Snow Devils       "a true story"  by Nancy J Lang        Mar 2003     

    It is the dead of Winter. Eight feet of snow cover the back deck and it has been
snowing steadily in the Green Mountains of Vermont, the place I now call home.
I moved here three days ago with my Mom and Dad and haven't seen a single kid, not one, since.
    Everyday I miss Katie and Jonah, my two best friends, terribly. I'm sure they have never seen
snow like this, or felt the isolation I'm feeling. We always had each other, now I'm alone.
    Outside the wind is howling, a ghostly chorus singing an unfamiliar song: a spooky melody filled
with haunting harmonies. It sounds like it is right at the back door! A chill runs through me as I dash out of the room.
    It is quiet and warm in the kitchen where I stumble and sit silently on a small wooden chair by the woodstove, wondering what is Katie doing right now? I close my eyes and see her sitting in Math class with Sean passing notes back and forth
across the room, making plans to meet for lunch at the place scrawled in the note.
    I throw two big logs on the fire and decide that I will go for a snowshoe. A short one, I have an appointment at two
o'clock to visit my new school. How will I face all those new kids without Jonah?
    I tighten the bindings and continue to bundle up, feeling lonely and nervous, but think a walk will do me good. I decide to wear an extra scarf and two pair of gloves; it is freezing COLD out there.
    The snow is still falling heavily forming a canopy over the forest, clinging to the tops of the trees casting an eerie glow. I see an old man walking into the woods, rubbing his bare hands together, looking carefully at the ground. He sees me and yells,
"Lost my wallet back here..." His lips keep moving but the rest of his words are stolen by the wind.
    "I haven't seen it".
    "Initials J.A. stamped in the leather..." Again his words disappear, blown back into the forest.
    "Haven't seen it." I shout back again.
    "What?" he hollers, "haven't seen it?"
    I nod my head in a big No, yelling "YES" at the same time. He quickly shrugs his shoulders and walks on. I wonder if he has any kids my age.
    As I enter the forest a gust of wind swirls around me causing the snow to twirl and dance, taking on a life of its own. The pines faintly whisper "Snow Devil" in a moment of silence. The whirl of snow rises up next to me becoming bigger than life,
completely engulfs me and quickly passes over. I am surprised at the intensity of the gust, and notice the swirl is constant beside me, changing form ever so slightly as we move through the pathless trees.
    Then I feel that I am being stalked by a . . . ?
    "Snow Devil." An extraordinary voice whispers.
    I turn this way and that weaving through the trees deeper into the forest, trying to shake the feeling that I am being followed, when I become engulfed again, caught in the twirling motion of the snow.
    Strangely I hear myself say, "Hey, you took my wallet!"
    "You felt that?" he questioned. "Must be losing my touch."
    "Well, give it back," I demand.
    He doubles in size and quickly passes over me replacing my wallet back in the same pocket leaving me lightly powdered with snow looking like a fancy sugar cookie.
    "Was a day when I could clip a wallet and never be detected." He quietly reflects.
   I slow my pace as we walk on deeper into the woods where the ghost song is lost by the constant chatter of the squirrels and the chirping of the birds. Today there are many Snow Devils in the woods and they each greet one another and vanish as quickly as they appear, their magical presence gone in an instant. That is except the one that is traveling with me!
    The trees sway and rustle in the breeze with a rhythm much like a heartbeat, the secret life of the woodland. I find it comforting and begin to get used to the company; I have been so lonely. I try not to think about my appointment. Maybe
I'll cancel it, or just not show up.
    The SNOW DEVIL continues to whirl and dance, forcing me to notice the magic of the forest, momentarily distracting me.
    "What's your name?" I ask in a friendly fashion.
    Quietly he answers, "Don't have one." Whirling madly and doubling in size his voice begins to build, "Why don't you give me one! Make it a grand name, a famous one, like..."
    "Beelzebub!" I shout.
    "Never heard of him." He replies, shrinking, terribly disappointed.
    I suddenly find myself laughing uncontrollably, falling on the ground shaking, howling till my sides ache.
    He stands back watching me with a simple curiosity then joins me, filling the forest with our mirth.
    I lay flat on my back with snow gently falling over me and realize we have become silent. I take a few deep breaths and begin to make a snow angel, waving my arms and legs freely, snow scatters everywhere.
    He dances around me and begins to sprinkle silvery snow flakes on the wings and halo.
    For a split second everything seems right, the Angel is complete and I feel at peace. "It's a Snow Angel." I whisper to him.     He gracefully circles it again, curious as his form changes ever so slightly.
    It is beautiful. Katie and I saw a picture of a snow angel in a magazine at school last year, cut it out and traced it on all of our book covers. The memory quickly washes over me. Time seems to stand still as we gaze at the figure in the snow.
    "Are you a Snow Angel?" He asks, breaking the spell.
    "Me? No." I answer abruptly and begin to brush myself off realizing the moment is past.
    A gust of wind blurs the crisp edges of my creation distorting its beauty, so I turn away and spot a wallet beneath an old spruce tree.
   "Joseph Allen," cries the Snow Devil bellowing with delight. "Got his wallet just yesterday, he didn't feel a thing. Didn't have much in it either. No pictures or lists, just a few coins. Very boring!"
    In the distance I hear the crack of a rifle.
    "Hunters," he brags, "are excellent people to meet in the woods. They always carry a lot in their wallet: Pictures of their families, grocery lists, lots of telephone numbers and not a small bit of change, like old Joseph. One day as a hunter raised his
rifle, took aim and began to squeeze the trigger. I had his long johns off before he knew what hit him!"
    "You didn't," I chuckle, baring my wrist to check the time. "Give me my watch," I ask dryly stopping dead in my tracks.
    "What, this?" the Snow Devil replies. "Haven't lost my touch after all."
    We walk on in silence as I think about the friends I left behind, wishing they were here to meet this curious creature! "I have to go to my new school today," I say out loud. "What would you do if you didn't want to keep an appointment?"
    "I'd give it to someone else!" He quickly answers.
    "Who would want it." I wonder.
    Effortlessly he gains strength and momentum, becoming this and that as the wind gives him life. I'm fascinated by his ever-changing appearance and very entertained by his stories.
    The hunter is closer now, the crack of his gun making me feel uneasy. Why did I wear these white gloves and this brown jacket; I look like a clumsy deer! I stop and listen, hear another loud shot, then turn around to head for home.
    "Where are we going?" He asks nervously.
    "Away from the hunters."
    "Don't worry about them, they're miles away!"
    "Are they? Well, it's getting late," I reply, "it's almost one o'clock." It's later than I thought. "Mom will be worried if I'm not home soon."
    The Snow Devil playfully twirls about telling me stories of his adventures in these woods for the past three or four hundred years: Of times when there were no trees just rolling meadows and lots of farm animals. Old stone foundations are visible in
the winter, remnants of a time when life was rustic and full of hardship. He points out a few aged grave sites to me, families clustered together in their long peaceful slumber, stones so old the writing is completely worn away. Beelzebub went on about the changes he had seen over the years and the differences, not only in the land, but in the people he met, delighting in the comfort of the blustery day, bragging about his "victims."
    "I never keep anything, I simply enjoy flipping through the stuff and either returning it or just throwing it away. Sometimes I leave things for others who need them. When you walk through the woods and find a glove or a wallet you can assume I've been there." He picks a scarf off a limb. "Wanna scarf?"
    "No thanks, I have two already."
    "Look again!" He whispers as I fumble with my jacket searching for my scarves.
    The farmer I saw earlier was walking more comfortably now, he had found a pair of gloves and waved a big white hand at me as he continued into the woods. I quickly look at my hands and chuckle.
    "Your wallet..." I yell into the wind, holding it over my head, then realize he can't hear me as he hurries on his way.
    "You can give it to him later, he lives right up the road from you."
    We walk on in silence and reach the edge of the forest where the wind has settled down. The sun is trying to break through the heavy clouds. He begins to get smaller and smaller.
    "Not this way," he cries weakly, "let's go back into the woods, I don't like this. We have to go back into the woods." He pleads, then becomes larger as he drifts back into the forest.
    I look at my watch feeling that time had been cruel to me, I have to leave my new friend.
    "Let's go back now. Okay?"
    Reluctantly I continue walking until he finally disappears as I step out into the open yard. Shaken, I look back into the woods searching for him, looking for my companion, my mind racing, searching for something to say. "Why do they call you a SNOW
DEVIL?"
    Just then a small gust of wind rises at my feet, snow shimmering in the muted daylight. I think I see him wink as my hands reach down touching the soft powdery snow. A fleeting sparkle in his eye then he is gone. I stand alone for a minute with a
lonely sinking feeling wanting to hear his voice once more. "Why do they call you a SNOW DEVIL?"
    "Can you think of a better name?"
    "No," I answer, "Probably not."
    I keep searching for him my eyes darting from one gust to another wanting just another minute of his time. Sadly, he has vanished. I'll never see him again.
    With freezing hands and feet, I turn to the house when something in the forest catches my eye. Hanging on a branch of the biggest pine are my socks, neatly tied in a bow, waiting to be discovered. "Would you like the last of my scarves?" I shout,
laughing with the trees.
   "Tomorrow, my friend!" he shouts back.
    "My friend!" I repeat softly to myself . Smiling, I look back once more. The wind rustles the branch, snow gently flies in all directions like thousands of sparkling lights, sending my socks directly into my hands as the Snow Devil dances back into the forest where the wind gives him life.
   "Tomorrow!"