Harry Kelfer, Patrick Nickelson, and I sat on an old sofa in a lodge far from town in February one night, the winter beginning to melt away. My name is John Mehiner. I was the youngest of the three, as I was 18 and freshly graduated from high school, and was attending the community college at random intervals. I was your somewhat average Caucasian male stood at a height of 5 foot 9, and was slender in stature. Harry was the redneck of the group. Forty seven years under his belt, he is hard to find without a poorly groomed beard and a beer in hand. He also had a Texas accent and a very large potbelly. Patrick, also known as Pat, was in his mid-thirty's, his sporting gear he wears revealing his longtime passion of hunting. Strangely though, he wore a cloth green Robin Hood cap whenever he could, and it was a very conversational piece when he was around. We originally came to the cabin upon his request, which was good for me. I only lived about fifty miles away at the edge of town at the beat down apartments. The cabin was quite small. There was a living room, sleeping quarters, and kitchen inside the house. A cellar lies outside on the south end. The living room had a table littered with beers and a .30 caliber rifle, a fireplace, an old T.V., and VCR stood in front of them. A single window in the building lay dusty to the right of the T.V.

“So, what are we watching this time?” Pat asked.

I rummaged through his collection of tapes. “Hmm, how about Jack Frost 2: Revenge of the Mutant Killer?”

Harry took a big gulp out of his beer and belched, “We should be huntin' or something. That's what we came here for, righ' Patty?”

Patrick shrugged. “We haven't found much game so far, and my feet are killing me from all the walking. As for the movie, I haven't seen that one.”

I stuck in the tape, and the for the next few hours, they watched the horror movie...

-----

I yawned as the credits rolled by. “So, what you all think?”

“It sucked,” the other two replied at the same time.

I frowned at their reactions. “That's what you said with the other movies.”

“Well, you have poor taste,” Patrick chuckled.

The redneck stood up and headed towards the door outside. “I need to take a 'lil whiz if you know what I mean.” He walked out the door and into the forest.

-----

Harry looked around in the snowy fields of the forest, until he spotted a suitable tree. He began to do his business.

Crack.

He looked around to the source, but did not see something. He continued his business.

Snap.

He zipped up his pants and began growling. “Who's there? Again he looked, but saw nothing of interest. He headed back on the path to the cabin. Nearing the cabin, he began to hear something move behind him. He whirled around. “Ha!” There was a snow man right behind him, right on the path he was walking on. What was worse was that it was moving towards him fairly quickly, stick arms outstretched...

“AAAAH!” the redneck stumbled backwards quickly, only to lose footing on the slippery ground and was knocked out cold on the ground as the snowman descended upon him...

-----

“John, did you hear something?” Patrick asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I thought I heard a scream...”

“He probably ran into a deer again,” the hunter laughed. He got up and took his rifle off the table in front of him. “Lets go check on him.” They both headed out into the woods, Patrick in the lead.

“Harry! Where the hell are ya?” Pat called. No answer. They continued down the path. Patrick was the first to spot him. “Oh crap...” They ran to his aid, the hunter elevating his head and John checking his pulse.

I sighed. “Phew, he's still alive.”

Harry blinked.

Patrick grinned at his awoken friend. “Great to have you back, you should watch your step you drunken fool.”

The redneck's expression suddenly to complete horror, as he pointed a finger down behind them. They both turned to face the snowman, smiling gleefully at them rolling its arms.

“Heelp me...” it said with a raspy voice. The reaction was unanimous.

“AAAAAAAAHH!”

The once fearless hunter, was now sprinting off towards the cabin, his gun forgotten at the scene. I managed to grab hold of Harry and began frantically pulling him away from the abomination, but making slow progress...”

“Stooop,” it said again.

“What the fuck?” said the dazed redneck, and then fainted. As I pulled, I wondered why a snow man wanted meat. We were almost to the door, but the snowman was gliding towards them faster and faster...

“Oy!” Something small and black flew past my shoulder and slammed into the snowman's face, knocking off the carrot nose. The T.V. Remote. With the assistance of Patrick, Both of us managed to drag Harry inside the cabin and slammed the door shut.

I placed Harry on top of the sofa, and placed a pillow under his head, while Patrick frantically took a wooden chair and barricaded the door.

“What the hell was that?” Patrick said fearfully.

I remembered the movie.

“It's Jack Frost! He's real!” I glanced at the beer bottles. “Pat, give me your hat.”

“What?”

“Give it to me now?”

“Why?”

I walked over and ripped the hat off his head and grabbed a half filled beer bottle. “Molotov Cocktail...”

The hunter did not look too happy with the idea. “Now hold on just a minute! I had that hat since I was 11! Besides, that snowman can't get in here now-”

Crash. The snowman's head stuck through the broken window. It's carrot nose was fixated on its face again.

Pat looked at the snowman's head. “Use it! Use the damn hat!”

“Neeed ,” the snowman said, as it slowly slid into the room.

Pat picked up an empty beer bottle. “I'll hold it back!” He charged the frozen adversary, as I quickly ripped off a part of the hat and doused it in beer. I then stuffed it at the top of the bottle, and turned to see Patrick knocked down cleanly off his feet. The snowman pulled itself through the window and stood firmly on the wooden floor.

“Nooot here tooo hurt you!” it groaned.

I lit the cocktail at the fireplace, and took aim with the makeshift weapon. “Pat! Out of the way!” Pat dove to the side as the Molotov flew at the snowman and connected.

I was speechless, mouth agape.

“Smart idea you fucking idiot!” the hunter roared. The Molotov cocktail was embedded in the snowman's chest bottom end first, the flame still burning brightly. Pat kicked the chair away from the door and ran out into the forest.

“Fucking coward!” I yelled, now having to face the icy fiend by himself. The snowman did not move though. He grabbed an empty beer bottle from the table and took a defensive stance.

“Stooop,” it said in a raspy voice.

I remained silent, nor did he move.

The snowman pointed to himself. “Frooosty, not Jaaack.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “What? Frosty?”

The snowman pointed to the top hat on his head. “Spriing coming, and I neeed to staaay in cellar meat locker. Youuus people looocked it...”

My guard dropped slightly, completely dumbfounded. “What the fuck? Is the Easter Bunny real too?”

Pat burst into the cabin again, this time toting his .30 caliber rifle. He took aim at the snowman. “Die son of a bitch!”

He fired, and it connected with the Molotov cocktail. Frosty the Snowman frowned as the flames flared up quickly, setting fire to his hat, scarf and arms, as well as coating the snowman with the liquid fire. We watched the snow melt away until what remained was the remnants of the top hat, scarf, and charcoal.

“Geeze Pat! That wasn't Jack!” I yelled.

Patrick shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

Harry sat up from the sofa. “Ah, heya guys! I had the most darn strangest dream...”

Silence.

“...Lets go hunting,” Pat said, cocking his gun."

Everyone agreed.