The Book of the Snowstorm by Aristide Twain

Author:Aristide Twain
Language: eng
Format: epub

THE GOBLIN, THE WITCH, AND THE KITCHEN SINK

A story from the worlds of “Coloth”

By Ismaeel Clarke

It snowed unforgivingly and relentlessly. The wind whipped and howled about them like dogs baying and growling and yapping at their feet, nipping and biting with the wrath of a million years’ worth of neglect and abuse. Their jackets, though warm, were desperately inadequate for the weather, which was somewhat inclement, it being December 1962.

The train that had been chuffing and puffing all the way along the mountainside had been immobilised by drifts of snow, and its gleaming red buffer had come to a halt, forbidden passage by the mountain of snow that lay before them.

Holly, Maria and Jacob Evans had been travelling home from their old wee grandmother who lived high in the perilous peaks of the Highlands (which were very high, and very, very land indeed, although not remotely bland), whom they had been visiting for Christmas, when a great blizzard had set in, twirling and twiddling its way about the countryside like a loathsome beast, ferocious in its animosity towards all that moved or thought or spake. Holly, being a rather resourceful sort of person, had immediately thought that they should stay in the train, for safety. However, the others had refused, and hence they found themselves wandering through the Scottish jungles in the bitter-cold wind and snow, equipped with nothing more than the bags that they had brought with them.

“Is anybody else beginning to think that this was a really bad idea?” asked Holly.

Jacob, who was still very young indeed, was clinging tight to Holly’s leg, and shivering all over. He said nothing, but looked up with big, soulful eyes, and looked very frigid indeed, in both posture and temperature. His lacklustre eyes were completely devoid of soul, and his lips were a shade of aubergine generally reserved for blueberries.

Maria, who was always the adventurous one, said, “Come on! There might be shelter just around the corner, and then we shall be nice and warm! Just think of a fire, all blazing bright, with hot tea and buttered crumpets!”

Poor little Jacob was positively slobbering at the thought, and Holly could see that he wanted to say that he would like that very much indeed, but his tiddly little teeth were chattering far too much for him to opine on the matter. Holly weighed up the options in her head. Thinking was arduous; it was bitterly cold and she was soaked to the skin, making it hard to concentrate on anything. Wearily, she wondered how far it was back to the train, and how long they had been stuck walking in this feverish nightmare for, and the possibility of finding respite and a nice warm place to sleep for the night, away from the dank and the cold and the wet. The longer Holly attempted to think, the harder it became, and the more her head started to round and round in circles, gyrating like a tove on a bad sort of a day, and she began to feel most giddy.

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