Winter's Heart

As the days and nights went by Tom's faith dwindled. He hadn't had much faith in the beginning when he and Gail started dating. Now he had even less faith in the relationship. He kept wondering, totally puzzled and confused how he could have such bad luck with women. Even within the laws of probability he should have had some good luck by now. He should have met “the one” by the age of thirty-five. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was the forces of the universe, maybe God just forgot him. Maybe he was just unlovable. He didn't know, and now he really didn't care either. Once again, he was in a failing relationship headed for the inevitable big breakup. The world had always been cruel to him as far back as he could remember.

Tom sat now staring out the small circle he had cleared in the frost covered window. The earth had a soft white blanket of snow covering it, the snow created an alien looking landscape with the hills and valleys the drifts created. Taking another sip of his drink, he stared off into the cold darkness outside his window. Somehow in the howling wind he could hear every once in awhile a song of winter. It seemed almost comforting; like it was singing to him. The anthem of the lonely. He sighed and wrote it off as too much whiskey.

All of a sudden the phone rang, startling him back to reality. He set his drink down and moved to the loveseat across the room where the phone was.

“Hello?”

There was a pause then a voice answered him. "Hello Tom, how are you doing?" the woman said in a quiet tone. Tom paused and waited for a moment before answering. He decided it best not to be honest due to the fact that he just didn't feel like getting into it.

"I'm fine," he replied, he tried to sound casual, but he knew his tone was unconvincing.

"I just wanted to see how you were after last night."

Tom thought to himself, “Who was she trying to kid?”

"I am fine, Gail...really, no problems. Actually, you caught me at a bad time, I was just ready to go out. So can we talk another time? Maybe tomorrow?" He wanted nothing more than to end this conversation now. He knew she didn't believe that he was going out, but he didn't care. Just as long as he didn't have to talk to her right now.

"Well, I will call you tomorrow. OK, Tom? I love you.”

“Yep, talk to you tomorrow. Bye.” he said as he started to hang up the phone before she even said goodbye.

He walked back over to his chair by the window and sat back down again, staring out at the night snow. Why would she even call? After all the garbage she pulled on him earlier in the week. She had some nerve he thought to himself. He pondered the notion that maybe deep down inside he enjoyed being emotionally abused and drained by women. Maybe he wasn't really seeking happiness after all. It didn't matter to him anymore. His heart had become cold and hardened from years of hurt and disappointment. His love for humanity faded outside of romantic relationships as well. He barely even spoke to his family anymore. When he was fifteen and his mother died his father had become emotional detached from Tom and his sister. His dad started drinking heavily since mom wasn't around to regulate his behavior and he'd become physically abusive towards the kids. Tom's sister, who was seventeen , moved to the west coast, never to be heard from again.

Suddenly, something caught Tom's eye. Something he hadn't noticed before, footprints. He was sure there were no footprints before, especially way out here. His closest neighbor lived half a mile away. That's why he bought this place in the first place; to get away from it all, away from everyone. Maybe an animal made the tracks. No, he knew the footprints weren't an animal's, but he was by himself out there and it was miserable out. Who in God's creation would be walking around the woods in this weather? Strange it was. Perhaps it was the whiskey that prohibited him from noticing that they were there all along. Time for another drink Tom thought. He got up and went to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and poured himself another half a glass.

He walked back sipping on his drink. When he got to the window he almost choked on the whiskey as it went down. More footprints, footprints all over. At least six or seven sets, going in all directions. Now he knew it wasn't him being just inattentive. Those tracks were new, and made from the time he got up, grabbed another bottled and came back which had been less than two minutes. Feeling very uneasy now, he went to the front door and peered out the window...more tracks.

Almost dropping his glass on the floor, he ran around looking out every window. In every window he saw the same thing. Tracks in the snow, what seemed to be impossible was that every time he looked there seemed to be more and more but he saw no one out there that could have made the tracks.


Tom quickly closed the curtains and stood in the living room, trying not to look toward the windows. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. He stood there, his mind racing, trying to figure out what or who was eighteen miles from town and wandering around his property in the cold and dark. He felt a chill run down his spine sending shivers through his limbs as he heard the wind again. This time he was sure he heard his name being called faintly as it howled outside. It was his imagination, he told himself. The alcohol and being tired were playing tricks on him. Reluctantly, he looked out the living room window again. It was like an invisible force pulled him to the window. He opened the curtain, not sure of what he expected to see. The tracks were all over now, over a dozen sets of footprints and close to the house. In fact, there were a set of footprints that traced right up to the window he was looking out of. A cold sharp twinge ran up and down Tom's spine.


He could see the blackened silhouette of trees faintly in the distance and the road leading out to the highway, but other than that there was nothing. Again, he pulled the curtain closed, but not before he caught a glimpse of someone or something outside standing just outside the treeline on the far side of the yard...looking at him. He quickly threw open the curtain wider to get a better look, but they had vanished. Now Tom was feeling total fear, and panic. This was too bizarre and his mind raced to find a simple logical explanation. His mind could not find one. He went to the front door and checked to see that it was locked. Outside, the wind howled louder. This time, however, it was clear. He heard his name being spoken on the wind, “Thoooommmmaaaassss” over and over.

Now he decided that the only thing to do was escape. He figured he could make a dash to the car and head for town. He grabbed his jacket, boots and coat. Then he realized he needed a weapon. He ran into the kitchen, opened the drawer and pulled out a large butcher knife. Right at that moment he wished he listened to one of his buddies about making sure there was a rifle in the house in case of a bear. He frantically searched his coat pockets for the car keys and found them. He quietly walked over to the door and placed his ear against it, listening for anything or anyone on the other side. Nothing. Taking a few deep breaths he flung the door open. He got about four steps out when he saw them.

Tom froze in fear as he stared into the unknown, the bizarre. There were three of them. Impish men, small in stature. They stood only about three and a half feet tall, all with long white beards and had a pale-blueish color to their skin. Their eyes were devoid of color, just a silver glow to them. They appeared to have white robes on.

"Who...Who are you!" Tom tried to scream but his voice was weak with fear. One of the little men stepped forward and spoke in a very soothing tone, his voice seemed to sound almost like the wind as he spoke.


"We are winters servants, winter's messengers and caretakers." Tom was now beyond all rational thought, he couldn't move. The strange thing was he wasn't feeling cold at all. His face and extremities was actually very comfortable in the frigid wind.

"What do you want?" Tom asked.

"We came for you, Thomas. Your heart has turned cold and we are here to take you into winters arms.”

"What the...What do you mean?"

"Love and faith in others keeps your heart warm. With a warm heart you can give love to others...and you can love yourself. Faith in others brings reward. But not for you, Thomas. Once you lose the warmth that love provides, your heart becomes cold. Only those with cold hearts can see us. The very fact that you are standing out here talking to us is proof that the flame inside you has perished and your heart has gone cold ."

Tom looked around as he began to see more and more of the strange little men. Soon his yard had hundreds of them standing there, encircling him.

"So you are going to kill me?" Tom said as he looked at the virtual army of the little people.

"No, of course not, you will be reborn into one of us. You will not be harmed. You will be transformed."

Tom looked around with a defiant expression.

"Well, what if I don't want to come?" he said challengingly.

The small dwarf just smiled at him.

"I am sorry, Thomas. You have no choice. Try to think of us as angels.”

“Are you?”

“No... but we do give peace and comfort to those like you who have decided to let the warmth of this world diminish. We have such great things to show you. Do not be afraid...come.”

The dwarf reached out his little blue hand. It was strange. Tom realized he was feeling less afraid now. Maybe this was what he was looking for all along. It would be a fresh start. Dropping the knife in the snow, he felt a kind of comfort as he walked over to the dwarf. Tom knelt down and took the little hand into his. He hadn't even realized until then that he was still clutching the whiskey bottle in his other hand. He let that fall to the ground as well. He felt even more at ease and somewhat content as they began walking together, hand in hand, towards the treeline. Tom noticed the snow was getting deeper, or rather they were sinking into it as they walked. The snow did not feel cold. Instead, it felt inviting and comfortable as Tom and all the others' heads slipped below the blanket of white.

The next day Gail had pulled her Volvo up to the house. She thought she would surprise Tom and try to make the relationship work. When she stepped out of the car she noticed something reflecting sunlight in her eyes, sticking out of the snow. She walked over to the object, snow crunching under her boots. It had been snowing all night and the tiny footprints were no longer visible.

She bent over and pulled the object out of the snow and brushed it off with her glove. It was a whiskey bottled with just a drop left at the bottom.