The tale of Frosty the Snowman has come to an end, add to this the demise of his compadre in crime - Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, and you can say it was a full weekend. As we approach the inevitable showdown with the Dreamer, I find my hands trembling while I recount the recent events that have transpired. This journey has been long, yet the conclusion is now within reach. However, I prefer not to dwell on what is to come, as that day will arrive in due course. For now, it is imperative that I document the occurrences that took place at Pine Ridge Lodge.

       We all know the song: “Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul, with a corncob pipe and a button nose – etc. etc.” But with all these apparent harmless fairy tales lurks an underlying layer of darkness of murder and mayhem, especially in the case of Frosty. Frosty the Snowman was, in fact, a notorious serial killer whose method of execution involved freezing his victims to death. He employed a range of tactics to accomplish this sinister objective, particularly during the time when Jack Frost was still among the living. The two would collaborate in a clandestine manner, infiltrating the homes of unsuspecting individuals under the cover of darkness. By stealthily disabling the heating systems during the coldest winter nights or amidst fierce storms, they ensured that the resulting deaths would be perceived by authorities as tragic accidents rather than the result of foul play. As for some of the other methods, well, we came upon that horror when we arrived at Pine Ridge Lodge.

       With the demise of the Brute Squad, fear gripped the fairy tale community, and it didn’t take long until someone gave up the whereabouts of Frosty. So, with snow tyres and chains f itted to the trusty old 67’ mustang, we set off for the ski fields and arrived at Pine Ridge Lodge. The place was closed of course as Frosty was in residence performing his dastardly deeds. Upon entering the car park, we encountered the initial victim, a young man likely in his early twenties, completely immobilized by the cold. His body was enveloped in a thick layer of snow, resembling a snowman, with the exception of his head, which remained exposed. Disturbingly, two buttons were lodged in his unseeing eyes, and a corncob had been positioned where his nose should have been.

       The Stranger expressed his excitement, inhaling deeply as he prepared his sawn-off shotgun for action, indicating a keen awareness of his surroundings. “I can smell him, can’t you? That sweet aroma of impending snow.”

“What’s the plan? Front or back?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Both,” he replies.

“I take it you’ll be going straight through the front door?” His wicked grin was answer enough. “Okay, give us a minute.” With that, I cautiously navigated to the rear, gripping my weapon firmly, as I activated the portable blow torch, feeling a sense of apprehension wash over me. I came across two more victims on the back porch, a male and female, both having suffered the same fate as the one in front. Frosty was consistent if nothing else. I couldn’t help but wonder how many more victims were inside, probably locked away in their rooms, decorated like a snowman. As I carefully unlatched the back door, the sound of the front door being forcefully kicked in by the Stranger reached my ears, accompanied by his taunting invitation for the occupant to come out and play.

       And he did. With the ferocity of a wild grizzly bear roused from a deep slumber, he erupted from the shadows, sending me sprawling backward into the cold embrace of the snow, the force of his charge knocking my weapon from my grasp. Just as I struggled to regain my composure, he was upon me, his icy, claw-like fingers tightening around my throat, his dark, furious eyes blazing with an unsettling intensity, while a corncob pipe danced with a strange glee between his lips. His presence was overwhelming, a mass of solid weight that felt like a mountain pressing down on me, the texture of his skin - whether it was flesh or something more akin to snow - was unyielding and suffocating. I gasped for air, but the pressure was relentless, and the shrill, piercing sound that erupted from that narrow, white mouth of his was enough to send even the bravest of warriors fleeing in terror.

       “Frosty the Snowman was a jolly happy ruthless man who liked to kill and maim, with a corncob pipe and a button nose and eyes made out of coal, all the children know he came to life one day to kill and kill and kill…”

       Even at this moment, that infuriating melody continues to echo in my mind, accompanied by his piercing scream that resembles that of a banshee. Throughout this journey, I have encountered numerous perilous situations, yet this instance was perhaps the most precarious, bringing me closer than ever to departing from this life. Had it not been for the intervention of the Stranger, my fate would have been sealed. The sheer force of his weight could have easily proved fatal. Fortunately, the Stranger managed to subdue Frosty, refraining from discharging his weapon for fear of inadvertently harming me. However, the reality is that our intention was to keep him alive; we were in dire need of the information he possessed.

       The method by which we accomplished this feat remains a mystery to me, yet we successfully secured him to a large, antiquated leather chair situated in the lodge's main room. One might assume that his pale, snowy form would effortlessly slip through the bindings, but surprisingly, it did not. Later, when I inquired about the origins of the rope, the Stranger revealed that it was enchanted. When I pressed him for details regarding its source, he cryptically responded that it came from a fairy tale, leading me to suspect that he had been preserving it specifically for this moment.

       “It’s time to sing Frosty,” the Stranger begins his interrogation. “Where is he, where is your boss?”

       Yet Frosty remained unyielding, his voice ringing out with that absurd tune, repeating it endlessly without a hint of hesitation. No matter how forcefully the Stranger tried to intimidate him, throwing punches that should have brought him down, they merely ricocheted off his sturdy form, as if he were made of something far more resilient than snow. I decided to try and reason with him.

       “Look, Frosty, your buddy’s gone, Jack has bitten the dust along with the rest of the Brute Squad, do you want to join them. The Dreamer can’t hide much longer, its time is coming to an end – but yours doesn’t have to. We could find you a nice cozy, spacious refrigerator, somewhere out of the way where you could live happily ever after.” For just a brief instant, I believed I caught a glimpse of reason flickering in his gaze, if one could even refer to them as eyes, but that spark quickly vanished, replaced once more by his maddeningly persistent singing. This, naturally, was the tipping point. The Stranger swiftly shifted to his backup plan.

       Heat. The Stranger rounded up six heaters, placed them around Frosty’s chair and turned them on. If Frosty wouldn’t cooperate then he would melt him. It had the desired result, although Frosty still wouldn’t give us the location of the Dreamer he did panic, desperately trying to free himself from his bonds as his corncob pipe dropped from his slowly melting mouth.

       “Come on, Frosty,” the Stranger urges, “don’t go down with this ship – just tell us what we want to know.”

      “I don’t think this is going to work.”

      “We’ll see,” the Stranger replies with that steely resolve in his voice that I had come to know so well.

       Frosty fought valiantly against the inevitable as his tiny button nose slid down his form, coming to rest in the puddle forming at his feet. I was left wondering if my partner would have let him completely dissolve, but that question remained unanswered when, without warning, the heaters ceased to hum, plunging us into an unexpected chill as the power flickered out. Initially, we speculated that a blown fuse might be the culprit, likely triggered by the storm that had begun to rage outside, but our thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a peculiar sound something akin to a foot tapping rhythmically against the ground from outside. With a sense of intrigue, we exchanged glances before proceeding towards the front window.

       We looked outside. What we saw was an utterly chilling spectacle, as the tempest brewed ominously outside, revealing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer at the forefront, his eyes ablaze with a murderous glint that sent shivers down our spines. Flanking him were four of Santa’s other reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and the ever-enigmatic Vixen. They appeared to be under the influence of some sinister substance, or perhaps something even more malevolent, for upon closer examination, it became clear that their eyes were not merely bloodshot; they glowed with a menacing, dark red hue. What I initially mistook for snow caked on their lips was, in fact, a frothy saliva, reminiscent of a rabid creature. One undeniable truth emerged from this harrowing scene: these so called beloved mythical beings were not here for merriment or joy.

       A chilling cackle erupted from behind us, sending shivers down our spines as Frosty the Snowman unleashed a laugh that was both eerie and unsettling, echoing through the frosty air like a sinister melody.

                               Peter Jessop © September 2024