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When the snows blow wild And the day grows old, Beware, the snowman, my child. Beware, the snowman. He brings the cold.
Why did that rhyme return to me? It was a rhyme my mother used to whisper to me when I was a little girl. I could almost hear Mom’s soft voice, a voice I haven’t heard since I was five…. Beware, the snowman. He brings the cold. Mom died when I was five, and I went to live with my aunt Greta. I’m twelve now, and my aunt never read that rhyme to me.
It isn’t even a skiing town. The whole village is practically deserted! I wondered if there was anyone here my age.
I started to carry the bags into the house. But something standing in the snowy yard across the road caught my eye. Curious, I turned and stared at it. I gasped as it came into focus. What is that? A snowman? A snowman with a scar? As I squinted across the road at it, the snowman started to move.
What a weird snowman. It had slender tree limbs for arms. One arm poked out to the side. The other arm stood straight up, as if waving to me. Each tree limb had three twig fingers poking out from it. The snowman had two dark, round stones for eyes. A crooked carrot nose. And a down-turned, sneering mouth of smaller pebbles. Why did they make it so mean looking? I wondered.
“Weird,” I muttered out loud. My favorite word. Aunt Greta is always saying I need a bigger vocabulary. But how else would you describe a nasty-looking, sneering snowman with a scar on its face?
“No. Chicago,” I told her. “We lived in an apartment right on the lake.” “And you moved here?” Eli cried. “From Chicago to Sherpia? Why?” “Good question,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “I live with my aunt, see. And Aunt Greta decided to move here. So …” I couldn’t keep the sadness from my voice.
“Why do they build these creepy snowmen?” I asked out loud. I turned—and saw another one in the front yard across the street. Same tree-branch arms. Same red scarf. Same scar. It must be some kind of village decoration, I decided. But why didn’t Rolonda and Eli want to tell me about it?
When the snows blow wild And the day grows old, Beware, the snowman, my child. Beware, the snowman. He brings the cold. I don’t believe this! I thought. I haven’t thought about that rhyme since I was five. And now it has run through my mind twice in one day!
“The snowman lives in the ice cave,” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard over the wind. “Huh? A snowman?” He’s really strange! I decided. Why am I standing here listening to him? The man lives in a cabin on a mountaintop all by himself except for a white wolf! And now he’s yelling things about a snowman! “Beware, the snowman!” he repeated. “You cannot go up to the top! You cannot!”
“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.”
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?
“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.
“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.
“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” the snowman thundered. “No,” I squeaked. “Who are you?” “I AM YOUR FATHER!” the snowman cried.
LUKE I AM YOUR FATHER lol
