The Forge: Fire and Ice

THE COLD ONES Joseph Wheeldon

The familiar sounds outside the house soothed me as I lay uncomfortable on the rigid frame of my bed. The crackling flames drifted through the air like the voice of a close friend, a lullaby of comfort and security that assured me of another safe night’s sleep. The accompanying footsteps of my father reinforced this sensation as he patrolled outside. He was a sentinel, forever watchful over the barrier that separated us and what lay beyond the flames. He would be relieved part way through the night by Jacob’s father, the knowledge of which disturbed my peaceful thoughts.

Throughout the harsh, gruelling struggle that was life, Jacob had become my closest friend. We had grown up together and resided within the same dishevelled shack almost our entire lives. He was a boy I could depend on, a pillar of strength for me to lean on and a ray of humour in an otherwise bleak and lifeless void. However, I bore no similar feelings towards his father, William. Whereas my own was an example of strength, resilience and courage, Jacob’s father was unreliable, his mental capacity almost diminished through severe trauma. Our group’s numbers had begun to dwindle and so every last man and woman had been forced to pull their weight, but since the loss of Jacob’s mother, William had become a shadow of his former self.

He attempted to continue, to push through the pain but it was clear the light inside of him had extinguished. He had become careless, unfocused and jealous of my parents. I knew in my heart that he would bring no malice upon us, but any weakness could prove to be the downfall of us all. The flames which surrounded our dwellings had to be constantly tended throughout the night; protected so it could protect us from the Cold Ones.

I had never seen one, but my father said they came at night. Horrifying nightmares from the deepest pits of the abyss, they watch us from the edge of the light. They bring with them the chill of death; their only purpose to feed off the warmth of the living. During the day they hide themselves, shying away from the dim light of the sun that struggles through the ashen clouds above us. My father said that we may be the last ones left alive, that the Cold Ones had already feasted upon the other survivors and that is why they watch us so fervently, waiting for their chance.

I spent many a night peering through the window out into the darkness of the forest, straining to see beyond the crimson light of the flames to discern the form of those who would observe us, of those who would prey upon us if given the opportunity. No matter how many hours I watched, no creature betrayed its location. I often wondered whether the Cold Ones truly existed; that was until Jacob’s mother went missing.

She had an illness. Occasionally her mind was not her own and she would suffer terrible fits. Her personality would change in an instant. She would become an entirely different person. Both personalities were pleasant and harmless, but her alternative persona would perform acts a sane person would not contemplate. One such episode caused her to leave the safety of our settlement as the sun began to set. Unknown to us at the time, she had left the safety of the shack to collect mushrooms from the forest, seemingly unaware of the impending danger the night would bring. By the time William noticed she was missing, it was already too late.

My father had to restrain him from leaving the campsite in pursuit. He was locked inside the barn with the hogs, tied to a heavy wooden post for his own safety. Nobody slept that night. My father tended the flames alone and William screamed. He screamed through the whole night, his agony immeasurable. My mother covered my ears but William’s wails pierced through the darkness like a blade; come morning he was hoarse and weak. My father aided him in a search of the nearby woods. Both men, tired and worn out, scoured the area from dawn until dusk.

Upon their return, William had transformed from the jovial bright and endearing man he once was to a shell, a vacant vessel where a man once lived. In his hands he held a piece of simple material. It was the fabric of his wife’s shirt, blue and chequered with a disconcerting red stain blazoned upon its surface. My father lit the fires and William slept. He slept for three days. Since then he had become hollow, performing tasks with no energy. My father and mother had tended the barriers between them but William had insisted they allow him to help. My father tentatively agreed and for the first few weeks they had watched the walls together.

Life, if that’s what you would call it, continued. During the daylight hours, Jacob and I collected fuel from the forest whilst my mother tended the animals. My father and William took turns tending what little crops we could grow and slept all they could, ready for the mission that nightfall would bring. We began to sleep soundly once again, guarded by our blazing protectors.

Yet life could not continue as before. Things were beginning to change and everyone could sense it. The clouds above had started to thicken, their cover complete like a great grey blanket that covered the entire sky. The morning would often greet us with a thick mist that crept from the trees and settled over our fields, leaving frost on the leaves of the crops. The food did not grow as plentifully and the trees beyond the barriers were becoming bare, their leaves falling to the ground to create a carpet of reds and browns. We had survived winters before. We built the fires bigger to endure the rains that would come infrequently. They were trying times but nothing we could not handle. This felt different; colder, crueller.

The thought had been molesting my mind for a number of days but I did all I could to suppress it. Life was miserable enough without the threat of something unknown weighing upon me. I had settled into my bed, intent on sleeping well that night. I flooded my own mind with the scarce memories I had of happier times. The friends I had lived with before, Suzanne, Derrick and their families. We had enjoyed summers together, playing in the streams that wormed their way through the woods, soaking up the sun whilst we lay on the soft grass.

We were all good friends and I had even toyed with the thought that perhaps I was in love with Suzanne. She had a sort of plain beauty that I admired when she wasn’t looking. Often she would turn to catch me staring and playfully hit me on the arm. Before anything had a chance to develop, her parents left us. Joined by Derrick’s family, they journeyed through the woods in an attempt to meet with a larger settlement in the valley beyond the hills. My father warned them, said that we had had no contact from anyone else in months but they would not listen. They said they would return for us once they had made it. That was three years ago.

My pleasant imaginings were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the shack door opening and the heavy footsteps of my father. His boots tumbled to the floor and the creaking of wood signified he had gotten into bed with my mother. William had started his watch. I lay with my eyes open in the darkness as shadows danced. The orange light peered through the slight gap of the curtains, creating a random performance on the wooden wall.

The people around me were breathing heavily, deep in slumber as exhaustion had overtaken them. Their rhythmic breathing was almost hypnotising had it not been for one sudden realisation. Of all the common sounds I had come to recognise of the night, one was missing. There were no footsteps outside.

I gently eased myself from my bunk and slipped on my leather boots, wrapping myself in a thick, woollen blanket. I opened the door, lifting it lightly to avoid the creak as it hung heavily on its rusted hinges. The air outside was bitter and my exhaled breath formed a white cloud before my face. I made my way around the shack and found William sitting comfortably in an old wooden chair. He was awake and was staring out into the flames of the barrier before us.

‘Shouldn’t you be tending the flames?’ I asked.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ came his reply, devoid of emotion or concern. ‘They’re out there now you know, watching us. They know about tonight.’

The words made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I turned quickly to view the treeline. I saw nothing. No shape, no shadow of a creature. What I did see was something I had never before witnessed. Falling from the sky were strange, white flakes, floating listlessly from the heavens and disappearing upon the ground. There were only a few at first but their numbers were increasing by the second.

‘What is it?’ I enquired.

‘Snow.’

I released an arm from the warmth of the blanket and reached out to touch the flakes of snow. As they landed upon my hand I felt the chill on my skin as they instantly melted, turning into cool liquid. Within moments the air had become dense with them, collecting on the ground and creating a thick, white blanket. The flames spat and complained, steam rising from their tongues as they fought against the onslaught of the white invaders.

‘It’s water! The flames, they’re going out!’ I shouted.

‘I told you it didn’t matter,’ said William, motionless in his chair as he watched the flames become lower and lower, their brilliant light reduced to smouldering embers.

I ran for the door of the shack, my footsteps crunching through the snow, spilling into my boots sending sharp pains up my legs. I burst through the door crying out about the danger that was unfolding outside. My father leapt up, instructing my mother, Jacob and I to wait inside as he marched out into the swirling blizzard of the night air.

We waited in silence, protected by the trembling arms of my mother as we huddled together on the edge of the bed. There was no noise from outside, the silence was palpable. The room had become dark, the flames fully extinguished and the only light was the silver touch of the moon, creeping through the clouds above and spilling through the curtains.

Suddenly there came a noise, the slow, methodical crunch of footsteps through the snow. They appeared distant but with certainty they were approaching the door. Perhaps my father was returning, perhaps there was nothing to fear and the woods had been as empty as I had always observed them to be. The footsteps stopped for a moment outside of the door. Slowly, the wooden panel opened.

What stood before us was not my father. The sight of it caused all three of us to scream in unison. The creature was tall and thin. Its pale white flesh hung loosely from the bony form underneath. Its fingers were long, ending in vicious claws, but the most terrible, most terrifying aspect were its eyes. Huge and white, they gazed upon us soullessly above its gaping, grinning maw of stained teeth. As it approached, the air in the room became colder than anything I had felt before. My mother fought to protect us but her defence only lasted seconds. As darkness embraced me through violence and pain, I came to understand why William watched the flames die. Light would always succumb to the darkness.

the end