Mother said

Now, here they come again: Ten small circles appearing one by one; forming two small hills on the icy glass. I know what will happen next so I turn away. Mother told me to do so when this happens. I want to see her, but I don't want to see her like this. Dull, yellow eyes. Pale face. Breathing her way into the house. I don't think she can get in here, if we don't let her. But she watches us. We can’t let her in, Mother said. At first, I wasn't sure it was even her, but now I know. She comes every evening. I don't look at her, but I know that she's looking at me. With those dull, yellow eyes. I would much rather have her leave. Just leave us alone. I don't want to let her in.

We are eating dinner now. Mother says the snow has arrived early this year. Maybe it will be gone before we know it. I hope there is still snow at Christmas, but Mother says that this is not a certainty (she  does  not  like  to  talk  about  Christmas  anymore). We eat dinner in the kitchen and not in the living room where we used to eat. I like to watch TV when we eat but we can't do that now. We only have a small window in the kitchen and it's placed above the sink. I can't reach it, but Mother can and Mother said that this window is safe. I can see the night sky when I stand in the kitchen looking out the window. Already at dinner time, there is only darkness outside. In fact, it is pitch black and so it will continue to be months from now.

We have a big grandfather clock in our living room. We got it from my grandfather, but Mother said they are all called grandfather clocks. Our clock is majestic and it rings out loud every hour. You can hear it anywhere in the house, and I think perhaps you can hear it outside as well. I think she can hear it, because she always appears just as the clock strikes six. I don't know when she leaves.

Mother cries a lot but she won't admit it. She never cries when I'm around but I can hear her in her bedroom or in the bathroom (if  it  makes  Mother  so  sad  why  not  let  the  outside  in). I haven't cried yet, but I am sad too. Mother's face is fading and I think it's because she doesn't sleep much at night. She cries during the night and sometimes I can’t sleep because of her sobbing. Mother said that if I can’t sleep I should drink a glass of milk and I do that sometimes, but I have to watch my steps when I go down the stairs. I usually turn halfway around when standing on the last step of the staircase, so I walk sideways on to the floor with my back against the living room window. Then I walk into the kitchen and fill a glass with milk, drink it, and then I walk backwards out of the kitchen again, until the staircase is on my left side. Sometimes this helps me sleep.

Before darkness arrives I stand by the living room window looking out at the snow. It is so bright outside that you can’t imagine it suddenly turn dark, but it happens; just like that. I know I have to be careful, and Mother doesn’t like me standing here, and during the first days she told me to get away from the window. Now she’s too tired to do anything about it. When I know the time is coming, I alternately look out the window and back at the clock. When the clock is exactly one minute to six I walk out into the kitchen and stay there. It feels like we’re trapped, and I’m not sure what we’re waiting for, but Mother said we have to be calm and wait. I don’t think Mother is waiting anymore. And she is not calm. She spends most of the day in bed shaking and sobbing.

It is night and I can’t sleep. I think about her. We are not a family without her. I need her and Mother needs her too, and I think she needs us. If she didn’t need us, why would she come every night? She is trapped outside in the cold (cold  and  dark  and  lonesome) and it doesn’t seem fair. We are trapped as well, but we have warmth and light and food and beds. Perhaps her eyes are normal now; I haven’t seen them for many days - perhaps they are blue and shiny again, lovely smiling eyes (like  me  like  you  brother  and  sister).

I feel her presence. My upper body lifts itself up in a sitting position in the bed. I get out of the bed and walk out of my room. I walk down the stairs, turn halfway around, facing the kitchen. All is quiet. I walk backwards into the living room, slow steps. I walk backwards all the way to the window. There I stand, feeling her presence. I know she is right behind me, breathing onto the window; breathing her way into the house. I want to turn around (there  is  nothing  to  be  scared  of) but Mother will be mad if I do so. I don’t want to make Mother mad. I want to make Mother happy (she  needs  me). The majestic clock strikes, and I get a shock and I almost turn around. It is three in the night. I know she is there, but how can I know for sure. I’ve never looked out the window in the middle of the night. I turn my head around slightly, getting the outer frame of the window inside my vision. I turn my head a bit more and I see those small fingertips starting the first hill on the icy glass. I keep turning (do  not  stop  turning) and now five fingers are visible and I keep turning and here is the clear view through the icy glass and the shape of a face starts to show itself. There she is; I am standing right in front of her, looking into her dull, yellow eyes. Only glass between us. Thin, warm glass. (It  is  okay  see  I  will  not  hurt  you  brother  let  me  into  the  house  I  need  you  and  Mother.) She looks so sad and lonesome and Mother won’t mind me letting her in, it’s for the best, and perhaps Mother will be happy. I walk to the door and I unlock the door and open it slowly and the cold wind suddenly blows the door fully open and I instantly start to freeze. She’s standing in the doorway. I can’t remove my eyes from hers, but I see her entire face. Her skin is dead pale and her lips have almost crumbled away. Her dark hair is wet and it’s sticking to her face and down her chest. (We  need  mother). We walk into the house and the wind closes the door again with one quick blow. We walk up the stairs and over to Mother’s bedroom door. I open it. There we stand looking in on Mother; we are all three together again. Mother wakes up and screams with her eyes wide open; perhaps she doesn’t understand. She cries out my name repeatedly while she shrinks up against the bedside wall. We walk towards her, slowly. All smiles. (Hi  Mother  have  you  not  missed  me). Don’t be scared Mother, everything’s fine again.