“We’re stuck,” the driver grumbled, as if it were somehow my fault. He pulled an ancient flip phone out of his pocket and tapped in a number. “It’s me,” he informed whoever picked up. “Nope, didn’t make it….’Bout fifty feet from Howland’s drive….Yep….Thanks, Joe. ’Preciate it.”
He snapped the phone shut. “Get in and get comfortable. We’ll have to wait. I just gotta make sure the tailpipe is clear so we don’t die while we do. A plow should be through in a couple hours. They’ll give us a ring when they’re close.”
My chest tightened. I wasn’t going to wait. I couldn’t be trapped in a car with a man I didn’t know. My anxiety was building, and I knew a full-blown panic attack could follow.
“I heard you say we were right at the drive.” I looked around. Nothing seemed familiar. “The house can’t be too far from here, can it?”
The man raised a hand to shield his eyes and squinted at the snow-covered hill ahead of us. “Half a mile. Maybe more.”
“That’s not so far,” I said. “We can walk and wait for the plow at the house.”
“No,” he said. Just that—no. He didn’t offer an explanation.
“It’ll be a lot warmer—” I started.
“No,” the man interrupted me. “This car is my livelihood. I’m not gonna leave it.”
“I don’t understand,” I persisted. “What could possibly—”
“No,” he said again. Third time was the charm. We both knew that the car would be fine. The man didn’t want to set foot in my uncle’s house.
“Well, I’m going,” I announced. I’d take my chances in the storm. “Can I leave my bag here?”
He snorted. “Can’t take it with you. I’ll bring it round once the roads are clear. You sure you won’t get lost?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “GPS,” I said. “No one ever gets lost anymore.”
I typed in my uncle’s address, and with my headphones on, I followed my map app’s directions. Even beneath the trees, the snow was building, and I waded through drifts that buried me to my knees. Without the phone’s flashlight I wouldn’t have found the entrance to the drive. Everything around me was covered, its true nature hidden. There was no way to tell the road from a ditch.
I knew half a mile was roughly ten city blocks. Before I set out, I thought I could take ten blocks of anything. As it turned out, I was wrong about that. By the time I reached the crest of the hill, I was certain I was going to die. I began to wonder what people would say if a photo of my frozen corpse popped up on social media. It was nice to imagine that I might be mourned. But New York had made it clear that I wouldn’t be missed.
I stopped at the top of the hill to catch my breath. The wind was wild and it clawed at my lungs. I knew I couldn’t rest long or I’d freeze to death on the spot. Somehow I chose the right moment to pause, though I’m not sure I’d call it luck. For just a few seconds, the storm seemed to clear and the moon peeked out from the clouds, casting a pale silver light onto the landscape. Ahead of me, tall white figures stood in two straight lines. They were covered in snow, but I knew what they were, and they sent a chill down my spine. I’d seen pictures of the house and its grounds that had been taken just after the renovation. My uncle had trimmed the century-old topiary hedges that lined the drive into humanoid shapes. A dozen design magazines had called them masterpieces. But I thought they looked like monsters. Even the photos were terrifying. I wondered if the sight of them would turn guests away.
Waiting for me in the distance was the house. It seemed even more massive than I remembered. Three stories of stone crawling with ivy, with a dozen dark windows on every floor. Two wings branched off a central hall. I knew one wing had recently been destroyed in a fire, but from where I stood, it was impossible to tell which one was damaged. The snow had stitched the house back together. It sat there, still and silent. I had the sense it was watching, like a camouflaged beast stalking its prey.
I’d come to Louth in search of answers, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for what I might find. My feet refused to take another step—either forward or backward. Then I saw something dart across the drive a hundred yards ahead of me. It rushed from a hedge on my right to its twin on the opposite side. It must have been an animal, but it was far too big to be anyone’s pet. And if my eyes could be trusted, it was almost entirely white. I was alone in the wilderness with something large—something that could see me better than I could see it. My heart pounding, I switched off my phone’s light and remained perfectly still, waiting for the creature to step out from behind the hedge. It had to be a deer, I told myself, but I wasn’t sure I believed it. There was something strange about the way it had moved. The creature had seemed to be walking on its two hind legs.
I was trying to come up with an explanation when the hedge suddenly shook, shedding piles of snow. Then, just as the thing was about to make its next move, the phone in my hand rang. I glanced down instinctively, and my eyes landed on a brightly lit screen with the word “MOTHER” in the middle. My hand shaking, I hit ignore, and the screen went dark. But when I looked up again, I realized I’d been blinded. I could hear something moving, just off to my left. The beast had gotten closer, but the only thing I could see was the hulking silhouette of the house at the end of the drive. I turned my flashlight back on and ran as fast as I could toward the house, certain there was something behind me.
I sprinted to the front door of the house and pounded on it with my fist. Then I spun around and pressed my back to the wood, ready to confront whatever was out there. But there was nothing, and I felt like a moron. Then the door opened and I fell flat on my butt.
A woman dressed in a flannel robe towered over me. “You must be the niece.” She was standing safely in the center of a circle of candlelight. I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed and still catching my breath.
She was forty-something and pretty in an I grow my own kale kind of way. The candlelight accentuated her chin, leaving dark shadows beneath her eyes that gave her an air of fatigue. I was grateful she wasn’t laughing.
“I’m Bram,” I said, pulling myself together. I took the hand she offered and shook it.
“I’m Miriam Reinhart. Your uncle will be happy you made it here safely.” Then her brow furrowed. “Where are your things?” She stepped past the door’s threshold and peered out into the night. “Where’s Boris?”
I didn’t even need to ask. Only someone named Boris could have rocked a fur coat the way my dear driver had. “His car got stuck at the bottom of the drive. He’s waiting for the plow to come through. For some reason he didn’t want to walk up to the manor.”