But it was. She could feel the bones moving under the skin of her leg and the pain made her bite her lip so hard she tasted blood. She managed to throw the rug aside, favoring her stinging arms. They were covered with deep, ugly scrapes. She ached all over, and felt the beginnings of bruises on her elbows, hips and knees, as well as in some places she could hardly remember hurting.

But the thought of her daughter drove her to fight her way over into the living room and to the couch, using her numb fingers and bloody nails to pull herself along in a kind of jerky, out-of-water, sidestroke. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached the first cushion. It was still very cold in the house, and she realized that the window in the kitchen was broken (yes, she remembered the sound of breaking glass from downstairs when HE came) and the storm continued to lace snow against the walls. Some of it was surely getting inside, along with the wind she heard whipping through the broken window.

And what else was inside? Who else? The house seemed darker, and around every corner, within the depths of every shadow, she could hear the creaks and groans of wood settling as the wind pushed at the walls. Her father was gone now, and there was nobody else here to help her fight.

Movement in the hallway next to the door. The rug she had used as a blanket was piled up in the corner, and next to it…

She blinked and the figure was gone. A moment before, she had been ready to scream, frozen in terror by the figure crouched in the darkness, and now she could clearly see there was nothing there at all.

Get a hold of yourself, girl. She had always been a little embarrassed by the stereotype of the screaming, hysterical female in the movies, and now here she was joining them.

She struggled to a sitting position, then forced her body upward onto the couch, her leg protesting every second. Something scraped its way along the side of the house like long, skeleton fingers. “A branch, only a branch,” she whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse and unnatural to her in the dark. She had to get dressed before the cold got to her again.

The fire poker stood against the wall a few feet away, and she dragged herself over to it, using the wall for support. The poker only came halfway up her thigh, but it would have to do. And it’s heavy enough if it comes to that, she thought. A renewed rush of adrenaline dampened the pain in her leg, and she was able to half stand with her back to the wall. She leaned against the poker carefully, pound by pound until it supported most of her weight.