Richard Hale - Frozen Past

Stewy Littleton had stayed out too late. He didn’t know what happened or why he’d lost track of time, he just knew his mother was going to kill him. That was a certainty. In the whole of his twelve year old life, he’d never been this late.

His costume was torn at one shoulder and the bag of candy he carried was much too small for all the time he’d been out, so he knew his mother would know what he’d been up to. He would have some serious explaining to do.

This was his last Halloween, the last time he would be allowed to roam the neighborhoods scaring the little kids and loading up on free candy. He was getting too old. He had wanted to make it the best Halloween ever. Now he’d had too much fun and was going to pay for it.

He grinned to himself even though he knew he was in trouble. It had been worth it. His black outfit and white mask had made him almost impossible to see on the moonless night, at least until he’d wanted to be seen. The best part had been when he’d jumped out from behind a tree and made the little five year old kid dressed up as Spiderman pee his pants. A grown man probably would have screamed.

The eggs he’d stolen out of the fridge hadn’t lasted very long, but Old Lady Whitney had gotten splattered by one when Stewy plastered her door as she opened it. The little kids waiting for her to give them candy had screamed and sprinted off. He laughed so hard he thought for sure she had heard him.

Now, as he made his way through the dark empty streets, he tried to come up with an excuse. Everything his little mind thought of would not stand up to his mother’s questions and he began to realize he’d just have to live with whatever happened. He’d probably get put on restriction for a couple of weeks with no TV and no friends. Hopefully she would let him keep the candy.

“Help me…”

Stewy froze. The sound came from the bushes to his right. He waited and listened. It was so quiet. Nothing moved or made a sound. Maybe he had imagined it. As he took another step toward home, the voice came again, a little louder.

“Help me…”

Stewy knew he wasn’t imagining now. Somebody was definitely there, but it was so faint. The voice was weird and he couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy. It was like a whispered croak. A whispered croak of pain.

“Who are you?” Stewy said softly, bent over, trying to see into the gloom of the hedge.

“Help me…”

The voice rasped the two words together like dry paper. Stewy shivered as a cold finger of fear ran up his spine. The voice was directly in front of him, but he could see nothing. He looked left, right, and then licked his lips not sure what to do. He waited a whole minute frozen there but nothing happened. His whole body listened, trying to hear the faintest sound, straining against the darkness and silence that pressed up against him.

He finally said, “I can’t see you. Where are you?”

The voice didn’t answer. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound. Stewy stood up straight, looked left and right again, and was about to take a step when the voice came again.

“Help me…please.”

Now the voice sounded different. Not so much in pain, but maybe a little like it was making fun of him. Stewy did not like it. In fact, he wanted to run.

“Please…help.”

“I can’t help you if I can’t see you,” Stewy said, his voice shaking. “Where are you?”

“Right here.” the voice said, louder, a little titter of laughter trailing off at the end. Stewy frowned in puzzlement and he leaned in closer to the hedge, taking a step toward it. An arm shot out from inside the bushes and grabbed him by the hair. It yanked him hard into the hedge as a searing pain shot through Stewy’s scalp. He opened his mouth to scream but a large sweaty hand clamped over it, smashing his lips against his teeth, his scream a muffled gag as he was pinned to the ground. The hand came away and was immediately replaced with a rag that covered his mouth and nose. It smelled like some chemical. He didn’t want to breathe, but he couldn’t help it. The world he knew began to spin and then Stewy’s last Halloween blinked out like a switch.

Luke Harrison knelt and packed the rectangular block of snow tightly against the previous block, making the wall he was building about six feet long.

“That’s enough, isn’t it?” Luke said.

“Yeah. That should do it,” Jimmy Besner said. Jimmy was the oldest of the three teenage boys and it usually fell to him to make the decisions.

Jimmy’s brother, John, looked it over and said, “I don’t know? Looks lopsided over here.”

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“I can’t make any more anyway,” Luke said. “My hands are freezing.”

“Start making snowballs, then,” John said. “We didn’t have near enough last time.”

“Why do I always have to make the snowballs, you guys never make ‘em.”

“You’re the youngest. You make the snowballs,” Jimmy stated matter-of-factly.

Luke cursed under his breath, but did what he was told. He also knew he was the best at it and this was why he always got the job.

He could barely feel his fingers, even with the mittens on, and he blew into his hands trying to get some feeling back. It had been an unusually cold winter for Annandale, Virginia, but the plus had been lots of snow, and lots of snow days from school. Ninth grade was a pain and Luke hated it, so any chance to get out of it was the best thing that could happen.

John came and knelt next to Luke and began making snowballs with him. Jimmy stood watch. The attack would be coming soon. They needed to be ready.

The three of them had been in a constant war with the kids from Willow Branch Court, two blocks to the north. It was their turn to defend and so far the contest was tied. Two battles apiece. The problem was the kids from Willow Branch outnumbered them five to three. Luke didn’t care, he was better at throwing than all five of the attackers put together. They never even considered it unfair; it was just the way it was.

The pile of snowballs grew to a decent number, but Luke knew they needed more. He hurried to make as many as he could, but then Jimmy yelled, “Here they come!” and jumped down behind the wall. He began forming snowballs and adding them to the pile as quickly as he could.

Peering over the top of the wall, Luke got a good look at their opposition. He cursed. “Crap! They have a wagon full. We’re gonna get killed.”

“Just ‘cause they have more doesn’t mean they’re any better than last time,” Jimmy said. “Now get down and make more.”

Luke started forming snowballs as fast as his frozen hands would let him.

“Do we make the special ones?” John asked.

Jimmy paused for a second and said, “No. Paul got stitches last time. We fight fair.”

The ‘special ones’ were snowballs with ice in the middle. They were very fast and highly accurate, but could put a serious hurt on someone. Namely, Paul Bannon. Paul started it by getting the Willow Branch kids to make a few and Jimmy was hit in his throwing arm, causing it to go numb. Luke, Jimmy, and John lost that battle.

To get back at them, Jimmy made some for the next battle, and the three targeted Paul with the special snowballs. One nailed him right in the face. Paul ran home screaming with blood running down his chin and had to go to the emergency room where he received seven stitches. It was agreed upon after that, no one would use ice balls any more. This was supposed to be fun, after all.

Luke peeked over the wall again. “They’re splitting up.”

Jimmy stood and watched for a second. “Alright. Enough. We don’t have time for more. The wagon and three of them are moving toward our left, so John, you cover the right side, and me and Luke will cover the left. Make ‘em count.”