51 - Beware, the Snowman

by R. L. Stine

  “Your story doesn’t make any sense!” I cried. “If what you say is true, why did we move back here? Why did Aunt Greta bring us back to the village?”

  “Your aunt had a good reason for coming back,” the snowman explained. “She knows that after ten years, the magic spell starts to fade.”

  “I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. My head felt frozen. It was hard to think. I struggled to make sense of what he was telling me.

  “After ten years, the spell fades,” the snowman repeated. “Your aunt came back to renew the spell. She wants me to stay a snowman. She wants to keep me prisoner up here forever. She wants to make sure I don’t tell the world what happened to me. And she wants to keep you to herself!”

  “Aunt Greta is not a sorceress!” I protested. “I’ve lived with her most of my life. And I’ve never seen her do any kind of magic. She doesn’t—”

  “PLEASE!” the snowman bellowed, raising a tree branch arm to silence me. “There isn’t much time. I’m your father, Jaclyn. Your real father. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “But, I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think straight. It was all too… crazy.

  “You can get me out of this,” the snowman pleaded. “You can save me. But you’ve got to hurry. Your aunt Greta will renew the spell soon. If you don’t save me, I’ll be a snowman for another ten years.”

  “But what can I do?” I cried. “I’m not a sorceress. I can’t do magic. What can I do?”

  “You can save me,” the giant snow creature insisted. “But I cannot tell you how.” He uttered a bitter sigh.

  “If I tell you how to save me, it will only strengthen the spell,” he continued. “You’ve got to figure it out for yourself.”

  “Huh? But how?” I demanded.

  “I can give you a hint,” the snowman replied. “I cannot tell you how to save me. But I can give you a hint.”

  “Okay,” I said softly. I hugged myself more tightly.

  And I listened as, in his deep rumble of a voice, the snowman recited the familiar rhyme:

  “When the snows blow wild

  And the day grows old,

  Beware, the snowman, my child.

  Beware, the snowman.

  He brings the cold.”

  I stared up at him in shock. “You—you know the poem!” I stammered.

  “That is your clue,” the snowman said softly. “That is the only hint I can give you. Now you must figure out how to rescue me.”

  I already knew how to rescue him.

  I knew instantly when he recited the old rhyme.

  The second verse. The secret had to be in the second verse. The verse I couldn’t remember.

  “Please, Jaclyn.” The snowman gazed down at me, pleading. “Please. Help me. I’m your father, Jaclyn. I’m really your father.”

  I stared back at him. Trying to decide. Trying so hard to decide.

  Should I believe him?

  Should I help him?

  27

  Yes, I decided.

  Yes. I’ll run home. I’ll find the old poetry book. And I’ll read the second verse of the rhyme.

  “I’m coming back!” I called up to the snowman. I spun away from him, pulled myself out of his invisible, cold grip.

  I started to run down the ledge. And gasped when I nearly ran into Aunt Greta!

  “Aunt Greta—!” I cried in shock.

  “I tried to warn you!” she called to me. “I tried to scare you, Jaclyn. To keep you from coming up here.”

  So, it was Aunt Greta who whispered up to my room late at night, who warned me to beware of the snowman!

  Her dark eyes were wild. Her normally pale face was bright red! Her long, black coat was open and flapped behind her in the wind.

  She raised a large, black book in one hand above her head. “Jaclyn—is this what you’re looking for?” she demanded shrilly.

  “The poetry book?” I cried.

  My aunt nodded. She held the book high above her.

  “Aunt Greta—is it true?” I asked, glancing back at the huge snowman. “Is he really my father?”

  My aunt’s face twisted in surprise. “Huh? Your father?” she cried. “What a lie! Is that what he told you? That he’s your father? It’s a lie. A horrible lie!”

  “NOOOOOO!” the snowman boomed.

  I jumped. But Aunt Greta ignored the thunderous cry.

  “It’s a lie, Jaclyn,” she repeated, glaring angrily at the snowman. “He isn’t your father. He’s an evil monster!”

  “NOOOOO!” the snowman bellowed again. The whole mountain shook from his protest.

  “Your mother and father were sorcerers,” Aunt Greta continued, ignoring him. “They practiced their magic night and day. But they went too far. They created him accidentally.”

  Aunt Greta pointed to the snowman, her face bitter. “He’s an evil monster,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “When your parents saw what they had done, they were horrified. They froze the monster inside the snowman body. Soon after, your father disappeared. Your mother and I took you and ran from the village. We ran to be safe from the monster’s horrible evil!”

  “YOU ARE A LIAR!” the snowman raged. He waved his stick arms wildly in the air. His scarf blew out at his sides like hawk wings. Wave after wave of cold shot off his bulging body.

  “Jaclyn, don’t believe her!” the snowman pleaded. “Save me—please! I am your father.”

  His arms reached out to me. “Please,” he begged. “I know it is hard for you to believe. But your aunt is the evil one. She is a sorceress. She and your mother and I—we were all sorcerers. I am not evil. I am not a monster. Please—”

  “Liar!” Aunt Greta shrieked. She gripped the big book angrily in both hands, as if ready to throw it at him. “I know no magic!” Aunt Greta cried. “I know no spells! I am not a sorceress!”

  She opened the book and began frantically shuffling through the pages. “I’m not a sorceress. But I brought this book because I know its secret. I know what I need to do to make sure you stay frozen in that snowman body forever!”

  The snowman continued to reach out to me. “Jaclyn, save me. Save me now,” he pleaded.

  I turned from him to my aunt, then back to him.

  Who should I believe?

  Which one was telling the truth?

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  28

  I grabbed the open poetry book from my aunt’s hands.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  She moved quickly to wrestle it away from me.

  We both tugged at it. The old pages tore and flew out. The heavy cover cracked.

  Aunt Greta made a desperate swipe at it.

  But I pulled it away from her. Then I backed up against the wall of the ice cave.

  Aunt Greta took a step toward me. Then she gazed up at the snowman and decided not to come that close to him.

  “Jaclyn—you’re making a big mistake!” Aunt Greta warned.

  Leaning against the smooth cave wall, I flipped frantically through the pages of the old book. “I’m going to find the poem,” I told her. “I’m going to read the second verse. It’s the only way to know the truth.”

  “THANK YOU, DAUGHTER!” the snowman bellowed.

  Aunt Greta uttered a wail of protest. “I’m telling you the truth, Jaclyn!” she cried. “I have taken care of you all these years. I would not lie to you.”

  But I’d made up my mind.

  I had to read the second verse. It was the only way I could find out who was lying and who was telling the truth.

  “He’s a monster!” Aunt Greta cried.

  The snowman stood still and silent, watching me furiously shuffle through the pages.

  Where was that rhyme? Where?

  I glanced up. “Aunt Greta—?”

  She bent down and picked up a torn page from the snow. As her eyes moved over the page, a smile spread over her face.

  The wind blew her coat behind her. Her eyes were
wild. The page fluttered in her hand.

  “Jaclyn, I can’t let you read the rhyme,” she said.

  “You—you have it in your hand?” I cried.

  “I can’t let you read it,” Aunt Greta repeated.

  And tossed the page over the ledge.

  29

  I let out a shriek.

  I watched the page float out over the ledge. I watched it fly up, then start to drop.

  It’s lost, I realized.

  The second verse is lost forever.

  The swirling wind will carry it down the mountain, down the steep drop. It will never be seen again.

  And then, I cried out again—as the wind carried the page up. Up. Back up.

  And into my hand!

  I grabbed it out of the air.

  I stared at it in amazement.

  And before Aunt Greta could grab it back, I raised the page to my face and started to read the second verse of the rhyme out loud:

  “When the snows melt

  And the warm sun is with thee,

  Beware, the snowman—”

  “Noooooo!” Aunt Greta wailed. She dove toward me. With a desperate swipe, she pulled the page from my hand.

  And ripped it to shreds.

  The snowman uttered a horrified groan. He bent. Reached out to grab Aunt Greta.

  Too late.

  The jagged strips of paper fluttered to the snow.

  “Aunt Greta—why?” I choked out.

  “I couldn’t let you do it,” she replied. “He’s a monster, Jaclyn. He’s not your father. I couldn’t let you free him.”

  “She’s lying,” the snowman insisted. “She does not want you to know me, Jaclyn. She doesn’t want you to know your own father. She wants to leave me trapped in this frozen cave forever.”

  I turned back to my aunt. Her face had grown stern and hard. She stared back at me coldly.

  I took a deep breath. “Aunt Greta, I have to know the truth,” I told her.

  “I’ve told you the truth,” she insisted.

  “I have to know for myself,” I replied. “I—I saw the last line of the poem. Before you grabbed it and tore it up. I know the whole poem, Aunt Greta.”

  “Don’t—” my aunt pleaded, reaching out to me.

  But I backed up against the icy cave wall, and I recited the rhyme from memory:

  “When the snows melt

  And the warm sun is with thee,

  Beware, the snowman—

  For the snowman shall go free!”

  “No, Jaclyn! No! No! No!” Aunt Greta wailed. She pressed her hands to the sides of her face and repeated her cry. “No! No! No!”

  I turned to the snowman and saw him begin to melt.

  The white snow oozed down his face and body like melting ice cream.

  The black eyes dropped to the snow. The face melted, melted onto the body. The snow poured off the round body. The tree branch arms thudded heavily to the ground.

  Slowly his real face came into view.

  Slowly his body emerged from under the snow.

  I stared as the snow dripped away.

  And then I opened my mouth in a shrill scream of horror.

  30

  A monster!

  An ugly, snarling, red-skinned monster stomped out from under the oozing snow.

  Aunt Greta had told the truth. A monster was trapped inside the snowman. Not my father.

  Not my father.

  A monster… such a hideous monster!

  Its head and body were covered with crusty red scales. Its yellow eyes rolled wildly in its bull-shaped head. A purple tongue flapped from its jagged-toothed mouth.

  “No! No! No! No!” Aunt Greta chanted, still pressing both hands against her face. Tears ran down her cheeks and over her hands.

  “What have I done?” I wailed.

  The monster tossed back its head in a throaty laugh. He picked the poetry book off the snow in his scaly, three-fingered hands. And he heaved it over the side of the mountain.

  “You’re next!” he roared at me.

  “No—please!” I begged.

  I grabbed Aunt Greta by the shoulders and tugged her away from the ledge. We pressed ourselves against the icy wall of the cave.

  “Good-bye,” the monster grunted. “Good-bye, all.”

  “But I saved you!” I pleaded. “Is that my reward? To be thrown over the side of the mountain?”

  The red-scaled beast nodded. An ugly grin revealed more jagged teeth. “Yes. That is your reward.”

  He picked me up in one powerful hand. Squeezing my waist. Squeezing it so tightly I couldn’t breathe.

  He picked Aunt Greta up in his other hand.

  Raised us above his head.

  Let out an ugly, raspy groan.

  And held us over the side of the mountain.

  31

  His powerful hands swung us out over the cliff edge.

  I peered down, down at the sheer drop, at the snowy ground that appeared to be miles below.

  To my surprise, the monster didn’t let go.

  He swung around and dropped my aunt and me back onto the ledge.

  “Huh?” I uttered a startled gasp.

  The monster was staring down the ledge now. He had stopped paying attention to Aunt Greta and me.

  Struggling to catch my breath, I turned and followed his gaze.

  And saw what had startled the monster. And saved my life.

  A parade!

  A parade of snowmen.

  All of the snowmen of the village. They were marching up to the ice cave in a single line.

  Their red scarves waved in the wind. Their sticklike arms bobbed up and down as they rumbled up the mountainside.

  Like soldiers, they came marching up to us. Bouncing, thudding, rumbling forward. All identical. All scarred and stern-faced and sneering.

  “I—I don’t believe it!” I stammered. I grabbed Aunt Greta’s arm.

  We stared at the marching snowmen in horror.

  “They’re all coming to serve the monster,” Aunt Greta whispered. “We’re doomed, Jaclyn. Doomed.”

  32

  The snowmen rumbled up the icy ledge. The steady thud thud thud grew louder as they neared. The sound echoed off the snowy mountaintop until it sounded as if a thousand snowmen were marching to attack us.

  Aunt Greta and I shrank back against the glassy cave wall.

  We had nowhere to run. The monster blocked the cave entrance. The marching snowmen cut off any escape down the ledge.

  Closer came the snowmen. Closer. Close enough to see the anger in their round, black eyes. Close enough to see the snakelike scars cut into their faces.

  Aunt Greta and I couldn’t move. We raised our hands as if to shield ourselves.

  And then we gasped in surprise as the snowmen marched right past us.

  They rumbled up to the monster. Bouncing fast. Thudding over the ice. Arms waving, dark eyes glowing.

  Bounced up to the startled monster. And pushed him. Pushed him back.

  The snowmen crushed up against him. One snowman. Then two. Then ten.

  They crushed against his scaly, red body. Pushing him back. Back.

  The monster tossed its head in an angry roar.

  But the roar was smothered as a snowman rolled over the monster’s head.

  Aunt Greta and I gasped in amazement as the snowmen swarmed over the monster.

  Pushed him back against the cave wall.

  We saw the monster’s powerful arms flail the air, thrashing wildly. Helplessly.

  And then the monster disappeared behind a crush of snowmen.

  The snowmen pushed forward. Pushed hard. Pushed silently.

  Like a silent avalanche.

  And when they finally stepped back, the monster stood frozen, arms stretched out as if to attack. Not moving. Frozen inside the ice wall.

  A prisoner.

  The snowmen had pushed him into the wall. Trapped him inside the glassy wall of ice.

  Aunt Greta and I stood tr
embling beside the cave entrance. We were still holding on to each other. My legs felt weak and rubbery. I could feel Aunt Greta trembling beneath her coat.

  “What brought all the snowmen up here?” I asked her. “Did you do it, Aunt Greta?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still wide with amazement. “I didn’t bring them here, Jaclyn,” she said softly. “I told you the truth. I have no magic. Your mother and father were sorcerers. But not me.”

  “Then who made them climb the mountain to rescue us?” I demanded.

  “I did!” a voice cried.

  33

  I turned to the ledge—and saw Conrad standing there. His gray hair blew wildly in the wind. The white wolf stood at his side.

  “You made the snowmen march?” I cried. “You are a sorcerer, too?”

  Conrad nodded. He gazed at the monster trapped in the ice and a smile spread over his face. “Yes. I sent them to rescue you,” he said.

  Aunt Greta narrowed her eyes at Conrad. As she studied his face, her mouth dropped open. “You!” Aunt Greta cried. “It’s you!”

  Conrad’s smile grew even wider. “Yes,” he told my aunt.

  “Who—who is he?” I demanded.

  Aunt Greta turned to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jaclyn,” she said softly, “I moved back here because I thought he might still be here. And yes, I was right. He is here.”

  She squeezed my shoulder and smiled at me, tears welling in her eyes. “Conrad is your father,” Aunt Greta whispered.

  Conrad and I both cried out at the same time.

  He rushed across the icy ledge and wrapped me in a hug. His long beard scratched my face as he pressed his cheek against mine.

  “I don’t believe it!” he cried, stepping back with tears in his eyes. “It’s been so many years—I didn’t recognize you, Jaclyn. I’m so glad that Greta brought you back to the village.”