First-Snow Feast — A Story for Christmas

Cautiously, Icerag the snowman opened one coal-eye and peered through the steadily falling snow. It was nearly dark, apart from the pools of streetlight and the glow from the houses of the Warms.

How had they made him this time? Warms could be cruel, and snowmen were at the mercy of their whims. One winter, they’d given him a courgette, instead of a carrot, as his nose, and everyone had laughed at him.

It must be nearly time for the First-Snow Feast, marking the start of the brief snowman year, a holiday to celebrate waking again for another winter. They always gathered at Crystal’s, so, with a glance to check he was unobserved, Icerag moved off. The journey was tiring, but not long. Crystal was only a few gardens over.

She looked radiant as always, at the centre of their group. The Warms who made her, year after year, paid a lot of attention to detail, and an icy shiver of desire passed through Icerag at the sight of her perfectly spaced eyes, the sweet little carrot of a nose and the delicious paunch of her belly. She was perfect, yet again.

Icerag experienced that strange melting feeling Crystal always gave him. To distract himself, he asked, “Everyone here?”

The mood immediately grew sombre. “No Snowflake again,” said Crystal.

No-one commented, but Icerag knew they were all thinking the same. Snowflake had new Warms, who hadn’t made him last year. It was every snowman’s dread.

“Never mind,” said Crystal determinedly. “The feast’s ready. We have a plump, succulent one this year. I don’t think it’s been missed yet.”

All the snowmen looked down at where a tiny Warm’s head poked out of the snow, its body buried deep enough to restrict movement. Its absurd eyes were darting all over the place, instead of staying still, but the snow packed into its mouth was stopping it from making any of their strange sounds.

“Perfect,” said Icerag. “Let’s eat.”

And half a dozen snowmen gathered around to begin devouring the little Warm. It was going to be a splendid feast.