In the Cold and Dark

It was the middle of January and it was fucking cold. The days were slowly getting longer, but it was still dark by 6 pm. Milly lived about ten blocks from the Walmart where she worked as a greeter. Her entire income was spent on food and shelter for herself and the nine cats she had collected over the years, so she couldn’t afford a car. This meant that Milly had to walk anywhere that she needed to go. Usually that wasn’t a problem – except in the middle of January when it was fucking cold.
Milly had lived her entire life in the confines of this rural Midwestern town so the word “acclimation” had never been applicable. But as she approached her fiftieth birthday, the chill seemed to have developed the ability to wedge fissures in her joints. Her accustomed walk to work became increasingly longer and she needed more time with her hot water bottle to recover.
Milly sighed. It was easy to tell when food stamps and WIC were dispersed because the store was always doubly busy on that day. Women who couldn’t afford babysitters because they had spent all of their money on beer and cigarettes went shopping with their ten children in tow.
Milly had just finished a double shift. She felt tired and increasingly racist as she navigated the crowded aisles between the staff room and the front doors. A small boy wearing dirty jeans and a ripped t-shirt ran into her side and almost knocked her from her feet. The boy’s mother shot Milly a glare as she walked past as if to say “Why didn’t you get out of his way?” Milly finally made it to the door and was nearly swept from her feet again when she stepped outside and was assaulted by the frigid wind. The cold instantly wormed its way up her back from under her coat and down her neck through the loose knit of her scarf. Hairs all over her body stood to attention in a vain attempt to trap warm air next to her skin. Milly’s aching joints audibly groaned as she tucked her mittened hands into her coat pockets and turned towards home.
After the first block Milly started noticing that something was wrong. She had walked to work in all kinds of weather – snow storms, fog, forty below wind-chill factor, you name it – and knew what to expect. But tonight was different. The digital billboard outside of Burger King had said that it was five degrees outside with a negative ten wind-chill. Cold, but nothing she hadn’t survived before. Tonight, however, she was having trouble breathing and her footing was completely obscured by ankle-high, windblown eddies of snow. She had stumbled several times and had to stop every few yards to catch her breath. Usually, Milly could keep herself moving enough to counteract most of the cold, but tonight it seemed to be remarkably tenacious. Fingers of cold caressed her skin before plunging through to her muscles and bones. Three layers of insulation did not seem to deter these attentions. Rhythmic spasms traveled all along her body and Milly felt a painful ache throughout. Once, when she was nine, Milly had gotten a patch of frostbite on her left hand. The skin had gone numb and rigid. This was nothing like that; she felt everything.
The street was completely exposed and Milly was buffeted by every errant gust. As a native of northern Minnesota, she had a crippling fear of depending on others for anything as well as a modest dollop of social anxiety. So, despite her increasing distress, it didn’t occur to Milly to simply duck into a business and ask for help. Instead, she simply pulled her arms out of her sleeves and wrapped them around herself as she trudged on.
At the halfway point, Milly had to turn off of the main road to a side street. This street had both fewer streetlights and hardly any passing cars. There was also no foot traffic besides Milly herself. By this time, Milly had become insensible to everything but putting one foot in front of another. The moon was obscured with clouds and the houses shed only feeble light that didn’t survive to reach the sidewalk. The cold had encased Milly thoroughly and she moved with the jerky, painful motions of a Parkinson’s patient. While she was concentrating on forward momentum, she paid very little attention to her actual direction, trusting routine to guide her home.
Suddenly, Milly pitched forward into a snow bank. This was enough of a shock to break up her congealed thought processes. For some reason Milly was reminded of the day she had gotten frost bite when she was nine. She had been out playing with her older sister, Edie, down by the waterfront. After a while some of Edie’s friends had passed by and Edie had run after them. This was no cause for concern because in 1969 it was still safe for a nine year old to walk alone in the early afternoon. Other than vague feelings of uneasiness when passing the Paul Bunyan statue, Milly wasn’t worried about being left alone.
A slim, fallen branch proved an engaging toy which she used to draw dirty pictures in the unbroken snow. Milly became so engrossed with her fun that she did not notice how much time had passed until it became dark. At this point she was worried, but only that her mother would be angry. The moon had been full and brilliant that night, so finding her way home hadn’t seemed risky. The streets were practically deserted as she walked home. Far from being fearful, Milly was intrigued by the dark, fathomless shadows cast by the moon. As she passed a large oak tree, movement in its shadow caught her attention. She stepped into the shadow, straining her eyes to see what it was, but all she found was a snow cyclone. Then, as now, she abruptly fell into the snow bank concealed by the shadow. Being buried in the snow bank was relatively warmer than standing in the wind. It was also quite fluffy and soft. Milly found herself quite comfortable and for a few moments was reluctant to get up. She imagined herself to be an ice princess resting in her snow flake bed. She giggled at herself. The sound of her laughter brought Milly out of her reverie and she was quite embarrassed. What if someone had seen?
As she started to pick herself up, another movement to her left caught her eye. Her father called the long ribbons of snow driven by the wind snow snakes and that is what seemed to be in the shadow. But it was behaving much differently than a normal snow snake. The thing was indeed made of snow and not quite substantial, but it moved out of sync with the wind, seeming to go where it pleased. Tentatively, Milly reached out her hand. The hoary creature twined itself around her small arm, swirling continuously. Milly stared at it; she had never even heard of anything like it before. She slowly started to turn her body to bring her arm and the creature into the bright moonlight. When the first bit of the snake was brought into the light is convulsed and seemed to strike down at her hand. The blow traveled through her glove and into the flesh as if it were unprotected. Milly winced and the creature swiftly glided away from her. She walked quickly the rest of the way home and managed to forget that anything unusual had ever happened to her.
Now as Milly lay in a snowbank for the second time, she clearly recalled this event and wondered how she could have forgotten. With this recollection she realized that the ground was not covered with eddies of snow, but with thousands of snow snakes. She couldn’t see them, but she also discerned that the fingers of cold inside her clothing were in fact snow snakes that had wormed their way in. The breath that was short before now came in terrified gulps and every inch of her began to spasm. The snakes had found tender prey and they weren’t going to allow her the breath to scream.