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Scarlett climbs outof her car, wrapping her scarf around her neck, when the wind threatens to take it off her into the forest.
The predicted snow storm is already building, the wind howling through the trees, and around the cottage. It’s rare to have a white Christmas in Ireland, but this year is to be an exception. But she doesn’t mind. She’s prepared for the worst. The shed out back has plenty of wood for the fire, she’s got oil for the generator, in case the power goes, and the boot of her car is filled with enough food to last her a few weeks.
The quaint cottage sitting at the end of the cobbled path is as inviting as she remembers. The paint on the bright red door and white window frames could use a little attention, but it just adds to the character, in her opinion.
She carefully makes her way through the creaky gate, each footstep crunching on the freshly fallen snow. One whole week here. All. By. Herself. No interruptions. No visitors. No work stress. Just a lot of good food and great company.
Or maybe that last part is wishful thinking. She’s spending Christmas with a pile of book boyfriends. When did her life reach such new and exciting levels? Then again, spending seven days with super sexy fictional men sounds like heaven.
She unlocks the door, giving it a good shove when it initially refuses to open. Before she does anything else, she lights a fire in the huge fireplace, then goes back outside to grab her bags and the groceries from her car.
She parks her car in the shed to the side of the house, closing and locking the shed doors to keep it secure. As she reaches the front door of the cottage, she turns around, taking in her neighbours for the next few days. Not neighbours exactly. The cottage is surrounded by trees. That’s it. A lot of trees. And a lot of privacy. Just perfect.
Scarlett shakes the snow from her coat and shrugs it off, hanging it on the back of the door. She pulls off her gloves with her teeth, then throws them on the table next to the groceries. It takes a few minutes to unpack the food, then she helps herself to a large glass of wine, and drops into the overstuffed armchair by the fire.
One week until the big day, and this year, it’s all about her. After missing another promotion at work, and her flatmate getting engaged, being around people was not on her to-do-list for the immediate future.
Or ever, if she had her way.
Her grandparents’ old holiday cottage was left to her in their will. It’s in the middle of nowhere, near Roundwood in Co. Wicklow, with a scattering of neighbours, the nearest about a mile away.
She goes into the cosy kitchen, takes a packet of crisps from the cupboard, and works her way through it, as she double checks the windows and doors are secured. They’re predicting one impressive snowfall just in time for Christmas week. Bring it on!
Spending the holiday alone, with not even so much as a bauble anywhere in the cottage, might seem a little miserable to some, but she’s fine with it. More than fine with it. Christmas was for families, and when her grandparents died, so did her family. She’ll leave all the festive cheer to everyone else.
She doesn’t begrudge anyone celebrating Christmas. Far from it. But decorating and going all out, just didn’t make sense to her when she’s up here all alone.
She smiles and takes another sip of her wine. Spending this time alone, with wine and her growing to-be-read book pile, sounds like heaven.
She opens the bag overflowing with books, takes the first from the top of the pile, then wraps up in a blanket by the fire.
One and a half book boyfriends later, Scarlett jumps when a loud bang sounds from outside, followed by a crash. She freezes, holding her breath as she listens. But there’s nothing else. Just the wind howling through the trees surrounding the cottage.
She checks her watch. Three in the morning. She must have dozed off for a bit. The fire has gone out, her book is on her lap, and the moonlight is visible through the window. She jumps as another loud bang comes from outside.
Common sense is telling her to ignore it. She’s read enough thrillers in her life to know you never head towards the suspicious sound. Especially when the sound is coming from a dark forest in a snow storm. Big no-no.
But two minutes later, she does the very thing she had decided not to do. She creeps over to the window, peering around the window frame into the darkness outside. Except it’s not completely dark. There’s a fire at the edge of the trees just beyond her property. ‘Shit, shit, shit!’
Scarlett bundles into her coat and stuffs her feet into her winter boots, then grabs her torch. Having second thoughts, she stops by the door, picking up the axe resting against the log pile. Never can be too prepared.
With her head down against the driving snow, she slowly makes her way across the garden to the trees, using the moonlight to help her find her way.
By the time she gets to the fire, the snow has helped extinguish it. She guides her torchlight over what looks like some kind of vehicle wreckage. In the dark it’s difficult to figure out what it is.
One end of the deep red vehicle is embedded in a tree, the trunk of the tree snapped in half by the impact and lying over the top of the vehicle.
As she examines it, she realises it’s not a car. It doesn’t have a roof for one, and she doubts you would take a convertible out in a snow storm. But it’s also completely the wrong shape and doesn't have wheels. Two huge black runners sit in place of the wheels, stretching the full length of the wreckage.
Scarlett frowns, then shakes her head. As ridiculous as the notion is, she can’t escape the fact it reminds her of a sleigh. A massive, deep red sleigh. But if it is a sleigh, what was pulling it?
Her attention falls on a huge footprint beside the sleigh and she swallows thickly. She’s no wildlife expert, but she’d swear that’s a reindeer footprint! And it’s from the biggest reindeer ever, judging by the size of it.
‘Shit...’ she mutters to herself as she looks around the dark wood. The moon is casting strange shadows everywhere she looks. The thought of a mutant reindeer of some sort, potentially being out there, hiding in the forest has her firming her grip on the pick axe.
