And I’m Not Even Cold

The night was silent except for the soft rustle of the leaves. A pale moon hung above the trees, bathing the forest floor in silver light. The searchers had left hours ago, their flashlights bobbing away into the distance, their shouts fading into the night. They thought the trail was lost. They thought she was gone.

But Emily remained.

Lying on the damp earth, her body strangely light, she listened to the hum of insects and the whisper of the wind. She should have been shivering; the September air was crisp, the ground cold beneath her back. Yet, when she glanced at her pale hands resting across her chest, she thought:

And I’m not even cold.

It felt odd, that realization. She remembered falling, stumbling into the ravine when she tried to run. She remembered the pain exploding in her side, the taste of blood in her mouth, the sharp crack of something breaking. She remembered trying to scream but finding no strength. And then… nothing but silence.

Now, here she was, watching the stars through the trees, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.

A Father’s Shadow

The last face she had seen before she ran was her father’s. His eyes, once warm and gentle, had shifted into something terrifying. For weeks he had been different—short-tempered, distant, muttering things under his breath. Her mother thought it was stress from work. Emily knew better.

That night, he told her they were going for a walk. He led her deep into the woods with a flashlight in hand, his voice strangely calm. He talked about how the world was cruel, how her mother didn’t understand, how Emily belonged with him. At first she tried to reason with him, but the more he spoke, the more she realized he wasn’t planning to take her back.

When she saw her chance, she ran. She remembered his voice echoing through the trees, calling her name, growing sharper, more furious. Then came the fall. Then the silence.

Now, lying still, she wondered if he was still searching.

The Search

Meanwhile, in town, the people of Maple Hollow were restless. They had heard the news of the missing girl. Flyers were everywhere. Volunteers gathered each night to sweep through the forest. Her mother begged for answers on television, clutching Emily’s photo to her chest. And her father—Daniel Hart—stood beside her, pretending.

“Please,” he told the cameras, tears welling in his eyes. “If anyone has seen my daughter, bring her home.”

He fooled them all. He looked like a grieving father, desperate for his child. Only Emily knew the truth—that he was the reason she was lost in the woods.

But even as the search stretched on, no one thought to look where she had fallen. The ravine was hidden by tangled brush, steep and dark. Days passed. Then weeks.

Between Worlds

Emily realized something strange: she wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t thirsty. She wasn’t cold. It was as if the needs of her body had disappeared, leaving only awareness.

Sometimes, she thought she heard footsteps. Once, she swore she saw her mother’s face bending over her, whispering her name. But when she blinked, it was gone. Other times, she felt light, almost floating above the trees, drifting with the night air.

Am I dead? she wondered.

The thought frightened her, but at the same time, there was peace in it. The pain in her ribs was gone. The fear of her father’s hands clutching at her arm was gone. All that remained was stillness.

“And I’m not even cold,” she whispered to herself, marveling at how her breath didn’t cloud the air.

The Truth Revealed

The investigation continued. Detectives grew suspicious of Daniel. His timeline didn’t add up. His phone records showed odd gaps. And when they searched his truck, they found traces of mud that matched the soil near the forest’s ravine.

The pressure mounted. Daniel grew restless. He lashed out at Claire, accusing her of betrayal, of siding against him. When confronted by police, his story changed again and again. Finally, under the harsh glow of the interrogation room, his façade cracked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “She just… she wouldn’t listen.”

The confession hit Maple Hollow like a storm. The grieving father was a liar. The man who begged for his daughter’s safe return had been the one to lead her into danger.

What They Found

Guided by Daniel’s half-truths, officers returned to the woods. They scoured the ravine, pushing through thick brush and jagged stone. And there, they found her.

Emily’s body lay where it had fallen, her features peaceful, as though she were only sleeping. A blanket of leaves had begun to gather across her, but her small frame was untouched by animals, almost as if the forest itself had been guarding her.

Her mother broke when she saw her, collapsing to the ground, sobbing into the hands of friends who held her up. The truth was undeniable: Emily had been gone since that night.

But even as they lifted her from the earth, some swore they felt a presence in the air—gentle, watchful. A soft warmth, despite the autumn chill.

The Words That Lingered

Later, when the coroner examined her, he determined she had died quickly from her injuries. No long suffering. No endless fear. Just a sudden slip into silence.

Yet those who knew Emily best said her spirit lingered. Children in town whispered about hearing her laughter in the woods. Searchers who had been there that night said they felt something strange—like she had been with them, guiding them away, sparing them the horror of finding her too soon.

And one detail, passed quietly from the coroner to Claire, gave her a kind of fragile comfort.

“She didn’t suffer from the cold,” he told her softly. “The night air was freezing, but her body shows no signs of it. It’s as if she never felt it at all.”

Claire thought of her daughter’s bright smile, her stubborn courage, and the way she always found wonder in the simplest things. She imagined her lying beneath the stars, whispering to herself:

And I’m not even cold.

Conclusion

Emily’s story became a legend in Maple Hollow. The betrayal of her father haunted the town, a reminder that monsters don’t always lurk in shadows—sometimes they wear familiar faces. But Emily’s quiet resilience, her peaceful departure, left something behind as well: a lesson about innocence, trust, and the endurance of spirit.

Her mother planted a tree near the ravine, its roots drinking from the soil where Emily had once lain. Each spring, it blossomed with white flowers that stood out against the green woods, a symbol of purity untouched by the darkness that tried to claim her.

And every time the wind moved through its branches, Claire swore she could hear her daughter’s voice, soft and defiant, carried into the night:

“And I’m not even cold.”