Some Like it Cold (standard:horror, 8533 words)
Author: Kenneth Brosky	Added: Aug 13 2002	Views/Reads: 3558/2484	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Three teens, on their way home from a ski trip during a heavy snowstorm, end up stuck in a small town where something is very wrong.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Plenty,” Adam said. He gritted his teeth and tried to control his
temper. “We don't need you whining your ass off—that's just going to 
make this seem a lot worse than it actually is. We'll find a fucking 
gas station and then we'll find a fucking Motel and then we'll get some 
fucking sleep and we'll be home tomorrow and why the fuck are there no 
street lights in this Goddamn town?” 

Rico climbed up to the front and peered out of the windshield. “Who
gives a shit? They wouldn't do anything in this weather anyways. Hey, 
is it snowing now?” 

Adam looked at the neon light in the bar window. Sure enough, there were
small flecks of snow visible in the purple glow. Light snow, at least. 
And already a foot or snow on the ground from the last winter storm. 

“At least the bastards here know well enough to shovel the sidewalks,”
Jeff offered. 

Adam allowed a small smile and instantly regretted it. His chapped lips
cracked and he tasted salty blood on the left corner of his mouth. 
“Don't make me smile. It hurts.” 

“Isn't that a song by Lockjaw?” Rico asked. He opened the side door and
Adam immediately felt the cold creep inside the van, which wasn't very 
warm to begin with. Poor heating was just one of about thirty different 
things wrong with Old Bessy. 

“I think it is,” Jeff answered finally. “But who gives? All I want to
know is where there's a damned gas station.” 

Adam crawled to the back of the van, over the back seats and he snagged
his pant leg on a small wire sticking out of the beaten upholstery. A 
designer loop ripped, but the jeans remained intact. He continued on 
his way, pulling apart three small suitcases until he could reach under 
the back seat. Adam fumbled his hand around until he felt the plastic 
of the two-gallon gas canister and grabbed it. “Okay,” he said. 
“Everybody zip up and let's go.” 

The three stepped into the cold night air. Adam locked the doors with
his driver's key. 

“Why even bother?” Rico asked once they were walking down the sidewalk.
“You could leave that thing parked in the Inner City of Chicago and no 
one would touch it. I can't believe your dad wants two thousand for 
that pile of shit.” “I can't believe he's considering buying it,” Jeff 
chimed in. 

Adam pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one.
“I need a ride. Besides, I think I can work him down to one thousand if 
I catch him on a good day.” He took a drag from his cigarette and felt 
a chill run down his spine. He felt as though someone was watching 
them, maybe someone inside one of the bars. 

Rico breathed into his hands. “Damn, it's freezing. It's gotta be below
zero. It's just gotta be.” 

They passed a bar. Then a closed supermarket. The mist was thicker the
further they got into town, so thick now that none of the three could 
see more than a few inches in front of their face, and the snow had 
picked up to a light flurry. 

“Fucking aye,” Rico said. He spat into the ground and the three took a
second to watch the spittle sink through the inch of snow that had 
accumulated on the sidewalk. “I say we stop at the next bar and ask 
where the nearest fucking gas station is. For all we know, they're all 
on the other side of the street and we're missing them!” 

Adam took a drag of his cigarette and relished the warm smoke in his
lungs. His face was numb, and his fingers were shaking slightly. “Okay, 
that sounds like a decent plan.” 

They walked further, past the supermarket. Slowly, another bar came into
view just beyond the supermarket parking lot. The market's lights were 
out, but the bar seemed to be a flurry of excitement. Two neon signs 
were lit, and there was loud music playing inside. Just like every 
other bar they had passed so far. 

“I think I hear Skid Row playing,” Jeff said. “I think we should
definitely stop at this bar. I haven't heard Skid Row in so long, man.” 


Adam nodded and took one more drag of his cigarette before dropping it
to the ground. “Okay let's do this.” 

They opened the door and walked in, Adam taking the lead. Immediately,
he fell back into Rico's arms as a rush of cold air hit his body. 

“Woah, cowboy!” Rico said. “Not before we date!” 

Adam gathered himself and stepped back into the dank bar. “I kind of
expected it to be warm inside.” 

The bar room was dark; the only light was coming from a stained-glass
chandelier hanging over a pool table to the right. Next to that, 
against the wall, the jukebox was blasting out Skid Row. To the left 
was the large bar counter and further back were a few random tables, 
all empty. In fact, there was only one person in the bar, sitting on a 
stool at the counter in front of the Miller tap, his head resting on 
the hard wood. 

Red ice crept from the neck of the body, drizzling down the counter and
hanging over the edge in the form of an icicle. The exposed skin—from 
what Adam could see—what a dark blue, even purple around the right side 
of the neck. 

“That's not what I think it is,” Rico said. “That can't be what I think
it is, because I think that it's a dead guy and I know that it can't 
be.” 

Jeff crept closer, as though any noise would disturb the carcass. First,
he checked the man's pulse and shook his head. Then he moved around to 
the other side and his face contorted into a look of horror. “Shit,” he 
whispered. “Someone slashed his throat. Clean open, ear to ear. Shit.” 

“I don't even want to look,” said Rico. “Oh man this isn't happening.” 

Adam cleared his throat and swallowed hard. The back of his mouth was
dry; he was coming down with a cold from three days of hard 
snowboarding. “We need to call someone. There's gotta be a phone here 
and there has to be a phonebook.” 

“Hey let's just ask the bartender!” Rico said. “Oh, wait. There isn't
one. There isn't a soul in this building. In fact, I have yet to see 
another fucking sign of life since we got in here. I wouldn't be 
surprised if some psycho didn't go ape and wiped out the whole town! 
Just like some fucked-up Dateline TV special!” 

Adam put a hand on Rico's shoulder and the pudgy Mexican immediately
shook it off. “Get off of me, man!” 

“Just settle down,” Adam said. 

“No, thanks.” Rico pointed to the dead body. “That's a dead guy, well
preserved. We need to get our asses out of here and we need to do it 
now. There's no telling how old it is and whoever did it could be 
listening to us right now.” 

“If he is, it's because you're talking so loud,” Jeff reminded. Rico
glared at him and for a second, Adam thought he would actually throw a 
punch. It would have been foolish: Jeff had at least five inches of 
height on Rico and was twice as strong. Jeff was more or less a jock, 
though for some reason he felt more at home with outcasts like Adam and 
Rico than with the rest of the football team. Adam was always glad 
about that, because Jeff wasn't like the other jocks. Jeff was a good 
guy. 

“We instantly assume the killer is a ‘he,'” Adam said, changing the
subject. “Though it could just as easily be a female.” 

“Who gives a flying fuck?” Rico asked. “Honestly? We need to get out of
here and we need to do it now.” 

Jeff made his way around the bar counter and began rummaging around
under the cash register. He pulled out a phone book and began leafing 
through the pages. 

“Let's just try and fine someone else around here and find out what the
Hell is going on,” Rico offered. 

“I think he may actually have a point,” Jeff said. He was holding a
cordless phone. “The phone's dead. It could just be the weird snowstorm 
outside . . .” 

“Bullshit,” Rico said. “Bullshit. Whoever did in our little drunk at the
counter probably did in the phone line. That means shit is going down 
here and we're in the middle of it.” 

“Okay settle down, man.” Adam shakily pulled out another cigarette and
lit it. “That's a worst-case scenario. This could just be a murder, and 
for all we know the place was cleared out by the police. We could be 
stepping on evidence as we speak.” 

“There wasn't no fucking police tape outside!” Rico yelled. 

Adam grabbed his friend by the collar and pulled him close to his own
face. “Listen: you need to settle the fuck down.” His cigarette bounced 
up and down on his lower lip when he spoke. He watched Rico try to 
squirm away from the hot ashes as the tip. “The phone is dead, so we'd 
better move on. Maybe everything is okay, and until we know different, 
I'm gonna keep an optimistic attitude and I think you need to do the 
same. You don't see Jeff acting like a little sissy, now do you?” 

“That's because Jeff could probably take whoever's out there,” Rico
whined with a smile. 

Adam grinned. “Just settle down, little man. I'm sure we'll run into
someone soon enough.” 

Jeff returned to where the two were standing and Adam let go of Rico.
They stood there just in front of the doorway to the bar, the jukebox 
now playing an older tune by AC/DC. There was power, at least. That was 
something. 

“What do you think, man?” Jeff finally asked Adam. 

He answered with a shrug. “I was kind of hoping you would play the
Leader role. I don't really like responsibility.” 

Jeff shrugged. “We'll make it a Democracy. Both of us have equal say.” 

“Both of you?” Rico asked. “What about me?” 

“You've already fucking cracked,” Jeff stated. “You have no say.” 

Adam took a deep drag of his cigarette. “I guess we should just keep
following the sidewalk. See where it takes us.” 

“That's fine by me,” Jeff said. “This place is starting to freak me out
anyways.” 

They returned outside and began walking again down the sidewalk. Another
half-inch of snow had already made its way to the ground, and Adam 
regretted exchanging his snowboarding boots for his sneakers, which 
were completely soaked. He looked at his friends' shoes, and knew they 
felt the same way. 

Another bar, and then a road. On the other side of the road, a large red
sign that read “GAS” was slightly visible. Lights could be 
seen--barely--through the thick mist. 

“Fucking aye,” Rico said, and quickly broke into a jog across the road.
Adam and Jeff followed close behind. “There's no way this place is 
closed,” Rico yelled back at the two. “No fucking way! They wouldn't 
leave their lights on if they were closed!” 

Rico seemed to be right, as the three made their way to the first set of
unleaded pumps. They were on, all right, each one waiting for the 
customer to decide whether or not he or she wanted to pay inside or 
outside. 

“We need to use cash,” Adam said. Jeff and Rico nodded and they walked
to the gas station. The lights in the gas station were indeed on, and 
the door was open. 

And inside, it was cold as Hell. Adam walked in first and instinctively
wiped his feet on the mat in front of the doorway, then immediately 
drew back and slammed into Jeff's hard frame. “Shit oh shit shit shit.” 


There was a gas station attendant behind the counter, sitting on some
kind of stool, slouched over slightly with a large shard of ice jutting 
out of one eye. Frozen blood caked the young boy's face--he couldn't 
have been older than seventeen when he died--and the rest of his body 
was covered with frost. His skin was blue, much like the older man in 
bar, only this body was more frozen in time. On the counter, there was 
a half-finished scratch-off lottery ticket, and a nickel was frozen 
between the young boy's finger and thumb. A slow night, he had bought a 
lottery ticket to pass the time. 

“Damn,” Jeff whispered, almost into Adam's ear. He relished his friend's
warm breath against the side of his neck for one brief second before it 
was gone and was replaced by the numbing cold again. 

“It's like whoever came in here just caught him completely off guard,”
Adam said. 

“Shit man I've seen enough.” Rico walked closer to the counter and made
his way around to where the boy was sitting. He pushed a button on the 
cash register screen. “I used to work at a gas station,” he explained. 
“You gotta authorize a pump before you can get gas from it.” 

Adam stared at his friend, wide-eyed. “Do you not see the dead boy next
to you? There's a killer loose in this town and all you care about is 
the gas pump?” 

“I'm getting us the fuck out of here!” Rico yelled. “Staring at him
ain't gonna make him more alive!” 

Jeff walked to the counter and reached for the phone that was cradled
next to the cash register. He clicked the receiver a few times with his 
finger. “This line's dead, too. I think it'd be safe to assume that 
there's a phone line down that's probably affecting the entire town.” 

“Done,” Rico said. “Pumps authorized. Can we please go fill up this can
and get the fuck out of here now?” 

Adam nodded and they walked back outside and made their way—blindly—to
the gas pumps. The mist was much thicker now, and the snow had picked 
up to a steady flurry. Adam followed the two in silence, opening the 
canister at the nearest pump and filling it up almost mechanically, 
though he had no memory of ever filling up a gas can before. Rico 
quickly led the way back to the car after a brief stop to make sure 
they were going in the right direction. 

Old Bessy sat quietly next to the curb, just where the three had left
her. Only Bessy was no longer worth the two thousand that Adam's dad 
was asking. Her hood was open, hoses and pipes and belts strewn about 
on the ground, some so deep in the snow that only the outline was 
visible on the surface. A fresh, slick layer of ice coated the entire 
engine. 

“Oh shit,” Rico said. “Oh shit he was here. He fucking killed your
fucking van, Adam. He must have been watching us the whole time. We are 
fucked! We are all fucked!” 

Adam stared at his van, unbelieving. He had taken his first date in
Bessy, learned to drive in the local K-Mart parking lot in the van. 
Feeling remorse for the metal creature seemed neither odd nor 
out-of-place to him. 

And then a cold feeling came over Adam. He watched his breath dissipate
into the cold mist for a moment, and then looked around slowly. They 
hadn't been gone for more than twenty minutes at the most. This had 
just happened. “He's still here.” 

Jeff looked at him. “Who is?” 

Adam pointed to what remained of his van. “Whoever did this. Whoever
killed the kid and the man. Doesn't anyone else get the feeling they're 
being watched?” 

“I do,” Rico said. “I've had it ever since we stepped outta the van. And
now it's a helluva lot worse.” 

“Okay, I'm starting to get that feeling, too,” Jeff said. “We need to
find some sort of law enforcement, whether or not the two murders have 
already been reported. I think we need to move now before whoever did 
this comes back to admire his handiwork.” 

Adam looked at the broken pieces strewn about. It had been a hunk of
junk, but it had been a sturdy hunk of junk. Some of the pieces 
couldn't have been ripped out by just one person. 

“Adam, are you listening to me?” Jeff asked. Adam blinked hard and
cleared his thoughts. He looked at Jeff, who was still talking. “We 
need to find help. We should grab something from inside the van that we 
can use to defend ourselves with. We've got a couple of snowboard 
wrenches in the back, maybe a crowbar or a wench in the toolbox.” 

“What if the cops think we're the killers?” Rico asked. “If we start
walking around town with crowbars and all sorts of weapons, people are 
going to think we're the fucking killers!” 

“What people!” Jeff yelled. “We haven't seen one Goddamn living soul in
this town yet! In fact, I haven't seen one fucking car, one fucking 
SUV, or one fucking truck yet, either! For all we know, everyone in 
this God-forsaken town packed up and left! For all we know, this entire 
town is a crime scene!” 

“Not yet,” an unfamiliar voice said. “But it could be soon.” 

Adam spun around and found himself staring at a thin chin, a small white
goatee lining it. He looked up and saw a similarly thin face connected 
to the chin, deep blue eyes, short sideburns that were actually 
extended from his short head of hair. His eyebrows were brown, but the 
rest of his hair was completely white. He looked somewhat young, but at 
the same time somewhat old; he could have passed for a twenty year-old 
or a forty year-old at the same time. The man was probably six 
foot-two, judging by Adam's own height. He had a grim expression on his 
face, which matched his black trench coat. 

Adam fell back into Rico, who fell back into Jeff. The man seemed
alarmed. 

“Relax, boys. Relax.” He smoothed out his white suit under the trench
coat--probably expensive as Hell--and Adam caught a glimpse of his 
frame. The man was thin, yes, but in no means weak. 

“My name is Jack,” the man said. “I hold a law office on the other side
of town,” he waved his down the street, “and I'm also the full-time 
mayor of this town. Elected three years running. It's a simple job, 
really; well, it's been a simple job up until a day ago when this mist 
rolled in and everything went to Hell.” 

“What the fuck is going on?” Rico asked. His voice cracked at “fuck” and
Adam--despite the situation--had to bite his dry lip to keep from 
laughing. 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the man named Jack said. “The Sheriff
came into Roy's bar last night, just like he always does when he's 
making his rounds. Next thing that happens--according to the first 
witness who found me--is the Sheriff has a knife to old Lenny Smith's 
throat and he cuts him clean open. I would never have believed it, only 
I saw the second murder happen with my own eyes.” 

“The gas station kid?” Rico asked. 

Jack eyed the Mexican. “Yes. The Sheriff is holding about eight
townsfolk hostage in a Motel just two blocks up. He says he wants the 
town's year-to-date treasury and he wants it now. I've just come from 
the town hall--” he pointed to a large briefcase sitting at his feet 
“--and have the money.” 

“You're just going to give him the money?” Jeff asked. “What about
calling in for help?” 

“The phone lines are down,” the man explained. “The winter storm is
interfering with cell phone calls. I can't wait for this weather to 
pass. I need to save those eight people and I need to do it now before 
any more lives are lost.” 

“What about my van?” Adam asked. “If the sheriff's holding those people
hostage, then who the Hell messed up my car?” 

“The deputy is helping him for a share of the money, which totals about
a hundred thousand. I don't understand it. Maybe this mist has 
something to do with it.” He exhaled deeply and Adam was surprised to 
feel a cold breeze across his face. 

“We've been saying just how weird this mist is,” Rico said. “It just
ain't right, hombre.” 

The man must not have been outside for a long time, because his face
wasn't the warm red like Jeff and Rico and Adam. “I wouldn't be 
surprised if the Deputy is watching us right now, deciding whether or 
not he should report back to the Sheriff. I could use you three to 
deliver this money. He won't let me near the Motel; he's fired at me 
twice when I've tried to get to the hostages. He wants someone else to 
do it, and I've been trying to find anyone. The entire town is gone. I 
have no idea where any of them went. You three are the only souls I've 
seen since this entire problem began.” 

“What makes you think he won't shoot us?” Adam asked. 

“Because he wants this money more than anything. I could try and find a
working car, but I'm afraid if I left to find help, the Sheriff might 
do something drastic. All we need to do is deliver this money. I'm only 
asking. I won't force you to play hero.” 

“I'll do it,” Jeff said, “provided you get us a ride out of here back to
our home town tonight.” 

Jack flashed a large smile. His teeth were a blinding white. “And where
do you all live?” 

“We're all from Milwaukee,” Jeff said. “South side, really.” 

“I can very easily arrange that,” Jack said. “It's no problem at all.
I'm sure any one of the townsfolk left will take you home once this 
entire situation is over.” 

“Provided we pull it off,” Rico said doubtfully. 

They were silent a moment, a cool breeze picking up and circulating the
mist slightly. The snowfall had again calmed down; it could only be 
seen near the neon sign, a few specks of snow occasionally lit up by 
the purple rays. 

Finally, Jack spoke up: “All right. Then it's settled. I'll lead us to
the Motel.” 

He led the three down the sidewalk, towards the South end of the town.
They passed the gas station, and at that point, Adam finally let go of 
the red gas canister he had--again--forgotten that he was holding. He 
placed his hand back into his pocket and felt warm needle pricks across 
the exposed skin. The four walked further down the main road, past a 
few more bars, past a few more small grocery and liquor stores. Through 
it all, Rico refused to shut the Hell up. 

“I think there's a law in Wisconsin,” he was saying to no one in
particular, “about how you gotta have a certain number of bars per 
capita in every town. I know Eau Claire has the largest bars per capita 
in the entire nation. Is that true, Jack?” 

Adam turned to Jack, who was a few steps ahead of them, but he couldn't
read the man's face. “I'm sure I don't know,” the man finally answered. 


“Fuck man, this is great,” Rico said. “We're gonna get outta here
tonight! We won't have to waste any cash on gas or anything, and all we 
gotta do is deliver this money to that crazy mutherfucker holed-up in 
the Motel!” He blew hard into his hands and rubbed them. “The Sheriff 
and his dep-you-tay will get the Hell outta here and we'll go home.” 

“This is it,” Jack stated. “Coming up here on the right. Just past this
parking lot.” 

Adam squinted slightly and was surprised to see the mist had cleared
away slightly. The neon Motel sign became visible after a few more 
steps, as well as the building's outline and a few bright lights coming 
from the front of the building, most likely the lobby. There were a few 
cars parked in the parking lot, but after a few more steps, they faded 
back into the mist. 

Adam found that he was breathing as rarely as he could, just in case
there was something poisonous in the mist that had driven the Sheriff 
insane. He looked over at Jeff, who was doing the same thing. It 
probably wasn't the mist, Adam thought; more likely, it was just the 
Sheriff cracking under pressure and taking advantage of the rather odd 
snowstorm. Maybe the Sheriff had been planning it for a while, waiting 
for the opportunity. 

“Okay,” Jack said. “The Sheriff won't fire if someone comes with me. I
can guarantee that much. I will go with this young man,” he motioned to 
Rico and handed him the briefcase, “and you two can stay here out of 
sight. With any luck, we'll exchange the briefcase and the Sheriff and 
Deputy will leave immediately.” 

“I'm coming with,” Adam said. Jack and Rico looked at him. “I'm not just
standing here while my good friend goes and risks his life. I'm coming 
with.” 

“I think I should too,” said Jeff. “I mean, the chances of him shooting
such a large group seems slim to none. I would rather help out than 
just stand around here.” 

Jack seemed to ponder the idea, but he finally nodded. “I suppose this
will work out for the best. Okay, we will all go together.” 

They walked slowly towards the Motel. There was movement behind one of
the blinds in the window, and Adam felt his legs turn to jelly. He 
needed a cigarette to calm his nerves, but didn't dare pull his hands 
out of his pocket, just in case the sheriff was the nervous type. Maybe 
Adam had a gun in his pocket; shoot him just in case. You can never be 
too safe, after all. God, it was cold. The mist was thick all around 
the Motel, and it had to be somewhere near zero degrees. The snow was 
still light, but the small flakes almost seemed warm when they 
occasionally landed on Adam's numb skin. He wondered if he had any 
frostbite yet; his face and hands were numb to the bone. His nose was 
full of snot and running down his upper lip, and he found himself 
breathing through his mouth most of the time now. 

Finally, after what felt like and eternity, they were at the glass door
that read, “lobby.” It was difficult to see through the thick frost; 
Adam couldn't even see into the room. All of the windows were frosted 
over, though Adam could see that someone--not at all resembling any 
sort of sheriff--was looking at them from behind a curtain in one of 
the windows left of the door. Her--at least it looked like a female, 
with long blond hair--mouth seemed to be moving rapidly, like she was 
chewing gum, or maybe even . . . 

“Yelling something,” Adam finished aloud. He made to turn to Jeff, but a
very strong hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Don't move,” a cold voice whispered. “Don't breathe. Don't scream.
Stand still. All three of you.” 

Jack knocked lightly on the door, and Adam turned his head a fraction of
a degree to catch a glimpse of the man, who was no longer much of a man 
at all. His white hair was encrusted with frost and ice. His eyes were 
like two black holes, the complete opposite of his skin, which was now 
a pale white as opposed to the healthy pink it had once been. The nails 
on the tips of his fingers were sharp, encrusted with ice. 

None of them moved. The door opened, and it was indeed the Sheriff of
the town. He was nothing like what Adam had imagined; he looked warm, 
inviting, with a friendly mustache and a conservative short haircut. He 
was overweight, but strong at the same time wearing a 
one-size-too-small sheriff's uniform. 

“You fucking monster,” the Sheriff said. He was cradling a twelve-guage
shotgun in his arms. “We're not enough then, that you gotta bring in a 
few strangers too?” 

“They're merely an added bonus,” Jack whispered in his cold voice. It
was nothing like when he had spoken to the three earlier in the 
evening. Morning, actually, Adam thought. Probably somewhere around one 
o'clock. “A bargaining chip.” The briefcase flew past Adam and landed 
in front of the sheriff. “Open it.” 

“Hell no, Frost,” the Sheriff said. “We're through playing your little
mind games. We're fed up with it. No more.” 

“You will open it now, Sheriff.” Adam felt Jack lay a cold hand on his
shoulder. “Or these boys will die in front of your eyes.” 

The Sheriff slowly reached his hand down and unlatched the cover,
keeping his eyes just over Adam's right shoulder. Adam could feel the 
warmth of the room just two feet away, inviting him in. 

The Sheriff opened the briefcase, nodded solemnly, and shut it hard.
“You're a monster, just like I've always said.” 

“He died a horrible death, your deputy,” Jack whispered. “And so will
everyone in that room. So will these three boys, if you don't give me 
five more people. It's all I need. Five more people to satisfy my 
hunger and I'll be gone. The rest of you will all get on with your 
lives and you'll forget I was ever here.” 

“You've already taken so many,” the Sheriff said. His voice wasn't as
strong as before. He was almost whining. “I don't trust you further 
than I can spit, you demon.” He raised his shotgun. “Now I swear: you 
let these boys go now.” 

And then Rico was screaming, high-pitched and horrible to the point that
it would have been funny had Adam heard it on TV. Only when Adam looked 
right, Rico's screams were validated; one of Jack's hands was digging 
deep into the Mexican's back, two very red and very sharp icicles 
protruding from his chest. 

“I want four more,” Jack hissed through clenched teeth as he raised Rico
a full foot in the air to shield himself from the sheriff's shotgun. “I 
need four more. You will give them to me, or everyone will die.” Rico 
stopped screaming, and Adam watched as the creature put an icy hand on 
the pudgy twenty year-old's head. There was an extreme rush of heat, so 
hot that beads of sweat formed on Adam's head in the split second it 
existed. Jack's hand grew red for a moment, and a look of pure pleasure 
washed over his face. 

“Get in here!” the Sheriff yelled. “While he's distracted!” He grabbed
Jeff and Adam by the collars of their jackets and quickly pulled them 
inside. He slammed the door and bolted it shut. 

Adam wanted to ask what the Hell just happened. He wanted to call out
for his friend, because surely Rico wasn't dead. Surely what had all 
happened was some hallucination, maybe from the mist. But those 
thoughts were at the edge of Adam's mind. The only thing he was 
conscious about was the heat. The heat, slowly warming Adam's 
frost-bitten skin. It felt so good that any other thoughts were pushed 
away immediately. 

Not so with Jeff. “What the Hell just happened?” he asked almost
immediately. 

Adam scanned the room. There were at least thirty people in the small
waiting room, most of them huddled around a crafty fireplace on the far 
wall. There was another doorway, but it was covered by a large couch 
propped upright so that only the handle was visible. A few stood behind 
the small service counter, and a few more sat at a small table just 
left of the room by the fireplace. It was probably where skiers sat in 
the morning to drink a quick cup of coffee before hitting the ski hills 
that peppered the area. 

“Frost,” someone in the group said. 

The Sheriff nodded. “Jack Frost. Signed in here at the Motel two days
ago, just in time for a snowfall to hit. Then a thick mist rolls in 
outta nowhere. Next thing I know, I have six hundred missing people 
reports sitting on my desk. Everyone's gone, and those who aren't are 
reporting a mysterious man. There's a report of a murder, then 
another.” 

“Rico,” Adam whispered. 

The Sheriff continued: “I got here and found these people. It wasn't
long before Frost comes ‘a knocking. He tells us he'll stop everything 
if three people come with him. Three people decide to play hero. Then 
he comes back and wants five more. We try to stop him, and Deputy Paul 
tries to chase after in the storm. This was only a few short hours 
ago.” He took a deep breath and cast a glance at the briefcase. “Then 
he comes with you guys as hostages. He still wants more, but I ain't 
letting anyone else go.” 

“What for?” Jeff asked. “What does he need them for?” 

“You're guess is as good as mine. You saw what he did to your friend. He
gets something out of it. Or maybe he just gets off on killing people. 
I don't really care what he is or what he wants. I just want him out of 
my town.” He looked around the room. “We all do.” 

“This is in our head, Jeff,” Adam droned. “It's the mist. We're
hallucinating. Everyone is. We need to find Rico. He's probably cold as 
Hell out there.” He made for the door, but the Sheriff grabbed him 
mid-stride. 

“Don't you get it, boy? Jack Frost is the mist. I saw it with my own two
eyes. It's how he travels. The only reason he isn't in here right now 
is because of the heat. Once our reserve generator runs out of juice, 
he'll creep in here and then we're all done for.” 

“Why not give him the five, then?” Jeff asked. “I'm not trying to sound
cruel, but it would seem five is better than thirty.” 

The Sheriff let go of Adam and a man dressed in black with a white
collar came over. He helped Adam to the table, where one woman gladly 
gave up her seat to let him sit. 

“Frost is a liar,” the Sheriff explained. “I don't believe him for a
second, and the next clean shot I get, I'm going to take it. We have 
four guns between us all. Right now, we're trying to decide the best 
way to attack him. We have to.” 

Adam turned his attention away from the Sheriff. He looked instead at
the elderly man in black. “You're a priest, then?” 

The man nodded. “A pastor, actually. Lutheran. How are you feeling?” 

Adam licked his dry lips. “Warm. It feels good.” 

The man smiled. “That's good. Sit for a while. I'll see if I can't get
you something warm to drink. We might have some coffee left. We've been 
living on it for the last day now.” 

He left and quickly returned with a steaming cup of black liquid. “Here.
Drink up.” 

Adam did. Slowly at first, then more quickly once his throat got used to
the heat. It tasted bitter, but felt so good that he hardly noticed. 
“Thanks,” he finally managed. 

“You've been through a lot,” the Pastor said. “We all have. The best
thing you can do is sit still and calm your nerves.” 

Then thanks for the coffee, Adam thought. He set the cup on the table
and focused instead on the Sheriff, who was talking to two other men on 
the other side of the room. Jeff came over and put a hand on Adam's 
shoulder. 

“You all right?” he asked. 

Adam nodded. “What are they talking about over there?” 

Jeff looked in the Sheriff's direction. “They want to go out and find
Frost. They want to try and kill him.” 

“Sounds insane.” 

“Everything I've heard so far tonight has sounded insane.” 

“This morning,” Adam corrected him. 

“What?” 

“It's been ‘morning' for almost two hours now,” Adam said. 

Jeff shook his head. “Okay. The point is that we're trapped here like
rats while that thing outside bides his time. My dad is a whiz at the 
auto shop when it comes to motors, Adam. I know a thing or two about 
them, and I know emergency generators are only built to last a dozen 
hours at the most. They've been using it for almost ten.” 

“Are you actually buying all this?” Adam asked. “Frost? Rico dead? There
has to be some kind of explanation for it all.” 

“There isn't,” Jeff said flatly. “Shit, Adam. I can't say that all of
this makes sense, but it's real, and in a few short hours that 
generator is going to run out of fuel. And then we'll have no heat. 
Then, it doesn't matter if we're hallucinating, because we'll freeze to 
death either way.” 

“I wish I hadn't put down that gas can,” Adam said. 

Jeff looked at him. “Generators run on unleaded gas. Sheriff!” The
Sheriff glanced back and slowly made his way over. “Sheriff, I think we 
can buy you some time.” 

“How so?” he asked, only mildly curious. 

“I have a full gas can,” Adam said. “It's sitting on the corner sidewalk
just a block down, right next to the gas station. Two gallons.” 

“That could run a standard generator for five hours at least,” Jeff
added. “It's already filled-up. All we need to do is run out there and 
get it.” 

“Woah, son.” The Sheriff raised his hands up in protest. “I'm not
sending two kids out there to get killed.” 

“Have you tried to recover gas yet on your own?” Jeff asked. 

The Sheriff shook his head. “Too risky. It would just take too damn long
to authorize the pumps and fill up a can.” 

“Let me go,” Adam offered. “I remember exactly where I put it. I set it
right next to the dumpster just off of the sidewalk. I can run there 
and back in a few seconds and he won't even notice me.” 

“Don't you get it?” The Sheriff asked. “Don't you get any of this? He
will notice you. He'll notice you the second you step into that mist. 
He'll feel you and he'll come for you. You will not go out there alone. 
No one will.” He spoke the last part loud enough for everyone in the 
room to hear. 

“We need that gas,” Jeff said. 

Sheriff looked at the two. “I don't want to lose anyone else while I'm
in charge. I don't think I could handle any more deaths. Carl! Sam! 
Come here for a second!” Two rather bulky men dressed in heavy 
camouflage coats stepped over from the desk. Each of them was carrying 
a somewhat intimidating hunting rifle. “Boys, I knew your fathers. I 
drank with ‘em when I was off-duty on Friday nights, and not second has 
gone by since this all went down that I don't wonder what happened to 
them. And I sure as Hell am not going to ask you two to put your lives 
on the line for anything. But this boy here says he knows where there's 
a full gas can, and God knows we need it.” 

The two nodded. One of them spoke up: “Sheriff, I think I can speak for
Sam when I say we're perfectly ready to do anything we can to get 
through this.” 

The Sheriff nodded. He looked at Adam. “Let these men stay on either
side of you at all times.” He then turned his attention to the two men. 
“If you see a clear shot, you take it. I don't care what this bastard 
thinks he is, he's gotta be flesh and blood. But we need that gas so we 
take some more time to figure out how to get through this. I trust you 
boys.” 

Adam nodded and looked at Jeff. 

“Just get back here quick, man,” Jeff said quietly. Adam nodded. 

“You ready?” The man named Sam asked. He was clutching his rifle
tightly. 

Adam zipped up his jacket as far as it could go and breathed warm air
into his hands. “Yeah.” 

“There and back, boys,” the sheriff ordered. “Just there and back.” 

Sam opened the door and the three quickly left the room. The mist
outside was thick, and it was freezing. Adam wanted more than anything 
to call the entire thing off, but it was too late now; the other two 
men were already a few paces ahead, dangerously close to being 
swallowed by the mist entirely and leaving Adam alone. 

“We need to walk quick,” Sam said. He had an arm on Adam's back to keep
him in pace--totally unnecessary, but whatever made the man feel more 
in charge was fine with Adam. It was almost comforting, anyways. “You 
sure it's where you say it is?” 

“I'm positive,” Adam said. “It's right--” 

The other man, Carl, quickly putted a gloved hand over Adam's mouth.
“Don't even say it. Didn't you hear the sheriff? He was right; this 
mist is a PART of that bastard. It's his eyes, ears, and nose. Don't 
even say it. Just lead us to it as quick as possible.” 

Adam nodded and they remained as silent as they possibly could, though
there was no sign of Frost anywhere. Surely, he knew where they were; 
between the three, their footsteps crunching on the hard snow was 
nearly deafening in the silent night. 

Holy night, Adam thought. It was his favorite song to sing at church.
They rarely went, except for on Christmas Eve, because that was truly 
special, and the service Adam's church put together was really good; 
just songs, mostly, but the timeless classics that everyone could sing 
along to. 

The gas station's large sign slowly came into view less than fifteen
feet ahead. It was old and the plastic was broken in some places, 
probably from rocks thrown by reckless teens who had nothing better to 
do on Friday nights. The pumps were relatively new, and stood out of 
place with the rest of the run-down station. 

“There,” Adam said, pointing to a small red can just a few feet away
from the dumpster, near the unleaded pumps. He sprinted over to it and 
immediately regretted doing so; the cold misty air crept into his 
hard-working lungs and he doubled over. 

Sam helped Adam as he slowly got to his feet, the gas can firmly in one
numb hand. God almighty, why hadn't he pulled out his gloves? Because 
they were just supposed to have run to the nearest gas station, not run 
to a Motel and get thrown into one big supernatural 
hard-to-believe-anyways mess. That's why. 

A cold wind blew past them and Adam knew they weren't alone anymore. 

“Well, this is a surprise,” the cold voice whispered. Adam looked up to
see Frost's frame securely blocking their route home. The mist seemed 
to envelope him like a blanket, so that only shadows of his figure 
could be seen. But his fingers no longer represented those of a normal 
man. What looked like icicles hung from the tips so they looked more 
like the claws of some beast. 

“Fire at that son of a bitch!” Sam yelled. He brought up his gun at the
same time as Carl and they fired three shots apiece at the ghostly 
visage. One shot seemed to graze his arm, but the figure quickly 
disappeared again into the night. 

Adam was kneeling, motionless between the two men, clutching the gas can
so hard that he couldn't even feel how cold his fingers were. His ears 
were ringing, and for a moment he didn't even hear Carl screaming. It 
wasn't until a warm pint of blood graced his face that Adam looked up 
and saw three icy talons digging into Carl's skull. Adam wanted to 
scream, but he was momentarily hypnotized by the graphic violence that 
was taking place in front of his eyes. He cursed himself for it, 
because the warm blood that splashed across his face felt good. 

“Get outta here, kid!” Sam said, giving Adam a push. “They need that gas
more than they need us! Go!” 

Adam took off and felt his lungs immediately slam shut as the cold mist
flooded them. Still, he ran, heedless of the screams and gunshots (very 
few) behind him. 

Then there was silence. The Motel was only thirty feet away at most, but
Adam was slowing down already; too many cigarettes over the years and 
too cold of air to continue at such a hard pace. The wind whispered 
into his ears, growing louder and louder until Adam could distinguish 
words: 

“Two more,” it said. “Bring me two more people and I'm done. I need
their body heat, you see. I need it to stave off the very cold I 
produce. It's my own energy source, and my bane. It hurts, Adam. I'm 
always in pain; the warmth is the only thing that holds it off. Once I 
have enough, I won't have to kill again for a long time.” 

Adam slowed down slightly. He was only twenty feet away now. 

“I can feel it within me. With the heat of just two more people, I'll
never need to kill again. I'll be self-maintaining. I'll be normal, 
like you. I'll be able to walk around and live a normal life.” 

He was only ten feet away now. The outline of the motel was visible, as
were the lights within the lobby. 

“Drop the can, Adam.” Adam thought back to their past conversation; he
had never told Frost his name. “Drop it and let me into the Motel. I'll 
take two and I'll be gone.” 

Adam tightened his grip on the can, and he continued walking. He reached
the door and turned the handle, slowly opening it. Something sharp and 
ice-cold pierced his back in four separate places and he opened the 
door in time to see the mist quickly creep in, the generator's energy 
then depleted. Still, the mist seemed to writhe in pain as it moved 
through the lukewarm room, engulfing the people within who were now 
screaming in pain. 

The Sheriff, trying to shoot over Adam's shoulder, hitting Adam's arm.
Jeff, falling to his knees as he inhaled the mist and his skin turning 
a pale blue. The pastor who had been kind enough to find Adam a cup of 
coffee, saying a quick prayer before he too fell over. 

Adam threw the gas can to the Sheriff, but it was too late. 

The blood running down Adam's back felt good, so good that he completely
forgot the pain he was in, watching as the mist sucked the heat from 
the people in the room. The Sheriff slowly turned a pale blue and 
clutched his throat in pain. 

A tear rolled down Adam's cheek. It froze instantly. 


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