Prose by Sydney Field

Edited by Ryan Meadows

Madden opened his eyes abruptly, looking around his familiar bedroom. It wasn’t morning yet, probably only half past three. The room had a blue hue to it, he must’ve left the computer on, but he couldn’t see it. His face was turned away, facing his door and smushed into his comforter. 

The way his head was turned he only could see half of his room through his left eye, the blue light on his wall toying with the silhouetted trees that were outside his window. He felt a chill breeze sweep over him and roil on the bed, too cold to be coming from his fan, stretching down to the floor and seeping under the door like a fog. 

He must have accidentally left the window open, the memory of whether or not he closed it evaded him.

He tried to lift himself up to turn and look, but he couldn’t. It was getting colder in his room. His breath, a puff of white smoke, slithered across the top of his bed, reaching for a wind to carry it off.

He first saw it at the base of his walls, spreading up like cold, blue veins running down a forearm, branching off into a magnificently twisted tree. Ice.

That’s when he began to panic. The ice reached higher and higher, snaking across his ceiling until it froze his fan in place, the air in the room suddenly heavier. 

His eye was looking as far left as it could to see his ceiling, his head not being able to turn any further. His arms and legs were paralyzed in place, not yet touched by the ice.

He glanced back to the edge of his bed as he heard a maliciously quiet crunching sound, as if crystallized shards were being danced on all over his room.

The ice reached a grasping hand-like tendril over the edge of his bed and started stalking towards him. Madden tried to jerk his head back but it was no use.

At first it didn’t feel like anything, but then a cold so deep it burned set in. It traced a line from the tip of his nose to his left eye, slowly dipping a toe in before jumping completely. His eye was completely covered with the ice, his room turning into a blurred kaleidoscope of agony.

He could feel the ice prancing over the bridge of his nose into his other eye, freezing them open forever.

It gnawed at his feet until it climbed higher up his ankles to his legs. His hands, stretched out on either side of him, were already encrusted in the blue, diamond-like ice. It felt like gloves of burning cold were wrapped around his immobile fingers. 

It crept up his back, lining his spine and curling around his shoulder blades. Madden’s breathing began to pick up as he was slowly, painstakingly being frozen to death. The ice slid down his cheeks like tears until they traced lazy circles around his lips, taunting him.

Ever so slowly, as if time had all but stopped, the ice dipped further into his mouth, freezing his tongue. He knew it would happen any minute now. It would reach into the back of his throat and find its way down to his heart and lungs, stopping them for good.

“Madden?” a panicked whisper.

The ice inched further, taking its time.

“Madden!” the voice grew louder.

It reached the back of his throat.

“Madden!” the voice cried this time, bone-chillingly terrified.

He knew the voice. He tried to call out.

“Please,” she screamed. “Just br-”

As fast as it had come the ice receded, accompanied by a white hot burn enclosing his body. The room flashed the brightest red and then he was awake. 

Madden sat up, his shirt drenched in sweat, an unopened message on his computer and the sun warming his closed window.