Five days straight of snow, five feet of it, and five degrees below. 5-5-5.
Charly kept a path clear and knocked the heavy powder from the windshield of his old Willys every day, yet snow was up to the wheels. Wearing his Sorel boots and a thick scarf doubled around his face, he rocked it from the deep snowbank the weather had set down around the vehicle.
He noticed moose tracks in the front yard near the bushes; moose always came down from the mountains when the snow was high. Charly couldn’t get his back door open from inside the house. It must be iced over; it’s on the windy side. He went out the front door and headed toward the back, high-stepping through the newly fallen and deep snow.
Looking up, all he saw were tumbling snowflakes dropping from gray clouds.
Suddenly, face to face with a cow moose, startled, he dropped his keys.
Nibbling alder branches, steam swirled from her nostrils. She bluff-charged him; he willed himself invisible beside the house, holding his breath. Then, ears flattened, she moved slowly into the backyard. Her long legs traversed in snow to her chest; she munched on his apple tree, pawing out a few frozen ones from the snow. Charly watched, aghast, as she leaped from a standstill, his six-foot fence into a thick stand of alder.
Charly’s admiration for her grew as he waded through waist-high snow, his thighs freezing, a shovel handle his tool to locate his keys.
About the Creator
Andrea Corwin
🐘Wildlife 🧘♀️ 🖋️🈷️ 3rd°🥋 See nature through my eyes and photos.
Poetry, haiku, fiction, horror, life experiences. Written without A.I. © Andrea O. Corwin
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Bend, Oregon Blizzard
December A long weekend in Bend, Oregon, for sunshine was a great idea. Leaving REI to head back to Seattle, huge snowflakes began. Entering the highway, it was white-out conditions. Rodger and Alicia could not drive over Mt. Hood; they would have to use a different, unfamiliar route. The Audi SQ7 was great in snow and the mountains, but these unfamiliar, remote roads from Bend to Seattle weren’t highways; they were two-lane unplowed roads.
By Andrea Corwin 2 years ago in Fiction
The Message I Received at 3:17 AM That Changed Everything
It was 3:17 AM when my phone buzzed. I wasn’t expecting any messages at this hour, and yet, there it was—a notification that made my heart skip a beat. The sender’s number was unfamiliar, a string of digits that didn’t seem to exist. At first, I thought it was a prank or a wrong number. But as I stared at the screen, a shiver ran down my spine. The night was silent except for the faint hum of my air conditioner. I had been reading on the couch, a cup of coffee growing cold beside me, when the message arrived. The glow from the phone screen illuminated my face in the otherwise dark room, and the words on it were simple, yet terrifying: “I know what you did.” My first reaction was disbelief. Who could know? And what exactly did they mean? I quickly checked my call log, my messages, even my social media—but nothing seemed out of place. My mind raced through every memory, every small secret I thought I had buried safely. Nothing made sense. I tried to brush it off. Maybe it was just a spam message, or someone trying to scare me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the unease. Another buzz. Another message. “Check the drawer under your desk.” I froze. My desk. The one place I kept my old journals, letters, and random keepsakes. Hesitation gripped me, but curiosity got the better of fear. I walked over to the desk, my steps slow and deliberate, trying to avoid making a sound. The drawers were ordinary, the top one containing my stationery. But the second drawer… it was slightly open. I hadn’t left it that way. My hands trembled as I pulled it fully open. Inside was an envelope, yellowed with age, no name on it, no stamp. Just my initials written in hurried handwriting. I picked it up, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. The envelope contained a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was familiar—it was my own. I had no memory of writing this letter, yet reading it sent chills through me. The message inside described events from a week ago, tiny choices I had made, conversations I had forgotten… and ended with a warning: “If you ignore this, everything will be revealed.” Panic set in. I checked the room again. Every light, every corner, every shadow seemed alive. The air felt heavier, as if something unseen was watching me. My phone buzzed again, this time with a single word: “Now.” I didn’t know what to do. Should I call the police? Should I delete everything? My instincts screamed to run, but I couldn’t leave the envelope behind. Something about it demanded attention, a silent command that I couldn’t ignore. Slowly, I unfolded the paper again. The words seemed to shift, almost as if the letter itself were alive. Memories I had blocked came rushing back—the lie I told my best friend, the small theft at a local store I thought no one noticed, the message I sent to someone I shouldn’t have. All of it documented here, perfectly detailed. How was this possible? How could anyone know so much? Suddenly, the room’s temperature dropped. My breath became visible in the faint light of the phone. I thought I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye, but when I turned, nothing was there. My phone buzzed once more. Another message: “You can’t hide anymore.” Fear turned into a strange clarity. I realized that this was more than a threat—it was a reflection. The envelope, the messages, the unknown sender… it wasn’t about someone else. It was about me. About the parts of myself I had ignored, the secrets I thought I could bury, and the truth I had avoided facing. I spent the rest of the night going through everything I had ever hidden, every journal, every memory, every tiny choice that made me who I was. By morning, I felt exhausted but different. The fear hadn’t disappeared, but it had shifted into understanding. I couldn’t change the past, but I could face it—and maybe, just maybe, write a better future. To this day, I don’t know who sent the first message at 3:17 AM. Some nights, I still feel the chill when my phone buzzes, a reminder that the past never truly leaves us. But I also know this: sometimes, the scariest messages lead to the most important revelations. And every time I think I’ve escaped my past, I check my phone… just in case.
By Baseer Shaheen 3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (14)
You wrote in an interesting way.
Never had much experience in snow but yeah I can feel it
I loved this and remember my first pair of Sorel's in Vermont; I live in Sweden now. I have sat on a thriller I am working on for months and need snow as my muse! Guess what! Snow is expected Tuesday:) I also noticed you tipped me back in March and I may have not thanked you. It felt so encouraging to receive such a gift from someone whose writing I admire. TY! ROCK
Thank you very much for this wonderful writing
i like the concept and it was well-done! very cute!
Naughty Moose. I experienced losing a postal key in the snow while delivering mail. It was the most horrible experience I ever had. It was a blizzard,too.
Yikes. I lose things like my keys so easily in hot weather where I am! Far worse in the snow!! Crossing my fingers that he finds them.
Being in waist high snow in our backyard I empathize with charly…and the plight of moose in heavy snow. Very real!!!
Gosh that jeep is sooooo buried in the snow! That's crazyyyyyy! Loved your story!
I remember growing up in Anchorage and all the boys would chase the moose in the schoolyard. It wasn’t the greatest idea so we ended up inside till the moose left.
A beautifully written tales with great photos.
Pictures of all the snow and the moose,Even the old Jeep reminds me of my childhood growing up in Alaska! Great storytelling Andrea
When he dropped his keys, I thought, oh Lord, he’ll not see them again till spring! Great writing! Leaping a six foot fence from a stand still! Incredible!
I hope you enjoy this story. The photo is of my old Jeep covered in snow in Anchorage years ago. Moose are frequent in town in the winter and very dangerous. A collision with a moose is horrid, and many are killed by trains. They are avid garden lovers in the summer.