The Whispering Winds

The cabin was cold and empty as I entered through the old wooden door, which creaked quietly as it closed behind me. I secured the metal latch, which held the old, weathered door shut. I shivered as I removed my snow-covered coat and boots, allowing the blood to rush back into my numb feet and toes. I finally made it in for the night; just before the storm.

I made my way towards the stack of logs next to the fireplace; plenty enough to get me through the night. I started building a fire as the wind began whispering quietly outside. Once the dry logs were placed in the firebox, I collected old newspapers to kindle a flame. “FAMILY GONE MISSING,” one read. "SEARCH PARTIES MEET ANOTHER DEAD END.” I glanced at the papers before stuffing them between the few logs and kindling, ready to be burnt. I’d already read the outdated articles, and as horrible as the that news story had been, I was ready for some heat.

After a while the flames ate up the once lightless room as dancing shadows appeared on the walls. Many elements of my one-room cabin now became visible: the rusted axe next to the stack of wood, the various skins and pelts resting around the room, and my trusty shotgun over the headboard of my bed. The wind was still whispering outside, only a bit louder than before. I felt blood rush into my ears and face as I warmed up by the fire, reaching my hands out to catch some warmth. I gazed into the embers, thinking of the summers I would experience back home just before. A year or so had passed since then; I had moved away, repaired this little cabin, and found myself a new home. A fresh start, you might call it...Just me and the open wilderness. I wouldn’t call myself the next Thoreau, but I find peace here. Quiet. The circumstances that led me here, however, are not so convenient.

As I stood up away from the fireplace, noting the intensity of the storm outside. It was coming in a lot quicker than the papers had led on; the wind was singing high-pitches through the cracks of the cabin’s old boards, and snow began to heavily pile up outside. I had always found something eerie about the wind’s sounds, but it wasn’t new to me. This wasn’t my first windy, cold winter night. It was getting late, and I made my way towards my bed on the other end of the one room cabin. The shadows on the wall moved quickly as the flame flickered violently, almost being blown out by the drafts. I undressed and began pulling myself under the covers before the cabin’s only window burst open, the fire cowering towards the wall opposite. Flurries of snow quickly blew in, carried by the screaming songs of the air. I raced over to the window, slamming it shut as the snow stopped coming in and the flames returned back to normal.

I slowly began drifting to sleep in the comfort of my bed. Soon I couldn’t see the red warmth of the flame through my eyelids nor could I hear the sounds of the storm outside. Instead, as I drifted deeper into sleep, I began seeing images of a woman--her eyes were beautifully familiar--but I couldn’t remember who it could have been. It was warm, like the summers back before. I no longer could feel the cold of the room I was sleeping in. I observed the woman as she moved around the empty room dreamily....It was as if I were in a good memory, but in that moment, I felt disdain for the woman and didn’t know why. Suddenly, the familiar eyes showed fear and the warmth quickly disappeared. She raised her hands and shielded her face, opening her mouth as everything went black. I heard a low, whistling scream, but the woman was still gone, the room still black. My eyes raced beneath my eyelids. The warmth was back now, but there was no woman. There was no light or good memories or happiness...Just the sound of that blood-curdling scream, and I still felt disdain--and for the first time tonight--fear. Another image appeared; a large pile of ashes. I soon realized that this had been no ordinary fire, and it was also all too familiar. An axe lay next to the flames, stained in dried blood; whoever tried cleaning it clearly struggled in doing so. Upon closer examination to the pile of ashes, I saw a tooth--a jaw--charred bones...human remains. I stepped back, seeing that my hands were covered in black ash. I wasn’t witnessing this; this was of my doing. Violent flames burst suddenly from the pile of ash; that low, whistling scream pounded through my ears and into my brain. I felt an unbearable amount of pain--physical pain--as the sound wouldn’t escape my head. I now remembered who that woman was, and who had killed her...

I bolt upright in my bed to see my room engulfed in flames. This wasn’t in my dream anymore. This was real. I burst out of bed as my heart raced, falling in a heap to the floor. The fire was spreading, consuming everything in sight. How did I not wake up? How is this happening? These thoughts were interrupted by that deafening scream from before. Now I struggled to concentrate on a way of escaping. Was my past finally coming back to bite me? Was I going absolutely mad? My head throbbed in pain, but I had to escape. My eyes desperately scanned the room, but there was no way out. A wall of fire consumed the other end of the room, leaving me in the corner that housed my bed...and my shotgun above. I couldn’t see any way out of this, but there was no God to save me now, especially after all that I’ve done.

Slowly, a figure appeared out from the flames...I realized who it was, that woman from my dream, my wife. Her skin was black with ash and her clothes charred. She looked as if someone had reassembled her remains from the fire I had seen before. Her mouth was open wide, as if her jaw was barely attached to the rest of her skull. The scream...the howling winds...were coming from her. I’ve gone mad, I thought to myself. I blinked, but she was still there, the fire following behind her in her footsteps. Drenched in sweat, I scrambled towards the shotgun above my headboard, and aimed it towards her. I had killed her once and I was going to do it again. I aimed it in-between her cold, red eyes, pulling the trigger. Nothing happened, the wind only became more deafening. She didn’t seem to be affected whatsoever; her charred remains stayed intact despite the buckshot that had just gone through her. I tried again, and, again, and again, only seeing the flash from the barrel but hearing nothing but that deafening scream.

Everything became blurry as my vision went, that deafening sound growing stronger and stronger in my head. The physical pain across my body was insurmountable. There is only one way out. I turned the barrel towards myself and felt for the trigger. I couldn’t think over the screams as my finger slowly applied more and more pressure.

The howling stopped.

A few weeks later, a man was found dead from self-inflicted gunshot wounds in a secluded cabin following a record storm. There was no suicide note, no signs of outside danger, and no damage to the cabin other than the toll the harsh winters had taken over the years. Legend has it that a pile of charred human remains were found at the man’s feet, but authorities have yet to release any information.

Author's Note

My first time writing. Thanks for the read! :)