Snowbabies

by Victor Storck

Actual words. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, tried to talk. Nothing but a low moan came out.

  “Chip, chip, chippity chip.”

  This chirping voice was now right next to the hunter’s left ear. He turned his head sideways, trying to focus his eyes. Still blurry, but now at least he could start making out shapes. Some kind of whitish shape was inches from his head.

  “Chippity chip,” the voice said.

  “Not so close, snowbaby beaver,” a stern voice said.

  The hunter tried to concentrate. Snowbaby beaver? Was he dreaming? No, this was real, he could definitely feel a chilly air surrounding him, and these weird voices were definitely something he couldn’t make up. He thought hard, trying to remember … yes, he was out hunting … a shot, a definite one shot, instant kill, but somehow it missed, only wounding the deer … then … tracking through the cold and snow, so much white and icy snow … yes, it’s getting clearer … trees … white ones, the deer headed for them … then a face, was it really some kind of face … then falling, falling …

  The fuzzy and groggy feeling began to clear away. He blinked and blinked until his vision started to clear. The shapes all around were coming into focus. He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t move. His arms and legs wouldn’t budge. He was laying down on something that gave off a steady chill. He guessed it was some kind of bed made of tightly packed snow and ice. All around him were whitish and cold looking walls. They looked like they were made of pure ice. His memory was coming back fast now. Yes, that’s what happened, he thought, I fell through the snow and now I’m underground, in some kind of ice chamber.

  Something just landed on his chest. Something small, like a small rock, followed by another, then another and another. They rolled off his chest, a few landing on the snow covered ground by his head. Acorns? Yes, they’re acorns, but where were they coming from?

  “What … what’s going on,” the hunter struggled to say.

  “Stop, snowbaby squirrel! Stop throwing your acorns,” the stern voice said.

  The hunter looked around him, now seeing the shapes around him clearer. A small beaver sat off to the side. Next to it was an even tinier squirrel. About ten feet off the ground, perched on an ledge made of ice, was a medium sized owl. But these were not normal looking animals. They were all a clear cold white color. Even their eyes were pure white. Just like the oak trees, black outlines filled in with something white, something pure, something cold. Snow and ice, could it be? But how? He had to be dreaming. This wasn’t real. He took several deep breaths. He could definitely feel the sharp cold air fill his lungs and he could see the puffy cloud of breath coming out. Which only happens when you’re out in the cold. More breaths, more puffy white clouds. If this was a dream, it was the most realistic dream ever.

  “You’re not dreaming,” the stern voice said from behind him.

  The hunter twisted as much as he could in the direction of the voice and watched in awe as something walked around and faced him. The hunter’s mouth opened but no words came out. A small mountain lion, sleek and graceful, stern and strong looking, made of the same crisp outlines and ice cold whiteness as the others.

  “We are the snowbabies,” the mountain lion said. The snowbaby squirrel picked up an acorn and was ready to throw it, but one look from the mountain lion and the squirrel dropped it.

  The mountain lion continued. “You are the hunter, am I correct?”

  The hunter was in some kind of state of shock, and he found it hard to speak. He really had to think hard for any words to come out.

  “Where … am I? How … Why … What …”

  “Questions, questions, questions. Like I said, we are the snowbabies,” the mountain lion said. “We are the spirits of all that is born during the deepest part of the long cold winter. We are the energy, we are the soul, we come from the very heart of Nature. We live and breath in snow and ice. We exist because of the pureness of the falling snow, we exist because of the simple beauty of a clear cold frozen lake. You, hunter, are here because we have been watching you. You are a bad young man, are you not?”

  By now the sharp chill of the ice chamber had done a good job of clearing up the hunter’s brain. He heard every word that was said to him, but his brain still refused to believe what his eyes saw and what his ears heard.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but you better let me go, or else,” the hunter said, as he squirmed and wriggled, trying to get his arms and legs loose. It took him a few seconds before he realized he wasn’t about to break free. One glance and he saw why. Around both wrists and ankles were white handcuffs that came right out of the snowy and icy ground. Handcuffs made of hardened snow and solid ice.

  “We’ll let you go when we are ready,” the mountain lion said. “You didn’t answer my question. You are a bad young man, are you not?”

  “What are you talking about?” the hunter replied. “I’m just a hunter. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m allowed to hunt, aren’t I? Now let me go.”

  The mountain lion let out a low mean growl. The snowbaby squirrel scrambled away and hid behind the snowbaby beaver, who kept muttering “chippity chip, wood chips, wood chips” over and over. The snowbaby owl let out a few soft hoots, and flew upwards to an even higher ledge.

  “Do not get me mad, young hunter,” the mountain lion said. “We know what you have done. Will you behave from now on? Will you be a good young man, a good young hunter? Will you? Answer me!”

  “What do you mean? Like I said, I’m allowed to hunt, and you can’t stop me,” the hunter said.

  “Maybe we can’t stop you, but we can certainly make you understand what you have done and what you are doing is wrong. What we want is for you to admit it, and promise to be good for the rest of your life,” the mountain lion said, it’s growl gone, it’s voice now calm but still very stern sounding.

  “Wrong? What have I done that was so wrong?”

  “Young hunter, I am sure you know, but I will tell you anyway. First thing, you know today’s date, correct?”

  The hunter thought hard. October, it was a Friday in late October. No school because of all the snow. A perfect day to go hunting. “Friday, October twenty-seventh,” he said.

  “Correct,” the mountain lion said. “And here in Montana, when does deer hunting season begin?”

  The hunter’s breath came out in short puffy bursts. “I … I don’t know …” he said in a sputtering low voice.

  “We know. We, the snowbabies, we know, all right. November fifteenth, correct? It is on your hunting license that you left at home, is that right?”

  “Maybe, but so what? I was only after one small deer,” the hunter said.

  The mountain lion sprung forward and growled, inches away from the hunter’s face.

  “So what? So what, you say? Because you shot and wounded a young deer, that’s why! What if the willpower of the snowbabies didn’t send forth that blast of cold wind that made you miss? A deer would have been taken away before it’s time! A deer that was a snowbaby itself not too long ago! We understand you are allowed to hunt deer, but only when the law says you can! Understand? You broke the law, young hunter, and if not for the snowbabies, one of our precious deer would now be gone!”

  An acorn came flying and bounced off the hunter’s head.

  The hunter squirmed and struggled but was barely able to move. “Listen to me, when I get loose, you are all in so much trouble,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The mountain lion began pacing back and forth. “Young hunter, we will let you loose. When we are ready. We are not done yet. Notice anything missing?”

  “Let me loose!” the hunter cried out. “Let me go! Now!”

  “So impatient you are. I asked you a question. Now tell us, is there anything missing?”

  The hunter wanted to get this over with. The freezing cold air was burning his lungs and throat, his mouth was totally dry, his entire body was one gigantic ache. “My rifle. My rifle is missing. Do you hear me? Now get me
out of here!”

  “Correct, young hunter. And tell us, where did you get this rifle?”

  “What? Where did I get it? From a gun shop, where else? What kind of stupid question is that?”

  Several more acorns rained down onto the hunter’s head. The mountain lion managed a slight smile and didn’t even bother to yell at snowbaby squirrel.

  “Snowbabies do not ask stupid questions. Remember that, young hunter. Tell us again, where did you get this nice new rifle?”

  “I told you, from a gun shop. It’s called Glimpy’s Sporting Goods, okay?”

  “How much did it cost?”

  “I don’t know! I got it as a present,” the hunter said.

  Snowbaby beaver scurried close to the hunter’s head. “Wood chips, wood chips, chippity chip chip,” it said over and over right into the hunter’s ear. The hunter cringed as the ice cold words bounced and echoed in his head.

  “Snowbaby beaver knows you are lying, young hunter,” the mountain lion said. “Do you have a problem telling the truth?”

  “I’m not lying! I got the rifle as a present! Now get this crazy looking beaver away from me!”

  “Snowbaby beaver, that is enough,” the mountain lion said, and snowbaby beaver hustled off to the side. “Again, young hunter, did you buy this rifle? How much was it?”

  “Okay!” the hunter said. “I … I didn’t get it as a present. I borrowed it. Satisfied?”

  More acorns came flying in the hunter’s direction, bouncing