Sounds in the Cold

The feeling in his hands and feet had gone on a ride since he slowly pulled himself from the wreckage. He felt searing heat, then burning cold and aching pain to stabbing pain. Now though, all he felt was the absence of feeling, which was more frightening than the pain of the cold.

All around him was blurring white and shades of grey. All he could remember was waking up and seeing the world upside down as he dangled from the driver’s seat. He could make out the occasional form of a tree and he had tripped repeatedly as his feet found random stones under the snow.

The snow pummeled his face, making it nearly impossible to see ahead. His vision began to tunnel more with every step. Just as his vision started to fade he saw a large silhouette. The shape suggested something much larger than the trees, possibly a building, so he trudged forward.

As he got closer he saw that he was correct, he could make out the shape of a building in the flurry of white. His heart began to beat harder, the odd sensation of cold blood pumping through his chest. The image of a “man popsicle” being found somewhere in the wilderness came to mind and despite reason, giggled.

He stumbled face first into the side of the building as his legs stopped cooperating. He ran his hands on the wood as he moved forward looking for an entrance. His hands desperately searched for a hole, a door, anything as he rounded the corner of the structure. As he quickened his pace in panic, with a crack his forehead ran into a wooden surface.

He stared at the shape in the dark and could make out a door. After he worked his way around the door he saw the interior of a large old barn. Though it was dark and slightly terrifying, he decided that the scary barn was much better than the “man popsicle” ending to his life.

He passed the entry way which was piled with snow, making closing the door difficult. The snow pack made it impossible to close all the way and he fell back. He decided not to waste what little energy he had left and delved deeper into the darkness of the barn.

A couple of large stalls ran along the wall as well as support beams that ran along the middle of the room. He saw mainly decaying junk around him and tried to get into the safety of one of the large animal stalls.

As he crawled his hands were trudging through a mix of old straw and dirt. This didn’t bother him though, as the crunching sound of the detritus around him was better than the constant wind in his ears outside.

He reached the corner of the stall and huddled as tight as he could with his back against the wood. After some time his shivers began to slow. He rested his head back against the wall and heard a quite rumbling sound. It was faint, but he knew that he heard something.

It sounded like a car engine, but not quite. Possibly thunder? “Did snow storms have lightening?”, he thought to himself. As he went through a mental library of sounds he realized it sounded like his dog. The realization made him shudder. The low growling sound his dog made was eerily similar to that short rumble of a sound.

He listened intently for what felt like an eternity, attempting to confirm the fear that it was a growl he heard. The burning in his lungs made him realize that he had stopped breathing in an effort to pull that sound out of the darkness again. Only the sounds of the storm remained.

He stood up and began to survey the barn around him, there was just enough light that he was able to make out mostly everything around him. It also helped that the interior was so bare, the only item appeared to be a very old broom in the corner.

He realized there was nothing very useful. He was a resourceful person so his mind started to run wild. It was obvious to him that he needed to figure out how to hunker down here for now, as this storm did not appear to be slowing. At that point he was just grateful to be inside instead of out in the snow.

He thought that there was enough straw on the ground that he would likely be able to make a small cot if he gathered it all in one place. He retrieved the old broom in the corner and decided to give it a try. The thing might have been older than the barn itself, but it worked a lot better than his bare hands.

After a few minutes he had gathered all of the straw into one pile. He remembered that one of the worst things you could do in a cold environment was lay directly on the ground, as the ground would drain your internal temperature. Making a small flat pile of the straw proved to be more of a task that he realized it would be. Even though he chose a fairly open spot in the barn, it was still tight thanks to the pillars around him.

Just before he was done making a little “pillow” out of some straw, he heard that growling again, this time a little longer than the last. He was able to discern more of the sound now. It sounded pained and angry, as though whatever creature was out there was in pain.

He tried to guess what kind of animal could possibly make a sound like that, his mental library landing on bears and wolves. Neither image in his head was helping his growing anxiety.

A vision flashed before his eyes of a wolf pacing back in forth in the barn, staring at him like he was a giant T-bone steak. Another vision of a grizzly bear marching back and forth in front of the barn, the bitter cold causing its hunger to soar.

The sound had stopped again, the next few minutes a prison of anxiety and fear of what could be lurking beyond the rotting walls and door. He had not realized before then, but he suddenly remembered that he had been unable to close the door all the way. He knew he had to shut that door, else the creature emitting that sound would nuzzle its way into the barn, making the old building an all you can eat buffet rather than an old barn.

He was able to push himself to his feet and take a step toward the door, but no more. As he stared out of the small opening of the door he could see movement. Was it something resembling the horrific visions that plagued him moments ago or simply more snow?

He felt his knees vibrating, threatening to buckle beneath his weight. He could feel the icy touch of fear running down his spine. He slowly crept forward, knowing that every instant that the door was cracked open was another moment that the growling beast could make its move.

He was inches from the door as the deep vibration of the sound reached his ears. Menacing and full of terrible energy, the sound causing his knees give out and he toppled to the ground backwards. Thudding against the ground hard, he listened to the sound fade away again.

His fear and anxiety was slowly turning to anger as he thought the beast was toying with him. He imagined wolves thinking about how people who were full of fear tasted better. His anger and fear peaked and he plunged for the door to get it shut all the way.

His shoulder smacked into the frame of the door because his knees were still weak. The instant his shoulder hit the frame he also reached for the door. The deep grind of a growl, louder than anything he had heard yet echoed around him and gave him the strength needed to slam the door shut. He thought he had seen movement again just as the door closed, his mind convincing him that the beast was rushing the door.

He threw himself backward in anxious expectation. The image of a huge bear with yellow eyes and bared teeth slamming through the wood, roaring like the trumpet of the apocalypse as it dove for him.

The growling had intensified when he shut the door, which fed his fear and wild imagination. Now it subsided again and caused him to picture a beast marching around the building with a horrible intent. The terrible energy that came with the last outburst still surged in his chest, causing him to scramble back to the small cot.

He sat there, silent and alert. Listening intently for the sound of the angry beast to give away its location. After what felt like hours though, no more sounds came. His heart returned to a human beat and the snow still could be heard blowing outside of the aging barn.

He felt his legs beginning to throb, so he decided it was possible that the cold, recent car accident and darkness was fueling his overactive imagination. He felt tired and weak, the exhaustion taking its toll on his body. He decided he should lay down, prop up his legs and allow his body to rest, hoping that tomorrow the storm would subside.

He laid down on the crunchy cot of straw and twisted his body intending to lift his legs and prop them on the support pillar next to him, thinking that getting them elevated would make them stop throbbing. He was looking at the ceiling straight above him, noting that the rafters were large beams of wood. The pattern of the beams creating a grid of support along the ceiling.

As he pondered the beauty of the construction, he lifted his legs and leaned them against the post nearest to him. He heard the growling again, this time feeling the vibration of the sound throughout his whole body. He began to panic and saw movement above him. He realized now that the growling beast was not in fact the yellow eyed grizzly or snarling wolf that he had envisioned outside of the barn door.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The realization that he was laying in the belly of the beast. The realization that the sound that he had imagined to be growling was in fact the old barn beginning to buckle under the immense pressure of the storm. The sudden understanding that his actions since entering had all worsened an already bad situation.

Every time he had touched the building flooded through his mind as the beams in the ceiling above him cracked apart and began to descend toward the barn floor.

The beams and roof panels plummeted toward him as he lay there, some force allowing him to see everything again with clarity. The snowy demon that was this winter storm wouldn’t allow him to get away by simply crawling inside of a building. The storm had turned his shelter against him. The beams and panels smashed against his body as they clattered to the floor on and all around him.

The last image he saw was the white mass from the roof suddenly come crashing down. As the panels came to rest across his body and legs the crushing force of the snow began to pile onto his exposed torso and head, the icy suffocating weight of the snow pressing into his face and mouth. One last image crossed his mind as his vision began to darken. Himself as the “man popsicle” after all.