Frost by Ian Rideout
The snowflakes came down softly. Neville set his fishing rod down to adjust his scarf, wrapping it ever tighter around his face. His eyes drifted upward for a moment to watch the snowflakes as they drifted down from the thick, grey sky.
A tug on his fishing line jolted him out of his daydream, returning him to the present moment. Finally, another catch! With all the enthusiasm of a young boy, he spun the handle around faster and faster. The rod bent downward, straining against his hands. He sat up straighter, gripping the rod tighter. The more his catch pulled, the more determined he was not to let it get away.
It was an endurance test. A challenge. Every catch was. Finally, it burst through the hole in the ice, flopping around. He gripped it, laid it against a rock, and bludgeoned it in the head with a stick, over and over, until it stopped flapping.
It was a big one, all right. Possibly the largest fish he’d caught all day. Behind his patterned scarf, his lips cracked into a wide grin.
The grey sky was noticeably darker now, and the coldness was biting at him ever harder. He wanted to get inside before it got too dark, and this seemed like a good enough fish to end the day on. He gathered up his supplies and prize winnings, and finally got up from his spot at the large, icy lake, where he’d left a deep depression in the ground. He moaned against the stiffness in his bones, cursing. He should’ve remember to take a break here and there, to not sit in one spot for so long. But, as often was the case, he’d been too engrossed to think of anything else.
He paced back and forth until his old, stiff muscles eased. Re-gathering his supplies, he began the slow trudge through the thick layer of whiteness that covered everything for miles around, fighting against his ever-pressing bladder. No way was he going to relieve himself out here in the chill, if he could help it. The weather was not expected to relent anytime soon. If anything, it was expected to worsen. Neville did not mind that much. He was so used to the cold, he noticed it less and less with every passing year. That was still no reason to needlessly expose his sensitive area to the cold, if he could help it.
The first thing he did when arriving in the comfort of his humble cabin was to rush to the washroom. Feeling much better, he took the time to admire his catches. This would prove a few good meals’ worth. And good thing, too. One look at the dark outside and thickening downfall of snow, and it might be some time before he’d be able to return to his favourite fishing spot.
He gathered logs from his basement and started a fire in his fireplace. He gutted the fish he’d caught today, put the others in frozen storage, and prepared himself supper while waiting for the fire to grow. Fires out in his backyard pit were often preferable. Nothing beat having a fire with the fresh, open air around you. But then, nothing beat the comfort of his living room either.
He drifted back to the oft-visited place inside his mind, between the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his cooked fish. He tolerated the cold more than most, but he loved warmth as much as any human being.
After all the fish was digesting inside his stomach, he dropped the plate and cutlery in the sink and returned to the fire, turning off all the lights. Night and fallen outside and taken the final rays of sun with it, leaving the vibrant, crackling fire as the only source of light. He huddled closer to the fire and lay down on his smooth carpet floor. The world around him dissolved into nothingness. The serenity was so powerful, he felt sleep overcoming him. He awoke later, once the fire had died away to a bed of coals.
He stumbled around in the dark, and nearly tripped before finding the light. He squinted, shielding his eyes against it. He yawned, groggy. It was still early into the night, he reckoned, and all he could think about was going back to sleep.
Before he did, his eyes once again fell on the computer at his desk. A present from his son. Thomas had shown him a new feature called e-mail, taught him the basics, and encouraged him to use it. But Neville had not used the computer much at all since Thomas had bought it for him. Thomas, and even Neville himself wished it could’ve caught on more. But it hadn’t.
Tonight, however, Neville was interested, if only briefly. He booted up the computer. It took him a moment to remember how to work the e-mail system. Thomas had told him it was primitive and dated. To Neville, it was the most novel and futuristic thing on the place. One more thing to make him feel old.
He scanned through his (few) messages in the hopes of having one from Thomas. Nothing. Thomas appeared to have sent him none for a long time now. Neville heaved a sigh and his heart felt a little heavier, but Neville could hardly blame the boy. No less than he could blame himself.
He did have a message from someone else, though. He clicked it open:
My love, I am coming to you. For many long years, I have waited anxiously for this day. The wait is nearing its end, and soon we will be together. For now, we must both be patient, and a little longer we must wait.
That was all it said. Neville snorted. What was this? Some lovesick loser looking for a date? Whoever the poor chump was, he or she couldn’t have made a worse choice in sending this to him, of all people. Bah. What a sap.
The message appeared to have no sender. Strange. The whole thing was strange.
Neville deleted the message from his inbox and shut off the computer. That was enough e-mail for one day. He slipped into his pyjamas and crawled into bed, still chuckling.