The Snowman’s Revenge

a Christmas ghost story

Not one person knew who made the snowman,
they said in the end it was “kids”,
that venerable answer to
such articles of mystery.

A year had passed since Peter’s dad
had shot himself where now the snowman stood,
on losing his job in the pits,
to bitter end cursing his faithless wife.

The carrot nose and coal buttons,
the dotted smile, eyes, top hat, and scarf;
it looked like some kind wizard stopped
and filled the drive with cheer for passers by.

With child’s logic, though, Peter could not
quite love the thing, and even tried
to knock it down one night, but found
the man immovable, the snow hard packed.

The sun at least will have its way, he thought
and went inside, to where his father’s bride
lay on the couch beside her beau,
the man who closed the pits and came out rich…

A week later policemen came to tell
the widow that her new man too was gone.
Like Portia made to eat hot coals,
the child thought he heard them say.

He left his place below the windowsill
and stood before the snowman in the drive.
All that was left of his features
were hat and nose, the coals missing.

The pit boss dealt with evil men
and now he’d reaped the fruits of poor wisdom.
As common a fable as any told
since Aesop and Christ were children.

Yet something stirred in Peter’s heart
and possibly his mother’s too,
since she also tried to break the snowman,
breaking her wrist when she struck it in rage.

It left of its own will by New Year’s Day,
called home by each successive ray of sun,
and was forgotten by all but Peter,
who came to hate the story of Jack Frost.