I was on a beach in San Francisco with my two beautiful angels—my wife and my daughter. I was lying on the warm sand, watching my two angels of life playing with each other, splashing seawater, making sandcastles. They were just so beautiful. Sometimes I thanked God for sending these two fairies into my miserable life.
With deep breaths of sheer relaxation, I closed my eyes for a second. It felt so soothing.
Then I heard a scream.
I opened my eyes in shock and saw my wife and daughter standing right in front of me in a trance state. They looked terrifying.
I asked, "Honey, what happened?"
But they just stood still—not a single word.
The sky had turned blood red. The clouds were gone. Something was falling from the dreadful sky—maybe ash.
At that moment I heard a loud banging noise.
I woke up for real.
Beside my horrible dream, the sound came from the back door. I rushed to the site and saw my mother sitting on the armchair near the door, which was open. She was staring into the forest, not a glimpse toward me.
"Mom, what is it?" I asked.
No reply. She was in a trance too—just like my wife and daughter.
I looked in the direction she was staring.
And there I saw it.
In the forest, a red light glowing between the trees. Smoke was spread all around. In that red dusk light, inside the smoke, I saw something—a very tall human-like figure with long legs, long arms, and long, sharp fingers.
The next moment, a cracking sound came from behind me. I turned.
My mom was gone.
I checked her room. She was sleeping on her bed like she never woke up—deep asleep.
Is she pretending? I thought.
I went back to the door. The red smoke in the forest was gone. Only darkness remained. The snowstorm had started again—wild and furious. A few minutes ago it was pin-drop silent. Now it had turned into a raging beast.
\---
The very next morning, I pulled my tired body out of bed. I didn't sleep properly. All night there was heavy migration in my head.
Scrubbing my hair, I went to my mother's room.
"Good morning, Mom."
She had already woken up. She was standing by the window in the drawing room, leaning forward, looking at something outside. I called her. No response.
I approached slowly.
"Mom, are you alright? What are you looking at?"
She kept staring.
"Well, Eddy," she said, "you must have someone to look after the thing you love the most. And I think in this world of delusion, it's only yourself who can do the job better."
She said it with dreamy eyes.
How could I forget—she was a very good writer in her twenties. But I didn't understand the quote. I gave her a confused look. She turned toward me with disappointment.
"Never mind, my angel. Are you hungry, Ed? Because I am. After all the traveling and things."
When she called me "my angel," my mind froze for a second.
Then I replied, "Yeah, Mom. I'll light some fire first, warm this place a little. I've got some supplies in my bag. I'll make breakfast—eggs and toast. Would you like some black coffee with that?"
"Oh, my dear, that would be delightful," the woman in her sixties replied.
\---
While brushing my teeth and getting fresh, I could still smell lavender—stronger than before. The questions from last night and my mom calling me "angel" felt too close to my dream.
With a decent headache, I took an aspirin and put my jacket on.
I went to the back door. It was locked. I don't remember locking it.
Heavy migration in the head, tired mind, restless body, I thought. They can create surreal things.
I unlocked the door. A sharp brightness struck my eyes, almost blinding me and triggering the headache again. A new layer of snow had formed from last night's storm.
The timber pile had very little flammable wood left. But I saw some fallen trees in the forest. I didn't find an axe—only an ice axe. It'll work, I thought.
I struck the wood hard and scraped off good pieces. It worked.
Then I smelled something unusual.
A strong smell of blueberry.
That made no sense here.
The forest felt dreadfully silent—not calming, but like a horror story where a creature might appear behind any tree.
I saw smoke between the woods.
I tied the wood, lifted it on my back, and walked toward the smoke. It was the same place where I had seen the red light and that disfigured being.
There was an old shack, collapsed from one side. Only two rock walls were left. A dying fire was inside.
And on the floor…
Squirrels.
All over the place.
Some were cooked. And then I noticed something worse.
None of them had heads.
Not one.
No blood. No traps. No signs of injury.
A live squirrel ran across my feet, climbed the wall, and vanished into the trees—like it was giving its family a funeral.
Where did the blueberry smell come from?
I remembered my hungry mom.
\---
I rushed back to the cabin and lit the fire. The timber from last night had kept us alive till morning.
As I added wood, I noticed a human mark on one piece. Letters—but not English. I kept it aside.
I cooked eggs and made a good meal. I set my mother near the fireplace with breakfast and sat on the carpet.
She seemed happy. Happier than she was at home.
"This place isn't just structure, Ed," she said. "It's a world made of love, memories, and compassion."
"But it's not good for you, Mom. The weather isn't supportive. Your condition might worsen. You'd be better with Emma, with your grandchildren."
She turned to me suddenly.
Her eyes were wide. An omelet piece hung from her mouth. She stared at me in disgust.
Then she went normal again and kept eating.
"I'll bring your coffee, Mom," I said.
And I walked away, afraid of my own mother.
\---
After she finished, she asked me to take her outside. She said someone would meet us at a place she called the Bonfire of Comfort.
I dressed her warmly and took her out.
For the first time, I saw the full view.
High mountains. Vast forests of pine and spruce. Snow like a white carpet. Distant villages and waterfalls.
She said the villagers weren't cooperative, but they respected my father and helped build this cabin.
We walked to the bonfire place.
My mom looked full of ecstasy.
But I felt something different.
this place used be where my parents and their friends used to meet up and enjoy. As mom told me. I wish I could have somthing like that. but here I am not many friends, no chiling out places, no celebrations, just work and responsibilities.
It all becomes more painful when one of my angel left me. It felt like one of my wings had been cut off.
It was cold outside—but not as cold as inside me.
As I walk around the area, I stumbled upon something. My foot felt warm under the ice.
I cleared it.
Burning charcoal underneath the snow.
Still hot.
Not melting the ice.
Impossible.
Then a feather dropped on me.
I looked up.
Things were hanging from the trees.
May be a star shape.
A bottle.
And the worst…
A human arm, tied with swan feathers.
Beside it…
A small skull, no bigger than newborn's, burned out and hanging from the tree.
I screamed.
"Mom…"