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Wilson was careful to not disturb the snow as he floated near the ground. He was slowly approaching another village- the spark of excitement in his chest was just a tiny pinprick of warmth, but it was enough for his face to light up.
He wasn’t in a hurry- the gentle breeze pushed his light form above the ground towards the closed buildings. The trees in the distance, surprised with the sudden cold, slowly swayed in the wind and shook the snow off their bright green leaves. There was no snow falling right now- the storm has ended hours ago, leaving the plush covering on the ground. Wilson already had his fun in the snow today, back on the hill. His hair still messy, filled with snowflakes and cold lumps, slow to return to it’s usual form.
Wilson swung his staff forward a little. The wind sped up, his cape flapping against his nape and a strong push to his back moving him quicker ahead. He might not be in a hurry, but no need to stretch it out forever. The town was empty- the streets not cleaned of snow and roofs creaking under the weight of the cold covering. Wilson carefully let himself fall to the ground, his feet finally sinking into the white mass. He looked around to check for anything interesting- all the windows and doors were locked, and the deafening silence made him a bit uncomfortable. He was yet to find a town that would have it’s people welcome him. Taking tentative steps towards the town center where clearly shopping district was set up, he noticed one of the windows was open- big starry eyes looking at him with wonder.
The child had a mess of brown hair on top of their head and almost nonexistent eyebrows. The thought made Wilson snort- smiling lightly he stared the child dead in the eyes. The kids eyes somehow got even bigger, and it shuffled a bit to get higher. It must have been a success, because Wilson saw a gaping mouth with some missing teeth. Before he managed to raise his hand to wave to the kid, a woman came up from inside the house and hurriedly snatched young child away and slammed the window door closed. Oh well.
Wilson turned his attention back to his surroundings. There wasn’t much interesting stuff- just your typical marketplace, except covered in snow and completely deserted. There seemed to be a dance stage in the middle though, judging by the platform and small extension, perfect for sitting and playing an instrument on. He approached it, dared a quick jump and without help of the wind managed to get to the platform. He looked around from his new point of view and let the distant sound of wind ring in his ears. He glanced at rows of houses- under many doors, a warm light trickled outside, most likely sourced by a fireplace or several candles. People inside seemed to not move much, which upset Wilson a little. There was no reason to be scared. He might not be human, but he isn’t a monster. On the other hand, Wilson wasn’t much up for any interaction- he’d rather just go into an empty house, look around a bit and not even make a mess! If he did, he’d just clean it up afterwards. Probably.
A sudden glint caught his eye- the sign on the wall above the door was shining despite being covered almost completely by dull frost. He walked towards it curiously, there was always something interesting about buildings with signs. The spirit squinted his eyes and managed to make out the words- ‘Library’. Oh. Wilson had enough of books in his life, but maybe there was something interesting in there? He reached for the handle and tried to open the frosted door.
Locked, obviously. Dammit. He really hoped for some storybooks.
Sighing, he turned back and jumped to sit midair. The air held him as he thought. There was nothing to do at this place either- town most likely as deserted as any other, anything interesting pulled off the streets. He should probably move on his journey. Where should he go next? He felt rather energetic. Maybe a trip to the mountains to experience some stronger storm would be nice…
His eyes trailed towards the dancing podium again. A stage, and an empty audience. Both what he despised and loved. He unfurled his legs and tilted his body forward- soon above the small podium. After a bit of shuffling, he dropped on the stage and got into position. He closed his eyes and bowed, extending his hand towards an invisible partner.
The music was slow, tired violinist lazily starting the song. Wilson took a shaky breath and put his feet into remembered motion. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. He tried to feel the music with his chest- his head heavy with buzzing thought. Tried to loosen his tense muscles, let himself take a deep breath, not constricted by vices that held his sides. He managed to not stumble, the soft carpet under his feet moving it’s tiny hairs as he moved his legs in circular motions. He thought about trees, moving outside in that forest he asked to visit since he knew how to talk. He imagined he was a tree, with roots extending to the ground, the only movement he was allowed taken with gratitude. He let himself delve into his fantasy a bit longer and as soon as the sound finally reached his ribs and his thoughts calmed, his steps relaxed from their tense position. He kept moving.
A phantom yell startled him out of his trance, almost making him slip. The long forgotten voice of the person that was his dance teacher echoed through the town, or maybe his head, the exhausted and exasperated sigh following close after. He looked around.
Obviously, there was no one there. The person’s demand for him to stop was as silent as the water pump in the corner, frozen still.
He closed his eyes again.
The lady before him was smiling slightly, squeezing his hand with reassurance. He swallowed thickly and bowed, her little bow following soon. He put his hand on her hip, and extended the one holding her hand to the side. The music started. She was leading- he smiled at her with gratitude. Despite his best efforts however, his steps kept stiff and mechanical. He stepped on her foot. He shot her an apologetic glance and lowered his eyes to his feet. Just focus on the motions. He remembers the routine well, he just has to focus. Like an automaton- imagine you’re a clockwork. A simple music box, with cogs spinning the still figurines on top. Follow the procedure. Go along the paper trail. Move steadily, just like hands move on the watch’s face. The music slowly lost it’s melody, the steady rhythm only thing tumphing in his clouded mind, everything else becoming a background hum. The lady said something, but he didn’t catch any of the words so he just plastered one of his trained smiles on his face and nodded. The music slowly faded completely and their dance came to a stop.
Wilson straightened his legs from the final stretch position of the dance. He was panting slightly, the turns and spins dizzying him despite his eyes being closed. He opened them and stared at the mess of footprints left in the snow. The wind was picking up in the distance. He should get going.
…………………..
As he sat on a tree, legs swinging lazily, he could see a bunch of campers in the distance. They were close enough for him to count them, but not enough to see their faces. He was not really interested in people, though. His attention was completely enveloped around the center of the camp- a fire pit, dug into the ground, surrounded with stones campers found around the forest. The flames danced sweetly, the top of the blaze constantly choked with cold air moving around it. The color of heated reaction changed depending on it’s intensity and pops of the wood it feasted on. Wilson stared, shivers running down his spine. He felt it’s phantom burn, too far away to feel actual warmth. He kicked his legs to distract himself, but the images flashed before his eyes anyway.
The silent candle flames.
The raging bonfire.
Intense burn from the kitchen stove.
The fire in his stomach.
Wilson felt unbearable need to smother the burning entity. To make the campers freeze here, where they didn’t belong. He turned the other way instead. He might not be human, but he isn’t a monster.
……………………..
The time he found a book was a happy accident. He was overjoyed the whole day- he spent over an hour talking to a moose that completely uninterested just kept walking, ignoring his weight on it’s back. Meanwhile Wilson babbled with abandon and read the book in turns, switching with loud squeals of joy. The book was about myths and magic- he was more interested in facts about the world, but now that he knew what he previously considered a fairy tale was actual part of nature, he welcomed all stories of magical and natural beings alike.
The first story was one he knew. It told of Forests and it’s Gods: “For those that have been abandoned, or haven’t had one from their birth, the trees awoke by their own to defend themselves from cruelty of man and fire” he read out loud for the moose, at which it snorted, steam coming out of it’s nostrils. He saw that many times, clueless humans cutting at trees in greed and not replanting the seeds back. He never intervened- it wasn’t his problem.
The second and third was of creepy bog and it’s inhabitants. Dangerous and slimy. Wilson remembered to keep above the ground when he visits those.
He left the poor moose alone to read the next one- and good that he did. As he sat in the clearing, unmoving, his eyes skimming across the pages, the world stood still.
The story spoke of scary young man, cold in touch and frozen at heart. He was known for bringing death and destroying crops that he came across, kidnapping children and turning them into ice statues to decorate his ice palace. How the way to avoid him was to look out for early signs of winter and hide in your house, taking away from the town anything that might catch his interest, for the less the man had to entertain himself with, the quicker will he leave. How to keep your children safe and how to protect your animals. To warm your house and stay silent.
The pages were littered with notes from various owners, adding more and more exaggerated points about the man, mentioning the cruelties he’s done and misfortune he brought. On one page, a drawing stood, of simple gentleman with white W-shaped hair, short torn cape and ruined trousers, with star-like metal pin on his collar and a wooden staff with intimidating gem.
Wilson stared at the drawing, as the tears froze on his cheeks, forming blunt ended icicles down his jaw.
He heard the maids again. They either thought he couldn’t understand what they were saying, or simply didn’t care.
“He brings shame for his family. Why do they keep feeding him and keeping him under their roof?”
“To not ruin their reputation, of course! As much of a failure he is, no one looks kindly at parents who abandon their child.”
“Well, I’m sure everyone could overlook this one case!” They giggled, and Wilson turned in his bed to the other side, bundling himself in his covers, despite it being summer.
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“Why oh why do we bother? You just cannot teach this boy manners. He isn’t even trying” Wilson covered his ears, tears behind his eyes burning. He was trying, it was just difficult, he could never read what others meant, he just followed instructions but somehow it was never enough-
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“He isn’t even the heir to the throne. What will be the use of him? I heard of cases where younger siblings contributing to the kingdom but he can’t do anything.”
He doesn’t understand. Why are people always talking about him? Following him with their eyes? Why are they so interested in his life? He didn’t choose this. He never wanted to be born into this family. It’s not his fault his interests lay elsewhere. Shame was hot in his gut. He wanted to escape, but he knew nothing of life outside these walls. He wasn’t that stupid, to leave the warmth of the palace with no survival skills to die somewhere, or worse, be found and shaming his family name even more. He looked at the burning fireplace and considered throwing himself into it.
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“Everything would be easier if you weren’t there. We just have to constantly keep an eye on you. All these people could be doing something useful instead of looking after you, you know.” The words hurt, his parents’ heated gaze burning a hole on top of his head. He didn’t dare to raise it. “You will attend this party. Do not disappoint us this time.”
He didn’t.
He left the book in that clearing. He didn’t rip it apart, he didn’t throw it away, nor set it on fire or crushed with a boulder or pierced with any weapon. He might not be human, but he isn’t a monster.
He doesn’t know what happened to it.
……………………..
Wilson swung around his staff, shooting icicles at the side of the mountain. The blizzard around him was harsh and unforgivable, swallowing all his cries of joy. Wilson danced with the wind, grabbed on to frozen rocks and jumped off the cliffs, riding on the snowslide, landing in giant mounds of snow. Only to dig through them and burst out from the bottom. He flew above the clouds to twirl there until he got dizzy, then let himself fall for the wind to pick him up again and toss him around. He flew across the forest, sliding his staff along, freezing rivers and trees and anything he passed, his smile stuffed with snowflakes that smacked him in the face in little bursts. Finally, he took a leap into a lake- slowly sinking to the bottom, he reveled in the slicing coldness of water, that already started freezing around his body. Before he could drown, he swam to the top and froze the surface to lay on it and breathe harshly.
The party was stuffed with people. Wilson had only few things on his mind- do not fuck up. You remember all the manners. You know how talk with people. You have to either find a wife, or a way to escape.
He went towards the buffet, straight to the table filled with glasses and bottles. He never liked drinking, despised how alcohol brought the warmth from deep within his body to spread it just under his skin. But right now, he needed a distraction, and possible ice breaker. He asked absentmindedly for some wine, and slowly sipped it.
And then he felt fire.
It burned in his core, in his stomach, in his mouth and head.
The pain, the horrible pain of unfathomable hotness burst behind his eyelids, knocked him off his feet and ate away at him from the inside.
Over the ringing in his ears, he could hear surprised yells and cries for help.
Laying on his side, clutching his burning stomach, he searched with his eyes for anyone that would help him. But all they did was stare at him with fear, hopelessness, worry.
He tried to cry out for help, but his swollen throat and tongue failed him, and the fever took his consciousness.
Wilson was walking through a forest. It was winter time anyway here, so his visit didn’t change much. He felt better that way- unnoticeable. Animals as wary of him as of any other human, not surprised with sudden snowfall. The trees shed their leaves, and evergreens wore their snowy cloaks proudly. The Spirit hummed softly a made up tune. The wind answered, whistling slowly. Young man grinned.
He woke up, later, buried in snow. The feeling then- so alien and feared- was his most precious relief. He never felt something quite like it. Something that soothed his itching skin, slowed his ever hurried breath and calmed his frantically beating heart. So cold.
When he managed to dig himself out of the mound of cold dust, the first thing he did was shedding his clothes. They were heavy and soaked, and royally red- the stark contrast against the white fluffy pile he woke up in. It somehow felt wrong.
Something glowed from the bottom of the small hill he was just buried under. He dug until he reached it, a sturdy twisted stick with a glowing blue gem on top. He felt the wind nudge him. He knew to keep it.
He found freedom, that day- finally out of that wretched fortress, away from people’s eyes and judging glares. He dressed himself in whatever he wished and traveled wherever he pleased- he did what he wanted and lived every moment given to him from then on. He received a gift from winter, and he did not plan on wasting it.
So when the winter comes, do not close your doors. Just seek the sound of laughter. After all, He might not be human, but He isn’t a monster.