The Cold Trap

I was eleven, maybe twelve, the summer we moved to my grandmother’s old house in the dusty outskirts of Marfa. The place was a relic, all creaking floorboards and peeling wallpaper, but it had a strange charm. My room was at the end of a long hallway, and next to it was a small study that had been converted into a spare room. That room had a tiny bathroom attached, the door always sticking to the frame. One sweltering July afternoon, I was lying on the floor of the study, reading a comic book, when I heard it: a heavy, rhythmic thumping against the bathroom door. It was like something massive and panicked was throwing itself at the wood. I froze, my skin prickling despite the heat. We had no pets, not even a stray cat, and the house was silent except for that relentless pounding. The sound was so violent it shook the door on its hinges. I remembered my cousin visiting last week; maybe he’d left a window open and a bird had flown in? But the bathroom had no window. The thumping grew louder, more frantic, and a cold draft seeped from the gap under the door, carrying the smell of damp earth and rust. I wanted to call out, but my throat closed. I thought, maybe it’s a stray dog that wandered in through the back door and got trapped. But the back door was locked. I crawled closer, my heart thudding against my ribs. The cold was unbearable, like reaching into a freezer. I pressed my ear to the door, and the pounding stopped. Then, a soft, wet sound, like something sliding against the other side. I whispered, ‘Who’s there?’ The only answer was a faint, metallic click. I stood, hands shaking, and turned the knob. The door swung open to reveal an empty, frost-covered bathroom. The mirror was fogged, and on it, written in the condensation, was a single word: ‘MINE.’ I stumbled back, and the door slammed shut on its own, the latch clicking into place. I never went back into that room, and that night, the pounding resumed from inside the walls. It’s been years, but I still hear it sometimes, always coming from the direction of that cold, empty bathroom.