Frostbound

Chapter two

Eve had barely stepped out of the grocery store when she felt it again—the strange prickling at the back of her neck.

She brushed it off, convinced it was nothing more than her usual unease. After all, it had only been a few days since her return to Winter Hollow.

She was still adjusting to being back in this town, and the chill of the winter air, the stillness of the streets, and the sharp gusts of wind were all beginning to wear on her nerves.

Yet, as she walked up the winding path to her cottage, something felt different—too still, too quiet, as if the town itself were holding its breath. The soft crunch of snow underfoot was the only sound, but even that seemed muffled, like the world had been swallowed by the cold.

She reached the porch, expecting the usual emptiness, the silence of her solitary life. But as her eyes swept over the familiar space, they froze.

Eve ignored it at first. She set down her bag of groceries, pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, and decided to settle in for the night. But when she walked to the kitchen window to peer outside, she stopped in her tracks.

The frost on the glass had transformed into a delicate, intricate snowflake design, spiraling and blooming across the pane like a piece of frozen lace.

It was beautiful—hauntingly so. Yet it unsettled her. She hadn't seen it happen, and there was no way it was natural.

"Very funny," she muttered under her breath, glancing out into the night as if daring the culprit to reveal themselves. But the yard was empty, blanketed in freshly fallen snow, with only the faintest imprint of what might have been footprints leading away.

Eve shook her head, trying to dismiss the unease prickling at her. Maybe it was just a fluke.

But then it happened again the next morning.

She woke to find her entire front porch covered in frostwork. Elaborate patterns stretched across the wooden boards, glimmering in the pale sunlight. They wove together like an artist's masterpiece, each detail more intricate than the last.

It wasn't just beautiful—it was deliberate. Someone had done this, and Eve had a sneaking suspicion she knew who.

"Alright, Frost. Very cute," she grumbled as she stood at the threshold, staring down at the frozen artwork. The name felt odd on her tongue, but what else could she call him? She'd grown up hearing the stories of Winter Hollow's mischievous spirit, but she'd never believed them.

Until now.

She bent down, scraping at the frost with her gloved hand. It melted under her touch, leaving nothing behind but the damp wood underneath.

Satisfied, she brushed her hands together and made her way to her car, ready to get on with her day.

Except her car had been transformed as well.

Eve stopped short, her breath misting in the air. Sculpted onto the hood of her car was an ice sculpture of a bird, its wings spread wide as if it were about to take flight.

The detail was uncanny—every feather was etched with care, the lines so precise that it looked almost alive.

She felt a mix of awe and frustration bubble up inside her. It was impossible to deny the skill involved in creating something so stunning, but that didn't make it any less infuriating.

"You're wasting your talent on pranks, you know that?" she said aloud, hoping the unseen trickster might be listening.

A burst of wind swirled around her in response, ruffling her hair and tugging at her scarf. It almost felt like laughter.

"Childish," she muttered, brushing snow off the driver's side window. But as she did, she noticed another surprise—her windows had been frosted from the inside, spelling out two words in perfect, swirling cursive:

"Good morning."

Eve groaned, her breath fogging up the glass. "Oh, for the love of—"

—

The pranks continued over the next few days, each one more elaborate than the last. Every morning, Eve would step outside to find her yard transformed into a winter wonderland. One day, it was a row of snowmen lined up like soldiers, each wearing a mock expression that seemed to mirror her frustration.

Another day, her walkway was frozen over with what looked like ice petals—shimmering, translucent flowers that crunched underfoot.

Despite her irritation, she couldn't deny the creativity behind it all. Whoever Jack Frost really was, he had a knack for beauty.

But beauty didn't excuse the intrusion.

"I don't know what game you're playing," Eve muttered one evening as she stood on her porch, scanning the shadows. "But you're messing with the wrong person."

As if in answer, a gust of wind swept through the trees, sending a cascade of snow tumbling from the branches above.

Eve barely had time to shield herself before the snow landed squarely on her head, drenching her in icy powder.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" she sputtered, brushing snow from her coat and hair.

A sound drifted through the air then—soft, melodic, and unmistakably laughter. It wasn't cruel, but it wasn't entirely innocent either. Eve spun around, her eyes narrowing as she searched for the source.

"Show yourself!" she called into the night, her voice echoing against the stillness.

The laughter grew louder, and then, as if out of nowhere, he appeared.

Jack Frost stood at the edge of her yard, leaning casually against a tree. His pale hair glinted like ice under the moonlight, and his sharp blue eyes sparkled with mischief. He was grinning, a lopsided smile that managed to look both charming and infuriating all at once.

"Careful what you wish for," he said, his voice smooth and teasing.

Eve's jaw tightened. "You're the one doing all this, aren't you?"

Jack pushed off the tree and took a few steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow. "Guilty as charged."

"Why?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "What do you want from me?"

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... I'm not sure. Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm."

Eve glared at him, her patience wearing thin. "Well, stop it. I don't have time for your games."

Jack chuckled, his breath visible in the cold air. "Oh, but that's the thing, Eve. You're fun to play with. All that fire under all that ice—you're irresistible."

Her cheeks flushed, though whether from anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell. "You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not yet," Jack said, his grin widening. "But I've got all winter to find out."

Eve opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A flurry of snowflakes erupted around him, swirling in a dazzling display before the wind carried them away.

When the snow settled, Jack was gone, leaving Eve alone on the porch with nothing but the echo of his laughter.

She clenched her fists, her breath coming in short bursts. "Infuriating," she muttered. But as she turned back toward the house, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him again.

Jack Frost might have been a prankster, a nuisance, and the most frustrating person she'd ever met—but there was something about him she couldn't quite ignore. And that, more than anything, left her feeling unsettled.