Beware, the Snowman Read online

  “Were they evil sorcerers?” I interrupted.

  Rolonda shook her head. “No. I don’t think they were evil. At least, I don’t think they meant to be.”

  She glanced around the room again. I settled back against the bench and waited impatiently for her to continue.

  “One day, the two sorcerers were fooling around, having fun. They cast a spell on a snowman. And the snowman came to life.”

  I gasped. “Really?”

  Rolonda narrowed her eyes at me. “Please, don’t interrupt, Jaclyn. Please let me tell the whole story first.”

  I apologized.

  Leaning close to me, she continued her story in a whisper.

  “The sorcerers used their magic to bring the snowman to life. But then they lost control of it.

  “The snowman was powerful. And it was evil. The sorcerers had given it life. But they didn’t really know what they were doing. And they didn’t know that the snowman would try to destroy the village and everyone in it.

  “The sorcerers tried to use magic to put the snowman back to sleep. But their magic wasn’t powerful enough.

  “The villagers all gathered together. Somehow they managed to force the snowman up to the top of the mountain.

  “There is a big cave at the very top of the mountain. The cave is cut in ice. Everyone calls it the ice cave.

  “The villagers chased the evil snowman into the ice cave. Then most people moved away from the village. Few people wanted to stay, knowing that the evil creature was alive at the top of the mountain.

  “So most people left,” Rolonda continued, whispering so softly I could barely hear her. “The two sorcerers probably left, too. No one really knows what happened to them.

  “And that’s when Conrad comes into the story,” Rolonda said.

  I stared at her. “Conrad? The weird guy with the white beard?”

  Rolonda nodded. “After the evil snowman was chased into the ice cave, Conrad moved up there. He built a cabin just beneath the ice cave. No one could figure out why.

  “Is Conrad trying to protect the town?” Rolonda continued. “Does he work for the snowman? Does he help the snowman? Or does he think that living so close to the evil snowman will keep him safe?

  “No one knows. Conrad very seldom comes down from the mountaintop. And when he does come into the village, he doesn’t talk to anyone.

  “No one knows for sure who he is or why he stays up there,” Rolonda continued. “No one has anything to do with Conrad. We don’t know if he’s crazy or evil.”

  She sighed. Once again, her eyes darted around the room. She seemed so nervous, as if she didn’t want anyone else to know that she was telling me the history of the village.

  “Some nights,” she continued, “we can hear the snowman up there on top of the mountain. Some nights we can hear him roaring and bellowing with rage. Some nights, we can hear him howling, howling like a wolf.

  “We’ve all built snowmen. Snowmen that look like him. Everyone in the village builds them.”

  I jumped to my feet. “So that’s why I see those weird snowmen everywhere!” I cried.

  Rolonda raised a finger to her lips. She motioned for me to sit back down.

  I dropped back onto the bench. “Why do you build the snowmen?” I demanded. “Why is there one in just about every single yard?”

  “To honor him,” Rolonda replied.

  “Huh? Honor him?” I cried.

  “You know what I mean,” she said sharply. “People hope that if the evil snowman comes down from the ice cave, he’ll see the little snowmen that look like him. It will make him happy and keep him from doing any harm.”

  Rolonda squeezed my hand. Her dark eyes burned into mine. “Now do you understand?” she whispered. “Now do you understand why we’re all so afraid?”

  I stared back at her—and burst out laughing.

  I shouldn’t have laughed. But I just couldn’t help it.

  I mean, Rolonda seemed like a really smart girl. She couldn’t really believe that story—could she?

  It’s a joke, I decided. A story the villagers tell to scare people who move here.

  I stopped laughing when I saw the startled expression on Rolonda’s face. “Hey, come on,” I said. “You’re kidding—right?”

  She shook her head solemnly. Her dark eyes glowed in the dim light. Such serious eyes.

  “You don’t really believe that a snowman can walk, do you?” I demanded. My voice echoed shrilly in the small room. “You don’t really believe that a snowman can be alive!”

  “I believe it,” Rolonda replied in a low, trembling voice. “It’s not a joke, Jaclyn. I believe it. And everyone in the village believes it.”

  I stared at her. The ceiling creaked, probably from the weight of the snow on the roof. I shifted my weight on the hard wooden bench.

  “But have you ever seen it?” I asked. “Have you ever seen the snowman walk?”

  She blinked. “Well … no,” she confessed. “But I’ve heard him late at night, Jaclyn. I’ve heard his howls and his angry cries.”

  She climbed to her feet. “I won’t go close enough to see him. I’m too afraid,” she said. “I won’t go up to the ice cave. No one will.”

  “But, Rolonda—” I started.

  Then I stopped. Her chin trembled. I could see the fear in her eyes.

  Just talking about the snowman had frightened her.

  I wanted to tell her that the story couldn’t be true. I wanted to tell her that it sounded like a silly superstition. A fairy tale.

  But I didn’t want to insult her.

  She might be my only friend here, I thought.

  I stood up and pulled on my coat. Then the two of us made our way out of the church.

  The snow had stopped. But a gusting wind blew down from the mountain. The wind made the fresh snow swirl and dance around our boots.

  I pulled my hood over my hair and lowered my head into the wind. No way I could ever believe such a wild story, I thought. Why doesn’t Rolonda see how strange it is?

  We made our way up the road, our boots sinking into the powdery, fresh snow. We didn’t talk. Our voices wouldn’t carry over the loud rush of the wind.

  I walked Rolonda home. We stopped at the bottom of her snow-covered driveway. “Thanks for telling me about the snowman,” I said.

  Her eyes locked on mine. “You had to be told,” she said solemnly. And then she added, “You’ve got to believe me, Jaclyn. It’s true. All of it.”

  I didn’t reply. I said good night. Then I turned and, leaning into the wind, headed for my house.

  I was nearly there when I heard a sound over the roaring wind.

  A heavy THUD THUD THUD coming up rapidly behind me.

  I froze.

  For a moment, I thought it was my imagination.

  I pictured an enormous, evil snowman, as tall as a house, lumbering after me.

  “No!” I murmured. And spun around. And saw Rolonda’s brother, Eli, running up to me.

  His heavy workboots thudded over the snow. His sheepskin coat was open, flapping out as he ran.

  “Eli—it’s late!” I cried. “What are you doing out here?”

  He didn’t reply. Breathing hard, his chest heaving up and down under his sweater, he eyed me suspiciously.

  “She told you—didn’t she?” he demanded breathlessly.

  “Huh?” We moved behind a wide tree, out of the wind. “Eli—what is your problem?” I demanded.

  “Rolonda told you—didn’t she?” he repeated. “She told you about the snowman.” He pointed toward the mountaintop.

  “Well … yeah,” I replied. A clump of snow dropped from the tree onto the front of my parka. I brushed it away.

  “Eli, it’s freezing out here! Zip up your coat,” I scolded.

  “Rolonda doesn’t know one thing,” Eli continued, still breathing hard. “She doesn’t know that I saw it. I saw the snowman.”

  I stared at him. “You saw the snowman? You saw the livin
g snowman?”

  Eli nodded. “Yes. I saw him. But that’s not the scary part.”

  “Eli—what is the scary part?” I demanded.

  He stared at me. The wind ruffled his dark hair, but his eyes remained steady, hard.

  “What is the scary part?” I repeated.

  “The scary part,” Eli replied, “is that the snowman saw me!”

  The wind howled around the tree. I dragged Eli to the side of the nearest house. We pressed against the wall. Shivering, he finally zipped up his coat.

  “Eli—the story isn’t real,” I insisted. “I really don’t think—”

  “Just let me tell you what happened,” he pleaded. “Then you can decide if it’s real or not.”

  He shivered again. “It saw me, Jaclyn. The snowman stared at me. It saw me. It knows who I am. It knows that I saw it. And that’s why I’m so afraid of it.”

  “But, Eli—” I started.

  He raised a gloved hand to silence me. “Wait. Please.” He took a deep breath. “It happened a few weeks ago. My two friends and I—we climbed up the mountain. We wanted to see the ice cave. So we sneaked around Conrad’s cabin.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “What does Conrad have to do with it?”

  “He won’t let anyone near the ice cave,” Eli replied. “He keeps everyone away. Conrad is so weird. Some people think he works for the snowman. He protects the snowman by keeping everyone from the village away.”

  “But you sneaked past Conrad?” I asked.

  Eli nodded. “Yeah. My friends and I. And we climbed up close to the ice cave. I had never seen the cave before.”

  “What does it look like?” I asked.

  Eli made a sweeping motion with both hands, outlining the shape of the cave for me. “It’s a huge cave, cut into the side of the mountain,” he said. “It’s made of ice. All smooth and shiny. It looks like glass.

  “The cave entrance is wide and totally black. And it has huge icicles hanging down all along the front. With points as sharp as knives.”

  “Wow,” I murmured. “It sounds kind of pretty.”

  “Yeah. In a way,” Eli agreed. “But we didn’t think it was pretty when the snowman came out.”

  I stared hard at Eli, studying his face. “You really saw a snowman walking?” I demanded.

  Eli nodded. “We heard a rumbling sound. The ground started to shake. My friends and I got scared. We thought it was an earthquake or an avalanche or something.

  “My friends started to run down the mountain. But I stayed. And I saw it. The snowman poked his head out of the cave. He was as big as a grizzly bear. And he had a scar cut deep into his face.

  “His eyes searched around. Then they stopped on me. And his mouth opened in an angry roar. He—he—”

  Eli took a deep breath. Then he started again. “The snowman stepped out of the cave. The ground shook. It really did. Snow blew all over the place.

  “The snowman stared at me. And he roared again. And—and I took off,” Eli continued breathlessly. “I ran past Conrad’s cabin. I ran all the way down the mountain. And I never looked back.”

  “What about your friends?” I asked.

  “They were waiting for me down at the bottom,” Eli replied. “We just went to our houses. We never talked about it.”

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  “Too afraid, I guess,” Eli said, glancing down. “We never talked about it. We never mentioned it. I never even told Rolonda. It was just too frightening to talk about.”

  He raised his eyes to me. “But now I have dreams,” he confessed. “Bad dreams about the snowman. Every night.”

  I stared at him, unsure of what to say. His whole body was trembling. From the cold? I wondered. Or from being so afraid?

  He gazed back at me, waiting for me to say something. “Eli, you didn’t tell Rolonda about this. Why are you telling me?” I asked.

  “So you will believe the story,” he replied solemnly. “You’re new, Jaclyn. You probably think it’s all silly. But you have to stay away from the ice cave.”

  “But, Eli—” I started.

  “You didn’t believe my sister—did you!” he accused. “You didn’t believe her story.”

  “Well …” I hesitated.

  “That’s why I waited for you,” he explained. “I waited to tell you my story. Do you believe me, Jaclyn? Do you believe that I saw the snowman?”

  “I—I don’t know,” I told him.

  The wind swirled around the wall of the house. I felt my nose and cheeks. My whole face was numb. “I’ve got to get home,” I said.

  Eli grabbed my parka sleeve. “Jaclyn, don’t go up to the ice cave,” he pleaded. “Please, believe my story. It’s true.”

  I pulled my arm away. Then I started to jog over the snow toward my house. “Go home, Eli,” I called back. “Go home before you freeze.”

  I jogged all the way home. It felt good to run and not think about anything.

  Jogging on fresh, powdery snow was difficult. My boots kept slipping on the slick, hard surface underneath. By the time I reached home, my legs ached.

  Breathing hard, I pushed open the front door. To my surprise, the house was totally dark.

  I pulled off a glove and squinted at my wrist-watch. Only nine o’clock.

  Did Aunt Greta go to bed so early? She usually stays up until at least midnight.

  I clicked on the ceiling light and glanced around the small living room. A magazine lay open on the couch. Nothing else was out of place.

  Leaning against the front door, I pulled off my wet boots and stood them in the corner. Then I tugged off my parka and dropped it onto the couch.

  My eyes stopped at the door to Aunt Greta’s bedroom.

  The door stood open. Darkness beyond the door.

  I quickly made my way across the room and peeked into my aunt’s bedroom. “Aunt Greta?” I called softly.

  No reply.

  I stepped into the room. “Aunt Greta? Are you in here?”

  I fumbled at the lamp on her dresser and finally managed to click it on.

  “Aunt Greta—?”

  No. Not in bed. Not in her room.

  “Aunt Greta—are you home?” I called loudly.

  I headed out of her room. “Ohh!” I cried out when I stepped in something.

  Something cold and wet soaked through my sock.

  “Huh?” I lowered my gaze to see a wide puddle of cold water on the bedroom floor.

  “How did that get there?” I murmured.

  I suddenly felt worried.

  “Aunt Greta?” I called, hurrying back into the living room. “Aunt Greta? Where are you?”

  Panic swept over me.

  Where could she be?

  I started for the kitchen—when a rattling at the front door made me stop.

  Was someone breaking in?

  I gasped as the door slowly creaked open.

  And Aunt Greta came bustling in, brushing snow off her long, black coat. She smiled at me. But her smile instantly died when she saw my expression.

  “Jaclyn—what’s wrong?”

  “I—I—I—” I sputtered. “Aunt Greta—where were you? I got so scared.”

  She pulled off her coat. “Didn’t you see my note?”

  “Huh? Note?”

  “I left it for you on the refrigerator,” she said. “I met a nice couple this morning at the general store. They came by and invited me over for dessert and coffee.”

  “Oh. That’s nice,” I choked out. My heart still pounded in my chest.

  “Why did you get scared?” Aunt Greta demanded, hanging her coat in the front closet. She straightened her long, white braid behind her sweater.

  “Well, I was in your room. Looking for you. And I stepped in a cold puddle on the floor,” I replied.

  “Puddle? Show me,” Aunt Greta demanded.

  I led the way to the bedroom and pointed to the wide wet spot on the floor. Aunt Greta gazed up at the ceiling. “Maybe the roof leaks,” s
he murmured. “We’ll have to examine it tomorrow morning.”

  “I—I thought it was the snowman,” I blurted out. “I know it’s crazy, but I thought he had been here. I thought he’d broken into the house and—”

  I stopped when I saw the shock on my aunt’s face. Her mouth dropped open and she uttered a silent gasp.

  “Jaclyn—what are you talking about?” she demanded. “What have your friends been telling you? More nonsense about a snowman?”

  “Yes,” I confessed. “Rolonda and Eli, the two village kids I met. They both told me a story about a living snowman who stays in an ice cave at the top of the mountain. They said—”

  “It’s all superstition,” Aunt Greta interrupted. “It’s all old tales that have been handed down. None of it is true. You’re smart enough to know that, Jaclyn.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But Rolonda and Eli seem so frightened. They really believe the story. And Eli begged me not to go up to the ice cave.”

  “Probably good advice,” Aunt Greta said. She crossed the room and placed a hand tenderly on my shoulder. “You probably shouldn’t go up to the mountaintop, dear,” she said softly.

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  “There must be some kind of real danger up there,” she replied. “Not a living snowman. But something else dangerous.”

  She sighed. “That’s how these old stories get started. Something bad happened on the mountaintop. Then the story changed each time it was told. Years later, no one remembers what really happened. And now everyone believes a silly story about a living snowman.”

  She shook her head.

  “Have you seen all the strange snowmen in this village?” I asked her. “All the snowmen with scars on their faces and red scarves? Don’t you think they’re spooky?”

  “It’s a strange village tradition,” Aunt Greta confessed. “Very quaint. I think they’re very interesting looking.”

  “Interesting?” I frowned at her.

  “Well, make me a promise,” she said, yawning.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise me you won’t go running up to the mountaintop to explore the ice cave. It probably is a very dangerous place.”

  “Well …” I hesitated.

  “Promise,” Aunt Greta urged sternly.