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Hi listeners, I'm Jamie Lake and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story of a family trip that takes a chilling turn.

So gather round and listen close.

I was deep in my Instagram feed when my dad's grumbling pulled my focus from my phone.

The car was stopped at a three-way intersection.

One that we went through every year around this time on our way to the Stewards house for Christmas dinner.

To our right, our usual route, straight to the freeway.

To our left, a slightly more circuitous, meandering one that passed through a handful of podunk towns.

But now we sat staring dumbly at the oversized orange sign blocking the road to the right that red simply detour.

The road behind it was now a pile of rubble dusted in snow.

Urban improvement apparently abandoned for the holiday.

Without much of a choice we veered off our usual path, keeping left at the fork instead of right.

How much longer do you think it will take us?

My mom rung her hands, dutifully punctual under all circumstances.

I turned to look out the back window, watching the snow, Eddie and our wake as the intersection receded from view.

My head snapped back as we hit a pothole which also apparently jared the radio to life as music started blaring over the speakers.

I rubbed my neck, absently.

I wasn't thrilled about this detour extending my time and during my dad's driving, but I had to admit.

It was pretty.

The whole forest seemed to shimmer as the snow icing, the trees glittered in the sunset.

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