The night of the cold

It was the coldest night anyone in the small, desolate town of Black Hollow could remember. The snow fell in relentless waves, muffling all sound and transforming the world into an eerie, white abyss. The townsfolk had long since retreated to their homes, their fires blazing and doors locked tight against the biting wind. All except for one.

Beneath the flickering streetlight at the edge of town stood a man. His face was obscured by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, and his long black coat flapped faintly in the frigid breeze. He seemed unbothered by the cold, unmoving as if he were carved from stone. No one had seen him arrive, and no one dared approach.

In the warmth of her small, cluttered kitchen, Clara Wilkes watched the man through her frost-covered window. She had been drawn to the faint sound of footsteps crunching on the snow outside her home, but when she peered out, all she saw was the stranger. His presence filled her with a nameless dread. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and told herself it was none of her business.

But as the hours ticked by, the man remained. He stood in the same spot, motionless, as the snow piled higher and higher around his boots. Curiosity began to outweigh fear. Against her better judgment, Clara slipped on her thick coat and boots, grabbed a lantern, and ventured out into the freezing night.

The wind howled as she approached, the lantern’s flickering light casting long, distorted shadows across the snow. “Sir?” she called, her voice trembling as much from the cold as from fear. “Are you lost? Do you need help?”

The man slowly turned his head toward her. His face was pale, almost ghostly, and his eyes—a piercing, unnatural blue—seemed to glow in the darkness. Clara felt an icy chill run down her spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, yet carrying an edge that made Clara want to run. “Go back inside. Lock your doors.”

Clara hesitated. “But… are you all right? You’ve been standing here for hours.”

The man’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it held no warmth. “I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket watch, its surface intricately engraved with strange, twisting symbols. Clara could hear it ticking, loud and deliberate, even over the howling wind. The man’s gaze shifted from the watch to the distant horizon, where the forest loomed dark and foreboding.

“You’ll want to be indoors when midnight strikes,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Stay safe, Miss Wilkes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “How do you know my name?”

But the man said nothing more. He turned away, his focus fixed on the forest. The air around him seemed to grow colder, heavier, as if the night itself were bending to his will. Clara’s instincts screamed at her to leave, and she finally obeyed, retreating back to the safety of her home.

She bolted the door and drew the curtains, but sleep would not come. Midnight was minutes away, and an unbearable tension hung in the air. Clara sat by the window, clutching her shawl tightly, her eyes fixed on the streetlight where the man still stood.

As the clock struck twelve, the wind stopped. The world fell into an unnatural silence. Then, from the forest, came a sound—a low, guttural growl that sent shivers down Clara’s spine. She watched in horror as shadows began to move between the trees, their shapes too large and twisted to be any ordinary animal.

The man remained unmoving, his presence a solitary beacon against the encroaching darkness. He raised his pocket watch, its ticking now deafening, and spoke words Clara couldn’t understand. The shadows hesitated, writhing as if in pain. Then, with an ear-splitting roar, they retreated back into the depths of the forest.

The wind returned, carrying with it the distant sound of something fleeing. The man lowered his watch and adjusted his hat. Without a glance back, he began walking down the snow-covered road, his figure fading into the storm until he was gone.

Clara sat frozen by the window, her mind racing with questions. Who was he? What had he been waiting for? And, most importantly, what had he driven back into the darkness?

The cold night offered no answers, only the lingering sense that something ancient and dangerous had passed through Black Hollow, leaving behind a mystery that would haunt Clara for the rest of her days.