Vicesimus Tertius Gradus

Lara stirred under the covers, her heavy eyes struggling to pry themselves open as her mind struggled to make sense of itself. Her ears were subjected to the howling of the rushing air outside. It clawed its way through the cracks of the farmhouse boards with ease, producing an uneasy whistling that she had grown accustomed to sleeping through. She shivered. 

Mastery of her body returning, Lara twisted in the quaint bed. Her hands fumbled blindly against a meager bedside table in the untainted dark. She twisted a knob once, twice, three times before a wisp of light slithered to life, the flame unnaturally still within the lamp. Shuttering the glass so that only a minimal amount of light would pass through, Lara gently turned her legs over the side of the bed, betraying them to the stinging air outside the warmth of her covers. Her tiny feet met her slippers, and she padded gently out of her tiny room.

She crept into Ronald’s. He had a much thinner blanket than her, a fair trade since she was so many years his junior. Padding up to him, Lara gently pushed at her brother’s head, rocking it back and forth, hoping to wake him.

When he stirred, he groaned in protest. Lara was unaware, but his body was sore from yesterday’s work. It had been the hardest full day of work for him since the harvest season, and getting to sleep that night was only possible after hours of his drowsy mind wrestling his screaming body into submission.

“Wh-what?” His head turned toward her as his cloudy eyes strained themselves in the dim light. “What is it, Lara?” He says as he wipes his eyes, having barely identified her. 

“I have to pee, and I’m scared,” she reported with simple honesty. 

Ronald sighed. “Alright. Go put your boots on and leave the lamp in the doorway so I can find mine.”

She left, gently placing the flickering light under the doorframe. The light from the lone flame was enough to allow Ronald to see, while she, even in the hallway, was able to find her boots. Setting herself on the ground, which sent a shiver up her spine, she fitted the boots onto her feet. Despite her thick woolen socks, the boots stung at her feet, and it felt as if she was dipping them into a cool lake on a hot summer’s day. Then she reached up—stretching as far as she could—and plucked her heavy coat from the hanger. She wrapped herself in it tightly, the wind scraping against the door.

Then Ronald’s hand appeared in the door to his room and grasped the lantern. In the distance, Lara heard a deep rumbling. The storm must’ve been picking up somewhere to the west.

Walking to her, he said, “Here, hold this.” Then he put on his coat, which was also thinner than his sister’s. When it was buttoned, he inspected Lara’s, ensuring that it was closed in tight. He turned her around, pulling the collar up against her neck. Then, satisfied that she’d be protected from the elements, he sighed again and cracked open the door. She hesitated, unwilling to step into the foot-tall pile of snow that greeted her. He ushered her along, and she went. He hurried outside, closing the door as quickly and silently as possible.

Ronald plucked the lantern out of Lara’s little hand, then brushed past her to carve her a path in the snow. She followed close behind, grateful to not be stepping up to her knees in the freezing powder. After a few seconds, which felt like minutes in the unrelenting wind, Ronald forced open another wooden door, pushing the snow out of the way. The door bulged as a result, but Lara was able to slip inside. Passing her the lamp, Ronald said, “Be quick! I’ll wait out here for you, but I’ll be in the dark.”

He shut the door even as he shrugged and shrank into himself to preserve his body heat.

Lara hung the lamp on a rusty nail, then shivered. She clenched her jaw, bracing herself for the wooden seat. If the floor in the house had sent a shiver up her spine, the seat would send frostbite through her even as the plague had spread across Europe, according to how Miss Zeph had described it. Indeed, it did. Cursing her short legs, Lara had no choice but to rest her full weight on the seat. 

Then an accursed blast shook the outhouse and rattled its boards. The tiny black room was suddenly flooded with blinding white light, burning Lara’s eyes. She leapt off the seat, landing with a thud. She yelped in shock, beginning to ramble incoherently, temporarily blinded. As she regained hold of her senses, she thought, It’s a good thing I was on the toilet, else I would’ve ruined my clothes. Mother would’ve never let me hear the end of it.

Still shaken, but able to see again with the humble flame that stood defiantly in the lamp, she hastily exited the outhouse. Ronald was nowhere to be found. Lara called his name, once, twice, now three times, but he didn’t respond. Gripped by the wind, she shrank into her coat and began to trudge through the thin path that they’d created. It was already coated with a fresh layer of powder. Despite the cutting sensation the tears gave her cheeks, she began to cry, fearing that poor Ronald was frozen and buried in the snow, else he was mauled and eaten by some bear or a pack of coyotes. 

In the minimal light and through the elements, Lara did not notice a large, coiling cloud of steam rushing off of the ground and into the air.

After what felt to be an hour of walking and muted sobbing, Lara reached the door to the farmhouse and rattled the handle. It opened with unexpected ease, and standing in the doorway was— 

“Ronald!” Lara called as she shuffled into the house. “What happened?”

“What happened?” He echoed as he helped her remove her coat and boots. “You heard the thunder, didn’t you? Well, I got scared and ran inside! I’m glad you made it back alive.”

At that last part, Lara began to whimper, fearing that she could’ve perished outside. Chuckling, Ronald wrapped an arm around her shoulder and reassured her that he was joking, and he was sorry he left her. But it was so close!