December 8:
"My lord," he started. "This is one of the harshest winters I've ever seen!"
"You don't say..." I responded, looking out into the vast abyss of whiteness just outside of my home. "I heard some volunteers were going to help clean off the streets. But outside the town walls, it's even worse. We won't be able to leave until the snow melts."
"Adam..." he started. "I don't like the way this looks."
"Yeah, I'm not too thrilled about having you stuck in here for much longer, either!" I teased.
"No... that's not it. This year, we didn't get nearly as much food as we usually do before the winter. The game was scarce."
"Oh, really? Gee John, I don't remember you ever mentioning that when you came back from your hunting trips. Well, except for every single time, that is..." I smiled at my friend as I sipped my tea.
"Adam. If we ration out the food equally for everyone, odds are people MAY be able to get through the winter... but not comfortably. We'll probably have to get by on one meal a day. Maybe even one every other day."
"Oh, don't be such a downer, John. I'm sure the snow will melt in no time."
At that moment, we heard the sound of snow being shoveled outside. I looked out my window to see a man so heavily bundled up that his face was invisible. But given how big he was, it could only be Benjamin Welsh, the most muscular man in town. Apparently, when John and a few others went out on hunting trips, Mister Welsh was able to carry three times as much game than any of the other men. Luckily for us, he was a fairly kind-spirited man. He'd make for one hell of an intimidating burglar. Lord knows what havoc that man could wreak upon all of us should he set his mind to it.
John interrupted my daydreaming. "I'm sorry Adam, I'd love to share your sense of humor at a time like this. I just can't for the life of me stay optimistic."
"Ah, don't worry. It'll be fine. Besides, I'm sure we'll be able to scavenge SOME food from out of the woods, after Benjamin and whoever else is out there clear the way..."
John and I finished our tea almost simultaneously at that moment.
"Well Adam, the road's been cleared off enough to safely walk home now. I'll hopefully see you soon. Take care."
John walked out my door and out into the street, the grey and brown of the stone, wood and dirt that made up the ground and houses now much more visible. He paced quickly around the corner of Oak Street and off to his home on the other side of town.
"Well," I thought out loud. "I suppose I ought to get busy."
I walked over to the only other room in my house, a room with multiple beds, as well as a kitchen and a table. In the corner was a desk, with multiple drawers.
I opened the bottommost drawer and pulled out my most prized possession: my wife's crystal ball.
She was very superstitious, and believed she would be able to speak to those in the afterlife by starting into the ball. She said that it worked for her sometimes, but I was always skeptical.
When she got sick and died, I kept the ball and had dedicated my spare time to trying to contact her spirit, when I wasn't too busy helping to maintain the town. It had been five years, and I had heard nothing from her.
I sighed.
"Martha..." I started. "Please, Martha, tell me you're okay. Tell me you're there..."
The stoic, clear grey color of the ball remained unchanged. With another sigh, I began to walk away, deciding to go and help some other townsfolk prepare their homes for the winter.
But, since it was five years ago on this day that she died, I felt like I owed it to her to try one more time.
"Martha..." I spoke softly into her ball.
I stared into the ball intently, trying in vain to find any semblance of her face in the sphere. All I could see was my reflection...
Normally I would have gotten bored by this point, but I just felt oddly fixated on the ball on that day. I kept staring into my reflection, remembering all the times my wife had tried to contact her parents and sister through the ball.
"Martha..." I tried one last time.
"Adam..."
I immediately snapped out of the trance I was in. What the hell? I must have just been imagining things. I looked back into the ball again, regaining my composure.
"Adam... it's me..." the unmistakable voice of my wife once again rang in my ears.
"Martha! Oh my goodness! Where have you been? Are you alright?"
"Adam... listen to me... I don't have much time...
you need to leave the town while you still can... it will be hard, but it's the only way you can save yourself from what's going to happen next..."
Alright, that's it. I'd finally lost it. My five years dead wife had finally decided to speak from beyond the grave with me by asking me to leave the shelter of Salem and suicidally wander out into the coldness of winter alone.
"Please Adam... I'm begging you... leave while you can... please..."
Her voice trailed off.
Stunned, I decided to make another cup of tea to snap myself out of whatever had caused me to have such a hallucination. But as I drank, I couldn't get her voice out of my head. Stranger still, I felt as if there was some sort of an image I'd seen in the ball too, one I couldn't quite make out. It seemed oddly familiar though...
I drank some more as I watched more snow fall down. "Poor Benjamin," I thought aloud again. "He's sure got his work cut out for him..."
I looked down at my tea cup and saw exactly what I had failed to discern in the ball earlier: my own face, with a stab would and multiple bullet holes in it.
Shocked, I dropped the cup, and put my head in my hands as I tried to figure out what was going on...
At that moment, a heavy cloud rolled over Salem, casting the town into a subtle darkness. Snow began pouring down much faster than before. I watched poor Benjamin give up and walk back into his house three doors down before it became entirely barricaded.
Little did I know, as I sat there, the streets in and out of Salem were being even more heavily bombarded with snow than Oak Street, or anywhere else in town. A heavy, thick snow and ice, sealing us residents of Salem inside. And, along with us, our fates as well...