The Hunting Snowman

Small pebbles were stabbed into the hardened snow to form the mouth of the beast; two more above the carrot to make the beady eyes. It didn’t look like a killer, but then again that was the point – it didn’t want anyone to know it was dangerous.

The snowman stood near a pond at the base of a cliff edge, the snow blowing in from blue expanse of the ocean, its noise hard to hear over the banging of the waves against the cliff.

Its scarf blew in and out of ripples in the air, as if the silk were riding the elements. Its vision shrouded and confused by the snowflakes only made it happier, it thrived off the weather, and found the excitement of not knowing what would walk into its vision at any moment exhilarating.

At that moment a shadowed figure seemingly swam into view with surprised ease. It was the shadow of a young boy, the image shaking and shivering against the wind. The snowman’s smile rose steeper; snow fell down over the corner of its eyes making it seem like a menacing type of glare.

The boy walked closer until his face became visible – not just a black void of darkness – he wore a smile though it bent into a look of bewilderment at the snowman and its unusual features.

He moved closer still and reached out to the thing, the snow which fell, immediately seeking refuge on his arm. His hand grasped the twig of the snowman’s and he began to pull it for no primary reason he could think of. But the stick would not move; instead it turned and span around, clutching the boy’s instead.

The boy shrieked out in fright but no sound emerged, his cry for help was inaudible over the lashing of the snow. He tried to pull himself free but he was forced to stay; left alone like a prisoner. But the snowman wasn’t alone, for he now had someone by his side; well, at least until the cold consumed his companion. Then he’d have to hunt again.