Cold Stop

She knew she had no real reason to be scared, but something about the footprints lodged in the snow ahead of her made her feel hallow.

The wind was howling, lashing at her face - whipping her hair against her numb cheeks. It was only a couple days from Christmas and she didn't want to deal with her car breaking down. All she wanted was to get home and see her family - curled up in a pair of sweatpants in front of a fire. She knew that in order to get there - she had to make it to the gas station first.

It wasn't only the footprints that disturbed her, it was how quiet it was. While the wind was howling, it would occasionally stop and there the silence would come. It was deafening - as if it'd be ale to be cut with a knife. She heard no other cars on the road, no sounds emerged from the gas station's convenience store. All she could hear was herself wheezing as the bitter cold air entered her lungs. It was also peculiar to her that up until reaching the gas station, it had been snowing, rather heavily. At first she thought the station was like a beacon, guiding her to the solution to her problem - but then she thought it was too perfect.

By this point her brain was filling with nonsense - fears she had as a kid or had read in trashy horror stories. Murders stalking women in the snow, hiding in their backseat while they weren't in the car, chasing them through the woods with an axe.

She knew if she stood still any longer she was going to lose that fight with her imagination.

With the thought of a glowing fire at home and the sweet aroma of her mother's apple pie, she drudged forward, following the footprints that had been laid out before her.