I had the perfect life, a cozy suburban home filled with a loving family, a beautiful wife Sasha and two overly energetic little ones, Haley and Michael. Our neighbor, Greta, the only stain on our picture-perfect existence. She despised us, well, despised kids. Whatever neighborhood you land in, there’s always that one old-timer who yells at you to stay off their lawn. We just happened to move directly across from Greta, a widow who avoided any hint of neighborly banter.
During the day we moved in just before the Holidays, Greta frowned from her living room window when she saw us approach her front porch to introduce ourselves. Short and stocky with long silver hair and a sharp nose that looked like it could puncture your skin, Greta had a startling presence for a woman who had to be pushing late eighties.
“Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone. Nothing more to it,” she said after we exchanged names.
Greta looked down at our kids with a sour face, and our children stepped behind us with a petrified look of fear. Irritated by her rude display, Sasha and I let the kids roam freely outside during the coming days. There was a foot of snow and Greta’s demeanor wasn’t going to ruin the good memories of playing in the snow.
When we threw on our winter gear and stepped outside on Christmas Eve, we noticed Greta had a snowman in her front yard.
“Maybe she’s not such of a grinch after all,” I said to Sasha.
“Daddy, look! A snowman!” Haley ran across the street with Michael close behind.
We caught up with them and analyzed the atrocious looking blob of snow. Made entirely of little sticks and twigs, the face had a haunting, scowled expression. A row of sticks lined the top of the head, causing the overall face to resemble an old man hanging on to what little hair he had left.
Before I could blink, Greta appeared. “I told you all to leave me alone, don’t go near my dear Carl,” she shouted.
I nodded and apologized, as the kids ran back to our yard. Our annual family snowball fight commenced, and with Greta glaring at us through her kitchen window, I did something I will regret for the rest of my life: I intentionally missed hitting Sasha with the snowball, and instead nailed the snowman. Greta shot daggers at me with her eyes and retreated from view.
“Jeff, why did you do that?” Sasha yelled. “You missed on purpose.”
“That old bag needs to lighten up. You see the way she scares the kids,” I responded.
After tucking in the kids that later that night, the winter storm picked up in intensity. Heavy winds banged against the front door, and with one deafening gust of wind, our door flung open. Snow blew in and dusted the living room furniture. Sasha and I ran outside to investigate, and the kids must have woken up from the noise, because they followed us.
Within a matter of seconds, inches of snow had accumulated at the door, making it difficult to close. I had never seen anything like it. I looked across the street to Greta’s house and noticed her staring back at us through her kitchen window. But then below my feet, I felt movement.
“What is that?” I started digging through the snow on the ground. “Something is in the snow.”
Two long rope-like sticks surfaced and wrapped around Haley and Michael’s legs, yanking them to the ground and pulling them towards the outside. The kids screamed as Sasha and I tried to untangle them, but they both catapulted through the door and landed near Greta’s snowman.
I only had my socks on, but I knew time was of the essence. I trudged through the wet and deep snow, going a mere ten feet, when the snow reached my chest. Stuck and unable to move ahead, I watched the snowman pull our kids to its mouth and gulp them down one by one until they completely vanished.
Greta smirked from inside. I howled. Helpless and unable to recover them, I looked back and saw Sasha stuck in the snow behind me, weeping. Greta stepped outside and approached us.
“I told you not to be a pest. Carl used to love building a snowman for our front yard Christmas decorations. But the damn bratty kids around here never appreciated it. Just saw him as an old man. Always messed with us.” Greta took a long, drawn-out breath. “One year, they destroyed his snowman and when Carl discovered the mess, his poor heart stopped. But I found a way to keep him around.”
Greta faced the snowman and the snowman rose its brows and grinned. My body ached with both an overwhelming physical and emotional pain.
“How is this possible? They can’t be… they can’t be gone. It can’t be real,” I moaned.
“Just a couple of missing kids now. You will never see them again,” Greta said casually like this wasn’t the first time the snowman had come alive.
Greta returned to her house, and Sasha eventually broke free, helping me back inside. After putting on proper winter gear, we rushed back to the snowman, but the snow was solid ice. We called the authorities and chipped away at the snowman’s body, but nothing worked.
The town cops laughed at us when we told them the snowman ate our kids. They initiated a missing children’s report. That was all they could do. Day after day, we tried to retrieve the bodies. Unsuccess each attempt, we eventually gave up and moved out.
And now I sit here night after night, dwelling on that one little decision of mine that ruined our life. And I beat myself up over it. I shouldn’t have hit that snowman.