The Roar 2024 Winter Writing Contest – Middle School Winner
The mirror lied. It had to. Her reflection stared back at her with sunken eyes and a pale sheen of frost clinging to her lashes. She could swear her veins had turned to rivers of ice, and her breath, fogging the mirror’s surface, was the only warmth left in her. The room around her was silent, save for the faint crackle of the walls as they buckled under the weight of time. The wallpaper had peeled away long ago, exposing a skeleton of plaster that seemed to narrow inward as though afraid of what dwelled within.
Coated in dust, the hearth remained empty, as the fire had gone out days ago, leaving only brittle whispers of ash to mingle with the biting air. Therefore, she sat curled up in the corner of the room, her breath visible in faint clouds. Cracked and frostbitten, the window framed a barren landscape, shrouded in gray mist. How long had it been since the sunlight had dared to spill across the rotting wood floor? A faint knock broke the quiet. Merely the weary tap of wind against the door. Still, it was enough to make her spine stiffen.
The clock on the wall hadn’t ticked in weeks. Furthermore, no one had even come in weeks. A knock came again. This one reverberated in her skull like the toll of a bell. It was painfully familiar. Her legs seemed to be stuck in place. Why, she did not know. The weight of the silence pressed against her chest, making each movement feel monumental. Something inside her forced her to stand. She hesitated, her bare feet trembling against the icy floorboards as she approached the door. Her breath turned blue in the air with shallow gasps, pressing against the fractured windowpane.
Her fingers hovered over the rusted doorknob, slick with frost that had somehow spread inside. Pausing, she was suddenly overcome with a desperate need to recall the warmth she once knew. The heat of a summer sun, the embrace of a fire’s glow, the comfort of a hand in hers. But the memories wouldn’t come. They had drifted beyond her reach, like everything else. Her hand closed around the doorknob before she could stop herself, the ice biting into her skin. The door creaked open just enough for her to peer through the narrow gap. Beyond the threshold, the mist seemed alive, roiling in heavy waves.
And there, in the center of it, stood a figure. Tall and impossibly still, a shadow against the pale shroud of frost and fog. Its features were indistinct, but its presence was unmistakable. Radiating a chill, more piercing than the air that surrounded her. The figure raised a hand—long, pale fingers stretched toward her as if beckoning. The cold seemed to pulse. She wanted to slam the door shut, to retreat into the meager safety of her crumbling sanctuary, but her feet remained rooted to the ground. There was something about the figure—something horribly, heartbreakingly familiar.
It spoke.
Her breath caught. The voice—it was her own. A memory of a memory, or perhaps a fragment of something long buried. The figure stepped closer, and she staggered back, letting the door swing open fully. The mist spilled inside, curling around her ankles like ghostly fingers. It’s time. Now the words circled her, more suffocating than silence. What had she done? She played the memories like a cracked record, searching for the moment everything fell apart.
But behind her, the reflection shifted. Lingering in the corner—a shape she couldn’t quite make out. Wind rattled against the window, breaking the deafening silence. As the figure entered the room, the air crystallized, and frost crept up the walls, consuming what little was left of the wallpaper. She stared at the figure, her reflection distorted in its icy gaze. The figure did not reply, but it moved closer still until it stood mere inches from her. Its form began to shift, the sharp lines of its silhouette softening until it mirrored her exactly. Her sunken eyes stared back at her; her chapped lips trembled in unison. It raised a hand, and so did she, their fingers meeting in the icy fog.
White washed the entire room. Her breath stopped. The cold claimed her entirely.
The clock on the wall began to tick.
Once.
Twice.
And then it stopped.
🙂
The Roar 