INT. CABIN - LIVING ROOM - PRE-DAWN
Darkness. Cold. The room smells of dust and old wood.
Frost patterns bloom across the window pane. Crystalline ferns. Feathers of ice. Intricate maps of cities that do not exist.
ARTHUR (70s), frail and wrapped in a thin wool blanket, sits in a spring-shot armchair.
He watches the ice grow.
His breath puffs in the freezing air, a small cloud of white.
A bed of orange embers pulses faintly in the fireplace, dying out.
Arthur shivers. He draws the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
He leans forward, the chair springs GROANING.
His breath fogs a small circle on the lower pane.
He wipes the condensation away with the heel of his hand.
EXT. FROZEN LAKE - CONTINUOUS
Through the cleared glass:
A study in grey. Snow-heavy pines. A flat white expanse. The sky is the color of dishwater.
On the ice stands KAREN (40s).
She wears a bright yellow sundress with blue flowers. Her feet are bare on the snow.
Her hair is the color of dark honey. It is still. No wind touches it.
She smiles.
INT. CABIN - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Arthur freezes. He does not blink. His chest is still.
He presses his forehead against the cold glass.
EXT. FROZEN LAKE - CONTINUOUS
Karen raises a hand. A slow, lazy wave.
She turns and walks away.
The yellow dress cuts a slash of color against the monochrome world.
She becomes a speck. Then nothing.
INT. CABIN - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Arthur pulls back from the window.
He pushes himself up. He winces, clutching his hip.
He hobbles to the fireplace. Grabs the iron poker.
He jabs the embers. They flare, spitting sparks.
He tosses two fresh logs on the grate.
The wood is damp. It HISSES.
Arthur turns to the rough-hewn mantelpiece.
A collection of cheap frames stands in the gloom.
He picks one up. A photo of a young couple on a beach.
Arthur brings it close to his eyes. Squints.
In the photo, the woman's face is indistinct. A smudge. Like watercolor left in the rain.
He rubs his eyes with his knuckles. Looks again.
The smudge remains.
He sets it down. Grabs another. A boy holding a string of fish.
The boy's grin is a blur. The eyes are dark spots.
Arthur reaches for the side table lamp. Clicks it on.
Under the weak yellow glow, he holds the photo up.
The image is the same. A collection of ghosts.
Arthur's hand begins to tremble.
He drops the photo onto the mantel.
He sinks back into the armchair.
The fire catches. Tongues of flame lick the damp wood.
A sound cuts through the silence.
Faint at first. A low, rhythmic WHINE.
Arthur stiffens. His hands grip the armrests.
The sound grows. A mechanical BUZZ.
It comes from the north.
Arthur slides off the chair. He crawls behind it.
He presses himself into the corner of the room.
The floorboards VIBRATE against his cheek.
The WHINE becomes a ROAR. Heavy. Purposeful.
The glass in the window frames RATTLES.
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut. He clamps his hands over his ears.
The ROAR peaks. A piercing SHRIEK that fills the cabin.
Then, the pitch lowers.
The sound moves to the side of the cabin. It recedes.
It fades into the distance.
Gone.
Silence returns. Heavier than before.
Arthur stays curled on the floor. Shaking.
LATER
The sky outside is a pale, washed-out blue.
Arthur sits in the chair again.
The poker rests in his lap.
He stares at the window.
The frost patterns are static. The lake is empty.
He leans his head back against the worn fabric.
He closes his eyes.
Stillness.
A single floorboard CREAKS upstairs.
Arthur's eyes snap open.