magic.”
“No—!” I protested. His lies made me gather my courage. I climbed to my
feet.
“That’s not true!” I cried angrily. “I’ve never seen Aunt Greta do any magic.
You’re lying!”
The snowman bobbed from side to side. The ledge shook beneath me. I nearly
lost my balance.
“I do not lie, Jaclyn,” he insisted. His arms raised up, as if he were
pleading with me. “I’m telling the truth.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“Your mother did this to me,” the snowman said. “She used her magic and
turned me into a snowman. You were two years old. She turned me into a snowman.
She tried to turn me back. But she failed. Then she and your aunt Greta took you
and ran away from the village.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense!” I cried. “If what you say is true, why
did we move back here? Why did Aunt Greta bring us back to the village?”
“Your aunt had a good reason for coming back,” the snowman explained. “She
knows that after ten years, the magic spell starts to fade.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. My head felt frozen. It was hard to
think. I struggled to make sense of what he was telling me.
“After ten years, the spell fades,” the snowman repeated. “Your aunt came
back to renew the spell. She wants me to stay a snowman. She wants to keep me
prisoner up here forever. She wants to make sure I don’t tell the world what happened to me. And she wants to keep you to herself!”
“Aunt Greta is not a sorceress!” I protested. “I’ve lived with her
most of my life. And I’ve never seen her do any kind of magic. She doesn’t—”
“PLEASE!” the snowman bellowed, raising a tree branch arm to silence me.
“There isn’t much time. I’m your father, Jaclyn. Your real father. You’ve got to believe me.”
“But, I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think straight. It was
all too… crazy.
“You can get me out of this,” the snowman pleaded. “You can save me. But
you’ve got to hurry. Your aunt Greta will renew the spell soon. If you don’t
save me, I’ll be a snowman for another ten years.”
“But what can I do?” I cried. “I’m not a sorceress. I can’t do magic. What
can I do?”
“You can save me,” the giant snow creature insisted. “But I cannot tell you
how.” He uttered a bitter sigh.
“If I tell you how to save me, it will only strengthen the spell,” he
continued. “You’ve got to figure it out for yourself.”
“Huh? But how?” I demanded.
“I can give you a hint,” the snowman replied. “I cannot tell you how to save
me. But I can give you a hint.”
“Okay,” I said softly. I hugged myself more tightly.
And I listened as, in his deep rumble of a voice, the snowman recited the
familiar rhyme:
“When the snows blow wild
And the day grows old,
Beware, the snowman, my child.
Beware, the snowman.
He brings the cold.”
I stared up at him in shock. “You—you know the poem!” I stammered.
“That is your clue,” the snowman said softly. “That is the only hint I can
give you. Now you must figure out how to rescue me.”
I already knew how to rescue him.
I knew instantly when he recited the old rhyme.
The second verse. The secret had to be in the second verse. The verse
I couldn’t remember.
“Please, Jaclyn.” The snowman gazed down at me, pleading. “Please. Help me.
I’m your father, Jaclyn. I’m really your father.”
I stared back at him. Trying to decide. Trying so hard to decide.
Should I believe him?
Should I help him?
27
Yes, I decided.
Yes. I’ll run home. I’ll find the old poetry book. And I’ll read the second
verse of the rhyme.
“I’m coming back!” I called up to the snowman. I spun away from him, pulled
myself out of his invisible, cold grip.
I started to run down the ledge. And gasped when I nearly ran into Aunt
Greta!
“Aunt Greta—!” I cried in shock.
“I tried to warn you!” she called to me. “I
“No—!” I protested. His lies made me gather my courage. I climbed to my
feet.
“That’s not true!” I cried angrily. “I’ve never seen Aunt Greta do any magic.
You’re lying!”
The snowman bobbed from side to side. The ledge shook beneath me. I nearly
lost my balance.
“I do not lie, Jaclyn,” he insisted. His arms raised up, as if he were
pleading with me. “I’m telling the truth.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“Your mother did this to me,” the snowman said. “She used her magic and
turned me into a snowman. You were two years old. She turned me into a snowman.
She tried to turn me back. But she failed. Then she and your aunt Greta took you
and ran away from the village.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense!” I cried. “If what you say is true, why
did we move back here? Why did Aunt Greta bring us back to the village?”
“Your aunt had a good reason for coming back,” the snowman explained. “She
knows that after ten years, the magic spell starts to fade.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. My head felt frozen. It was hard to
think. I struggled to make sense of what he was telling me.
“After ten years, the spell fades,” the snowman repeated. “Your aunt came
back to renew the spell. She wants me to stay a snowman. She wants to keep me
prisoner up here forever. She wants to make sure I don’t tell the world what happened to me. And she wants to keep you to herself!”
“Aunt Greta is not a sorceress!” I protested. “I’ve lived with her
most of my life. And I’ve never seen her do any kind of magic. She doesn’t—”
“PLEASE!” the snowman bellowed, raising a tree branch arm to silence me.
“There isn’t much time. I’m your father, Jaclyn. Your real father. You’ve got to believe me.”
“But, I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think straight. It was
all too… crazy.
“You can get me out of this,” the snowman pleaded. “You can save me. But
you’ve got to hurry. Your aunt Greta will renew the spell soon. If you don’t
save me, I’ll be a snowman for another ten years.”
“But what can I do?” I cried. “I’m not a sorceress. I can’t do magic. What
can I do?”
“You can save me,” the giant snow creature insisted. “But I cannot tell you
how.” He uttered a bitter sigh.
“If I tell you how to save me, it will only strengthen the spell,” he
continued. “You’ve got to figure it out for yourself.”
“Huh? But how?” I demanded.
“I can give you a hint,” the snowman replied. “I cannot tell you how to save
me. But I can give you a hint.”
“Okay,” I said softly. I hugged myself more tightly.
And I listened as, in his deep rumble of a voice, the snowman recited the
familiar rhyme:
“When the snows blow wild
And the day grows old,
Beware, the snowman, my child.
Beware, the snowman.
He brings the cold.”
I stared up at him in shock. “You—you know the poem!” I stammered.
“That is your clue,” the snowman said softly. “That is the only hint I can
give you. Now you must figure out how to rescue me.”
I already knew how to rescue him.
I knew instantly when he recited the old rhyme.
The second verse. The secret had to be in the second verse. The verse
I couldn’t remember.
“Please, Jaclyn.” The snowman gazed down at me, pleading. “Please. Help me.
I’m your father, Jaclyn. I’m really your father.”
I stared back at him. Trying to decide. Trying so hard to decide.
Should I believe him?
Should I help him?
27
Yes, I decided.
Yes. I’ll run home. I’ll find the old poetry book. And I’ll read the second
verse of the rhyme.
“I’m coming back!” I called up to the snowman. I spun away from him, pulled
myself out of his invisible, cold grip.
I started to run down the ledge. And gasped when I nearly ran into Aunt
Greta!
“Aunt Greta—!” I cried in shock.
“I tried to warn you!” she called to me. “I
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