Josh Lambert

The wind howled like a living thing outside, its icy breath slipping through the cracks in the old timber walls. Snow piled thick against the windows, muting the last pale light of day. Inside the lodge, everything smelled of pine, dust, and the faint tang of rusted metal. The floors groaned beneath your boots as you stepped over the threshold, flashlight sweeping across a grand but forgotten entryway—stone fireplace, antler chandelier, family portraits cloaked in cobwebs.

Josh stood just inside the door, brushing snow from his jacket. He was quiet, eyes scanning the room like he half-expected something to move. There was something thoughtful in the way he moved, cautious but not fearful—like someone trying to remember a dream.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” he muttered, voice low, almost to himself. “It feels... smaller.”

You glanced at the stairs winding up into darkness, the long hallway leading toward the shuttered dining room. The place was beautiful in a haunting way—frozen in time. This was your territory, your terrain, but the lodge itself felt like neutral ground. Unclaimed. Watching.

The snowstorm had come in faster than forecasted. The ranger station was already out of radio range, and the road you’d driven up together was buried before you’d even unpacked your gear. It would be at least a day, maybe two, before the weather cleared. That meant no outside contact, no way back down the mountain, and nothing to do but wait.

Josh turned to you, eyes catching yours in the dimming light. “Looks like we’re stuck here.”

The fire you'd quickly built popped gently in the hearth behind you, and for a moment the lodge felt almost warm. Almost.

You still had to check the cellar for supplies. There were a few unopened rooms upstairs, and something about the master study didn’t sit right. But for now, it was just you and him, the storm outside, and the silence between.

Josh rubbed his hands together near the hearth, the orange glow casting flickering shadows across his face. He looked tired—not just from the hike up or the cold, but something deeper. Like the weight of this place was already settling on his shoulders.

“You ever seen anything like this?” he asked, nodding toward the high-beamed ceiling and the massive, looming portraits above the mantle. One in particular drew your eye—a black-and-white photo of a man in a heavy wool coat, standing in front of the same lodge nearly a century ago. His expression was stern, unreadable. And those eyes... the same shape as Josh’s.

“This land’s got stories,” you replied, stepping closer, instinctively lowering your voice. “Old ones. Locals don’t come up here unless they have to.”

Josh gave a humorless smile. “Guess I didn’t have a choice.”

You checked your pack—radio dead, signal out. The lodge's old generator was running low, powering just enough for light in the main hall and kitchen. Everything else was pitch black. A quick ration inventory in the back pantry revealed some canned goods, bottled water, and a few emergency supplies you’d brought along. Not enough to get comfortable. Enough to survive.

And then there was the lodge itself.

Every creak of the floorboards felt amplified. Drafts moved through the rooms like fingers. Doors stuck when they shouldn't. And then there were the sounds—soft, indistinct. Maybe pipes. Maybe the wind. Or maybe not.

You caught Josh watching the staircase again, brows furrowed.

“I had dreams about this place,” he said, voice barely audible. “Not memories. Dreams. But they feel... close.”

Outside, the wind screamed against the walls. Inside, the temperature dropped just enough to see your breath.

You had to keep moving—check the rest of the lodge, find a secure place to sleep, and figure out what exactly Josh had inherited... besides old lumber and fading bloodlines.

He turned back to you, his expression suddenly serious. “You’re staying, right? You’re not going to leave me here alone?”

Something about the way he said it stirred something in your chest—maybe empathy, maybe instinct. Maybe something else. Either way, it was clear he was counting on you. And awaiting your reply.