April Snow

“Do you wanna hear a strange story?” K. asked me one winter evening. He did not even wait for my answer, because he knew how much I loved talking about unexplained cases.

First, he reminded me that his family had left Minneapolis, Minnesota, to settle permanently in Athens, Greece, five months after the death of his Greek-American grandmother, Sophia. He was ten years old at the time. He told me how, on the day he was helping his parents empty his grandmother’s house before putting it up for sale, he found a small wooden suitcase in the basement that caught his attention. On it, the name ‘Sebastian’ was written in red. And when he opened it, he found a white Olympia typewriter inside.

“I felt like Santa Claus had brought me a gift earlier than Christmas! But when I picked up the typewriter to take a closer look, I saw something else too.”

He told me immediately what he had seen: at the bottom of the suitcase there was a stack of papers roughly held together with a paperclip. Some were handwritten and some typed. He did not read them right away. He waited until they returned to their own house and he could isolate himself in his room.

He made a small pause in his narration to admire how attentively I was listening to him, and then he told me what those pages contained. The first and the last one were typed by grandmother Sophia. She was confessing the mysterious disappearance of a man, Sebastian, who apparently had once been very important to her. The rest of the pages were Sebastian’s own notes during the days of a snowfall, shortly before he disappeared.

K. left the living room for a while and came back holding a white folder — he opened it and offered me its contents without saying a word. He let me read the pages quietly, while he turned toward the lit fireplace.

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SOPHIA’S TYPED PAGE:

I had not spoken to Sebastian for three years. That’s usually how it goes, when there was once something deep between two people and then it’s not anymore. I would always be there for him, and I meant it, but he was too hurt to accept keeping a friendly contact. And then one day, a phone call came from the police.

The disappearance had been reported by his close associate, Paul, two days after that sudden bad weather came to an end, in April of 1961. Sebastian hadn’t gone to the office and wasn’t answering the phone either. So Paul decided to pay him a visit at his small stone house in the countryside, just three miles south of St. Cloud. Upon arriving, he found the car parked, the front door of the house unlocked and Sebastian nowhere to be found.

The police notified me as the second closest person to him. However, neither I nor his associate could fit the definition of the word ‘close’, but we were the only ones who knew Sebastian better. It seems that his only friend during the last three years had been loneliness. And, of course, the house in the countryside.

I drove there from Minneapolis alone, despite my husband’s insistence to accompany me due to my condition. My ‘condition’ was just fine — my belly needed another three months to reach the steering wheel! Besides, whatever had happened to Sebastian was only MY concern.

I was impressed that he had managed to renovate such an old house. But as soon as I stepped inside, I felt a cold draft wrap around me, as if I were in a refrigerator. I noticed how tidy everything was — after all, that order was something he had always sought.

The only thing out of place was the shovel on the sofa.

The police officer informed me that Sebastian’s personal belongings were in his bedroom and nothing seemed to be missing. The only notable findings were a white typewriter on the kitchen table and some pages scattered on the floor.

“I’ve put them in the order I think the events described happened”, the officer said as he handed them to me to read. The first pages were typed, and the rest handwritten, with Sebastian’s handwriting gradually changing, as if he was writing hastily or anxiously. The last page was torn at the bottom.

I sat down on a chair and immersed myself in his final words. Whatever had happened to him had started with the snow.

SEBASTIAN’S NOTES

(FIRST PAGE – typed):

What can soothe the soul better than fresh air and the singing of birds? Life here isn’t noisy, and time seems to pass more slowly. So, I cannot help but feel proud that this house is now my refuge. Look at me, speaking like a poet! Anyway… I finished planting the trees along the fence just as the first gray clouds appeared in the sky. As soon as night fell, it started to rain. A spring rain is something usual if you live in a place like Minnesota.

It worries me that the news warned the weather would be much worse than expected.

(SECOND PAGE – typed):

I still can’t believe what I saw outside the window when I woke up. Everything is covered in snow! Whatever was green and blooming is now white. But it is April, the heart of Spring.

I don’t know how or why, but, just like that, I remembered that snowy afternoon three years ago. The afternoon when I closed the door behind me forever and SHE didn’t even bother to stop me. She just uttered an apology as fake as her love… Oh, God, why is the past haunting me again? Pull yourself together, Sebastian. There is nothing for you in that past anymore.

I spoke on the phone with Paul, and he informed me that in Minneapolis they have already started clearing the streets of snow. Probably, they are doing the same in St. Cloud, but who knows when they will get as far as my house. Given the circumstances, Paul and I agreed to keep the office closed for two days, and let’s hope this will all be over soon. I wonder, is there any new official update about the bad weather?

I turned on the TV and stumbled upon a weird commercial for a laundry detergent. What the hell did I just see? A happy lady was hanging out her white laundry, whistling, while a child covered with a sheet (like a ghost?) was handing her clothespins.

“There were stains everywhere. The kind of stains you cannot get rid of. But with ‘BleachBless’, whatever was here before… is now just white!”

She said her lines and looked toward the camera, proudly holding the box of the detergent, with a creepy wide smile on her face. Sorry, lady, but there is no way I’m buying ‘BleachBless’. Unless I ever decide to poison someone’s food with it.

(THIRD PAGE – typed):

Not a single snowflake has fallen all morning, and that’s a good sign, I suppose. When I changed the channel, a meteorologist was explaining in a stern tone that the phenomenon was caused by the sudden arrival of a cold air mass from Canada, but it’s already subsiding. He finished by saying, “Minnesota residents, you’re used to spring cold, and you should be glad the snow has made your lives whiter.” However, I don’t understand why he repeated that phrase twice.

There was a lot of work waiting for me outside. First I went to the storage shed in the back yard — with difficulty, of course, because I had to walk through snow that was up to my knees. Once I managed, I grabbed the shovel and started clearing the snow around the house, the car, and the trees I had planted just yesterday. In the end, I opened a path along the front yard leading to the road. Before returning to the warmth of the house, tired and with a frozen face, I took one last look around and felt a vague uneasiness. As if something was wrong, though I couldn’t quite tell what it was. Maybe the yard looked somehow a little… asymmetrical? Honestly, I don’t know.

It was almost dark and I was sitting by the fireplace, enjoying a cup of hot tea and the absolute silence. Suddenly, I heard a noise coming from outside. I immediately ran to the window and saw the snowplow passing in front of my house. Finally! The way it moved slowly in the dim light of dusk, I would say it looked like some kind of monster searching for its prey.

(FOURTH PAGE – typed):

I had a nightmare during the night. A giant avalanche was rushing toward my house before I could escape. Completely irrational, of course, since there are no mountains around here. This is Minnesota, not Colorado! Anyway, the dream was so real that I could feel the freezing snow approaching me. When I woke up, I was so shaken that I looked out the window to make sure it had just been a bad dream. Yeah, indeed, my house had not become my tomb beneath a giant avalanche. On the contrary, a sunny day had dawned.

I stepped out into the yard and the sun immediately warmed my face. Thank God, Spring is coming back! I noticed that in the spots where I had cleared the snow, tiny purple flowers were already sprouting. Surprisingly, though, I don’t feel very cheerful. The whiteness of the snow spread everywhere bothers me a lot. And the sunlight makes it even more blinding. In the end, I thought I would be better inside. But the moment I crossed the half-open front door, I saw that snow had come in through the entrance. How the hell did that happen when there wasn’t even any wind? I grabbed the broom at once and pushed the snow back outside.

(It continues handwritten):

I locked the door and leaned the shovel behind it. Then I checked all the rooms and made sure the windows were properly shut. I have to stay alert. I won’t let that thing get into my house again.

(FIFTH PAGE – handwritten):

Another sunny day dawned, but the damned snow remains untouched, as if it hasn’t melted in the slightest since yesterday. And the strange things continue. The midday news didn’t even show the weather report, and I caught that awful ‘BleachBless’ commercial again. “Whatever was here before… is now just white!” I turned off the TV instead of smashing it.

I wonder what’s happening in town. Is everything normal there, or still white too?

I decided to take the car and head to St. Cloud, now that the road is clear. I only managed to take a few steps from the front door. The sun and the whiteness of the snow blinded my eyes and gave me a headache. I hurried back into the house as fast as I could.

It will pass, it has to. After all, it’s Spring and THIS does NOT belong here. For God’s sake!

(SIXTH PAGE – handwritten):

I feel nervous and cold. There is only one log left for the fireplace and it’s getting dark soon. The sky is painted with the ugliest sunset I’ve ever seen. I hear a sound. Could it be the snowplow passing by again? I stand at the window and see nothing outside. But I can still hear it.

I’m certain now. There’s something bizarre around me. Something I don’t understand. Maybe it’s only inside me, in my mind, and nowhere else. Cold like snow… I wonder if the happy lady with the ‘BleachBless’ is still happy. I haven’t been, for a very long time.

(SEVENTH PAGE – the handwriting becomes messy):

How did things end up in such confusion?

The house is now my frozen prison. Yet, there is still a way out. If I’m going to do something, it has to be tonight. The darkness will protect my eyes as soon as I step outside. I have nothing to fear — neither the snow nor the mysterious vortex that suddenly appeared across the house. No, that thing can’t be real. There are no stationary tornadoes. It’s just an illusion, a sly trick to keep me inside.

But I will go out.

(The bottom of the page is torn)

SOPHIA’S SECOND TYPED PAGE:

They found Sebastian after five days of searching, with the help of trained dogs. It seems he had walked in a straight line from the house for about two miles to the east, reaching the banks of the Mississippi River. There, among the bushes and the little snow that was left, lay his dead body. No signs of murder or suicide were found, and his death was attributed to natural causes. The only strange thing, apart from the fact that no one understood why he ended up there, was a piece of paper in his hand. It read: “I’m not cold anymore”.

I took one last look at his stone house before starting my car. I couldn’t hold back my tears. Should I now accept that the case is closed? Pretend it was just “the unfortunate fate of a troubled mind”, as the officer told me? Sebastian’s memory deserves better than that. I, his beloved Sophia, was the first to drive him into his nightmare with my behavior, three years ago. Isolation and snow devoured him afterward.

Oh, my dear Sebastian, the countryside turned out to be dangerous for you after all.

________________________________

(On the back of Sophia’s last note, an old newspaper clipping with an article about Sebastian’s case was attached)

________________________________

“So… this strange story is true?” I asked K., and he simply nodded in agreement. I had so many questions. Unfortunately, he had no more information to give me. He had once shown the pages to his mother, but she, too, had never heard Sophia mention anyone named Sebastian. And so, in the days that followed, we exchanged ideas about what might have really happened to him.

“I think you’ve become obsessed with this story. If you want, keep the pages. Maybe they’ll inspire you for your first book.” K. was right — both about the book and the obsession. I didn’t waste any time and started writing.

However, it has already been three months and I haven’t even finished the first chapter. Something is holding me back. I think, in a strange way, it has to do with the season. Spring is leaving and soon Summer will come. Nature has turned colorful, and the warm sunlight dominates most of the day. I feel like it’s preventing my concentration. I tried writing only at night, but I’m more tired during those hours. Maybe what I need is a different setting… Something white… And cold…

I have patience. I’ll wait until Winter.

The first snow that falls will unlock my writing. And then, when everything is so white that it hurts my eyes, Sebastian’s story will come to life again.