When Jack Got A Headache: A Winter’s Tale

Here’s the rough draft of an original short story, just for the season.

The waning moon hung in the sky, lighting Jack’s path as he danced his way across the field. By the light of the moon, he hummed a peppy little tune when he was struck by a strong pressure, an urge, an overwhelming demand. It felt like the very air around him was pushing in. He couldn’t breath, everything was pressing on him, he couldn’t even moan.

POP

Jack gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. The pressure was gone. Relief shuddered through him.

“You!” A deep voice rang out, as though in accusation.

Jack wiped his face clear, and that’s when he realized he was no longer in that moonlit field. He lay, curled on his side on a cold concrete floor. A harsh incandescent light glared down on him, while around him was a ring of candles, and a man. He couldn’t forget the man.

The man had dark brown hair, faded down to his ears, and a neatly trimmed beard with a hint of red, just starting to show some grey. Broad-shouldered and reasonably fit, as humans went, Jack guessed he was late thirties, maybe forties. His deep brow cast his eyes into shadows as he glared down at Jack. Behind him lay a ladderback chair and a card table scattered with jars and papers.

Jack wiped his face and straightened his hair. As the man glared down at him, Jack took his time, stretching carefully inside the ring of candles, before pushing to his feet and brushing off his faded black jeans and grey sweater. On his feet, Jack stood a smidge shorter than the man, but that wasn’t uncommon. Jack crossed his arms and gave the man an icy stare, as only he could, and waited.

And waited.

“Your magic can’t get out of the circle, you know,” the man said.

Jack knew. The hoarfrost shimmered in the air between them, right at the cusp of the candles.

“Then I’ll just wait for your candles to burn out.” The human couldn’t keep him there for too long, just long enough to ruin his night. Jack patted his hip and found he still had his shoulder bag with him. Thank the Snow Queen. He dug out a water bottle and some Advil. Summons were a five-pill sort of event.

The man’s glower softened as Jack swallowed the pills. “Advil? But, you’re–“

“Jack Frost. Yes.” Jack rubbed his forehead and waited for the meds to kick in.

The man paced the circle from the outside. Jack contemplated ignoring him, but he couldn’t stop the itch between his shoulder blades when the man left his field of vision, so he rotated as the man walked. There wasn’t much a human could do to him, and he wasn’t one to make deals if he could help it. It was better to wait him out.

The overhead light sure wasn’t helping his headache, though. He tossed back the rest of his water bottle and continued to wait.

Finally, the man broke the silence. “Don’t you want to know why I summoned you?”

“No.”

The hostility was gone, left with something that looked like a cross between bewilderment and confusion, although Jack couldn’t explain the difference if he tried. He checked the candles again: looked like about two more hours before they would burn out. Although, there was one in the path of the air vent that was burning down a touch faster — maybe ninety minutes. Jack yawned and stretched again, and decided he’d rather wait sitting cross-legged.

“Don’t you want to make a deal?”

“I just want to get back to work before the sun comes back up, but if you’re gonna make me take an mandated lunch break, I might take a nap.” Okay, Jack must be tired if he was telling the truth and that much of it to a stranger, but honestly, it was his busy season.

“Can’t you take a couple weeks off and come back later?” The man’s voice held a thread of something, almost a whine, or a plea.

“You know that’s not how this works,” Jack said, arching an eyebrow at the man. Okay, maybe it wasn’t really arching one eyebrow so much as it was squinching the other eye at the man, but all the stories called it arching an eyebrow and that’s what Jack was sticking with.

“I’ll take two more days before winter. I am seriously not ready. Do you know how many cards I have left? And I have like four events this coming week that I need to cook for. Can’t you just, I don’t know, stay here for a couple days. I’ve got a guest room.”

Jack’s jaw dropped open at that, and a choking laugh spurted out of him. “Really?”

“Please?” The plea held a note of desperation.

Jack’s laugh grew until he was rocking on the floor, howling at the man. Tears welled up again, but not for pain or fear.

“Well, [bleep].” The man sank onto the chair and rubbed his own face. “This was a waste of time, wasn’t it? Damnit, maybe I should have summoned Time instead?” A yawn attacked the man for a long moment.

Jack waited for the yawn to end before answering. “She’s a lot harder to summon than I am. My cousin would be a better bet.”

“Your cousin?”

“The Sandman.”

The man snorted and shot him a skeptical glance.

“What? He helps people sleep and I help the plants sleep. Why don’t you blow out these candles, and get you some sleep?” Jack gestured at the candles in front of him.

“Cousins?”

Jack nodded.

The man shook his head, but it seemed to be more at himself than at Jack. Slowly, he levered himself out of the chair, then bent to lift one of the candles, and puffed it out. Then, he returned to the folding table and pulled something out from under it.

Jack watched, eyes carefully taking in the concrete room, and breathed out gently. Frost glistened on the air before him, past the edge of the remaining candles.

The man turned and handed him a bottle of water. “Sorry for the headache.”

Jack smiled and accepted the apology. Then, he let himself fade into the glittery frost and returned to his field. There was work to be done.