Hunger Like a Compass

The cold came first.

Not the weather...

the other kind of cold.

The kind that starts inside the chest.

and works its way out...

through the fingers.

I know what that means now.

The tracks in the snow this morning,

were mine.

Same boot, same stride,

same habit I have...

of dragging the left heel slightly...

when I'm tired...

I have not left the cabin,

in three days.

There is a smell like ash and pine,

and something beneath both...

Something that hasn't eaten,

in a century,

and has decided,

to stop waiting.

I keep the fire high.

I have read that it dislikes the light.

I have read a lot of things...

that haven't helped.

It knows my name.

Not the one I was given.

The other one!

The one made of the sound...

your body makes...

when it realizes...

it is afraid.

It calls that one,

softly,

from the tree line,

in a voice,

I almost recognize.

I think about the trapper,

who came through in October.

How he said he'd seen one,

two valleys east.

How his hands shook...

when he said it.

How he left before dark,

heading north.

How the tracks I found,

the following morning,

stopped.

In the middle of the field.

Just stopped.

It has been outside for four nights.

I know because the dogs,

stopped barking,

on the first night,

and have not made a sound,

since.

I have not gone to check on them.

... You understand.

The folklore says,

it was a man, once.

That hunger did it.

That a winter came...

so long and so without mercy...

that he made a choice...

and the choice made him,

into something,

that is always choosing...

I think about that.

Standing at the window,

not looking out,

I think about that.

The cold in my chest

is worse tonight.

I tell myself: the season.

I tell myself: the altitude.

I move to the fire.

And hold my hands above it.

And wait to feel them again.

Behind me:

nothing.

I am certain of this!

The way you are certain,

of things...

you cannot afford,

to be wrong about.

I will not turn around.

Not because I'm sure,

it's there.

But because if,

I pay it no mind...

Maybe... It will leave me.

If I turn around

and it isn't,

could the cold

be coming

from me?

I wont turn around.