13. THIRTEEN
THIRTEEN
SNOWMAN
Since childhood, life has so cunningly trained me to be cold, to bury my emotions deep, no matter what storm blew my way. Every breath I took carried the weight of knowledge that someday I would face the world alone. That time would shape me into what I am, not what I was meant to be.
I grew up in a house where survival was something earned: if you wanted to eat, you hunted; if you wanted to drink, you worked; if you wanted to matter, you fought for it. Loneliness wasn't just a feeling but a condition of air and ground beneath my feet. And in that isolation, I have built walls so high that no one would ever be able to climb. I pushed people away before they could get too close. Now, when I've finally found someone who can melt my frozen heart, I don't dare take off the mask I've worn for seven years. It was much easier to hide, to be a nobody instead of a somebody. I just became a ghost, someone no one sees but everyone fears. Because it was easy, for me.
I walked to the edge of the woods, the axe heavy in my hand. My grip tightened around the handle as anger roared in my chest. The thought of ending this, of walking into that hospital and telling her the truth, burned in my mind. I wanted to say, "I'm here now. I failed you, but no one will hurt you again. "But then again, she probably thought all men were the same, that I was just a stalker who was willing to hurt her, while I was willing to hurt the world for her.
I could see them. Josh was hung unconscious, his arms stretched above him, attached to a tree, he just dangled inches from the ground in a frozen rigor. His face was slack and pale.
Vic was lashed against the trunk, a dead flesh of cock stuffed in his mouth. Their skin had taken on a sickly hue, mottled with purple from the cold. When Vic's eyes met mine, there was a flicker of hope—pathetic and misplaced—that I had changed my mind. But he didn't understand.
I wasn't here to negotiate. I was here to finish what I started.
"Cold?" I asked as I stepped closer and watched him shiver. His body was trembling violently, but he just shook his head, refusing to answer.
I crouched before him, my hand slipping into his mouth. The gag of cold, dead cock was slick as I yanked it free, tossing it onto the ground. His breathing fogged in the icy air.
"Why did you do it?" I asked calmly, yet sharply, like a blade at the ready.
I wanted an excuse, a reason, any scrap of justification that would let me, finally, end this thing. But he gave me no reason.
"She was pretty," he rasped, coughing wetly. "She was running away. We wanted to show her no one runs from us."
My jaw locked, and my hold on the axe tightened so much my knuckles burned white.
"Is that so?" I whispered, deadly edges slipping into my words.
"Yeah," he went on, not noticing the oncoming storm behind my eyes. "She didn't put up much of a fight." A sly grin quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Even let us switch sides."
The words hit like a hammer, each one driving nails into my chest. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might tear free. Before he could spit out another word, my hand shot forward, fast as lightning, and seized his tongue. His eyes widened in shock, but it was too late.
I forced his tongue onto the cold iron of the axe blade. The muffled screams filled the air, steam rose from his breath. In a second, his tongue was sliced, warm and bloody, into my hand. I dropped it in the snow as if it was trash.
"You should have chosen your words more carefully," I said, trying to keep my voice calm against the rage that flooded through me. I stepped backward, kicking the severed tongue towards him.
"You stole her life, her freedom, her choice. And all you can say is that she did not fight much?"
"God," I snarled, lifting the axe high. The blade came down hard, cleaving through his wrist. His scream tore through the forest as his severed hand fell into the snow. I didn't pause. The axe swung again, severing his other hand in a spray of red. His body, fueled by adrenaline, trembled while his wide, disbelieving eyes stared at the roots of the tree.
I moved away, ignoring his desperate cries.
The untouched snow gleamed under the pale light as I knelt and began to roll it into balls. Slowly, I packed the snow, the wet crunch filling the silence. I rolled the snowballs larger, stacking them one on top of the other until the snowman stood tall, up to my knees.
I dunked my thumb within the blood pooling at my feet and painted crude eyes and a jagged mouth on its face. Finished, I stepped towards the tree, took his severed hands, and pressed them into the sides of the middle ball like crude bloody arms. Stepping back, I observed the perfection of my work.
"See?" I said, turning to him with a satisfied grin. "Perfect."
He attempted to mutter something, his mutilated mouth fumbling over the sounds that never formed a word. I cupped a hand to my ear, mocking him.
"What's that? Can't hear you..." I chuckled, lowering my hand. "You don't have a tongue, do you?"
He sobbed, the bloodied tears streaming down his face. His cries were pitiful, a wretched gurgling mess.
"Aw, poor thing," I said, laughing. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
I motioned to the bloodstained snow and burst out in a cold, cruel laugh.
"Don't cry about it. You're the king of a silent party now!"
His eyes rolled back, and finally, his shock and pain caught him, but I leaned over into them, grinning.
"Oh shut up," I mocked. "Oh wait, you can!" I laughed as I turned back to glance at the snowman. "At least you are good at keeping secrets."
My laughter echoed through the woods, cold and hollow, as he hung there, silent, broken, defeated.
Josh stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as his head lolled. His bleary eyes slowly opened, and as they focused, he froze, staring at the snowman, the hands, his mutilated friend bound against the tree.
"Look," I said, smirking, "it's your girlfriend.".
Josh's confusion turned to anger, his body tensing as he shouted, "I'll kill you!" His voice was strong, raw with fury, but as he took in the scene of blood, the snow, the lifeless limbs, he cracked. He fell silent, his wide eyes darting between me and the snowman.
"Well," I said, tilting my head, "you can try."
He did not say another word. His silence said it all.
I hunched down, tugging loose the knot that bound him to the tree. The rope went slack, and his body collapsed to the frozen ground with a muffled thud. He'd barely shifted before I was atop him, straddling his chest, my weight pinning him down.
"Why did you do it?" I growled, my gloved hands clamped on his collar as he struggled beneath me.
A sneer contorted his face, his voice spewing words with hatred. "I wanted to taste the bitch," he spat. "And I don't regret a thing."
My jaw clenched, my anger bubbling just below the boiling point. But he wasn't done.
"I fucked her three times," he said, his laughter cruel. "And she didn't even fight back."
She didn't fight back .
The words echoed in my mind, haunting me.
She didn't. She couldn't.
My vision blurred for a moment, tears threatening to fall, but I bit them back. I couldn't let her melt me, not yet. I needed to stay cold, just a little longer.
My hands rose to his face, thumbs pressed into the soft flesh below his eyes. He fought it, his laughter faltering, but that only fed into my determination. I dug harder, my fingers sinking into his skin. His blood leaked from the corners of his eyes and seeped over onto my gloves, but I didn't care. I wanted everything gone, all taken away from him, even his sight, his strength, his memory of her.
His screams rang through the silence of the woods. Tears mingled with his blood as I kept on and on, unmerciful, till both eyes came loose. Two soft, slippery globules lying on my palm warmed.
"There," I said, my voice cold. "Now you've got a better point of view."
Josh crawled on the ground, writhing and screaming, blind and broken.
I dropped his eyes into the snow at my feet, the red staining the white. Ignoring his cries, I knelt and started rolling fresh snow. The crunch of the icy flakes under my hands was so satisfying, almost soothing.
One ball. Two. Three.
I stacked them, forming another snowman beside the first.
Dipping my thumb in the bloodied snow and painting on crude buttons and a jagged grin across the face of it. Then I crouched again, picked up the eyeballs, and pressed them deep into the snowman's head, where they stared blankly. I stepped back to overview my work.
"Perfect," I whispered, a crooked smile tugging at my lips.
Josh's broken sobs echoed through the air now, as he crawled forward, hands outstretched and feeling his way upwards through the snow.
Staggering forward, I picked up two sticks that were lying nearby and then stuck them into the snowman, completing it.
"There you go," I said, stepping over him. "Now you've got company."
If you hear voices, they'll call you mad. Treat the voices, and they'll call you sick. Take them to your grave, and they'll call you a man who's endured too much. I never heard voices—never feared them—but I had an image. It floated in my mind until I made it real. That image took me, dragged me through endless loops, breaking me in ways no one could fix. No one truly knows what hides in your head, what monsters you wrestle with, or the weight of a story you never said. People pretend they understand, but they don’t.
The world sees the cold monster I've become, the mask I wear, and deep down, I am afraid of it too. Not that I will be found and punished, that is easy to accept. What really terrifies me is that one moment when the mask slips and Bree sees the real me behind the mask. That she'll leave, treat me like the monster under her bed, and one day I'll disappear from her life. I'll fade to nothing more than a whisper she carries to her grave.
I pulled the phone from Josh's pocket. He'd had it all along, tucked away like some kind of secret he thought I wouldn't find. I wasn't worried that anyone would come looking for him; his father, Chief Jan, always cleaned up his messes. But he never cared where Josh was or what trouble he got into.
Before I could bury them, I had to melt the frozen ground.
I made a circle of fire, the flames popping and spitting as they heated the ground. Then I dug the hole deep enough for them both. Now they were underground together under the pile of earth and snow, above them snowmen with their parts marking the grave, and beneath that earth, they took their last breaths.
I scrolled through Josh's phone until I found the number I needed. Jan, the chief of police. My finger hovered for a moment, then I dialed, the line connecting with a sharp click.
"Josh, what is it?" Jan's gruff voice was barking on the other end.
I spoke, my voice low and cold, "I have eyes that cannot see, hands that cannot touch or plea. A frozen soul, a fleeting grace. In warmth, I disappear without a trace. What am I?"
There was silence, heavy. Then I heard his breathing—sharp, ragged, and close.
"Snowman," he hissed, simmering with rage. "Where is my son?"
I laughed quietly, letting it hang in the air like frost. "I stand above his grave. Silent, still, the frost his slave. His hands instead of branches, his eyes served as coal. But soon he'll melt. and lose his soul."
"WHERE IS MY SON?!" Jan roared; it crackled through the receiver like static.
"Tick tock, tick tock," I whispered, my voice plunging to a high, mocking tone. Then I disconnected the call and let silence swallow his anger.
I tucked the phone into my pocket, turning my back on the snow grave and moving toward the cottage.
Jan would tear through the forest looking for his boy, searching everywhere. I could see the search teams, the hounds, and the radios crackling with orders. They would rake over every inch of that forest. I could leave nothing to chance.
I hurried to the cabin. The walls reeked of the crimes we had committed here, and I was not going to let their sins leave a trail that led back to me.
I staged a fire, stacking wood and dousing it with accelerant until the air was thick with a sharp, acrid smell. Then I lit a match. The flames rose, consuming everything in their path: evidence, memories, all of it. I had left enough false trails to lead them in circles, far from where I would be. He had failed me when I needed it most, leaving me to fend for myself in a world without justice. Now it was my turn to fail the system—to strip it of its power, piece by piece. I watched the fire burn, feeling no regret—no guilt. Just a cold pleasure.
In the distance, a snowman stood, his smile frozen in time, marking the grave of a new beginning.