The snowstorm had increased in intensity. The wipers could barely keep up with the freezing flakes, at times getting stuck, so Jake had to slow to an almost crawl. Jake peered over the steering wheel to look for the turnoff Brady had told him to take.

It had been Brady’s idea to spend Christmas Eve and the holidays at the cabin he’d inherited from his grandfather. “You’ll love it, babe. We’ll be kind of roughing it, but it’s going to be fun and a holiday we’ll never forget,” he’d told Jake.

Jake wasn’t much into roughing it. He preferred the warmth and modern conveniences of their penthouse. But... he’d do anything to please his lover. It is what Brady had wished for as a Christmas present, so he’d given in, especially since the death of his grandfather had affected Brady so much and had him musing over childhood and teenage memories of his trips to the cabin with his grandfather.

As if the fierce snowstorm wasn’t bad enough, the rough road didn’t help either. Thankfully, his SUV had four-wheel drive. “Where the hell is that turnoff,” he muttered while wiping the fogged up windshield with the back of his hand. “Brady said he’d tie a red balloon to the sign. I’ve seen nothing.”

Maybe he’d gone too far but how the hell did one turn around on a narrow country road in this weather or back up? Another cramp attacked him. For the last half hour, he’d had constant cramps and knew he’d need to find a bathroom soon. That, or crouch in the snow next to his vehicle. “Shouldn’t have had that damn chili for lunch.” He pushed the call button on the steering wheel. The metallic voice told him, “No connection. Please try again later.”

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouted while gripping the wheel. Suddenly he spotted something sticking out of the snow. He slid to a halt and got out of the SUV. Sure enough, it was the sign, but there was no red balloon. A straggly cord was wound around the sign’s pointy end, and the balloon had more than probably popped and was buried under the snow. He blew on his frozen fingers then wiped the sign. To Leprechaun’s Haven it read. Heaving a sigh of relief, he hurried back to the SUV, relishing the warmth within. Carefully he turned into what looked like a driveway.

It was narrow and quite steep. Even using full power, his four-wheel drive vehicle could barely get through the snow up the slippery slope. He came to a landing and spotted Brady’s vehicle, so he parked next to it. Brady had warned him he’d have to hike the rest of the way up to the cabin. How on earth did anyone get supplies to it? Via parachute? “Oooh, fuck!” Another cramp attacked him. He waited until it subsided and got out of the car, grabbed his backpack and after locking the SUV, started to climb up what looked like a track, his legs sinking knee deep, snow creeping into the top of his boots.

“If I didn’t love you so much...” he muttered as he carefully continued the steep climb using the powerful flashlight he’d bought.

It seemed to take forever before he spotted dim light in the distance. “Thank God. The end is in sight.” Sleet bit into his face. His lips felt numb and he was sure his eyelids were frozen. He shone the flashlight from left to right and back again and to the right, among the pines, he saw what looked like an outhouse. “Seriously? Dammit, I don’t care. I have to go. Now. An old outhouse is better than crouching in the snow.”

Jake trudged through the snow, tripping over hidden roots and rocks, falling several times, before he reached the rickety little shack. Cramps attacked him steadily now. He squeezed his butt cheeks together as tight as he could. Shining his flashlight over the outhouse he noticed how old it was, but he hardly cared. Somehow, he managed to pry open the door that creaked and groaned and promptly fell off the rusty hinges. He shone the light inside. Yes, just what he needed. He dropped his backpack to the ground, pulled his gloves off and with cold trembling hands unzipped his jacket, then yanked down his pants and shorts. His ass barely hit the old wooden seat before his insides let go.

“Oh, hell, yeah... thank God for old outhouses,” he mumbled, feeling immense relief. “No toilet paper of course. I guess you have to carry that with you. Oh well, the gloves will have to do.” Snow steadily fell through a large hole in the roof of the shack onto his head.

He was about to wipe with a glove when suddenly he heard a creak, then another, and in seconds the seat disappeared from beneath him as did the old wooden pot and he fell down, ass-first, into the hole beneath what had been the pot. He was folded double, stuck to his ankles, his head barely sticking up above the ground, one arm jammed between his legs and the other jammed to the side of his body.

He squirmed, tried to somehow pry himself out of his situation, of no avail. “Dammit! Fuck! Now what the fuck do I do?” he shouted. The more he moved, loose earth and snow wedged him in tighter.

“Brady! Brady! Help!” He shouted until his voice was hoarse and finally he gave up realizing that Brady couldn’t hear him through the noise of the howling wind. And even without the wind, the cabin was still quite far. Yelling was useless.