Fantasy/Fanfiction Contest Entries

Winter Folklore: Jack Frost

Jack Frost got many odd looks as he walked down the street. He knew this was in part to how society in this day and age treated youth: as if they were perpetually about to graffiti a store or cause trouble in a fast food joint. The leftover distrust was probably due to his seasonally inappropriate outfit: he was wearing a plain white T-shirt and baggy blue jeans, his bare feet easily finding purchase on the slippery, icy concrete below.

Finally, a businessman who was strolling past him stopped and touched his shoulder gently. "Um...excuse me? Son?"

Why do human adults insist on doing that? Jack wondered irritably. Calling all male children their sons. He turned slowly to face the stranger, wondering what he could possibly want.

"Do - are you okay? Do you need anything?" the man asked, glancing pointedly down at his bare feet.

Jack followed his gaze. There was nothing to be concerned about as far as he could see. His toes were still a healthy shade of pink and none of them had anything even resembling frostbite. Jack couldn't even get cold-induced diseases, or he would have died long ago.

Jack turned his attention back up to the man's rotund, concerned face. "I'm fine," he assured him, gently shaking off his meaty hand and continuing down the street.

"Do...you need a ride?" the man called after him, several more people stopping to watch the exchange in concern.

"No," Jack replied without even turning around. "She's right down the street." He turned the next corner and was out of the scrutiny of the interrogative strangers.

This was a residential street instead of a commercial one like the road that Jack had just been on. He bent his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets, aware that it was more dangerous for someone like him in these areas than those with more people. He just wanted to reach his destination before someone called the police, either out of concern for him or fear for themselves.

His destination, to be exact, was a house at the end of the street. It had once been colored a bright, happy buttercup but had since faded into a tired, chipped mustard. There was a battered car in the cracked driveway, weeds growing among its tires as if it hadn't moved in days, although Jack knew without a shadow of a doubt that it had. It was this household's only means of transportation, which proved highly inconvenient when it ran out of gas, which was often, or something broke within it, which was not quite as often but far worse. Jack knew those unfortunate days were full of small eyes peeking out the window at their father, bent cursing and growling, over the open hood of the vehicle.

Jack skirted around the side of the house, careful to make sure nobody was watching him from any of the surrounding residences. He knew better than to try to enter through the front door. Only one person within the building knew he even existed, let alone would be willing to grant him entry based on sight alone.

He jumped over the listing chain-link fence with ease - is it more collapsed than it was last year? - and waded through the tall grass, most of which was laced with frost. His toes curled in the nearly-frozen dirt as he stared up at one of the three darkened windows above the back door.

Finally, the light clicked on. He tensed, just in case it wasn't her, and then breathed a sigh of relief when the window flew up and that familiar face poked out of the opening.

"Hello," he murmured.

"Come get me," she commanded in a whisper, eyes dancing with excitement.

Without hesitation, Jack scaled the side of the house like a spider. He hooked his hands on the windowsill and vaulted into the room.