Betrothed to Jack Frost (REWRITTEN)

4)Jack Frost

***

Elle let out a noise that was a bizarre mix between a yelp and a strangled scream—an unattractive sound reminiscent of the old Three Stooges skits her grandfather used to watch. It was the first noise she managed as sheer terror overwhelmed her. Struggling with the lock, Elle pushed open the closet door and bolted, only to slip on the icy footprints scattered across the floor. She went sprawling, her bare feet skidding on the slick surface, her elbow slamming into the ground while her forehead narrowly missed the hardwood floor. Clutching the frying pan tightly, she scrambled to her feet and darted down the hallway. "I CALLED THE POLICE!" she shouted, desperately flicking on a few lights as she raced toward the front door.

Behind her, the intruder strolled out of the closet and ambled down the hall with a casual ease. Elle's hands trembled, her grip on the frying pan tight and sweaty. Desperation fueled her as she shouted random phrases to intimidate him. "I haven't seen your face! Leave now and you won't have to kill me!" she yelled; her voice frayed with panic. She sprinted up the stairs two at a time, hoping to reach her bedroom and call for help. To her horror, a low, mocking laugh echoed from below. "We both know you didn't call the authorities, Evangeline..." The voice was smooth and taunting, punctuated by a sinister chuckle.

Elle slammed her bedroom door behind her and fumbled with the lock. Her mind felt sluggish, struggling to process the intruder's words. How did he know her name? She didn't recognize his voice.

Frantically, she turned to her backpack, her hands scrambling through the contents. Phone—phone—phone—phone—where was it? This was the mantra Elle repeated in her head as a desperate attempt to keep her mind from unraveling. She had to find her phone—someone had broken in, someone who knew her name and had anticipated her every move. That realization was the most terrifying of all. How could he have known where she would try to hide?

"Dammit! Where the hell is my phone?" Elle muttered through clenched teeth, tearing through her room. She threw pillows and papers aside, but the phone remained elusive.

"Naughty little mouth you've got there," the same musical voice from earlier spoke from behind her. Elle's heart froze as she realized the intruder was now in her room with her. She turned slowly, her face draining of color.

The man who stood before her seemed to be made of pure ice. His deep blue clothing shimmered with varying shades of navy, and his long jacket draped over his neck. But it was his face—or lack thereof—that terrified Elle the most. Though it had the shape of eyes, ears, a mouth, and a nose, they were all crafted from ice, eerily lifelike yet utterly frozen.

The man's face, neck, and hands were the only visible parts of him, and they were all composed of ice. He towered over Elle by a good six inches, his broad chest imposing against her slender figure. The fact that he had bypassed a locked door added to his menacing presence.

Elle glanced from the man to the door, trying to fathom how he had entered. There was no way he could have come through the two-story window.
In a frenzied panic, Elle let out a terrified scream, gripping the frying pan as though it were her last line of defense. She swung it with all her might, aiming directly for the intruder's face. The impact was loud and resounding, a sharp clang echoing through the room. Yet, to her horror, the frying pan left a large dent in it, but seemed to have no effect on the monster. Not a single piece of ice chipped from his head.

"Ow," the creature said, his icy lips forming a thin, unfeeling line. The word was delivered with an unsettling calmness, almost mocking Elle's desperate attempt. The cold, detached tone only heightened Elle's terror. The man's reaction was so dispassionate that she began to doubt the effectiveness of her strike. She watched in stunned silence, her eyes darting between the man and her weapon. She had never hit anyone with a frying pan before, but she had expected more than this lack of response. The terror in her throat rendered her mute, unable to even produce a gurgled sound. The icy figure seemed to watch her, almost as if studying her.