Winter Reckoning

TW: This story contains themes of mental health, suicide, and physical violence

Oct 29, 2027

Dear diary,

Today I was taking my daily walk through the woods and something strange happened. I was enjoying the fall leaves crunching under my feet when I saw something hanging in the distance off an old aspen branch. It looked like one of those Halloween skeleton ghosts. I figured someone must have left a decoration up from one of the notorious woods parties. I went closer to investigate and it wasn’t a Halloween decoration at all, it was a cloak. Before I knew it I was pulling it down from the branch. It was beautiful. A rich black silk with a deep purple velvet interior. So I took it. I think maybe I’ll wear it for Halloween. I can be Little Black Riding Hood. Plus, it’ll come in handy if it snows this year. It’s Colorado legend that the first snow happens on Halloween. I Googled it once and apparently history doesn’t actually support that, but ever since I was little I remember trudging around, candy bucket in hand, refusing my coat and pretending I wasn’t cold while the soft white flakes collected in the itchy polyester of my various costumes. I have to patch it up first though. There’s a hole in the left shoulder. I must have ripped it when I pulled it from the tree. I’ll have to dig up mom’s sewing kit. She’ll be pissed when she finds out I went into her room, but that’s what they get for leaving me behind to go on a week-long Arctic cruise. I mean who does that? Whatever. Aunt Laney is supposed to be stopping by at some point. I guess I should consider myself lucky . . . I know plenty of kids would be happy to have the house to themselves, but I kinda hate it. It’s too quiet. Maybe I’ll invite the new girl over. Her family just moved in a few weeks ago down the street. I think her name is Caitlin. She seems cool. Well anyways, I’ve got a date with a sewing kit!

Yours,

Mara

***

I closed my diary and admired its worn leather cover. I’ve had a diary since I was a kid. Sometimes the world gets so loud and the only way I can quiet the chaos is through writing. I put the diary back into my drawer and went to find the sewing kit. A quick trip in and out and I found what I needed—plus a bonus pair of riding boots that would be great for my costume. I skipped back to my room, excited to mend my new treasure. The hole was about three inches long with rough edges. As I got to work, methodically maneuvering the needle I admired just how soft the cloak was. It reminded me of Freya when she was just a kitten. I glanced over to my bed and saw my sweet black cat lounging in a sun spot. She opened one eye, feeling my stare, and stretched her paws extending her claws. She would never ditch me for a cruise. I was thinking about how I’d been wronged when something caught my attention. A coppery smell that I hadn’t noticed before. I glanced down at my fingers and what I saw took a minute for my brain to process. There was blood, but it wasn’t fresh, and it wasn’t mine. I threw the cloak on the floor and screamed. I bolted to my bathroom, tripping on the corner of my bed and falling hard on my shoulder. Dammit. I turned the water as hot as it would go and scrubbed like a maniac. Okay, okay, calm down Mara. No need to be dramatic. There’s probably a perfectly good explanation for this. I kept repeating this mantra until I had convinced myself of a plausible story. Maybe I didn’t tear it when pulling it down. Maybe the original owner was running through the woods and snagged a tree branch, their cloak came flying off, and they nicked their shoulder in the process. Nothing sinister happened. I surely would have heard about it on socials if it had. I briefly considered taking it to the police, but that didn’t fit with my narrative that everything was just peachy, so I scrapped that idea real fast. I could win Olympic medals in compartmentalizing. I put the cloak in the wash on the cold setting, went downstairs and made a cheese sandwich, and by the time it was hanging to dry I was completely sold on my version of what had happened. I fell asleep instantly that night, plagued by ominous dreams of headless horsemen, flying cloaks, and a girl running through the woods.

***

October 30, 2027

Dear Diary,

You will never believe what I did. I actually went to Caitlin’s house and invited her on my afternoon walk. Man was I nervous. I was sure she’d smell the loser on me and say no, but she agreed! And wow, she’s so cool. Her family moved here from Washington for her dad’s job, she speaks French, and knows how to sail! I told her about my parents ditching me for a giant boat and frigid arctic weather and she laughed at that and said she’d make it up to me by taking me sailing one day! You know when you get that feeling about someone? That you’re going to be friends forever? Well I know it sounds lame but I got that with Caitlin. She’s good people. Anyways, we agreed to meet up for Halloween and go trick-or-treating. I know you might be thinking 16 is a little old to be trick-or-treating, but you’re never too old for free candy. Luckily Caitlin wholeheartedly agrees with me and didn’t ask why I didn’t already have plans with friends. If she had, I probably would have jumped into the creek rather than tell her that I have no friends—except for Freya of course. I hope she likes my costume.

Yours,

Mara

***

Oct 31, 2027

Dear Diary,

Happy Halloween! Still no snow, but I don’t doubt the Snow Gods. Also a no-show is Aunt Laney, but that doesn’t surprise me—she’s always been a flake. Do you think it’s unhealthy to live for 7 days off of cereal and cheese sandwiches? Yeah, me neither. I’m so excited for tonight! I can’t believe I actually made a super cool and insanely nice friend. Now I just have to not mess it up. Wish me luck.

Yours,

Mara

***

That day was a blur. School was out for fall break so I putzed around town to pass the time. I visited the plant store and took a bike ride through the woods. When I got back home I flew through the door teeming with excitement to get ready. I was so excited I almost didn’t realize I hadn’t needed to use my key. I must have left the door unlocked . . . again. Woops. I really needed to get better at that. Good thing we lived in snore-town on the corner of boring and safe. Nothing bad ever happened here, and yet my mom’s words still rung in my head: “Mara, anything can happen. When you get complacent you invite danger in.” Unphased, I ran up to my room to put together my costume. I chose a black long sleeve shirt, a black skirt over black fleece tights, my mom’s black riding boots, a wicker basket, and the piéce de résistance, my black cloak. I threw on a stroke of mascara, and grabbed my keys. I gave Freya some pets, popped a pain pill for my still-aching shoulder, and was on my way, determined to impress Caitlin. I hoped tonight would seal the deal on our friendship.

***

Dec 28, 2027

Dear Diary,

I’m sorry it’s been a while, but I wasn’t allowed to have my journal until today. The police needed it for their investigation. I guess I owe you an explanation . . .

Halloween night I met up with Caitlin to go trick-or-treating. She was dressed as a hot dog. Not a hotdog, but a hot dog, complete with puppy ears and a fan necklace. It was hilarious. When she saw me, she eyed my costume with a strange look on her face. She asked me where I got the cloak and I panicked and told her it was a gift, not wanting to reveal the truth that I bummed it off a tree in the woods for some reason. After a successful night of trick-or-treating, we hauled our candy back to my house and that’s when Caitlin had the idea to go to the Halloween woods party. I guess she had overheard some of the town kids talking about it. I told her I wasn’t really into parties but she was trying so hard to convince me it would be fun, I figured I’d throw her a bone. After all, I was trying my best to not seem like a loser. Things started out okay, but it was so damn loud I couldn’t think straight. Then some drunk kid started shouting about how his dad—a police officer—found a murdered homeless guys in the woods. I freaked and told Caitlin I wanted to go. She turned to me, distracted, “Hey, where did you say you got that cloak?” There was that look again. At that moment, someone bumped into her, hitting her shoulder, and she yelped. Alarm bells went off. I realized I didn’t actually know this girl. All I knew were the facts: Her family moved into town, I found the bloody cloak in the woods, and a guy was murdered in the very same woods. That, paired with her pushiness about the cloak and hurt shoulder spelled out “Caitlin is a murderer” in neon lights. I felt the walls closing in, so I turned and ran. She followed.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in the woods, snowflakes caressing my face. I opened my eyes slowly and laid there in the utter silence. It’s as if the world had been muted in awe, the snowfall demanding center stage. I smiled to myself, satisfied that the Snow Gods had delivered. As the feeling returned to my limbs I lifted my hands. The stark red was a grizzly contrast to the pure white snow. I was covered in blood. Fear seized my heart as I tried to piece together what had happened, coming up short on all accounts. I sat up, and that’s when I saw her. Caitlin, lying in the snow, puppy ears askew, skull bashed in. I threw up. Lying next to me was a large, jagged rock, also covered in blood. I crawled over to her and checked for a pulse. I’m not really sure why, I very clearly could see that she was very clearly dead. Her skin was icy cold and her heartbeat nonexistent. What had happened? Had we been attacked? Maybe the person who had killed the homeless guy came for us too. But why kill her and let me live? None of it made sense. I felt so guilty for thinking Caitlin was a murderer. This was my fault. She had followed me and then . . . and then . . . a sinking feeling overwhelmed me. No. it couldn’t be. I shakily pulled down my own sleeve and used my phone to look at the back of my left shoulder. A recently healed scar, about three inches long stared accusingly back at me. I started to sob, and then I called 911.

As it turns out, I’m not just a loser, I’m a monster. The psychiatrists call it dissociative amnesia, triggered by trauma. Remember that cruise my parents went on? Well apparently they never actually made it back. On their way home from the port, they died in a car crash. Aunt Laney was driving and somehow survived. Being the only family I had left, I was sent to live with her. She gave me the cloak, which my parents had bought for me while on the cruise. Survivor’s guilt consumed her and she killed herself a week later. I was the one who found her body. After that I ran. I came back to my house and my mind did me a solid and blocked out everything that had happened from when my parents left for the cruise. Even now, I don’t actually have any memory of what I just told you, all that information came to me from the psychs. The police basically pieced together what happened from when I went back to my house. I reverted to my “normal life” while having periodic episodes of memory loss that I was completely unaware of. The psychs say that’s normal—Ha! Normal.

I killed that homeless man. The worst part is I don’t know why. I still can’t remember doing it, but the police found my DNA and fibers from my cloak on his body. Sometime during that, I lost the cloak and hurt my shoulder. When I saw it hanging in the woods, the familiarity of it must have called to me. I never bothered to look closely at my shoulder, assuming I hurt it when I tripped and fell running to the bathroom, but the psychs told me that I probably wouldn’t have connected the scar with the event anyways, having no memory of it. I’m even more ashamed to admit this, but I killed Caitlin too. Apparently she came to the house looking for me on Halloween day. When she found the door unlocked she let herself in. I guess she could tell I had been living alone for longer than a week and got worried that something wasn’t right. She told her parents, who told her to stay away from me until they could figure out what was going on. She snuck out on Halloween night because she didn’t want to ditch me. I’m getting my memory back in bits and pieces from that night, mostly in the form of nightmares. When I ran from her, she followed me to make sure I was okay. She told me that I needed help, and I guess I snapped. Luckily I can’t remember much more after that and I don’t ever want to. I will never forgive myself for what I did to her.

My new life is here in this psych ward, and I’m pretty sure I’m never getting out—which is probably a good thing. The one saving grace is they let me have Freya. I don’t deserve her, but I’m glad she’s here. Winter is in full swing now, and as I look out of my tiny window in this cold, bare room, the silence that I always yearned for feels deafening. The snow is blanketing the ground, erasing the hard work of spring and summer, and the death of fall.

Yours,

Mara