Fiction on Friday 43: Creeping Cold

Her nose is cold. Drowsily, she fumbles with the duvet, intending to yank it over her head. Her fingers freeze on the hem. A faint sound is catching at the edge of her awareness. A sort of crackle, so quiet she thinks it might be some trick of her ears.

She listens hard. Is it getting louder?

She forces herself to take a calming breath. The air is so cold it’s stinging her lungs. She should get up, get a blanket, turn on the heating, something. She stays where she is.

The crackling is definitely louder now. And it’s subtly different: slithery, somehow.

She orders herself to sit up and put a name to it. Her fingers twitch on the edge of the duvet and she realises they’ve started to go numb. The crackling is so loud it’s making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Then she feels it: frost. Frost is creeping under her hands.

She sits bolt upright and the thin rind of ice now covering the bed cracks, flaking into hundreds of tiny pieces that skitter to the floor. In her shock, she barely feels the frost beginning to climb up her arms.

Wordcount: 200

Prompt Word: Crackle.