Snow
Angels
by Simon Kewin
“Oh, look. A snow angel.”
Harriet slid to a stop, holding onto Jane’s arm to stop
herself
falling over. Someone had lain in the stretch of sparkling snow in
front of the Presbyterian Church. Harriet looked up and down the road
but could see no one. This late in the year it was already dark. Too
icy for cars or many people. House-lights were beginning to twinkle out
through the twilight.
“Come on, let’s make our own,” said Jane.
“No,” said Harriet. “Let’s just
get home. I’m bloody freezing. And this place is
creepy.”
The familiar tone of mischief was clear in Jane’s voice as
she
replied. “Oh, Harry. We’ve walked past here a
thousand
times. Like, every day of our lives.”
Harriet shivered as she stood. She could feel the heat being sucked out
of her. “Yeah, in the daylight. You know what’s
under
there, under all that snow.”
“They’re just dead people, Harry. They
can’t harm you, can they?”
“Still, I don’t like it. It’s not
right.”
“Well, I’m going to make my own angel,”
said Jane, unhooking her arm from Harriet’s.
Harriet watched Jane lie down in the thick snow. If there was one thing
Jane hated it was being told she shouldn’t do something.
She’d always been like that, ever since they were kids.
Harriet
looked back up the road. They were nearly home. Their parents had
insisted they come back from their friend’s together. She
could
see the lights from her own house up ahead. And, across the field,
beyond the stand of black trees, Jane’s too. They were close
enough.
“Make one if you want,” said Harriet.
“I’m going home.”
She half-walked, half-slid along the treacherous road, shivering as she
went. Now that the sun had gone down the temperature was plummeting.
Her jaw clenched and her teeth began to chatter. So that actually
happened? She’d thought it was just what they said in books.
She
would never admit that her mother had been right about wearing a coat,
of course, but she had been. She stopped and glanced back to see Jane
lying in the deep, pristine snow in front of the church, waving her
arms and legs up and down to make her angel. Flapping frantically.
Harriet turned away. It was then she must have slipped on a patch of
ice. She felt her foot give way, a moment of confusion, then she hit
the ground. She tasted gritty snow. Cold bit into her face. Her head
throbbed sharply where she must have banged it on the packed ice but
she didn’t remember that happening. Had she passed out for a
moment? She looked up and around. Everything looked the same
–
the deserted road, snow everywhere – except that, back by the
church, Jane had gone.
“Jane?”
Harriet climbed warily to her feet and began to walk, taking great
pains not to slip over again. She touched fingers to her forehead and
felt the wetness of blood. OK. This wasn’t funny any more.
“Jane!”
Where was she? Jane wouldn’t have just left her lying there
in
the road. She must be playing some trick. It was just like her. Harriet
followed her line of footprints back to the church. There were her and
Jane’s trails, side-by-side. There were no others. No one
else
had been there and Jane, apparently, hadn’t left. How could
that
be?
She looked all around, expecting Jane to jump out at her from
somewhere. Falling snow began to obscure everything about her. On the
ground she could see the outlines of two angels. The newer one was
deep, its lines crisp, freshly cut through the white drift. Jane had
lain there but now there was just the empty shape of the figure,
vaguely human. The falling snow was already beginning to fill it up
again.
She could think of only one explanation. Heart pounding, Harriet knelt
on the ground next to the snow angel and began to dig with numb hands.
“Jane!”
She felt her wrists being grasped, felt herself being pulled
under the snow, only when it was too late.
END
