowner, find people. It’s cold outside, horribly cold. Need to find someone who isn’t alone. Need to—
Look! They’ve got lights on!
Thin pine trunks, the smell of resin and smoke, a cleared path to a tall dark door. It’s like a gift from above, like a meal for the starving. A source of warmth in the middle of an unbearable blizzard, and it’s almost getting dark. A small house in the middle of an impenetrable forest, conversations behind the walls, people.
Knock. Don’t be scared. They’ll open.
Long arms, frozen legs, burning fingers. A fist raised full of hope, anxiety plain on the face, blood from a bitten lip, furrowed brows. Thin witness-pines, trash bags beside the crooked fence, the smell of gunpowder and herbs right by the door.
Please open up, I’m scared of being alone. I’ll freeze to death out here, please let me get warm. I’m not a Visitor, I had my own house, but somebody butchered everyone and now it’s terrifying. Please, I don’t want to—
Rustling behind the door. The sharp click of a shotgun being loaded. A muffled: “What do you want?”
Instead, you say:
— Hi. Are you home alone?