From Moon of Little Winter...
Another thud, followed by a muffled oath, caused her to sit up and reach for the bedside lamp. The covers slipped to her waist as light flooded the cavernous room. Cold tendrils of fear snaked around her heart like the icy fingers of a thick fog. The rapid pulse in her ear drowned out further sound. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm her nerves, and then cocked her head to the side to listen.
Minutes ticked by without another sound. She sucked in another mouthful of air, held it and listened some more.
Footsteps scuffed across hardwood floors.
Those icy fingers coiled toward her stomach.
Beyond a doubt, she was no longer alone in the old house. And whoever was there with her was in the next room.
Opening the nightstand drawer, she pulled out the pistol she kept for protection.
“Didn’t want to have to use this,” she mumbled as she checked the bullets. Curling her fingers around the cold steel, she kept her eye on the door and eased off the bed. Cold air crept across her feet, circled her ankles and crawled up her legs.
It’s always cold in this place.
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