Frostbite

The forecast had predicted light flurries, nothing unusual for the quiet mountain town where the Bell family lived. But by nightfall, the snowstorm had turned ferocious, battering the windows with icy gusts and blanketing the world outside in a suffocating white void.

“This is insane,” Mark Bell muttered, peering out the frosted kitchen window. He could barely see the tree line at the edge of their property. “I’ve never seen a storm come in this fast.”

“We’ll just wait it out,” his wife, Sarah, replied, trying to keep her voice calm for the kids. She glanced at their two children—Katie, eight, and Sam, thirteen—bundled under blankets on the couch. The fire in the hearth crackled weakly, struggling against the creeping cold that seemed to seep through the walls.

But the cold wasn’t natural. It was too sharp, too alive, as if it were searching for something.

By morning, the snowstorm had worsened. The house groaned under the weight of the icy wind, and the windows were rimmed with intricate frost patterns that seemed to crawl inward. The temperature inside had dropped dramatically despite the roaring fire. Sarah’s breath fogged the air as she served the kids a sparse breakfast.

“The power’s out,” Mark announced grimly as he came in from the garage, rubbing his hands together. “Generator won’t start either. It’s like the fuel froze solid.”

“That’s not possible,” Sarah whispered, but deep down, she felt the same gnawing unease. Something about the storm wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the snow or the cold—it was the silence. No howling animals, no rustling trees, just the eerie, suffocating stillness outside.

As the day dragged on, the family huddled together in the living room. The cold crept closer, the air so frigid it burned their throats. Katie shivered violently, her lips turning a faint blue. “Mom, it’s so cold. I can’t feel my fingers.”

Sarah wrapped her in another blanket, her heart pounding. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll get through this.”

But they wouldn’t. Not unless they figured out what was happening.

That night, the whispers began.

Sarah heard them first—soft, insidious voices threading through the howling wind. She sat upright, straining to listen. The voices weren’t outside. They were inside.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked, rubbing his eyes as she rose from the couch.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered. He shook his head, but as he opened his mouth to respond, the whispers grew louder, more distinct. They were calling his name.

“Mark...” the voices breathed, low and chilling. “We’re so cold... help us.”

Mark staggered back, his face pale. “What the hell is that?”

Katie whimpered, burying her face in Sarah’s side, while Sam stood frozen, his eyes wide with terror. The air around them grew colder, heavy with an unnatural presence. Frost crept across the floorboards, spidering toward the hearth, where the fire sputtered and dimmed.

Then, they saw it.

The frost wasn’t random. It formed shapes—hands clawing at the edges of the room, faces emerging from the icy patterns on the walls. The storm wasn’t just alive—it was watching.

By dawn, the house was a tomb. The storm’s hunger was palpable, gnawing at the warmth of their bodies, their emotions, their very souls. The family stopped speaking, afraid to waste their breath. Even the fire had died, its embers swallowed by the encroaching frost.

“We need to get out of here,” Mark said, his voice hoarse, but Sarah shook her head. “It’s worse out there. It’ll kill us before we reach the car.”

Sam, sitting by the frost-covered window, suddenly spoke. “It’s not just the cold. It’s feeding on us.”

“What are you talking about?” Mark demanded, but Sam didn’t flinch.

“Every time we fight, every time we’re scared, it gets stronger. It’s taking everything that makes us warm—our anger, our love, everything.”

His words sent a chill through Sarah that had nothing to do with the cold. She realized he was right. The storm wasn’t just a force of nature—it was a predator, and they were its prey.

That night, the whispers returned, louder than before. The frost faces pressed against the walls, their hollow eyes leaking icy tears. Katie sobbed softly, her small body shaking uncontrollably. “Mommy, I’m scared.”

Sarah pulled her close, whispering soothing words even as her own fear clawed at her chest. The storm thrived on their terror, their despair. If they didn’t fight back, it would consume them.

“We have to stop feeling,” Sarah said suddenly, her voice firm. “No fear, no anger, nothing. We can’t give it what it wants.”

“That’s impossible,” Mark argued, but Sarah grabbed his arm, her eyes blazing.

“If we don’t try, we die.”

The family sat together in a circle, holding hands as the frost crept closer. They closed their eyes, forcing their breathing to steady. Sarah thought of warm summers, of Katie’s laughter and Sam’s first steps. She whispered a lullaby, her voice steady despite the icy whispers trying to drown her out.

The storm howled in fury, the frost recoiling slightly. The faces in the walls screamed silently, their features twisting in rage. The family held on, their shared warmth flickering like a fragile flame against the encroaching dark.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm stopped.

When the sun rose, the Bell family emerged into a world encased in ice. The snow sparkled like diamonds, but the air was still and warm. The storm had vanished, leaving behind only its eerie silence.

Inside the house, the frost was gone, but faint imprints of clawed hands and twisted faces remained etched into the walls, a grim reminder of what they had survived.

Mark wrapped his arms around Sarah and the kids, pulling them close. They had been broken before, but now, they were whole—bound together by the warmth that had saved them from the cold.

Still, as they looked back at the house one last time, they swore they could hear faint whispers on the wind, promising to return.