Page 10 of Snowman

"Hello,birdie," a deep, gravelly voice whispered in my ear. "Don't fly away." His voice was low, almost playful, but beneath it lay a menace that froze the blood in my veins.

Every fiber in my body was screaming that this was the man from the woods, the one I had feared might come, and now he was here holding me in his arms.

He lifted me up the last steps like I was nothing but a feather, my struggles barely registering. And as we reached the top, he spun me around to face him.

His hand was still clamped firmly over my mouth, silencing me, while his icy blue eyes bored into mine. They were the only part of his face I could see through the white plastic mask he wore. The mask was plain, a bone-white oval, except for the eyeholes that revealed those piercing eyes. There were no contours for a nose or mouth, just a blank, faceless plastic that hid his face from mine.

There was something in the way he looked at me like he was searching for something, trying to see if I could see through him the way he was seeing through me. The world seemed to fade around us, the room growing silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing.

"I'll let you go if you promise not to scream," he whispered, close to my face.

My heart thundered within my chest, and I wanted to scream, to fight, but I was more afraid of waking my father than anything this stranger might do. So I simply nodded, moving my face gently, slowly.

His grip on my mouth loosened, but his hand remained there, an implied presence ready to return if the promise was broken. For a moment neither of us did anything but breathe; our silence pulled taut as stretched rubber on the verge of snapping, fragile and close to breaking altogether. His eyes never left mine, and for that minute, I knew he was not done with me yet.

"Who are you?" I whispered, shaking, taking a step back, trying to put some distance between us.

"Nobody," he said calmly, almost detached, as he moved closer.

"Why are you here?" My feet instinctively receded another step backward.

"Curiosity," he said simply and took another step closer to me.

"Are you the man from the woods?" I'd not gotten the question out before my back slammed against the wall, stopping me cold.

"Yes," he said, now close enough to dominate the air between us. His hand slammed against the wall beside my head, followed by the other, boxing me in. His arms formed a cage I couldn't flee. Trapped, likea birdie, he called me.

He leaned his head to one side, scanning my face as though he would find something there. His eyes roamed over me, searching for some sort of story my body might tell—scar, mark, clue—but there was nothing. Just pale, plainme.I felt exposed under his body as if he were peeling back layers I didn't know I had.

"Your eyes," he whispered, his voice softer now. His gaze snagged onto mine, and I turned my face away, but his gloved hand caught my jaw. Gently tilted my face back toward him. His eyes locked tirelessly into mine, the ice melting into the ocean.

"What about my eyes?" I asked, trying to veil my fear with defiance.

"Ocean blue," he growled a low whispered rustle of words against my lips. I could feel his breath through the mask. "I found my favorite color."

Goosebumps spread over me, a shiver running down my spine. His words hung in the air, turning them into an emotion I couldn't quite explain, one that touched something deep inside of me. My heart pounded against my chest, with a savage rhythm of fear and something else altogether.

"Let me go," I whispered, the pleading not even audible over the loud hum of my pulse.

"Fine," he said, stepping back. The sudden loss of his proximity was almost dizzying. "I will,birdie.Just for now."

He spun on his heel and began walking toward the stairs slowly, almost carefully. When he reached the middle of the staircase, he paused, his head angling slightly, though he didn't turn back.

"What is your name?" he inquired. His voice carried well in the still air.

"What's yours?" I shot back, surprising myself by the boldness in my tone.

A low rumble of a chuckle escaped him. "I'll let you figure that out," he said, still in amusement as he continued down the stairs.

The moment his footsteps began to fade, I couldn't help it, "Bree," I whispered, the name passing my lips before my better judgment could stop me. "My name is Bree."

He didn't say anything, didn't turn back. He just walked through the door and shut it behind him, as if he had never been there at all.

For a while, I stood, caught by the silence, a load pressed against me. But a deep frustration boiled inside me, and with the palm of my hand, I hit my forehead twice.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered under my breath.

Why did I give him my name? How could I be so careless?

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