Lightning flashes. And I know it's lightning this time because of how bright and searing it is, and I realize I have to go uphill. Up several hills. Then thunder roars so loudly, it's like someone shoved megaphones right up to my ears and shouted at the top of their lungs. I cover my ears and press forward, and when my hearing returns, I break into a run. I just have to get up the hills. I just have to get to cover. Then I’ll be safe.

I don't think I've ever been this wet before. It's different from taking a bath. That's just water rinsing your skin so you don't smell like you've been touching yourself all night. In a storm like this, the rain hits you with the essence of the world. And it sticks to you. It seeps through you, so that it feels like your bones are filling with heavy storm water, and you’re just a vessel for the entire sky.

I try not to think about what just happened. That I'd been a giant squirrel. That I'd eaten a peach off the ground with my oversized squirrel teeth. That I'd had a tail! A big bushy one...

Has to be a dream, right? I'll forget as soon as I wake up. And that would explain the snowy woods and the storm, separated by some invisible force. Maybe everything's been a dream. The ruined apartment. The mirror swallowing me. I'm gonna wake up. I'll wake up. And I’ll be back in my bed, deciding not to do the dishes again this week and wondering if I’d paid all the bills.

I shut my eyes and stop. I'm plastered with mud. Rain drips down my back and my bare skin, and I shiver. My panties are soaked. The storm wraps itself around me. It's not so bad. I've never been in the rain like this. Sure, it sometimes rains like crazy in the city during summertime, but this feels... well it's the storm of another world. That’s kind of cool, isn’t it?

Lightning cuts through the sky again, and I see it through my eyelids. Thunder booms, and I swear I vibrate from how loud it is. Then I remember the teeth that cut through my arm, and I shudder. Even if it is a dream, I don't want to wait for anything else to catch me.

I'm not sure how much time passes. It's just rain and mud and wet, but the flashing light beckons me closer and closer. The light moves across the sea of grass and then vanishes in the distance before coming back after a short while. Walking uphill burns my thighs, and I keep telling myself once I get to the woman's house, I can sit down. I can lie down. I can rest. I don't even care if she just wants to secure a meal. At least I wouldn’t be drenched and aching anymore.

I stumble forward, half sliding on grass that seems even higher now, reaching my hips and tickling me all over. I’m trying very hard not to picture any insects crawling on me. Sticks and things scratch my thighs and calves, and I’m just about to lie down in the mud and give up when I burst out of the grass. My feet splash in mud, but there’s no more grass. Oh, thank God. A sign of civilization. A road. It's a road! A dirt road churned to mud by the rain, but a road nonetheless. No more grass brushing my bare skin. No more worrying about bugs crawling on my legs.

It's easier to walk, even though my muscles are burning and the little scratches sting. The road curves like a snake, winding up the hill. I can see the lighthouse's silhouette clearly now, a tower rising into the storm, light beaming from its tip. The sky is dark and angry and heavy, and I break into a half sprint, finding some rush of strength I didn't know my pathetic body could muster. I'm proud to say I only fall on my face or ass a few times, and when I finally make it up the hill, I'm caked in mud and feeling utterly disgusting, but I make it. An enormous gray tower stands in front of me like a skyscraper from back home. Attached to it, like a conjoined sibling, is the little cottage, windows lit with a warm orange glow.

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For a long moment, I stand there, staring. Letting the rain wash as much of the mud and grime away as possible. The cottage is surrounded by high grass, unkempt weeds, and little trees. Vines and ivy climb up the door and walls to form a rooftop garden. Shaking from the effort, I rush to the door and knock.

I wait almost five minutes before realizing the woman's out in the snowy woods. Of course, nobody would answer. I grab the doorknob; it turns and opens into an inviting warmth that wafts over me like a gentle hug. I sigh with relief.

Stepping into the cottage almost feels like stepping into the storm from the snowy woods. Like slipping into yet another world. It's warm and dry and cozy. My wet hair stops flopping in the wind, and I shut the door, leaning against it, breathing hard. The sounds of the storm quiet to a cozy drumming on the roof and windows. I swipe my hair out of my face, and several strands come away with my hand, tangled in my dirty fingers.

I'm dripping water and mud all over, but looking at my surroundings, I don't think the woman would mind.

A fine layer of dust covers everything. Nobody's cleaned this place in ages. It kind of reminds me of my apartment. To my right, by the fireplace, there's a table with a single chair. The chair looks rather fancy with a maroon seat and carved wood backing, like someone took a lot of care to make it.

Most of the walls are shelves stuffed with books and papers and boxes completely caked with dust. The shelves make the space seem tinier. To the far left is a stairwell leading upstairs. The wall adjacent to the stairwell is covered by a curtain. Which is odd, because I'm pretty sure that wall is connected to the lighthouse.

I hesitate at the door, still trying to catch my breath. I hate going to other people's houses. I always feel like a disturbance. An intruder. Like I might break or damage something just by being here. Like I'm a disease trying to worm my way into their lives. And this is her life. All this stuff, this warmth, this space. Why am I here?

I keep reminding myself the woman invited me. She told me it was alright. I should be here. It's dangerous outside. Something might try to eat me again or the wind might just blow me away. I'm too exhausted to fight the discomfort. Too exhausted to even worry she'll just come and eat me anyway.

Mysterious snowy woods with a giant ass squirrel. A shadow lizard and a woman who fights evil spirits. Weather that made no sense. This is all bonkers. At least, it's quiet now. I can rest.

Maybe I should sleep. I might wake up. And if I don't wake up, if this isn't a dream, and there's danger, maybe I can turn into that squirrel again and run. Yeah. That's a good strategy. For now, I'll get dry and warm and maybe I'll find some clothes. I approach the fireplace, ready to stick my head in there and dry off, but I jump backward in shock.

It's not a fireplace! There's no fire!

It's a cobblestone thing that looks like a fireplace. It even has a chimney climbing up to the wall and vanishing into the ceiling. But nothing flickers inside. There’s no smoke or anything. It’s a red, jelly-like thing the size of a volleyball, and it’s alive. It's the source of the orange glow and warmth. With two black dots for eyes and a squiggly line for a mouth, it watches me.