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A
Ridley was a golden boy, commendations from all and sundry, awards, and enough papers published to satisfy the greediest university.
Jonah Schuma
Robin wandered into the common room. “What happened to di
“I guess we’re on our own.” A
Chicken-and-pasta casserole heated, A
Wolfing it down. She was eating as a wolf would eat.
An image of the half-ski
They were all becoming werewolves.
Perhaps after di
“That’s weird,” Robin said.
A
“I’ve never seen it do that before.”
A
Robin set aside the dregs of her casserole, stood and walked to the picture window. Uncurtained and without blinds, at night it worked as a one-way mirror. All A
“The ice rime,” Robin said. “When it warms up enough to snow but is still below freezing because of the wind or whatever, ice rime builds up on the trees, sometimes does a kind of crystal thing on the glass of the windows. But this is like… I don’t know what it’s like.”
Carrying her bowl, A
“I’ve never seen anything like it either,” A
“I better get Ridley. He’d kill me if he missed this.” Robin backed away from the window, and A
“Holy smoke!” came Robin’s soft whisper, followed by Ridley’s voice, angry and quiet.
“If this is a joke, you are off this island as soon as it clears.”
“It’s not a joke,” A
“Step back,” Ridley said, his voice as flat and sharp as the blade of a knife.
“I doubt it will break,” she said. “Not if it’s held all these winters.”
“Step back, God dammit.”
A
The ice lines had come together to form two words: “HELP ME.”
15
“Help me,” Robin whispered.
“Anytime,” Jonah replied as he followed Ridley into the common room. “Who’s been writing on the glass?”
“Nobody,” Robin said. “It just appeared.”
Bob joined them. Jonah pointed to the window. “Writing,” he said.
“It just appeared.”
“By magic?” Bob sneered.
A
“Help who?” Robin asked.
“Me, obviously,” Bob said, sporting his signature wink.
Adam was safely – if not comfortably – ensconced in the Feldtma
“Katherine,” A
Katherine Huff had been gone four hours. No one had noticed. A
Grabbing a flashlight, A
A
She, A
This had the earmarks of a woman scorned seeking revenge or attention. How the trick was played on the glass, A
She returned to the window. The words were still there, limned in ice. Beyond the glass, she could see the dumb show of the three men talking, shaking their heads, gesticulating, walking short distances only to walk back. Without the pseudologic of words, they looked mad as hatters, each locked in his own world where he was king or jester or god.
A crazy-making current was ru
Fear was the yeast stirred into the mix of human dysfunctions, a catalyst that could spin them out of control. Fear was the difference between neurosis and insanity. Ridley detested Bob Menechi