Today was the day that every child dreamed about: a snow day. This morning, a blanket of snow, almost a foot deep, covered the streets and sidewalks, shimmering in the late morning sunshine. It was quieter outside, as if the snow muted the surrounding bustle of the town. Despite the frigid and slick conditions, my parents were unfortunate enough to still be called into work. This meant a day to myself.

 

Everything was quiet except for the hum of the furnace steadily heating the house and the inaudible sounds of the cooking channel playing in the background. A steaming cup of hot chocolate sat on the end table next to me, the cocoa aroma reaching my nose and making my mouth water. I sat comfortably on the couch, bundled in blankets, intently reading my newest thriller novel. I was lost in my story, enjoying the peace and the perfection of this day, until suddenly I wasn't.

 

I found myself in a dark, cramped space. Blackness surrounded me. Only a slight crack of light could be seen through the gap between the door and the wall. The space was small, only allowing me to crouch, my back against one wall, my toes being squished into the baseboard of the other.

 

I half hovered, half sat on shoes and boots that were scattered beneath me. A flip-flop rested near the back of my thigh, and I carefully nudged my Doc Martens away from my feet. The hanging coats brushed the top of my head, their Velcro and buttons gently pulling my hair out of my ponytail. The end of an umbrella in the corner was uncomfortably digging into my side, leading me to shift even more.

 

My Billie Eilish sweatshirt gently snagged on the wall where a piece of paint had chipped away. The baggy blue sweatpants I was wearing scrunched up in a pile at my feet, which were covered by my fuzzy Christmas tree socks. All this excess clothing was starting to make me perspire as I continued to crouch there.

 

Along with my increasing amount of sweat, it smelled musty with a hint of dirt. The odor made me want to sneeze, but I knew better than to make any kind of noise. My throat was dry and begging for water. I'd been in here for who knows how long, hiding, waiting quietly, listening closely for any noises coming from the other side of the door. I hadn't had the chance to grab my phone before I ran for cover, so I was left to my own thoughts.

 

My stomach growled, too loud for my liking, and reminded me how I hadn't eaten anything since earlier that morning. My hot chocolate was still waiting for me by the couch, getting cold as it sat there untouched. I longed for a warm meal on this snowy day—maybe a bowl of my grandma's piping hot chicken noodle soup or a helping of my famous vodka pasta—but I couldn't escape my pitch-black prison to answer my cravings without being seen or heard.

 

My heart beat steadily, and my breath was even and warm against my already balmy knees. My feet started to fall asleep the longer I sat there. When I shifted my weight in an attempt to keep the rest of my legs from going numb, all I could feel were pins and needles. And yet all I could do was sit there patiently, waiting, wanting to be found but at the same time trying to stay hidden for as long as possible.

 

The faint sound of footsteps down the hall snapped me back to reality. I held my breath as the stomping got louder. A voice murmured just beyond the door. It felt as if an eternity had passed before I took a short, shallow breath, hoping that the little monster hunting me down had gone away. The doorknob rattled first; then suddenly it swung wide open. Shielding my eyes from the blinding light, I squinted up at the figure towering over me. There stood the most horrifying sight imaginable: my younger brother, a menace in mismatched socks, smiling because he had just beaten me at hide-and-seek.