The living room is cozy. The furniture is worn and faded, magazines and books scattered on the coffee table. Four stockings hang from the fireplace. A nine-foot tall tree takes center stage in the front window. The multi-colored lights adorning the branches provide the only light in the room, casting kaleidoscopic rays over the two girls sitting before it. Their heads are craned back to see the silver and gold ornaments and snow white angel topping.
Julie, the younger of the two, is small, only three years old with blonde hair pulled back in a French braid. Her big blue eyes take in the tree before her, filled with wonder and joy. Her older sister Cassandra holds her close. Her long brown hair drapes over her shoulders and tickles Julie's round face. She's sixteen, and even though she hasn't believed in Santa Clause in a decade, she cherishes the holiday season.
"Can you say 'Christmas,' Julie?" Cassandra coos.
Obediently, Julie murmurs, "Christmas."
Cassandra kisses her little sister's warm cheek. Julie stretches out her tiny hand and caresses a low branch of the tree.
"Are you excited for Christmas to come?" the brunette whispers.
Julie processes the question for a second, still gazing at the tree.
She finally says, "Yes. I hope I'm on the Nice List."
"I'm sure you are," Cassandra says with a soft smile.
Julie yawns and snuggles closer to her sister. Their mother, a woman of about forty appears behind them. Her hair is dark like Cassandra, cut short to frame her round face. Her blue eyes sparkle like Julie's.
"Julie, it's time for bed," she coaxes, a bit reluctant to break the moment.
Cassandra embraces her sister, inhaling the smell of her baby shampoo. Julie presses a tender kiss to Cassandra's forehead before scampering to her mother.
"Goodnight, snowflake," Cassandra calls after the little girl.
Julie waves sweetly. "Night-night."
Julie leaves, scampering up the curved staircase. Her golden braid flies behind her, reminding Cassandra of Rapunzel's magical locks.
Cassandra's mother places a hand on her hip.
"Not too late, Cassandra," she says sternly.
Her mother goes to the heating system mounted on the wall beside the staircase and turns the heater up.
Cassandra glances over her shoulder. The house is over two centuries old and evidence of its lack of insulation scatters the room. Fuzzy socks and slippers litter the floor and two plush throw blankets cover the armrests of the two loveseats. Cassandra moves to her feet, unplugging the tree lights from the wall socket. The room is bathed in darkness, with just enough light from the crescent moon shinning through the large windows to illuminate Cassandra's face. She shows no fear of the dark house. She hasn't been afraid of the dark since she believed in the Easter Bunny.
Julie's voice echoes in the silence, soft and cautious, "Cassie?"
Cassandra chuckles softly, reaching the top of the stairs. A pink glow radiates from an open door along the hallway. Julie stands in the light of the doorway. Unlike her sister, she is uncertain of the darkness.
"Julie, what are you doing up?" Cassandra's voice comes.
Julie waits until Cassandra steps into the dim light and takes her hand.
"Come tuck me in?" she pleads, her blue eyes big and her bottom lip pouting slightly.
Cassandra swings the small girl into her arms and enters the bedroom. It isn't very spacious, cluttered with its occupants possessions. The walls are painted lavender and the dressers and headboard are white-washed wood. Princess and fairy knick-knacks line the dresser. Shelves hold teddy bears and baby dolls with their china-blue eyes open wide. The ovular double-paned window is open wide. Cold, early-December air wisps in.
"Did Mom leave this open?" Cassandra sighs.
With Julie still in her arms, she moves to the window, intent on closing it. The last thing she needs it Julie sniffling for the next few weeks.
"Don't!" Julie cries out. "Please." She yanks Cassandra's hands away from the window.
Cassandra deposits Julie on her bed and helps her slide under the pale pink blankets. Her tiny body makes a small bump on the mattress as she curls in on herself like a roly-poly bug. She shivers gently and a line from a song trickles through Cassandra's mind.
"Jack Frost nipping at your nose…" she sings quietly, tapping her index finger to Julie's pink nose.
Julie scrunches her nose.
"Who's Jack Frost?"
Cassandra smiles to herself and nestles on the bed beside her sister.
"You don't know?" she chuckles playfully.
The temperature in the room drops another few degrees and Cassandra finds herself gazing out the open window. A layer of ice has coated one of the window-panes, making a crystalline, beautiful pattern.
Julie, sleepily, shakes her head and leans closer. She adores her sister's stories and she knows just when a good one is beginning. Cassandra has always adored the story of Jack Frost, for he is the patron of her favorite season.
"He's the spirit of winter, Julie," Cassandra starts, her voice distant. "Jack Frost brings the snow on the coldest of days, and freezes over Lake Ivy so we can skate on it."
Julie's eyes slip closed as Cassandra's voice lulls her to sleep.
"He's always on your side during a snowball fight. He is the reason you can see your breath in the cold."
Even though Julie is now sound asleep, Cassandra continues to recite the words by memory, just as her father had told her.
"He's behind that feeling you get when a cold kiss of air nips at your nose, or when a blast of cool wind transforms a window into a drawing board, or the pure joy when a school day becomes a snow day. He can control the winter weather. Ice, and snow. Jack Frost can conjure them up and bend them to his will. He can fly, or so I've heard. And he can make a fantastic snowball."
Cassandra stands and kisses her sister's forehead before moving to the window. She gazes down at the snow on the front lawn, her brown eyes wistful.
She whispers, "He will always keep you safe during the winter."
The latch snaps closed, but a quick blur across the fogged window makes Cassandra open it again.
A large, sturdy tree looms in front of the window, its branches and leaves coated in powdery snow and slick ice. The branch just outside the window is clear of any snow.
A squirrel, Cassandra convinces herself with a shake of her brunette head. Without a second though, she closed the window and tip-toed to her own bedroom.
The lake is frozen over, reflecting the light of the crescent moon in the dark sky. Gray clouds move quickly overhead and soon cover the moon. Snow banks dot the edges of the lake, small twigs and bits of dead grass poking to the surface.
Cassandra finds herself stumbling to the edge of the lake, only clothed in her pajamas. Her shins and knees are scraped and bloody, her hair a wreck. She takes a step backward when she realizes where she is. She stays far away from the water's edge, knowing the ice is thin this early in the season.
The bushes to her left rustle.
"Hello?" she calls gently, then feels liking kicking herself. In every horror movie she's seen, that is the wrong thing to do. A cloud of air appears before her as she breaths out of her mouth. She notices fleetingly that she is freezing, especially in her inappropriate clothing.
A red fox darts out of the bush and a sharp scream escapes from Cassandra. She covers her mouth and laughs at herself. Nothing to be afraid of. She grins as the fox prances onto the ice, spinning to look at her. The cone-shaped ears twitch and golden eyes stare right at Cassandra.
Driven by curiosity, Cassandra finds herself sliding her bare feet onto the ice after the creature. It scampers happily, dashing here and there on the lake. Cassandra makes a clumsy attempt to follow. The fox darts up a nearby tree, the branches hanging over the middle of the frozen lake. Compelled, Cassandra reaches up and swings herself onto a low limb, climbing higher to chase the fox.
The tiny golden eyes watch her, then point downward as it takes a flying leap from the tree branch.
Cassandra's heart leaps into her throat and she jolts forward to try to catch the animal. Surely it will kill itself on impact, or freeze in the below-zero water below the ice. Instead, it vanishes in a blur of black smoke that falls like sand.
The branch Cassandra balances on snaps, sending her tumbling and screaming. She nose-dives down, down, down… Her hands break the ice first and every muscle in her body clenches as the icy water envelopes her like a deadly embrace.
Cassandra jolts awake with a sharp gasp. She is in her bed, legs tangled in the sheets and sweat trickling down the back of her neck. After a few deep breaths, she regains her bearings. She's home. She's safe. The dream is foggy, only vague images of the lake glimmering at the edges of her conscious mind.
Kicking back the blankets, she hisses in pain. Various pink and red scratches mare her bare legs. Twigs stick to her pajama shorts. She wiggles her toes and has to massage her feet to bring feeling back to them. They are as cold as ice.
Her brown eyes are wide and panicked as she turns to her open bedroom window. She swore she closed it the night before. The front lawn is dusted with a fresh layer of pristine snow, and Cassandra can't help but check for footprints. She finds none.
He watches, his head cocked to the side as she grips the window ledge, her head bent forward. Her chest heaves as she gasps for breath. Jack had hoped she wouldn't remember the night before, or at least would write it off as a dream.
She's smart. He has always known that. He didn't realize when he came to see her, so many years after the first time he saw her, that she would be so beautiful. Her eyes are large and brown, fringed with thick dark lashes. Her hair is long now. She is on her way to becoming a woman and he can't help but wonder what she will look like in a few more years.
The wind whips around his body and he knows he has lingered long enough. He has a nightmare to track down.
He watches for a moment more as her blonde sister scampers into her room. He is taken back to the night before, to her story of Jack Frost. He had listened from the window outside, smiling to himself the entire time.
If only she knew…
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