Йен Райт - The Final Winter

Richard left the window and marched across the lounge towards the French doors at the rear of the house. They led out to a veranda which doubled as a smoking shelter for his wife’s habit. As soon as he pulled open one of the doors, the cold hit him like a punch in the face. His nose started burning almost immediately as the chill bit at his extremities.

He stepped out into the snow nevertheless, but wishing he was wearing something more substantial than trainers – snowfall was not something he’d packed for. The growing wind also made him wish hard for a winter coat.

“Who’s out here?” he shouted into the floodlit night. “This is private property. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

There was no answer and Richard took it as a threatening sign. He stepped cautiously as he approached the front of the house where he had seen the stranger. He couldn’t be sure, but it had looked to be a man; a tall one wrapped in a billowing coat – or maybe a cloak.

When Richard reached the side of the house that faced the lake, he was surprised to find the stranger was still standing there, quite assumedly. The man seemed to care little about his trespass.

“I said you need to leave,” he reiterated. “You’re worrying my family.”

“Their worry is well-founded,” came the stranger suddenly with a baritone voice.

Richard took a step towards the man. “Is that a threat?”

“A threat would imply uncertainty. There is none of that here.”

Richard examined the stranger with suspicion that was beginning to border on concern. The figure towered above the snow and was tall enough that Richard would not fancy his chances if the stranger attacked him. Unsettling too was the unusual cloak covering the man from head to feet – it was not something an ordinary person would wear in the 21 stCentury.

“Look,” said Richard. “What do you want?”

The stranger seemed to move very slightly to face him as he replied. “I desire nothing. His will is my will and I do only as requested.”

Richard didn’t understand. He was cold and extremely confused. “Who is he? What are you talking about?”

“You ask of Him? You should know your Lord and revere him with the love and respect he demands. Perhaps if you had, your fate would be less perilous.”

Richard had had enough. He took the final few clumsy steps towards the stranger and pointed a finger right at his face. “You get out of here, right now. I love America, I really do, but you don’t half have some bloody nutcases here. Leave, or I will call the police.”

The figure let out a laugh that rattled Richard’s very bones. “You demand nothing of me, mortal. Your threats are puny. Your insolence, maddening.”

Richard was lost for words. This person was obviously a madman, just by the way he spoke, but so too was he huge and menacing. What the hell should I do? Richard decided that lowering his tone would be best. Steering away from any animosity seemed far safer than inciting any. “I’m sorry to offend you. Could you just tell me who you are, please?”

The stranger lowered his head as if to focus on Richard more clearly. The cowl was too tightly wrapped to give anything away about the man’s face; not even the eyes could be seen. To Richard’s surprise, the cloaked stranger raised both hands and began to pull away the hood. Slowly the cloth fell away to reveal a face of utter beauty and a head full of mahogany-streaked hair.

Richard took a breath and struggled to let it back out again. “Jesus!”

The beautiful man shook his head and seemed angry at the word. “You do not speak of The Son without reason. I am not Jesus.”

Richard was in awe. “Then who are you?”

The stranger’s face was without emotion as he answered. “I am Mika’eel. I am the first Harbinger of this world’s demise.”

“I-I’m sorry? Demise?”

Mika’eel nodded. “Your time of decadence has ceased. This world is to be no more.”

Richard shook his head. “Are you… are you a terrorist?”

The man showed no expression – in fact he seemed incapable – but he did shake his head. “I am no terrorist. I spread not terror, but extinction. I bring snow and ice to freeze further the cold hearts of man. It is an honour for you to meet me, an Angel of the highest order.”

Richard choked. “An Angel? Are you crazy?”

“Crazy is a state of mind beneath me – as are you, Richard Pointer.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know all names, all fates, all journeys. Yours is a particularly interesting one. Your true mother abandoned you, but this you do not know. Yet that nagging feeling of rejection has spurred your every decision. You are a callous businessman, a competitive being, and a domineering husband. Your wife dreads you.”

Richard’s heart throbbed at the accusation, causing him actual pain. Perhaps the reason it hurt so much was because, deep down, he knew it was true. He was a control-freak and always had been. The fact that he allowed himself to control his lovely wife made him feel wretched.

“Do not fret, Richard Pointer. There are many men worse than you. Despite their dread, your family loves you. Go to them now. Comfort them as the end draws near. You have an opportunity that many will not. You know that the end is coming; you can say the things that need saying and die with an unburdened soul.”

Richard looked at the… Angel … and knew that it was all true. The world was truly ending and this being before him was its deliverer. Life was an inconsequential mess and it was now coming to an abrupt finish. Despite the fear that knowledge brought, Richard was indeed grateful for the gift of knowing. He would enjoy his final evening with his family; enjoy the final winter of man’s existence. Richard turned around and headed for the house, to be with his family and wait for the end of the world.

“Any more wine?” asked Amanda.

John turned to his wife and sighed. “Haven’t you had enough tonight?”

“Just go get another bottle and stop giving me grief. It’s not like I have work tomorrow. Maybe not all week if it keeps snowing like this – Whoop!”

John shook his head. He knew his wife was drunk because he was too. They’d polished off a bottle of red each and the heavy feeling it left him was dragging him towards sleep. Amanda was different though – she never quit while the night was still young. There was no point arguing with her, so John diligently went and got another bottle of Shiraz from the kitchen cabinet. There was another three bottles after this one and he worried. His wife would never drink them all – nowhere near in fact – but she may well keep going until she passed out.

Or turns nasty.

John re-entered the living room and unscrewed the bottle cap. He leant over Amanda’s glass and started pouring until the glass was almost full. He then topped up his own glass halfway.

“Sit down, honey. Never Mind The Buzzcocks is coming on. You like that.”

He did and was grateful that his wife was in an accommodating mood. He sat down beside her and put a hand on her lap. It was a struggle to focus on the television, however, because something was on his mind. “You think Jess is going to make it home from work okay?”

“Yeah,” slurred Amanda. “Why wouldn’t she?”

John shrugged. “The snow’s gotten pretty bad. Have you seen it recently?”

“Couple hours ago. Wasn’t that bad.”

“It is now. I’m starting to get a bit worried. You think I should try and walk down and meet her from the supermarket. Her shift finishes in ten minutes.”

Amanda turned the TV up slightly and frowned. “She’ll be fine. If you leave now you’d only end up missing her.”