Arctic Apocalpyse Writer Prompt Winner

The power went out. The house grew cold. Something moved in the attic. 

 

I pressed my back against the cracked plaster of the hallway wall, shivering, stomach growling. My jacket was thin, the kind you find in abandoned cabins that were never meant to last through a storm like this. The sound above me wasn’t wind or creaking beams. It was deliberate. Scraping. Patient. My stomach twisted as I realized I wasn’t alone. Something was testing the floorboards, moving toward the stairs. My flashlight trembled in my hands but it was because of the light of the moon I saw a shadow slither along the ceiling, long and thin-limbed, bending in ways that should have been impossible. Its eyes glowed orange, faint but alive, reflecting my flashlight like dying embers. It hissed, a wet, intelligent sound that made my stomach drop.

 

I ran. My feet skidded on the frost-hardened boards. I tried the front door. Frozen solid. Back door. Snowdrifts pressing tight. There was nowhere to go so I went out the window. Better to freeze than be eaten. 

Then a light glimmered in the dark. Sparks hissed as someone stepped forward, cloaked in heavy coats and goggles fogged with breath. They carried a weapon, something I didn’t understand at first, but it hummed with a dangerous energy.

The voice barked. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. I dropped, heart hammering, as the creature shrieked and lunged.

 

I wanted to breathe, wanted to cry, but the storm had other plans.

 

Sparks tore into the monster’s chest, sending it stumbling. Trees cracked under its weight as it lunged, claws slashing, jaws snapping. I ducked behind a mound, feeling the wind from its strikes brush my face. The storm roared, the snow thick and blinding. 

 

I awoke the next morning back inside the cabin. 

 

The storm never left me. Even inside the cabin, even under blankets, I could feel it. Not outside, not in the wind but inside me. A cold pulse, like claws brushing against my ribs, stretching my limbs too long, bending them in ways I could almost control.

 

The stranger was gone now. I found only footprints and blood stains in the snow, leading into the forest, and a rifle lying half-buried. I wanted to tell myself they left me because I was safe, because I survived. That they went to get help, maybe to save someone else. But when I touch my chest, I feel warmth that is not mine, and when I look in the mirror, my eyes are faintly orange in the corners, glowing just enough that I cannot look away. 

 

I should be hungry but I feel full. I hear whispers in the snow. They move just beyond the edge of vision. Sometimes, when I blink, I see long limbs creeping along the ceiling, or a shadow twisting like it shouldn’t be able to.

 

I thought the storm chose the strong. Maybe it did. I am not sure where I end and the storm begins. All I know is that night will come again. The storm will find me and I will follow.