{"id":1922,"date":"2024-01-22T12:50:40","date_gmt":"2024-01-22T12:50:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=1922"},"modified":"2024-01-22T12:50:46","modified_gmt":"2024-01-22T12:50:46","slug":"the-snowman","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/the-snowman\/1922\/","title":{"rendered":"The Snowman"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Harry\u2019s Nike Air Jordans branded the snow as he sprinted across the lawn. This time last year, when his only worry was whether he\u2019d find said trainers under the tree, he\u2019d wished for a white Christmas. Now, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had bigger things to wish for. Like a Dad who wasn\u2019t in prison, and an end to the creeping dread that something evil lurked inside him, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cExciting, huh?\u201d came a shaky voice. He turned to see old Mr. Morris from next door leaning against the gate, a silvery puff of breath escaping from behind his scarf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. You look smart, Mr. Morris,\u201d he said, noting the long coat and shiny shoes. \u201cGoing to a Christmas party?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Morris chuckled, setting off a cough. \u201cNo,\u201d he wheezed. \u201cMy party days are over. I\u2019m off for tea with the vicar, then midnight mass. Just dropping a spare key to your Mum, in case I lock myself out. I don\u2019t get out much!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shuffled down the path, and Harry began scooping handfuls of snow. Mr. Morris wasn\u2019t the only one who didn\u2019t go out. Since moving here, he\u2019d made exactly zero friends. And now, aged eleven, he was the man of the house, responsible for protecting Mum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn\u2019t until the snowman was fully formed that he realised what he\u2019d been building. Maybe if he wished hard enough, it\u2019d spring to life. Except this one wouldn\u2019t melt. This one would be solid and stick around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If Mum noticed that the snowman was wearing Dad\u2019s coat and scarf – the ones Harry had secretly kept so that he could wrap himself up in them – she didn\u2019t say. Now he could almost smell Dad again. Almost hear his voice. And it sent a shiver down his spine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, when shadows and sounds morphed into monsters, Harry opened his curtains. \u201cNow, Snowman,\u201d he whispered into the moonlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the hope dancing in his chest hardened and fell like a stone. In lurching steps, coat swinging, the snowman stumbled towards the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harry leapt under the covers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tap, tap, tap\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What\u2019d he done? This was terrifying. \u201cGo away,\u201d he repeated under his breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mum didn\u2019t stir. Her room was at the back of the house, and besides, she\u2019d had a few Baileys.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tap, tap, tap\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tap, tap, tap the next morning was more insistent. And as Harry descended the staircase, the dark silhouette of a policeman was unmistakable. He could tell from Mum\u2019s posture that this wasn\u2019t good news. A policeman at the door was never good news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he saw it. A foot, jutting out behind the policeman. A twisted foot encased in a shiny shoe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. Morris.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe vicar thinks he was calling round for a key\u2026\u201d the policeman was saying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harry\u2019s stomach lurched. He pushed past the policeman and crouched beside Mr. Morris\u2019s crumpled body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The snowman stared accusingly. And then, the flicker of a smile. \u201cThat\u2019s my boy,\u201d it winked.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Harry\u2019s Nike Air Jordans branded the snow as he sprinted across the lawn. This time last year, when his only worry was whether he\u2019d find said trainers under the tree, he\u2019d wished for a white Christmas. Now, the weight of the world on his shoulders, he had bigger things to wish for. Like a Dad […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1129,1130],"tags":[541,636,8,20,1136,137,110,816,525,128,1132,1135,11,746,172],"class_list":["post-1922","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1129","category-january-2024-a-winters-tale","tag-dad","tag-harry","tag-he","tag-his","tag-morris","tag-mr","tag-mum","tag-now","tag-only","tag-out","tag-snow","tag-snowman","tag-was","tag-wasn","tag-when"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-v0","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1922","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1922"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1922\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1924,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1922\/revisions\/1924"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1922"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1922"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1922"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}