The thirty-first night of December was never an ordinary night, even when the town pretended it was.
At ten-thirty that evening, I sat by the window of our small house in the center of town. The street lay empty, as it always did this time of year.
Revan sat beside me, my son with curly blond hair and wide, innocent brown eyes. He fidgeted with a tattered book, his small fingers tracing the pictures as though memorizing them.
"Where did you get this book?" I asked, surprised.
"Grandfather Finn gave it to me," he said. "He told me his own children used to read it when they were little."
For a moment I did not care what the book was about. My gaze drifted around the room until it settled on the wardrobe. Its door stood open, revealing the coat I had hung there long ago, the one untouched since he left. A thin layer of dust dulled its color, aging the fabric beyond its years.
A thought occurred to me: perhaps I would give it to Revan when he was older. That would be better than throwing it away. Or perhaps I simply lacked the courage to part with his father's things.
I was lost in that thought when a sound from the street pulled me back. It was strange at such an hour. Through the window I saw a group of women walking slowly. Their steps were heavy, their clothes caked with dust. They carried rusty shovels, and clumps of mud on their shoes left dark streaks on the asphalt behind them.
Had they only just finished digging graves? I wondered. They usually finished before dusk.
Their faces were pale, as if the night had offered them no rest. Cheekbones sharp, eyes shadowed by sleepless circles. They paused for a moment to brush the dirt from their sleeves.
"Have you prepared the farewell feast?" one asked, her voice hoarse.
"I didn't have time. Today was all digging," another replied.
"Then hurry. At least let them leave with full stomachs."
"There's still a little left to do. Shall we bet on who the storm will choose this year?"
"Why not? My money's on the old man."
"Finn? Impossible. He's past seventy-five and the storm still spares him. Maybe the only man who's outlived his wife," she said with a bitter laugh.
I crossed my arms without thinking. Their conversation was nothing new to me, yet the casualness of it, the strange boldness that turned a life into odds, bets, laughter, still startled me. I knew the reason, though. Kyle had explained it to me. These women had lost fathers, brothers, husbands, sons across generations of storms until they no longer dared to care. They had built walls around their hearts to keep out the pain, and those walls had slowly devoured what humanity remained.
A deep ache tightened in my chest as they walked on. For a moment I asked myself a question I did not want answered: had that night not come, would I have ended up like them?
I shook my head, chasing the thought away.
Then Kyle's voice echoed in my mind: "You treat him like a guest, not a son." The words reopened an old wound. My hand trembled slightly as the memories of that night flooded back.
—— —— ——
Three years earlier, while Revan slept, I sat silently by the hearth with Kyle.
My husband, boyish-faced with curly black hair, stared into the flames with a calm that felt forced, as if he were searching for the right words. Before he could find them, I spoke.
"If he had only been a girl."
"You'd have preferred that, wouldn't you?" he said.
"I would have been calmer. I wouldn't have to count the days."
"And have you been counting mine, too?" His voice was quiet.
"I didn't mean it that way. But we were selfish to bring a boy into this world."
"Selfish? Do you regret Revan?"
"I don't know anymore."
"You treat him like a guest, Medea, not a son."
"Maybe because he is."
"The storm hasn't taken a child in decades. You shouldn't worry so much," Kyle said. "Our son is safe. And I've survived thirty-seven storms. That should be reason enough to stop thinking like this."
As midnight neared, Kyle carried Revan to bed, then left the room with slow, heavy steps. Something about it felt wrong. I called after him, fear rising.
"Kyle?"
No answer.
I called louder, until I was screaming, but he did not turn. He opened the door and stepped into the cold street, leaving it wide behind him.
I ran after him. The street was chaos. Men moved like sleepwalkers toward the center of town, toward the eye of the storm. Their faces wore an eerie calm. I caught up to Kyle. His eyes were pure white. I grabbed his arm; his skin was ice-cold, the warmth I had known for years gone. I pulled with all my strength and we fell into the snow. But he rose with unnatural force, shoving me aside without a glance.
I chased him all the way to the town square.
Above us, the sky seemed to tear open. Night turned to pale daylight as the swirling vortex descended, blinding and roaring. Wind strong enough to uproot trees howled at its edges, yet at the center the chosen walked forward unafraid, while anyone else who approached was hurled back.
A thin sheet of ice spread around the vortex, freezing anything it touched as it slowly consumed them.
After the wind threw me down again, I lay there trying to convince myself it was a dream. But as Kyle neared the center, the light swallowed him bit by bit until he vanished. Only then did I accept that no force on earth could have stopped him. The storm faded, taking him forever.
Someone had watched it all. Old Finn stood like a statue across the street, refusing to intervene: thin, white hair tangled, surrounded by his crumbling books.
I tried to stand, but my legs failed me. I leaned against a pillar.
Then a small, frightened voice behind me.
"Mom?"
I did not turn. I could not. But the voice grew louder, closer.
"Mom…"
I turned. There, barefoot in the snow, clutching the doll I had always hated (the one he never let go of, even in sleep), stood Revan. His small body trembled, perhaps from cold, perhaps from fear, or both. But what broke me was not his appearance. It was his eyes: wide, shining with a fear far older than his years.
He took unsteady steps toward me, reached out, and hugged my leg with all his strength, refusing to let go as if clinging to his last thread of hope.
In that moment something in my chest gave way, not pain, not shock, not even sorrow, but something deeper. The wall I had built around my heart, between me and Revan, over the years, began to crumble.
I no longer saw him as a guest who might leave, but as my child, my flesh, my blood, my weakness and my pain. He was not merely a shadow left by Kyle. He was himself.
His trembling face mirrored my own: my fear, my loneliness, my loss. I realized I had feared for myself more than for him. I had run from the pain his loss could cause, so I had refused to bond with him. How foolish I had been.
I knelt and held his small face in my trembling, cold hands. I lifted his eyes to mine and wiped his tears.
"Look at me, Revan," I said, my voice shaking. "Your father will not return."
My words echoed inside him, perhaps breaking him for a moment. I had to tell him the truth, but I also had to calm him.
"But I am here. I am here for you. I promise," I said.
That day the storm may have taken Kyle, the person who loved Revan most, but it did not take everyone who loved him. I might never replace Kyle, but I promised myself I would love Revan for as long as he remained with me, because he was my child.
—— —— ——
The smell of roasting meat drifting through the town brought me back to the present, entering the room like a painful memory that refused to leave. At any other time that smell would signify celebration, but now it sickened most people, especially the men.
Despite the calm that had settled over the town, one sound still broke the silence: the distant train.
Are there still people who think they can escape? I asked myself.
Soon the clock read eleven fifty-nine. One minute remained. A vortex began to form in the sky, descending slowly with a loud roar, creating a thin icy layer around it. The wind grew stronger and sharper, pulling at the air and making my heart beat harder with every turn.
I turned my head from the street to avoid seeing what was about to happen. I shifted my gaze to Revan, my fingers stilling in his blond hair. A slight tremor ran through his body, not an ordinary shiver but a deep vibration. The book fell from his hand, and fear gripped me.
I raised his face with both hands. What I saw stunned me. The innocent eyes that had studied the pictures moments before were gone. In their place was dull white, staring at something far away, at the storm. A strange, terrifying calm rested on his lips, as if he had finally found where he belonged. My breath caught. The Revan I knew had already left his body, though I could not yet believe it.
I held him tightly, covered my ears with trembling hands, and screamed.
"Revan, do not look there! Do not go out the door! Do not listen to that sound!"
His small body began to stiffen in my arms, as if it no longer belonged to him. Then he started walking steadily forward, dragging me with him as if I were merely an obstacle. I held him with all my strength, but my strength was useless. I could not stop him as he pulled me to the door and opened it.
Outside, chaos reigned. Women pleaded. Families tied sons and brothers to themselves with chains that tore like paper. Finn heard my scream from his window, trembled, bit his lip until it bled, then rushed toward us despite his frailty. He fought through the crowd, grabbed Revan's shoulder, and shouted.
"Let go! I will take him myself! Go inside!"
But Revan pushed him with extraordinary force, sending the old man flying and crashing to the ground. I continued to hold Revan with everything I had until Finn rose again.
"Hold on to him" I screamed. I clutched his shirt while Finn grabbed his arm; the fabric tore under my grip. Revan paid no attention and kept moving toward the center. I stayed outside while Finn was dragged into the vortex, holding onto Revan with all his strength. Moments later the chosen began disappearing into the storm until I could no longer see either Revan or Finn.
When the vortex vanished, Finn collapsed to the ground, coughing black frozen blood. I clutched the torn piece of my son's shirt, the shirt of the child I would never see again.
After the storm ended and the women carved the names of the chosen on the graves, I sat in Finn's house tending his wounded limbs with warm water, though most had turned black. I felt uneasy. Finally I stopped and asked him directly.
"You know something. Why has the storm spared you all these years, yet took my child, the first child in thirty years? Tell me, Finn. What is your secret?"
He looked at me and spoke in a pained voice.
"Medea... listen," Finn wheezed, clutching his side. "In the vortex... I heard him. Revan whispered."
He swallowed hard, a grimace of pain crossing his face. "He said... 'I'm scared.' He was... he was himself again, just for a second."
My chest tightened as if a blade had cut my heart. "What is your secret? Just tell me!" I screamed!
Finn paused, gathering his strength, then continued in a slow, broken voice, as if each word cost him dearly.
"My wife… she suffered from postpartum depression. At first I thought it was normal, that she would overcome it with time. But it was deeper. Something slowly ate her from the inside, day after day. She heard voices telling her things, and with each child her anxiety and madness grew.
"One night I woke to hear her leave the bed quietly, like a ghost in the dark. A feeling squeezed my heart. In front of the children's room she stood holding a knife, her face completely expressionless, staring at another world.
"I asked what she was doing... I could barely get the words out," Finn whispered, his eyes dark with the memory. "She didn't even look at me. She just said, 'I'll protect them, Finn. No more fear... we'll all join them soon.'"
"The way she said it... it wasn't her. It was like she was already gone. That's when I saw the knife, and I had to make a choice"
"In that moment I did not think. I simply reacted. I seized her hand and struggled silently so the children would not wake. The knife fell, but the fight ended with her hand around my neck and then mine around hers. It happened in seconds, yet it felt slow in my memory as if time stretched to force me to feel every second of it. Since that day, I have lived with this pain."
Finn looked into my eyes and said, "I am not completely certain, but this is what I believe… the storm spared my life because I killed my wife..."