Candlelight

The windowpane was cracked to begin with. Just a small chip, one that Eliza had grazed with the tips of her fingers when they'd first arrived at the cottage. It was just one of the many oddities that added to the charm of the mountain retreat. That, along with the bright yellow kitchen and creaky floorboards.

Now, she stared at the window, wide-eyed.

Cupping the feeble flame of her candlestick, she brought it close to the window. The stool she sat on groaned with the movement. Eliza might as well have shouted for how loud it seemed in the silent cottage. Outside, thick snowflakes fell silently to the ground, absorbing any sound.

"What happened to you?" She whispered. Her reflection moved in time as she reached out, tracing the long, jagged line. No longer a mere chip, it appeared.

Eliza checked her phone. Two whole bars. Her heart gave a leap of excitement as she pulled up Tom's number. The ringing was loud in her ears while she stared at the crack that ran through nearly half the window.

"Hey."

Tom's voice drew her attention away from the window. Setting the candle down on the ledge, Eliza smiled. "Hey yourself. Where are you?"

"Almost there. Sorry to keep you waiting; the lines were endless. Apparently everyone is planning on heading up the slopes in the morning."

"Doesn't surprise me." The cottage groaned and settled as the wind picked up. "How far away are you?"

Tom's smile was apparent in his voice. "Why, you scared?"

"Absolutely. C'mon, old house in the middle of a snow storm and no electricity?"

"There's electricity," Tom corrected. Eliza fought the urge to roll her eyes, then recalled that Tom wasn't here to see it anyway. "But you know the rules."

Eliza scoffed. "Not rules. Superstitions."

"...true. But-"

The cottage groaned once more, and Eliza shifted on her stool. "It's cool. Your family's tradition. And the powder is-"

"To die for. Listen, I'm just coming up the road. Be there in literally two minutes."

Eliza's eyes darted around the room as something squeaked. The thought of a mouse scampering around her toes had her pulling her feet up on the rungs, huddling over herself. "Hurry," she pleaded. "This place is so creepy in the dark."

"I am," Tom consoled. "And don't you have the candlestick? My mom said you have to keep it burning. No matter what."

Goosebumps rippled up and down Eliza's arms. "Just hurry. I'm not joking. I feel like I keep hearing things."

Outside, the wide arc of headlights cut through the pines. Eliza nearly sobbed in relief. Tom was nearly here, only a few yards away. Driving painfully slowly through the snow for fear of losing control of the vehicle.

In front of her, the flame flickered. Eliza cursed under her breath, reaching out to protect it from the cold draft now seeping out from the window.

She froze as the sound of splitting glass echoed around the room. In front of her very eyes, the window was shattering. Slowly, methodically.

Another hand reached out from the spreading crack in the glass. Eliza screamed, falling back. Barely managing to catch herself, she backed up a few steps and stared in abject horror as the hand, delicate and dripping blood from the glass now littering the ground, fumbled about. Feeling, groping. Reaching for the candle.

Extinguishing it between its fingers.

Then a head began to surface, craning to look inside. Long blonde hair that nearly blended into the snow. Bright, yellow eyes.

Almost human.

Eliza hit something hard and solid, whirling about to find surprised, familiar eyes.

"Woah," Tom said, grinning. "You really got freaked out, huh?"

Eliza was panting, turning around to point an accusing finger at the shattered window. "The - the window, it-"

It was completely intact. Not a single crack save for the chip that had been there previously.

Tom chuckled. "Looks like you fell asleep on the job. Didn't know you were that tired - I wasn't gone that long."

Eliza's mouth felt dry. "Asleep? I was just talking to you on the phone."

Now Tom looked concerned. "...no. I left, ran to the lodge, and came back. I figured you'd gone upstairs or something when there wasn't any light in the window. So I ran around the back, found the spare key. Right where I left it," he held up a brass key with a grin.

Eliza turned, brows furrowed. The candlestick still sat on the ledge. No sign of a flame. Not even a bit of smoke. Tom seemed to catch sight of it the same time Eliza did. He sauntered over, illuminated by the moonlight dripping through the window.

"You let it burn out." He glanced back at her, pensieve.

"No, I didn't," Eliza ground out. "The window, it shattered. And someone was trying to get in. But I kept the candle burning. I swear." She stopped, frowning. "They snuffed it out."

Tom frowned. "They?"

High up in the Irish mountains, the only other people here were fellow skiiers. None of whom had any business traipsing through a blizzard to smash a window in.

None of whom had yellow eyes, as far as Eliza knew.

Yet Tom was still looking at her like that. Like he was scared to voice whatever he was thinking. Eliza knew he thought she was crazy. This trip was meant to get them out of the crazy and into the mountains, where there was nothing but slopes and relaxation to be had. Nothing but miles upon miles of snow and beautiful views.

"You're like my Mother," Tom said, and Eliza couldn't be sure how to take it. "When she used to stay here as a girl, she said the same thing. No electricity - that's a town rule. It angers them, she told me."

"Who?" Eliza cried out, grabbing onto Tom's coat.

Tom cursed under his breath and strode toward the window. Eliza gasped out loud when she saw the crack spreading along the window pane. A pale finger drawing the line ever so slowly.

Leaving a streak of blood in its wake.

Snatching the box of matches from his coat pocket, Tom struck it and a flame roared. The finger immediately retracted, back below the window.

"You - you saw that, didn't you?" Eliza stammered. Tom lit the candle anew, cradling it.

"Yes," Tom muttered. "They're here. God-forsaken fairy tales."

Directly above them, a floorboard creaked. It stopped abruptly, rather than settling.

Like someone trying to be quiet.

Eliza met Tom's eye. He slowly extended her the candle, which she took, heart pounding. He came close, leaning down to whisper.

"They're scared of fire," he whispered. "Everything else just makes them angry. Flashlights, lamps. We used to use the fireplace, but they began to close off the chimney with all sorts of things. Nearly killed us, the smoke. Eventually," this time, the creak came from the stairs. Eliza pictured the bloodied hands of the strange woman. Could've swore she heard the drip drip of blood on the floor. "We had to resort to this. A single flame - accounted for at all times."

Tom made to move past her but Eliza grabbed him. Her hands trembled as she spoke. "Where are you going?" She squeaked out. "Don't leave me alone."

Slowly removing her hands from his coat, Tom gestured toward the stool. "Sit right there. Keep the flame burning, no matter what. There'll be more of them, now that it was extinguished once. Keep it visible. Let them see it still burns." His jaw clenched as the bone-chilling sound of nails scraping wood began. The railing of the stairs.

"What do you-"

Tom shook his head. "Promise me. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see. That flame burns."

The glint of yellow eyes appeared over Tom's shoulder. Eliza made a small sound in the back of her throat, backing up a step. She watched as Tom struck a new match before she turned, walking stiffly back to the stool.

She flinched as the cottage whined with rapid footsteps. The old house wasn't used to anything other than tiptoes and cold nights. Tom grunted, shockingly loud. Eliza didn't turn to look. She couldn't even if she'd tried.

Then, a loud thud hit the floor. Eliza held her breath, waiting for Tom's words of reassurance. Yet they didn't come. Not as the window pane groaned, a now familiar hand sending spiderweb cracks along the surface.

Eliza looked straight ahead at her own reflection. At the single flame dancing in her hands.

At the bloodied hand, coming to rest on her shoulder.