It was a sick joke. It had to be. The alternative was impossible.
That’s why I walked out of work. Why I drove three hundred miles to my hometown without telling a soul. Why I skidded up the icy, unlit roads to my old summer camp at Timber Lake, almost barrelling off the cliffside.
It’s why I was trudging through heavy snow in the pitch-black woods, my ears aching as the lashing wind shrieked between the leafless oaks, my gloved fingers stiffening as if rigour mortis couldn’t wait for me to die.
Because it was just a sick joke. And I had to prove that to myself.
Finn was dead.
Not officially—It had only been three and a half years since we last saw him. But I’m pragmatic; the odds of a missing person being found alive dwindle every hour since they vanished without a trace. The odds aren’t good after three and half days. Three and a half years has too many decimal places.
I wish I didn’t draw misguided hope from hearing my ringtone and seeing my phone screen light up. I wish bile didn’t burn at my throat as those harsh white words formed over the black surrounds of the screen.
Finlay Lawson.
I don’t remember answering, but I remember the call timer appearing. The seconds counted up as I screamed at the screen. There was no voice on the other end—just the static-filled howl of an angry gale. Just a glitch. 
The subsequent ten calls from Finn cemented it wasn’t a glitch. It was a prank. A horrible, malicious, callous prank. Someone in our old group hadn’t grown up after leaving high school. I should have confronted them, but instead, like a determined marionette, I hopped in my car and drove to the last place I saw Finn alive.
Because this was just a sick joke. And I needed to know for certain.
However, my attempt to stay calm failed after about the third call from ‘Finn’. My memory of each was a hoary haze, fizzling away even now like melting snowflakes. My hunger pains and the wind-chilled soreness of my parched throat were reminders that I didn’t think things through. Though more concerning was relying on the years-old flashlight living forgotten in my glove box, powered by the very same batteries it came with. A tinge of pain shot through my bruised palm every time I smacked the back of it, extending its life for a few meagre moments more.
The orange halo of light twirled around a wooden signboard’s faded white words—Timber Lake: 0.7 miles. In the brief moments before the light sputtered and died again, it swayed over the dangling icicles glistening underneath the sign, sharp and jagged like the maw of a starved wolf. 
My light dimmed. Relief from finding another waypoint sank to despair as my most pressing concern consumed me.
I was going to freeze to death. 
Maybe. I’ve never been this cold; utter numbness is surprisingly painful. Maybe the pain’s good—if it stops, maybe I’m as good as dead. 
If Finn were truly here, truly alive, how had he survived all this time when I won’t make it through a single night?
There was an obvious answer—he wasn’t alive. Because this was just a sick joke. It had to be.
But if it wasn’t… I might have the chance to say sorry.
I shook my flashlight, resurrecting it once more. Beyond the sign, the grey tree trunks parted like a frozen chasm. In those summer months, a curling path of varnished wooden boards led us to the lake. Now there was only an undisturbed glaze of packed snow. My flashlight wouldn’t last, but the emptiness between the dead trees seemed an invisible path of its own. If I didn’t walk into anything, I was going the right way. 
My light flickered. My fingers cracked as they tensed around the uneven contours of the flashlight’s grip. I twisted my heel, burying my feet further into the chill. Behind, scattered trees—paced apart without reason—gave no hint of how to escape my poor decisions. 
How did I get this far? Find this sign? I’ve never been here in winter, nor at night. Nor for the last three years. Not since that day.
My two-mile breadcrumb trail—fading boot prints in the falling snow—was my only path back. Though, once my light eventually wavered—as it did—my footprints vanished along with the icy ground’s orange sheen.
Forward, deeper, was my only option.
I shook my boot out of the enveloping snow, hurling powder down its loose neck. The biting chill seeped through my sock. I slogged forward. Snow sloshed, and with each step, I sank into its grip as if it were quicksand. I waved a clenched fist in front, grasping for those trees that marked the edges of my unlit path; whatever life remained within that damned flashlight needed to be saved.
Why did I do this? After three years and multiple search parties, what would I find that everyone else missed? I’d only join Finn as another disappearance at Timber Lake, all thanks to a stupid prank.
No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t be joining that list—no one knew I was here.
My thoughts froze as a piercing wail rang out, frenzied and all-consuming. The force was an open flame on my numb ears. My body refused to react. It simply collapsed face-first into the snow as if it hoped to submerge, to hide away from whatever horror made that accursed yowl. The ground tremored against my face as the deranged noise echoed from every direction.
Ten seconds. Ten seconds of constant noise. Even as it died out, I couldn’t move. My body seemed stuck to the frigid ground. 
Eventually, the adrenaline left. Compacted snow burning against my flesh took its place, forcing me off the ground. I swiped at my face, swatting away specks of snow and smearing half-frozen snot across my chapped lips.
What sort of animal could make a noise like that? It wasn’t a bear. A wolf, maybe? Could I fight off a hungry wolf? Don’t some prey animals make horrific sounds to scare off predators? 
My trembling hands picked up the flashlight. I tensed as I readied myself to thrash it back to life. But I stopped myself. The darkness offered an uncertain comfort; if I couldn’t see what was out there, then anything out there couldn’t see me.
I hope. 

---

Cold this harsh wasn’t something you could get used to. It just grew and grew, like poison seeping in my fingers and oozing inward—up my limbs, to my torso, till my heart gave out. Does death from cold come suddenly? I hope so. 
I lifted my head, untucking it from my chest. My neck creaked as if the frozen curves of my bones were grinding together, shattering. Though, as I exposed my face, something other than the icy wind struck me.
Silver.
There was a shimmering silver glow just beyond the treeline, illuminating the scattered snowflakes caught within the gale like the fireflies I used to see here during summer. Warmth spread through my belly as I shambled forward. What was making that beautiful light? Not even my forehead smacking against a low-hanging branch could snap me from my trance. I needed to know.
I passed another row of trees, and the next was silhouetted against the silver, the source just beyond. My unsteady legs found a second wind. I smashed branches aside as I ran, a bubbling heat radiating from my chest, propelling me forward. 
I ducked under a branch, and then there were no more. There was nothing but empty white. I peered up. The pitch-black forest canopy was gone. The waning moon peeked through the dark-grey smudge of clouds—the only brightness in the otherwise abyssal void above. 
Where did the trees go? There was light, but all it revealed was a wasteland of fresh snow, as if countless blizzards buried only this patch of the forest. Was I dead? My shivering body still burned, but perhaps that was the phantom pain of my former life.
Craving an answer, I crept forward. Though, after three steps, a sharp glint struck my eye. The glare of the moon reflected off the surface of the blue snow. 
Glare? Blue snow?
That wasn’t snow. The open clearing, that reflective glint—I’d found it.
Timber Lake. Frozen and unrecognisable, but the very same I spent all those summers at.
I scanned the shimmering snow; where did the ground end and the lake begin? Without the benefit of the summer scenery I still dreamt about, it was hard to picture where Finn and I would have been back then. It must have been somewhere around here.
I looked up. My arms rested against the shore as water flowed over my eyes. I blinked them clear and asked, “Why are you still dressed?” 
Finn squeezed his arm. “Do you think we could go on a walk instead?”
“What? Like this?” I pulled myself higher, gesturing to my saturated chest. “Everyone’s already swimming. Can’t we walk later?”
“I guess so…”
I waited for him to start undressing, but he didn’t budge. “Then what’s the problem?”
Finn paused. His green eyes—brighter than usual with the summer sun striking them—shifted away, as if he was hiding them, camouflaging them against the vibrant viridian of the woods.
After a moment, he returned his gaze to me. “I want to talk.”
“This about my dad?”
“Yeah.” His voice was almost drowned out by the banter and bickering from our friends deeper in the lake.
“It’s cool, man. We don’t need to keep worrying about it.”
“I really didn’t think he’d react like that. It slipped out—I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s cool, man.” I smiled, pretending to be strong. The shouts from behind felt like spiteful laughter. “I’ll be moving out in a couple of months, anyway.”
“It’s not about that, and it’s not cool. You… we didn’t deserve that. I just wanted—”
I slammed my fist against a soggy clump of soil. “I said it’s cool!”
Finn stepped back, his arms stiffening closer to his chest. His jaw loosened, and his lips opened and closed wordlessly. We stared at each other as a blue jay shrieked nearby, its piercing cry hammering at my thoughts.
He looked away from me. “You never want to talk about it.”
“Because I don’t want to think about it. Not now, not ever.”
“It wasn’t just you he swore at, swung at.”
I wanted to punch him—I might have if he was next to me. “You don’t have the right to make this about you! You’re the one who fucking told him!”
The blue jay fell silent. Finn’s hand clasped around his other hand, his white knuckles protruding. 
“Fine. I’m sorry.” He turned and started walking along the lakeside.
I took a deep breath, trying to melt the horrible memory in the warm air. “You’re not coming in?”
“No.” He didn’t turn his head.
“Why?”
“I said I wanted a walk—gotta clear my head.”
I glanced at my towel, but a chilly breeze pulled me back into the water. “See you in a bit, then.”
He kept walking. I held onto the shore, hoping he’d turn back around. He paced around the edge of the lake—not once glancing over—and disappeared into the furthest treeline.
That was the last time I saw Finn.
The roaring of the bitter wind, battering my face, shattered my summer memories. I looked down. The frozen lake shone through its thin coating of snow, a deep, dark blue. But even darker was a small black object, resting mere feet from the start of the lake.
It couldn’t be.
My back cracked as I bent down to grab it. It laid undisturbed above the snow—placed there recently. As I brought the phone to my face, my teeth stopped chattering. My breathing stopped. 
This was a sick joke.
I tapped the button. The screen turned on, its brightness partly shrouded behind the now-visible wisps coiling from my mouth with each shaky breath. There I was, standing next to him, stupid Santa hats, beaming smiles. I always hated that photo. The time and date—01:27, December 15, 2018—hid his radiant green eyes. It was already tomorrow. 
I swiped at the screen. Nothing happened—the gloves. I tore one off, revealing my darkened fingers. Despite being exposed to the harsh cold, the chill—the pain—didn’t get worse. They were already numb, so numb. I swiped again, unable to feel the slick screen underneath my finger. 
The phone prompted for a pin. 1214—my birthday. The home screen faded in. I rushed to his call log. Six entries filled the screen. Twelve words stood out.
Nate. Yesterday.
Nate. Yesterday.
Nate. Yesterday.
Nate. Yesterday.
Nate. Yesterday.
Nate. Yesterday.
Not even my own dad called me Nate. 
I scrolled down. Six more entries, five identical to the first six. But the twelfth was different.
Nate. July 12, 2015.
Three and a half years ago. The day before we left for Timber Lake. 
Who did this? 
A snarl from behind swallowed the howling of the wind. Finn’s phone slipped out of my hand as I spun to face nothing. The forest was gone, lost within the darkness, but the grating noise rolled on. I shook my flashlight as I mashed the power button, but nothing. I punched the back of the useless thing, my bare knuckles unfeeling but almost certainly ripped open.
It finally flickered to life. I aimed it with both hands like a weapon—my only protection. The light struck the crooked, coiling branches of the barren trees.
Except they weren’t branches.
Antlers. Though uneven and horribly deformed, as if each tine were stitched together to create the crown of a mutilated deer. Below, two floating orbs of light strobed a ghoulish green glow. I lowered my light. A visage of bone greeted me, sharp and angled like the dead deer it pretended to be. Hollow eye sockets cradled those ghostly orbs of light. Its jaw hung limp, the tendons needed to hold it shut long since decayed, casting a shadow over the listless grey fur coating the creature’s neck.
I had seen enough. My body dragged me back. It took a heavy step forward, splashing snow as if it were water.
“Stay back!” I couldn’t keep the light on it, though the constant splattering of snow meant it ignored my plea.
There was a weaker snarl, now with warbled words mixed within. “You came.”
My feet moved backwards on their own, though not finding the strength to lift from the snow. I couldn’t turn around. “Get away, get away—please!”
It stepped into the light of the moon. It was so close. “Stay still.”
“No!” I leapt back.
And slipped.
As I fell backwards, as my flashlight flew into the air, I knew. I knew I had stepped onto the slick surface of the lake. My head hit the ice. 
Blinking orange seeped through my clenched eyelids. My hand clasped the throbbing at the back of my head. Something slimy and warm dripped between my fingers before rolling along my palm—blood, what else? There was the cracking of a broken bone, but not mine. Then another crack, like distant, rolling thunder, rumbling through me. And then another, like a tree snapping and falling beside my head. 
Why was there cracking?
I looked to my side. A thin gash stretched through the blue ice, thickening to a chasm before my eyes. I sat up, my back almost giving out. A spiderweb of broken ice separated me from the shore—my flashlight at its centre. Hundreds of cracks spread outwards, their paths dividing into thinner strands of blue veins. Beyond, perched where the safety of the snow began, the beast waited, too wise to make the same foolish mistake I did.
I wobbled to my feet as the surrounding ground cracked like glass. The creature leaned forward, its claws outstretched. Their silvery curves gleamed in the moonlight, ready to tear me apart. 
“No, no, no…” 
The clenching of his claws—grasping towards me—coaxed me to step back. My foot met the ice. For a second. And then it sank through.
I screamed. A thousand icy needles pierced through my clothing, puncturing up to my knee. I bit my tongue as I strained against gravity, lifting my soaked boot and pant leg out of the freezing waters while blood spread through my mouth.
My legs quaked. Everything hurt, but I had to stay standing. The beast’s mocking growl pulsed against my eardrums, adding to the pain.
“Nate.”
Despite the unending sound of creaking ice, my name was as clear as the moon. 
For a moment. Before a hollow groan blared out from the shattered lake between me and the creature, rattling my still-lit flashlight. My only source of light rolled off the edge as the ice fragments gaped further apart. As it sank into the frozen depths, it lit the creature’s skull orange, which faded to blue as the lake devoured it. Then the light finally died, leaving behind only moonlit fur and radiant green eyes. 
“F-Finn?” I asked. “Is that you?”
Its glowing eyes glimmered as if in acknowledgment. “You came back.”
“How, how are you—”
A vicious cracking from behind made me scream. An icy wound opened up, dividing my splintering, shrinking bastion from the solid ice further back. Smaller fissures curled inwards, toward my feet.
“Jump, Nate.”
I twirled back to face the creature—Finn. His slender limbs reached out, urging me towards him. But his face, his fur, his claws… was it really him? What if it wasn’t?
Suddenly, my legs drifted apart. I looked down. A zigzagging crack separated my feet, widening by the second. Blood leaked from my mouth, flowing over my lower lip and into the nebulous waters beneath, the crimson vanishing into the blackness with no more than a slight ripple.
Finn roared. Within that blaring noise was a single quivering word, somehow engulfing the gale and the cracking ice. “Jump!”
I bent my knees and leaned forward. The ice tilted—capsizing—as I pushed out my legs. Wind battered my face, rushing past my ears and down my throat as I hurtled towards Finn. His claws lurched for my torso. They swept along my back as my boots skimmed the water. And in the same motion, he pulled me into his chest.
Thick grey fur was all I could see. My head sank into him. He was warm. So very warm. Heat washed against my face, oozing down my shivering body. My numb ears brushed through his silky fur as I rolled my face against its wonderful caress, bathing in the rich pine scenting his fur. 
My bare hand squeezed at a tuft of fur on his side, trying to pull him closer. As if responding to my request, his arms tensed, and his claws came to rest on my waist. He pulled me tighter and buried me deeper. He churred, the soft vibrations of his neck kneading my forehead. His bony chin came to rest on my head. I was tucked into him. We were together.
Reunited at last.
I mumbled into his velvety fur, unable to stop my voice from wavering. “I’m so sorry, Finn. I’m sorry for what I said. I was so afraid.”
“I am sorry, too.” The soft growl accompanying his words was so soothing. 
The frost coating my face had already melted, the wetness absorbed by his fur. Yet the damp strands became saltier each time they glided over my eyes and ran over my lips. “I missed you so much.” 
“I missed you, too.”
“There’s so much I’ve been wanting to say. I never, I thought I’d never…” 
I couldn’t finish before I erupted into sobbing. My aching body twitched inwards with each whimper.
“Quiet,” he said. His arm ran up my back. His hand stroked my head, his claws weaving between my blood-soaked hair. “Rest now.”
Rest. At the word, all my raw adrenaline leaked out, and exhaustion took its place. My hands slipped from his fur and fell limp. His arm returned to my back, cradling me in place. My eyes faltered next, and soon I didn’t have the strength to move my head. I only had the energy to mutter one thing.
“Thank you, Finn.”
He replied with a deep, peaceful growl, massaging my broken form and silencing the wind. 
As my mind became a hoary haze, his body rocked with mine in a rhythm—he was moving. Where was he taking us? It didn’t matter. One comforting thought enveloped all others; wherever we were going, we were going there together.