Frostie the Deadman

Chapter 1

Thirty Years Ago

                It was almost midnight. The air was cold and crisp and white billowy clouds sailed across the wintry sky. The giant evergreens of the Adirondack mountains swayed gently in the breeze, their icy branches sparkling under the light of the full moon. The air was thick with the smell of pine, birch and cedar. The sky was covered with stars.

                In the valley below, the wind skipped across the frozen lake like a playful child and danced with the cheery-faced snowmen that had been placed upon its surface. Smoke from woodburning stoves poured from the chimneys of the surrounding houses. Snow devils twirled around fence posts while cornfields and cow pastures lay sleeping under a blanket of snow. In the distance, a coydog howled.

                And in the midst of this rural splendor, high in the mountains, the cold eyes of Lucas Walks peered out from the darkness.

                Crouched behind the shadow of a fallen tree, he studied the four men as they tracked him up the side of Rattler Mountain. As their flashlights blinked behind the crowded pines, Walks’ fingers tightened around the broken tree limb that he had fashioned into a weapon.

                The man with the pale blue-eyes could feel Walks watching. They all could. They were in his element now and it came as no surprise when Lucas’ footprints began to disappear into the brush and the frozen forest floor.

                One of the men turned. “Tracks are gone. Now what do we do?”

                The blue-eyed man carefully surveyed the surrounding area. “No doubt he wants us to split up,” he said. “And I don’t see where we have a choice but…. I got an idea. Listen…”

                Lucas grinned as the four separated. Within minutes, one of the men was in range, fumbling his way through the dense underbrush. Walks’ face grew taut and his eyes began to resemble two black marbles. He could barely contain the excitement welling up inside him.

                The tracker approached slowly and cautiously, swinging his flashlight in long arcs. As he pressed forward into the darkness, the wind rattled the tree branches above him like old bones. His heartbeat quickened.

                Easy now, he told himself. There are four of us and only one of him. Just remember, that…

                Something moved!

                He spun the flashlight in full circle but saw nothing. Had he imagined it? No! He was sure he had heard…seen someth…

                Suddenly, Walks was in front of him, grinning like a Jack-o-Lantern.

                “Hi ya, buddy!”

                Before the man could make a sound, something flashed past the corner of his eyes.  Pain rocketed across the side of his head and stars swirled before him. His legs began slipping and his arms flailed wildly in an almost cartoon-like fashion.

                 He was struck again, this time in the chest. His breath exploded from his lungs and he collapsed to the ground.

                Under the light of the full moon, he saw Lucas staring down. His teeth were clenched and saliva dangled from his chin. His eyes wild, like that of a rabid animal. Walks was lost in the moment. Lost in the passion. He raised the club to deliver the final, fatal blow.

                Oh, if I only had more time to savor this. Walks thought. To drink in this wonderful moment!

                Suddenly, Lucas was struck from behind. His club went sailing and his legs buckled. He was struck again, hard, and descended into the darkness.

                When Lucas awoke he found himself bound hand and foot. As he jerked himself into a sitting position, a noose was quickly jammed down over his head and pulled tight. Walks’ eyes widened.

                “You better not do this!!” he said in a rasping, yet threatening voice. “I have  friends. Powerful friends!”

                The man with the pale blue-eyes crouched down in front of him. “Men like you have no friends. Any last words?”

                Walks said nothing.

                The man nodded and turned to the others. “Hang him!”

                “Wait! Wait!” Walks coughed. “Listen to me, all of you. You are going to regret this more than you can possibly imagine. Even if  I have to crawl back from the deepest pit in hell itself,” he said, eyeing each one of them. “I will have my revenge on you all!”

                The blue-eyed man joined the others and began to pull. “We’ll be waiting.” 

Chapter 2

PRESENT DAY

                In the uppermost region of Adirondack county, 18 miles south of the Canadian border lies the town of Sparks, New York. It’s a quiet little community known for its lush green hillsides, cool mountain streams and fresh country air.

                Souvenir shops dot the main streets and ragtime bands play afternoon concerts in the park. People are friendly and tourists are made feel welcome and at home. In the center of  it all is a beautiful body of water known as Little Pond Lake. Together with the surrounding area’s natural beauty and its friendly homespun appeal, Sparks exudes a rustic charm all its own.

                Being so far north, winter weather usually sets in about mid-October and lasts through the better part of April. About 150 inches of snow falls there each year making it the perfect place for a winter festival. Sparks held its first about forty-five-years ago and has continued the yearly tradition ever since. It is an event they proudly call the “Snowman’s Parade”.

                Back in the mid 1940’s, someone (no one quite remembers who) suggested a contest be held to see who could build the best and most colorful snowman. All the townspeople were asked to participate. The prize was 10 dollars and a free meal at a local restaurant, which at the time was considered quite generous. The event was to be held on Little Pond Lake

                It had been a particularly harsh winter and people were tired of being cooped up in their homes. Not only did they welcome the idea of a community event, they embraced it. Word traveled fast and by the day of the contest nearly everyone in town had signed up.

                The local dairy farmers provided horse drawn sleighs for transportation. The Women’s League brought food, beverages and blankets and the Salvation Army donated the hats and scarves for the snowmen. To keep warm they built fires inside empty 50 gallon oil drums, passed around hot cider and danced to music provided by a local jug band. As the evening drew to a close, the townspeople gathered and sang such favorites as White Christmas, Jingle Bells and strangely enough, Dem Bones, Dem Bones.

                 Over forty snowmen were built that night and the “Best Snowman” contest wound up being the most successful event in the town’s history.

                As the years went by and the surrounding towns grew, the people of Sparks began to look for something that would attract tourists and put their little town on the map.

                Since the “Best Snowman Contest” had been such a success, they expanded on the idea, turned it into a winter-long festival and renamed it the “Snowman’s Parade.”

                No longer would the snowmen be placed randomly on the ice. Instead they would be lined up in rows to resemble a marching band, outfitted with band jackets, plastic instruments and maintained by the crews of the Department of Public Works.

                The snowmen were positioned so that they would face Shore Road. This way  tourists driving through town would stop, take pictures and hopefully spend a little money. The idea worked and every year since its inception the number of entries increased as did the number of people coming to see them.

                At center stage was the “Lead Snowman”. Dressed in a neon blue jacket and holding a gold baton, it was placed in front to look as if it were indeed leading the parade.

                In most instances the snowman picked for that honor was the best built, the most attractive and a virtual lock to win “Best in Show”. The present day prize now being one thousand dollars.

                Sparks had come a long way over the years and everything associated with the parade, tee-shirts, coffee mugs, ashtrays, bumper stickers, and banners, sold out quickly. Restaurants expanded, motels were built and businesses flourished.

                It was now late October and Little Pond lake was sufficiently frozen over and deemed safe by the Department of Public Works. The contest rules stated that in order to be eligible for the Grand Prize, all entries had to be transported to the lake, registered and tagged within fourteen days from the first major snowfall.

                The first major snowfall had been considerable and it continued to snow regularly for the ten days following it. According to the Committee rules, anyone who wanted to participate had only three days left.

Chapter 3

                It was Thursday afternoon, and the students from Sparks Central School were riding along old Route 511 on their way home.

                The school bus was in its usual state of chaos. There was shouting, laughing and crumpled papers flying overhead. Some kids made faces at the passing cars while others were content to sit back with their headphones and listen to the latest hit song at decibels that would shatter the windows at airport terminals. When things got too out of hand the driver would hurl some meaningless threat that would quiet them down temporarily, but not long enough to make any real difference.

                In the middle of it all was one kid who was having a particularly rough day. His name was Theodore “Winks” Shays. Winks was ten-years-old, had sandy blond hair and a drooping left eyelid, the result of having gotten too close to his father’s wood chipper without wearing protective goggles. He didn’t mind the nickname; in fact, he preferred it to Theodore, but what he did hate was how his disability caused him to be singled out by nearly every bully in school.

                Today, his problem was in the form of a big dim-witted thirteen-year-old by the name of Billy Curtis. Billy had taken Winks’ “Superman” loose-leaf binder from his bookbag and was threatening to draw breasts on the “Man of Steel” with an indelible marker. Since the binder was Winks’ most prized possession, he had no choice but to go to the back of the bus where Billy held court with his fellow sadists and beg for its return.

                “C’mon, Billy, give it back!” Winks pleaded. “It belongs to me.”

                “It belongs to me,” Billy repeated, mimicking his victim. “And what are you going to do if I don’t? Use your superpowers on me?”

                “Watch out, Billy,” one of his companions said. “He might let you have it with his X-ray eye!”

                Billy laughed, then winked at his friends as he popped the cap off his marker. Slowly, he lowered it to the binder, carefully watching the ten-year-old’s face. Just before the tip touched the surface, Winks panicked, reached out and tried to pull the binder from his tormentor’s grasp, but Billy had anticipated the move and held tight. In retaliation, he grabbed the front of Winks’ coat and flung him backward up the aisle where he fell to the floor. Winks’ face reddened. His pratfall caught the attention of his fellow students who, along with Billy, burst out laughing. But Winks’ humiliation wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

                Billy climbed out of his seat, lumbered toward Winks and stood over him.

                “Maybe I ought to make you eat this binder, wiseguy,”  he said as he bent over and attempted to shove the object into Winks’ face.

                The boy struggled desperately as the binder came closer and closer.

                Suddenly, a hand shot out from the seat beside them and grabbed Billy by the front of his coat.

                “That’s enough!”

                Billy straightened up, pushed off the hand that held him and looked down to see who dared spoil his fun. Seeing an opportunity to add a new twist to his little game, Billy smiled, folded his hands across his chest and began bobbing his head up and down like one of those dolls in the back of car windows.

                “So,” he said, “looks like we got a real tough guy here, don’t it, gang?” His friends nodded in agreement but made no attempt to leave their seats. “You a tough guy, Campbell? Tough enough to go one on one with me?”

                “Yeah, you tell him, Billy!” one of his buddies shouted.

                Billy turned and gave a knowing wink to his pals. “‘Cause if you are,” he continued, “we can meet down at the lake at say…4 o’clock? Then we’ll see just how tough you are.”

                Josh Campbell slowly rose from his seat and placed himself directly in front of Billy Curtis.

                “I’m not going to meet you at the lake,” he said.

                A huge grin came over Billy’s face. “Oh, no?” he said, looking back to make sure his friends weren’t missing any of this. “What’s the matter, tough guy? Ain’t got the guts?”

                “Oh, I got the guts,” Josh replied calmly. “The question is, do you? Because if we’re going to fight, we’re going to do it right here and right now.”

                Billy’s eyes widened. He had never been issued such a challenge before.

                “You mean here? On the school bus?”

                “That’s right.” Josh said. “And if you start with me, I’ll kick your teeth so far down your throat, they’ll have to pry my boot from the back of your head with a crowbar.” 

                The school bus became deadly quiet. No one had ever talked to Billy Curtis like that. Some of the on-lookers actually pulled up their book bags to cover themselves, fearing the inevitable explosion between the two would send shrapnel flying in all directions.

                Tiny beads of sweat began to appear on Billy’s forehead. Fight on the bus? You could get suspended, maybe even expelled. Was Campbell really crazy enough to risk that?

                Billy looked closely into Josh’s cold, green eyes and came back with the distinct impression that yes, he was.

                Josh Campbell was only a few weeks short of thirteen himself.  He was almost as tall as Billy and was built solidly enough to give the other boy a reason to be concerned. He had jet-black hair, slightly long which he kept tucked behind his ears. He also had a reputation as a loner. Nobody really knew what Josh was capable of, and Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

                The silence was eventually noticed by the bus driver who, after taking a quick glance back, found the two boys standing toe to toe.

                “Hey!” he shouted. “You guys know better than to stand while the bus is in motion. Now take your seats, or I’ll be forced to report the two of you.”

                Josh didn’t budge. Instead, he continued to stare at Billy, daring him to make a move.

                “I said sit down!” the driver repeated.

                Not willing to risk expulsion and a possible beating, Billy backed off.

                “I wouldn’t dirty my hands on you, Campbell,” he said finally. “And you!” he continued, flinging the binder at Winks. “Well, you better stay out of my way.” With that, he lumbered back to his friends.

                 Josh calmly returned to his seat while Winks slid into the one beside him.

                “Thanks!” he said, tucking his binder back in his bookbag. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be spitting out pieces of plastic about now.”

                “Forget it,”  Josh replied and reopened the book he had been reading.

                Although Josh and Winks were next-door neighbors, they didn’t know each other all that well. Josh considered Winks a good but goofy kid with a bizarre fascination with comic book superheros and much too young to hang out with. Still, the kid was harmless, and Josh couldn’t stand to see that big jerk shove him around.

                Josh tried to concentrate on his book but Winks’ eyes continued boring into him.

                “Hey, Josh, did you finish your entry for the Snowman’s Parade yet? Me and my dad brought ours down to the lake last week.”

                Realizing that he wasn’t going to get any reading done, Josh put down his book and shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I haven’t even started it. I’ve been too busy.”

                That wasn’t really the truth, but Josh didn’t want to let on that it was his father who was “too busy”. As far back as Josh could remember, every year he and his dad would go out in the yard and build the Campbell snowman. It was almost a tradition. But things were different now. Several months ago his father had purchased a small fuel oil company and his new responsibilities had him working nearly ’round the clock. This year it looked like Josh was on his own.

                “I could help you,” Winks said.

                Josh was lost in thought and had no idea what Winks was referring to. “Help me what?”

                “Help you build your snowman. Really, Josh, it would be my way of repaying you for taking care of Billy.”

                Josh wasn’t crazy about the idea of having a ten-year-old hanging around him for the rest of the afternoon. “I don’t think so, Winks,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “Besides, committee rules say only one entry per family.”

                “I know, I know. And I’m not asking you to put my name on it or anything,” he said, still trying to sell the idea. “All I’m saying is that I could help you build it. The committee doesn’t have any rules against that. And together, we could have it finished in no time.”

                As much as Josh hated to admit it, Winks’ suggestion did make a lot of sense. By himself, a snowman good enough for the parade would take at least a whole day to build, maybe a day and a half. But with Winks’ help, he could probably wrap it up in a few hours. And since his father wasn’t going to have any time to help….

                “Okay, Winks,” he said reluctantly, “it’s a deal.”

                “Great!” the boy shouted. “C’mon, here’s our stop.”