EXT. MANOR GATE - NIGHT
The blizzard SCREAMS. IDA (32), bundled in a heavy, ice-crusted parka, puts her shoulder to a black iron gate.
The metal is a filigree of black lace choked with ice. She grunts with the effort. It doesn't budge.
She takes a step back and kicks the latch. The ice CRACKS with a sound like breaking glass.
The gate shudders open. Ida squeezes through and disappears into the wall of white.
EXT. MANOR PORCH - NIGHT
Ida wades through knee-deep drifts toward a massive oak door. No lights burn in the windows. No smoke rises from the chimneys.
She pounds a gloved fist on the wood. The sound is flat, swallowed by the wind.
Vic! It's me! Open the door!
Only the wind answers. Ida scans the house. She spots a low window to the left of the porch.
She pulls a heavy steel flashlight from her pack and wraps the end in a scarf.
She SMASHES the glass. It crazes into a spiderweb. She strikes again. A section falls inward with a CRYSTALLINE TINKLE.
INT. DRAWING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Ida drops into a crouch inside. Her boots CRUNCH on a carpet stiff with frost.
She sweeps the flashlight beam around. Furniture is draped in white sheets that glitter with a delicate layer of ice.
Thick, clear icicles hang from the ornate chandelier. They are three feet long, their tips nearly touching a sheet-draped grand piano.
Vic?
A floorboard CREAKS from the hall. Ida whips the light toward the sound.
INT. GRAND HALL - CONTINUOUS
A figure stands at the top of the stairs. VIC (34) is gaunt, his skin the color of bleached parchment.
He wears only a thin linen shirt and dark trousers. His bare feet rest on the icy steps. He descends slowly.
You shouldn't have come.
His lips and fingertips are tinged blue. His eyes are sunk deep in their sockets, shadowed and empty.
Vic, my god. You're freezing.
She reaches for him. Vic recoils, his movement sharp and violent.
Don't touch me. Leave, Ida. Now.
I'd die out there. Let me help you. We can build a fire.
Vic lets out a dry, cracking laugh. He gestures to a stone fireplace choked with a solid glacier of ice.
The house doesn't allow it. Stay away from me. Find the room at the end of the east hall. Don't leave it.
He turns and walks back into the upper darkness. His bare feet make no sound on the ice.
INT. GUEST ROOM - NIGHT
Ida pushes a heavy armchair against the door. She collapses onto the bed, pulling thick woolen blankets over her parka.
She wakes to a long, slow SCRAPE. Stone on ice. It comes from the hallway.
A low, ragged BREATHING follows. The armchair shifts as something pushes from the other side. The doorknob RATTLES.
Ida slides from the bed, gripping her flashlight. Wood SPLINTERS. A dark crack appears in the door.
A cold mist seeps through the gap. The door flies open, tossing the armchair aside.
A TALL SHAPE fills the doorway. It is a shifting mass of shadow and jagged blue ice. It has no face.
A pale, cold light emanates from its chest. Its icy claws SCRAPE the floorboards.
It lunges. Ida dives aside. The claws SHATTER the nightstand into frozen splinters.
Ida clicks on the flashlight. The high-intensity beam hits the creature's head. It recoils with a high-pitched HISS.
The creature shields its head. Ida backs toward the broken window, keeping the light fixed on the monster.
She hurls the flashlight at the wall above the creature. The bulb SHATTERS. Darkness.
The creature SHRIEKS. Ida bolts through the door and down the stairs.
INT. VIC'S STUDY - MOMENTS LATER
Ida slams the study door. She grabs a heavy iron poker from the hearth. It is so cold it burns her skin.
She sees a leather-bound journal on the desk, held by a snowflake paperweight. She flips it open.
The hunger is a piece of my own soul. It is shadow and ice. It is me.
Ida's hand trembles. She turns to the final page.
I need life. I need warmth. Ida will come. She is so full of warmth. Forgive me.
Ida drops the journal. It HITS the floor with a dull thud.
I see you've been reading.
Vic stands in the doorway. The blue in his skin is deeper. Frost blooms around his bare feet.
You lured me here. To feed that thing.
To feed me. I'm sorry, Ida. You are so warm. It's like the sun.
Ida sprints past him toward the front door.
INT. GRAND HALL - CONTINUOUS
Ida throws her weight against the front door. It doesn't move. It is encased in a thick, glittering shell of ice.
Vic stands at the base of the stairs. He lifts a hand toward the ceiling.
I can't let you leave. I wouldn't survive it.
A low CRACKING fills the hall. Above Ida, the icicles on the chandelier begin to grow.
They sharpen into crystalline daggers, lengthening downward. They point directly at her heart.
FADE OUT.