“The Empty Ones”

PART I

Jake Harris gripped the steering wheel as he stared out into the encroaching darkness, his headlights reflected in the endless swirl of snow. The forecast had warned him that November storms could be merciless this year, but he still thought he could beat the weather and make it home in time for Joshua’s birthday. Yet here he was, battling wind gusts so strong they rocked his truck side to side, the frozen highway stretching out ahead like a treacherous obstacle course.

He glanced down at the dashboard clock: 6:47 PM. The party was supposed to start at seven. He had promised he would be there, no matter what. Joshua was turning eight this year, old enough to understand what it meant for a father to break his word. The guilt weighed on Jake. He’d already missed too many milestones, too many celebrations. This was supposed to be different.

“C’mon,” he muttered under his breath, leaning closer to the windshield. Snowflakes pelted the glass with a machine-gun rattle, so thick that his vision blurred. The heater blasted hot air, but his fingertips still felt cold through his gloves. Every now and again, the wind howled across the open fields, pushing the truck so forcefully that he had to correct the steering just to keep from skidding into a ditch.

He turned on the radio, hoping to catch a local weather advisory. Static. He flicked through a few stations, but there was nothing—just faint crackles and garbled bursts that disappeared beneath the shrieking wind. Cell reception hadn’t been much better for the past forty miles, and he could only imagine Mia at home, phone in hand, wondering why he wasn’t picking up.

150 miles from home, the roads narrowed and the nearest interstate exit was still a good half hour away, in good weather. Tonight, he was traveling at barely forty miles an hour. His eyes twitched with tension as a snowdrift appeared in the middle of the lane, and he eased the truck to the left, feeling the tires slip on hidden ice. He managed to keep control, but not without his heart pounding in sudden fear.

He exhaled, tapping the brakes lightly. “Jake, you idiot,” he muttered, flicking the wipers to their highest setting. “You should’ve turned back.” But the thought of Joshua’s disappointed face spurred him on. Turning around meant guaranteeing he wouldn’t make it. Continuing onward meant there was still a chance—small, but enough to keep him going.

The lights on his dashboard flickered for a second, then steadied. Nervous, he checked the engine temperature gauge, but it read normal. At least that was something. Outside, the snow was a relentless blur, transforming the world into a swirling chaos of white. Each flake glimmered, reflecting in his headlights like countless tiny mirrors.

He rolled his shoulders to release the tension coiled in them. His phone rested on the passenger seat, its screen dark, having lost signal an hour earlier. He’d already tried to text Mia, tried to apologize, tried to say he’d do everything in his power to make it. With each attempt, the message hovered briefly before failing to send.

Then the engine made a sputtering sound. A brief cough, nothing dramatic, but enough to set Jake on high alert. “Not now,” he breathed. He eased off the gas, waiting to see if the noise would worsen, but the engine calmed. Just the whir of wheels on the slick road and the howling wind. After a few minutes, the tension in his shoulders returned with a vengeance. Every nerve in his body braced for something—he didn’t know what, but he sensed trouble in the heavy air.

The storm thickened. It was difficult to gauge where the road ended and the roadside began. The swirling drifts towered in places, shaped by gusts into bizarre, almost sculpted forms. As he scanned the darkness for any road signs, his eyes landed on the strangest patch of snow he’d seen all night. It wasn’t the shape of it that disturbed him, but the way it moved. Flakes seemed to rise up, not swirl sideways or fall downward. They rose, lifting as though carried by a breeze that came from the ground. He blinked, certain it was just a trick of the headlights. When he looked again, it seemed normal. Still, an uneasy feeling lodged itself in the back of his mind.

Time crawled. Ten miles, twenty miles—it felt like a lifetime. His watch read 7:26 PM. Joshua’s birthday party would have started by now. The knowledge tightened his throat. He pictured Joshua blowing out candles with an empty seat at the table where Dad should be.

Then came the sputter again, louder this time. The truck jerked. A warning light flared on the dash. Jake’s heart skipped a beat as he eased the truck onto the shoulder—if it could even be called a shoulder in this storm. He put it in park and let the engine idle for a moment, hoping the problem would resolve itself. The blizzard raged around him, hammering the cab with blasts of wind so strong the truck shook.

“Let’s see what we got,” he sighed, killing the engine and grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment. The moment he opened the door, the wind tore it from his grasp, flinging a swirl of powdery snow into the cab. He fought his way out, boots sinking into the drift that nearly reached his ankles, and fumbled to close the door behind him.

The cold was like a slap in the face. The wind snatched his breath away. He tugged his hood tight around his neck and bent forward, flashlight beam bobbing over the truck’s front grille. Snow piled up in every seam, every hollow. He half-crawled to the hood and popped it open, letting the beam illuminate the engine.

“It’s probably just the weather,” he mumbled, looking for anything obviously out of place. But the engine wasn’t giving him much to work with—no leaking fluid, no snapped belts that he could see. The hoses looked intact. Then again, he wasn’t a mechanic. He could only hope the sputtering was something minor.

It was then he noticed the snow. Not just the flakes swirling in the air, but a strange, powdery substance landing gently on his sleeves. The flakes sparkled oddly in the flashlight, like tiny fragments of glass. He tried to brush them off, but they clung to the fabric. Almost magnetically. As he looked closer, he realized they weren’t all blowing away. Some of them seemed to melt into the material, vanishing without leaving any moisture behind.

An icy chill—not from the temperature, but from a sense of wrongness—crept along Jake’s spine. He let the hood drop shut and turned the flashlight on his arms. More flakes. Tens, maybe hundreds of them. They weren’t normal snowflakes, the kind that melt naturally. They burrowed into the fibers of his coat. He felt a faint tug, a pull he couldn’t quite describe, as if something was drawing warmth—or more than warmth—out of him.

He shuddered, then patted frantically at his arms, but the flakes refused to dislodge. It was like trying to brush off confetti glued to his skin, each piece determined to stay. Frustrated and alarmed, he stumbled back to the driver’s side door, yanked it open, and collapsed onto the seat. The howling wind followed him in until he could slam the door shut.

“God… what is this?” he whispered, shining the flashlight on his hands. He pulled off his gloves, revealing a few flakes clinging to his skin. To his horror, they seemed to melt in the beams of light, sinking directly into his flesh. A wave of nausea rolled through him. It felt like someone sucking at his veins, pulling energy and something deeper—his thoughts, maybe—right out of him.

Then, it passed. The flakes were gone. He was left gasping, cold sweat beading on his forehead. Dazed, he glanced at the clock on the dash, which read 8:03 PM. That couldn’t be right. He could’ve sworn he’d been outside for only a couple of minutes. Checking his wristwatch, he saw 7:39 PM.

One read 7:39. One read 8:03. His mind spun in confusion. Which one was correct? Maybe neither. He tried to turn the key in the ignition, but the engine only coughed. A few attempts later, the lights on the dash flickered, then died. The truck fell silent except for the raging wind outside.

Jake’s phone was his next hope. He picked it up from the passenger seat, fumbling to turn it on. It lit up for a moment—7:54 PM—and then the signal bars vanished. He tried the weather app, the text app, anything that would give him a clue, but each time, the phone hung on a spinning wheel before giving him an error message.

“Damn it,” he hissed, dropping the phone onto his lap. His breath fogged the windshield. On the other side of the glass, the headlights still illuminated a flurry of snow—but now, he could almost see swirling shapes, patterns in the drifting white. Were they illusions caused by the wind, or something else?

The memory of the flakes creeping into his skin struck him again. He couldn’t recall the exact moment it happened, only the bizarre sensation of his body being drained. And for a split second, he’d felt… empty. Part of him wanted to dismiss it as the product of exhaustion and panic, yet he couldn’t deny the intense realism of that tugging, pulling feeling. He was stuck, alone, in a storm growing by the minute.

He reached into the back seat for a spare blanket, carefully wrapping it around himself. If the engine wouldn’t run, he’d need to preserve as much warmth as possible. The wind howled louder, rattling the truck. Another wave of nauseating dread washed over him as he found more of those curious flakes on the floor mat. They glistened under the dim overhead light, almost pulsing with a faint glow, as if they had a life of their own.

He pressed the switch to kill the overhead light, wanting to hide from the sight of them. Darkness swallowed him. He could see only the whiteness outside, the swirl that never ceased, the unstoppable flow of snow that threatened to bury everything in its path. Joshua’s face drifted into his mind. Eight years old. So close to being home. And yet he might as well be a thousand miles away in this chaos.

He sat there, listening to the storm, when the pulling sensation returned. It was gentler this time, but more insidious—like invisible hands sliding across his arms and chest. He tried to flick the overhead light on again, only to find it no longer responded. The battery must be nearly drained.

Jake stifled a cry. He had to keep his wits, had to find a way out of this. Maybe if he could flag down another vehicle, or walk to the next mile marker… But that prospect, in the heart of the storm, was terrifying. He fiddled with the key again, a spark of hope igniting when the engine gave a feeble rumble. Then it died with a disheartening click.

A short burst of static erupted from the radio, causing Jake to jump. “H-hello?” he said, reaching for the dial. The static fluctuated, an unsteady hiss that rose and fell. For a moment, he thought he heard a voice in it—barely a whisper. He leaned closer, turning the volume up. The voice, if it even was a voice, was lost beneath the swirling chaos of static. Another wave of dizziness made him slump back.

Time was slipping away, in more ways than one. The clock on his wrist read 7:42 now. Hadn’t it read that before? He shut his eyes, fighting back a sense of panic. He realized his thoughts were drifting, scattering. Moments earlier, he knew exactly what he needed to do—try the engine, check the phone, conserve heat. Now, he struggled to remember that order of events. It was as though something was peeling away his logic, piece by piece.

“Focus, Jake,” he scolded himself. “Stay awake. Stay in control.” Outside, the storm raged louder, but inside the truck, a vacuum-like silence filled the cab, broken only by Jake’s ragged breathing. He rubbed his arms, half expecting to feel more flakes burrowing into his skin. Maybe they were already inside him, draining him from the inside out.

The wind slammed the truck so violently that it rocked on its suspension. He cursed. If any other drivers came this way, they’d be mad to keep going. But maybe—just maybe—someone would notice his hazard lights or the glare of his headlights. If the battery wasn’t completely dead, perhaps the lights still worked enough to signal that he was there.

He turned the key slightly, just enough to switch on the electronics. The headlights flickered to life, casting feeble beams into the white haze. “Come on,” he whispered, as if summoning help by sheer force of will. No headlights appeared in the distance. No glow on the horizon. Just endless, devouring darkness punctuated by swirling snow.

Another glance at his phone. Dead. The battery icon showed a question mark. He tried to recall the last time he’d charged it, but the memory slipped away. The storm hammered onward, the hours slipping in and out of his grasp. 7:46. 8:10. 8:00. None of it made sense.

He forced himself to think of Joshua again. That sweet smile, the gap in his front teeth. It centered him for a fleeting moment. “I’ll get home,” he vowed quietly. “I’ll be there for him, no matter what it takes.” The vow kindled a tiny spark of energy deep within, enough to dull the creeping dread.

Still, the memory of those flakes haunted him. He could almost feel them swirling inside his veins, scraping at his consciousness like a thousand tiny needles. The thought of them feeding on him—or whatever they were doing—made his stomach churn. The emptiness in his chest was expanding, a hollow ache that threatened to unravel him if he dwelled on it too long.

He breathed in and out, shaking off another dizzy spell. The overhead light remained off, the radio silent. There was only the storm and that maddening hush inside the truck. Outside, snow had piled up to the door frame, burying the lower half of his tires. If help didn’t come soon, he would be completely stuck.

Jake slumped in the driver’s seat and closed his eyes. His mind felt so heavy, so tired. The wind battered the windows, the cold inching its way in. All he could do was cling to the promise he had made. To get home. To be there for his son.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed—whether he nodded off or simply drifted—but when he finally opened his eyes, his wristwatch read 8:21. A surge of confusion shot through him; it had to be later than that, or earlier. He couldn’t be sure. The quiet in the truck enveloped him like a cocoon, and the storm outside droned on like an endless scream.

Gripping the steering wheel, Jake mustered the last scrap of determination he had. He would try again. Maybe the engine would turn over once more. Maybe he could roll a mile or two and find a gas station or a phone booth—anything. He turned the key. Silence. Then, a faint click. And with that, any glimmer of hope that he could drive out of here extinguished.

He closed his eyes, fists clenched against the trembling in his body. He had to come up with a new plan. He had to find another way—someone else, some other place. Because if he stayed here too long, he knew that unearthly snow would come for him again.

And the next time, he feared, it might strip away every last trace of who he was.

PART II

Jake sat slumped in the driver’s seat, every muscle in his body quivering from cold and lingering fear. He felt as though he’d sunk into the truck’s worn cushions and couldn’t lift himself out. Outside, the storm still howled, the wind threatening to tear the world apart flake by flake. Inside, all was silent save for Jake’s ragged breathing. The truck’s engine was dead, the battery too weak to power the heat or the light. The only illumination came from the headlights, which still glowed faintly into the swirling snow ahead—though he had no idea how much longer they’d last.

He rubbed his arms to keep warm, half expecting to feel those strange clinging flakes again. Instead, his hands found patches of damp cloth where snow had melted. The memory of how the flakes had burrowed into his coat and skin was impossible to shake. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the biting cold or the haunting emptiness that had remained after they seeped away.

Tremors rattled his legs, and he pressed them together, trying to steady himself. The night felt interminable, time slipping through his fingers. Between the blinking clock on the dash and the contradictory numbers on his watch, he had no idea what hour it might be. His phone, similarly unhelpful, showed a black screen whenever he tapped it.

“Joshua,” he murmured, letting his head drop against the seat. He tried picturing his son’s face as it might look tonight, blowing out eight bright candles. The image flickered in his mind—was that a memory or just an aspiration? He couldn’t tell anymore. Each time he tried to focus, his thoughts scattered like the snow outside.

He turned his eyes to the window. The darkness beyond it teemed with white shapes, but occasionally he sensed movement that had nothing to do with wind. A faint blur darting among the drifts, or a swirl of flakes coalescing in a vertical slant that reminded him of a figure. Jake blinked hard, unsure whether the storm was playing tricks on him or if something really lurked just beyond the glass.

He could no longer sit idle. The cold would kill him if he stayed much longer, and whatever was out there—those alien flakes or something worse—seemed poised to come for him again. He had to get out. He had to find help.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Okay, I’m not dying in here.”

Slowly, he reached over and unlatched the glove compartment. He pulled out a small flashlight with fading batteries. He also spotted a half-eaten protein bar, which he tucked into his coat pocket. It was better than nothing.

Before he opened the door, he hesitated. The wind had been brutal last time, nearly tearing the handle from his grip. Now, it howled even harder. But every second spent waiting felt worse, a creeping dread of something unseen drawing closer. With a bracing breath, he tugged the door latch.

A blast of icy air sliced across his face, immediately numbing his cheeks. Snow swirled into the cab. He forced the door open against the wind and stumbled out into the storm. His boots sank into the drift, the snow almost to his knees. Leaning against the side of the truck for support, he kicked the door shut behind him, reducing the glow from the headlights to little more than a muted gleam.

Jake tried to breathe steadily, but each gust seemed to wrench the air from his lungs. The flashlight’s beam barely penetrated the white swirl. He pointed it forward and took one step, then another, his body hunched to remain upright in the gale. Ice crystals scraped his exposed skin like shards of glass. The highway was invisible beneath a thick layer of snow; it felt like he was wading through a frozen ocean.

Two minutes in, and his thighs already burned. His body hadn’t recovered from the first round with those uncanny flakes. Even the simple act of walking felt monumental. Still, he pressed on, scanning for any sign—maybe a road sign or an exit ramp, a guardrail, or the headlights of a passing car. But nothing emerged from the blizzard’s choking grip.

He paused to rest, panting, and that was when he caught sight of a faint, wavering figure in his peripheral vision. It looked like a person standing in the swirling white, only a few yards away. A survivor? Another traveler?

“Hey!” Jake shouted, though the wind tore the word from his lips. He waved his flashlight, shining it toward the spot. The beam revealed a wall of white, no trace of anyone there.

He swallowed a rising panic. “You’re seeing things,” he told himself, turning his gaze forward again. But not ten steps later, the figure returned—this time on his other side, no more than a silhouette in the swirling gusts. He whipped around to face it, but again it vanished. The emptiness left behind felt heavier than the storm itself.

Just as he was about to force himself onward, the flakes came again. They fell in a concentrated flurry around him, distinct from the rest of the snow. Each was iridescent, glimmering under the flashlight’s dim light. He raised his free hand in an attempt to shield himself. Then they struck. Not with physical force, but with the same draining pull he’d felt before, only stronger.

He gasped, dropping to his knees as a wave of dizziness overcame him. The flakes latched onto his arms, his shoulders, his face. He watched in horror as they nestled against his skin, seemingly dissolving into it. In an instant, a cold, sucking sensation gripped him from within, as though invisible siphons were draining every vital essence he possessed.

“No… s-stop!” he coughed. The words sounded pitiful, lost in the wind. He had no strength to tear them off; his arms felt paralyzed.

As the flakes dug deeper, images from his own life began to flicker through his mind like a broken reel of film: Joshua as a toddler, learning to walk; Holly’s first Christmas; the day he and Mia bought the house. His memories were playing on fast-forward, and with each flitter of recollection, he felt part of it slip away. He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to hold onto them, but the harder he fought, the more they seemed to evaporate.

Then, just as before, the flakes re-emerged. One by one, they left his body, fluttering into the night. He collapsed, breathing in ragged gulps of frozen air. A hollow ache expanded in his chest, accompanied by a dreadful certainty that something in him was now smaller, emptier. He pressed his gloved hand against his sternum, half expecting to find a physical hole there.

The flakes, with the pieces of him they had stolen, whirled away into the storm. Perhaps they were heading back to something larger, something that used them like a fisherman’s net to trawl for souls. Jake tried to move, but everything felt distant, as though he was watching himself from outside his body. The cold pressed in, and for a terrifying moment, he wondered if he’d sink into the snow and never get up.

No. He had to fight. He had to keep going. Thoughts of Joshua’s birthday flitted through his mind again, but now he couldn’t remember the exact date. It had been November… what? The eighteenth? The nineteenth? That detail, once so crucial, now dangled just out of reach.

With a desperate groan, he forced himself to stand. His legs wobbled, but he managed to remain upright. “Move,” he told himself. “Move or die.” And so he took another step. Then another. A minute passed, or maybe an hour—time felt elastic, governed by no logic he recognized. His flashlight beam threatened to fade, flickering ominously.

In the half-light, Jake spotted what might have been a guardrail sticking up through the drifts. He stumbled toward it, adrenaline spurring him forward. But upon reaching it, he saw only a twisted piece of metal, possibly from a broken fence, coated in sheets of ice. Beyond it, there was no sign of a main road or structures. With every second, hope eroded a little more.

His breath came in frosty bursts, each exhalation a cloud that the wind devoured. The tractor-trailer he’d abandoned was nowhere in sight, swallowed by the whiteout. He considered turning back, but which way was back? The storm erased everything behind him as effectively as it hid everything ahead.

He trudged forward until he nearly walked into a mound of drifted snow that stood nearly chest-high. Swallowing back despair, he skirted around it, boots sinking, sliding. His thighs screamed with fatigue. If not for the thick layers of clothing, the cold might already have ended him.

A flicker of light caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks, trying to steady his breathing. There—just ahead, a dim glow. Could it be the headlights of another vehicle? Or was it his own truck, from some warped angle? He aimed the flashlight that way. Nothing but billowing snow. Yet in his peripheral vision, the glow was still there. He angled himself, taking a few steps, and realized the light was flickering. Not steady like electric beams, more like a flame. A candle? A lantern?

A whisper of hope bolstered him. If it was a flame, it might mean shelter, another human presence. He advanced clumsily, each step feeling like a mile. The glow wavered in and out of sight, as though the wind itself decided when to obscure and when to reveal it.

Then he saw them again—shadows in the storm. Shapes, faint silhouettes that drifted in the periphery. They looked like people, at times standing upright, other times contorting in unnatural angles. Jake’s grip on the flashlight tightened. He whipped it around, searching for any sign that they were real. The beam danced across swirling snow, revealing fleeting glimpses of what could have been limbs or elongated heads. But every time he focused the light, they were gone.

“Leave me alone,” he growled, though his voice cracked. He pressed on, the flickering glow his guiding star. He refused to entertain the possibility that it might be some trick conjured by these phantasms. He’d take the chance. Facing illusions of warmth was better than yielding to the relentless, ravenous cold.

The next twenty yards were pure agony. His boots felt like cinder blocks, his lungs burned. He wobbled and nearly dropped the flashlight. At last, the light grew stronger, and he realized it was indeed a torch or lantern dangling from what looked like a short post. Beyond it, a snow-caked wooden sign stuck out of the ground. He couldn’t make out the letters, if there were any. Next to the sign was a faint trail, perhaps an unpaved road or a path. Relief coursed through him, but so did trepidation. Who would have a lantern lit in this storm?

Jake trudged forward, shining his flashlight across the sign. No words were visible, just layers of ice and snow. The lantern was an old-fashioned oil lamp, swaying on a hook. It cast a feeble golden circle onto the snow. Grateful for even that small amount of light, he stepped into its glow. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt a slight warmth caress his face.

He paused there, panting. The rest of the world was a swirling void, but this circle of yellow felt like a sanctuary—even if it was only a few degrees warmer. He glanced around, searching for clues about who left the lamp. A set of footprints might have been visible once, but the storm had likely erased them. He tried calling out, but the wind swallowed his voice.

A sudden sense of foreboding stabbed at him. He looked down at his arms and realized, to his horror, that the snow-like flakes had returned. They fluttered in the lamp’s light, drifting from the air to land on his sleeves. A strangled whimper escaped him as he tried to brush them off, to no avail. Again, they clung—like static, or magnetized fragments. Jake felt his stomach drop. It was happening again.

He turned off his flashlight to free a hand. With both hands, he smacked and patted at the flakes. “No, no, no!” he snarled, as though sheer force of will could dislodge them. But they were relentless, sinking into his coat and dissolving. He sensed that vampiric pull, that draining sensation—a hollow ache that spread from his arms to his chest. Then they went deeper, into his very mind.

Images flared behind his eyes: Mia’s smiling face, the ring of daisies she wore in her hair the day they got married. He fought to hold onto that memory. But the flakes were there, siphoning it away, leaving behind a vague impression of happiness without context. Rage burned in Jake’s gut. He would not let them take Mia from him.

He yanked the lantern from the hook, plunging forward into the storm as if outrunning them might help. At first, it seemed insane—he couldn’t possibly run in waist-high drifts—but desperation fueled him. He stumbled, fell to one knee, staggered up again. The flakes kept coming. They were in his hair, on his gloves, even creeping along the lantern’s handle. Flashes of memory, like individual pages torn from a book, flickered through his mind and vanished, leaving him gasping.

Suddenly, the flakes rose from his body, shimmering like a cloud of diamond dust. Jake nearly collapsed, his knees buckling under the weight of the emptiness they left behind. He caught himself with one hand in the snow. The lantern dangled from his other hand, flame sputtering. He felt more disoriented than before, as though half of himself had been stolen.

He watched the flakes swirl away. They drifted off, merging with the storm. Maybe they were returning to a larger presence—some cosmic force that hovered unseen, gorging itself on stolen human essence. The notion made him shiver more violently than the cold ever could.

Even so, he clutched the lantern, forcing himself to keep going. The path—if that’s what it was—had to lead somewhere. Perhaps a cabin, or an abandoned shack. Anything with walls. If he found a building, he might barricade himself inside and wait out the blizzard. Even if the flakes found him again, at least he wouldn’t freeze.

His progress was pitifully slow. Each step felt heavier, drained of vitality. He glanced at his watch, but either it had stopped or he couldn’t read it properly. The numbers swam before his eyes. He wasn’t sure if hours were passing, or seconds. The night pressed on in an unending pitch, the storm’s wail constant.

Then, at last, he saw a shape in the distance. Something dark that stood out against the swirling white. He blinked, not trusting his eyes. Another illusion, or something real? He trudged closer, brandishing the lantern. The shape grew more distinct: a tree, bent and aged, standing beside a taller silhouette that loomed behind it. A structure?

Yes. The outline of a building. Or was it a ruin? He couldn’t be sure, but the thought of walls and a roof propelled him forward. He prayed it wasn’t a complete collapse. He prayed it had a door he could seal against the wind. The thought of respite made him choke up with a mixture of relief and fear. He was too exhausted to consider that whatever lived there might not be friendly.

The wind knocked him sideways, and he tumbled face-first into the snow. He lost his grip on the lantern, which landed with a hiss in a shallow drift. Jake scrambled to retrieve it, terrified the flame would extinguish. His gloved fingers found the metal handle. The flickering light persisted, though it guttered precariously.

He heaved himself upright once more, stumbling ahead with the lantern’s meager glow. Now close enough to see dark wooden boards, he realized it was indeed some kind of building—a cabin, maybe, with a slanted roof weighed down by snow. Relief warred with apprehension: who lived there? Could they help him? Or would they even answer the door in the midst of this nightmare?

Jake forced himself to the entrance. His numb fingers fumbled for a handle, and he found a crude latch. He gave it a tentative tug. To his amazement, the door opened a crack, catching on something inside. “Hello?” he croaked, hardly able to hear his own voice. Wind whipped past him, driving snow into the narrow gap.

No response. His heart pounded. If it was abandoned, he might at least find shelter. He set the lantern down, took hold of the door with both hands, and shoved. A wooden crate on the floor inside groaned and scraped across rough planks, clearing a path. Jake stumbled in, slamming the door shut behind him.

He stood in the darkness, shivering uncontrollably. The wind outside rattled the cabin walls, but for the moment, he was out of the direct blast. Snow dripped from his coat, forming puddles at his feet. He lifted the lantern again, letting its beam reveal a single-room interior: a table, two chairs, a clutter of boxes. Sparse but intact. It smelled of dust, wood, and something he couldn’t name.

He barely had the strength to stand. He spotted what might have been a small fireplace at the far wall, though no fire burned there now. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees on the rickety floorboards, gasping for air. The emptiness in his chest throbbed, sharper than any physical wound.

The flakes had taken more from him than he cared to contemplate. Names, faces, important moments—they all felt hazy, like half-remembered dreams. He knew he was Jake Harris, but the certainty of that knowledge was slipping, replaced by a dull ache. A part of him feared that if he tried to recall a conversation he’d had with Mia just a few days before, he wouldn’t be able to. What else was gone? Would he even notice if they took something bigger?

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over him, heavier than anything he’d felt before. Despite the primal alarm bells ringing in his mind—this cabin could be unsafe, something could be here—he couldn’t fight off the need to rest. Just for a moment, he told himself, I’ll rest.

Jake set the lantern carefully on the floor. The flame guttered but stayed lit, painting the rough walls with dancing shadows. Outside, the wind hammered, but it felt distant now, muffled by the cabin walls. He closed his eyes, chest heaving, arms limp at his sides. Perhaps he had minutes before the flakes came again, or maybe the storm had lulled them for the moment.

He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there in the dark. His mind drifted, half in a stupor. Eventually, a faint voice spoke in the corners of his perception. He snapped his eyes open, heart pounding. “Who’s there?” he managed, though his voice was so hoarse it barely carried. Nothing answered. Had it been the wind? His imagination?

He tried to stand but only succeeded in slumping against the nearest wall. The entire cabin was dark except for the lantern’s trembling glow. He squinted at the corners. Something seemed to shift, just beyond the circle of light. Shapes? Or was it the flicker of the flame? A metallic taste of fear filled his mouth.

He exhaled shakily. At least he was alive. For how long, he didn’t know. This place, battered though it was, might be his only chance to stave off death. If morning ever came, perhaps the storm would ease, and he could find a way to radio for help—or even trek further if his body had the strength.

But morning felt like a distant fantasy. Jake pressed the back of his head against the wall, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. One question pounded in his exhausted brain: How much of me have they already taken?

And outside, the storm raged on, carrying who-knew-how-many more of those malevolent flakes. They had found him twice now, and he had little doubt they could do so again. Perhaps they were drifting around the cabin, waiting for a chance to slip through the cracks in the walls. Their hunger seemed inexhaustible.

Jake closed his eyes once more, clinging to a single thought: Mia. He pictured her just as she’d looked on their wedding day, in a simple white dress, hair braided with wildflowers. For a moment, he felt warmth welling in his chest—and then, with disquieting suddenness, the memory flickered. He couldn’t quite recall the shape of her smile. Panicked, he fought to reclaim that detail, but it was as though the memory had already been partially erased.

Tears burned in his eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was from grief or the biting cold. The flicker of the lantern merged with the roaring of the wind, and his consciousness wavered.

He had to survive. He had to. The storm and the flakes and the eerie presences were not invincible, or so he told himself. If he could just endure a little longer, maybe, somehow, he’d make it back to Joshua.

Jake wrapped his arms around himself, praying that the physical embrace would anchor him. Outside, the wind snarled. Inside, shadows lurked. Something was out there—no, many somethings. He recalled the silhouettes in the storm. Plural. Possibly an entire swarm.

For now, though, he was out of their direct reach. In that tiny pocket of stillness, he tried to gather the frayed strands of his mind and hold them together until dawn. Or until the next wave of flakes came for what remained of his soul.

PART III

For a long, dreamlike moment, Jake forgot where he was. He drifted in the half-conscious haze of exhaustion, vaguely aware of darkness and cold. Slowly, his senses returned: the whine of the wind outside, the musty smell of the cabin’s interior, and the faint warmth from the lantern at his side. His face felt stiff with frozen sweat and melted snow, and his fingers were so numb they hardly responded when he willed them to move.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the dim surroundings. The cabin’s single room was cramped and old, with shelves sagging beneath dusty jars and tins. A rickety wooden table and two mismatched chairs sat in one corner. The fireplace looked usable but empty, save for a blackened pot perched on a small iron grate. At least the walls kept out the worst of the storm, though wind still slipped through cracks.

Jake pulled himself upright, leaning against the wall for balance. His head throbbed with a dull ache, as though part of him had been squeezed out through a funnel. The memory of those invasive flakes came flooding back, making him shudder. He felt lighter, but not in a good way—more like a crucial part of his foundation had been chipped away.

He rubbed his eyes, only to jerk his hand away when he noticed new flakes clinging to his glove. Panic squeezed his chest, until he realized these were just normal snow crystals that had drifted off his sleeve. Nothing else pressed inward on his mind. The sensation of being drained had subsided, at least for now.

A sudden noise—wood creaking—startled him. He froze, straining to listen. It wasn’t the wind or the familiar groan of the cabin’s beams. It was a footstep. Another human being? Or something else?

Jake picked up the lantern, its flame flickering in response to his movement. Slowly, he angled the light toward the far corner. At first, he saw nothing but shadows. Then the darkness shifted, revealing the hunched form of an older woman. She wore a thick coat and knitted cap, her wrinkled face illuminated by the flicker of the lamp. She’d been standing there all along, silent as the grave.

“Who—” Jake’s voice cracked. He coughed, trying again. “Who are you?”

She stepped forward into the lantern’s glow, her expression grave. “Didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said quietly. “I been waitin’ to see if you were friend or foe. Seems you’re just… lost.”

Jake swallowed hard. Relief and fresh anxiety warred within him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here. The storm—my truck—” He gestured weakly toward the door. “I needed shelter.”

She nodded, eyes moving over him with a keen intensity. “It’s all right. Storm’s no place for man nor beast tonight.” She paused, her weathered features softening. “My name’s Tess.”

Jake managed a faint nod. “Jake. Jake Harris.” He shifted uncomfortably, the ache in his muscles flaring. “I didn’t realize… I thought this place might be abandoned.”

Tess walked over, her boots thudding softly on the wooden floor. “I don’t live here, not exactly. This was my daddy’s trapping cabin. Place to ride out the worst weather if it comes on sudden.” She cast a glance at the rotting shelves and scattered tools. “I keep a few supplies here for emergencies. Didn’t expect to find another soul. Not many come this way.”

Jake shivered, trying not to appear as terrified as he felt. “I—something’s out there. Not just the storm.”

The woman gave a short, humorless laugh. “I know.”

He studied her for a moment. Her face was deeply lined, her eyes reflecting something beyond mere caution—like she had seen horrors he could scarcely imagine. Her clothes were old but well kept, layers of flannel and thick wool. A hunting knife hung in a leather sheath at her belt.

“You—” Jake cleared his throat, “you’ve seen the strange flakes?” It felt surreal just saying it. “The ones that stick to you and… and—”

She nodded. “Steal what’s inside. Your memories, your warmth, your… self.” Her voice wavered slightly on that last word. “You’re not the first to experience it, Jake Harris. Nor the last, I fear.”

A swell of relief mixed with dread rose in Jake’s chest. At least he wasn’t going insane. Someone else had encountered these things. But that meant they were undeniably real—and far from harmless. “What are they?” he asked hoarsely. “Some kind of freak weather phenomenon?”

Tess walked to the fireplace, tapping the ash with the toe of her boot. “No mere weather,” she murmured. “They come with storms, sure, but they ain’t just snow. I’ve heard a hundred theories. Spirits, demons, ghosts. But I’ve seen enough to guess they’re not of this Earth.”

The wind slammed against the cabin as if to punctuate her words. Jake clenched his jaw. She had to be right. How else could he explain the time distortions, the living sense of hunger that accompanied each flurry?

Tess turned her gaze on him, eyes narrowed. “I call ’em the Empty Ones. Some say they’re extraterrestrials that feed off humans like we’re livestock. They’re barely here physically—just enough to latch onto us through those flakes. And that’s how they strip us down, piece by piece.”

“Empty Ones,” Jake echoed, remembering how hollow he felt each time they’d struck. “Why are they here? Why now?”

“They’ve always been here,” Tess replied grimly. “Least, that’s what I figure. Some storms blow in from nowhere, carrying more than just snow. For them, it’s a chance to hunt. If you’re unlucky enough to be caught in it, well… you know the rest.” She paused, absently running a hand over the bricks of the fireplace. “I’ve encountered them more times than I can count, but seldom this fierce. Must be a big group out there tonight.”

Jake tried to stand taller, though his knees still trembled. “Is there a way to fight them? Or escape?”

Tess regarded him with pity. “If there is, I never found it. You can try to outrun the storm, but they’ll follow. Best hope is to wait it out, keep yourself sheltered, and maybe, just maybe, you slip away with enough left of you to rebuild a life.”

A cold wave of despair rolled through Jake. Rebuild a life… But how do you rebuild what’s stolen from your mind? He looked down at the lantern, the tiny flame dancing nervously. “They took something from me. Memories of my wife, my son. I can barely hold on to them.”

She nodded, expression somber. “That’s what they do. They feed on who we are.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence pressed in, broken only by the wind’s howling. Jake clenched his fists, a surge of desperation boiling inside him. “I have to get home, Tess. My son’s birthday is—or was—today. Tomorrow. I can’t even remember how long I’ve been out here.” He realized how pitiful he sounded. “I can’t just hide until the storm stops.”

“I understand,” she said quietly. “You can try moving at first light. This storm might break by then—or not. They’re more active at night, but if they’re determined, they won’t let you go easy. There’s still an awful lot of darkness out there.” She lifted her chin toward the door. “You have your own reasons to leave, I suppose. Just know: every moment you’re out in that mess, you risk losing more of yourself.”

Jake’s teeth clacked as he forced a bitter laugh. “So I choose between freezing to death in here or being eaten alive out there?”

Tess exhaled, deep lines framing her mouth. “I’m sorry. Truly. But you stumbled into something bigger than either of us. My advice is to keep your mind busy. Focus on the memories that matter most. When the flakes come, they can’t take what you refuse to let go.”

She reached into a wooden bin by the fireplace, pulling out a few logs. Carefully, she stacked them in the hearth. “Let’s try to get some heat going,” she said, striking a match. “Might help you recover some strength, at least.”

Flames licked at the dry wood, soon crackling to life. Jake felt the warmth on his cheeks, a small but profound mercy. For a while, he simply stood there, letting the heat seep into his bones. Tess rummaged through dusty boxes, producing two cans of soup. She opened them with a pocketknife and poured the contents into a dented metal pot, then suspended it above the fire with a makeshift hook.

“Thank you,” Jake said, voice earnest. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the smell of soup drifted into the air. For a moment, the warmth and the promise of food dulled the nightmare raging outside.

Tess nodded. “Storm might last all night. When the sun rises—if it does—maybe it’ll be calm enough for you to head out.” She hesitated, glancing at the boarded window. “But I have a feeling this one’s not gonna let up so easily.”

Jake sank onto one of the chairs, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “Can you tell me more about them?” he asked. His fear urged him to understand everything. “How do they—?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say “feed.” The word felt too vile.

“They’re not fully here,” Tess explained, kneeling by the fire. “At least, not in our sense. They exist somewhere else and project themselves into our world. Those snowflake forms are part of it, maybe physical fragments of something bigger. They latch on to us, siphoning our essence back to their… hive, or mother ship, or dimension. I doubt we’ll ever know. All I do know is each time they rejoin their source, they carry a piece of you along.” She stirred the soup with a battered spoon. “That’s why I call ’em the Empty Ones. They leave you with holes.”

Jake rubbed his arms, recalling that sickening sensation of something being torn from him. “Couldn’t you kill them? Maybe burn them or something?”

She let out a slow breath. “I’ve tried. Fire can momentarily hold them off, but it’s like trying to burn water. Might scatter them for a second, but they’ll just regroup. Best you can do is protect yourself. Thick clothing helps a bit—slows them down, but it won’t stop them if they’re determined.”

The soup began to bubble, and Tess carefully lifted the pot from the flame. She poured half of it into a tin mug and offered it to Jake. He took it with grateful hands, though the intense heat almost scalded his palms through his gloves.

He sipped, coughed a little as the warmth flooded his mouth and throat, then tried another sip. By the time he swallowed a few mouthfuls, he felt marginally more human. “Thank you,” he repeated. “This means more than you know.”

She offered a thin smile, her gaze distant. “I’ve lost enough folks out here. Couldn’t leave you to die, if I had a choice.”

Jake noticed a flicker in her expression—pain, regret, maybe a memory of someone she cared about who hadn’t been so lucky. He wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he focused on the soup. It tasted like salt and vegetables, bland but life-giving.

For several minutes, they shared a thoughtful silence, broken only by the wind’s shriek and the pop of burning logs. Jake felt the first glimmer of safety since the storm began, though he suspected it was merely a fragile veneer. If the Empty Ones could sift through walls as easily as they sifted through clothing, no barricade would truly protect him.

Eventually, Tess spoke again. “You got a family waiting on you, you said?”

Jake nodded, swallowing thickly. “A wife, Mia. Two kids. Joshua—he’s eight now.” The statement caught in his throat. “I missed his birthday.” A rush of shame and anger welled up inside him. “I don’t even remember what day it is.”

Tess rested a hand on his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “All the more reason for you to hold tight to those memories. Repeat their names, their faces. Don’t let the emptiness crowd them out.”

He stared into the fire, determined to do exactly that. He conjured Mia’s warm smile, her honey-colored hair that always fell loose from her ponytail. He pictured Joshua’s bright eyes, full of questions, and Holly’s giggle whenever he tossed her into the air. If the flakes came again, he’d fight to keep those images. He’d fight until he had nothing left.

“How did you learn so much about them?” he asked quietly.

Tess exhaled through her nose. “Years ago, I lost my husband to a storm like this. He went out to fetch firewood, and he never came back quite the same. That was the first time I saw the flakes. Over time, I… encountered them again. I read what I could, listened to stories from old-timers. Everyone had a different name for them. Some believed they were devils. Others said they were vengeful spirits. But enough scraps of information lined up—about how they drain you, how they come with bad storms. Eventually, I pieced it together.”

Jake closed his eyes, empathizing with the anguish beneath her words. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I could say all of this is impossible, but…”

She shrugged, though her voice shook. “Impossible or not, it’s real. The question is, what are you gonna do now?”

Jake swallowed. He still felt that hollow ache, but the soup and the fire had bolstered his resolve. “I have to try to get home,” he said quietly, the flickering firelight reflecting in his eyes. “I can’t leave Mia and the kids wondering if I’m alive. And I—I need to see if they can remind me of what was taken.”

Tess studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Then that’s your path. I’ll do what I can to help, come morning. But if the storm doesn’t let up, you’ll have a devil of a time out there. The flakes’ll be thick as gnats on a corpse.”

Jake winced at the mental image. “If morning comes and the storm is still raging… I’ll have to chance it anyway. I can’t just stay here.”

Tess patted his arm. “I understand. We’ll see how it looks at first light.”

With that, they lapsed into a heavy silence again. Jake stared into the flames, letting the crackle and warmth lull him. He didn’t want to sleep, afraid of what might slither into his dreams. But his body craved rest, and he found himself nodding off. Tess sat across from him, quietly tending the fire, as if standing guard.

At some point, Jake drifted into a shallow doze. He imagined swirling shapes beyond the cabin walls: shifting shadows that blotted out entire patches of snow. Faceless forms with elongated fingers that reached for him. He heard hollow voices chanting in a language that was both alien and disturbingly human. It felt terrifying and unavoidable, like the unstoppable creep of nightfall.

He jerked awake when the wind rattled the door. Tess looked over from the fire. “It’s getting worse,” she said, frowning. The pained resignation in her voice made Jake’s skin crawl. If the storm was intensifying, that meant more flakes, more feeding.

He peeled off his wet gloves and set them near the fire to dry, placing a chunk of wood into the growing embers. “Is there anything else we can do?”

She was silent for a moment. “I’ve got a flare gun in one of the boxes. If the wind dies down a bit, maybe we can signal someone on the highway or in town. There’s a mechanic, Gabe, who patrols these roads when the weather turns rough, helps stranded travelers sometimes. He might be your best shot at a ride—if he’s still out there.”

Hope sparked in Jake’s chest. “We should try.”

Tess gave a slow nod. “We will. Just… be prepared for disappointment if the storm swallows that flare whole.”

Jake exhaled, leaning back against the wall. He was so tired he could barely see straight, but the conversation steadied him. For the moment, they had a plan, however meager.

“Get some rest,” Tess said. “I’ll keep watch for a bit. If anything changes, I’ll wake you.” Her tone hinted at a watchfulness that extended beyond mere storm-gazing—she’d be watching for those parasitic flakes, too.

Jake opened his mouth to protest that he could stay awake, but a wave of dizziness changed his mind. “All right,” he managed, pressing a hand to his temple. “I’ll try.”

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded animal. Jake closed his eyes, exhaustion embracing him in a sudden wave. He let the warmth from the fire curl around him. As he drifted off, he repeated a silent mantra of names—Mia, Joshua, Holly—clinging to them like a life raft on a storm-lashed sea.

He didn’t know what dawn would bring. He only knew he had to face it, for better or worse.

PART IV

Jake woke to the sound of muffled weeping. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if it was someone else or if he was hearing an echo of his own nightmares. The cabin was dark aside from the embers glowing in the fireplace. When he shifted on the hard wooden floor, his entire body ached. His head still felt hollowed out—like the swirling storm had carved tunnels in his mind.

He blinked and made out Tess’s shape by the door, huddled against it as if to block something out. A single band of grayish light seeped through the cracks around the doorframe, enough to reveal her drawn face.

“Tess?” he rasped. “You all right?”

She brushed a sleeve across her face and turned to him, eyes swollen with regret. “It’s morning,” she said softly, though her tone held no relief. “The storm’s still goin’, but… different now. I can feel them. They’re everywhere.”

Jake struggled to his feet, grimacing at stiff muscles. He sidled up next to her and peered out through a small gap in the boards that covered the window. Outside, a pale wash of daylight filtered through churning clouds. The snow still fell, but in a slower, drifting manner. The howling wind had eased, replaced by a dull hush. At first glance, it almost looked peaceful.

But as Jake’s eyes adjusted, he realized the so-called “flakes” blanketed everything. They clung to the trees like strange frost, shimmered on drifts, and danced in the air in a ghostly ballet. A deep shiver twisted through him. It was as if the entire world was dusted with that hungry presence—no mere storm, but a thick, predatory swirl of alien life waiting to devour more.

“How can we get through that?” His breath fogged the glass.

Tess let out a trembling sigh. “We try to run, we may never make it. But I know you have to try. Maybe the daylight will keep ’em from overtaking us as quickly. Sometimes they’re weaker when the sun’s out.”

Jake nodded, the mention of sunlight igniting a small hope. He thought of Mia, Joshua, and Holly again, repeating their names in his mind to keep them from fading. “You said you had a flare gun?”

She nodded curtly and pushed off the door. She rummaged through a wooden chest in the corner, pulling out a bright red flare gun and two cartridges. She handed them to Jake. “I’ll come with you. I know the route, and my truck’s a mile or so from here—if it’s still there. If we can get it started, maybe we can outrun this.”

He hesitated, glancing at her worn face. “You sure? This is my problem. I don’t want—”

She cut him off with a stern glare. “Don’t be foolish. You think I can hole up in here forever? If these creatures decide to tear this place apart, they can. At least on the road, there’s a chance.”

It was enough to end the argument. Jake gathered his minimal belongings—really just his gloves, the lantern (snuffed now to save fuel), and the flare gun. Tess grabbed a small backpack, checking supplies: a couple of canned goods, a lighter, her hunting knife. Outside, the hush stretched, tense as a drawn bowstring.

He pushed the cabin door open slowly, half-expecting the wind to lash at him. Instead, the air felt unnaturally still, and the swirling flakes drifted languidly, almost beckoning. A heavy silence pressed down, broken only by the crunch of their boots in fresh snow.

Jake was sure that at any moment, the flakes would lunge at them again. An image of those alien specks burrowing into his skin flashed through his mind. He grit his teeth. If they came, he’d fight as long as he could. He clutched the flare gun in his right hand, though he wasn’t entirely sure how it would help beyond summoning possible rescue.

Tess led the way, forging a path around tall snowdrifts. The forest seemed close by, skeletal branches drooping under the weight of ice. Eerie shapes lingered at the edges of Jake’s vision—dark silhouettes that vanished if he tried to focus on them. Whether they were illusions or watchers, he couldn’t tell.

After about fifteen minutes of trudging, they crested a small rise. Tess pointed to a battered pickup truck, half-buried in a dip just off the road. Relief tightened Jake’s chest. If that engine turned over, they might have a shot.

They slid down the embankment, breath steaming in the cold. Up close, the pickup looked rough, but maybe salvageable. Tess brushed snow off the windshield and tried the driver’s door. It creaked open, and she dug out the keys from the visor.

“Pray it starts,” she said, voice tight. She climbed in, motioning Jake to hop on the passenger side. He did, slamming the door behind him. The interior smelled of old coffee and stale cigarettes, but it was a welcome refuge from the swirling flakes.

Tess jiggled the key in the ignition, turning it slowly. The engine coughed and sputtered. Jake held his breath. Then a cough again, a whir, and—miraculously—it roared to life, stuttering but running.

A wild grin lit Tess’s face. “Yes!” She pumped the gas a bit, letting the engine warm. “Might just get out of here.”

Jake allowed himself a moment of hope. Then, a high-pitched scraping sound made him jerk his head to the side window. The flakes were moving, coalescing in a thick cluster. They slithered across the glass like insects, each flake glinting with malevolent intent.

“They’re trying to get in,” Jake said, a tremor in his voice. “Go, Tess—drive!”

She wrestled the shifter into gear, and the pickup lurched forward through the snow. The road was barely visible, but she seemed to know where it lay beneath the drifts. Flakes battered the windshield like hail, and he could see them sliding up the glass as if searching for a way inside.

Their progress was maddeningly slow, the wheels spinning at intervals. The truck fishtailed, narrowly avoiding a shallow ditch. Tess muttered curses under her breath, knuckles white on the steering wheel. Jake tightened his grip on the flare gun, unsure what good it would do but unwilling to discard it.

They rumbled onto a straighter section of road, and Tess picked up speed. Jake kept watch through the windshield, noticing how the flakes parted in odd patterns ahead of them. It looked almost as if the storm formed corridors of swirling particles, guiding them—or herding them. The sensation made his skin crawl.

A faint beep from the dashboard made Tess glance down. “We’re running on fumes,” she muttered, voice grim. “I left this truck here a while back with hardly any gas.”

Jake fought a surge of panic. “How far to the highway?”

“Maybe five miles. Town’s another twenty beyond that.” She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator, the engine whining in protest. “If we can get that far, maybe we’ll find help or at least a phone signal.”

He felt the emptiness inside him like a fresh wound. Each mile they drove, he wondered how many more of his memories might slip away if the flakes attacked again. He tried to keep Joshua’s face in his mind, that bright grin…

Suddenly, Jake spotted something up ahead: a vehicle, hazard lights blinking weakly through the snow. “Look!” he said, pointing. Tess slowed the truck. As they approached, Jake realized it was a tow truck, partially blocking the road. Its driver’s door stood ajar, the occupant nowhere in sight.

“Gabe?” Tess whispered. She parked behind the stranded rig, leaving the engine idling. “He’s a local mechanic, roams around helping people stuck in storms.”

Jake recalled her mentioning him. Together, they hopped out, staying close in case the flakes converged. Sure enough, the swirling mass in the air thickened around them, an oppressive presence. Jake’s scalp prickled as if anticipating an attack.

“Gabe!” Tess called, voice echoing in the quiet. No answer came, just the sound of scuttling flakes across metal. They circled around the front, and Jake nearly collided with a figure crouched behind the tow truck. He froze, raising the flare gun. Then he realized it was a man in a heavy coat, hunched over with his hands pressed against his ears.

“Gabe?” Tess ventured.

The man lifted his head. He was older, maybe late fifties, with a salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were wide, wild, a glaze of terror behind them. Flurries clung to his hat and shoulders. His cheeks looked pallid, as if all color had been siphoned out.

“Keep ’em away,” he moaned, voice cracked. “They’re in my head… in my—”

Jake stepped forward, lowering the flare gun. “Sir, we can help.” But even as he said it, dread told him there might be no helping him at this point. The man’s gaze flicked between them with childlike panic, and he clawed at the air as though swatting invisible insects.

“Gabe,” Tess said softly, kneeling beside him. “It’s me, Tess. Hang on. Let’s get you into our truck.” She tried to slip an arm under his, but he flinched.

His response came out a choked sob. “They took… it’s gone. My…” His sentence dissolved into mumbles, tears carving a path through the frost on his face.

Jake glanced around, scanning for that dreaded cluster of flakes. The storm was thick here, the drifting shapes swirling with malicious intention. He felt a creeping numbness at the edges of his thoughts, the silent threat of another feeding. They needed to move.

With a grunt, Tess and Jake each grabbed one of Gabe’s arms, hauling him upright. He moaned pitifully, but at least he stumbled along with them. The wind whipped up, hurling a new barrage of flurries. Jake’s chest tightened. Their slow progress back to Tess’s truck felt agonizing.

Then, halfway there, Gabe cried out. A sudden gust slammed into them, carrying shimmering flakes that latched onto Gabe’s coat, shoulders, and neck. He howled, thrashing. Jake and Tess tried to hold him, but it was like wrestling a man possessed. The flakes burrowed in, draining him. Jake could almost see Gabe collapsing inward, eyes rolling back. He twitched violently, hands clawing the air.

“No!” Tess cried, voice breaking. She wouldn’t let go, even as more flakes crawled across her arms. Jake felt them swirl around his face, and panic knifed through him. His emptiness spiked, a flash of personal memories drifting away. He gritted his teeth, clinging desperately to whatever remained.

But Gabe was lost, his face slackening, froth gathering at the corner of his mouth. His limbs went limp, forcing Jake and Tess to catch him. The flurries re-emerged, fluttering away in a taunting cloud. The damage was done.

Jake looked into Gabe’s eyes. They were hollow, vacant. A gibbering sound frothed from his lips, but no coherent words formed. The man’s mind was gone—devoured. Tess stared in horror, tears streaming. Jake knew in that instant there was nothing more they could do.

“We have to go,” he rasped, voice strangled with guilt. “Or they’ll take us too.”

Tess nodded slowly, tears shining on her cheeks. Gently, she lowered Gabe to the snow, her hand trembling as she pulled away. Then she forced herself to stand, her expression hardened with anguish. Jake helped her back to the pickup, flurries clawing at their coats.

The moment they slammed the doors shut, Tess stomped the accelerator, the tires spinning before gripping. Jake looked back once, seeing Gabe’s limp form recede in the distance, half-buried in blowing snow.

They surged forward, the engine whining. Jake bit down on a scream of frustration and grief. How many more times would these creatures tear someone apart? Would he be next?

“We’re close to the main highway,” Tess said, voice thick. “Just a couple more miles.”

The truck rattled onto a slightly wider road, though the snow remained deep. Jake’s heart pounded like a war drum. The swirling flakes hammered the windshield, scraping across the hood. He felt the intangible tug at the edges of his consciousness, but so far it hadn’t turned into a full assault.

He prayed the engine would hold, that the meager gas supply wouldn’t fail before they cleared the storm’s epicenter. The road stretched out, ghostly pale. Another sign of civilization emerged: a battered green highway marker. Jake’s heart soared at the sight.

“We’ll signal for help,” Tess said. “If we can get a call out, or a text—”

Suddenly, the engine sputtered. The pickup lurched, coughed, and died. Tess cursed, pumping the pedal in a futile attempt to revive it. But the truck merely rolled to a stop. The gauge sat well below empty.

Jake slammed a hand against the dashboard. “No, no, no!”

Flakes battered the windshield. Already, he felt that dreadful hush pressing in. “Tess…”

She pressed her lips together, rummaging in her backpack. “We’re only about ten or twelve miles from town. If you can walk it, you might make it.” She pulled out a spare set of gloves. “I’m staying with the truck.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t leave you here!”

She gave him a sad smile. “If I try to make that trek, I won’t last. This storm and me… we’ve done our dance before, and I’m half gone as it is.” She opened the glove box, pulling out an emergency flare. “Take the gun. I still have one cartridge left if you need it. Maybe someone will see it if you’re close enough to civilization.”

Jake’s voice wavered. “Tess—”

She shook her head firmly. “Go. Get back to your family. They need you.” She shoved the flare into his coat pocket, then gripped his arm. “Don’t let them take your memories of them. Fight with everything you have left.”

He swallowed hard, tears threatening. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

She nodded once, eyes glimmering. Then, with a trembling breath, she opened the driver’s door just enough for him to slip out. The cold air rushed in, swirling with malicious flurries. Jake braced himself, stepping into the blizzard. He heard Tess slam the door behind him.

The day had grown more pallid, a flat gray sky pressing down. Every breath stung his lungs. He clutched the flare gun in one gloved hand, forging ahead, mindful of every step in the drifting snow. The highway marker pointed north. Ten or twelve miles. He could do it if he stayed focused.

Flakes swirled around him like living confetti, but they didn’t immediately assault him. Perhaps they were regrouping after their feast on Gabe, or perhaps they found him less appetizing now that he was so depleted. Regardless, he pressed forward, each footstep an act of will.

One mile. Two miles. The wind whistled in a lower pitch, almost a moan. He sensed movement at the edges of his vision, but he refused to look. He repeated Mia’s face in his mind, picturing Joshua’s wide grin and Holly’s bright laughter.

Gradually, the swirling flakes thinned. The snowfall lessened. He emerged from the densest region of the storm onto a road that, while still snowy, revealed patches of tarmac. Relief surged through him. A sign indicated a turnoff for the next town. He just needed to keep going. The aches in his limbs felt immaterial now; he was running on adrenaline, driven by the memory of a life he refused to lose.

At long last, he glimpsed houses—small, suburban homes along a county road. Light posts lined the street, though most were battered by wind. Relief and dread mingled as he realized he was close to home. Would Mia and the kids even recognize him?

When he saw his own driveway, he nearly collapsed in a mix of tears and laughter. The yard was coated in a fresh layer of snow. He stumbled to the front door, banging on it with half-frozen hands until Mia’s wide-eyed face appeared through the window. She flung it open.

“Jake!” she gasped, arms wrapping around him. Warmth enveloped him—her coat, the heated air of the house, the faint scent of ginger from the kitchen. He clung to her, words failing. Holly peeked around the corner, eyes huge, and Joshua stood behind her, mouth slightly open.

“You’re okay,” Mia whispered, her voice trembling. “We’ve been worried sick. Where were you? Are you hurt?”

Jake tried to answer, but exhaustion claimed him. His vision tunneled. He vaguely felt Mia guide him inside, the door shutting on the cold. Then darkness caught him like a wave.

* * * * * *

Jake woke in his living room sometime later, cocooned in blankets on the couch. His limbs ached fiercely, but the warmth felt like heaven. Mia hovered nearby, pressing a lukewarm cloth against his forehead, while Joshua and Holly sat on the floor with anxious faces.

“You had a fever,” Mia said softly. “We were about to call for an ambulance.”

He swallowed, trying to focus. “I’m all right,” he managed, although the hollowness inside him remained. He looked around, a wave of relief washing over him at the sight of his family. “I… I missed your birthday, Joshua.”

“That’s okay,” Joshua whispered, creeping closer. He gently touched Jake’s arm. “You’re here now.”

Jake forced a shaky smile, but deep inside, he wondered how much of himself was truly still here. The wind outside the window had calmed for a time. Now, as he glanced past the curtains, he noticed fresh gusts blowing in. He squinted. Another blizzard was forming—darker clouds rolling in fast, the snow swirling with an unnatural glimmer.

A sick feeling rooted in his gut. Those weren’t ordinary snowflakes. It was them.

Jake heard Joshua and Holly laughing in the next room, their excitement evident. Mia’s voice, somewhere in the hall, responding to their pleas. Jake pushed himself upright, adrenaline surging.

“Mia?” he called, already dreading the answer.

She popped her head in. “They want to step outside for a moment and see the flurries. The storm’s picking up again, but they won’t stay out long, promise.”

“No!” Jake struggled to stand, tangling in the blankets. A stab of pain shot through his legs, but he forced himself to move. “Don’t let them—”

He was too late. Through the window, he saw the front door swing open. Holly and Joshua scampered onto the snow-dusted porch, giggling at the pale, shimmering flakes drifting down. Jake tore off the blankets and staggered across the living room, nearly barreling past Mia.

Outside, the wind carried those unnatural flakes in swirling eddies. The kids were already off the porch, catching them on their hands. Jake burst through the doorway, fear shredding his composure.

“No! Get inside!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

Joshua turned at the sound, flakes dissolving onto his small palms. Holly squealed in delight as they fluttered against her coat. A moment later, Jake watched in horror as Joshua stuck out his tongue, letting the flakes land on it. Holly copied him, giggling at the strange sensation.

“Stop!” Jake cried as he finally reached them, his voice choked with terror.

Joshua looked up, blinking, the glowing flurries vanishing into his mouth. “The snow tastes kind of funny, Dad.”