The Cold Inside

Enjoy the misery of today, for tomorrow, will be worse. Anna heard this every morning, said to herself upon waking. It had become her involuntary mantra.

Anna placed her hand on the frozen surface of the pond. Not completely smooth, it was bumpy with embedded imperfections. Still, when polished with her hand, she could peer through down into the dark ice-covered water. Somewhere between, she saw her reflection. Her eyes were sad, miserable, unhappy, lonely, and otherwise empty. Something had to change.

She had arrived here to skate—alone. Worried she had forgotten how, the last time she skated, she was nine years old. There was no one who wanted to go skating. Childish, they said. She was well into adulthood, and she was going to skate.  However, first, she would look at her reflection, wondering where she could find more life.

Anna heard the worst sound imaginable.

The ice shattered before her, washing away her reflection. Water blackened the ice everywhere, and freezing water splashed on Anna’s face. 

A frozen hand grabbed the back of her neck, wrenching her down into the water. She hadn’t time to take a breath. There was no light. Everything was black. Soon she would have to breathe.

Anna was thrown from the icy water. The moment her face touched the air, she gasped. The rush of cold winter air burned her lungs. She opened her eyes to an overcast sky, the frozen pond at her back.

Stunned, the first thing she noticed laying there was the moon. Nearly full in the afternoon sky, she hadn’t noticed earlier. The trees were still in the absence of a breeze, snow resting undisturbed on the branches.  Everything was quiet, and she was alone.

Anna sat up, inspecting her clothing. Nothing was soaked in water; she was completely dry. Her brown suede coat was unharmed, her brown hair was a mess, and her knitted green scarf was torn. Broken wool was hanging like straw. She loved that scarf. A strand fell off in her pale, colder than normal hand. 

She skated to the edge of the pond to find her bag. There was nothing there—her bag, her boots—even her footprints in the snow were gone. It was then she noticed the frozen area of the pond appeared to be larger, covering more area. There was less snow embanking the perimeter, and the ice reached from far rock wall to wall of the clearing. There was no path leading out to the road. Maybe she was confused, turned around, and this was the opposite side of the pond.

Still, with her skates firmly in place, Anna travelled around the edge of the lake—nothing. The natural stone walls on either side of the pond were the same, the tall evergreen trees everywhere, even the drawings on the rocks were the same. It was all somehow—wrong.

Confused, Anna stopped and rested against a stone wall. Twirling the scrap of torn green wool in her fingers. What had happened?

The string was plucked from her hand. Anna turned to see who it was. A drawing on the rocks of a little crude stick figure—its head was a half-circle, and its limbs were joined in not quite the right places—was twirling the wool in its hands, which was now no more than a line of green paint. It expediently slipped the material into a painted drawing of a rudimentary loom.

Anna was about to scream, yet she didn’t. She was too drawn into the actions of the loom, mesmerized by the weaving. She couldn’t look away. Part of her wanted to be scared. However, this felt—important. She was physically drawn to stand before the rock wall, her attention steadfast.

***

After a time, a song in the distance caught Anna’s attention. The loom stopped and everything was still. Awakened from her gazing, Anna turned around, looking back across the pond.

“Oh my, oh, my oh,” the song was faint and distant. “Pulls you in, pulls you out,” the song continued faintly.

Anna looked around. There was no one anywhere.

The water at the centre of the pond splashed. Glancing back at the drawing on the rock, nothing moved. Everything was as frozen as the ice. Cautiously, she skated closer to the break in the pond. The song became louder. Anna dared to peek over, down into the water.  Her reflection was singing back to her.

“Anna!,” the reflection exclaimed in shock and delight. 

Shaking, Anna couldn’t stand. She felt like she would fall into the pond. She knelt next to the water to steady herself, unable to take her gaze away from this...doppelganger.

The delighted expression was replaced by a perturbed one. “Anna,” the reflection continued. “I thought you were so pretty. I loved your coat. I thought of all the ways I could do up your hair. You looked fun. Your face lied, Anna. You have no friends, you have no fun, your home is drab and dull. Everything is messed up, backwards,”—the doppelganger shook with outrage,—“and torn apart! I don’t like your life, you can have it back.” Taking a deep breath, she looked angry—unnaturally angry. “You can have it back!” she screamed.

The doppelganger slammed her fists onto the ice.  This time, two icy hands clenched Anna’s neck, faster than human. Instinctively, Anna grabbed the cold hands, trying to pry them off. They held fast, plunging her once again into the water. Once again, she hadn’t taken a breath first, only this time it was because she was choking. The doppelganger was angry.

Soon enough, Anna felt the air, felt the cold hands fall away, and she breathed.  Sitting on the wet ice, she was dry except for where her clothing rested on the puddle.

The air was brisk, there was no moon, and her missing things were there in the snowbank at the edge of the frozen pond where she had left them. Normality.

Anna wasn’t about to go looking into the pond again.  She skated around the break in the ice, replaced her skates with her shoes, gathered all her things, and headed down the road.

There was one thing, one difference. A large piece of paper protruded from a pocket on the outside of her bag. Removing it, Anna realized it was a hand-written note. Reading it, she didn’t know how to feel.

Anna. I’ve made a few changes for you. Things will be...different.