The Frozen Lake

This story has been written in response to L.C. Schäfer's proposal to spend 2024 losing my mind...sorry, I mean, choosing to write a microfiction story every day, making 366 stories for every day of this lovely leap year. You can check her original story out here:

Prompt number twelve:

Write a story which includes a frozen lake.

***

Louella sat by the fire, trying to keep warm. The walls of the cabin were solid but still, the wailing whispers of the wind managed to slink their way in to coil around her frozen fingers and test her toes. She put down her quilt and laid her head back onto the firm comfort of her rocking chair.

She couldn't concentrate. She was too worried.

It had been hours now since Ben had left to look for his grandfather, her husband, Ed. Love of her life. Companion of fifty plus years. Her very essence now, they had shared so much. They were inextricably linked, like pages in a book, bound and pressed together, made of the same ink.

The blizzard had died but it was bitter with cold. Her nose was tight with it and her hair stiff. Frost skated crystals on the glass and her breath was almost opaque.

She hadn't been able to feel her toes properly for hours and got up to walk around. Was she brave enough to open the door? She tugged at the rope that served as a handle and with a creak, it opened.

The air was clear except for the tiny prickles of ice that catch the rare sunlight as it pierces the heaviness of winter cloud. She would normally revel in its beauty but today, they were like needles reminding her of the meanness of the day.

A streaked sunbeam split and shone so that she had to raise her hands to shield her indoor eyes. And there, on the lake, she could see a moving dot.

Slow. Heavy.

She stood, breath held, watching, the parasitic cold pinching her heat in her stillness.

The figure grew. The noise of dutiful trudging made crunches, and the sound of something being dragged swept through the snow.

It was two figures. One upright.

Ben.

And the other. Prostrate.

Ed.

They were close enough now for her to see. Ben's features were indiscernible but there was no missing the shaking of his head.

She did not rush to see her love. There was no point: he was gone from here. But he would be present for weeks in the ice barn.

***

366 words

I read a book called "The Ice Barn" by Ian Pateman some time ago, which I would thoroughly recommend and I have provided a link to it at the end.

In the book, people die in the harsh winter but as the ground is so hard, they cannot be buried and so, they get stored in the ice barn until spring. Macabre in some ways but the reality of life in colder climes before undertakers and their cold storage facilities.

As it's January, I wanted to write a story with a wintery feel and thought of frozen lakes although this story is less about the lake and more about people, I suppose.

For the list of prompts that L.C. has provided for January to get you moving, if you want to partake, go to the link below. It also provides links to everybody else who has joined in the challenge:

Here's the link to "The Ice Barn" as promised:

Thanks for stopping by. If you've read this story, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

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