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Daniel wasn't sure if he should curse God or beg Him for forgiveness. Either way, it wouldn't change his predicament — trudging through snow in the woods. A small girl complained at his side.
The girl was the biggest surprise. Out of everything that happened, he didn't expect to be stuck with a snotty little brat. A parasite, more like. He never said that out loud, of course. But he would narrow his eyes at her, and she'd stick out her tongue in return. And that was the most they talked about it.
She claimed she was thirteen. She looked like she was nine. He called her Cupcake because of the pink sparkly backpack she wore. She didn't bother to offer up her real name. It was just as well, he supposed. Stranger danger and all that.
Though, he figured whoever warned her about strangers did a rather shit job.
When he stumbled upon her, she was wielding a metal baseball bat that would've taken out his knee if her aim wasn't so off. He easily took it out of her hands, and instead of being afraid, she just blew a raspberry at him and kicked his leg. They argued. He kept the bat. It was sticking out of his backpack now.
At first, he tried to leave her there and walk away. She followed him. Then, he attempted to drop her off at the nearest shelter. She made a huge scene about him abandoning her. There weren't many options left to choose from. Especially now.
He asked where her parents were. That she could go bother them instead. She told him they weren't around. It was the first thing she said without an antagonizing tone or smirk. Neither of them brought it up again.
He mentioned to her that he could be a serial killer. He could kill her, and no one would find her under the eternal snow. She dared him to do it. He told her it wasn't the right time. He alluded to it whenever she got annoying.
At that point, it was clear she wasn't going anywhere. They were stuck together. For better or worse.
Days passed on and here they were. The middle of fucking nowhere. They were lucky it was summer. The cold got unbearable in the winter.
“Are we there yet?” Cupcake asked for the tenth time.
Daniel glared at her. It was probably stupid — a grown-ass man getting into spats with a toddler, but he didn't think anyone still around cared about things like that anymore. “Does it look like we're there?”
Cupcake threw her hands up. “I don't know where ‘there’ is!”
He sighed. Loud and harsh so she could know her antics were winning. “I told you. There should be a cabin around here. We're stopping there for tonight.” When the sun went down, it got harder to travel.
Cupcake crossed her arms, pushing her shoulders up to her ears. “We haven't seen anything. We're lost.”
That might have been true. The map Daniel had been given was made before things turned barren and cold. Landscapes looked surprisingly different buried under snow. He didn't travel through this area enough to know it like the locals did. There was a chance they got turned around.
He didn't say any of that. “We're not lost.” He looked down at the map in his hands like it still made sense. “I'm sure if we walk a little bit more, we'll see something.”
Cupcake grumbled. She kept her arms crossed.
As the sun crept toward the horizon, they did finally see something. Like a striking castle, a log cabin appeared in their view. It was something leftover from before the snow. Probably someone's vacation home. Maybe a hunting cabin. It had a small porch. A broken rocking chair and piles of smashed sticks that might have been other furniture sat to one side. The stone chimney was thick and stout. A large window sunk into the wall beside the front door. Thankfully, neither of them were broken. The door even seemed sturdy.
“Hurry up. It’s cold.” Cupcake blew air into her mitten-covered hands.
Daniel wanted to remind her that it was always cold now. Instead, he wondered if she ever knew warm summers. “I could leave you outside,” he ended up saying, “let the cold take care of you for me.”
She lowered her hands and jutted her chin up with a defiant pout. “I’ll break all the windows.”
He let a smirk slip past.
The key was where the locals said it would be. He assumed an honor system stopped someone from running off with it.
Usually, settlements or shelters he visited would often try to send someone who knew the terrain with him. He always declined, no matter how much they insisted. Until Cupcake, he traveled alone. But this settlement merely sent him off with an outdated map, vague instructions, and a good luck. The whole interaction made him feel like he and Cupcake were guests overstaying their welcome. He didn’t think too much of it. It might have been too close to sundown to send anyone. Or maybe they didn’t like strangers. Maybe it was something else entirely. When people accustomed to sunlight stopped getting it as often, they tended to get weird. He decided it didn’t matter, though. They told him where the cabin was. That was all he needed — a checkpoint between here and there.
When he put the key in, he discovered the door was unlocked. Shrugging it off, he let the door swing open.
“Thank you, Daniel.” She always said his name like that. As if she couldn’t believe his parents would call him something so silly.
He rolled his eyes. “Sure, Cupcake.” He liked to remind her that her name was sillier.
Inside, the orange beams of sunlight didn’t penetrate the darkness. All the windows had their curtains drawn. A musty smell felt thick in the air. The furniture was basic. A worn-out couch, a gas stove, and a battered bed. The hand-carved table and chairs were in disarray near the kitchenette.
Daniel wondered how often people stayed here. If anyone ever came by to do maintenance. In another life, he might have been put off by the unkemptness of the entire place. He didn’t have that luxury anymore.
He tried the light switch. Nothing turned on. He should have expected that. Not many people desired to waste electricity or gas on their pit stop houses.
“Look for candles,” he said, setting his bag down near the door.
Cupcake dropped her backpack on the couch and started searching through the cabinets. Every so often, she would make a quiet, disgusted sound.
Whoever had been here last left their firewood behind. Whether it was negligence or generosity, Daniel was grateful for it regardless. Gathering firewood was his least favorite thing to do, even when the sun was out.
“I found this.” Cupcake held a box of matches in her palm.
He sighed. “I wish you said that before I did this the hard way.” The fire sparked to life on the kindling, and he stood up. He lost his lighter long ago, and matches were not easily given out. Thankfully, someone traded him flint and steel for a favor. He kept it tucked away in his backpack, careful not to lose it. Maybe they should keep the matches.
“No candles?” He checked the box. A decent amount left.
“Nope.” She made a popping sound with the ‘p’. She sat herself down in front of the fireplace. The fire continued to eat away at the kindling, jumping onto the nearest logs. “You can check outside if you want.”
He was sure there would be some sort of storage around back. There was no way in hell he would wander around in the dark. He placed the matches on the fireplace mantle. “I'm good, thanks.” He returned to his backpack to put the flint and steel into their safe location.
“Daniel.”
Daniel paused. He turned his head over his shoulder. “What?”
Cupcake gave him a weird look. “What?”
“Did you say my name?”
Her weird look stayed in place. “No?”
He stared at her. He was sure…
“You’re losing it, old man.”
At that, he rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He zipped up the bag and sat on the couch. It wasn't super comfortable, but it was better than the floor.
They sat in silence while the fire kept growing. Daniel hoped he wouldn't have to keep an eye on it the whole night. It was too soon to tell if this place kept in heat well. If it didn't, he needed to maintain the fire so they wouldn't freeze to death. It wouldn't be the first time he had to pull an all-nighter.
He was tired. Of all of it. He hated the snow and the cold. He hated the constant traveling. That part was his own fault, he knew. Nothing was stopping him from joining a shelter. Plenty of settlements offered him a place to stay. He chose to move on — to keep walking. Drifitng from place to place like a lost ghost. He still hated it. Maybe he was just afraid that if he stopped… that would be it. He would have to accept the snow and the cold and that everything he knew was gone. Sometimes, he wondered what the point was anymore.
His eyes swept to Cupcake’s silhouette. Her outline glowed and flickered with the fire.
The cold made him bitter. It made everyone bitter. Then there was this girl full of flames and warmth and crackling laughter. He tried so hard to get rid of her. They squabbled a lot. They both liked to be right. And he knew he got up every morning to keep squabbling.
He also knew he would stop traveling if she asked. He wasn't sure when that happened. But he knew now that if she wanted, she could tell him to stay, and they would stay. He would build a house with his bare hands for her if he had to.
She wouldn't ask, though. He knew that just as well as everything else. She was drifting the same as him. Never asking where they were going. Where the final destination was. Just accepting the new list of places to go. She didn't know how to stop, either.
She stood up suddenly. When she faced him, it was hard to see past the shadows. “Can we eat before bed?”
He blinked. “Sure.” Then, suspiciously, “Why do you sound like you have something in mind?”
Instead of answering, she skipped over to the couch and opened her backpack. She stuck her hand inside. Daniel wasn't sure how she managed to keep so many things in such a tiny backpack. She pulled out something wrapped carefully in rags. As she unraveled it, it crinkled like plastic. It was plastic.
Daniel’s eyes widened at the candy bar. “Where the hell did you get that?” Prepackaged foods were scarce. He heard stories of factories still producing limited supplies but wasn't sure he believed it. Plastic seemed so ancient now.
Cupcake grinned sheepishly. “I may have found it when we stopped in that town with the frozen fountain.”
“You've been holding onto this for two days?” He probably should have told her not to steal things.
She shrugged. “I wanted to save it for a special occasion, but being alive is special enough, I guess.”
He held out his hand for the candy bar. She gave it to him. It felt odd to hold one after so long. Once so mundane and common, the plastic wrapper was foreign under his fingertips. He was sure it was long past the best-by date — there was no way in hell Cadbury could somehow still produce chocolate, of all things — but he didn't think it mattered much. Candy lasted forever, didn't it? It's not like it would kill them, anyhow.
He patted the couch. Cupcake dropped her backpack to the floor to sit down. He opened the chocolate bar, trying not to get emotional over the nostalgia, and broke off a piece. He gave it to Cupcake. She waited until he had his own piece before taking a bite.
Daniel probably could have cried right then and there if he had a fraction less self-control. He couldn't remember the last time he had chocolate. The texture was off, and it was definitely stale, but holy shit it was candy.
“Being alive is definitely a good enough occasion for that,” he whispered.
She smiled.
They shared the rest of the chocolate and joked and talked about random things. For the first time ever, Daniel told her stories from before the snow. About friends he could no longer see and family members long passed. She listened with rapt attention.
Once he saw her pretend not to yawn a second time, he stood up. “You’re doing that thing you do where you try to talk the whole night.”
She rubbed her eye. “I would never.”
He raised a brow.
“It’s not my fault you like the sound of your own voice.”
He laughed a bit. “Go to bed.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re not my dad.” She got off the couch anyway.
“Daniel.”
They both froze. He gazed at Cupcake. Although it was her voice, he didn’t see her mouth move. Her eyes were wide.
“That wasn’t me,” she said lowly.
He matched her tone, “I know.”
It came from the front door. He couldn’t see out the window. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
“Cupcake.”
A chill ran down his back. He almost felt the need to grab his throat — touch his lips to feel that they hadn’t parted. His own voice came from the opposite side. The wall with the bed.
“Daniel. Daniel.” The sound moved slowly, like someone talking as they walked away. But the voice wasn’t right. It was Cupcake’s, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn’t as if she was repeating his name. It sounded like a recording. The same exact intonation every single time.
Cupcake stepped closer to Daniel. “What is that?” she whispered.
“What is that?” repeated the voice; her horrified whisper seemed mocking when it came from outside.
She covered her mouth.
Daniel didn’t answer. His eyes shot over to the door. Sturdy and heavy. Now, he was extra aware of the three locks the door had. The bottom two were locked. The top was a barrel bolt he hadn’t bothered touching. He motioned for Cupcake to stay there as he crept toward the door. Every step on the creaking wood sounded too loud.
“Daniel.” It was right by the door again.
“Cupcake.”
He slowly slid the lock in place. The curtain covering the window wasn’t flush with the wall. Even in the darkness, he could see snow. He decided to keep his eyes away from the window. In doing that, he caught the handle sticking out of his backpack. He tugged the bat out. It might have been stupid. It provided the comfort of security, if nothing else.
“Cupcake.” His voice seemed to move more than the other one. Pacing from wall to wall. “Look for candles.”
He returned to his spot next to Cupcake. She stepped even closer to him. Her eyes darted around as if the things with their voices would shove their faces inside. He kept his eyes on the door.
“Dan —?”
He quickly covered her mouth, startling her.
“Dan?” the voice at the front duplicated. “Dan? Daniel.”
He put a finger up to his lips. She covered her mouth again. She inched nearer so that their bodies were pressed together.
“You can check outside if you want.”
“Cupcake.”
They were circling the cabin. One moved faster than the other. Erratic and impatient, striding back and forth as the slow one crawled at its own rate. The only evidence that they moved was the location of the voices. Daniel strained to hear but he couldn’t make out anything else. No snapping branches or crunching snow.
Opposed to their voices outside, Daniel and Cupcake stayed silent and still. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. Cupcake could fit under the bed if it came down to it, but he wasn’t sure how effective that could be. They couldn’t just run outside, either. Not in the dark and certainly not through the snow. They were stuck right where they were, with the fireplace hissing and popping behind them.
“Are we there yet?” Suddenly, the sporadic moving one switched to Cupcake’s voice. “We haven't seen anything. We're lost.”
“We’re not lost.”
“I don't know where ‘there’ is!”
“There should be a cabin around here.”
“Hurry up. It’s cold.”
“I'm good, thanks.”
“Can we eat before bed?”
Then, Daniel’s quiet laughter.
Cupcake clutched Daniel’s jacket with both hands. He could tell she wanted to say something. Ask questions. She was trembling.
He wished he could speak to her. Comfort her in some way. He hated that he couldn't. Anything that came out of his mouth would be parroted back to her from outside. It was best to stay silent. Keep her terror to a minimum. He realized it was sort of like choosing not to throw gasoline on a roaring fire, but what else could he do?
The voices continued to mimic them. They said their names often and used Cupcake’s complaint about it being cold more than once. Occasionally, they recited her line about checking outside. Then it stopped. There was only the crackling fire.
Daniel held his breath. His skin still pricked like millions of eyes were on the both of them. Dread sprouted in his stomach, growing and fanning out to the tips of his fingers. He put his hand on Cupcake’s back. He wanted to tell her to hide under the bed. Shove her under there if he had to. Just so she could have an extra layer of protection between her and whatever the fuck was outside.
Something tapped the front window. A fingernail against the glass. There were thumps along the wall of the kitchenette. Gentle almost. Daniel was reminded of his mother knocking on his door before popping her head in. It moved around the cabin. It knocked on the wall in high places, and it knocked on the wall in low places. Up, up, down, down. Tracing an invisible wavelength across the walls.
The tapping on the glass bounced around the windows. There were four. One by the front door, two by the bed, and a small one over the kitchen sink. It seemed to tap out some sort of rhythm. A beat to a song Daniel couldn’t figure out.
“Dan? Dan? Dan?”
Laughter. One of them was Daniel’s. His quiet chuckle looped like a broken record. The other he didn’t recognize. A woman’s hearty guffaw. This, too, looped unnaturally. He looked at Cupcake. She seemed even more horrified than before. He tightened his grip on the bat.
“Stop!”
Daniel jumped. Cupcake let out a startled cry, partially muffled by her face in Daniel’s side. This was another voice. Some poor soul wailing in agony.
The knocking on the walls turned to pounding.
“Help!” a woman shrieked. “Please! Help!”
It sounded like someone was stitching separate audio files together.
“Show yourself,” a man bellowed.
Cupcake pulled on Daniel’s jacket. Her face was pleading. She wanted him to do something. Fix it. Make it better like he always did. He was the reason she was always safe. The reason she had warm clothes and food and someone who watched over her. Someone who solved all her problems. She was scared… but Daniel was scared too. He didn't know what was outside. He didn't know what it could do. They weren't human; that much was obvious. But he didn't know what they wanted. He had a hunch. He didn't want to think too hard about it. There weren't many options to choose from.
As long as they stayed inside, they were safe. He had to believe that was true. He didn't know what he would do if it wasn't.
“We’re trapped,” another man yelled.
“Like the lions,” a child exclaimed happily.
Daniel shut his eyes. He grabbed Cupcake and held her as tight as he could. She burrowed herself in his jacket. Her small hands clutched at his back as if letting go would be the end of the world. It hit him harder now than ever before how small she was. Her head barely reached his chest. Her body could disappear inside his jacket.
He wondered if he should pray. If it would be the very last time he ever did.
The voices frantically circled around the cabin. The walls shook, rattling the windows. They screamed. They laughed. Sometimes, they became eerily calm. There was someone gently coaxing an animal outside. A father showing their child the snow. When that happened, the banging on the walls stopped. There would be a pause. Then the screaming would start again.
By the end of the night, they no longer said words. Their human voices melted into growls and snarls. If they tried to speak, they sounded like howls of a wounded animal. A dog mimicking speech without knowing what it means. They began to trail away from the cabin.
Silence followed.
After hours of noise, the stillness was almost stifling. Daniel and Cupcake stayed where they were. They didn't dare move. Neither of them tried to speak. The silence continued.
Daniel took a few deep breaths. He needed to check. He dropped his arms from around Cupcake. His hand ached, but he continued to hold onto the bat, adjusting it to provide faux relief to his cramping fingers. He motioned for Cupcake to stay where she was.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. She waved her hands and tugged on his jacket. He could practically see the “please” forming in her mouth. But she didn't utter a sound.
He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. He tried to smile. It was the only thing he could do to show her it was fine. He motioned again for her to stay put and stepped away. His legs shook as they moved for the first time in hours. His feet started to remember they weren't part of the floor. Every step he took hurt, but he kept going.
When he reached the front door, he peeked out the window, hesitantly holding the curtain like it would bite him. He saw snow and the reddish beams of sunrise. He craned his neck further to see as much out the window as possible. No matter where he looked, he saw the same thing. Snow and first light.
He dropped the curtain. He stood in front of the door. Still strong and sturdy. He glanced back. Cupcake hadn't budged. She looked like a coiled spring. He unlocked each lock with a slow, unsteady hand. Before he opened it, he took a breath.
He poked his head outside. The freezing air bit at his face. His eyes scanned the snow, and searched past the treeline. There was nothing. He continued to stare out into the barren vastness, but he came up with nothing every time.
He shut the door and hurried to Cupcake’s side. He snatched her backpack off the floor and handed it to her. She put it on as she followed him back to the door, stumbling a little. He picked up his own backpack on the way out. He realized he left the matches and extra wood behind, but the thought of stepping foot back inside that cabin was squashed as soon as it came.
Cupcake took his free hand as they strode down the porch. She was still shaking.
Daniel noticed a trench in the snow surrounding the cabin. A circle worn down by multiple passes. He started walking a little faster.
Now that he could hear nothing but the wind, a thought forced itself into his mind. Did those things come with the snow? Or… had they always been here? He wasn't sure either answer would comfort him.
Neither of them spoke again until they left the woods.