Alan moved slowly around his bedroom, fluffing his pillows and savoring the rare luxury of getting into bed early in the evening. With a snowstorm fast approaching, the old man was content to hunker down and sleep through it all, safe and warm.
Just as he was about to settle into his freshly made bed, the doorbell rang, startling him. “Who could it be at this hour?” he grumbled, shuffling downstairs. Opening the door, he found his young neighbor, her face pale and anxious.
“Mr. Rogers, there’s a cat in your backyard. It must be freezing,” the sweet girl said, her voice tinged with urgency. Alan thanked her and went to check on the cat. But as he drew closer, his steps faltered and his face went pale; there was something chilling hidden underneath the cat’s belly.
Alan had spent his entire life in the quiet town of Berkshire, a place that held all his memories. He was born and raised here, met and married his beautiful wife Helen, and together they shared 35 years in this very house, building a life that once felt unbreakable.
But that chapter had ended long ago. With Helen gone for over a decade, Alan had become accustomed to the solitude, filling his days with routine and chores, the quiet hum of the clock his only company.
At 75, he was still determinedly independent, stubbornly mowing his own lawn and keeping the house in order, though the weight of loneliness lingered in every corner. Winter, however, was different. The cold gnawed at his old bones, every gust of harsh wind a reminder of his frailty.
With a snowstorm looming, as warned by the local authorities, Alan hurried through his chores, eager to retreat to the sanctuary of his bed, away from the creeping chill and the loneliness that always felt harsh in the cold.