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Frosty The Killer Snowman |
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Sean stepped back and gave the snowman a critical look. It wasn�t his best but it wasn�t his fault. The snow was wet and heavy and picked up leaves, grass and other gunk. From one side Sean heard Matthew Williams yell. �Hey, Butthead!� He turned and a snowball slammed into the side of his face. It was a snowball in the sense that a howitzer is a gun, It was packed in layers until it was basically ice. The impact sent him sprawling. When he could get his eyes to focus, he was on his hands and knees. Blood trickled down his chin and dripped onto the snow. His tongue found a rip inside his cheek, the source of the blood. His teeth on that side ached horribly. He heard Matt�s boots crunch up to where he knelt. I will not cry, he thought, I will not cry. He looked up. The older boy towered over him, juggling another iceball. �Hey, Butthead! Forgot to duck, huh? Slick move, Ex-Lax.� Matt moved into the neighborhood last year and was the bane of Sean�s existence. Two years older and nearly double Sean�s size, Matt bullied everyone smaller than himself. He had singled Sean for special torment. It didn�t help that they were both in the same homeroom and lived on the same block. The bully turned to Sean�s creation. �What�s this supposed to be, huh? A snowman? Looks like a pile of crap to me.� �The snow wasn�t right,� Sean mumbled. Matt wasn�t listening. �I bet you even named him Frosty, huh?� Matt threw back his head and brayed. �Hey, look! It�s Frosty the Snowman! Oh, man that�s a killer. Hey! How �bout that? Frosty the Killer Snowman.� His laughter took on a hysterical note. �Hey, Frosty, you got any nards?� Matt�s heavy foot swung up and sank into the area that would be the snowman�s groin. And stuck there. �Hey!� Matt jerked back and lost his balance. He landed flat on his back on the hard-packed snow and his breath whooshed out. He flailed and gaped like a fish, struggling for air that wouldn�t come. Sean grinned despite the pain in his mouth. Matt�s lungs kicked in at last and he could breathe. Sort of He lumbered to his feet, his arms wrapped around his chest, still struggling for air. �I�ll get you!� he groaned through clenched teeth. �I�ll get you good!� He staggered in the direction of his house. Mrs. Richmond daubed at the inside of Sean�s cheek while Mr. Richmond ranted on the phone. �That kid�s a menace! He should be locked away with the other animals!� Mrs. Richmond finished and sat back. �How you doing, Kiddo?� �Fine, Mom.� �It doesn�t look serious, but I�d still like to take you to the doctor.� �I�m not a baby, Mom. I�ll be all right.� Mr. Richmond slammed down the phone. �Idiots!� Mrs. Richmond turned to her husband. �What did the police say, Dear?� �They said they�ll send someone over to talk to the Williams kid and his parents. Talk! If that feebleminded animal touches my son again, I�ll talk to him!� Sean stood and reached for his jacket. �Sean Patrick! Where do you think you�re going?� �Outside, Mom. I gotta fix my snowman. He kicked it.� �But your face ..� Mr. Richmond touched her shoulder. �Let him go, Nan. He�s got to work it out himself.� Mrs. Richmond bit her lip, then sighed. �Well, at least wear another jacket. That one�s bloody.� �Okay, Mom.� Sean bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. He grabbed last year�s coat from the closet and squirmed into it. Something hard bumped his ribs. Sean reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a sheathed dagger. He stared in bafflement at the weapon for long seconds before remembering -- Dad brought it back from a business trip to Jamaica. It was some kind ritual knife, something used in Voodoo ceremonies. Sean had put it in his coat then promptly forgot about it. He�d tried several times to locate it again, but finally gave it up for lost. Sean stared at the knife for long moments, then stuffed it back in his coat. The sun was a heatless red bulge on the horizon and the temperature had dropped considerably. The snow was crusted, holding Sean�s weight for only a moment before it cracked and dropped him through the softer snow. His pace took on a weird cadence: step, crack, drop; step, crack, drop. The snowman suffered a gaping hole from the kick. Sean broke the crust to get pliable snow to pack into the cavity. He was nearly finished when he saw the snow take on a pinkish tinge. Sean looked down. The snow was stained with the blood he had lost earlier. Sean pulled back in revulsion, then paused. A grim smile crossed his face as he scooped up more of the stained snow and finished his repairs. This snowman, ugly as it was, would truly be a part of him. As he stood back, the pink seemed to diffuse through the whole snowman. A trick of light, he thought. With elaborate care, he pulled the dagger and unsheathed it. The bone handle swirled with strange carved symbols. The blade looked wickedly sharp. He stuck it, hilt first, into the snow where a hand would be. �Frosty the Killer Snowman,� he whispered. �I wish you were. Then you could kill that snotbag Matt.� A wind that must have come straight from the North Pole swirled around Sean and the snowman. It cut to the bone and brought tears to Sean�s eyes. He looked around, surprised at how dark it was already. He hunched deeper into his coat and trudged back to the house. Saturday morning broke brittle as ice. A freak cold snap had drop-kicked temperatures to record lows. Trees, especially fruit trees, exploded from the sudden drop. Mechanics across the area rubbed their hands (heavily gloved) in glee at booming business from jump-starting, towing and replacing popped freeze plugs. The groans of insurance agents could be heard above the sounds of cars sliding into immovable objects and each other on the icy streets Sean woke to the sound of Mr. Richmond yelling downstairs. �I did not threaten to kill him! I was talking about a good spanking!� �The dispatcher said it sounded like a death threat.� Sean peered down the staircase. Two men were talking to his dad, one in a police uniform, the other wore civilian clothes and held a note pad. The one with the pad did the talking. �She said you threatened to take matters into your own hands if Matt Williams came near your son again.� �I did, and I would have, if he had hurt Sean again. But he didn�t, and I didn�t. And you still haven�t explained what that punk was doing in our back yard at 5:00 in the morning with a baseball bat.� �Our best guess is revenge on your son. That, and your threats, gives you a fair motive for murder.� Murder? Sean�s heart thudded heavily as he drew back to his room. Carefully he peered out the window. Halfway between the house a blanket-draped bulge lay on the snow. A crimson stain spread for several yards and trails of red arced across the surface in all directions. The bulge was about the size of Matt Williams. Sean�s stomach lurched for a moment then settled down. Guiltily, he looked toward the sidewalk. Frosty the Killer Snowman was not there. Sean stood and scanned the yard, his heart pounding. There! Against the back fence, Frosty stood in his dirty, dingy glory. But how? Sean knew he had created Frosty near the sidewalk. Doubt swam over him until he spotted the disturbed trails in the snow. He could even make out the depressions where he and Matt had fallen. Next to the sidewalk. Sean turned his gaze toward the snowman, completely across the yard from where he was conceived. �Oh, man,� he breathed, eyes wide and his heart pounding in his throat. He shoved his feet into boots without tying them and threw his coat on unbuttoned. Down the stairs and out the back door. �Sean Patrick! Don�t go out �� his mother�s warning was cut off by the slam of the door. Ignoring the policemen and their gristly bundle, he slipped and skidded over to his creation. No tell-tale blood tainted Frosty�s icy surface, and everything looked natural, even the rusty knife. Rusty? Sean fearfully reached out and touched the reddish-orange of the blade. It flaked off easily to show the bright metal underneath. The whites showed around the pupil of Sean�s eyes as he backed away. He turned and ran for the house, slamming the door behind him. A few minutes later, Sean cautiously peered around the door. Carefully, he slipped out and slowly approached Frosty. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then slid a piece of paper next to the knife. �That�s a list of names and addresses,� he whispered conspiratorially. �Mrs. Atkins is the principal and she gave me swats for chewing gum in class. Mr. Ho owns the Quick Stop on the corner and he won�t let kids stay in the store unless they know what they�re buying. Miss Weston is the Librarian �� |
