Page 23 of When the Snowman Whispered
In this sleepy world, I stood on my lawn. Snow covered everything. However, my house wasn’t there, nor my car. Stars didn’t sparkle in the sky, they glowed in many colors—bright pinks and fluorescent blues, brilliant greens and ruby reds. They were a rainbow bridge, connected to the Earth and rising into the sky.
In front of me, my snowman stood and whispered, “That wasn’t nice.”
“You’re talking.” I backed up and looked down at myself.
I wore a beautiful, white gown. The top formed tightly around my breasts, while the bottom flared into a hoop skirt fit for a Disney princess. At first, I thought diamonds decorated the front. With a closer look, I realized that it was tiny snowflakes covering the whole garment. I shook the fabric and the snowflakes clinked against each other, sending musical dings into the air.
Somehow, I knew I didn’t look like myself, but I was myself. It was odd. I’d transformed from resentful and divorced mother of two into a she-wolf princess. Glittering. The type of woman that heroes began wars over. The sort of ice queen to fall back happily into silky, snow-flaked sheets, laughing as a winter god ravished her body.
“You’re so beautiful, Faith.” My snowman’s voice dripped with pure sex. How could that delicious tone rise from such a cold mouth?
I stopped marveling at my gown and studied him. “You’re so beautiful, too, . . .snowman.”
“Call me Remy.” He touched his mouth. “I love how you made me. You’re talented.”
I drank in his gorgeous image.
“Faith.”
“Yes,” I said.
Remy put his hands in front of his face and studied them. “You made me from ice. Why?”
“I . . .”
Remy shined his sparkling eyes at me. “Can you make wings?”
“Uh . . . yes, but maybe we should focus on why you’re here—”
“Could you make me some wings right now?” Remy asked.
“Wings?”
He raised both hands. Two large balls of snow popped out between us. They expanded and rotated.
I jumped back. “How did you do that?”
The balls floated in front of me.
The snow man grinned. “Make some wings so we can fly.”
“We can’t fly.”
“We can.”
“We can’t.”
He laughed. “And snowmen can’t talk?”
“Umm.” I looked down and didn’t see anything around me. “I need my stuff.”
My carving knife appeared in my hands.
“Where the hell did that come from?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
In that moment, Santa ran by me and suddenly I began to remember that he should’ve looked differently. I couldn’t think of what had happened to him, but I knew he should’ve been more deformed.
Didn’t I melt him?
