The Snow Cabin by Nick Craven

Author:Nick Craven [Craven, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-23T16:00:00+00:00

32

Emma

Mom sits on the L-shaped sofa, drinking dad's hot cocoa to warm up. It feels like she declared him dead and seized his place. I'm well aware of the folly of my emotions, but I can't stop myself. I'm also well aware that she was crying her heart out for the two hours she searched outside the cabin. Still, I can't shake the feeling that she may not fully be my mom anymore.

Why?

I'm not sure.

Is it conceivable that her aura and behavior have changed?

Jack's account of her voice morphing into a low baritone sound makes me cringe. She hasn't said anything since she came inside.

What if the cabin didn't simply take Dad away?

What if it also took my mother's soul in the process?

I, of all people, know about people losing their souls. After the scandal of my naked pictures surfacing online and then the sharing of them among everyone in school, several of my closest friends abandoned me emotionally before physically declaring they wanted nothing to do with me.

People aren't straight-forward about these things. They stick with you, pretending they have your back, either out of courtesy or shyness to utter what's really on their mind, and then they hope to slip away, out of your life as smooth as possible. Regardless, the decision to abandon and leave has been taken long before it actually happens.

I could sense their unspoken distancing. That horrible invisible gap when someone stands right in front of you and you know in your heart that they are done with you and will never be there for you again

It's an emotion you can't put into words. It's a perplexing sensation. Worse, it's that nagging notion that only time will tell.

Time?

Why does the word conjure up images of Dad?

I'm still silently watching Mom sip her cocoa.

Tick Tock.

In my head, that's how her sipping sounds.

Sip it in, exhale it out; tick, tock. We are now living on borrowed time, and we are aware of it.

My gaze searches for the clock I removed from the ceiling. I recognize that finding it in this mess is impossible. The room's poorly placed furniture appears even worse now. Half of the kitchen's cutlery, knives, and spoons are strewn on the couch and desk. The floor is covered with books, many of which have blank pages.

And the rest I can't see because of the thick snow that has covered most of the furniture, shelves, and floor—we'll have to clean up soon before it melts.

Tick Tock.

What happens when you take someone's time? What exactly does it mean?

What did the cabin take from me, Jack, and mom that we haven't bothered to look for and will soon be punished for? Why do we not look for the little things that we lose along the way? Because they're small? Because we arrogantly think they can be replaced?

This cabin, if it's doing what I think it is doing, isn't the only villain in this story. We, the Kubricks—and the Nooks before us—are as terrible as the cabin.

All I know is that we have much less time in this cabin to survive on our own.

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