Little Johnny placed the worn and torn top hat on his freshly made snowman. He had to stand on his tippy toes to push it onto its head.

He stepped back to admire his final product. The snowman was classic, three large coals for buttons that he had taken from his dad’s charcoal bag in the garage, some more coal for his mouth, sticks that branched out at the ends to look like hands, a pointy carrot nose, a red and black striped scarf, and now the top hat.

It looked so perfect that Johnny thought it was worthy of being featured on something like a Hallmark Christmas card or even a holiday movie. Maybe a new version of Frosty The Snowman.

He was letting his mind drift off into a daydream, one about his snowman coming to life and starring alongside himself in movie about friendship and the meaning of Christmas, when something caught his eye and he was whipped back into the present.

Had he just seen the Snowman’s left branch arm move? It was still now, but he could have sworn he saw the two v-shaped sticks that formed its hand bend close together as if to form a first.

Johnny was starting to convince himself that his daydream infiltrated the real world and he had imagined it moving when the snowman spoke.

“Hey there kiddo! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The snowman yelled, its voice a little raspy.

Johnny was speechless. He looked around frantically trying to see if anything else was out of the ordinary, searching for further evidence that he was dreaming. But everything was quite normal. Slowly, though really only over a matter of seconds, he started to believe was he was seeing and hearing.

“Don’t be afraid birthday boy, I’m real. Here come on over and shake my hand. Feeling is believing too, ya know” said the snowman and the coals of his mouth shifted slightly to make a sly side smile.

Johnny found his voice. “Fr-fr-fr-frosty!” He said. Saying his name shook any remaining doubt from his mind and he felt pure adrenaline and excitement at what was happening. “It’s really you! And you even said happy birthday like the movie! But you know it’s not my birthday and it’s actually Christmas.” Johnny matched the snowman’s coy smile.

The snowman paused for a moment, as if considering this correction. “But of course” he said with a chuckle “it’s very nice to meet you….” The snowman paused to wait for a name and held out his hand at the same time, encouraging a proper introduction.

Johnny walked on over and shook the snowman’s hand. “I’m Johnny, very nice to meet you Frosty” he said.

The snowman’s hand was just as Johnny expected, woody and knot covered. What was unexpected was how the sticks bent around Johnny’s hand, contorting past a bend that would have broken a non magical stick.

Johnny’s surprise grew even more as the stick hand grasped Johnny’s tighter and tighter. Johnny’s hand started to hurt from the force.

“Ouch Frosty! You’re squeezing too tight!” Johnny squealed. He looked up from his hand and into the snowman’s eyes to continue pleading.

To Johnny’s horror the snowman’s face was maniacal, its eyes somehow wider, its smile bigger, and the carrot nose was pointed downward which came off as angry.

“My name’s not Frosty, Johnny. It’s Franky” the snowman said with his raspy voice, his tone mocking. “And you should know better than to correct strangers, Birthday boy. Let me teach you a lesson.”

Franky then squeezed Johnny’s hand even tighter, his lower stick finger digging into Johnny’s pinky. The compression grew and grew along with Johnny’s screams. Johnny tried desperately to pull himself away but that made Franky’s grip even more excruciating, adding more force to the wooden knot that was grinding into his pinky finger.

Johnny felt something give way and he launched backwards, falling to the ground but finally free from Franky’s grasp. Trembling he looked up at Frank who just stood there with the same maniacal face. Johnny then noticed the red blood that painted Franky’s lower half, which stood out dramatically on his white snow body.

Where had the blood come from? Johnny wondered, his mind nearly in a state of shock. Things were almost moving in slow motion.

He saw that the blood continued all the way down Franky to the ground and then traced a straight line to where Johnny lay on the ground. His line of vision followed a straight line to his hand, the one that had been shaking Franky’s.

Then he saw it. His pinky was missing and where it had been, a steady stream of hot, dark blood was now trickling out of the gaping wound, painting Johnny’s green snow pants red.

Johnny screamed again in horror and looked up at Franky’s hand. He was grasping Johnny’s pinky finger. With the same smile on his face, Franky stuck Johnny’s finger on the edge of his chin. The finger protruded outwards in front of Franky’s face, like some sort of perverted, unkept goatee.