Jack Frost


"The serial killer known for replacing the nose of victims with silver bells has struck again. This after police feared they had lost his trail. There were no killings all through spring and fall," the news reporter faded out as the TV was turned off.

The man tied to the chair struggled to breathe with the old rags shoved in his mouth. He watched the man dressed in blue dance around the room and sing of chestnuts. An hour ago, he knocked gently at the door, and was let in with hospitality. Now this odd man dressed in blue with painted blue cheeks had tied up the home owner and made himself comfortable.

Slowly he revealed a set of knives which made him giggle with glee. The homeowner panicked and tried to shake loose from the ropes. The odd man was an expert, he had been doing this for years. From ages one to ninety-two, it didn't matter to him.

The homeowner tried to scream, but he couldn't get any sound past the towels. It didn't matter. He should be sending words to his god, whichever god he believed in, if he did. Soon he wouldn't breathing much longer. At least, not from his nose.

"I bet you want to know who I am. Well, I'm Jack Frost, and I'm nipping at your nose." he began to sing as he cut into the man's face. "Chestnuts roasting on an open flame."

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