It was the year 1972, and a small town was covered head to toe in snow. There was very little to do. The little children were unable to go outside. They had to stay where it was warm. But some naughty little children didn't listen to the rule. They decided to outside and play in the snow. But the horror about to unfold would only be worse.
The day the snow melted away; the adult of a little boy who never returned stepped outside. He was hoping his son was with his friends. But that was far from the truth. The boy never returned. The mother of the boy was devastated. He was the only child in the family. The whole family couldn't bare not to have him around. This town didn't have a police force. This meant there was no way to stop crime than to have the victims' family and the mayor handle it. But this case was not like the normal case. It was the first missing person case since the days when children would spend all day out before the lights came on. Luckily, the father of this missing boy was leading the whole investigation.
During the afternoon, the mayor was searching for the outer parts of the forest, where the town ended. He was sure nothing was going to be there. Until he saw something sickening. A hand. He screamed loudly; some elderly people were being assisted by visiting nurses. They all raced to the mayor and get away from the blooded, bruised hand. The rest of the search team came to the scene. And the hand was taken away. The rest of the day was slow. The hand was away from anyone that could change what was going on. The town didn't have any way of identifying the hand and who the owner of the body part belonged to. But the father knew it was his son's hand. The one he had a small, almost invisible birthmark. Sadly, no one could prove it was his.
Many days past, the investigation was slowing down. No one was willing to help the father. Even the mother slowly stopped helping. She was tired of believing that their son was going to be found. Not even his body. The father was alone in his search. But he couldn't give up. He had to keep going. He continued to search the forest and the house he lived in. Everything that he was doing was noticed by the town. Everyone was getting tired of him. He was slowly isolating himself from everyone, even his own family.
One day, the whole town had had enough of him and went to his house. Even the mother knew it was time for the father's ridiculous searching. They all went to the house and looked for him there. But he wasn't there. Not even in the garden, where he used to think that the son was buried there. But he wasn't there. They had to check the forest behind the house. The whole town, adults, children, even the teenagers who needed time away from the adults. They all searched for the crazy man. But when they found him, there was more than the man. He was crying, as he held a foot. One that had a big birthmark. "It's his. His foot. The birthmark, like the one on the hand. My son's foot." He was crying while everyone was staring at him. There was nothing else to say. The hand and foot where the sons. But there was something that needed to be asked. Where was the rest of the son?
Fifty years later, the dangerous snow came once again. After many years of light snow days, it came again. But this time, the people told the tale of the poor boy who never returned. But some kids didn't believe the story. So, they decided to test the stories told by their parents. They would see first-hand what happened to that boy.
