The Icy Touch

Within the foggy, snow-capped mountains there once was a community that experienced year-round winter. The peasants' lives were entwined into the cycles of the seasons, so they were used to the cold.

However, one thing that remained constant was the shadowy presence they came to refer to as "The Icy Touch."

The tales had been handed down through the years. Some claimed it was the ghost of a long-dead woman who got lost in a snowstorm and had her soul frozen in the ice. Some believed that the old deity, enraged by some forgotten injustice, had cursed the village.

Regardless of the reality, the villagers were certain of one thing: you would never be the same after feeling the icy, sly touch on your skin.

Amara had consistently written off the tales as antiquated beliefs. She was a grounded individual who disregarded curses and ghosts. However, something altered that winter.

It was the coldest she had ever experienced, piercing through the thickest wool. And she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a sensation of waiting.

Amara sat by the fire one night, trying to get rid of the worry that had crept into her chest while the wind howled outside her tiny house. Despite the flickering shadows the flames produced on the walls, she was unable to feel the warmth. The cold continued to creep into her bones even as she pulled the blanket tighter about her shoulders.

Suddenly, the wind outside grew stronger, rattling the windows and sending a shiver down her spine. The fire flickered, dimmed, and then—without warning—was snuffed out, plunging the room into darkness.

Amara’s heart skipped a beat as she fumbled for a candle, her fingers trembling.

She lit the candle, its small flame flickering uncertainly, and that’s when she felt it—a soft, cold touch on the back of her neck. It was as if a hand, made of ice, had gently grazed her skin. She froze, the breath catching in her throat.

"Is someone there?"

she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

The stifling silence that accompanied the wind's rage was all that was heard. But the contact persisted, frigid and persistent, like though there was something invisible immediately behind her, its icy fingers caressing her neck.

With her heart thumping loudly in her chest, Amara turned slowly, the candlelight creating unsettling shadows in the room's corners. However, all that was present was the chill, which made the atmosphere appear denser around her. Her senses became dead as the contact grew stronger and crept across her flesh like frost.

Anxiety swept through her. She whispered to herself, trying to get the panic out of her system, "No, this isn't real." However, the contact persisted, becoming increasingly icy and forceful.

The air itself seemed to have come alive and enveloped her in an icy shroud.

Desperate to get out of the grasp of whatever was in the room with her, she staggered in the direction of the door. But the cold got worse as she went for the handle, and she could feel it seeping into her chest and making it difficult for her to breathe.

The flame flickered erratically, creating bizarre shadows that appeared to dance with a sinister joy.

Her voice quivering, she said, "Please... leave me alone." The cold, which now felt like a grip squeezing around her heart, was the only thing that responded.

Amara suddenly understood what the people had been afraid of for so long. She was being claimed by the genuine, living Icy Touch, which wasn't simply a myth. The chill was alive and it craved her life, her warmth.

She made one more attempt to pry open the door and fell into the snow. The chill that clung to her flesh and wouldn't go away was far worse than the icy wind that swept around her.

She collapsed to her knees, gasping in sharp breaths, and felt the contact again, this time final, cold, and soft as oblivion descended.

She was motionless, her eyes wide with fear, her complexion as pale as the snow around her, when the villagers discovered her the following morning.

They were aware of what had occurred, and they were saddened by The Icy Touch's taking of another life. However, there was nothing they could do but wait for the cold to return and for its lethal touch to fall on another unhappy life.

The promise of another winter was conveyed by the howling wind that howled across the center of the settlement. and one more touch.