Tough time of year, Christmas. For the kill. The fastest roads to your destination are all
clogged, there are no quiet corners in public places and sometimes there is
even snow.
As a kid I loved a clean bed of pure
white snow, untouched and shining with possibility. As a man I dread it,
knowing that I will leave tracks no matter how careful I try to be. Still you
won’t last long in this line of work if you just hold on to your anxieties. So
today I take back control.
I wear size 14 boots. My feet are
size 9 but, with two layers of thick cotton socks, they fit just fine. Not only are
these boots huge, they have two-prong toes. That and the wide curved heel
make my tracks look almost hoof-like. Think of a reindeer but the biggest
bastard you ever saw. I swear the authorities will look at the tracks from my
target’s house and think: Don’t wanna mess with that. Don’t wanna even
pursue that. And they’d do right.
Still I feel awful silly,
stretching my legs out as I move. If I lose my balance even once, I’ll give
the game away; an undeniable snow angel flailing to get back up. Even so I stomp like a heavy four-legged beast all the way downhill.
It’s morning but you can’t tell from
the sky, thick angry grey slowly lightening to a stiff white. This snow must
have fallen only hours ago: it’s crisp and not even the real country critters
have been on it yet. As I search for tiny paw prints to
dwarf with my own, I take in a deep lungful of frosty air. Goes straight to my
goddamn head. My jaw begins to feel like it’s freezing up and there’s a wetness
to the tip of my nose.
I should feel lousy but I’m actually
kinda great. I have a clean kill behind me and I’ve handled an issue in a damn
smart way. In fact, I feel better than great. You can get
complacent in the death business, take your skill for granted, get lazy. But not anymore. Now I’m back to enjoying my work.
I let out this roar, primal. Stupid of me, in fact: I might wake the neighbours from their
rustic little cottages, alert them to my slow lumbering presence. Still it feels good, you
know? Right.
Glancing down, I see cracks running back behind my left
boot heel. They progress beyond it, spreading some distance behind. I take one look at that damage and
think ‘abominable’. Ain’t a word I use lightly. Ain’t a word I normally use at
all.
Still it’s right there in my mind.
Abominable, like the Snowman. Perhaps that’s how the story started; a tall man
in the cold, dragging heavy feet along, tearing up the snow.
Even so this Abominable Snowman
isn’t far from his car. He has chains to put on his tyres before he disappears into the next flurry.
A snowflake touches my nose, tickling it. I slip and crack the snow again. I
didn’t know my own strength. I should know by now.
Still, let it creep them out, I say.
Let them believe it was a monster, not a man. Yessir, if there ever was an Abominable
Snowman, I’ll be him.
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