When I reached it, I held on to its sides for a few seconds, staying in the icy water. I looked toward the shore, and I saw the light of the house, but I couldn’t make out whether anyone was standing on the dock or not. I listened, but I only heard the water lapping at the houseboat, and my own breath, and my own heartbeat in my ears.

Then I moved hand over hand around the edge of the structure, until I came to a ladder that led up to a narrow deck and the door of the house. The whole structure tilted when I pulled myself onto the bottom rung of the ladder, but I climbed up easily. On the deck, I sat shivering, looking across the water to my house, looking at the dock, which I could see now was empty. I went to the door of the houseboat. Obviously, it was locked.

I was freezing and scared. And the longer I stood on the deck, the more chance he would be able to see me, I knew. The fog that rolled in with the dusk was rolling off across the sea now, and soon my body on the deck of the houseboat would be clearly visible from shore. I felt the cold wind on my wet skin. The thing I wanted most was to get inside, but how? I tried the window to the right of the door. There was no way to open it from the outside. I pounded on it a little with my fist, but that didn’t do anything.

But the window on the other side of the door—that one wasn’t closed tightly. There was the smallest crack under the window, enough for my fingers to fit underneath and pry it up. It didn’t move. When had these windows last opened? I wiggled it and felt the window begin to loosen. The fog seemed to blow all around me, and above me the sky began to clear. Hazy light poured down, clearer and clearer. The moon, not full, but bright. I pounded the window with my fist and then wiggled it open a fraction of an inch. I hit it again. Soon, I could fit my hand under and push upward with more strength. Something seemed to give, and the window opened. It was a tight squeeze, but I pushed myself through, headfirst into the interior of the houseboat.