The Frozen Man

by Lex Sinclair

  Later that night, Charles tried to relax in his recliner chair next to the picture window, staring out at the purple glow, which hadn’t faded or drifted over his cottage. It sat perfectly still. The TV had been switched on and the volume turned up, mostly for company and reassurance from other voices and people talking about other topics that were nothing to do with horror and the occult nature.

  ‘Please, go away,’ he muttered.

  He had a can of Diet Coke on the table beside him and a packet of Ready Salted crisps. There was a comedy film starring Jim Carrey on ITV, although he was in no mood for laughing at this time. He stuffed some crisps in his mouth and crunched them up noisily, not tasting them, praying the purple light would fade away and leave him in peace. But it never did. The incandescent glow insisted, and after some time looking at it, riddled with soul-crushing fear, Charles came to the understanding that it would be there all night long watching him, waiting for him to fall asleep.

  As he gazed out the window, a distant thud came from somewhere in the vicinity of his front yard.

  Charles jumped.

  ‘Oh no! Oh God, no!’ he cried. He wished he was at The Travellers Pub with Derek, now, or at Tom and Kate’s house discussing anything other than dead bodies and supernatural accounts from the dawn of time. Anywhere but home... alone.

  He hurried to the kitchen, yanked the top drawer open and took out the largest, sharpest kitchen knife he could find. Then he got his torch from under his bed, unlocked the front door, and without making a sound, pulled it open to the icy chill outside. He scanned the familiar terrain for anything untoward. The front yard looked exactly the same as it always did. Perhaps it was simply his paranoia playing cruel tricks on his fragile mind, he thought. It was definitely a possibility. Yet he wasn’t the paranoid type. He never had been. Yes, he believed in the supernatural and the inexplicable, but that didn’t mean he was gullible. He wasn’t drunk, either. There had definitely been a muffled thud he heard out here somewhere, of that he was certain.

  He crept around the back of the house, very slowly, methodically; studying everything in considerable detail before making his way back to the front of the cottage again. Then he stopped, abruptly. Charles froze, paralysed with harrowing trepidation.

  Parked to the right hand side of the cottage on the muddy path leading to the gate stood his Jeep, the tailgate wide open. He blinked purposely, shivering.

  Goose pimples crawled all over his arms, causing him to shudder. The knife gleamed in the purple glow and shook uncontrollably in his frail grasp. With excessive caution, the old man crept towards the Jeep’s rear end and peered inside the empty space, dreading what he might see.

  Someone was up in the high mountains with him, maybe watching him right now enveloped in the darkness, he was sure. But as far as he could see there were no vehicles anywhere remotely near his residence. There were also no other tyre tracks in the mud apart from the ones his Jeep had made. At the bottom of the path, the gate leading to and fro his house was closed, as he’d left it. He’d also been sitting at the window from the moment he arrived home, and not once had he heard the sound of a car passing by, let alone anyone driving up to his cottage. Or would he have noticed in his dazed confusion? he wondered.

  No! Whoever had left the tailgate open had been with him all the way home. He didn’t dare close the tailgate and make a sound. Instead he did his utmost to recall what precisely happened when he got out of the Jeep earlier on. Charles knew he had been mesmerised by the purple vapour overhead. But not through lack of endeavour could he remember whether or not he had opened the tailgate before going inside.

  No, he didn’t. The more he contemplated, the more he became certain that he hadn’t opened the tailgate. There had been no reason to do so. All he carried into the house was the heavy book and himself... nothing else. To clarify this notion he heard the sound of footfalls close by. His heart climbed into his throat choking him. Out of the corner of his left eye, Charles saw a shape move towards him. Reluctantly, the old man turned and faced the shape. His mouth fell open and looked like an entrance to a cavern.

  There standing before him was a twisted, grey, brittle monstrosity.

  It was the dead body of the Frozen Man...

  13

  Tom and Kate felt a million times better after searching the house one last time for the corpse, and found nothing. It was a huge relief not to have that thought of a corpse lying around in the loft above the garage, no longer lurking in the back of their minds. For the first time in a long while the two of them could enjoy each other’s love and company, without any ominous worries clouding their equilibrium.

  Tom suggested they should open a bottle of red wine and celebrate. Kate agreed. The wine bottles were kept in the pantry. Tom went in there, pulled a bottle from the rack, and wiped the layer of dust off it, stopping suddenly. He wondered where that corpse might be at this very moment. The thought of a rotting corpse walking around his little town was insane, terrifying. And yet he could see it clearly as the light of day in his mind’s eye. He had touched the thing with his bare hands. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that horrible image before stepping back in to the kitchen, closing the door shut.

  He poured an ample amount of red wine into their glasses before going back in the living room then set the bottle down and gave a toast. ‘To no more dead bodies on our property, or ever again, as long as we shall both live,’ he said, smiling broadly. It was the first time since hearing the news that she couldn’t have children Tom had seen Kate smile without forcing it for his or anyone else’s benefit. She was like her old-self again.

  ‘We can still keep in touch with them, though, right?’ she said.

  Tom rested the glass in his lap and nodded. ‘Yeah, of course. It’s just next time I want our discussion to have nothing to do with frozen men, murder, and dead bodies, which come back to life, even though its ridiculous to even think so, and all the other bullshit that was in that book.’

  ‘Charles wasn’t lying,’ Kate said, frowning.

  ‘No, I know that, hon. But just because some ancient books say’s this and say’s that doesn’t necessarily mean its all true.’

  Kate contorted her face. ‘How can you say that after all that’s happened?’

  Tom groaned. ‘Oh, look, hon. I really don’t wanna have another fight with you over this. We’re supposed to be celebrating not arguing. Please.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘We’re celebrating because something beyond our understanding occurred yesterday evening, or didn’t you notice?’

  Tom didn’t respond. His smile disappeared and was replaced by the familiar solemnity.

  ‘A dead body got up and walked out of here, Tom!’ Tom looked at her, and still refused to say anything. ‘And you sit there wanting to celebrate with me, all the while calling Charles and the book he read from lies. It actually happened!

  Don’t you get it? Everything he said made perfect sense. The corpse we had wasn’t human. When the ice melted the corpse got up and left our home, by itself.’

  Tom raised his hands, showing his wife the palms of his hands in a self- defence gesture. ‘Okay. Okay, Kate. I’m sorry. It’s just I don’t believe everything the book said, that’s all. It probably started out as the truth, and then over the years more people came along and added things that weren’t altogether true, but weren’t altogether false, either, like people do, like Charles himself said.’

  Kate exhaled deeply. ‘That’s fair enough. I suppose.’

  ‘And for the record,’ Tom continued. ‘I don’t think Charles was lying at any time. Although, I do believe he’d believe pretty much anything he was told, and anything he read. He’s a nice guy; it’s just he gets too involved and caught up with things. More than likely it’s because he’s lonely and wanted to be our friends. I mean I hadn’t met the guy five minutes and already he bought us a
round of drinks, remember?’

  Reluctantly, Kate nodded. Tom was right about that. From the start, Charles had seemed overly friendly towards them - and at first, she had been actually afraid of him. Recalling that brought back the pain of not being able to have children of her own someday.

  ‘He’s not a bad guy at all. And I do like him,’ Tom went on. ‘But he can be a pain in the arse at times.’

  Kate smirked and shook her head simultaneously.

  ‘When I asked if he and Carlton wanted to sleep over because it was late, I was worried that Charles might think we had adopted him.’

  Kate snorted laughter.

  ‘Of course we’ll keep in touch with both of them. But I just want this whole “Frozen Man” nonsense to blow over, so we can get back to living a normal life.’

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ Kate said.

  ‘Keeping dead bodies, human or otherwise is not normal. And for a while there I thought you were going crazy. I probably was, too.’

  Kate leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Tom saw that there was only a drop of wine in the bottom of her glass, so he asked, mostly to change the topic of conversation, ‘Wanna refill?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  He picked the bottle up by its neck and poured wine almost to the brim of her glass. Kate took a sip, then lifted the glass to her nose and inhaled the sweet aroma.

  ***

  Charles moved only when the corpse came staggering towards him, through the darkness. His whole body shook as he choked away breath. He held the gleaming knife out in front of him, knowing it would take more than a sharp knife to defeat this evil, grotesque form, gradually gaining on him. He was in two minds whether or not to hurl the knife at the head of the moving corpse and hope the sharp blade would stick firmly, killing it instantly. But if he missed he would be unarmed and unprotected and all alone with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

  In the darkness, the corpse was a silhouetted shape, taking one step at a time to its destination like he did when he had drunk too much.

  Charles stumbled backwards, blindly, around the side of the cottage away from it. He didn’t want to run. His hastiness might cause the corpse to run, too.

  Also, the way his heart galloped in his chest, threatening to burst from its confinement, running wasn’t such a good idea. He hadn’t run for years.

  Although, now he wished he’d taken more care of himself and not been a miserable old drunk, living in the countryside far away from anyone else. He had nowhere to run even if he did decide to make a dash. He’d also get lost in the environing woods, especially in the dark.

  He tripped on a rock behind him he didn’t see, lost his balance and fell sprawling. As he gazed up, the corpse emerged from around the corner and stood in the purple glow.

  Charles screamed.

  Under the amazing light, the corpse’s putrid form revealed its gruesome features to the maximum extent. ‘Oh, God!’ he cried.

  The cadaver wasn’t like any other decaying corpse (not that he had vast experience in the subject). Its flaky skin was a brown-grey, dying hue. The silvery, sinewy hair the group saw and read about didn’t mask the body any more. Instead it was spread out from the arms and the back. It was then, and only then, when Charles gawked up at the cadaver back lit in the purple glow did he realise that the silvery, sinewy nest of hair, wasn’t hair at all. It was the creature’s wings, like that of a giant bat. Even if he did decide to dart for the dense woods, there would be no escaping this monstrosity; not even if he was an Olympic athlete sprinting for his life.

  What scared Charles the most, and held him transfixed to the hideous form, were the blue, glistening eyes, looking right at him, baleful, unflinching, sensing his fear. How can that be? his mind screamed. The piercing blue eyes were alive and belonged to a living person, not a rotting corpse. But there they held his gaze, as the old man tottered to his feet.

  ‘Wait!’ Charles yelled. To his surprise the corpse stopped in its stride. ‘Can y- y-y-you h-h-h-hear me?’ The corpse didn’t reply. ‘It doesn’t have t-t-t-to be like this,’ Charles stuttered. There was no telling if the shape could understand what he had said or not. ‘We d-d-don’t have to k-k-k-kill one another.’

  The corpse stood motionless. Its face hideously malignant; an inhuman face.

  Its rotten flesh was a wide-pored coarseness; its lips misshapen, cracked and crooked. He wasn’t sure how he should proceed. Should he stand and wait for the corpse to react? Or take a chance and surrender his weapon to show this creature that he meant no harm?

  Then, without warning, the corpse opened its mouth and emitted black, congealing gunk dotted with severed maggots. The old man clapped a hand over his mouth and fought the sudden urge to vomit. He could hardly bear to look - but somehow he forced himself to keep his terror-stricken eyes on the thing standing before him. Once all the black gunk had dribbled out of his mouth and the dissected maggots fell in the dirt, Charles could see the rotting, yellow teeth and the corpse’s moist black tongue. An ominous smile crept across its ruined visage, cracking the burnt crumbling flesh around the mouth. Charles knew then that there would be no talking this thing out of killing him. If he wanted to live then he needed to do something - right now.

  He darted around to the back of the cottage to the timber shed. He got to the locked door, fished the set of keys out his trouser pocket, chancing a quick glance over his shoulder. The corpse had yet to appear around the corner, but any second now he would. He fumbled through the set of keys until he got the right one to unlock the rusty padlock. He rammed the key into the hole, opened the padlock. It hit the ground with a metallic clunk. Charles shot another glance over his shoulder. The corpse stood at the corner of the cottage looking directly at him, heading his way.

  ‘Shit!’ The stiff bolt was always the trouble, even when he wasn’t in a mad rush. He gripped the bolt and with all his strength pulled on it as hard as he could. Finally it shot back, catching the old man’s fingers. Charles shrieked.

  The pain in his frail fingers sent a loud sting, which echoed through the rest of his body. But he didn’t have time to study the damage right then. He got the door open, climbed over the little step, ducked his head as he entered the cramped shed and grabbed what he sought, needed. As he held it in his shaky grasp, Charles heard footfalls approaching directly behind him. He whirled around, and screamed again when he saw the putrid corpse ducking its head and stepping inside the small, dingy shed - but as it did it tripped on the step, stumbled forward, holding its ash-burned hands out, still intent on seizing Charles. The old man fell backwards with the garden fork protruding in front of him, spikes facing away from him, studiously. The creature collapsed through the sharp, rusty prongs and slid slowly all the way down to the base, gargling.

  Saliva bubbles foaming and popping out of its ghastly mouth. Then it a let out a horrid hoarse cry before its head sunk and it finally died.

  Their faces were almost touching. Charles hadn’t realised he had been screaming the whole time they had been in the shed together, until he finally stopped. The pungent odour of the corpse was so overwhelming it made the old man’s eyes burn and swell with hot tears.

  With all his strength he could muster - what was left of it - Charles heaved the garden fork away from him so that it collapsed to the floor. He panted so forcefully it caused sharp, jagged pains in his chest. He knew he would suffer from this terrifying ordeal in the ensuing days. He lay on the floor in the shed for a long time, too tired to move or to get up. Death had been within touching distance of him and he’d been petrified. Maybe he feared death a lot more than he anticipated, he thought to himself in the dark. It took a lot of physical exertion to haul himself off the dirty shed floor and to his feet again, but he managed to do it. His nerves in tatters.

  He stepped out of the shed, holding onto the door frame for stability, welcoming the fres
h, crisp mountain air. He picked the padlock up off the overgrown grass with his uninjured hand, whirled and faced the inside of the shed where the garden fork still protruded from of the corpse’s abdomen, closed the door shut and locked it.

  Gingerly, he made his way back to the cottage, clutching his fingers which were already swelling, wanting to do nothing else except fall into a deep slumber and pretend - at least for a short while - that none of the terrifying events had taken place this evening, that it had all been a bad dream.

  Charles went to the bathroom, turned the tap on and let constant cold water splash his wounded, trembling fingers, dampening the sick throbbing. He stood with his thin lips drawn back in a grimace. He didn’t think any of them were broken - at least he didn’t think so. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out three aspirin - hoping they would to dull the pain soon - gulping them down with a full glass of water, wrapped his deadened fingers up with some waded tissue-paper, and then switched the TV off. He walked over to the window, gazed up at the night sky and saw, much to his relief, that the incandescent purple light was gone, and left no trace of where it had once been.

  For a reason he couldn’t quite fathom, it comforted him knowing it was gone. It comforted him because he realised then that he could climb into bed and fall asleep - if the pain abated that was - free of trepidation, which he gladly did.

  14

  The day of Carlton’s funeral was a cold, wet one, matching the mood of all the mourners who stood in the graveyard in a wide circle, wearing identical solemn expressions’, watching as the coffin was carried out of the hearse by the grim pallbearers.

  The young man’s untimely death had baffled every coroner and medical examiner that studied the cadaver. An expert thesis claimed that Carlton had died from shock while in a deep sleep - supposedly - for reasons unknown, been unable to wake from. Whatever the dream had been about no one would ever know, except for the deceased. Yet whatever it was, had induced a massive shock to the heart, thus killing the young man during the night when everyone else was also asleep. If that wasn’t the cause, then they didn’t know what else.