by James Dwyer
“Leave me alone Sara. I’m preparing a surprise for father.”
Frieda pushed her young sister away, preventing her shadow from obscuring the forest floor. Unobstructed, the sun shone down in between the roots, revealing the small white caps hidden in the damp undergrowth.
“What are you looking for?” said Sara, irritated that the games had stopped for something as boring as foraging for food.
“I’m finding mushrooms. We’ll eat them during winter,” said Frieda.
Foraging was more than just a game for her. Ever since she was old enough to walk, she had been exploring the forest, learning every secret that waited amongst the woods. She had learnt about the mushrooms from a book “Foraging for beginners”, the latest in a long line of books on survival and the great outdoors. To be inside was to be bored for Frieda. The only way to keep herself sane was to devote her time indoors to learning more about the outside world.
She knelt down and plucked the mushrooms from the ground, placing them in her cloth knapsack. Thirty collected so far, the bag bulging with the day’s prize. She smiled as she felt the weight of the bag on the strap. It had been an excellent morning’s work. Father would be very pleased, Frieda thought. He needed cheering up. Something was on his mind recently, something troubling. “You are not to worry my little fraulein,” he had told her.
Frieda had not been convinced.
“Winter never comes here,” said Sara, “So we don’t need the food.”
“This year is different. I can feel it,” said Frieda.
“No it’s not. Come and play with me.”
“Now is not the time for games. We have lots of work to do,” said Frieda.
She leapt up from the floor and onto a nearby log, standing tall amongst the pines, looking around her for the next adventure. The trees stretched off in every direction, as far as the eye could see. The only clearing for hundreds of miles was the village. Beyond that? Frieda smiled to herself. One day she would explore it all for herself. Leave the village and travel farther than anyone has ever travelled before.
“Please Frieda,” said Sara, affecting a sad, trembling voice.
Frieda sighed and looked at her little sister. One day she would travel. One day. For now, she had to look after her little sister. Besides, she was only thirteen. Travelling would have to wait a few more years at least.
“Hide and seek?” said Frieda.
“Yes!” shouted Sara, “You hide. I’ll count to one hundred.”
“Don’t cheat,” said Frieda, walking slowly away.
“I won’t!” said Sara.
You will, thought Frieda. She had to. If she didn’t, she would never find her. No one could find her unless she wanted them to. The forest was her domain.
The woodpile stood no chance today.
The axe came down with a violent force, shattering each log into pieces. Marcell, kicked the wood debris out of the way and placed another on the chopping block. He raised the axe high above his head, placing all his fear and frustration into the log before him.
“How small does the wood have to be?”
Marcell turned and saw his wife Bianca smiling at him, instantly calming him with an ease that often irritated him. Sometimes anger was the correct emotion. Anger and fear. Today was one of those times.
“We need to be prepared,” he said, bringing the axe down.
The force was not so strong this time, the log bouncing off the axe and onto the ground. Bianca couldn’t stifle a laugh, Marcell dropping the axe in defeat. “Why don’t you come inside and have some breakfast?” she asked.
“I can’t,” said Marcell, “I can feel it in the air.”
“Feel what?” said Bianca.
“Winter,” said Marcell.
For a brief moment, a flicker of panic crossed Bianca’s face. It was immediately suppressed, replaced with the warm smile that told Marcell everything would work out fine in the end.
“Winter never comes here,” said Bianca, “You know that.”
“Next week is Christmas,” said Marcell, “It’s not been this cold this close to Christmas for a long time.”
“There have been no other signs,” said Bianca.
“There never are,” said Marcell.
Bianca walked up behind her husband, placing her arms lovingly round his waist. “We’ll be fine,” said Bianca.
“I hope so,” said Marcell.
In that moment, Marcell hoped that he was wrong. That it was all in his imagination. That winter was not coming after all. He turned round and hugged Bianca tightly, kissing her lightly on the lips.
“Where are the girls?” he asked.
“Frieda is collecting mushrooms. Sara was assisting.”
“Assisting?” said Marcell.
“I’m afraid so,” Bianca laughed, “She is following in her big sister’s footsteps.”
“Hmm,” said Marcell.
“You should be proud to have two adventurous daughters such as yours.”
“How can I protect them if they are off exploring the world? Why can’t they be simple women who like sewing and baking?”
Bianca tapped Marcell softly on the nose with her finger. Her playful way of telling him off.
Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.
Marcell’s heart sank inside his chest. He pulled Bianca close to him, in part to offer her support, but also to hide his own despair at the sound.
Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. The bells rang out again. Louder. More urgent.
“Is it too late to leave the village?” said Bianca.
“We wouldn’t make it past the edge of the forest before first snowfall.”
“If we run...”
“We cannot run. Not fast enough,” said Marcell.
Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.
“Fetch the girls and take them inside,” he said.
“What will you do?”asked Bianca.
“What I have to.”
The bells had stopped ringing by the time Marcell had made his way to the village. When the call went out, no one disobeyed. It was the price they paid for living in Sonnenschein. The town without winter.
Marcell nodded at the other father’s gathered nervously around the village hall. No one spoke or made eye contact. They didn’t want their true feelings revealed, even if the same thought was shared between them. “I hope it is you who is chosen. Not me.”
The doors to the hall opened, Mayor Draxler standing in the doorway, gesturing them inside. He shook his head sadly as they entered one by one. “It is always too soon,” he said.
The last of the fathers entered the hall, the doors closed and barred behind them. Mayor Draxler made his way to the front of the crowd, up to the podium above them all. A small murmur of disquiet began amongst the men, the same empty threats of protest and disobedience that always arose at this time. Mayor Draxler raised his hand to silence the crowd.
“I know what you are thinking and the answer is no, as it always is.”
“Why?” said an angry voice from the crowd, “Why must we do this to ourselves? Why can’t we let the cold come for a season.”
“And then what? Risk losing next year’s harvest? Or even worse, some of our children? You do not remember the harshness of winter, none of us do.”
“We can fight it,” said another angry voice, given courage by the first.
“And what if we lose? Do you think He will come back to us? Give us a second chance? Or will He tear through our village even stronger than before, killing us all before we could light the first fire? Do you want to risk that? Speak up now or remain silent until the deed is done.”
Mayor Draxler waited for a response. As it was last time and the time before that, there was silence. “This is not easy on any of us. Not just those who lose a loved one. Consider the alternative for a moment, and you will all agree that it is a price that is worth paying. The mild winters keep us well. Keep us prosperous. Keep us happy. I know the risk as much as you, I have five daughters of my own.”
A b
rief snort of derision broke the silence, Mayor Draxler’s glare focusing intently on its source, making a mental note to have words with the dissenter. Mayor Draxler had been in charge for thirty years. In that time, he had become the most powerful man in the region. He was not without his detractors. The man in charge of the vote also had a lot to lose should it go against him. Who wouldn’t be tempted to rig the result?
“If anyone has another way to do this, please let me know. I beg you. In fact, do we have any volunteers. Step forward the father who wants to give up his daughter? Come on now.”
No one moved.
“Of course not, and I do not blame any of you. Which is why we have the vote. Heiko, bring forth the bag.”
From the back of the room, a big brute of a man stepped forward. Heiko was the strongest in the village, the best hunter. A champion. He was also childless and without emotion. The ideal man for the horrible deed.
“All those men with a daughter between twelve and sixteen, place your name in the hat. As it always is, any man who does not place his name in the hat who has a daughter of age, sacrifices his own child without the need for the draw.”
Mayor Draxler took a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote his name clearly in black ink, showing it up to the crowd before him, almost defiantly. He placed it in the bag. “Leonie, the papers please.”
Heiko’s wife, Leonie made her way through the crowd. Unlike her husband, she was almost skeletally thin, moving through the crowd like a ghost. She handed the paper to each man, watching them write their own name before gesturing with a delicate finger for Heiko to bring forth the bag. She seemed to watch the paper’s enter the bag with a sad envy. At least they had a child to risk. Something she could not provide.
One by one, the fathers placed their name into the bag. Marcell’s hand shook as he wrote his name on the paper, the ink smudged with each stroke of the quill pen. He placed the paper in the bag, wishing that he never see it again.
The last man put his name in the bag. Heiko sealed the bag tightly, lifting up above the crowd so that they could all see it had not been tampered with. Each man closed their eyes as he reached the stage, saying their prayers, praying for any name other than their own.
“I shall now take the name,” said Mayor Draxler.
He paused briefly, his hand above the bag. “Good luck to all of you.”
He reached in the bag and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. No man dared look up, not wanting to recognise the folds of the paper, the pattern of the ink or the way it was smudged. Mayor Draxler unfolded the paper, unable to suppress a small hint of relief as he saw the name written down. He composed himself and looked into the crowd, searching for the unlucky man.
Marcell felt the mayor’s eyes fall upon him, followed by the eyes of all the others. “Marcell Krahn. I am sorry, but you have been chosen.”
“No,” whispered Marcell, his body shaking.
The man next to him tried to reach out to comfort him, Marcell violently pushing the hand away. “You have one day to prepare,” said Mayor Draxler, “Your daughter must be taken tomorrow. Jack Frost must have His bride. Frieda has been chosen.”
Frieda watched her mother trying vainly to light the fire, rubbing two sticks together violently yet unable to create a single spark. Something was troubling mother, a sight far more frightening than seeing her father in the same state. He was always worrying. Her mother however...
“Mother,” said Frieda, walking over to her, “Let me do it.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled a small piece of flint from inside, followed by a small metal spoon. She struck the flint against the metal, a spark dancing off and into the dried grass inside the fireplace. It ignited instantly, Frieda blowing to help the flames grow.
“Where did you learn to do that?” said her mother, her eyes welling with tears.
“I read it in a book. I’ve been practicing to get it right,” said Frieda, unable to contain her pride at impressing her mother.
She winced as her mother pulled her in close, holding her tightly in her hug. “I love you Frieda,” said mother, “Whatever happens.”
Before Frieda could work out what she meant, the door to their house opened. Father stood in the doorway, his eyes red from tears. Frieda saw Heiko standing behind him. He was hiding and not hiding at the same time, as if he wanted to be seen as being there but not obviously. It troubled Frieda.
“No,” said mother, “Say it isn’t true.”
Father stumbled into the room, almost falling inside the house. Sara laughed from where she lay on the rug. “Father has been drinking beer!”
“Tell me it isn’t true!” shouted mother.
Frieda ran over to Sara, who burst instantly into tears at their mother’s outburst. Heiko’s eyes followed Frieda across the room, tracking her.
“I...I’m sorry,” said father.
“Why did you bring us here!” shouted mother, “Why did you do this to us?”
“I wanted a better life,” said father.
“You call this a better life.”
Heiko stepped aside, Leonie walking past him into the house.
“The price must be paid,” said Leonie.
“That’s easy for you to say,” said mother, glaring furiously at the intruder in her home.
“Frieda, we have to go for a walk,” said Leonie, ignoring the implied insult.
“You’re not taking my daughter,” shouted mother.
Leonie held out her hand to Frieda. “Come on. We won’t be long. I just have to talk to you about something.”
“What?” said Frieda.
“Leaving the village. We need someone to go out past the forest. On an adventure.”
“Don’t you dare!” screamed mother.
Father ran over and placed his hand across her mouth. He whispered into her ears, talking non-stop. He seemed to be apologising. “I really get to leave the village?” said Frieda.
“Yes you do,” said Leonie, “Come with me and I’ll explain more.”
Frieda looked to her father for guidance. He nodded his sad approval. “Go on,” he said, “We’ll prepare some food whilst you’re out.”
Her father’s approval made her relax. He had never lied to her. He loved her too much, he had always said. Frieda let go of Sara. “Can I come?” said her little sister.
“No,” said her father curtly, “Frieda must go alone.”
“Have you ever wondered why the sun always shines in Sonnenschein?” said Leonie as she walked with Frieda towards the village.
Frieda shrugged. It was how things always were. She had read about winter in books, true winter that is. It sounded...magical. Snow falling, covering everything in a blanket of white. Changing the landscape completely. A whole new world to explore.
“Generations ago,” began Leonie, “The village used to have very harsh winters. It was so cold that many people died, especially young ones like Sara. The ground would freeze so hard that when springtime, no crops would grow. Even the animals suffered, frozen to death during hibernation. It was a struggle to survive for everyone. The villagers could not survive much longer. And they couldn’t leave. Where else could they go? So something had to be done. Have you heard of witches Frieda?”
“Only in fairytales. Father said they were around before he was alive.”
“Back in the cold winter, the villagers asked a witch to help. What do you think she did?”
“Cast a spell on the village? Using black magic or something, I don’t know,” said Frieda.
Magic held little interest for her. Why believe in something so stupid when nature had something incredible and real waiting for you outside your door, not in a storybook.
“The witch spoke with Jack Frost. Arranged a meeting.”
Leonie’s answer caught Frieda’s attention. She had heard mention of Jack Frost when playing with the other children of the village. It was a story the boys told to try and scare the girls. Never worked on her.
&
nbsp; “When Jack Frost came, the villagers begged him to protect their home. They couldn’t survive another harsh winter. What could they do to save themselves? And do you know what Jack asked for?”
Frieda shook her head. She looked behind her and saw Heiko walking closer, his eyes focused on her intently. His body was tensed, as if he was a hunter and a trap was about to be sprung. “Winters are cold and lonely. A sad time of season. To be winter is to be alone. Always alone. And so, Jack asked for a bride.”
“A bride?” said Frieda.
“Yes Frieda. Someone to go with him to his magical kingdom and become the queen of winter.”
Leonie looked at Frieda, making sure she made eye contact. “Jack Frost does not take his queen forever. Once they have had enough of the cold, he returns them to a warm place. A place called paradise. It is the most wonderful place, so beautiful. Full of excitement and adventure. A girl is lucky to be chosen to be Jack’s bride.”
Frieda suddenly felt a coldness in the air, as if there was someone else there with the three of them. Something intangible yet familiar. Like the seasons. Like winter. The air became colder, Frieda’s breath catching in her throat. “Why are you telling me this?” she said, although she already knew the answer.
“Because you have been chosen. You are to be Jack Frost’s new queen.”
Frieda turned to run. Before she could move, Heiko’s arm was around her, lifting her up off the ground. “You should be happy,” said Leonie, “Not every girl gets to fall in love with a being so powerful as Jack Frost.”
“I don’t want to be His bride,” shouted Frieda, punching at Heiko to make him let her go.
“You have no choice,” said Leonie, “Jack has chosen you.”
“Well tell him I won’t come.”
“You can tell him yourself,” said Leonie, “He comes to take you tomorrow. You can tell Him then.”
Leonie signalled Heiko with a nod, who turned and walked back towards Frieda’s home, carrying the new queen across his shoulder. “The whole village thanks you,” said Leonie, “You should be happy.”
It felt like winter had already arrived in the house that night. Frieda sat in silence at the dinner table. Her father had prepared her favourite meal, stewed vegetables and venison. Something that used to fill her with happiness and joy when placed before her at dinnertime. Frieda didn’t have a single bite.
“Please,” begged her father, “Eat something.”
“No,” said Frieda, defiant.
Father sighed sadly. He was the only other diner at the table. Mother sat beside the fire, holding Sara tightly in her arms, as if afraid the other daughter would be taken from her if she let go.
“Why does it have to be me?” said Frieda.
She watched father searching for words, his lips moving, failing him. His sadness grew deeper.
“Because your father is a coward,” interrupted mother, “Too afraid to fight for his daughter. Too afraid of the cold.”
Father grabbed his bowl and threw it against the wall in anger. “It is not that simple. We have a good life here. You and I both knew the price.”
“I never thought it would come to this,” said mother.
“You think I did? You think I want this?”
Mother said nothing. No one spoke another word that night. The house grew colder.
Frieda woke just after midnight. She rolled out of bed and picked up her knapsack from beneath the bed. She had packed it in secret the day before, preparing for her escape. The start of her adventure.
She crept silently across the room to the other bed, bending down to kiss Sara on the head. “Goodbye,” Frieda whispered, “I’ll come back for you when I can.”
She wiped a tear from her eyes and made her way out of the room. She paused at her parent’s doorway, unsure of what she should say to them. She looked through the crack in between the door and the frame, saw them both lying awake, staring at the ceiling. If she ran away, they wouldn’t have to suffer. Frieda liked the logic of that and clung onto it.
The staircase was mercifully silent beneath her feet, as if complicit in her attempts to escape. Why wouldn’t it be? She had spent all her life there. It was as much a part of her family as her parents or Sara. “Goodbye house,” she said.
Frieda couldn’t contain a small hint of excitement at her midnight escape. Isn’t this what happened in all the books she read, of daring heroes heading off on wild adventures? This is where it all begins. Soon as she reached the forest, she would be free. No one could catch her there, she would disappear completely.
She opened the door to the outside world. She froze in the doorway, her eyes on the figure sitting just outside the open door. Heiko. He shook his head and gestured for her to go back inside.
“Please,” said Frieda, “Let me run.”
Heiko shook his head. He stood up from his seat and walked over to the door, closing it, preventing Frieda’s escape. She was trapped.
They came for her at dawn, dressed in black cloaks, faces covered by wooden masks. Only Heiko and Leonie remained undisguised. They had nothing to hide, no fear of reprisals against them. They did not need the safety that anonymity provided.
Frieda’s spirit had been broken by her foiled escape. All her life she had dreamed of adventure, a path for her that had not yet been discovered, one of her own choosing. Now that freedom had been taken from her, replaced with a duty that she had no choice but to accept. She was to be sacrificed. She had realised it just before they came, looking out the window as they walked in solemn unity towards her door. Like a religious procession. Taking her to the temple for slaughter. There would be no dashing young prince to save her today. Life was not a fairytale.
Everything seemed to make sense now, Frieda realised. All those girls who had caught the flu and sadly passed away. Dead and gone overnight. She was just the latest to disappear, the latest to be forced out of the village and into the arms of...
She didn’t want to think about it. The loud knock on the front door snapped her back to the grim reality. She left her room, stopping at the top of the stairs, panicked voices coming from below.
“Let me take her place,” said mother, one last desperate attempt to stop the inevitable.
“It won’t work,” said Leonie, “Frieda has been chosen. She has to go.”
“There must be something we can do,” said Marcell.
“You know there isn’t,” said Leonie.
Frieda could hear her parents sobbing, the sound weighing heavy on her heart. Even though she was the one to be sacrificed, she felt sorry for them.
She descended the stairs, feeling the attention moving to her as she headed towards the front door. Mother reached out and pulled her close. One last hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be sorry,” said Frieda, “This is just how things have to be. The price that must be paid.”
She didn’t mean to sound so cold, so callous. Her mother started trembling, shaking as she held her close to her heart.
“Will you be gone for long?”
Frieda looked down at Sara who stood with her arms wrapped around mother, confused and scared at what was happening to her big sister. “Someday,” said Frieda, “I don’t know when.”
The last to say goodbye was her father. He tried to look at her, fighting through the pain and sorrow he felt inside of him. Everytime he turned toward her, his body started shaking, as if he was about to fall apart into a thousand pieces.
“I forgive you,” said Frieda.
She stepped outside, into the circle the villagers formed around the door. “I’m ready.”
There were howls of despair and sorrow from behind, her family’s emotion no longer contained. Frieda dared not look back, not once. In case their sadness broke her own steely resolve. That she would not cry.
The procession made its way through the village, passing by every house, as if Frieda was on display. A reminder to all of what their mild winters cost.
The price that must be paid.
Frieda made sure she walked tall, not letting them see the fear she felt inside of her. Their last image of her would be of a strong young woman. Not a frightened little girl, how she truly felt inside.
The procession left the village, entering into the forest, towards a small clearing amongst the trees, a place Frieda had been forbidden from going. Despite her adventurous spirit, she had obeyed this rule her father had given, something in his tone of voice making it clear that this was not a game.
Around the edges of the clearing, the tops of each tree had been chopped off, creating a circle of wooden poles, each with carvings of woodland creatures etched into the bark. Offerings to the spirits of the forest. In the centre of the clearing stood a single solitary stone, taller than Heiko. Frieda was taken out towards it by Leonie, the others retreating to the safety of the forest surrounding the clearing.
“Remember,” whispered Leonie, “You are the lucky one. This is a gift. Embrace it.”
She let go of Frieda’s hand and ran back towards the edge of the clearing, joining the others in watching what happened next.
Frieda felt a cold breeze begin to swirl around her, caressing her softly yet chilling with its touch. He was coming. She heard footsteps that sounded like ice cracking, growing louder and louder until stopping on the opposite side of the centre stone. She tried to peer round, to see what was waiting for her on the other side. The figure darted out of sight, keeping Himself out of view. As if it was a game.
“Are you to be my bride?” said a voice that felt cold inside Frieda’s ears, the words tinged with ice.
“I have come to be your bride.”
Frieda looked back behind her at Leonie who had spoken for her. She opened her mouth to say something, the words freezing on the tip of her tongue.
The stone started to shift suddenly, its grey rock sheen slipping away, becoming blue ice. Through the frozen window, Frieda could see Him standing there. Waiting.
“What a beautiful bride you will be,” said Jack Frost.
He stepped round the ice, revealing Himself for the first time. At first He looked like a normal human hunter. He was wearing a large coat made out of the hide of a deer, His trousers a mottled brown combination of moss and dirt, His boots made of worn leather. On His head, He wore a large hood that reminded Frieda of an owl’s head. On each side of the hood, two large antlers extended out above Him. It was only when she looked into His eyes that she realised something was deeply wrong. Jack’s eyes were two black balls of darkness, absorbing light and destroying it within. It reminded Frieda of midnight when there is no sound, of wolves howling in hunger, of deer crying out in pain as they felt the arrow or the axe. The eyes showed Frieda death. Nothing more.
Panicking, she turned back to the others, hoping that she could stop what was happening, to undo the deal her parents had made. It was already too late. A furious snowstorm was falling around them, obscuring the edges of clearing. She was already lost, the villagers already gone. It was just her and Jack now.
Frieda felt a cold hand on her arm. Before she could scream, the snowstorm blinded her, whiting out her vision. The chill spread out from her arm throughout her body, reaching deep inside to her core. She felt the wind pick up speed, lifting her up and into the sky. The clearing disappeared below her, then the village. Within seconds, she was gone, taken within a giant cloud of freezing white snow.
When the snow stopped, Frieda found herself in an empty place. It was night time, though looking around her, she suspected that daylight never came here. She had landed in a wide open plain of ice, stretching out as far as she could see. The only blot on the horizon was a small house in the distance, surrounded by what looked like dead trees.
The air was filled with a cold stillness, like midnight in the forest when there is no movement in the air. Just a chill that hangs, waiting to freeze the skin, to reach inside and remove all warmth.
Reality seemed to shift behind her suddenly, a haze in the air and then He was there. “Come,” said Jack.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the house. No more words were said between them, just the sound of ice under foot. Jack left no impression on the ice, no footprints. He and the ice were as one.
The house drew nearer. Frieda was surprised at how simple it was. The building had a ramshackle look to it, built with bits of timber seemingly thrown together. Frieda had expected a palace made of ice, something extravagant. As they drew nearer, she realised that this wasn’t Jack’s home. He was an elemental, the bringer of winter and cold, more powerful than any other being. He didn’t need a home.
His bride however...
The closer they were to the house, the more it seemed like a cage. A prison. Iron bars coated blue weaved between the wood, filling any gap with an impenetrable wall of metal. The front door was made solely of metal, iron bars across the small window in its centre.
“You are lucky,” Frieda remembered Leonie saying.
They reached the edge of the trees. Frieda looked around her with horror, suddenly feeling a lot colder. The trees were not made of wood. They were of a polished, slightly yellowed white, twisting around towards the sky in a frozen agony. Bone.
Each tree had a name carved in the trunk, names Frieda recognised. Greta, Juliet, Wilhelmina, Eva. All girls who had left the village. Girls who had caught the flu and died overnight. Some who had just gone missing.
Frieda looked at all the trees, seeing hundreds of them. Reality was distorted here, the deathly orchard bigger on the inside than on the out. This wasn’t something that happened every five years. There were too many trees, too many horrible gravestones for it to be such an organised ritual. Where did all these girls come from? They can’t all have come from the village.
Jack pulled Frieda forward, not giving her any more time to think about the orchard, where her final resting place would be. He forced her through towards the house, the door opening for Him automatically, no need for His touch. Only His presence.
The interior was windowless, only a faint blue glow illuminating the grim cell inside. There was no kitchen, no fireplace, no comfort at all. Only a large woodpile like the nest of a bird. Old twigs and branches compacted down into an uncomfortable makeshift bed.
Jack gestured for Frieda to move to the bed. She shook her head, backing away against the wall, keeping her distance. “Lie down,” He commanded.
He turned away from her and began undressing himself, removing his armour and dropping it onto the floor. Beneath His clothes, His body was completely blue, the same colour as the veins in Frieda’s hands. She could see small frozen droplets of water covering His skin, sweat frozen in place. He turned His black eyes onto her, standing naked and unashamed. This was not someone or something living. This was death personified in frozen blue flesh and lifeless black eyes.
Jack walked over to the bed and lay down, waiting. He gestured for her to come closer, Frieda shaking her head once more. “I will not be your bride,” she said.
The coldness closed in around her, horrible arms of chilly air grabbing hold of her, pulling her towards the bed. “You can’t make me do this!”
Jack smiled for the first time, a horrible smirk across His dead face. “You have no choice.”
Frieda suddenly felt something inside her dress, something inside her pocket. She reached inside and remembered.
“This is your last chance to let me go,” she said, finding her courage.
Jack laughed, a horrible grating sound that steeled Frieda’s resolve. She had to do it. Not just for her, but for those who rested in the orchard and all the girls who would follow after her.
Frieda pulled the flint and metal spoon from her pocket. Before Jack could do anything, she struck the metal against the stone, sending a spark onto the wooden nest where he lay.
He screamed as the wood ignited, the flame sparking into a storm of fire that swarmed through the bed and onto the elemental. It shouldn’t have spread so
fast. The flames normally take time to grow. Somehow, Frieda knew she had willed it into existence. Made the fire bigger. He screamed and screamed as the flames grew higher, the heat more intense.
Jack Frost burning in His bed.
Frieda watched His body turn from blue to black, roasted by the orange flames, the cold subsiding as the heat took over. It wasn’t long before Jack’s body was like His eyes. Lifeless.
The flames continued growing, reaching out to the wooden walls. Frieda ran to the door, trying to pry it open with her fingers. It would not budge. She looked back and saw Jack’s uniform on the ground. Perhaps she could trick it, Frieda thought.
She ran over and began putting on the clothes. Even with the flames growing around her, the armour was ice cold, freezing her skin to the fabric. She reached down and grabbed the helmet, pulling it over her head. A small tingle of energy flowed through her body. Frieda couldn’t help but smile. It made her feel...powerful.
Frieda walked over to the door. She didn’t need to wait for it to open, she knew it would. She strode out of the burning building and into the orchard. The flames followed her, reaching out towards the orchard, burning the horrible gravestones.
“You won’t be forgotten,” Frieda said, watching the fire grow around her.
Around Her. The flames would not get too close, almost afraid.
The power grew inside of Frieda. She strode out of the burning orchard, onto the frozen plain. What was left of Jack Frost and his home turned to ash.
Frieda looked down at Her hands and saw their pinkish colour begging to fade. Beginning to turn blue. She was safe now. She could remove the armour if She wanted.
If...
She turned Her back on Jack’s home and walked out into the wide open plain around Her. A blank canvas for Her to explore.
The transformation almost complete.
The sun was not shining in Sonnenschein. Christmas day was normally celebrated with a huge outdoor feast. Everyone joining together to exchange gifts and play games. To bask in their reward of a mild winter.
Not this year.
The bunting froze in place, icicles hanging from each brightly colour flag. Wine turned to ice in the barrel. Children’s hands shook too much to open presents.
Winter had come, stronger than ever before.
The chill was felt even more inside the village hall. Mayor Draxler tried to calm the angry crowd before him. “Something has gone wrong,” he admitted, trying to appease the crowd.
“We know that!” shouted an angry voice.
“It is Marcell’s fault. His daughter was not worthy, not feminine enough for Winter,” said another.
“You leave Frieda out of this,” said Marcell.
His voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the crowd around him. Ever since the day his daughter left, he had been a broken man.
“They found out you rigged the vote Draxler. You cannot cheat Jack Frost.”
“Enough!” said the mayor, “I will not be held responsible.”
“Then who is?” shouted the crowd.
The doors to the hall swung open, the crowd turning sharply towards the intruder. Heiko stood panting in the doorway, his face pale, lips blue. “Outside,” he said, before collapsing to the floor, his body becoming stiff. Lifeless
The crowd swarmed out into the village square. Heiko was a man of few words. When he spoke, it was with good reason.
Once outside, they saw the reason for Heiko’s panic.
Frieda had returned to the village. She stood in the centre of the square, waving Her hands through the air. A trail of ice followed her movements, tracing across the walls around Her, a path of cold flowing from her finger tips. Wood froze underneath Her gestures, cracking and crumbling.
Mayor Draxler fought his way through the crowd. “Frieda,” he said, “What is the meaning of this. Where is Jack Frost?”
“Dead ,” She said, “I am winter now.”
She turned towards him, the crowd gasping as they saw Her face. The skin was blue. Her eyes black. Cold. Lifeless.
“What has he done to you?” said Marcell, tears falling and freezing on his face.
“Frieda you must stop this,” said Mayor Draxler, “We’ll freeze to death.”
“You don’t control me,” said Frieda, Her voice so cold the words seemed to hang in the air before crashing upon the crowd like an arctic breeze.
“Now listen,” said Mayor Draxler, approaching towards Frieda as if She was a naughty child that needed to be reprimanded.
He stopped in his tracks, clutching his chest as a sharp pain spread out inside him, his insides freezing in place. “My heart,” he said, before collapsing down onto his knees.
“What did you do?” said Marcell.
“He needed to embrace the cold,” said Frieda with a casual menace.
The crowd took a step back, their fear growing. “Why have you done this to us?” asked Leonie, cradling her dead husband in her arms.
Frieda walked towards them, the crowd fighting each other to take a step back in fear of feeling Her icy wrath. “You gave up your own daughters for a few more weeks of sunshine.”
She waved her hands through the air, a cold breeze flowing out from her into the surrounding village. Moments late, the daughters of the village came walking as if in a trance, summoned by Frieda’s presence.
“No,” said Marcell, “You can’t do this.”
Frieda said nothing, just meeting Marcell’s eyes with an icy glare that said more than any words could.
The daughters walked towards Frieda, circling around her. Marcell looked into the crowd and saw Sara standing beside Frieda, holding onto her arm. Not feeling the cold. “You think this is winter?” said Frieda, “You lived in fear for so long, afraid to lose your sunshine. Your wealth. Your easy lives. What did it matter if someone lost a daughter. Who would care?”
Frieda turned and walked out of the village, the daughters began following behind her. A snowstorm appeared as if on cue, shrouding them in a blanket of white.
“Frieda!” cried out Marcell, running towards the storm.
“Now you will feel the cold,” said Frieda.
The snow intensified, blanketing them in white. And then it began to settle, falling softly on the ground, the storm subsiding.
Frieda and the daughters were gone, disappeared forever. Leaving only the cold behind them.
Out Now!
DEAD EYES
The heart stopping new novella from writer James Dwyer, tells the story of one man’s battle for survival in the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse.
Society has collapsed after the sudden and frightening appearance of the undead menace. The few survivors left wander the countryside alone, battling day to day to fight off the zombie menace. But the zombies are changing, evolving to become more fearsome predators, adapting to the hunt.
One survivor knows his time is running out. The genetic illness that affects his family is coming for him. Within days, he will become blind.
Still haunted by the loss of a woman he loved, the survivor not only has to battle the undead menace, but also the ghosts of his past. Will he find redemption before his vision fades, leaving him blind in the land of the undead.
Frighteningly tense, Dead Eyes is a story that grabs hold and does not let go!
The Dead
A short story following an old man finding himself trapped at the start of a zombie story.
The Rat God
A short story following a sadistic pest exterminator who finds himself punished by the creatures he killed.
Frankenstein’s Monster Goes West
US Marshall John Cooper is taken off the hunt of a vicious bandit to investigate some cattle mutilations. What he finds is something more frightening than any fugitive he’s faced before.
The thrilling first chapter of a new story
About the author:
James Dwyer is an aspiring writer based on the South coast of England. Living in Po
ole, Dorset, James has won prizes for his short film scripts. His first self publication “Dark Christmas Tales”, a collection of three Christmas themed atmospheric stories, was released December 2012.
With a passion for storytelling and writing, James hopes to one day make a living out of monsters, mystery and murder. Until then, he hopes people will enjoy reading his stories as much as he enjoys writing them. Some of his short writings and sketches can be found on his tumblr.
He is currently working on his first novel “The Labyrinth”, a horror adventure story with monsters, myths and murder.
To find out more about the author and be kept up to date on his upcoming novel visit his website or contact him on facebook, twitter or via email.
James’s Website
Dark Christmas Tales Website
@jamesdwyer87
Facebook
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