Deep in those woods, children, in the clearing where the trees have all died, there lives a mysterious boy. And, listen, I’m not merely tellin’ yarns, no. He really exists; I’ve seen him me’self. He’s got white hair like the snow that he keeps in the air around him and eyes the color of the sea.
This boy ain’t just a regular boy, no. I’ve heard stories that he’s part devil; he appears in front of hunters in the wintertime when they come back from the woods with their kill. He pretends to be starving, yearning for food, for just a taste to keep him goin’… And once he gets even that, he grows savage and devours not only what he has been given, but the hunter himself, too.
Never go out in a snowstorm, children… lest he come for you.
I’ve lived here in this woodland for as long as I can remember.
I know nobody. All I know is the creaking of the trees and the wind on my hair, cold from blowing in off the northern coast of the island.
I see nobody. All that surrounds me are trees with bark that has eyes and the huge rocks that line the coast, the jagged ones that look like giant wolf teeth.
I need nobody. All I need is a good branch, some vines, and some bait and I can set a trap for my next meal. I’m never hungry.
That’s the way it has been for years, and that’s the way it will always be.
Except for now.
The wind is not merely cold now, no; now it bites. Now it stings. Now it numbs my ears with its shrieking howls. And now I’m hungry. Starving. I’ve just forced my way through the blizzard to check my traps for a rabbit, maybe a deer or possum.
Nothing. Again.
I lean up against a spindly tree for support as a wave of dizziness comes over me. The snow flies up at my face and stings it like freezing little bullets. How long has it been since I have eaten? I can’t remember. Weeks? Months? Years? My stomach aches and groans like it’s been an eternity.
Food. I need food.
But the animals are all gone.
This is no use. I must go to town.
Town is the place where the people shoot at me and yell at me and call me unspeakable names. Town is the place where I’ve almost died after a man got a clear shot at me with his gun. Town is a living hell.
Why do they hate me like they do? I have never done anything to harm them...
I take a shaky step forward, wobbling unsteadily on my feet like a fawn. It takes me a few seconds to gain my bearings in the hurricane of snow, but soon I recognize the too-smooth boulder that marks the direction north and I force my tired body to stumble on its way.
The blizzard and I battle each other for a long time. Frigid, incessant winds barrel into me from every direction, and sometimes I trip from pure weakness and tumble forward into the snow. Each and every time I fall, I have to pick myself up as fast as I can manage, lest some bigger predator get me. Then I have to find a landmark I know and start my fight all over again.
By the time I breach the edge of the forest, my toes have gone painfully numb and my legs are trembling so hard I fear they may give out for good. I want to cry, but the ceaseless wind makes my eyes water for me with each shrieking gust. The crashing of the waves in the distance comes roaring into my ears from all directions, and I almost can’t make left from right. I feel lost.
But there, huddled down in front of me, is Town. Little log cabins, their windows aglow with lanterns, roofs and sides blanketed in a fluffy new coating of white…
