Ten minutes later, Cody climbed up the roof of the garage—it was the only place that made sense to him.
It snowed hard. He could barely see, let alone move, entangled in clothing as he was. The ladder was slippery, icy. The mittens, although warm, limited the dexterity of his hands severely. Twice his fingers slid off the rungs, making him almost fall. When he was finally up, he sunk to his calves in white powder. Of course. Nobody had shoveled the snow off here, it had simply accumulated. He took a look around. In front and below him lay the village of Muffin in artificial illumination. It was New Year’s Day, but everybody still had their Christmas decorations and lights up—people this far North tended to hang on to every source of light they could get their hands on.
This was the place
