Whispers Against the Snow

My mother used to say that when the snow whispered, the world was pulled apart and put back together in strange new ways. I figured this was why my heart beat so hard as I stomped down my front steps and rounded the side of my house. My shoes crunched against the thick snow. Darkness coated the world like a blanket, and the cold air pressed close to my ears, making the noises of the night muffled and other wordly. Particularly the noises from the old barn which called out like rustling voices from the darkness and scraped at the inside of my skull while I wrestled with the thought of checking on the noises from safely in my bed.

I grumbled to myself as I slid. I regained my footing easily but questioned my sanity as another shaft of ice cold hit bare skin. The noises had stopped the moment my foot hit the snow. It was as if the noises knew I was coming and had stopped in anticipation of my visit. Not for the first time, I wondered if it was my imagination. Was it my mind playing tricks on me - having seen the desolate landscape I had sequestered myself to and extrapolating that it looked like a setting from a horror movie? I shuddered and dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my coat as I walked.

I'd turned on enough of the lights in the house - all of them - to see all the way to the barn. Even so, it was a hulking shadow that stood in complete contrast to the glittering snow. It was shrouded in shadows. They leaked out of every nook and cranny in its ramshackle sides and sloping corrigated iron roof, painting the surface of the normally rust-coloured barn an ominous black and grey.

I slid again, almost landing on my knees and let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. It was then that I saw a darker patch in the snow. I shifted until my shadow was no longer cast across the dark spot in the snow, half expecting to find one of my dog's toys buried there, but instead found that the darker spot in the snow was red. Blood.

It was then that I heard a rustle from inside the barn. It was close enough now that I heard the faint screech of metal scraping against metal. A shiver bolted down my spine.

Still, something in the back of my mind wasn't quite so alarmed. A rat, it whispered. Just the broken old barn rustling in the wind. My mind called forth the last time I had tried to give the barn some TLC and was unable to, presenting this as evidence that the rustling was nothing, was simply just the wind and a mild rodent infestation at work. And yet... how did these sounds, through all this snow that weighed heavy upon my ears, reach into my bedroom and claw me from my sleep?

I reached the door before my mind could win either argument and with an exasperated breath, wrenched the door open.

There was a snap and the slice of wind, and my heart jumped high into my throat as I let out a strangled squeal. A stiff breeze hit my cheek. I turned my head just in time to see an owl swoop low over the snow, trailing its feathers across the surface. A sharp sigh escaped me. Just an owl. I clutched the barn door with one hand and leaned forward to catch my breath, one hand searching in my pocket for the flashlight I forgot to place in there.

The owl must have caught a rat earlier, I thought to myself as my mind conjured up the spot of blood on the snow.

I gave up on finding a flashlight and shoved the door open as far as it would go, letting the light pouring out of my house dart in through the open door. The light only reached so far. It illuminated a small patch of the dirt-covered floor and a sliver of the space between this and the high ceiling. Nothing moved. There was no noise.

I scowled into the space for a moment, then swung the barn door closed a little too hard. The clanging of the metal reverberated as I turned and picked my way back over the snow towards the house, skirting around the sickening spot of blood as I went. My useless guard dog, Banjo, waited on the porch with his head on his paws. As I neared he stood up and growled lowly at me, his tail swinging lazily from side to side.

It was as I was stamping up the front steps and reaching out my hand to pat my dog that I noticed the extra grey hairs on his nose. I frowned. Had they been there before? i gently turned his head to the side to examine his face. Banjo's tail thwacked harder and he whinged as he pawed at me for cuddles, his chubby body sashaying wildly.

"It's ok," I muttered, a headache raking at my temples. I tried to pat him. "It's ok, good boy, Banj. It's ok."

My hand caught on Banjo's collar, the lead he was tied to falling across the back of my hand. My frown deepened. I followed the length of rope with my eyes, finding the end tied to the side of a dog house. Something deep in my chest constricted.

Banjo didn't have a dog house. Banjo sleeps on the bed. With me.

"Jo-jo!" A voice called from inside the house. I jumped and turned, already half backing down the steps. Someone is in my house.

I reached for the lead holding Banjo as he continued to jump up at me on his stubby legs. I gripped his collar and unclipped the lead. My mouth was dry. I shuffled back a few steps, horror stretching the skin of my face taught.

"Jo-jo, what are you complaining about, bud?"

I heard the footsteps descend the stairs and I could see through the glass panels in my front door, a man dressed in striped pyjamas moving towards me. I stumbled down the last two steps and landed on my arse in the snow. There was an almighty crunch and Banjo scrambled and yelped as he landed on me, his collar dragged from my grip in an instant. I cried out his name as he raced for the door.

It swung open the next moment and the man in his pyjamas charged out, his hand gripping Banjo's collar and throwing him inside. I scrambled back in the snow. My heart suffocated me.

The man, with a heavy eyebrow, yelled, "What are you doing? Who are you?"

A surge of incredulity drew my words from my mouth, "What do you mean? Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

The man, looked startled, paused and asked, "Do you need me to call you someone?"

This seemed like a perfectly strange thing to ask and for a moment I wasn't sure how to answer. I was still laying in the snow. I picked myself up and dusted myself off. Banjo was barking now, his paws scraping against the wood of the door. The man ignored this. His cheeks were already turning red from the cold.

"I need to call the police."

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"No! You've invaded my house! You've just snatched up my dog!" My mind seemed to seize this last point for a moment. "Banjo!"

Banjo barked in response.

The man looked even more confused at this. Was he unwell? Where did he come from in the snow?

But it was at this moment that I remembered my mother's words. Because it was at this moment that a woman's voice called from somewhere in the house. I watched, open-mouthed, as a woman's face appeared in the glass panels of the front door. I recognised her with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My head spun and the glittering snow swirled and rushed towards me.

I woke in the snow.

The light of day hung above me, though it felt like only a moment had passed. I must have slipped.

I pulled myself up from the snow and walked back to the house. It was a miracle I hadn't frozen to death. My eerie dream was the only thing that had frozen, captured like a picture in my mind forever. I'd seen my face looking back at me. I'd seen it move without me, outside of the mirror. The chill stole through my ribcage.

Banjo, at least, seemed unfazed by my absence. He grunted when I nudged him with my toe and wagged his tail slowly as if in apology. I put some sausage in his bowl to reward him for his diligent efforts as a guard dog, and everything went back to normal.

Everything went back to normal, except... Except there was this feeling that something was different. Or, rather, a lot of little things seemed different. The dog house on the front porch looked out of place for weeks. I could never remember purchasing it. The barn looked too new. I thought I remembered rust, but it was definitely a navy blue colour now. Then there was the mirror. Was that mole always on that side? I could have sworn it was on the other.

My mother doesn't seem to remember what she told me about the snow whispering. Instead, she scoffed and rolled her eyes when I mentioned that and muttered an exasperated, "Does that really sound like something I would say?"

I had to admit that it didn't. I couldn't remember where else I heard it from. Yet, I took it like my gospel from then and ignored the rustling of the barn, fearful of the whispers against the snow.