The fire died hours ago, must have been, because it’s that cold in here. I can’t see a thing, not that it bothers me. But I daren’t light anything more than the nub of candle I am using to write this by. I suppose I am being silly and should light the fire, but I might run out of wood before daylight and I don’t dare to open the door to fetch more.
You see, there is something out there tonight. Well, there is something out there most every night. But this time, on this night, something I have never heard before has walked in circles around and around my nest. I curse the snow for piling so deep. It helps keep the walls warm, of course, but it lets the beasts walk right outside the walls, right close to my head. Some of the smaller critters walk up and over the roof. But this is different. This one tried to claw its way through the roof. And it did not sound like a small critter. It knocked snow through the chimney hole, and bits of bark and branches dropped down on me.
Much more of that and the beast will fall through on top of me. I cannot imagine such a scene—me and a hungry, wild animal circling in this tiny space.
I should have added more braces when I built it, but I did not know the snow would be so deep. I also did not know there would be so many damnable animals. Nights are the worst time, because not only am I blind to everything out there, but that is when most of these creatures come out. And they are all hungry, which I cannot fault them for. But I do not want to be their meal.
I believe tonight’s visitor is a lion. I don’t have full proof, because though I have seen one, I had not yet heard one. We saw one not a week before we arrived here back in September.
It watched us from high up on a brown, rocky ledge well back, but overlooking the roadway. It was a long way off, and I had to hold a hand over my eyes and squint to see it at all. It was William who spied it first. He has exceptional eyesight.
At any rate, we paused the team and looked up at the rocks. Evidently Papa felt safe from the beast at that distance. It lay in a stretch of afternoon sun, baking and staring down at us with what looked to me like lazy eyes. It must not have been long since it had eaten as it showed no interest in us. It even twitched and curled its long tail as if it had nothing better to do.
Thomas snatched up a rock.
“Here now,” said Papa, his eyebrows pulled together. “What is it you think you’re going to do with that?”
“I aim to throw it at that big ol’ cat. I want to see it jump.” “Oh no you don’t.” Papa wagged a finger in Thomas’s face.
“That is a wild animal, boy, and we don’t know what it might get up to next. They are not to be trusted. I don’t care if it’s a squirrel or an elephant, I’ll have no Riker go about riling wild beasts for no good reason.”
Thomas dropped the rock. None of our commotion bothered that big cat. He sat up there, twitching that tail and ignoring us. And that is my only experience ever with a lion. Until tonight.
I am certain that’s what has been stalking around outside. I am still shaking so I can hardly write this.
I spent the first few minutes after it woke me up lying as still as can be in my little bunk. I was so wrapped in quilts and clothes I did not know what to do, did not know what it might be.
It was still far off, and then it screamed again, closing in toward me. I say it screamed because it sounded like an angry woman’s voice, if the sound had been dragged through hot coals. Oh, but it was a raw sound. The sound of something that did not care if anything else heard it.
And then it was upon me, right outside. It growled the whole time it was out there, husky and low, like thunder from a fastmoving storm, menacing and powerful. Sometimes it would grow faint, as if it might be leaving, only to start up all over again, inches away from me, and I knew it hadn’t gone anywhere.
The snow was packed tight all around the outside of the nest. I suspect I should have built elsewhere, though where I do not know. Such thoughts won’t help me on this night. Almost as soon as it came upon the nest, it set up that low growling, like a barrel full of river rocks tumbling, down deep, from the bottom of its gut.
It circled and circled. I pictured it, long black-tipped tail twitching, big feet and muscles working under a tight hide, on a lean, hungry body. I fancy I could smell it, too, and it wasn’t at all like any stink I’d ever come across. It was a musk, dry and sharp, like death and life warring all at once.
I hadn’t dared make a sound whilst it was out there, but I roused out of my fear stupor when I suspected it finally went away. I sat up, laid the shotgun across my lap and strapped the two knives to my waist. For good measure I pulled the two axes close by the bunk.
I sat on my bed, my back to the thickest wall. It was the sensible thing to do if the thing did what I would do if I were a hungry lion—try to dig me out. I reasoned I might gain a few more seconds by being close by the thickest wall. I should have known better.