The Frozen Man

by Lex Sinclair

  In his first life (as a human) the creature had a wasted his youth, stole alcohol from convenience stores, pestered and harassed females, got involved in mindless brawls until he became seriously ill from his self-destructive ruination.

  He had lived alone, away from all people and townsfolk alike in great sorrow... albeit that was how he chose to live. The thought of sharing his profound sorrow never piqued his interest, not once. Then on one fateful day after the snowstorm in the first month of the year, the man decided to clear his tobacco-filled lungs and head out for a long stroll in the nearby forest. There he stumbled upon the corpse of a Frozen Man encased in block of ice the size of a coffin.

  Now, in the present, the creature sat in the same forest looking out over the rolling pastures at his home on the bottom of the rise, reminiscing that very day a few months earlier. The birds sang an enchanting, jovial tune overhead. The sunlight sparkled through the apertures in the treetops, sprinkling the shadowed forest with a yellow, effervescent shine. Even through the innumerable trees, the sun caused the creature to wince. The sunlight yellowed his rotting flesh, emphasising its baggy eyes and crusty lids. The creature stood erect and hugged a pine tree, camouflaging him, gazing out at the opening, searching for anyone who might see him lurking nearby. The forest stretched on for acres. Some men hunted foxes in these forests. If they were to see him in his decaying state, they would hunt him, too.

  He could see his home from where he stood, and wanted nothing more to find sanctuary where he would be safe and out of harms way.

  The ghastly creature, aided by his close friends, had hid the body they’d found in the forest, in a car out of sight. They had no clue as to what they were tampering with. They should have left the body where they’d found it; the body in the block of ice, sheathed in a nest of silvery hair, wasn’t dead. It had been merely resting... waiting, with inhuman patience. The body belonged to a Frozen Man, who’d been stabbed. However, when a Frozen Man is killed, their soul, unlike a human soul lingers in the body. And unless the body is in a skeleton form, then they can use their body again. The Frozen Man would construct a block of solid ice large enough to be able to get in and out of, and hibernate until the mortal wounds he suffered, vanished. Then they could awaken as good as new, without a scar or scratch on them.

  Due to the group’s disastrous, irrevocable error, not long after, the old man suffered a series of illnesses until he finally succumbed to death. Yet it wasn’t death he succumbed to - it was the everlasting.

  Now he would walk the earth as rotting corpse for ever.

  ***

  Derek turned the page and studied another intricate illustration of a shape sheathed in a nest of sinewy hair, encased in a block of ice hanging from a branch high above the unseen ground. The graphic depiction chilled him to the bone. He had been sitting in his friend’s recliner for half an hour, possibly longer, and realised that he should head back home otherwise Rhian would start getting worried. He closed the tome, considering writing down the title and purchasing a copy of his own (much to his amazement), then decided not to.

  He was about to get out of the recliner when he heard a floorboard creaking close by. He listened intently and heard no more sounds, save the thudding of his heart. Then, as he made his way to the back door a tangible shape moved towards him, into the kitchen, its chin tucked down. Derek could not see in the dimness. He squinted. The figure of a corpse crept silently into the living room where he stood motionless - its face in an advanced state of decomposition.

  Brittle, mouldering strips of flesh crumbled from its skeleton as its lips pulled back in a leering grin, revealing the jagged, decaying, yellow teeth. Only the narrow green-grey eyes were alive in the hollow features, regarding his presence with a menacing glee. An incandescent purple glow shrouded its frame, gases billowing like some sort of force field. The pungent body aroma wafted up Derek’s nostrils, making his eyes to burn. A scream of terror filled his throat as the hideous creature approached him, arms shedding more tissue, reaching out in front, closer and closer. Derek whirled too fast and instantly collided into the front door, getting his hands up to protect his head from taking the full impact just in the nick of time. He drew the top and then the bottom bolt open with feverish hands’, glancing over his shoulder, seeing the corpse was within touching distance. He screamed.

  Not wasting any time, Derek threw the door open, only for a skeletal hand to grip him on the shoulder and spin him around away from the front entrance, until they stared at each other, almost nose to nose.

  ‘It’s me,’ said the twisted, grey creature, in a guttural voice, tightening its hold on him. The corpse raised his other hand to nape of Derek’s neck and tried to haul him further inside.

  Derek realised this before it was too late and began thrashing about manically; punching and kicking, all in vain until he rammed his knee into the creature’s groin area and it let go of him, doubling over, groaning then falling to its knees in a heap. He whirled again, and this time plunged himself outside into the brilliant sunshine, sprinting towards his car. Once he got in, Derek rammed his shaking hand into his pocket and fished out his keys, then kept missing the ignition slot because he couldn’t steady himself.

  ‘Come on!’

  What seemed like ages, could have only been seconds. At last he rammed the key into the ignition, roared the engine to life, spun the vehicle in a sharp U- turn and slammed his foot down on the accelerator racing down the bumpy dirt road to the entrance gate. He checked the rear view mirror to see if he was being pursued, but a dirt-cloud fogged the front yard swallowing the house and obscuring anything in front of it.

  24

  Rhian was on the stool behind the bar eating a packet of crisps and reading her monthly magazine sporadically, unable to concentrate (not through lack of trying). Her mind kept bringing her dad’s problem to the forefront. She’d been sitting on the stool for five minutes leafing through the glossy pages. The pub opened at 11:00a.m.. Rhian worked till five when her dad took over the duties.

  It took about twenty, twenty-five minutes to get to Charles’s cottage. Rhian thought that he would have phoned her by now to let her know everything was all right, telling her that he would be home as soon as possible, like he promised. He hadn’t phoned, though, thus that could mean only one thing - something was wrong. Evidently she didn’t know what exactly. But there had to something amiss. Unless he’d started chatting with Charles and completely forgot about giving her a call. Yet that didn’t sit right in her conscience. Her dad wasn’t a forgetful type of person. He never had been. Even if he did decide to stay with Charles for a while longer he would have remembered to call her.

  As she was about to turn her attention back to her magazine, a car skidded to a halt right outside. Rhian leapt off her stool and went to the window and saw the familiar blue Skoda parked diagonally to the side of the pub clouded in dust.

  Amidst the dust-cloud she saw that her dad was sitting behind the wheel with his head bent over. She ran out the front door down the concrete steps to the car.

  ‘Dad! Dad,’ she shouted. He lifted his head and regarded her with a vacant stare, unable to hide his pallid and terrified countenance.

  Rhian’s heart lurched. She approached the car, frightened of what her dad might tell her. She rapped on the driver’s window. Only then did Derek remove his seat belt and step outside. ‘What’s happened?’ She could see that he was trembling wildly from whatever massive shock he’d suffered. Rhian gripped him by the shoulders and yelled in his face, ‘Speak to me.’

  Derek flinched away from her, momentarily assuming her grip on his shoulder was the same one back at the cottage. When Derek saw it was Rhian he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Jewels of sweat dripped down his face, like raindrops.

  ‘Talk to me for Christ’s sake!’ His silence unnerved her more than his clenched, white-knuckled fists, his protuberant e
yes and the dent on the driver’s door.

  ‘Where’s Charles?’ she said.

  Derek opened his mouth again and tried to speak coherently. ‘Ch - Ch - Charles...,’ was all he could manage.

  Rhian shook her head. She was also deeply concerned about her father’s condition. She didn’t like the fact that he was stuttering. Her father was usually calm and in complete control of difficult situations. She had never seen him like this... ever.

  ‘Do you want me to phone for an ambulance, Dad?’

  ‘Ch - Ch - Charl - Charles - d - d - dead!’

  Rhian rocked on her heels. Did he just say what I think he did? she wondered.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Ch - Charles - is - is - d - dead.’

  ‘Charles is dead?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Rhian clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God, Dad. And you saw him?’

  He nodded again.

  No wonder he was in shock. So would anyone else if they saw their best friend’s dead body, without any warning.

  She took her dad by the arm and led him around to the back entrance into the kitchen, up the stairs and in to his bedroom. She eased him onto the mattress, took out a woolly blanket from the top drawer in the bureau and pulled it up to his neck, then kissed him softly on the forehead. His head felt ice-cold in spite of the sticky perspiration.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute. I’m just gonna close the pub for a couple of hours.

  There’s no one in there yet, anyway. I’ll get you something to drink. Don’t move.’

  Rhian plunged into the hallway and down the stairs again.

  Derek shivered but not because he was cold. He stared impassively at the ceiling, which swirled in a hallucinating trance. He couldn’t get rid of the hideous image of the walking corpse approaching him and clutching his shoulder, spinning him around so he would have to face the hideous visage. He sat bolt upright, fists coiling and uncoiling in violent spasms.

  Rhian returned with a Diazepam capsule - which were part of Derek’s medication since her mother had died - in one hand and a glass of cold water in the other. She slipped one capsule into his mouth, propped him up against the headboard, cushioning his back with a pillow and forced him to sip the water and swallow. She stroked his twitching hand, hoping it would comfort and calm him, till he could speak lucidly again. Then she took the glass off him and put it down on the bedside cabinet, facing him once more. ‘Dad, what happened?’

  Derek saw Rhian’s outright anxiety in her frenzied eyes, but said nothing.

  Rhian sighed. ‘It’s better if you tell me. I know you said he’s dead. But what I can’t understand is, how? I mean he wasn’t that much older than you. How could he have died so suddenly at such a young age?’

  He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘C - Can’t t - t - tell you,’ he managed.

  ‘Why?’

  His eyes closed over, and then flicked open again.

  ‘Can’t you trust me? You confided in me last night. I can take it. Just tell me what happened exactly.’

  ‘Y - You... wouldn’t be... believe me...’

  ‘I know whatever you tell me will be nothing but the truth, Dad. I have right to know, too.’

  Derek considered this. Then hesitantly explained to her what he’d seen from the time he’d left the house to go to Charles’s residence till she found him outside in the car.

  Rhian stared at him aghast. She understood what her dad meant now by her or anyone else not believing his incredible yarn. It didn’t make any sense. Yet she wasn’t lying when she said she trusted whatever her dad told her. She still had questions, unanswered, buzzing around her mind like angry bees. ‘What should we do?’ she asked.

  Derek turned, faced the window and stared out at the forest over the backdrop.

  He didn’t know if calling the police would solve anything. What if the corpse was still lurking around the cottage when the cops showed up? He might inadvertently cost them their lives. Yet the police were armed and highly trained for the unexpected and anything out of the ordinary. Which this certainly was.

  No doubt about that.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

  ‘My God. No wonder you’re trembling and stuttering - you almost died.’

  Rhian gritted her teeth. She hadn’t meant to utter that last part, however true it may be. ‘Sorry,’ she said, realising her error.

  ‘No, you’re right.’ Derek seemed a little bit calmer than when she’d first seen him in the car outside... although he still sounded distant when he spoke.

  ‘Whose corpse was it?’

  ‘Charles’s... perhaps.’

  Her flesh crawled down her spine. Rhian squirmed. ‘Maybe because you were reading that book, you imagined what you saw... or not,’ she said, not quite believing herself.

  Derek shook his head, emphatically. Then he pushed away from the pillow behind him, opened the buttons of his denim shirt, pulled it down past his neck and showed her the grimy, charcoal handprint on his shoulder. She toppled backwards. Derek grabbed hold of her arm before she fell.

  ‘Jesus, Dad. Why didn’t you show me that before?’

  He gave her a demoralising shrug.

  He didn’t want to show me, she told herself.

  She took a tissue out of the box and wiped his damp forehead. ‘We’ll have to phone the police. There’s no other alternative.’

  Derek pointed to the mattress.

  Rhian didn’t have a clue what he meant. ‘What’s wrong? Is there something on the bed?’

  He shook his head. ‘Under the bed,’ he whispered.

  Rhian’s eyes widened, realising what he was referring to. ‘No way, Dad.’

  ‘If I call the police and tell them the truth they’re not gonna believe me.

  They’ll probably arrest me or put me in a nuthouse.’

  Under less serious circumstances, Rhian would have laughed at the word ‘nuthouse’, but not today. Not after what she’d been told. There was nothing amusing about the sallow colour of her dad’s, barely recognisable countenance.

  ‘Don’t tell them what you’ve told me. Just tell them Charles has been missing and no one has heard from him in the last couple of weeks, and that he wasn’t home when you went to see him.’

  ‘If they die, Rhian, it will be on my conscience for the rest of my life.’

  They’re police officers, Dad. Even if they did die, that’s the risk they opted to take when they put their uniform on every day before going to work. Their lives aren’t your responsibility. Just like Charles isn’t your responsibility, either.’

  He didn’t have the strength to argue with her. After all, she was probably right in what she said. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I still can’t believe what happened, though. I don’t mean I don’t believe you: it’s just so crazy. How could something like this happen?’

  Derek didn’t reply.

  ‘Dad? What if he’s not actually dead? What if he’s just seriously burned?’

  He recoiled. ‘Oh, dear God. You might be right. I mean he did say, “It’s me.”

  Maybe he was trying to tell me that, so I’d know. But because I was scared out of my wits, I didn’t pay him any attention. It makes a lot more sense than the other explanation, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps. I dunno any more. I dunno what to think. I’m just suggesting a lot of crazy shit, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s a lot more plausible than this ‘Frozen Man’ theory, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she admitted, somewhat reluctantly, ‘it’s just, if he’s burned up as bad as you described, and the by colour of the handprint,’ she nodded to his shoulder, ‘... then I very much doubt he’d be alive at all, let alone walking around
and able to speak.’

  His gaze didn’t falter, but his hope shattered like broken glass.

  ‘Maybe you should just forget the whole thing,’ she said, saying anything that might regain her supportive father to his old self again before he lost his mind.

  ‘I can’t do that. I’ve got to do something, soon... I either go up there myself or I phone the police. I’m not just gonna sit here like a wimp and not do anything. Charles’ would never do that to me or you if we were in his situation.’

  ‘If it is Charles, Dad.’

  ‘I really ought to go up and confront whatever it is.’

  Rhian scowled at him. ‘You’ll die.’

  Derek’s heart turned to ice. Those two words were cold, but had very nearly been true.

  ‘This time I’ll be armed, though.’

  Rhian shook her head in disdain. ‘Why can’t you just phone the police like anyone else with half a brain would do, and drop this ‘macho man’ image. You almost got killed earlier. Don’t you realise that? Or are you still in deep shock? I think it’s the latter... Anyway, what if it’s not Charles? What if it’s not human - what if it is the Frozen Man - and bullets don’t affect it?’

  ‘Rhian, don’t be so stupid.’ Yet for all he knew, what she’d said could be accurate.

  ‘I’m not being stupid - you are!’ she yelled.

  ‘Why don’t you come with me, then? You can stay in the car, in case of we need a quick exit. Also, I’ll be armed and I’ll have a witness to back up my story if I do decide to go to the police.’

  Rhian sat motionless, trying to make some sense of this confusing situation.

  ‘Forget I said anything,’ Derek said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, okay. I’ll come with you. If I see it, too, then we can call the police later, and there’ll be two witnesses, as opposed to one.’