The house where the snow doesn't melt

Walking back from my child's bus stop this morning, I again saw the house where the snow hasn't melted.

The rest of the street was warm. Sunlight reflected off liquid dew, and the gentle breeze hugged me like a lover's exhalation. Birds chirped, and the air smelled of gasoline and fresh cut grass. But in the house by the corner, the snow hadn't melted.

Something tugged on my sleeve and begged me to walk away again, like I had done every day for years. "There's nothing to see. That's just the house where the snow doesn't melt. You'll forget this like you do every morning." But my curiosity outweighed my instincts, and I stepped closer.

The sound of the snow crunching beneath my feet filled me with dread. No matter what the voice said, something was different here, and I knew it was deadly.

The snow wasn't just on the outside of the house. Through the windows, I could see that thick layers of ice had formed on the glass. The interior walls were slick, reflecting a cold blue light from the house's heart.

I heard a whistling, rushing sound from around the corner. Unsure of my footing, I carefully trudged up the icy driveway and into the backyard.

One of the windows was open. Ice caked the passage, giving me a clear view into the house where the snow doesn't melt.

I could see the beating heart. In the center of the house, a blue flame burned in reverse, sucking in heat and disorder from the world, pushing everything to its least likely outcome. The flame pulsed, wanting to extinguish itself but failing to fail. I knew this to be feared and respected, but I did not know why the voice inside me remembered.

I picked a dead leaf from the snow and released it in front of the opening. The house sucked in the leaf. As the wind pulled it up and away, its color changed from black to green. When it hit the flame, a shower of diamonds projected upwards into the soft snow sticking to the ceiling.

I've stepped away from the house, but I am hovering nearby. Before I flee, I must send this post. I will forget again, but I want to remember:

There is a house on the corner where the snow doesn't melt.