freezing point - chapter 1

(I didn't mark this as containing bad language but fair warning there is one curse word at the very end)

Even though the cabin looked homey from outside, I strongly doubted it would be fun to fit five men into it. Even less so if one of them was Colton.

It was a simple structure, with a gabled roof made of stacked logs. It was elevated so that there were a few steps leading up to the porch, which was only wide enough for a chair or two in the summertime. It had that quaint charm to it that handcrafted cabins often did.

The windows were small to prevent warmth leaking out, but framed with picturesque shutters to make them look taller. The only parts of the structure that wasn’t made of wood, or glass, were a foundation skirt made of smooth, rounded stones which matched the chimney.

We had about fifteen boxes to unload, and they were quickly assaulted by the growing snowstorm. Though it was only early November, the weather was less forgiving up in the mountains. The trees also offered no shelter from the winds, as none would grow closer than twenty meters to the cabin.

By the time I went to set the last box down on the porch, it had melted to the point that the flimsy handle holes broke. It slipped out of my hands and landed on the planks with a heavy thud that made me cringe.

“There isn’t anything fragile in these, right?” I turned toward Colton, who was in the process of rummaging through every possible pocket in search of the house key.

“Huh? Oh, no, don’t think so. Should just be some cans. Maybe some bottles, but they’ll be fine,” he replied.

A few seconds later, he fished the key out of some pocket on the inside of his jacket and got the door open. The interior almost seemed too big for the exterior.

In the middle of the main area sat a plush, patterned couch, resting on a large carpet. It was positioned diagonally to make the space seem larger, and sat opposite of a thick television with two DVD cases resting next to it.

Behind it, toward the wall, was a dining table near the kitchen area. On the right side of the cabin upon entering was a cramped but functional bathroom. Along the left wall were two larger rooms, presumably the bedrooms, and a third closet-sized room.

The inside, though offering some shelter from the wind, was no warmer than outside. No one had likely lived here for a while, but at least it was stocked with firewood. I tapped some snow off my shoes to avoid tracking it in, and crouched down by the fireplace.

On the mantel laid a fire striker, and the hearth had a generous supply of kindling and old newspapers. Colton followed behind me, eyeing the cabin appreciatively, but he didn’t mirror my effort of keeping the floor dry. “It’s a wonder we could rent this place for so cheap.”

“Mm, not really.”

He turned to me, looking over my shoulder and onto the fire lay I was busying myself with. “What do you mean?”

I paused my work, turning around with a contemplative huff. “It’s not a great place in mid to late winter. The lessor was probably elated to get a couple more tenants out of this season, even for a lower price.”

Colton turned his gaze back to the cabin’s interior again, more leery this time. “But it’s so cozy? Why wouldn’t it be great in winter?”

I shrugged, turning back to my project on the hearth. “The entrance doesn’t account for heat exchange, and the windows are north facing. By next month it will be cold and dim in here day in and day out. They did well to pick cedar for the walls, though, I’ll give them that.’

Colton hummed softly, likely wracking his brain for something to contribute to the conversation. “And it was a bit silly to put the fireplace right by the door, right? All the heat will flow right out anytime someone enters or exits, right?”

“Yeah, sort of. But mostly it’s a fire hazard. It’ll block the only exit if it erupted somehow. That’s probably why they were so generous with the hearth. But I assume the windows in the bedrooms are operable, or this place would never get approved.”

With seemingly nothing else to say, Colton contented himself with aimlessly shuffling around the cabin. “I doubt the water is on, the previous occupant probably turned it off for the winter. Go turn it on, will you?” I called out to him without looking up.

“Where do I do that?”

I glanced back at him, standing idly by the couch. “I wouldn’t know. You’re the one who got a map of the floorplan. Doesn’t it say where the breakers and such are?”

He pulled out his phone, tapping at it for a bit. After a little while, he rubbed his neck with a sheepish smile. “I… uh, I don’t know. I can’t access it. There’s no reception out here, I can’t load the image.”

I puffed a little, putting the kindling down and turning fully toward him. Scanning over the cabin again, there didn’t seem to be any shut-off valves or circuit breakers in the main area. “Well, that door,” I pointed to the door furthest into the cabin, the closet, “leads to the pantry right? Check in there. And see if you can find the electrical switch, as well.”

He stalked toward the alleged pantry, and I turned back toward the fireplace. There were no sounds from him, so once the fire was started and growing heartily I dusted my hands off and stood up to join him.

He was standing all the way inside the room, in front of a large fuse box. Upon hearing my footsteps approaching, he turned around with a puzzled expression. “How do you do this again? I don’t want to blow something up.”

I gestured for him to move away, and inspected the fuses. Decently simple. It was also quite convenient, because the water system seemed to run on some sort of electric pressure pump, and the pump circuit was among all the others. Mystery solved. When I flipped it on, my suspicions were confirmed by a light tapping from the kitchen sink that the last resident must have left open.

The cabin was also quickly warming up, but when trying to get more water from the sink the pressure proved disappointing at best. The dripping hardly sped up, and didn’t react to the handle. “Do you know where the water comes from? Like a well, or tank…?”

"Uhh… no?” Colton tapped the faucet a little, but it didn’t produce any more water. I screwed the aerator off, but the tap didn’t show any signs of being clogged.

“Well, let’s hope whatever the source is, it isn’t frozen solid. Hopefully the pump is just a bit slow, and the water will be fine in an hour or so.”

Colton perked up. “An hour? Until the water is working?”

I screwed the aerator back on. “Yes.”

He shifted his weight, then, face flushing slightly in embarrassment. “So… the toilet won’t work for another hour?”

I hummed a little. “Not until the water is back, no. It could be more than that, if we’re unlucky. If there’s any water left in the cistern it’s likely frozen and will need time to melt, either way.”

“But what am I supposed to do if I need to go to the bathroom?”

I leaned some of my weight against the counter, the cold edge pressing into my palms. “Well… you’ll just have to go outside.”

“In this weather?” he exclaimed, like I’d just told him to strip.

I shrugged, tapping my fingers rhythmically. “It’s that or wait.”

He squirmed for a few seconds, twisting nervously, before looking away. “Well, don’t get any funny ideas while I’m gone.”

“Like what? Peeking?”

He huffed indignantly. “Like locking me out. I’ll be back in five.”

I made myself useful by starting to unpack the boxes while he was out. The one I had dropped contained mostly cans, like Colton had guessed. There were two bottles of soda in it as well, though.

The first looked fine, from what I could tell, but the other must have absorbed most of the impact. The bubbles were more erratic and the foam layer was slowly growing taller, so I decided it would be safest not to open it. I didn’t want to risk it exploding and dirtying the wooden floors. When the weather settled I could take it outside.

By the time I was done with my chore Colton had yet to return. I was just about to go outside to look for him, when he stumbled through the door.

He once again didn’t bother to wipe his shoes. But I didn’t comment on it, because despite his head hanging I could see he was sickly pale. His eyes seemed unfocused and nearly grey, but I couldn’t catch a good look of them as he refused to lift his gaze

Perhaps most worryingly, he didn’t speak.

He just dragged his feet, headed toward one of the bedrooms. I pondered on calling out to him, asking him if he had encountered some wild animal, but just as I was about to ask he hissed angrily at the fire in the fireplace.

The action caught me so off guard I couldn’t help but stare dumbly as he crouched down further and nearly crawled into the room he claimed as his. He didn’t even look back as he closed the door, and as the muffled shuffling from the other side likely meant he was undressing, I refrained from following him.

“What the hell?”