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Every imaginable trope gathers on All Hallows' Eve.


I got shivering to my feet, clutching my arms tight against my rather scrawny chest to keep myself as warm as I could under the circumstances. The wind chill must have been somewhere around 20 below and it was a pure whiteout out here. Visibility was less than 3 feet.

I knew from living in the brutal winters of interior Alaska that I wasn't going to last very long in just my underwear. How the fuck did I get here, again? I knew my only option was to move, and move damn quickly, to try and figure out 1 where I was and 2 where I could attain some warm clothes. I started off in what I hoped was the right direction. But then, I realized, any direction would do since I had absolutely no idea where I might be. The snow was ankle high already, in this the first snow storm of October. My feet where numb. I couldn't feel a thing. Frostbite would get me in about half an hour or less if I continued like this.

I picked up the speed. My balls were shrunken to peach pits and my cock was smaller than it ever had been in my life. My body was shivering uncontrollably. My teeth chattered like a tommy gun. Fuck it was cold!

Suddenly, a sign loomed out of the white murk. It was the sign for a ski resort I visited last year. What the fuck! I was a hundred miles from home in my jockey shorts in a blizzard!


I stood staring at the sign dumbly for a minute. A hundred miles from home. Not that there was a lot going on there that I wanted to get back to, but it's the principle of the matter. Then I pulled myself together. Now that I knew where I was I could orient myself to where I might be able to find some clothes. A friend of mine had a cabin here about half a mile up the road from this sign, so I set off in that direction, shivering worse than ever. The wind had picked up even more, and the snow was horizontally blowing at me, making things hellishly colder still. Many people I talked to from outside scoffed at the idea of stories like To Build a Fire ever actually happening, but to those of us in the interior of Alaska, it was an all too real possibility. Rescue teams often find frozen hikers up in the hills, idiots who came in unprepared for the sub zero temps or who believed it wouldn't happen to them. And I knew I was facing the real possibility of freezing to death if I didn't find some clothes and soon.

Luck was with me, though. The caretakers kept the cabins in this part of the park with electricity running, and there was a nice bright porch light gleaming faintly in the snow blown darkness. I found the spare key hidden under the bottom porch step and let myself in. Oh my god, it was warm!


I found some warm winter gear I'd stashed in the second bedroom, put it on gratefully, and lit the fire already laid in the hearth.. I was safe, for the time being. I put on a pot of coffee and settled in to wait out the storm and ponder my predicament.

I've read enough science fiction books in my life to know that most likely what'd happened to me was that I'd somehow teleported. But how? And most importantly, what triggered it? How come I haven't been able to do it before?

These thoughts raced through my mind. Teleportation. Me. Why? How? When? And then the possibilities hit me. I could go anywhere. I could do anything and nobody would be able to catch me. No jail cell would be able to hold me

I poured coffee, high on the possibilities and ideas racing through my head. But wait a minute. I'm not a criminal. Dammit, I'm a good fella. I don't rob. And my being able to teleport, that shouldn't change it. And then an even more sobering thought hit me--what if this was a one time occurrence? What if I could never do it again?

Ok, I thought to myself.

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