Page 10 of A Vampire for Christmas
After a long while, a faint noise comes from the other side of the room. Steps cross it; soft enough it’s like he’s hovering. It takes a lot of strain to catch the direction he heads in, only to realize he’s moving towards me and not the door. A gentle, sleepy sigh gets pushed through my nose to ease my racing heart and prevent from clenching my eyes too tight and signalling I’m awake.
Smooth silk caresses my cheek, an icy chill almost immediately turning hot. Living in a cabin in the woods means a man shouldn’t have skin that soft. It’s strange and unnatural. He brushes over my mouth before pulling away. More quiet steps carry him across the room, and a second later, the door opens and shuts.
Time to go.
While attempting not to make noise in my rush, I lunge into action, slipping on my boots and yanking open the armoire’sdoors. There’s a whole lot of black, and while taking anything of his sickens me, his clothing is necessary for survival. I slip on an oversized hoodie that drops past my waist and then slide my puffy coat overtop. My pocket still has the gloves from where I stored them earlier, and the sweater and jacket’s hoods will have to do for my poor ears since he doesn’t seem to own a hat.
Then I stupidly brave weather that’ll literally be my death sentence. If I could run fast enough, stave off the cold, maybe I’d have a better shot, but I’m limited to what my legs can manage in the thick snow.
Hoping noise doesn’t travel, I lightly shut the door, and even though it’ll take an extra few seconds, peek around the side of the cabin.
No shed.
Fucking liar.
But a liar who seemingly isn’t present, and there’s a distinct lack of footprints. This guy is so weird… Simply another reason to escape.
I turn for the direction he pointed to, tuck my head, roll my hands inside the extra length of his hoodie, and take off into the harsh, whipping winds.
The air issodry—impossibly dry—seriously, how is it even possible to be this dry?It’s like there’s a lack of oxygen, so after only a dozen steps, my lungs are already working as if I’ve ran a marathon.
Snow kicks up, numbing my lower legs. I have to be smart in my rush and figure out a better way to run to prevent from getting covered, if I have any shot at surviving.
As soon as I get a safe distance away, I glance back at the cabin, where there isn’t a speck of life. He’s disappeared—maybe for good? Maybe he always intended to abandon me.
Without food, a phone, or a vehicle, it was inevitable that my future would lead to this, so after another glance, I slip between two trees and lose myself in the Canadian Rockies.
Minutes pass.Or is it hours? Perhaps even seconds.
I’m fuckingcold.
No, actually, being cold is an understatement.
My cheeks sting, ears are seconds from breaking off, fingers are numb, thighs ache from running through the deep snow that first numbed my legs and now stings. My nose is probably so red I could play Rudolph in the next holiday movie about Santa.
This isn’t humane. This weathercan’tbe normal. What the fuck is wrong with this province?
If I ever make it back home, I’m adding a fourth job to my impossible schedule and saving up to move to Mexico. Or Hawaii. Perhaps Barbados.Anywherethat doesn’t get any cooler than Winnipeg summertime temperatures and zero fucking snow. Zilch. Not one flake. The moment it snows is when my shit gets packed up and I’m out.
My steps slow, whether from being frozen or from exhaustion, who knows. If I could find a cave—that’s a thing, right?—then perhaps hiding until daytime, when the sun will provide a smidge of warmth, would be better.
A few degrees could be the difference between life and death.
Perhaps I’m an idiot for leaving. After all, he wasn’t hurting me. He’s strange as hell, but claimed to go out searching for food, even if it was on his weird ass schedule. It was fairly warm inside his house and had a bathroom. Hedidagree to help once the storm passed.
If only his behaviours didn’t suggest endangerment. He was only being nice so I’d warm up to him and eventually fall victim to his crimes—and wouldn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.
Maybe I watch too much TV.
I stagger into a nearby tree, and taking the blow to my shoulder as a hint, I stop and lean on it to catch the breath I don’t really have. Not in this oxygenless-mountain.
My holiday vacation is literally the worst thing to ever happen to me. Why wasn’t I smart enough to travel to the other side of Canada if I wanted to stay domestic? Visit Nova Scotia or something. Their winters are cold as hell too, but Halifax has a lot to offer. A cheap motel in town would mean not being off the beaten path, in negative forty, in the woods with a maybe-killer—and things that could probably eat me.
Ah, the final regrets before death.
I try to push off the tree, knowing distance is required. The road, if I’m running in the right direction, shouldbe upon me soon.
Can’t stop. Keep going.
