It was the coldest night of the Christmas holidays. People were on the streets buying gifts for their families and friends.
Snow was stacked up on the sides of the road. Houses and Christmas trees were already being decorated beautifully.
I should have been doing those wonderful things too. I should have spent Christmas with my beloved daughter, whom I left at my sister's house. She must be happy with her cousins, I assume. But look at me, now I'm driving through an empty, dark road, with my mother in the back seat, who only has a few days left while fighting cancer.
It was her last wish to spend her remaining days in the old cabin she and my father built long ago.
I couldn't understand why she wanted to be alone in a remote place, in the freezing cold, surrounded by dark forests and snow-covered hills. She could have been with her grandchildren, celebrating Christmas Eve near the warm, cozy fireplace. But I think it's the love she still feels for my father that calls her back to that cabin.
The truth is, I barely remember the roads to the cabin—I haven't been there in decades.
Suddenly, my mother spoke up from the back.
"Ed."
"Yes, Mom," I replied.
"Right from here," she said, guiding me to turn.
I took the right turn, a narrow road cutting away from the main one, winding through tall trees into the deeper hills. Most of it was buried under snow, but strangely, the further we went, the more it seemed the path had been cleared recently. No one ever comes here anymore, so who could have done that?
I tried not to think about it and focused on driving carefully as the truck began to wobble. Finally, after that rough ride, we arrived at the cabin.
It was bigger than I remembered, but eerily alone in the woods. No other houses nearby, just the cabin, standing in the darkness.
I helped my mother out of the truck and wrapped her in an extra blanket. While I searched inside for the keys, I glanced at her. She walked slowly up to the cabin's door and kissed it.
"Oh dear, I missed this so much," she whispered, her voice filled with devotion.
I found the keys and unlocked the door. Inside was complete darkness, only the moonlight sleeping through. A pungent smell of old wax filled the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of lavender.
My mother moved around like she was in a dream, touching the walls, the furnitur. smiling and laughing in an odd way. I hurried to unload the luggage before the snowstorm worsened.
On the fireplace, I noticed a circle of dark blue candles, hardened, but their faint scent suggested they'd been lit only a few hours ago.
I helped my mother into an armchair in the living room, then went down to the basement to start the generator. Soon, the whole cabin lit up with warm, vintage lights. I loved the lantern above the porch door the most. My mother was overjoyed, and I had to admit—the cabin was beautiful.
But then I noticed something else. On one of the walls was a figure scratched into the wood. It looked like a goat… or something else, I couldn't tell.
At that moment, my mom called me over.
"You might not remember much about this place," she said softly. "You were so small when we used to come here for holidays. You and your sister Emma loved playing hide and seek all over the cabin. When you couldn't find her, your father and I had to help you."
I listened quietly, kneeling by her side, my head resting on her lap. Childhood memories began to surface with the scent of lavender in the air.
"You even used to draw on the walls and floors everywhere," she chuckled.
But when I looked again at the scratched figure, my heart skipped. It didn't look old at all. If I had drawn it, it should have faded long ago.
I asked my mom if someone had been living here, maybe a caretaker. She stayed silent for a moment, then simply said, "It's too cold here, Ed."
I wasn't sure she even heard my question.
Later, I went out back looking for firewood. There was an old pile of timber, most of it rotten. I picked out a few usable pieces, but when I lifted one, I found a dead, flattened squirrel stuck to it, crushed as if it had been hiding for shelter. I shivered and quickly tossed it aside. The storm was rising, the mountain winds whistling sharply. I hurried back in before I froze like that poor squirrel.
I tried lighting the damp wood, but it refused to burn. Suddenly, my mom appeared with a handful of hardened wax.
"Here, Ed. This will help," she said.
"Where did you find this, Mom?" I asked.
"You know… your father and I made this heaven with all the skills we had," she replied with a faint smile.
That wasn't exactly the answer I wanted, but it worked. With the wax, the fire finally roared to life, filling the room with warmth.
As I set up our things in the bedrooms, I noticed how clean everything was. Dust-free, perfectly arranged. Someone must have been maintaining the place. Maybe a caretaker? Or maybe… something else.
I placed my daughter's photo beside the lamp. She was my hope. my light, after her mother passed away. Linda, my wife, had been an angel, and so was our little girl.
A sound broke my thoughts. My mom was standing by the window, doing something.
"Mom, what are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothing, sweetie. Just remembering your father," she said softly. Then, with a tired voice, she added, "Ed, can you prepare my bed? I'm so tired."
The storm outside howled louder, snow swirling like shadows. I helped her to her room, tucked her in.
"Good night, Mom. Sleep tight."
"Good night, Eddy," she murmured.
But when I left her room, I froze. In the living room, near the fireplace, someone was sitting in the armchair. The figure's shadow loomed large, like a strong man. Maybe the caretaker?
I stepped closer with a wooden stick in hand. But when I reached the chair… no one was there.
Maybe I was just exhausted. It had been a long trip, and we hadn't even eaten properly. I convinced myself it was nothing and went to bed.
But later, a loud banging on the back door jolted me awake. Heart racing, I ran to it.
What I saw made no sense.
My mother, who had been fast asleep, was now sitting in the heavy armchair—somehow dragged all the way to the back door. The door was wide open.
It was impossible. Even I struggled to move that chair, yet she had placed it there.
The storm outside was gone.
And my mother was smiling as she stared out into the forest.
I turned my head to see what she was looking at.
And there… I could clearly see.