The Cold Furnace

The old farmhouse had always been drafty, but this winter, the chill was different. It wasn’t just the wind sneaking through the windows; it was a deep, creeping cold that clung to the floors and seeped through the walls. I thought the furnace was on its last legs, so my partner, Marcus, and I booked a repairman from a number we found in a bus shelter. The price was suspiciously low, but Marcus insisted it was a steal. On the day of the appointment, Marcus had a work emergency and couldn’t be there, so his aunt, Ruth, came over to keep me company. She was a stern woman with sharp eyes, and I felt safer with her around.

The repairman arrived in a rusted van with no logo. He introduced himself as Gerald, a thin man with a toolbox that looked older than me. I led him to the basement, where the ancient furnace rumbled like a dying animal. He muttered something about ‘cracked heat exchange’ and set to work, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Every fifteen minutes, I’d head down with an offer of tea or a question about the repair. Each time, he’d either wave me off or give a vague answer like ‘It’s complicated.’ His hands were always busy, but I never saw him actually hold a tool.

Ruth sat in the kitchen, knitting and watching the stairs. She didn’t trust him either. ‘That man’s not a repairman,’ she said, pulling her shawl tighter. ‘He’s got the look of a gravedigger.’ I laughed nervously, but her words stuck with me. The cold seemed to intensify, seeping into my bones despite the furnace roaring above.

After about an hour of this, a knock came at the front door. I opened it, expecting Marcus, but instead a middle-aged man with a kind face stood there, holding a clipboard. ‘I’m here for the furnace repair,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ I stared at him, my heart pounding. ‘But—the other gas man is already in the basement.’

The man frowned. ‘There’s been a mistake. I’m the only one sent. Who did you let in?’ Ruth appeared behind me, her face pale. ‘We need to call the police,’ she whispered. But before I could reach for the phone, the basement door slammed shut. A deep, rhythmic thumping started, like a heartbeat from below. The temperature in the house plummeted, and frost began to form on the windows, spreading like veins.

The real repairman—Gary, he said—backed away from the door. ‘That’s not normal,’ he stammered. ‘That’s not normal at all.’ Ruth grabbed my arm. ‘We need to get out. Now.’

But the front door wouldn’t budge. The locks were frozen solid, and the handle was coated in ice. The thumping grew louder, and the floorboards vibrated. Then, from the basement, we heard a voice—not Gerald’s, but something lower and ancient, humming a tune I didn’t recognize.

Gary pulled a crowbar from his toolbox and started prying at the door, but the ice was too thick. Ruth was muttering a prayer. I pressed my ear against the basement door, and through the frozen wood, I could hear Gerald speaking in a language I didn’t understand, his voice layered with another, deeper one.

The furnace rumbled, and the whole house shook. A sickening crack echoed from the basement, followed by a wet thud. The humming stopped. The cold became unbearable, and I could see my breath forming ice crystals.

Then, the basement door creaked open. Gerald stood there, but his eyes were wrong—black and hollow, like burnt sockets. He smiled, and his teeth were too sharp. ‘Almost done,’ he said. ‘Just needs a sacrifice.’

Gary swung the crowbar, but Gerald caught it with one hand, snapping the metal like a twig. He turned to Ruth first. She didn’t even scream as he dragged her into the darkness. The door slammed shut again.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, huddled with Gary, listening to the sounds from below. When we finally broke through the frozen door, the house was empty. The furnace was cold, but there was a small note stuck to it, written in fresh blood: ‘The heat is in your bones now.’

We never found Ruth or Gerald. The house now stands abandoned, but locals say the furnace still hums at night, and anyone who gets too close feels the chill that never leaves. As for me, I moved to the desert, but I still shiver every time I see a furnace. The cold never really left me—it’s inside, waiting for the next repairman to come.