INTRODUCTION
ILLUSTRATED BY ART SPIEGELMAN
I live in New York City. And when you live in such a crowded, noisy place, you overhear a lot of conversations.
One afternoon I was passing a junior high in my neighborhood, and I overheard two boys arguing. “You can be scared to death,” a tall boy in a Mets cap said. “It happens a lot.”
“No way!” his friend replied. “You can’t just see something scary and drop dead.”
“Your heart can stop,” the first boy insisted. “It can just freeze. You get so scared, you just freeze—forever.”
Frozen in fear, I thought, watching the boys run for a bus. Is it possible for someone to be frozen in fear?
And just as I had that thought, it started to snow.
By the time I walked home, the snow was swirling—and my brain was swirling too. I rushed to my computer to write this story.
My friend Billy thinks he’s real cool. He’s always telling us how cool he is—which is only one of the things that annoy us about Billy.
Billy is an annoying dude. Why? I could make a list….
(1) He’s stuck-up.
(2) He’s a show-off.
(3) He’s a loudmouth.
(4) He thinks he’s an expert on everything.
(5) He thinks he’s smarter and better than us.
By us I mean me—Rick Barker—and my other friends, Loren and Fred. The four of us all live on the same block, and we’ve hung out since kindergarten.
So we’re stuck with Billy, even though we complain about him all the time. I guess our main problem with Billy is that he never stops talking.
And he always talks about death.
“Did you know you can tickle a person to death without even touching him?” Billy says.
He’s so weird. It’s like he’s obsessed. He’s always telling us disturbing ways people can die.
“Did you know you can itch to death in your sleep?”
“Did you know a tiny feather can kill you if it falls from an airplane?”
Listening to that stuff is not entertaining. I mean, it can mess up your mind—right?
So today the four of us were walking to the neighborhood park, and when we got there, Loren, Fred, and I decided to put one of Billy’s wild death facts to the test.
It was a snow day—school had been canceled. And we were in a really good mood.
The snow was at least two feet deep. Some of the drifts came up to my shoulders! It was wild. The whole world looked white. Except for the sky, which was solid blue. A beautiful, cold, crisp day.
Our breath fogged up in front of us as our boots crunched through the thick snow. We thought maybe we could get some little kids to share their sleds in the park.
But what was Billy talking about?
Three guesses.
“Did you know you can be frozen in fear?” he said.
I let out a groan. “Give us a break, Billy.”
“No, it’s true,” he said. “You can be so frightened, your body freezes—forever. You can’t talk. You can’t move. It’s like being scared to death, only you’re still alive!”
“Okay, let’s try it!” I cried.
I grabbed Billy by the shoulders of his parka. “Let’s test this one out!”
I think Loren and Fred and I had the exact same idea at the same time. Billy struggled, kicking and squirming. But the three of us picked him up—and heaved him, feet first, into the tallest snowdrift we could find.
Before he could move, we started packing the snow around him. It was perfect packing snow, wet and heavy.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Billy cried.
“We’re turning you into a snowman!” Fred exclaimed.
We worked furiously. Heaving the snow over him. Shoveling heap after heap onto his shoulders, his head.
“Can we talk about this?” Billy screamed. “You know I can’t stand tight places, right? Hey—stop! This is not funny. I’m freezing in here. I’m catching a cold. I can feel it already! Come on! Let me out of here!”
The three of us laughed.
It was pretty funny seeing the guy in such a total panic over a harmless joke.
“It was your idea,” I said. “Don’t you want to test it? Don’t you want to see if you really can be frozen in fear?”
“No! No, I don’t!” Billy cried.
“Any last words?” Fred asked him.
“Yeah. Get me out of here!” he screamed.
Then we covered his head.
We poked some holes near the top for air. Then Loren found two perfect round stones for eyes and a bent twig for a nose. Fred and I scraped and molded the snow to round it off like a real snowman. And we packed it even tighter. Loren finished the job by tying her scarf around the snowman’s neck.
“Yo, Billy, how’s the weather in there?” I called. “How’s it going, big guy?”
He didn’t answer.
The three of us stepped back to admire our work.
“Good job!” Loren cried. We slapped high fives with our wet, snowy gloves.
We expected Billy to come bursting out, roaring and flinging snow at us. He could break out easily, I thought. I mean, how hard is it to knock snow away?
But he didn’t move.
He just stood there, still as a snowman. The two stone eyes stared out at us.
“Hey, Billy?” I called.
Silence.
“Billy? Hello?”
A long, eerie silence.
“Billy?” I called.
No answer.
Fred laughed. “He’s just trying to freak us out.” He pulled my arm. “Come on, Rick. There are some kids with sleds on that hill. Let’s check ’em out!”
As we jogged over the snow, I glanced back. Billy still hadn’t moved. What was he waiting for?
“Hey—American Flyers!” Fred shouted to some little kids. “Can we have a turn?”
How long did we sled? I’m really not sure. The afternoon sun was sinking in the sky. Long blue shadows stretched over the snow. We returned the sleds to the other kids and Loren and Fred went home.
Then I suddenly remembered Billy.
Rubbing my frozen cheeks, I made my way down the hill—and saw the snowman standing just as we’d left it.
Oh, no! I thought. Then I ran up to it and shouted, “Billy? Billy?”
We had forgotten all about him.
My breath caught in my throat. My whole body shuddered.
Was he frozen in there?
It was just a joke. Had we really done something horrible to the kid?
No! Please—no!
I grabbed the snowman’s head. “Billy? Hey—answer me! Why don’t you answer me?”
The snow was packed tight, like concrete. I dug my gloves in and began frantically pulling it off in big chunks.
“Billy? Can you hear me?”
Flinging snow everywhere, I quickly ripped away the front of the snowman. I clawed the packed snow loose and batted it to the ground.
“Billy? Hey—Billy?”
Furiously, I batted more snow off the round body.
There was no Billy inside.
I staggered back. Where is he? I asked myself, staring at the chunks of snow on the ground. He couldn’t have climbed out. The snowman had been standing just as we left it.
A chill shook my body. I pulled my coat tighter but I couldn’t stop shivering.
And then I heard a soft whisper from behind me. “Rick—you froze me. You FROZE me!”
“No!” I gasped.
I spun around. “Where are you?” I asked, my voice cracking. “I can’t see you!”
Silence.
Just the sound of the wind, brushing snow off the tree branches.
Then the whisper again: “You froze me, Rick.”
And Billy stepped out from behind a tree.
Head down, he moved toward me, lurching, staggering in a strange slow motion.
And then slowly, slowly, he raised his head—and I saw his face. Crusted with ice. Patches of snow clung to his hair and eyebrows. Icicles hung from his cheeks, his chin.
I opened my mouth in a scream of horror.
Billy kept staggering across the snow toward me, his gloved hands outstretched as if ready to grab me. “Rick, you froze me. You froze me to DEATH!”
My teeth chattered. Chill after chill ran down my body. I stared at Billy, frozen in fear.
And then I felt something snap.
Something in my brain.
Just a soft pop.
I tried to move. I tried to cry out.
But I couldn’t.
My legs, my arms—they wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t open my mouth to scream. I couldn’t even blink my eyes!
I stared straight ahead.
Billy came closer. Closer. “Rick—what’s your problem?” he asked.
I could see him and I could hear him clearly. But I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move my lips or make a sound.
And then I remembered Billy’s words…“You can be so frightened, your body freezes—forever.”
“Come on, Rick,” Billy said. “The joke is over. I’m okay. Really. Look. The ice and snow—I put it on my face to look scarier. See?”
He pulled a chunk of ice off his cheek.
“Rick—snap out of it,” he said. “I’m fine. I waited till you guys left. Then I smashed my way out of the snowman. No big deal. You were busy sledding. You didn’t see me break out. You didn’t see me rebuild the snowman.
“I put it back together,” he said. “Then I hid behind a tree and waited for you to come back.”
His hand squeezed my shoulder. I could feel it, but I couldn’t move. He waved his hand in front of my face. But I couldn’t blink. Couldn’t move my eyes.
“Hey, Rick—you’re kidding, right?” he asked. “Give me a break. Say something. Did you like my joke? It was good, right? Did I scare you? Come on, Rick—did I scare you?”