Matthew was up with the sun, stretching his tired limbs and gently tying up the curtains to let the sharp rays of sunlight in. The golden light shone off the snow and became blinding. He opened the window and took a deep breath of cold, fresh mountain air. It seemed to infuse his stiff body with the lightness of energy, and he smiled.
The light and stiff breeze made his wife, Isabelle, roll over in bed. She sat up, her long gray curls a mess, her blue eyes dim with sleep. “Matthew, it’s cold!” She shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
Matthew smiled again. No matter how old they got, no matter how long they were together, Isabelle never grew tired or bored. She still had a sharp, sweet tang, like a pineapple pulled right off the tree.
“Good morning, love,” he said, leaving the window open. “We should get downstairs to make breakfast for the customers. It’s 6:00.” He unscrewed his arthritis medication, popping a few of the small pills into his mouth. It hadn’t gotten bad yet, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
Isabelle sighed dramatically, and Matthew sat down beside her, taking her brush and beginning to untangle her snarls.
They got down to the kitchen 20 minutes later, Matthew in a pair of overalls that looked exactly the same as every other pair he owned, his short white hair sticking up. Isabelle wore a dark green dress with small pink flowers, and had put her curls up into a long ponytail. Her eyes had brightened to their usual piercing blue.
They donned their aprons and Matthew threw the kitchen windows open, too. He loved the mountains, the chain fading from dark purple, blue, and then gray as they got further away. They jutted into the sky, looking as though they wished to pierce it, their tips white as the beach pebbles he kept next to his chess set upstairs. .
Isabelle shot him a glare, rubbing the goosebumps on her arms.
And they got to work. Matthew fried eggs and flipped pancakes, Isabelle humming as she baked huge blueberry muffins and stirred a pot of oatmeal.
“Bacon?” Matthew asked, topping off another stack of pancakes.
“Not today,” Isabelle said, arranging her muffins into heart shapes. “I don’t want the whole kitchen to smell like it.”
Matthew smiled. “Alright.”
Their guests started getting up after not too long. Their little hotel was full of skiers and mountaineers, looking for a good night’s rest and a good meal before they continued into the icy snow and blinding light, getting away from the stale world below. Every two weeks or so, Matthew would close up the hotel for a night and he and Isabelle would go skiing. Great fun.
That evening, one of their guests who had been with them for over a week bade them farewell. He was a young man pushing into his thirties, still unmarried. His square jaw and broad smile that pulled higher on the right matched Matthew’s.
“Say hello to Guinevere for us, dear,” Isabelle begged, packing him more muffins than he could possibly eat on the journey down the mountain. “And Callum and Emmet, please, if you can.”
The man, Joseph, took her container of muffins and laughed. “Of course I will, Mom. I always do.”
Isabelle patted his hand, blinking away tears. “We miss our children, don’t we, Matthew?”
Matthew, working on the plumbing of a leaky sink, nodded. They had used to live down in the valleys, but eventually Matthew felt worn down by all the advertisements, superficial personas, and lack of good honest work. Isabelle longed for the same sweet simplicity that he did. But none of their children had agreed with Matthew and Isabelle - so moving to the mountain had meant moving away from their children. Matthew hardly even knew his grandchildren.
“But your visits do make it better, Joseph,” Isabelle told him, bringing him a container of homemade macaroni and stuffing it into his bag. “We look forward to them.”
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Joseph smiled. “And I’ll keep coming. Nobody can get away from the technology down there. People work on computers and screens, and have hoverboards and moving floors so they don’t have to walk from place to place. They do video calls instead of visiting each other and only eat food that comes out of machines.”
Matthew shuddered. What a terrible way to live. He didn’t understand how his kids could stand it. He grunted. They should come to the mountain.
Isabelle grimaced, and Joseph nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “That’s why I get away as much as I can. Anyways, I’ll see you.” He waved a hand in goodbye and left.
Isabelle went back to her work of doing laundry and changing sheets, humming to herself, her mind undisturbed. But Matthew worried. They had come up the mountain to get away from all the screens and facades and technology. But what if it started creeping up the mountain? What if there was nowhere to escape?
Lost in thought, he loosened a pipe ring instead of tightening it, and it sprayed water all over his face and left him spluttering. He grumbled and tightened it back up.
Matthew shut the windows against the chilling darkness. It crept over the mountains like molasses, thick and heavy. Matthew was somehow afraid of getting caught in it, like a fly in honey.
Everything was done for the day, he thought, untying the curtains. Isabelle was braiding her hair tonight, singing to her reflection in the bathroom. It had been a good day. Tomorrow he would take Isabelle out for skiing.
He settled into bed, pulling out one of the many books at his bedside and settling his glasses on his nose. He licked his finger and turned the page.
“Matthew?” Isabelle called, her tone part worried and part scolding. “Don’t read our book without me!”
“I’m not,” he called back, smiling around the lie. “I would never.”
“Matthew!”
“Alright, alright.” He set the book down heavily, so she could hear, and then quietly picked it up again. It was a book of old tales from around the world, something Matthew found intellectually fascinating and that Isabelle found magical. He normally read it out loud to her in the evenings, but she was taking so long doing her hair. She insisted she couldn’t braid it right without being able to see in the mirror, something that made Matthew roll his eyes. If the braid was for sleeping, then it didn’t have to look nice, did it?
“Matthew Harrington, if you are reading that book without me, I’m going to come out there right now and -”
“Good,” Matthew chuckled. “Means I won’t have to wait for you.”
He could hear Isabelle sniff, pretending to be offended. He smiled, looking over a page in the book illustrating Celtic lore.
And dropped it. It hit the ground with a thud.
Because in front of the bed stood two beings, glowing like candles in the middle of dark winter. One was female, with hair like liquid bronze, bright and stiff, twisted atop her head. Her gaze was as sharp as her narrow nose. Next to her, a taller male being, his hair sparking like fire. He wore black, though it still seemed to glow, like something liquid and reflective.
“Behold, Matthew,” the male said, his voice like the roaring of a creek after a rainstorm. “You have been called upon to -” his voice lost almost all nobility. “Wait, Aosed, this is an old guy. You’ve got the wrong address.”
The female pulled a paper out of nowhere, running her finger along it. “No, this is it.”
The male snatched the paper from her. “It can’t be! This is an old guy!”
He turned to Matthew. “Are there any 16 year olds in this house? By the name of Matthew Harrington?”
Matthew was too stunned to say anything.
“Oh no!” Cried the female, Aosed. “You made us late! This is your fault, Jaosdef! If you hadn’t made us stop so you could use the bathroom -”
“How was I supposed to know that would make our hero an old guy?” The male exclaimed.
While they were talking, Matthew leaned to the side of the bed. They were standing several inches off the ground. They were floating.
“I’m sure he isn’t even that old,” Jaosdef continued. “You,” he said, gesturing to Matthew. “How old are you?”
Matthew sat up and cleared his throat. “69 and still kicking, thank you.”
Aosed put a hand to her mouth. “That means we’re..53 years late! Oh, the boss is going to be so mad! And we don’t even have the girl!”
Isabelle stepped out of the bathroom, her hair in a spiral braid around her head like a crown. “Matthew? What is…”
She stared at the two angelic beings in her bedroom.
Aosed studied her, and then beamed. “Why, you must be Isabelle!” She said. “Look, Jaosdef, they found each other even without our help.”
Jaosdef was biting his nails, not listening.
Isabelle put her hands on her hips, seemingly unfazed. “Excuse me, what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Aosed opened her mouth, and then closed it slowly.
Jaosdef lifted his head. “You should probably sit down. This is going to take some explaining.”