Disclaimer: I own not of anything but the snow goon, but the idea, in turn, was Mr. Watterson's too…meh.

This chapter'll be better, I swear. I put two chapters in today as I won't be in for a week as I'll be visiting relatives and stuff.

* ** *

"Alright Calvin, go."

Calvin stood, shivering, standing over a frozen snowman that looked, in this horizontal position, somewhat peaceful, like a sleeping child of the snow. He would have to do something quickly. The snow had worn away at his migraine, and his dazed somberness before had quickly passed.

"C'mon, twinkie. We don't got all night!" Came the below of Moe. Calvin was still surprised he hadn't left yet. What was he doing there anyway? Well, every group, even a temporary four-hour one, has to have the strong-idiot type.

Calvin peered back down at the hastily made snowman, trying to think of what to do. Many years earlier, what had he done? Something wrong, obviously, as fifteen snow goons resulted in the mistake, but had it been a spell? An incantation? What?

In his mind, suddenly, was a flash of nostalgic memory of himself, standing over a snowman, whispering an incantation, and suddenly screaming as the snowman, after crying "Live! LIVE!LIVE!" finally did live, as he hurled across the yard, and the snowman was close behind him, homicide in his eyes.

Little did he realize, as he closed his eyes and shivered, whether from the cold or from the past memories, that he muttered the lines under his breath.

"By the power invested in me by the mighty and awful snow demons, I command you to come to life. Live. Live. LIVE!" he cried at the end, awaking himself from his sudden comatose stage, realizing that he was no longer crouching for warmth, but had unfurled his arms before the snowman, expecting lightning as perhaps the Heavens themselves might open upon his words and bring this Frosty to life.

Nothing.

"Oo, aah, help me Calvin, Frosty the Snow Goon is trying to hack me to bits." crooned Candice with a harsh sarcastic tone that, truthfully, was uncalled for. "Candice, shut up." nudged Susie.

Nothing still.

"Alright, let's just go in, and you," Candice pointed to Calvin "remember our deal? When we get in, fetch me the phonebook and call Little Caeser's, your treat, got in slave-monkey?" She walked off, a sneer on her face. Calvin reached over to Susie and whispered "When did she get to be so cruel?"

* ** *

Once inside, the only sound besides the harsh screaming winds outside was the groaning of Tommy. "I'm going to go make some tea. My head really hurts." he stumbled off to the kitchen, his slurry speech having long disappeared.

"Slave-monkey, where's the phonebook?" snapped Candice. Calvin grumbled under his breath and went to go fetch the yellow-pages.

* ** *

The shrill winds of the night skirted across the house and over the piling snow drifts in the street. The lights in the houses started to go off one by one, as Christmas trees are unplugged for the night and the outdoor lights are left on for decorative purposes. Those few lights (as well as the pregnant moon that shines like a silver dollar far overhead) shone off of the shining hide of the solitary snowman spread on the ground.

These same lights also bathed the snowman as it grunted and lifted it's branched arm.

* ** *

"Okay, thanks, see you in thirty minutes." said Calvin, hanging up the phone. Behind him, he could feel Candice grinning malevolently. "Well, Tim says the pizza will be here in thirty, and as he knows us from school, he'll take five dollars off." Candice's smile faltered temporarily.

"Alright, now that slave-monkey has gotten that done, he can rest for a little while. Remembering all those numbers to dial really rattled his brain." she mocked.

"I swear, Candice, if the snowman had come alive, and this some how turned into a teen-slasher horror movie, I would see to it that you were the first to die. It would have to be after you said something like 'Boy, I wouldn't even be able to find my head if it weren't attached to my shoulders' and then the snowman would decapitate you."

"But this isn't a horror movie, so shut up."

* ** *

Tommy started to rub his temples, trying to bring down his migraine from the cereal. The tea would help, but the water was warming slowly. "Oooh…" he groaned, not hearing the grind of ice outside on the porch, the silent click of the lock, the quiet turning of the knob, and never realizing that he wasn't alone.

* ** *

"But if it were a horror movie, I'm just contradicting your statement that I would not be one of the surviving lead characters. I am the lead character here! Me, and maybe Susie, would survive, but the rest would die, certainly. The rugged guy figure, strong and brave, always survives. Tommy won't, cuz he's a wuss, Moe won't, because he's strong, but an idiot" (which earned him a disgruntled growl) "and you won't, Candice, because, well, the slutty one always lives briefly, does every surviving guy, and then is suddenly stabbed just when you think it's all clear."

"Whoa, slutty? Who are you calling slut?" shouted Candice. "And besides, you said earlier I would be the first, now I'm like third to last to die. Whose going to die first then?"

Calvin thought about it a moment longer, and got closer to the fire. "I'm not sure. But they'll go out with some stupid line. They always do."

* ** *

The water started to boil a little quicker. Tommy quickly crossed the kitchen to pick up the tea bag and placed next to the stove.

Having done this, Tommy wasted no time in rubbing his temples once more, and suddenly, deep in his bowels, something gave a great bellow as the Super Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs hit the chili fries he had had earlier that day.

"Oooh…if my headache won't kill me, these stomach pains will." he started to groan, but was quickly silenced as a sharp pain stabbed through his gut.

* ** *

"Okay, fine, I'll admit that perhaps Moe would hold off the beast temporarily, but who would save us indefinitely? You? I doubt that."

Susie, who had finally had enough, quickly stood up. "I've had it! Shut up, you two! There is no snow monster, there will be no one to save us, because we aren't in danger, and don't worry, nobody's going to be the first to di-"

But Susie was quickly cut off by a piercing cry from the kitchen.

"Tommy!" was the unison cry. There was a shuffling footstep, and from the kitchen entered Tommy, a great amount of blood bubbling from his mouth. "Froshty…got me…" he mumbled, and fell down face-first, never minding the pain as his nose shattered. Dead people don't seem to mind pain.

Sticking out of his back was the blunt end of the killer's weapon, a nine-inch sharpened icicle.

(a/n: a little corny, I realize. Sorry about that. And, it may seem obvious, but I don't watch many horror movies.)