Days 0-2 can be read here.

Days 3-5 can be read here.

Days 6-8 can be read here.

Days 9-11 can be read here.

Day Twelve

I finally did it! I made it out of the cabin with no distractions, no neighbours being weird, no animals, no blizzard. I mean, it was snowing, but a manageable amount. I wore a thick jacket, wellies, my biggest backpack and walked out like I was on an Arctic expedition. 

The road looked like it would have been easier to walk down, but the snow on the gritted tarmac had gone to slush, making for a few skids. All very dignified. It took about an hour to get down the 20 minute walk to Mistbirch, I was starving by the time I reached the outskirts, but it was so good to see people walking their dogs on the green and coming out of the village shop.

I laughed off people asking what I was doing out in the snow and walking down the hill instead of driving. I explained that I didn’t want to use the car in this weather, I’d been in a crash once before because of the weather and preferred the longer walk. 

The village cafe was open with no customers. I went in and could see the disappointment that they were just about to shut up shop. I had a nice hot chocolate and a thick sandwich, but I did my best not to take too long there. I didn’t want to delay the waitress getting home, especially if the weather was going to be bad.

The shop was small and I kept banging into things. I took my backpack off and bought a bunch of supplies, having forgotten about my list and just filling up the bag with all sorts. They took cards, luckily, although it took ages for it to go through with the reception. I thanked them and they told me that they would be closed from the 18th. Hopefully I wouldn’t need much more than I was getting. Milk, maybe. I didn’t bother asking about a milkman, I guessed they wouldn’t make it up the hill on a float.

Feeling a lot more civilised for my interactions with folks at the village, I made my journey back up the hill. The snow was much worse, but I was spurred on my human interaction and warmth.

Day Thirteen

I had difficulty sleeping last night. The generator went again and left me in the dark. I’m not afraid of it, but I’ve grown used to having a lamp on while I’m sleeping. I keep it dim, but still on. I woke up and it was off. I thought I’d turned it off or something in my sleep, so I tried to close my eyes and will myself to sleep.

Then the cold started to creep in. The heating was supposed to be on through the night, just low. I pulled the covers close to me and at one point even tried to reach out and grab my dressing gown. It didn’t do much to help. After a little while, I realised maybe it’d be better if I put it on instead, but the moment I got out of bed the cool air hit me. Then the noises. It was probably just my senses adapting to the darkness, but every creak of the floorboards underfoot echoed, it sounded almost like someone was in the cabin. Once I had the gown on I got back in bed and pulled the covers over me.

Sleep came, eventually. I’ve spent the rest of the day shattered, though. It’s been a bit of a lazy one, barring a trip to the loo with a coathanger as a weapon and bundling up mid-morning to get the generator working again.

Day Fourteen

No generator problems today, and I decided to make another trip into the village. That way I’d be able to freshen the supplies that’d expire faster, like milk. Possibly a blanket if there was anywhere which had them. Something to help make things warmer if the genny’s going to keep crapping out.

I may have expected too much from the village and took some time to get a drink at the café, which was one of the only places that was still open. The village shop had some scarves knitted by the mother of the person running it. I picked that up, along with the perishables and had an easier walk back to the village than I did last time.

That’s when things went awry. Maybe I’m just cursed here or something. I don’t know. There was that person from a few days ago, yelling about the skull. I’d expected them to return, even after I’d hidden it. The person was sat on the bench when I got back to the cabin. I called out, trying to be neighbourly, after all, they might have been there to apologise for coming across like a crazy person.

They didn’t respond. I got closer and said hello again, I asked if the person was okay. Still nothing. Once I was close enough, I saw they had a book in their hands and looked like they were reading it, only they weren’t. The person was dead, probably from the cold or… I don’t know. I’d have definitely seen them when I left for the village.

I tried to call the police, but the cabin’s phone wasn’t working. Of course. I’d not really tried using it for anything. My own reception was terrible. It was time to hike back down the hill to the village and tell someone.

By the time I got down there, the shops were closed, the pub had signs up that it was closed for Christmas. I made my way back up and sat on the bench. I’d have to keep trying my phone for the police, and wanted to give the person company. They were a woman, I realised, being sat that near them. Her book was handwritten, all stories about the woods. Fairytales about creatures living around the lake, living in the cave. Each one ended with beings taking people away, leaving things behind as offerings. Generally sticks or stones made to look like their abductee.

Eventually the reception was good enough, the police said they would pop by, ask some questions and take the body away.

I went inside and sat by the window waiting, but no one came. I’m going to bed now, hopefully I’ll get interrupted by the police.

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Advent of Abomination is by Black Armada and available here.