Snowcrow

By Blake Alb

Not all snow days are the stuff of childhood dreams!!
And not all school days are the stuff of childhood doldrums. You must always be careful what you wish for (or rather what you don't). Not all nightmares occur at night, as some things go "bump in the day." Join Teddy in this horror/comedy as he attempts to find reprieve from his chilling holiday woes. And by woes we are not referring to your typical "coming of age" trials of youth. This is a tale about preventing boyhood daydreams from becoming nightmares. What are the yuletide intentions of these menacing snowmen? Or are these events born from the fanciful superstitions of a curious boy? Either way, Teddy must discern the truth as the line between fact and fiction becomes blurred. Just remember, sometimes the phrase "Merry Christmas" is nothing short of an oxymoron. To wrap it up? Just replace Merry Christmas with Scary Christmas!

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951642136

Blake Alb

Blake Alb is a writer with a passion for stories that stray from the beaten path. He has an MS in psychology and works as a mental health professional. He attributes his psychology degree as playing a significant role in providing a wellspring of ideas for storytelling. He is a big fan of all things geeky, with a penchant for anime, fantasy, science fiction, and video games. He also enjoys British Comedy and improv.

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Snowcrow

by

Blake Alb

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Blake Alb 2019

Smashwords Edition

Paperback ISBN: 9781951642129

eBook ISBN: 9781951642136

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, December 9, 2019

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Special thanks to:

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg, World Castle Publishing: Karen Fuller, and Test readers: Denise, Darrell, and Charlotte.

Chapter 1: January 28, 2016: When Hell Freezes Over

Recess was a luxury for all students at Anomaly Academy. This was true even for the sixth graders, as this particular school in Minneapolis, Minnesota had a separate facility for middle school (grades seven and eight) and high school (grades nine through twelve). Such separation was fine by me, even if I never really understood the concept of middle school. Not to be pedantic, but there would have to be a grade fourteen or sixteen if grades seven and eight were truly in the middle of this particular Dagwood Sandwich. It’s like when people call fifty middle age. I guess a hundred is the new eighty.

Still, time off from school was always most welcome in my book, so I took recess as readily as a lovely trail mix, with just the right ratio of chocolate, raisins, almonds, and pretzels (a delightful flavor combination whose acronym just happened to spell CRAP instead of GORP). Never judge a book by its cover. Lesson learned.

On this particular Thursday I sat on the swing next to Jane, and we were promulgating cursory glances towards the fourth and fifth graders as they hashed it out in King of the Hill. Neither of us ever played that particular rough and tumble game, as it reminded us too much of Darwinian dog-eat-dog hooliganism to be of much fun. Small wonder I always thought the best games ended in ties. And this didn’t only just apply to Othello, my all-time favorite game. Still, there was a certain charm to being a spectator of such rough and tumble sport, no matter how superfluous and impractical it was.

Notwithstanding the fact that we were outside, there was a Slippery When Wet sign placed conspicuously near the hill, with bold-faced red letters written on the yellow background. And of course a dramatic caricature of the obligatory brazen, cavalier, or otherwise obtuse simpleton who thought he could walk on a wet floor without slipping. What hubris! At least his intentions were good. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Let’s just hope that road is not slippery when wet.

Don’t you just love how those caution signs are just drunk sincerity? I asked. They are not there because they care.

Ever the cynic, said Jane. But you are right. This school is simply trying to save their butts in case of a lawsuit. They might as well just say ‘not responsible for accidents’ and be done with it. At least it would cover all the bases.

That’s an astute observation, I returned. Maybe if I wore some yellow caution tape like a sash wherever I went I could never be blamed for anything ever again. Works for me!

We both became quiet and watched the kids play King of the Hill for a good fifteen minutes before I spoke. Our favorite bully, David Hinckley, was also playing and doing quite well, toppling students over left and right. If this were Othello, his moves would be considered very loud to be sure. Then again, David Hinckley was never one for subtlety.

Don’t you miss those halcyon days of youth? I asked in my best mock-up old-man voice, as if I was a granddad on a porch swing smoking a corn cob pipe.

Jane laughed. I don’t think it was because of my comment. I think it was simply due to the fact that she was happy, and that was enough to make me smile. The truth was, I was just feeling happy in general, and wasn’t even sure why. But does there necessarily have to be an impetus for emotion?

Give my cell phone back! shouted David Hinckley towards a smaller boy with the handle of Jeremy Pegg.

Those were clearly fightin’ words, and the other five contestants must have agreed, as they drifted off the hill and left the two dueling desperadoes to their own devices. The other five encircled the hill, hurling nay-says to the clandestine contestant opposite of their alleged allegiance.

I didn’t take your damn phone! returned Jeremy. Go ahead, check my pockets!

Jeremy walked towards David, pulling the whites of his jeans out of his pockets. In David’s brief moment of vulnerability, Jeremy took the liberty to push David down the hill. The latter toppled, head backwards, and actually achieved some lift. He rolled down the hill and landed near the snowman. This only seemed to provoke his rage. He stood up and brushed the snow off himself, looked at the snowman, and punched a large hole in his mid-region.

What the hell are you looking at! shouted David towards Jeremy when he turned around. He sprinted towards his opponent, a bold reprisal, even for David’s standards. Jeremy held steadfast, and just as David was about to ram him, he sidestepped out of the way. David kept going, and his right foot slipped on hard-packed ice. He stumbled onward, and his instincts told him to try and run faster to catch himself before he fell. But this only made him run even faster. Failing to outrun gravity, he ran full-tilt and head first into the fire hydrant.

Almost immediately blood began spilling out, some of it masked by the red fire hydrant. The rivers of blood on the snow painted a different picture, though, and one that was certainly less-than-optimistic. David wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing, as evidenced by the dearth of foggy breath emanating from his lips.

Jane and I hurried to David. He wasn’t