Shocking Short Story: BEWARE, THE SNOWMAN 

It was a dark and cold night I had to live with my aunt Greta, after my mom died when I was five years old. Before my mom died she told me this rhyme every night before I went to bed: when the snow blows wild.And the day grows old, Beware, the snowman, my child.Beware, the snowman.He brings the cold. The rhyme was made and it ran through my mind as my aunt Greta and I climbed out of the van and gazed at our snow – covered new home, and I stared at our flat- roofed cabin, and that was our new home. I asked how am I going to make friends in this tiny village called the edge of the artic circle? Then I gazed at the snowy mountains, and I couldn't tell where the snow on the mountain ended or when the clouds are clouds are coming out in to the sky again. My aunt Greta said, it was time to move on and she said it was going to get harder for her at one minute at a time, to say a few words, even though the words Jaclyn said was not a fairytale.