by R. L. Stine
Contents
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About the Author
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Copyright
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.
So what made it run through my mind as Aunt Greta and I climbed out of the van and gazed at our snow-covered new home?
“Jaclyn, you look troubled,” Aunt Greta said, placing a hand on the shoulder of my blue parka. “What are you thinking about, dear?”
I shivered. Not from Aunt Greta’s touch, but from the chill of the steady wind that blew down from the mountain. I stared at the flat-roofed cabin that was to be our new home.
Beware, the snowman.
There is a second verse to that rhyme, I thought. Why can’t I remember it?
I wondered if we still had the old poetry book that Mom used to read to me from.
“What a cozy little home,” Aunt Greta said. She still had her hand on my shoulder.
I felt so sad, so terribly unhappy. But I forced a smile to my face. “Yes. Cozy,” I murmured. Snow clung to the windowsills and filled the cracks between the shingles. A mound of snow rested on the low, flat roof.
Aunt Greta’s normally pale cheeks were red from the cold. She isn’t very old, but she has had white hair for as long as I can remember. She wears it long, always tied behind her head in a single braid that falls nearly all the way down her back.
She is tall and skinny. And kind of pretty, with a delicate round face and big, sad dark eyes.
I don’t look at all like my aunt. I don’t know who I look like. I don’t remember my mom that well. And I never knew my father. Aunt Greta told me he disappeared soon after I was born.
I have wavy, dark brown hair and brown eyes. I am tall and athletic. I was the star basketball player on the girls’ team at my school back in Chicago.
I like to talk a lot and dance and sing. Aunt Greta can go a whole day without barely saying a word. I love her, but she’s so stern and silent … Sometimes I wish she were easier to talk to.
I’m going to need someone to talk to, I thought sadly. We had left Chicago only yesterday. But I already missed my friends.
How am I going to make friends in this tiny village on the edge of the Arctic Circle? I wondered.
I helped my aunt pull bags from the van. My boots crunched over the hard snow.
I gazed up at the snow-covered mountain. Snow, snow everywhere. I couldn’t tell where the mountain ended and the clouds began.
The little square houses along the road didn’t look real to me. They looked as if they were made of gingerbread.
As if I had stepped into some kind of fairy tale.
Except it wasn’t a fairy tale. It was my life.
My totally weird life.
I mean, why did we have to move from the United States to this tiny, frozen mountain village?
Aunt Greta never really explained. “Time for a change,” she muttered. “Time to move on.” It was so hard to get her to say more than a few words at a time.
I knew that she and Mom grew up in a village like this one. But why did we have to move here now? Why did I have to leave my school and all of my friends?
Sherpia.
What kind of a name is Sherpia? Can you imagine moving from Chicago to Sherpia?
Lucky, huh?
No way.
It isn’t even a skiing town. The whole village is practically deserted! I wondered if there was anyone here my age.
Aunt Greta kicked snow away from the front door of our new house. Then she struggled to open the door. “The wood is warped,” she grunted. She lowered her shoulder to the door—and pushed it open.
She’s thin, but she’s tough.
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.
I blinked.
No. The snowman wasn’t moving.
Its red scarf was fluttering in the swirling breeze.
My boots crunched loudly as I stepped up to the snowman and examined it carefully.
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.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the scar. It was long and deep, cut down the right side of the snowman’s face.
“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?
“Jaclyn—come help!” Aunt Greta’s call made me turn away from the snowman. I hurried back across the road to my new house.
It took a long while to unpack the van. When we lugged the final box into the cabin, Aunt Greta found a pot. Then she made us hot chocolate on the little, old-fashioned stove in the kitchen.
“Cozy,” she repeated. She smiled. But her dark eyes studied my face. I think she was trying to see if I was unhappy.
“At least it’s warm in here,” she said, wrapping her bony fingers around the white hot-chocolate mug. Her cheeks were still red from the cold.
I nodded sullenly. I wanted to cheer up. But I just couldn’t. I kept thinking about my friends back home. I wondered if they were going to a Bulls game tonight. My friends were all into basketball.
I won’t be playing much basketball here, I thought unhappily. Even if they play basketball, there probably aren’t enough kids in the village for a team!
“You’ll be warm up there,” Aunt Greta said, cutting into my thoughts. She pointed up to the low ceiling.
The house had only one bedroom. That was my aunt’s room. My room was the low attic beneath the roof.
“I’m going to check it out,” I said, pushing back my chair. It scraped on the hardwood floor.
The only way to reach my room was a metal ladder that stood against the wall. I climbed the ladder, then pushed away the flat board in the ceiling and pulled myself into the low attic.
It was cozy, all right. My aunt had picked the right word.
The ceiling was so low, I couldn’t stand up. Pale
, white light streamed in through the one small, round window at the far end of the room.
Crouching, I made my way to the window and peered out. Snow speckled the windowpane. But I could see the road and the two rows of little houses curving up the mountainside.
I didn’t see anyone out there. Not a soul.
I’ll bet they’ve all gone to Florida, I thought glumly.
It was midwinter break. The school here was closed. Aunt Greta and I had passed it on our way through the village. A small, gray stone building, not much bigger than a two-car garage.
How many kids will be in my class? I wondered. Three or four? Just me? And will they all speak English?
I swallowed hard. And scolded myself for being so down.
Cheer up, Jaclyn, I thought. Sherpia is a beautiful little village. You might meet some really neat kids here.
Ducking my head, I made my way back to the ladder. I’m going to cover the ceiling with posters, I decided. That will brighten this attic a lot.
And maybe help cheer me up, too.
“Can I help unpack?” I asked Aunt Greta as I climbed down the ladder.
She pushed her long, white braid off her shoulder. “No. I want to work in the kitchen first. Why don’t you take a walk or something? Do a little exploring.”
A few minutes later, I found myself outside, pulling the drawstrings of my parka hood tight. I adjusted my fur-lined gloves and waited for my eyes to adjust to the white glare of the snow.
Which way should I walk? I wondered.
I had already seen the school, the general store, a small church, and the post office down the road. So I decided to head up the road, toward the mountaintop.
The snow was hard and crusty. My boots hardly made a dent in it as I leaned into the wind and started to walk. Tire tracks cut twin ruts down the middle of the road. I decided to walk in one of them.
I passed a couple of houses about the same size as ours. They both appeared dark and empty. A tall, stone house had a Jeep parked in the driveway.
I saw a kid’s sled in the front yard. An old-fashioned wooden sled. A yellow-eyed, black cat stared out at me from the living room window.
I waved a gloved hand at it. It didn’t move.
I still hadn’t seen any other humans.
The wind whistled and grew colder as I climbed. The road grew steeper as it curved up. The houses were set farther apart.
The snow sparkled as clouds rolled away from the sun. It was suddenly so beautiful! I turned and gazed down at the houses I had passed, little gingerbread houses nestled in the snow.
It’s so pretty, I thought. Maybe I will get to like it here.
“Ohh!” I cried out as I felt icy fingers wrap themselves around my neck.
I spun around and pulled free of the frozen grip.
And stared at a grinning boy in a brown sheepskin jacket and a red-and-green wool ski cap. “Did I scare you?” he asked. His grin grew wider.
Before I could answer, a girl about my age stepped out from behind a broad evergreen bush. She wore a purple down coat and purple gloves.
“Don’t mind Eli,” she said, tossing her hair off her face. “He’s a total creep.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Eli grinned.
I decided they must be brother and sister. They both had round faces, straight black hair, and bright, sky-blue eyes.
“You’re new,” Eli said, squinting at me.
“Eli thinks it’s funny to scare any new kids,” his sister told me, rolling her eyes. “My little brother is a riot, isn’t he?”
“Being scared is about all there is to do in Sherpia,” Eli said. His grin faded.
What a weird thing to say, I thought.
I introduced myself. “I’m Jaclyn DeForest,” I told them. Their names were Rolonda and Eli Browning.
“We live there,” Eli said, pointing to the white house. “Where do you live?”
I pointed down the road. “Farther down,” I replied. I started to ask them something—but stopped when I saw the snowman they were building.
It had one arm out and one arm up. It had a red scarf wrapped under its head. And it had a deep scar cut down the right side of its face.
“That s-snowman—” I stammered. “It looks just like one I saw across the street from me.”
Rolonda’s smile faded. Eli lowered his eyes to the snow. “Really?” he muttered.
“Why did you make it like that?” I demanded. “It’s so strange looking. Why did you put that scar on its face?”
They glanced at each other tensely.
They didn’t reply.
Finally, Rolonda shrugged. “I really don’t know,” she murmured. She blushed.
Was she lying? Why didn’t she want to answer me?
“Where are you walking?” Eli asked, tightening the snowman’s red scarf.
“Just walking,” I told him. “Do you guys want to come with me? I thought I’d walk up to the top of the mountain.”
“No!” Eli gasped. His blue eyes widened in fear.
“You can’t!” Rolonda cried. “You can’t!”
“Excuse me?”
I gaped at them in shock. What was their problem?
“Why can’t I go up to the top?” I demanded.
The fear faded quickly from their faces. Rolonda tossed back her black hair. Eli pretended to be busy with the red snowman scarf.
“You can’t go because it’s closed for repairs,” Eli finally replied.
“Ha ha. Remind me to laugh later,” Rolonda sneered.
“So what’s the real reason?” I demanded.
“Uh … well … we just never go up there,” Rolonda stammered, glancing at her brother. She waited for Eli to add something. But he didn’t.
“It’s kind of like a tradition,” Rolonda continued, avoiding my eyes. “I mean … well … we just don’t go up there.”
“It’s too cold,” Eli added. “That’s why. It’s just too cold up there for humans to survive. You would turn to ice in thirty seconds.”
I knew he was lying. I knew that wasn’t the real reason. But I decided to drop the subject. They suddenly seemed so tense and worried.
“Where are you from?” Rolonda asked. She dug her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets. “The next village?”
“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.
We talked for a few more minutes. I learned that they had lived in Sherpia their entire lives. “It isn’t so bad. You get used to not seeing many people,” Rolonda told me.
“And it’s nice if you like snow,” Eli added. “Lots and lots of snow!”
We all laughed.
I said, “See you guys later,” and started walking up the road.
“You’re not going to the top—are you?” Eli called. He sounded really frightened again.
“No,” I called back. I pulled my hood tight. “It’s getting kind of windy. I’ll just go a little farther.”
The road curved higher. I crunched my way past a wide, woodsy lot filled with pine trees nearly as thin as pencils. The trees tilted at all angles. Not one of them stood straight up.
I saw animal tracks in the snow. Raccoon or squirrel? No. Too big. Deer tracks? I couldn’t tell.
I raised my eyes—and cried out in surprise.
Another sneering snowman stared back at me with its twisted carrot nose and coal-black eyes.
Its red scarf fluttered in the strong wind.
I stared at the long scar cut deep in its face.
Its twig arms waved in the wind, as if greeting me.
“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-bran
ch 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?
Heavy gray clouds rolled over the sun. The snowman’s shadow appeared to stretch until it swept over me.
I felt a sudden chill. I stepped back.
The sky quickly turned evening dark. I gazed up to the top of the mountain. Clumps of pine trees hid the top from view.
Should I head back or keep going?
I remembered the fear on Eli’s face when I said I was climbing to the top. And I remembered Rolonda’s cry: “You can’t!”
It only made me more curious.
What were they afraid of? What was up there?
I decided to keep going.
* * *
A van in the next driveway was buried under a thick sheet of snow. It looked as if it hadn’t been driven all winter.
I followed the road as it curved away from the houses. The snow became deeper and softer. My boots sank in as I walked.
I imagined that I was walking on another planet, a planet never explored before.
The road climbed steeper. Large white rocks jutted up from the snow. Clumps of slender pine trees tilted in every direction.
There were no houses up this high. I could see only trees and snow-covered shrubs and jutting rocks.
The road curved again. The wind whistled. I rubbed my cheeks and nose to warm them. Then I leaned into the wind and kept walking.
I stopped when a small log cabin came into view. I shielded my eyes with a gloved hand and stared at it.
A cabin way up here?
Why would anyone want to live this high up, away from everyone?
The cabin stood in a square, cleared-out area, surrounded by scraggly, tilting pine trees. I didn’t see any car or sled. I didn’t see any bootprints in the snow.
I crept closer to the cabin.
The windows were steamed over. I couldn’t tell if there were lights on inside or not.
I stepped closer, my heart pounding. I leaned my arms on a windowsill and pressed my nose against the glass. But I couldn’t see in.
“Anyone home?” I called.
Silence. The wind whistled around the corner of the cabin.
I knocked on the door. “Hello?”
No reply.
“Weird,” I muttered.
I tried the door. I just pushed it lightly.
