PROLOGUE
Craig Vickerson woke up. The house was freezing. Strange, too, given it was barely the beginning of autumn. He swore he'd cranked up the thermostat, too. He got off the bed and headed over to the controls.
He fell over. The ground was as cold as ice, and just as slippery. Gripping on to his chilly duvet, he slowly got to his feet and sidled over to the thermostat controls. His fingers slipped on the dial – it had been completely iced over.
He was shivering. He looked outside. Whatever the weather was like at this time of the year, it had to be warmer. When he caught the hooligan who'd messed with the AC in the house, he'd…he'd…he'd figure what to do later. He was too cold to think.
After nearly falling down the frosted-over stairs, he somehow managed to make it to the front door. A fine mist was forming on the corners of his bathrobe, and he saw his breath trail away from his mouth.
He gripped the door handle and turned. Pulling the door open, he found his hand stuck to it, frozen there by the sheer cold. It didn't…it didn't matter. He'd warm up once he was – outside?
The door opened to reveal a figure. Even before he could ask him who he was, Craig was covered in coolant. He reached out with a hand that was quickly frosting over. His fingertips never made it to the figure. In a matter of seconds, Craig Vickerson was immobile on the threshold of his house, now an ice palace to match, his death-scream forever frozen in his throat.