The flashing blue from the television was all that lit the living room. Then the credits ending the cooking program started rolling, and a finger hit the little red button on the remote, and even that light was gone. David Greenberg yawned, rolled his shoulders, and heaved himself off the couch. He stumbled sleepily through the darkness into the hall, taking care to keep his feet away from the corners of coffee tables and edges of rugs. It wouldn't do to wake his family so late at night. Last time that happened, Angela had spent the next morning talking to him in only annoyed grunts. David often wondered what had been going through his mind when he had agreed to marry such a light sleeper. He made it safely to the entrance to his room, all his toe bones in their correct places, and braced himself for the inevitable squeak that would come with pushing the door open. He didn't make it that far, however, when a shuffling of fabric and a small voice whispering, "Dad?" came from his left. "Mark," said David, watching the boy rub his tired eyes, "What are you doing up?" "Can't sleep," came the groggy reply, "'M scared." "Scared of what?" "The monster under m'bed." That was a new one, David thought. It had been years since such tales had frightened Mark. He sighed and put a hand on his son's shoulder, steering him back to his room. "Come on. Back to bed." The light in Mark's room was already switched on, although it seemed to do nothing to relax the boy. He hid behind his father's legs, eyeing the bed nervously. "Do you want me to check?" asked David, and Mark nodded. David climbed down on all fours and lifted the edge of the blanket so that he could see under. Behind him, Mark made a scared little noise. "It's okay, buddy. There's nothing under here. Come and see." Mark joined David and peeked underneath the bed, calming down when he saw that there was indeed nothing but dust and a pair of dirty socks. "Okay?" He nodded, and climbed up into bed. "But the monster," he said uncertainly, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "No monsters," David assured him, "The monster under your bed isn't real. Okay, buddy?" Mark looked much happier now. "Okay. Goodnight, Dad." "Night, Mark. Love you, buddy." "Love you too," Mark slurred, already half asleep. David ruffled his son's hair before leaving his bedside, flicking the light switch on his way out of the room. He managed to make it back to his own bedroom silently, and Angela didn't wake when he slid into bed beside her. He was asleep almost instantly. It was only a few short hours later when he awoke. The room was still dark, and at first he thought it was the darkness that had woken him. It seemed different than usual. Thicker, blacker, more crushing. He shivered, and curled himself into the blankets, trying to go back to sleep. Then he heard something. The sound of movement, rustling beneath him. Beneath the bed. Raspy breathing. A growling, rumbling voice. "I'm 'not real', he says. Show him real." Then cold fingers suddenly wrapped around his ankle and, before he could scream - though screaming certainly followed - they were pulling. Pulling him off the bed. Pulling him under. A/N: I know it's a short start, but I would love to hear your thoughts! Like I said above, critique is definitely welcome.
A Case of Frost Chapter 1: Attracting Attention "I've found us a case." Two men, brothers, were sitting in a motel room. The man who had spoken was at the tiny table in the corner of the kitchenette, his nose inches from a laptop screen. He was the taller of the two, and his height often made strangers believe him to be older. The other man, who actually was the older brother, was lounging on one of the twin beds, his shoes still on and a bottle of beer in his hand. He looked up, away from the television, when the first man spoke. "A case?" "Yeah," said the taller-but-younger brother, "Listen to this. Town called Burgess, just a few hours from here. A couple of months ago, William Jones was found dead on his bedroom floor. He bled out when his feet were ripped off. And then again, just the other night, a man called David Greenberg. Same thing." "So, what," said the shorter-but-older brother, "serial killer with a foot fetish? You get weirdos like that all the time." "I don't think so. All doors and windows into the houses were locked. And this is weird - the most recent victim had his wife in the room with him when he was killed. She claims to have heard nothing, no struggle, and she didn't even realise what had happened until the next morning." The older brother raised his eyebrows over a mouthful of beer. "Okay, that is weird," he agreed, "Any connection between the vics?" "Uh, they were both men in their thirties, but apart from that… Different ethnic backgrounds, different jobs. Lived on opposite sides of town. Nothing I can tell." "Married? Any vindictive girlfriends?" "Greenberg had been with his wife for close to ten years, but Jones was single after he divorced four years ago. Wait…" He scrolled down the screen while the older brother watched him impatiently. "Both men had a kid under twelve. It says here that Greenberg's son Mark had to stay with his grandparents while the wife was questioned by police, and Jones's daughter Leah was the one who discovered his body. Leah has since moved out of state to live with her mother." The older brother pulled a face at that. Cases always seemed messier to him when kids were involved. "So are we going to go check it out?" "If we leave first thing tomorrow we can be there by midday." He shut his laptop with a gentle tap and turned in his seat. "Great. Well, I'm going to try and get at least a few hours sleep before we head out. See you bright and early, sunshine." It was past midnight when winter came to Burgess. The streets were silent, all the town's inhabitants retired to bed for the night, and dark. Keen eyes might have been able to spot thin threads of glittering gold snaking into bedroom windows, if they were really looking. But there were no such eyes about. Then an icy chill swept across the edges of town, breezing quickly through the streets. The wind was soon followed by dark clouds that brought the first snowfall of the season. The snow dropped lightly but surely, slowly gathering in small piles in gutters and windowsills. Meanwhile, ice blossomed over every damp surface, and frost spread across streets and gardens and walls and windows. Quiet but enthusiastic laughter followed the frost wherever it sprung up, seemingly so spontaneously. By dawn, the entire town was blanketed in white ready for the early risers. And above it all, floating amongst the flurry of snowdrops, was a cheerful young man. He was small and skinny and very young, more of a boy than a man, really, and didn't seem to be dressed at all appropriately for the small storm that raged around him. Nevertheless, a wide smile lit his pale features, and as he floated on the cold wind he whooped and cheered. When the sun had risen enough to soak the town in pale blue light, the boy dropped down onto a rooftop, landing lightly on his bare feet, and surveyed his handiwork. "Not bad," he said to himself proudly. He held a long wooden staff in his hand and dragged the hooked end along the rooftop, where more ice appeared instantly. The boy grinned. He settled himself into a more comfortable crouching position by the chimney, his staff rested over his shoulder, and just watched as the town woke up. Initially there came the adults ready to head off for a day of work. Just a few, at first. It was a Saturday, so the streets weren't as busy as it would have been earlier in the week. Some of them saw the snow and ice awaiting them and their faces lit up underneath their winter hats and scarves. The boy atop the roof smiled. Other adults were less pleased by the weather, stomping their way to their cars and cursing angrily when the too-cold engines took several minutes to start. The boy scowled at seeing his work be unappreciated. The grumpy adults found the roads they took especially icy, and they were forced to drive slowly, unaware of the mischievous laughter overhead. Slightly later in the morning, the boy's happiness only grew when he saw the children begin to wake up and run outside to play in the snow. He launched himself off the roof, catching himself in the wind, and flew another lap around the town, dropping another bout of snow as he went. A few children caught sight of him, and waved enthusiastically. The small gestures made the boy happier than his earlier fun ever could. He saluted back at the kids with a wide smile as he soared above them. Winter had arrived.
Chapter 2: Bad News For Fun Saturdays meant sleep-ins. Or rather, they would, for other boys who didn't have little sisters. Unfortunately for Jamie, his sister was not only little but also enjoyed jumping on his bed and was wide awake. When he realised that she was going to persist no matter how growly he sounded when he told her to go away, he climbed out of bed and headed blearily for the kitchen. He caught sight of his reflection in the microwave door as his mother set a bowl of Froot Loops in front of him. His normally wide eyes were squinting against sleep, accounting for the blurriness in his vision. His hair was sticking up all over the place. Jamie grumbled into his breakfast wordlessly. He hated early mornings. The kitchen seemed brighter than usual. Jamie looked out the window to try and figure out why that was. There was a thin lining of snow pressing against the outside window pane. He stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, struggling against his sleepy state to decipher the meaning he knew was there. "Snow," he said groggily, "'S bright." Feeling pleased with himself for solving the mystery of the brightness, he tucked in to his breakfast. By the time his mother came bustling back into the kitchen with Sophie in tow, Jamie was feeling a bit more awake. Mrs Bennet also glanced out the window, at the frozen front lawn and icy fence. "Did you see outside, Jamie? It looks like we got a visit from Jack Frost overnight." Her words clicked after a moment and Jamie was instantly snapped out of his drowsiness. Abandoning his cereal, he raced to the window and pressed his nose against the cold glass. His eyes were now wide, searching the front yard. He was only a little disheartened when the only flash of blue he could find was Sophie's tricycle. "Hey now, why the rush?" his mother asked him as he shot across the kitchen towards his room. "Mom, can I go outside and play with my friends?" "This early?" She gave him a surprised look, and then glanced at the wall clock. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet. "You haven't even finished your breakfast." "Not hungry," he said. He realised how restless he suddenly was, bouncing from foot to foot in the kitchen doorway. "Please, Mom?" She looked uncertain, and worried. Jamie knew that look. All the grown-ups had been the same for a few months now. The thing with Leah's dad had shaken them all. It had taken a couple of weeks before Jamie was even let into his own front yard by himself, and his mother still insisted on walking him to and from school every day. They had finally started settling down again. Jamie and his friends had been allowed to go to the park up the street together again, as long as one of their parents were around and they stayed out in the open. But after the other day, with Mark's dad… "Please?" he tried again, giving his mother the most innocent look he could muster, "I promise, we'll all stay together and we'll only go to the park and we'll be careful!" Jamie had been scared at first. The panic from the grown-ups had a way of rubbing off on him and the other neighbourhood children. Now, though, he was sure that they'd be safe. If Jack was back, Jamie knew he wouldn't let anything hurt anyone. His mother finally relented, with a heavy sigh. "Okay, Jamie. But make sure to rug up. It's cold outside." He smiled brightly at her. "I will!" It took him a while to dig out his winter clothes from the back of his wardrobe. Longer still to locate his hat and boots. Winter had come suddenly, springing on Burgess like Sophie sprung onto Jamie's bed that morning. It was shocking in its spontaneity. But, he supposed, that was usually the way when Jack came to town. The second his coat was no longer inside-out, and his gloves were on the correct hands, Jamie was dashing out the door. Cupcake lived closest, so he went to her house first and banged on her front door. She answered it herself and stood before him, large and intimidating. The appearance was deceptive, though. Cupcake was as sweet as her name implied, once you got to know her. And when Jamie exclaimed, "Jack Frost is here!" her face lit up with the brightest smile that she was capable of. She took almost no time in pulling her winter clothes over her dress, and shouting a goodbye to her parents, before she and Jamie ran back out to the street. The rest of their friends were already outside and running towards the park. The group had grown since the bogeyman incident from a couple of years ago. There was now over a dozen kids that knew exactly who brought the snow and ice, and their joint understanding threw them together into a strange mix of best friends. Most of them were gathered in the park now, around the bronze statue of Thadeus Burgess, and the excitement in the air was thick. "Jack Frost! Jack Frost!" some of them chanted, explaining to the others unnecessarily. "Where is he?" "Do you see him?" "He should be right here!" "Maybe it just snowed without him?" "No, it's still only November! Do you really think it would snow this much so soon if it wasn't him?" "Where is he?" Jamie was also straining to see. He looked at the trees, the statue, the snow, the sky. He tried to find a streak of blue and brown, or an unnatural gust of wind, or a bubbling laugh. All telltale signs of Jack's presence. He was so busy looking that he didn't see the snowball until it splatted right into his face. An excited laugh burst out of his mouth, and he didn't have to look any further. Jack Frost floated down from the tree and came to a landing right in front of the group. Everyone had been holding their breaths in silence since the snowball had hit Jamie, watching Jack in awe. "Hey kids," he said, "Miss me?" Then he swept his staff along the ground, the action throwing up snow to rain down over their heads and forming more snowballs to attack each other with. The amazed silence dissipated immediately, to be replace by happy shouts and shrieks and laughter. Jamie wasted no time in joining the fun, pelting snow at his friends as often as he was hit himself. He might have imagined it, but he thought that Jack, dancing around between or above the group of friends, was favouring him with ammunition over any of the others. The sparkle in blue eyes when they found his own, though, gave nothing away. They played for a solid hour, by the end of which everyone bar Jack Frost himself was utterly exhausted. Most of the children flopped back into the snow, not minding the cold in the least. A few of them retired to the much less tiring task of building a snowman. Jack urged them to get back up and keep playing, but to no avail. He didn't seem at all put out by it, however, and there was a grin still on his face when he took a seat atop the highest ledge of the statue's base, hugging his staff across his chest. Jamie joined him as best as he could, sitting on the lowest ledge and leaning his head back to rest on the plaque. "Thanks, Jack. That was so much fun!" Jack's grin widened. "No worries, kiddo. It is my job, after all." "I've missed you." And how could he not? Despite his group of friends having grown over the recent years, Jamie still considered Jack his best friend. "Where were you over summer? Or for the rest of the last ten months, for that matter?" "Ten months? Was it really?" Jack sounded honestly surprised, and then Jamie heard him counting the months under his breath. "Huh. Sorry, Jamie. I guess time flies." "You didn't answer my question," Jamie said accusingly. He wanted to hear everything. After a long absence, Jack always returned with exciting stories from all over the world. Tales of adventures, and international happenings, and funny pranks were always what Jamie looked most forward to. "I was south, mostly," Jack admitted, "Although I worked on a great blizzard in London in September. You should have seen everyone's faces! I spent a few days at the Pole last week. Cleared out quickly, though. With Christmas right around the corner, those elves are unbearable! North suggested I find myself my own home. What do you think, Jamie? Maybe I'll build an ice castle, or something. You'll be welcome to visit anytime, of course." Jamie felt his eyes go wide at the suggestion. A guest at Jack Frost's house? "Really?" he breathed. "Sure. It's the least I can do. I'm thinking I'll check out Antarctica when I'm done here. Great views down that way. Location, location. And it'll keep me busy next summer. There's only so much snow I can spread in Australia before Bunny gets suspicious." Jamie giggled. He loved the cool, oversized, boomerang-wielding rabbit as much as the next kid, but the stories of the pranks Jack pulled on him were always amusing. And regardless of how much he laughed at poor Bunny's misfortune, he could always count on finding the very best and most intricately painted eggs in every egg hunt. Jack had gone quiet, and when Jamie looked back up he found him watching the other kids with a small frown over his eyes. "Only ten of you," he said, "Where's Mark and Leah?" At his question, a solemn silence fell over the group. Cupcake and Sarah stopped building their snowman, and everyone who had been laying in the snow sat up slowly. Jack jumped down from his perch on the statue. He took in the expressions on the children's faces and Jamie saw the hands grasping his staff tighten. "Don't tell me." He swallowed nervously and the ever-cheerful gleam in his eyes dimmed slightly. "They haven't stopped..?" "They still believe in you," Jamie assured him quickly, and Jack relaxed minutely, "At least, I think they do. It's just…" He broke off, uncertain how to continue. How did one tell the Guardian of Fun that two people had been violently killed? "Something bad happened," said Monty, shuffling his feet. "Bad?" "Their - their dads," said Pippa. She hugged herself and looked at the snow on the ground before finishing in a whisper. "Their dads…died." Jack looked shocked, and then horrified. "What?" It was worse than Jamie had been expecting. Jack never looked right without the wide grin on his face, or the laughter in his eyes, or the carefree way he held himself. To see it all gone, replaced by hurt and horror, was almost scary. "They were both killed," Jamie explained. He felt that he needed to be the one to tell Jack this, no matter how much he hated to. "Mr Jones a few months ago, and Mr Greenberg just the other night." "Are Leah and Mark okay?" "Leah moved in with her mom not long ago. I don't think Mark's too good. None of us have seen him since Wednesday." Jack pushed a trembling hand through his windblown white hair, messing it up more than usual. His staff was held tightly to his body, as though he was trying to hide behind it. "I don't… How could this have happened?" he asked. Jamie didn't know whether he was talking to himself or not, but he answered anyway. "Jack, there's something in this town. Something bad." His friends all exchanged nervous looks, but a murmur of agreement rose up amongst them. "Something scary." His eyes sharpened at that. Jamie recognised the look, and knew what it meant. Jack was no longer merely the children's friend, nor just the Spirit of Winter and Fun. He was a Guardian, and he was prepared to protect the children. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop this," he said, guilt flickering in his voice, "But you don't need to be scared, okay? You're all going to be alright. I'm not going to let anyone else get hurt." It was exactly the reassurance that the children needed. Although most of them knew already that Jack would protect them and their families, hearing him confirm it allowed everyone to brighten up considerably. When they all smiled at him, even Jack looked rather happier. He twirled his staff up over his shoulder. "Jamie," he said, "Mark lives in the little house with the red roof, right?" "Right." "Thanks, kiddo. I'll go talk to him. You kids keep playing." He waved his fingers at them, sending snowflakes floating towards ten different noses. "Have fun." He jumped back onto the statue and used it to propel himself into the air, and he was gone.
Chapter 3: They Aren't Grown-Ups He ran instead of flying. He used the rooftops and powerlines and lampposts under his feet to guide him across town, and he took the long way. He was procrastinating, he knew. He could easily jump into the wind and be at Mark's house in mere seconds. Instead he ran. Jack didn't even realise just how much he was holding himself back until he passed the house for a fifth time. He skidded to a stop on a neighbouring roof, ice dragging along after his feet. He stood there for a full minute, and the ruffling of his hair in the wind was his only movement. Then he crouched down and leaned his forehead against his staff to think. "How could this have happened?" he asked again through gritted teeth. How could he have let it happen? Jack groaned, so faintly that the sound was almost lost in the wind. If he had been in Burgess instead of picking on Bunny or lazing around the Pole, he could have stopped whatever had done this. He could have saved Mr Greenberg and Mr Jones. They would still be alive, and their children would currently be playing in the snow with Jack himself and the other kids. But he hadn't been there. "Some Guardian I turned out to be," Jack muttered. The wind whipped around his thin body, tugging at the blue fabric of his hoodie and messing up his hair. Snow swirled around him, until he told it to settle down. It was enough of a distraction to snap him out of his guilty thoughts, however. He shook his head in shame at his own moping. What did he think he was doing, feeling sorry for himself? Just next door, there was a little boy who was grieving his dad. Jack could help the boy. That thought was all it took for him to jump onto the tall fence separating the two houses, and from there onto a window ledge. He peered through the glass, into Mark's bedroom. The boy was in there, sitting in the middle of his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, and staring at the astronaut design woven into his blanket. Or perhaps he was merely staring at nothing. At seeing Mark looking so utterly heartbroken, Jack couldn't have hesitated if he'd tried. He reached out a thin, pale finger, and tapped on the window. Patterned frost spread out over the glass from where he touched it. The sound seemed to take a few moments to register with Mark, who then looked up slowly. He blinked once, then twice, and recognition appeared on his face. He scrambled off the bed and across the room to open the window. "Jack Frost?" he asked, his voice dully surprised. Jack, almost nose-to-nose with the boy, forced a grin. "Hey, Mark. Mind if I come in?" "Okay." Mark smiled back uncertainly and stepped to the side so that Jack could climb in. Jack rested his staff against the wall before taking a cross-legged seat on the bed, Mark sitting back down in front of him. "I'm sorry about your dad." I'm sorry. "How are you holding up?" He cringed internally at how stupid the question sounded even to his ears. The boy shrugged. "They all said that. The cops and other grown-ups. I'm okay, I guess." Jack winced at his words. They weren't a lie. He had spent centuries weaving enough of his own lies to be able to tell the difference. Mark spoke now with dull honesty, and it was much, much worse. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he offered half-heartedly. Mark looked him directly in the eye, his small hands twisting around the hem of his pyjama top. "The grown-ups said that, too." "Well, I'm not a grown-up," said Jack, "Would a grown-up be able to do this?" And he conjured a handful of snow which he blew into the air, and the two of them were suddenly surrounded by crystal snowflakes. Mark watched each speck of snow float around him in awe. What Jack thought was the potential for a tiny smile touched the boy's lips. Mark reached up to try and catch some of the flakes, shivering a little when they landed on his skin. Jack smiled at the display. He wasn't prepared when Mark lunged forward and hugged him tightly around the waist. He stilled in surprise, unsure of what to do. Mark's face pressed into his hoodie, and his small body trembled. Jack thought at first that he was shivering from the cold. But then he heard the quiet sobs against his chest. Now he really didn't know what to do. He was used to bringing fun to already happy children. He'd never had to actually comfort a crying kid before. The watery gasps brought Jack's arms instinctively down, and he could only hug Mark back. The boy cried for a long time. After a while there weren't any tears left, and after a little longer his sobs died down as well. Then he was just trembling and Jack realised that it really was from the cold this time. He pulled away and wrapped the astronaut blanket around Mark's shoulders. Mark hiccupped a couple of times and rubbed his eyes with his sleeves. The wet patch of tears on the front of Jack's hoodie had already frozen over. "It's okay." It was anything but okay. Jack repeated himself anyway. "You're going to be okay. Tell you what, Mark. How about a snow day, just for you? To take your mind off things. I know it's only Saturday, but I'll make it a good one. I promise. Do you still have that old sled?" Mark sniffed and nodded, but didn't look certain. Jack persisted, though. He knew better than anyone what a bit of fun could do for a kid. "I'll have it ready by tomorrow morning. Bring your sled to the park and we'll have some fun. Your friends miss you, too - Jamie and the others. Sound good?" "Okay, I guess." There were voices outside Mark's door, and then a knock. "Mark?" came Mrs Greenberg's voice, "Honey, are you awake? There's some special agents here who want to talk to you." Mark's face fell instantly. "Just a minute!" Jack wondered how much of the last three days had been spent talking to cops. He took it as his cue to leave, however, untangling his long limbs and stepping off the bed. He retrieved his staff, which turned blue with ice at his touch, and swung himself onto the windowsill in the same motion. He turned back to Mark one more time before leaving. "I'll be back tomorrow. Take care, kid." Mark waved, and Jack leapt out of the window, closing it behind him and leaving a slight fluttering of green curtains in his wake. There was a car parked outside the house that hadn't been there before. It was shiny, black, and timeless. Jack wasn't usually one to take much notice of most human vehicles, but he was timeless himself and so nodded appreciatively. "Nice ride." It was all the attention he paid it, because he was already moving on. If he had an extra special snow day to prepare, he thought he had better be getting to work. The brothers arrived in Burgess just before midday, which was much earlier than they expected. Even the ice and snow on the roads - and surely it was far too early in the year for that - did little to slow their journey. They stopped to check in at the first motel they could find before heading further into the town. Most cases had them spending at least one night in the area, and they didn't think this one would be an exception. The motel also gave them a chance to change into their old but neat suits, giving them the appearance of a pair of Very Important People. The appearance was just as vital as any fake ID or cover story. The one thing the motel didn't provide them with was rest. They had no time for that. After firing up their laptop and utilising the motel's offered free wifi to check the address of David Greenberg's wife, they were back in the car and on the icy streets. Thanks again for the awesome reviews! A Case of Frost Chapter 3: They Aren't Grown-Ups He ran instead of flying. He used the rooftops and powerlines and lampposts under his feet to guide him across town, and he took the long way. He was procrastinating, he knew. He could easily jump into the wind and be at Mark's house in mere seconds. Instead he ran. Jack didn't even realise just how much he was holding himself back until he passed the house for a fifth time. He skidded to a stop on a neighbouring roof, ice dragging along after his feet. He stood there for a full minute, and the ruffling of his hair in the wind was his only movement. Then he crouched down and leaned his forehead against his staff to think. "How could this have happened?" he asked again through gritted teeth. How could he have let it happen? Jack groaned, so faintly that the sound was almost lost in the wind. If he had been in Burgess instead of picking on Bunny or lazing around the Pole, he could have stopped whatever had done this. He could have saved Mr Greenberg and Mr Jones. They would still be alive, and their children would currently be playing in the snow with Jack himself and the other kids. But he hadn't been there. "Some Guardian I turned out to be," Jack muttered. The wind whipped around his thin body, tugging at the blue fabric of his hoodie and messing up his hair. Snow swirled around him, until he told it to settle down. It was enough of a distraction to snap him out of his guilty thoughts, however. He shook his head in shame at his own moping. What did he think he was doing, feeling sorry for himself? Just next door, there was a little boy who was grieving his dad. Jack could help the boy. That thought was all it took for him to jump onto the tall fence separating the two houses, and from there onto a window ledge. He peered through the glass, into Mark's bedroom. The boy was in there, sitting in the middle of his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, and staring at the astronaut design woven into his blanket. Or perhaps he was merely staring at nothing. At seeing Mark looking so utterly heartbroken, Jack couldn't have hesitated if he'd tried. He reached out a thin, pale finger, and tapped on the window. Patterned frost spread out over the glass from where he touched it. The sound seemed to take a few moments to register with Mark, who then looked up slowly. He blinked once, then twice, and recognition appeared on his face. He scrambled off the bed and across the room to open the window. "Jack Frost?" he asked, his voice dully surprised. Jack, almost nose-to-nose with the boy, forced a grin. "Hey, Mark. Mind if I come in?" "Okay." Mark smiled back uncertainly and stepped to the side so that Jack could climb in. Jack rested his staff against the wall before taking a cross-legged seat on the bed, Mark sitting back down in front of him. "I'm sorry about your dad." I'm sorry. "How are you holding up?" He cringed internally at how stupid the question sounded even to his ears. The boy shrugged. "They all said that. The cops and other grown-ups. I'm okay, I guess." Jack winced at his words. They weren't a lie. He had spent centuries weaving enough of his own lies to be able to tell the difference. Mark spoke now with dull honesty, and it was much, much worse. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he offered half-heartedly. Mark looked him directly in the eye, his small hands twisting around the hem of his pyjama top. "The grown-ups said that, too." "Well, I'm not a grown-up," said Jack, "Would a grown-up be able to do this?" And he conjured a handful of snow which he blew into the air, and the two of them were suddenly surrounded by crystal snowflakes. Mark watched each speck of snow float around him in awe. What Jack thought was the potential for a tiny smile touched the boy's lips. Mark reached up to try and catch some of the flakes, shivering a little when they landed on his skin. Jack smiled at the display. He wasn't prepared when Mark lunged forward and hugged him tightly around the waist. He stilled in surprise, unsure of what to do. Mark's face pressed into his hoodie, and his small body trembled. Jack thought at first that he was shivering from the cold. But then he heard the quiet sobs against his chest. Now he really didn't know what to do. He was used to bringing fun to already happy children. He'd never had to actually comfort a crying kid before. The watery gasps brought Jack's arms instinctively down, and he could only hug Mark back. The boy cried for a long time. After a while there weren't any tears left, and after a little longer his sobs died down as well. Then he was just trembling and Jack realised that it really was from the cold this time. He pulled away and wrapped the astronaut blanket around Mark's shoulders. Mark hiccupped a couple of times and rubbed his eyes with his sleeves. The wet patch of tears on the front of Jack's hoodie had already frozen over. "It's okay." It was anything but okay. Jack repeated himself anyway. "You're going to be okay. Tell you what, Mark. How about a snow day, just for you? To take your mind off things. I know it's only Saturday, but I'll make it a good one. I promise. Do you still have that old sled?" Mark sniffed and nodded, but didn't look certain. Jack persisted, though. He knew better than anyone what a bit of fun could do for a kid. "I'll have it ready by tomorrow morning. Bring your sled to the park and we'll have some fun. Your friends miss you, too - Jamie and the others. Sound good?" "Okay, I guess." There were voices outside Mark's door, and then a knock. "Mark?" came Mrs Greenberg's voice, "Honey, are you awake? There's some special agents here who want to talk to you." Mark's face fell instantly. "Just a minute!" Jack wondered how much of the last three days had been spent talking to cops. He took it as his cue to leave, however, untangling his long limbs and stepping off the bed. He retrieved his staff, which turned blue with ice at his touch, and swung himself onto the windowsill in the same motion. He turned back to Mark one more time before leaving. "I'll be back tomorrow. Take care, kid." Mark waved, and Jack leapt out of the window, closing it behind him and leaving a slight fluttering of green curtains in his wake. There was a car parked outside the house that hadn't been there before. It was shiny, black, and timeless. Jack wasn't usually one to take much notice of most human vehicles, but he was timeless himself and so nodded appreciatively. "Nice ride." It was all the attention he paid it, because he was already moving on. If he had an extra special snow day to prepare, he thought he had better be getting to work. The brothers arrived in Burgess just before midday, which was much earlier than they expected. Even the ice and snow on the roads - and surely it was far too early in the year for that - did little to slow their journey. They stopped to check in at the first motel they could find before heading further into the town. Most cases had them spending at least one night in the area, and they didn't think this one would be an exception. The motel also gave them a chance to change into their old but neat suits, giving them the appearance of a pair of Very Important People. The appearance was just as vital as any fake ID or cover story. The one thing the motel didn't provide them with was rest. They had no time for that. After firing up their laptop and utilising the motel's offered free wifi to check the address of David Greenberg's wife, they were back in the car and on the icy streets. "This is the place?" the older brother, whose name was Dean, asked, pulling up outside a small brick house with a roof that was visibly red beneath the snow. It wasn't a particularly noteworthy house, and had they not been searching specifically for it, the brothers wouldn't have told it apart from the rest of the neighbourhood. "This is it." They checked that they had their fake IDs and badges on them and climbed out of the car. Dean immediately shivered in the cold. "Man, it's freezing! It's still just November, right?" The younger brother, whose name was Sam, nodded, brushing off the cold with a shake of his limbs. He led the way up the path to the Greenbergs' front door, and knocked sharply. When the woman answered, they already had their badges out and ready. The woman seemed small, and it was difficult to tell whether she really was small or if it was just because of the way she was hunched into herself. Her blonde hair looked to have been tied back hurriedly, and wisps were escaping from the band. She also looked older than she was, as though exhaustion had aged her rapidly in a short amount of time. The brothers had seen enough grieving widows in their time to know that this woman was the one they were looking for. "Mrs Greenberg?" Sam asked anyway. He had to try hard not to avoid the sad but sharp eyes that looked up at him. This was always the difficult part. The woman nodded. "Angela," she corrected him. Her voice was more stable than he had expected, only slightly hoarse. She was a strong one, Sam thought. He showed her his badge, and felt his brother beside him do the same. "We're from the FBI. My name is Agent Carter, and this is my partner, Agent Reid. If you don't mind, we just have a few questions about what happened the other day." Angela stared at them for a few moments, and Sam thought for a second that she was going to turn them away. But then she nodded and invited them inside. "I didn't expect the FBI to take such an interest in what happened," she admitted, leading them to the living room. She sat in an armchair, leaving the couch free for the fake Agents Carter and Reid. "You'd be surprised what catches our attention," said Sam, offering a small smile, "Mrs Greenberg - Angela - could you explain to us exactly what happened when your husband was killed?" "Well," she began, and then took a moment to apparently collect herself, "it's like I told the police. I went to bed early and David stayed up to watch tv. I didn't hear him come to bed, so it was probably late. And then on Wednesday morning I woke up and he wasn't in the bed. It was barely dawn, and David's never up that early. So I got up and saw him just lying there." She broke off with a choked gasp and held a shaking hand to her chest. Sam nodded encouragingly. "I thought at first that he'd fallen out of bed or something. So I got closer to try and wake him. And that was when I stepped in the blood. The blood - it was everywhere." She closed her eyes as though to block out the images. The brothers gave her their best sympathetic looks. "And you said you didn't hear anything?" asked Dean. She shook her head. "No, nothing. You'd think I would have, though, right? I mean, I'm not even a heavy sleeper, usually. We had to take the clock out of the hallway, because the ticking used to wake me. And surely, he would have screa-" A shuddering gasp and hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry." "It's okay." The brothers exchanged glances and Sam continued. "You were taken into police custody for thirty-six hours. Do you know why the police let you go?" Angela clenched her hands into her woollen cardigan. She looked suddenly defensive. "Couldn't you find this out from the police?" "We just want to hear it from your point of view." "They said that the coroner found something. A DNA thing?" She shrugged, still holding onto her cardigan tightly. "They didn't say exactly. Whatever it was, it put me in the clear." The brothers glanced at each other, and communicated silently that they would pay the coroner a visit next. "Thank you, Angela. Just a few more questions," said Sam, "Did your husband have any enemies?" Although her body had relaxed with the change of subject, her answering tone was confused and somewhat alarmed. "Um, no. No, I don't think so. He would have told me if he did." "How had he been acting before he died?" asked Dean, "Did you notice anything strange about his behaviour?" "No," Angela said again, "I mean, since the first killing a few months ago he was a little on edge. But so was everyone. That kind of thing just doesn't happen here." "Did you or your husband know the previous victim?" "William Jones? Not really. I mean, we saw him around town every now and then, but we weren't really on speaking terms." "Can you think of anything at all that might have connected them?" Angela thought hard, and chewed on her fingernails. "I guess our kids went to school together. There's a year between them, though, and Mark never mentioned interacting with Leah at all. Poor girl," she added sadly, "She was the one who found the body. If it was anything like what happened to David… It's not something a child should see. I can only imagine - Mark's been bad enough as it is. Barely left his room, even when he was staying with my mother." Sam coughed uncomfortably. "Would you mind if we talked to your son? Ask him a couple of questions?" She hesitated, then nodded. "But don't expect him to say much. He's been dealing with police coming in and out of the house constantly over the last few days." Angela led them into the hallway, stopping outside the room at the far end. The brightly coloured plaque on the door loudly proclaimed it to be 'Mark's Room'. "Try not to upset him, and keep it quick," she told the brothers, before knocking. "Mark? Honey, are you awake? There's some special agents here who want to talk to you." "Just a minute!" replied a young boy's voice dully, followed by some shuffling and squeaking of bed springs. Then, "Come in." Angela pushed the door open gently and went in. The fake agents followed her, into the bedroom that was typical of any ten-year-old child. The child in question was huddled on his bed, a thick blanket around his shoulders. He was staring out the window on the other side of his room when the three adults entered, but soon looked up. His eyes were puffy and watery, a telltale sign that he'd recently been crying. "Honey," said Angela, going over to him and smoothing his hair off his forehead, "this is Agent Carter and Agent Reid." "Hey, Mark," said Sam, "We just want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?" The watery eyes looked him and his brother over. "Okay," Mark said quietly. "Mind if I sit?" Sam gestured to the small blue chair under the study desk by the wall. At Mark's nod, he spun it to face the bed and lowered himself onto it, feeling far too big with his legs squashed up almost to his chest. Dean didn't sit, instead opting to hover by the door and look at the toys on the shelf. "Do you like space?" he asked, prodding a small figurine of an astronaut. Mark seemed surprised by the question, but nodded slowly. "Aren't you going to say that you're sorry about my dad?" "Why would we say that?" asked Sam. "Everybody says that. All the other cops and grown-ups." Sam saw Dean smirk and poke at more of the kid's toys. "Who says we're grown-ups? Do grown-ups like playing with spaceships?" And he took a model of one off the shelf and waved it around his head to prove his point. A bit of plastic promptly broke off and he hastily shoved it back, withdrawing his hands so that they hung safely by his sides. Despite one of his toys having just been broken in front of him, Mark looked somehow happier. But only a little. "Mom," he said to Angela, who was still stroking his hair, "you don't need to hang around. I can talk to them by myself." She looked surprised, pulling away instantly as though electrocuted. "Are you sure, Honey?" Mark nodded and Angela left the room, but left the door open wide. Sam heard her retreat to the kitchen. He was about to ask the boy his first question, but was beaten to it by Mark's own small voice. "It was my fault." The brothers started in bewilderment at the tiny-voiced confession. They were quick to collect themselves, but they both stared more intently at the boy than before. "What makes you say that, Mark?" asked Sam. The boy hugged his knees tighter, the blanket slipping off his shoulders slightly. "I made him angry." "Who?" Dean asked quickly, "Your dad?" "No." Mark shook his head. His voice was quieter than ever now, barely a whisper. "The monster." Sam's body tensed and he saw Dean's hand twitch towards where his gun was concealed. "What monster?" Mark looked nervous. "You two aren't like the other cops," he said, "You're nice. I don't want the monster to get angry at you, too." "Why?" asked Sam, "Is the monster here?" "Not anymore. It went away. I don't know where it is. But…" He swallowed and looked at them with nervous eyes. "Leah told me at school that she used to hear it at night, too, before it hurt her dad." Sam stood up so that he could move over to the bed and place a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "We won't let the monster hurt anyone else, okay? Agent Reid and I - we'll stop it." The boy's eyes were worried, as was the way he chewed on his bottom lip. "You'll make it angry." "Yeah, well," said Dean, "it made us angry first." Sam wanted to ask Mark more questions, but he also didn't want to distress the kid any further. "Thanks for your help, Mark. And if the monster comes back," he added, digging a small business-like card out of his jacket pocket, "give us a call. Any time, day or night. Okay?" "Okay." He climbed off the bed and went over to his desk, where he tucked the card into a safe spot under his lamp. There was a photograph of him and an older man - his father - next to it. "Um, I need to go to the bathroom. I think Mom's in the kitchen if you want to talk to her." He hurried out of the room, almost tripping on his long pyjama bottoms in his rush. The brothers were left alone. "So," said Sam quietly, "what do you think?" "What do I think? I think there's definitely something weird going on. Two different kids talk about hearing monsters and then end up with dead daddies? Sounds right up our alley." "No, what do you think caused it? Ghost?" "Could be. Kids are supposed to be more sensitive to ghost activity, right?" "It makes sense," Sam agreed, "But it still doesn't explain why Mrs Greenberg didn't hear her husband have his feet ripped off right next to her." "So you think it might be something else?" "I don't know. Maybe. But it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before." "A brand new, limited edition monster, then," said Dean, "Awesome." Sam sighed, already seeing the piles of research ahead of them. Or rather, ahead of him, while his brother kicked back with a beer. "So, we talk to the coroner next?" "You got it. Find out exactly what this 'DNA thing' he found was." They started to leave Mark's room, but something caught Sam's eye before they could make it very far. It was on the bed, inches from where Mark had been sitting, and the pale light streaming in through the window glinted off it. Sam nudged his brother and pointed at it. "What's that?" asked Dean. Sam bent over the bed to inspect it. It was shiny and bluish-silvery, and when he tapped it, it was cold to the touch. "It's…frost," he said in surprise. "So what? It's a cold day." "Inside?" asked Sam sceptically, "You don't think Mark's monster could have left it behind, do you?" "A monster that targets kids, kills their dads by ripping their feet off without waking the Mrs, and then leaves frost on the kids' beds? Right. Awesome," he said again, "We'd better be off to see the coroner soon, then. You're gonna need plenty of time to research."