Page 5 of Snowman

My head fell into her lap, her stillness was a comfort and a grief I couldn't shake.

I lifted my eyes to the window again, following the way the breeze teased the branches, their movements calm. For a moment, it was almost meditative, something you'd watch in a loop to quiet your mind. But just as the calm began to settle in, a known feeling crept up my spine.

Someone is watching.

My eyes leaped towards the shadow of a tree standing at the edge of the woods. For a moment it seemed to be some great animal, crouched low, its horns curling upwards. Its fur was as thick as the wool of a sheep. Then it moved. Slowly, it rose, and my heart plunged. It was a man.

He was tall, with his face hidden behind the mask from a deer's skull. The antlers cut upwards, ragged and sharp, while the empty sockets in the skull seemed to cut through the glass of my window and fasten on mine. His body was wrapped in something heavy, like fur.

He was watching me.

My breath caught as his eyes locked onto mine. My heart thundered in my chest, and I found myself frozen, unable to look away as he tilted his head to one side, studying me.

Slowly, I sat up, my face pale, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mel, do you see him?"

But Mel's eyes remained on the snow, unseeingly, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary there at all.

I was frozen. My lungs burned, refusing to draw in air as my entire body locked in terror. My eyes followed the tilt of his head, left then right, like some sort of predator sizing up his prey. It wasn't just his eyes that were on me; it felt like his gaze pierced through me, through the walls of the house, to every nook and cranny in our lives that was vulnerable.

And then, like a gasp breaking a dam, I screamed. The sound ripped from my throat, raw and primal, shattering the icy stillness. My eyes squeezed shut, and the image of the man seared into my vision. Footsteps thundered toward me, but when I dared to open my eyes again, he was gone. The window reflected nothing but the still, snowy woods, serene and empty, as if he had never been there at all.

Mom crouched beside me, her face white, her lips uttering some hurried whispers, but I couldn't hear her. The sound was muffled like I was underwater, her voice just a vibration in the air. My hand was shaking while I pointed towards the woods, willing her to see what I had seen. Her gaze followed my finger, but her expression didn't change; her eyes scanned the trees without recognition.

"I knew it," Dad's voice cut through the fog as he stomped into the room. His face twisted up in exasperation. "That shrink shouldn't have taken her off the meds. She's fucking insane."

Mom turned towards him shaking her head. She turned to look at me, as if silently pleading, wondering if she could truly believe what I was telling her. Her confusion betrayed her, her eyes went back searching in mine to outline the bits she could not understand.

"I… I saw…," I whispered, my voice trembling, my lips parched from forcing the words out.

"What?" Dad sneered, stepping closer. "A monkey?"

"No." My voice was more steady now. "There was someone."

"Oh, sure," he sneered. "It's the woods. You know what's out there? Beasts. It's called wildlife." He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You probably saw a bear."

"I know what I saw," I snapped, glaring at him. "It wasn't a bear, there was someone."

Dad leaned down, yanking me to my feet, his fingers not light on my arm. "Quit acting," he hissed in a low, corrosive voice. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"Joe," Mom said sharply, stepping between us. She pushed his arm away and spoke in a low but firm tone, "Let her be."

He held the look a beat longer, his expression hard, judgmental, then his shoulders shrugged, and he left the room. Mom followed, casting a backward look at me, closing the door softly behind her.

I stood there, my knees trembling, my mind racing. A tear welled in the corner of my eye but refused to fall. I clutched my wrist in my hand, gripping tightly, as if grounding myself in the moment could prevent breaking.

"I am fine," I whispered, over and over. "I am fine."

But I wasn't fine. Not even close.

I looked at my palms and willed my breathing to steady up until suddenly a loudthudof a snowball at the window got the air huffed out. My head snapped toward the window, and there it was, a small snowman in the yard.

The snowman was not there before.

Three spheres of snow stacked irregularly atop of each other; its arms made of crooked tree branches, its face a rough smile, with coal-black eyes. But there was something wrong. Like it was missing something.

My chest stiffened as I stared at it, a lump welling in my throat. Whoever the man was, whatever mask he wore, it was more real than the one I forced myself to wear every day.

The snowman was a message, I knew that, even if no one else would see it that way. To them, it was just snow. But to me, it was a warning.

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