The whispering snow
1611 Words
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Snow descended in great, muffled waves over the empty mountain road. The tempest had begun at nightfall, and the world was now a wide, white chasm. Hiroshi pulled his coat closer about himself, cursing his bad luck. He had been on his way to a distant mountain village to see his elderly mother when the blizzard hit. His horse had taken fright and deserted him, forcing him to face the storm alone.
A blast of wind swept through the trees, with an otherworldly whisper riding on it—seeming to be like a woman's voice. Hiroshi froze, his breath misting in the ice air. He spun around, eyeing the world, but all he could see was the dancing snow.
Then he noticed her.
A woman was standing just beyond the closest tree, her silhouette just visible under the snowfall. She was dressed in a white kimono, which fit in perfectly with the snow. Her black, flowing hair trailed down her back, not swaying even under the strong winds. Her skin was abnormally white, and her lips frosty.
Hiroshi’s heart pounded. He had heard tales of Yuki-onna, the Snow Woman—a spirit who haunted travelers, luring them to their deaths in the snow. But those were just stories… weren’t they?
The woman’s dark eyes locked onto his. Despite the icy cold around him, a strange warmth spread through his body, as if he were being lulled into a trance.
She raised a slender hand and beckoned him.
“Come,” she whispered.
Hiroshi's feet seemed to go of their own will. All his instincts cried out to flee, but his body would not listen. He took a step, then another, inching closer to the ghostly woman.
Then, a sudden cry sliced through the wind.
"Hiroshi!"
A lantern's light wobbled in the distance. An old man, clad in thick fur coverings, rushed up to him. "What do you think you are doing, boy? Away from her, get away!
The spell was shattered. Hiroshi stumbled backward, gasping. The woman's face turned dark, her mouth open as if she would utter words—but she disappeared into the storm, dissolving like mist.
The old man seized Hiroshi by the arm and pulled him into the glowing light of his lantern. "You're lucky I was here," he said. "Another minute, and you'd be dead.
Still shaken, Hiroshi trailed behind the stranger to a tiny hut between the trees. A fire burned within, warming the small space.
The stranger, who introduced himself as Jiro, filled a wooden cup with steaming tea and handed it to Hiroshi. "Drink. You need to warm up."
Hiroshi sipped gratefully, his hands still shaking. "That woman… was she…?"
Jiro's eyes grew darker. "Yuki-onna. You were marked for death, boy."
Hiroshi trembled. "What does she desire?"
Jiro gazed into the flames. "She is not human and not demon. She is said to have been a woman, a long time ago, who was killed in a snowstorm and became. something else. She kills off-strayed travelers with one breath of ice. Others say she seeks a friend, tempting men into her arms before sucking the life out of them.
Hiroshi balled his fists. "Then how do I make her stop?"
Jiro sighed. "You can't. Once she's chosen you, she doesn't release you."
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The Haunting Begins
Hiroshi departed Jiro's hut at dawn, set on arriving at his mother's village before the next storm hit. But the discomfort never dissipated. He felt he was being watched. Every time he looked back, he could have sworn he saw a ghostly figure in the trees.
The village was tiny and secluded, its residents suspicious of outsiders. His mother was glad to see him, but her eyes darkened with concern when he explained what had happened.
"You have to get out of here, Hiroshi," she said in a whisper. "She won't give up."
He woke during the night to the gentle breath against his face.
He remained motionless.
A shadow hovered above him in the blackness.
"Why did you flee?" The whisper was gentle, bordering on sadness.
Cold fingers touched his face. Hiroshi gasped, crawling back. The moonlight lit her form—the same woman from the blizzard.
Yuki-onna.
Her black hair spread around her, unruffled by the wind that screamed outside. Her kimono shone, nearly transparent.
"You are mine now," she whispered.
Hiroshi tried to scream, but the world turned white.
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As Hiroshi woke up, the world seemed frozen in absolute quiet. He wasn't back in his mother's home. The heat from the fire, the smell of the old wood, the gentle creaking of the walls—all were vanished. Instead, he was down on his knees in the snow, with no sign of stop or end before him.
He heard a whisper calling his name.
He whirled about, his gasp catching in his throat.
Yuki-onna was a few feet away, her white kimono fluttering without wind. Her pale face was blank, but her dark eyes sparkled with something inscrutable.
"You are mine now," she breathed.
Hiroshi attempted to speak, but his throat was on fire with cold. He couldn't feel his fingers, his toes—his whole body was numbing.
She extended her hand, her dainty hand hovering inches above his cheek. "If you yield, you won't suffer."
A flash of resistance flared in his chest.
"No."
Yuki-onna's eyes flashed with shock. "No?"
Hiroshi clenched his teeth. His brain screamed at him to surrender—to let the cold claim him, to sleep—but something within him revolted. He remembered his mother waiting for him, the life he still had to live.
He struggled to move, stumbling backward. "I won't die here."
For an instant, Yuki-onna just stared at him. Then, quietly, she smiled.
"You believe you have a choice?"
Wind screamed, and in an instant she was disappeared. Snow on the ground writhed like quicksand beneath him, engulphing his legs.
He cried out as cold reached into his body, pulling him down.
Darkness.
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The Curse
When Hiroshi opened his eyes, he found himself in his mother's house. The heat from the fire had come back, and his mother was sitting next to him, her worried face pale.
"You were cold to the bone when I saw you," she said gently, laying a warm rag on his forehead. "I thought you were dead.
Hiroshi sat up too fast. A rush of dizziness hit him. He clutched the blanket, his breathing uneven. "She… she was here."
His mother tensed. "You saw her again?"
Hiroshi nodded, swallowing hard. "I should have died out there."
His mother's face clouded. "You are cursed now."
Fear settled in his belly. "What do you mean?"
She paused, as though considering whether or not to inform him. Then, in a low voice, she replied, "Yuki-onna does not always kill her victims immediately. Sometimes… she spares them, but they are never the same. The cold remains within them."
Hiroshi chilled—not out of fear, but out of something else. An odd cold had taken up residence deep within his bones. Regardless of how near he sat to the fire, he could not warm up.
That evening, he dreamed of her.
He was once again in the snow, and Yuki-onna stood before him, observing.
"You are mine," she breathed.
He awoke with a gasp, his breath a thin mist in the cold air. His room, which had been warm, was now deathly cold. Ice crystals had lined the windows.
And outside, in the snow, he saw her shadow.
Waiting.
Watching.
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The Descent into Madness
The days went by, but the chill never departed from Hiroshi. Even when the sun shone warmly on him, he had winter within. His fingers went white, his breath fogged even inside. His mother cried, doing everything she could to warm him, but to no avail.
And always, she was present.
Standing on the forest's edge.
Looking at him through the window.
Whispering his name on the wind.
The villagers saw his transformation. His complexion lost its color, his actions sluggish, his eyes faraway. Some avoided him, muttering he was cursed.
One evening, he couldn't resist anymore.
He ventured out into the snow, without shoes.
Yuki-onna waited under the banyans.
He approached her, his breathing shallow. "Why are you doing this?"
She c****d her head. "Because I picked you."
"Why me?" His voice rasped, desperate.
For the first time, she seemed nearly. sad. "Because you remind me of someone I lost."
Hiroshi gazed at her. "Who?"
She touched his face, her fingers icy cold, but he didn't move away.
"A man I once loved," she breathed. "Long ago, he vowed to remain with me. But humans. they always depart.
A sharp pain lanced through Hiroshi’s chest. He realized, too late, that her touch was draining him. His breath slowed. His heartbeat faltered.
His vision blurred as the snow swallowed them both.
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The End or the Beginning?
When the villagers found Hiroshi’s body the next morning, he was covered in frost. His lips were slightly parted, as if whispering to someone unseen. His skin was pale as snow, his eyes frozen open.
His mother cried, but she knew the truth.
Hiroshi was gone.
But when winter came again, the villagers would whisper of a new figure in the storm. A shadow in the blizzard. A man with ice in his veins and tears in his eyes.
A new ghost to haunt the mountains.
A new legend to tell.
And in the distance, a woman in white stood watching with a knowing smile.
“Now,” Yuki-onna whispered, “you will never leave me.”
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- Writer
