Chill The chill envelopes me as the old door creaks and finally latches behind me. An ice breeze washes over my face, brushes my hair back in all directions. I take a step. The old watch brushes my hand and sends a chill up my arm as I put my hands into my pockets. I take another step. The bright light of the sun reflecting off the crisp untouched snow blinds me, but I keep walking. My boots, black as night, stand out brilliantly against the pristine snow as they crunch down on it, destroying the perfectly smooth layer of white. I reach the old shed on the other side of the property and open the door, pushing a fan of snow away as I do. The cold bites my hands as I reach inside. "Noooo!" I hear being yelled from afar. But it is too late.
