Frosty the Conman

April 29, 2010
The birds chirped, the long awaited sunshine came pouring in through the windows, and from the kitchen, he swore he heard swaying tree branches scratching his bedroom window. Spring at last was here and the heavily packed snow was finally melting. He glanced up from his spot at the kitchen table and through the window above the sink. He saw kids running, mothers gossiping, dogs being walked, but he found something awry: the trees in his front yard were still. And though these boughs were still, he continued to hear the scratching of a tree branch coming from his room down the hall. He slowly slid back his chair, its legs scraping the tile floor as he went, and eased himself up. He cautiously started towards the dark hallway leading to his room. With each step, the scratching got louder, and louder; he inched open the door, holding his breath, heart pounding in his ears, and slowly turned his head to the right. He let out a loud sigh at the sight of his old friend, Frosty, standing at his window, scraping his stick upon the pane. He crossed the room and yanked his window up.

“Hey Frosty, how you been?”

“Not too good man, it’s getting pretty hot out.”

“Yeah, the spring can do that to you man.” He chuckled about his obvious observations. “So, what do you need?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could do me a little favor.”

“No man, you know I don’t do those kinds of things anymore.”

“Man, this time it’s different; you’ll be saving my life! Just one last time.”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “All right. One last time. And I mean that this time! What did you have in mind?”

Frosty lowered his voice, and brought his snowball closer to the boy face, so that he could feel the icy crystals press against his cheek, so close that his carrot was nearly touching the boy’s forehead. “I was thinking that, well, that you could sneak me into the Peterson’s meat locker.”

The boy took a huge step back, waving his hands frantically, violently shaking his head saying, “No way man! That’s insane.”

“Come on man, you know they never use it. And since I’ll be over there all the time that would give you one hell on an excuse to see Molly Peterson on a regular basis.” He winked at

The boy froze. It was true, Molly Peterson was hot. The boy paused, thought long and hard, and it took him all of about five seconds to decide that seeing Molly Peterson was worth any repercussions. “Okay, I have a plan.”

Frosty’s coals widened and twiddled his twigs, whispering menacingly “Excellent.”

The boy slipped his father’s old duster over Frosty as he walked out the door, bowler hat slanted down over his icy visage. Frosty was already beginning to puddle, so they had to act quickly. The boy told Frosty to sling his branch across his shoulder, so as to feign fatigue. The dastardly duo slowly began to make their way across the boy’s side yard, towards the Peterson’s next door. They walked along the side of the foreign house towards the meat locker in the back. Just as the limping pair was to reach the freezer, Mrs. Peterson stepped out onto their back porch.

“Oh! Hello Stanley!”

“Well hello Mrs. Peterson! How are you? How’s the family?”

“I’m quite well, as is the Mister. Molly is out right now, but I’ll tell her you say hi.”

Stanley’s head grew foggy as he said, “You do that, thank you Mrs. Peterson.”

“Oh, isn’t the weather beautiful? My flower beds do much better like this ; I hate that darn snow.”

Frosty growled under his breath as Stanley jabbed him in his middle snowball to quiet him.

“Yeah, I know just what you mean.” Stanley slapped a huge grin across his face.

“Who’s that you’ve got there with you?” She craned her neck, as if she thought if she could only see from a different angle she could see through the hat and coat.

“Oh! This is, er, my uncle. Uncle Foster. He’s visiting our family. He, er, he has cancer,” Stanley quickly blurted out. Mrs. Peterson’s eyes looked from side as she mumbled some apologies under her breath.

“Well, um, you two have fun…” She gave Stanley a pitying look as they slowly backed away.

“Great cover story,” Frosty mocked under his breath into Stanley’s ear.

“Shut up or I’ll put you next to the stove.”

They reached the massive door of the meet locker, seeming to ridicule them as they tried to figure a way in. They starred down the number pad on the face of the door; Stanley tried all the old tricks. He typed in their address, the year, and then it came to him: their most precious gift. His fingers skated over the number pad, entering Molly Peterson’s birthday, smirking as he listened to the sweet sound of the locks clicking open. Stanley hurriedly shoved Frosty through the door, his hands sinking into the now-softened snow, taking back his hat and coat, now soaking wet.

“Well,” Stanley stopped. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Just until next Christmas man. I’ll be back, don’t worry.”

“I’ll see you around man.”

“Yeah,” Frosty murmured as he shut the door, “see you.”

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