Beware, the Snowman (3 page)

I broke into a run.

Another snowman greeted me as I rounded the next curve.

I hate this village!
I thought.

It’s too weird. Too weird!

I’m never going to be happy here. Never!

Why did Aunt Greta bring us here?

A thudding sound behind me forced away my unhappy thoughts.

I’m being followed! I realized.

The wolf?

No. These heavy footsteps were different.

Human footsteps.

The crazy, bearded man—he followed me!

“Ohhh!” A frightened moan escaped my lips.

Taking a deep breath, I spun around to face him.

“Jaclyn—hi!”

I gasped—and stared through the falling snow at Rolonda. She jogged across
the road to me. Snowflakes dotted her black hair.

“You ran right past our house,” she said breathlessly, pointing to her yard.
“Didn’t you see us?”

I glanced over her shoulder and saw her brother, Eli, waving to me from their
driveway.

“No. I… uh… the snow was falling so hard, and—” I stammered.

“Are you okay?” Rolonda demanded.

“Well…” I hesitated. “A white wolf chased me,” I blurted out. “A crazy man.
He has a cabin near the top. His wolf chased me and he—”

“You ran into Conrad?” Rolonda cried.

“Huh? Conrad?” The wind blew my hood off my head. I squinted hard at Rolonda.
“Is that his name?”

She nodded. “He has a cabin that he built himself. And he keeps a white wolf named Wolfbane. I meant to warn you before,
Jaclyn—”

“Warn me?” I interrupted.

“Yeah. To stay away from him. He and that animal he keeps—they’re both
really strange.”

“Tell me about it!” I groaned. I rolled my eyes. “Is that why you and Eli
never go up to the mountaintop?”

Rolonda lowered her eyes. “Well… it’s
one
of the reasons.”

I waited for her to go on. But she didn’t. She continued to stare down at the
snow. She kicked a clump of wet snow off one boot with the other. Behind her,
Eli stood watching us, his hands jammed into his coat pockets.

“Well, why does Conrad live up there so far away from everyone?” I demanded.

Rolonda hesitated. She glanced back tensely at her brother. “No one knows for
sure,” she answered finally. “He—maybe he works for the snowman. I mean…”
Her voice trailed off.

“Excuse me?” I cried. I was sure I hadn’t heard her correctly. “What did you
say, Rolonda? He works for the
snowman?
What do you mean? What does that
mean
?”

She didn’t answer. Again, she glanced back nervously at Eli.

“Come on, Rolonda. What do you mean?” I insisted. “What do you mean, he works
for the snowman?”

She backed away, brushing snowflakes from her hair. “I’ve got to go inside,”
she said. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

I followed after her. “But first you have to explain,” I demanded.

“I
can’t
,” she whispered. “Because of Eli. He’s too frightened.”

“But, Rolonda—” I started. I saw Eli watching us intently from the driveway.

“Go home,” Rolonda snapped. “Just go home, Jaclyn.”

“Not until you tell me what you meant.” I can be stubborn when I want to be.

“Okay, okay,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at Eli. “Meet me
tomorrow night, okay? Meet me tomorrow night at the church—and I’ll tell you
everything.”

“Hi—I’m back!”

I burst into the house. Aunt Greta was bending over a carton in the small
kitchen, pulling out coffee mugs and placing them in a cabinet. She spun around
as I walked in.

“Is it snowing?” she asked.

I nodded my head furiously, tossing snowflakes from my hair. “The biggest
flakes I ever saw,” I replied breathlessly.

Aunt Greta frowned. “I’ve been so busy in here, I didn’t even look out the
window.”

I pulled off my coat and carried it to the front closet. But there were no
hangers in the closet yet. So I tossed the wet coat on top of a stack of
cartons.

Then I walked back into the kitchen, rubbing the sleeves of my sweater. “Aunt
Greta, do you know anything about a snowman?” I asked.

I heard her gasp.

But when she turned to me, her face was a blank. “Snowman?”

“Do you know anything about a snowman on top of the mountain?” I asked.

Aunt Greta bit her bottom lip. “No. No, I don’t, Jaclyn.” Her voice trembled.
Why did she look so tense?

She bent down to pull more mugs from the carton. I crossed the room to help
her unpack them.

“Someone told me I shouldn’t go to the top of the mountain because of a
snowman,” I told her. “A snowman who
lives
up there.”

Aunt Greta didn’t say anything. She handed me two mugs. I lifted them onto
the cabinet shelf.

“This man told me that if I met the snowman up there, I would never return,”
I continued.

My aunt let out a short, dry laugh. “Village superstition,” she muttered.

I squinted at her. “Really?”

“Of course,” she replied. “These tiny villages all have their scary stories.
Someone was just having fun, giving you a little scare.”

“Fun?” I frowned. “I don’t think so.”

That weird, white-bearded guy, Conrad, had screamed at me that I couldn’t go
up to the mountaintop. He wasn’t joking. I knew he wasn’t joking.

He was serious. He was
threatening
me. He wasn’t having a little fun.
No way.

“Aunt Greta, do you remember a rhyme about a snowman?” I asked.

She straightened up and stretched, pushing her hands against her back.
“Rhyme?”

“I remembered a rhyme today. From when I was little. It just popped into my
head.”

Aunt Greta chewed her lip again fretfully. “I don’t think I remember any
rhyme,” she said. She glanced away, avoiding my eyes.

“I only remember the first verse,” I told her. And then I recited it:

“When the snows blow wild

And the day grows old,

Beware, the snowman, my child.

Beware, the snowman.

He brings the cold.”

When I finished, I looked up to find the strangest expression on Aunt Greta’s
face. Her eyes had gone all watery. And her chin trembled. Her cheeks were even
paler than usual.

“Aunt Greta—are you okay?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied sharply, turning her face away from me. “Nothing at
all, Jaclyn. But I don’t remember that rhyme. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it
before.”

She fiddled nervously with her long, white braid.

“Are you sure?” I asked timidly.

“Of
course
I’m sure,” she snapped. “Now, come on. Help me finish up in
here so I can begin dinner.”

What is wrong? I wondered. Why is she suddenly angry at me?

And why do I have the feeling that she isn’t telling the truth?

Aunt Greta has never lied to me before.

Why is she acting so strange now?

I couldn’t sleep that night.

My new bed felt hard. I kept imagining that the low ceiling was sinking,
dropping down on me.

The snow clouds had drifted away, and a half moon appeared, low in the sky.
The moonlight washed in through my round window, casting long, shifting shadows
over my room.

I shuddered under my quilt. It was all so new and strange. I wondered if I’d
ever be able to sleep up here.

I shut my eyes and tried to think nice, soothing thoughts. I pictured my
friends back in Chicago. I called up their faces one by one. I wondered what
they were all doing today while I was having my frightening adventure on the
mountain.

I wondered if they missed me.

I had just about fallen asleep when the howls began.

Wolf howls?

I climbed out of bed and made my way to the window. Down below, the moonlight
made the snow sparkle, almost as bright as during the day.

Bushes trembled in a soft breeze. The wind carried another frightening howl.
I raised my eyes to the mountain. But I could see only houses, dark and silent,
and the silvery road that curved its way to the top.

My whole body tingled. I knew I couldn’t fall asleep. It was chilly up here
in my little attic room, and the air felt heavy and damp.

I decided to take a walk. Maybe it will help me relax, I told myself.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then I crept downstairs—careful not to wake Aunt Greta—and found my parka and boots.

Stepping out into the night, I silently closed the front door behind me. My
eyes swept over the glittering snow of the small front yard.

I made my way to the road, my breath streaming up in wisps of fog. “Wow!” I
murmured. “Wow!”

The cold, fresh air felt so good on my face.

The wind had stopped. The whole world seemed still and silent.

No cars, I realized. No horns honking. No buses roaring past. No people
laughing and shouting on the street.

I’m all alone out here, I told myself. The whole world is
mine.

A long, frightening howl brought me out of my crazy thoughts.

I shivered and raised my eyes to the mountaintop. Was the white wolf howling
up there? Did it howl like that
every
night?

Why did the howls sound so human?

I took a deep breath of cold air and held it. Then I began walking slowly
along the road. My boots crunched on the hard, crusty snow. I passed a few
houses and kept walking.

I stopped as a shadow slid over my path.

I gasped. At first, I thought someone was following me.

But then I realized I was staring at a long shadow of a snowman. The shadow
tilted over the road. The tree branch arms, one raised, one out to the side,
appeared long and menacing.

I stepped over the shadow and crossed the street. But another shadow fell
over me.

Another snowman. An identical snowman.

The shadows of the strange snowmen fell over each other. I suddenly felt as
if I were walking in a black-and-white world of shadowy heads, fluttering
scarves, and sticklike arms—all saluting, all waving.

Why were there so many of them?

Why did the people in this village build them all alike?

Another howl made me raise my eyes from the crisscrossing shadows over the
snow. This howl sounded closer. And it definitely sounded human!

A chill ran down my back.

I turned. Time to head home, I decided.

My heart was pounding now. The howl—so near—had really frightened me.

I started to walk fast, swinging my arms as I walked, leaning into the
gusting wind.

But I stopped when I saw the scarfaced snowman in the driveway up ahead.

And I gasped when it nodded its head at me.

“Noooo!” A low cry escaped my lips.

It nodded. The snowman nodded!

Then the head rolled to the ground. And cracked apart with a soft
thud.

And I realized the wind had made its head nod. The wind had blown the scarred
head off the body.

What am I
doing
out here? I asked myself. It’s late and it’s cold.

And it’s weird.

And some kind of creature nearby is howling its head off.

I gazed across the yard at the headless snowman. The head was a shattered
clump of white at the snowman’s base. But the scarf had remained on top of the
round body. It flapped in a gust of cold wind.

I felt another shiver. I turned and ran toward home.

Ran through the blue-black shadows of snowmen. My boots crunched over the
shadows of their waving arms, their scarred heads.

A snowman in each yard. Snowmen lining the street like night watchmen.

This walk was a crazy idea, I thought, feeling panic tighten my chest. I want
to be home now. I want to be back in the safety of my new home.

A snowman waved its three-fingered limb at me and sneered its coal-dark sneer
as I ran past. And as I scrambled for home, the rhyme forced its way back into
my mind….

“When the snows blow wild

And the day grows old,

Beware, the snowman, my child.

Beware, the snowman.

He brings the cold.”

My house came into view down the road. I sucked in a deep breath and ran
harder.

The old rhyme had been haunting me ever since I arrived in the village. The
old rhyme had followed me from my childhood, followed me to my strange, new
home.

Why did I suddenly remember it today?

What was it trying to tell me? Why had the cold words returned after being
forgotten for so many years?

I had to find the rest of it. I had to find the second verse of the poem.

An eerie howl, rising like an ambulance siren, sounded so close behind me I
spun around.

I searched the road and the frozen yards. No one there. No wolf. No human.

Another howl sounded even closer.

Was someone following me?

I held my hands over my ears to keep out the frightening sounds—and I
flew
over the snow, flew the rest of the way home.

I reached the narrow front door as another long howl sent a chill down my
body.

Closer. It’s so close, I realized.

Someone
is
following me!

I grabbed the doorknob. Twisted it. Pushed.

No!

The door didn’t budge.

I twisted again. This way. The other way.

Pushed the door. Pulled it.

Locked.

I had locked myself out!

Another frightening howl.

So close. From the side of my house!

My whole body trembled. Panic tightened my throat. I stumbled back from the
front door.

And saw that the front window—the only window on this side of the house—was open a crack. Snow streaked the windowpanes and clumped on the narrow sill.