There was no one at the station when I arrived. I’d slept for most of the three-hour ride, while the train had barreled its way through a blizzard. When it stopped at Hudson, I stepped down from the car and sank into snow that was already shin-deep. I’d barely reached the platform and set down my suitcase before the train sped off again, leaving me all alone with the darkness.
The lights were out at the station house, and when I hurried to the door, I found it locked. We’d pulled away from Penn Station over two hours late. Looking around at the buried town, I could tell it was a miracle we’d reached Hudson at all. I left my bag by the door and stepped out into the night. There was little to see but the swirling snow. I’d never known a world so quiet or so dark.
The warmth of the train car slipped away, and the cold crept through my buttonholes and under the collar of my coat. There were no lights in the buildings and no cars on the road. I was alone in a town I’d never visited, and I was convinced that I’d been forgotten. Fear coiled around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. The courage that had driven me north had vanished. I knew I shouldn’t have come—and now I had nowhere to go.
Then the glare of headlights appeared in the distance, blinding me as a car approached. A taxi pulled up within feet of me and stopped. Then I heard the mechanical hum of a window lowering, followed by a man’s gruff voice.
“Howland?”
The name threw me at first, and panic tightened its grip on my chest.
“Howland?” He shouted it the second time, impatient for an answer. Then I remembered I’d be using my mother’s maiden name.
I wiped away the tears that had welled in my eyes and hoped he hadn’t seen them. “That’s me,” I called back.
The driver’s door opened, and something that looked like a bear emerged. As it waded through the snow and into the headlights’ beams, I saw it was a giant man in a brown fur coat. He passed by with a grunt.
“Get in,” he ordered. “I’ll grab the bag.”
I reluctantly climbed into the backseat of the cab, which was blistering hot and smelled like whatever beast the man must have murdered to make his coat. As he returned to the car with my suitcase, I was able to get a good look at him. He seemed old, though exactly how old was hard to say. A bramble of gray whiskers sprouted from his nostrils and covered his face from the nose down. He opened the door on my left and tossed my enormous suitcase onto the seat beside me. Whatever his age, he was clearly very strong. I didn’t want to be alone in a car with him. If there had been any alternative, I would have jumped at it. I pulled my backpack closer on my lap. Hidden inside were the weapons I’d ordered online for protection—a box cutter and a can of bear repellent.
“That your only suitcase?” the man asked.
“Yes,” I said. He slammed the door in response and opened his own.
I waited until he’d wedged his massive body into the driver’s seat before I asked, “Do you know where I’m going?”
“That I know,” the man said. “Whether we’ll get there is anyone’s guess. Plows haven’t been able to keep up with the snow.” He turned and glared at me over his shoulder. His eyes were so narrow that he seemed to be squinting. “You couldn’t have waited till morning?”
“I didn’t know it would get this bad,” I said. Though even if I had, I wouldn’t have waited. Staying in Manhattan was no longer an option.
“Storm’s gonna get worse before it’s all over,” he informed me. “I’d strap on my safety belt if I was you.”
I noticed his own seat belt still dangling from its hook as he backed the car out of the station. The dashboard warning bell chimed a few times before giving up. We picked up speed, snow hurling itself at the windshield, trying to push us back where we’d come from. There was no road ahead, just a seamless expanse of white.
“How long will it take to get there?” I asked nervously.
“No telling,” the driver said. “Gotta get over the river and up the hill. Outside of town, the roads are bound to be brutal.” He clearly considered it just short of a suicide mission.
“Maybe I should stay in Hudson.”
“I was told your uncle wants you at the manor tonight,” he said. “I suppose he has his reasons.”
“So you know James.” That made me feel better. Not a lot, but a little.
“I live in Louth.” The man peered at me in the rearview mirror, and something in his look gave me the feeling he didn’t care much for my uncle. “Everyone knows everyone in Louth.”
The backseat windows had fogged up. I wiped a circle clear with my coat sleeve and rested my forehead against the glass. No light broke through the darkness around us, and I assumed we’d left civilization behind, until we passed a car idling on the side of the road. I saw its owner shoveling it free from a snowbank, and I realized we were still in town.
“The electric’s out,” I noted. Seventeen years in Manhattan, and I’d only lived through a single blackout.
“Happens,” the man said. “It’s out on the other side of the river, too. You’d better hope they have a fire waiting for you up there at the manor. You’re gonna freeze to death in that place if they don’t.”
“There are worse ways to go,” I muttered.
“What did you say?” he demanded. In the rearview mirror, his eyes were wide open, and I could see they were blue.
“Nothing,” I said, holding his gaze. I knew he’d heard me. And he’d understood.
We didn’t speak much after that.
—
I don’t know how long the trip took. As soon as I was convinced that death wasn’t imminent, my mind returned to the life I’d just left. But at some point, I heard the car’s engine begin to strain as we started up an incline. I’d only been to my uncle’s house once, right after he moved in, but I’d never forgotten the sight of it sitting on top of its hill. The first time I’d laid eyes on it, I’d thought it looked lonely. There was no better place to hide from the world.
The steeper the climb got, the more our progress slowed, until eventually the car crawled to a stop. Within seconds the wipers were overcome and the windshield was covered with snow.
The driver got out to investigate, and I pushed open my door and followed him.
“What happened?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself in the sudden cold.
“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.”
Miriam shivered as she closed the door. Then she looked back at me with her eyebrows raised. “You walked? Alone? Up the hill through the blizzard? People die in weather like this.”
“It wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made,” I admitted. “I saw something on the way here. Some kind of animal, I think. It was big. And white. What do you think it could be?”
“You’re in the country now. It could have been anything.” My eyes must have widened, because Miriam seemed to take pity on me. “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she added. “There aren’t many animals around Louth that would go after a human. And those that would aren’t smart enough to pick the locks on a door.” Then she cocked her head toward the mansion’s grand staircase. “Come along and I’ll show you up to your room. After your trip you must be exhausted.”
As I followed her across the entrance hall toward the stairs, I noticed that the stone floors were pockmarked, and the plaster walls had been patched but left rough in places. I knew that was how Uncle James had wanted it—imperfect. When I was little, he told me that true beauty is flawed. I was an ugly duckling, so people said that kind of thing to me all the time. But I knew James actually meant it, and his house proved him right. It was a masterpiece. Above our heads, the crystals of a massive chandelier caught the candlelight. The impression the room gave was one of great age and dignity. Having greeted thousands of guests in its time, it was far too splendid to be bothered with an outcast like me. As I climbed the stairs, I searched for signs of fire damage. I didn’t see any, but there was still a faint stench of smoke in the air.
“Do you live here?” I asked Miriam.
“I stay overnight when I’m needed. James asked me to be here to welcome you. Then the blizzard hit and the lights went out. So I’ll be sleeping in one of the guest rooms tonight.”
“Is James away?” I asked.
“No, he’s here,” she replied. “Since we’re getting to know each other, I have a question for you, too.”
“Okay,” I said, steeling myself for the worst.
“ ‘Bram’ is an unusual name for a girl, isn’t it?”
I relaxed a bit. It was a question I was often asked. “My father’s name was Abraham,” I said. “I look like him, so they nicknamed me ‘Bram.’ He’s dead now.”
“Oh,” Miriam said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I said nothing. People had been telling me the same thing for years. It had taken me a while to figure out that it was just what people were supposed to do—pretend that they cared. No one ever really meant it.
At the top of the stairs, there were doors on either side of the landing. When Miriam and I hung a right and entered a long corridor, I knew it was the opposite wing of the house that had burned. She guided me past the first two doors in the hall and then stopped at the third, which she opened.
The first thing I saw was the crackling fire. It drew me in, and I suddenly realized how cold I still was. My clothing was sopping wet from melted snow, and I’d almost gone numb from the knees down. Then I noticed the room’s décor—a four-poster bed with a duvet decorated with tiny pink buds. A vanity stood beside a plush armchair covered in rose-colored velvet. The room’s windows hid behind matching curtains, and dark green paint covered the walls.
“I’m just putting you here for the night,” Miriam assured me as I made my way toward the fireplace. I wondered if she worried that the girly décor might offend me. I was thrilled just to have a place to sleep. “With the power out, it would be too cold in the room James chose for you. This one has the best fireplace in the house. But I promise—first thing tomorrow, we’ll move you.”
“This room is fine,” I told her. My skin prickled from the heat of the fire. Pleasure and pain mingled together.
“It should do for now. We’ll get you into the right room in the morning.”
I glanced over at Miriam. She was still standing in the hall. She seemed reluctant to enter. “Seriously, this one’s fine,” I assured her. I didn’t want anyone making a fuss over me.
“Oh good,” she said, though she still seemed agitated. “Here—” She fished two items from the pocket of her robe and headed toward me with an arm outstretched. One of the items was a yellow candle, and the second was a box of safety matches. “Just in case.”
“It’s okay. My phone has a flashlight,” I said, holding up the device. But when I clicked the screen, it was dead. The flashlight app had drained the battery, and my charger was back in Boris’s car. I reached for the candle and matches.
“Thank you,” I told her.
“Be careful with the candle,” she warned me. “Don’t fall asleep with it lit. You know—”
I nodded. “Yes. I’ll be careful.”
When her smile returned, it was far less convincing. “What would you like for your welcome breakfast?” she asked. “How about bacon and eggs?”
“Sounds perfect,” I told her, hoping she’d just leave me be.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll see you in the morning,” Miriam said, heading back to the door. As she reached it, she seemed to hesitate for a moment with her hand on the knob, as if there were something else she wanted to say. But she held her tongue. ...
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