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A Christmas Day
This story is written from the point of view of a child at first. Hence, simple descriptions are used to convey ideas and lend mood.
Then I put the adult comments in italics. It is an old man re-living a vivid memory, but it is too vivid. Almost like he slips in and out of the past.
Is this memory, a gift or something else entirely.
...and I was a kid in Idaho Falls again. The snow stops falling. Ice sickles are everywhere. On the houses. On the buildings. They look like ice-bones. Broken bits of the bones are all over the ground. Cars crunch them. They even sound like bones breaking to me or maybe like glass-bones being smashed. I like the sound.
People slip on the smashed-glass-bones when they go to their cars. I crunch them with my hard rubber boots, the ones with the metal buckles. My boots are too tight today. But breaking the bones seems fun and wrong at the same time. I don't know why.
The glass-bones are melting, dripping. The sparkly spiky blood-ice sickles are all dying. The ones on the ground are all mushing up now. Gray-red and ugly. Oily stuff runs in the gutter. It has weird rainbows. Ice sickle blood for sure. Mixed with mud that could even be guts. I bend down to smell it, but back up fast. It even smells like guts.
The building next to us has the most sparkles. Ice bones hang down. I look back. My front door is closed. They won't know, so I go.
It is cold. The wind bites me and my toes hurt, then they stop hurting. Frozen now. They will hurt bad when I put them on the heater grill later.
I was here now. The big building had so many sparkles and the fat ice sickles are dripping. These ice sickles are giant sized. They are 'grabbed onto' the window ledges and roof sides.
It was the building next to where I live. The place where I catch the best icy-blood drops. But I spit them out. They taste bad this time. They make my stomach hurt.
So I stop catching the drops. Then I just do it again and spit every time. They taste like sour metal now. Almost like blood even.
I look up at the the roof of the building. It is dirty there. It is bad to drink these drops. But it is fun when the cold drops hit my tongue. Sometimes the big ice drips smack one of my eyes. It hurts a little, but I take it.
I remember the moment now, 80 years later. It is damned clear.
My tongue goes funny after, and I suck on it to make it warm again. Then I let the dirty ice sickles drip on my tongue some more. I don't know why I like it. Now my tongue tastes bad and cold.
I try to remember that taste now.
A wind hits the wet bushes next to the front doors of this place. Ice sickle blood water gets on me. I stop catching the drips and look at my wet coat.
I take it off. Shake it off. Cold air makes me shiver, so I put it back on and stand there and shake, until I get better. Maybe I will turn into a vampire now. Drinking the blood from ice sickles could change me. I wait but nothing happens, except that my stomach hurts.
I look into the big glassy doors, since I was just standing there. I see myself in the glass. My eyes look funny. One is really red. It could be a sign.
There is a big brown desk inside the office and a round green rug on the black floor. A reddish lamp was on and a small Christmas Tree was sparkling in the back. I stared at the tree for a long time and it warmed me back up. So many big colored balls are on that silvery tree. I forget about vampires.
The big glassy doors were locked, but I try to open them again. It made me feel lonely that that nobody was here, but also safe. Warm now, I walk down the icy crumbly steps. say bye to the little tree.
A car drives by slowly. I see only one man in it. He looks old, with mad-like eyes. He watches me, then goes. His car is black, but not shiny. It's all rusty at the bottom and his windows are so dark.
It was bright gray day.
I like it.
I hate the gray of the clouds and the tap, tap, tap of the melting ice...
...but I like it now. I can still hear it.
I go too far. I am chased by dogs.
I can't picture the dogs now.
I like to go in old houses where no one lives. They are empty and spooky. I find old magazines and books and try to read them, but there are so many big words. So I pretend.
I understand what they are now. Besides the books, Playboy Magazines. Probably worth a buck today.
I find bad pictures too. Sometimes they are in old desks. Sometimes they are just on the floor. I look at them, but I know I am being bad. Sometimes I would remember them the next time I came and feel bad when I touched them again. Sometimes there were more pictures, like someone was leaving them for me to look at and making me do the bad thing.
Today, I still feel bad when I see these things. But I am bothered for some reason.
The walls are peeling in the old houses and old offices too. It looks like big-giant leaves growing out of the walls.
It was just peeling wallpaper.
Echoes of shoes come, but then they go away. I stand still for awhile. I hear low mumbles, then nothing. It's like the sounds of a crazy person or someone talking to nobody or just himself.
Sometimes I pretend I am in a jungle and tigers are coming. I run to the next room and hide in a closet with no door. I pretend to be scared of the tiger and peek around. Then I got bored. The tiger goes away. But the noise of footsteps come and go. And the mumbles.
I shake my head. Why do kids imagine such things? Where was this memory taking me? Why couldn't I remember it?
Stairs are falling down in the old houses. And everything is still and cold. I like the shadowy places next to buildings, outside too, and the rusty old stairs on their sides. And 'ghost' places. I call them that cause that's what it felt like. Like ghosts were looking at me all the time or maybe they are hiding behind junk heaps clumped around the floor. I always feel the looking. And I always hear the soft mumbles.
Once I heard something drop. A metal thing. Like when someone drops a pair of scissors.
I feel the ghosts again. They are waiting patiently.
My brother can't come with. He is too young. And my sisters, they are just babies. They stay home too. I was oldest. I can do things. They are jealous. I saw that they wanted to come. But I go out by myself.
I try to hide from people though, and not let them see me. The people in the cars scare me. I don't know why I am afraid of the cars, but I am. I don't know those people in those dirty cars all hunched up like monsters, puffing smoke. They just stare at me all the time. Like the one who drove by so slow. He had gray hair. It was all messed up. He needed to comb his hair, I remembered.
I see them now. They are like animals, leaning over their steering wheels, wrapped in layers, unmoving, waiting for the light to turn green. Waiting for me again. Yellow stained teeth.
People can be mean. They stare at me. Ask me what I am doing. “Nothing” I say. So I try to hide from people and dogs. Sometimes I'd run from both. The guy who drove by never talked.
One time a man stared at me from his car and smiled. I went away from him, fast. Was this the same one? I did not think so.
I remember his stained teeth. A pedophile. I recall the rapes. They never caught him. He just vanished.
One time I jump a fence and land right in front of a dog. I froze.
The shock of it is still here. Little electric pulses throb in me. I'm still alive, I think.
The dog jumps at me, but he was chained back. His paws scratch at my chest and dog spit gets on my face.
I feel disgusted even now.
He barks like mad. He scratches my neck, but his teeth miss. I climb back over the fence really fast.
A little nervous sweat beads on my brow.
I never tell anyone I was just exploring. I find other things besides magazines with bad pictures, but it is mostly junk. Broken stuff. Old leaky pens. Dented cans. Garbage. Needles.
Correction: Syringes. Used. The area was visited by local drug addicts.
I also like to pretend I am somebody big, when I go out. Like an old time Trapper. In Utah I remember in school we learned about the old time Trappers, but I cannot remember their names.
Sometimes I pretend I am a boss in a one of the buildings. The ones with big old machines and levers everywhere. I pull at switches, fake like I am mad at people who don't want to work hard and stomp around. My dad said people should work hard. I'd get bored then.
I look in the other old buildings too. Then I shoved a creaky door open and snuck back through the fence with the signs telling everyone to keep away. I can't read the signs very well though, but I know I wasn't suppose to be in these places.
Private Property. Condemned. Do Not Enter. I think that's an invitation for a kid.
Sometimes I need to get warm. I find a spot in some trees or in a box stuffed with old newspapers. It doesn't matter, but I watch out for dirty things. Just in case. Sharp things too. Rats too.
Today I was not near any woods or empty houses or old garages. The wind is burning my ears. They ache. I cover them with my hands. It helps.
I cover my ears now.
I am being brave and walk on the sidewalk, right out in the open. The cars can see me. It makes me worry. Monsters drive in cars. Yellow teethed ones. But I just take it, like John Wayne does.
I feel like John Wayne then. Tough. Nobody can hurt me now. I remember True Grit and how he held the rope-thing in his mouth and shoots the bad guys. Watch out monsters, I think. I make a fake gun with my hand and stick in in my pocket.
The guy in the car drives by again. His face is dark. He needs to shave.
What an imagination, I think now. Who needs movies when old memories are better. But much too good, now.
I pretend I have a place to go and things to do, but I don't. It makes my stomach hurt even more. It makes me so cold.
I still taste the bitter ice drops in my mouth, so I spit. I hope nobody sees. Dad always told me not to spit on the sidewalk. Did John Wayne spit? I think about it, but I can't remember if he does.
I walk next to an empty swimming pool. It is in front of this motel place. I stand on the sidewalk. It looks so lonely in the pool.
I remember it was just a small pool, half empty.
All the doors are closed and the windows are dark in the motel place.
It was closed for the season.
There were no cars here. A trash can was tipped over by front doors. Stuff was spilling out.
I remember 80 year old trash? Where was this going?
Dead brown leaves are all mushed up in the bottom of the pool. Water is puddled there too, mixed with leaves and ice chunks, near the deep part. I can not tell how deep it is in the water. The sides of the pool are stained, but some blue shows through. There is a place I can go down. Stairs. So I do. It is a lot warmer here. No wind. Just car noises from above.
I don't remember this part. Is it age?
It is my secret place now. The cars and the wind cry above.
Something is happening. I feel like crying now.
I stare at the water and ice. Poke at the frozen slushy stuff with my boots. The chunks of ice move around. It is like a bowl of brown slushy punch. I lean on the steep part. I look up at the place where people will sit in the summer, on metal chairs. There was a place to cook and a sign, I remembered. I can read that one. It says “Keep Out.”
I am nervous for some reason. Why?
The pool deck is so slippery, but inside the pool bottom it is easier to stand.
I should've stayed out though. I didn't. I see a long metal ladder on the far side.
It was just above the ice and water.
I try to walk over the ice in the pool to get there to the ladder. It would be something if I can do it.
I hear the crack. My hands are shaking. I feel cold.
Get to the ladder, I think, but I don't make it.
It's coming back now. I fell through the ice into half-frozen pool. But only bits and pieces are coming now. What is happening?
I break the ice. Cold water is all over me.
I wonder about the people who swim in this pool, after I fall in. I try to get to the ladder on my belly but the ice just pushes me back. Like it has arms. And my clothes are coming off.
I can see kids in my head now. They are having fun and eating hot-dogs and drinking soda. One of them, in my head, is a blond girl. She is smiling at me. She splashes at me, but the water was too cold. I try to think about her more as I try to get up the ladder.
I should've stayed away from this half-frozen pool.
Why was I thinking all of this then. Why didn't I scream and cry? Get help?
I don't move. It is quiet now. I want to meet that girl and eat hot-dogs and learn to swim and not think about the icy hands. Not think about why my pants are down.
Cars go by on the street. I can hear them. They sound sad from where I am. Then I am awake.
I was asleep?
I don't remember falling asleep. I seem warmer now too. The pool water is warmer now. Not as cold as before. It's as if the ice hands are on fire, grabbing me, shaking me.
No, I was freezing.
I shouldn't be here, I knew. I do not know how to swim.
I wonder if I will ever learn to swim. I want to learn just then. I want to use this pool, but not today. It would make that girl smile, if I ever meet her - when I swim.
My parents will be proud too. I can show my little brother what I can do then. I can see it now. 'I can swim, can you?'
My brother starts to cry and point at the pool, but he isn't really here. Why is he pointing? Why am I seeing my dumb brother crying? He is pointing at me now. Maybe he knows about those naked girl magazines I found. Maybe he can help me pull up my pants and get up. Maybe he can tell me why the ice grabs me.
Amazing. Why was I thinking about those things then? Was I dying then?
I open my eyes again. I am still here. I can't swim yet. This is bad, I know. I need to swim now. But my legs are slow. Pants around my ankles. The water is so dirty too. Leafy. Cold finds places to sting me. Hot things hurt my back. My coat is up and over my head from behind. I shiver. My teeth are jumping and clicking in my mouth.
I don't want to call for help and get in trouble. It will be worse i know. But I am warm too. I must be too cold I think. That happens, my Dad told me. When you freeze to death, you suddenly feel warm. I don't remember why.
It's so hard to breathe now.
My shoulders bump big chunks of ice in the pool. I should call for help, but I keep trying to touch the bottom with my boots. I was John Wayne. The chunks of ice are the bad guys. I gotta kill the bad guys. If only I could unwrap myself. Get these icy hands off of me.
The slippery leaves stick to my fingers. I can do this by myself. I was a big boy now. My Dad told me so. I cry anyway. It hurts so bad.
My memory is paused. It hurts too bad. Then I release it again. Let it play. It wants to. It's on automatic now.
I look around, but things are jumbled up in my head. I have to do something. But then I wonder when summer will come and people will come to this motel. I hope the pool will be clean by then. I hope they never know I was here.
I wonder if people are in the motel just now. It had looked so quiet and still. Were they asleep still?
I was walking back to the building with the small Christmas Tree in the lobby. I was there again, but I don't remember how I got there. I was warm and cold at the same time. I was trying to fix my coat now. The wind had blown ice water down my back and I was burning for some reason.
My eyes open. I am still in the ice pool. More cars come by. The chunks of frozen snowy things move around when I do. Brown leaves mix in. There is nothing else. I keep telling myself that I will be fine, but I am really scared now. Everything is still.
My head goes away now. I am back to the building with the Christmas Tree again. I am so tired. I don't want to be near the icy hands or the hurting thing anymore. I hope it ends soon because I feel funny.
I was dreaming then. That had to be it. This was a memory of a dream when I almost died as a child?
The building with dirty ice sickles has large dumpster behind it. It looks so cool. I decide not to look in through the glassy doors again. It was Saturday and everybody is gone. I peek in the windows around the back. It was black inside. I can't see the lobby with the Christmas Tree from here. Silence, except for the cars which drive by the street out front. The sound weird. The dumpster sits in the middle of the parking lot out back. It was all wet. Snow and ice stick to it.
I wake up again. I am still here. In the pool. I had made myself go away from the water and ice again, but not for real. I didn't get this. I was at the building. No. I never left here. This frozen pool. These icy hands still hold me. I can't get my pants up.
You are dying, I say to my younger self.
Back to the dumpster now. I open the dumpster. Inside are wires. Bundles of colors. I didn't know then, but they are the kind of small wires used by telephone companies. I decide to make things with the wires. I make rings for my fingers and messed with the wires for a long while. But I have to hurry. My fingers are shaking. And the wires start to grow and wrap me. They are as cold as ice.
I think about that. I guess when I was freezing to death in that pool my mind was manufacturing a back-story. The wires represented the ice?
Gray light and wet leaves and I was here again. One eye only was working. I guess the other one was frozen or something. My toes begin to ache. I was glad I could still feel my feet, because I felt nothing else. My stomach grumbles, but hurts at the same time.
I smell toasted cheese sandwiches. Mom makes those for my lunch. My school lunches. I am warm again. Every day I have those cheese sandwiches. Toasted. My brother and I come home across the snow field to get lunch. Over and over. Forever.
There is a pause in my memory-dream. I actually do smell toasted cheese sandwiches and wonder if I left the oven on. There was a time when Beth made them for me, but she was gone now.
Then we go back now, to school, after lunch, across all the snow. We probably would not have cheese sandwiches today. Probably peanut butter and jelly or something else. My mouth doesn't move now. I want warm soup though.
Frozen trees hang over me.
Where was I now?
I was next to the dumpster again. Wires grab at my feet. I can't get them off. They are wrapping themselves around me. Around my neck. The dumpster becomes the swimming pool. My heart feels cold. Pressed in.
My chest aches now.
I think about the way back home. Through there, I know. Behind this motel with the little dog and the pool. Big brown houses are there, in a row, in back of the motel. I can take the short-cut back. Nobody will see me. I can go a secret way. It will be an adventure. I say goodbye to the Christmas Tree Building. I don't want the wires any longer. But they are holding me tight.
I look out for the people in the cars. I don't see anyone. Just feel the icy hand and the wires.
My coat is down again. My pants are almost up.
I go home somehow. Figure out the best way back. The wires slow me down now. It is hard to move. Hard to keep my eyes open. I do not like it. I want to see my family, but the more I try to move, the sleepier I get.
I love my mother a lot. My brother and two sisters are more special now. I have to grow up, my dad said. So I work on it now. Think it out. But my head is all slow and so sleepy. But my feet hurt too much now. I have to go inside. I have to get warm. The cold is hurting. But it is not hurting. It is warm, then hot, then nothing. Now the burning is back, but the shaking is gone. This is bad, I know. I have to do this by myself.
This memory seems to be a gift of some sort. I don't recall a lick of it. Why now?
Last week I'd cried when my Dad told me to “arrange” my clothes in my drawers. I think he meant to make them neat. I tried, but I was not a good folder. I argued and he said that if I didn't want to “arrange” my clothing that I could move out.
I was crying, but trying to hold it back. I said I would go. He handed me a small suitcase. But it got really heavy. I had loaded it up with all my clothes. Especially my unfolded underwear.
I walked out of the front door, looked at my mom and went toward the highway. I never made it to the highway though. I stood there just staring at it. Cars went by. Monsters drove them. After a while my Dad drove up, hugged me and took me home. He'd been watching me he said. It was a good day. I wish he was here now. I cried. It seemed to help then.
These wires have to come off, but they aren't wires. They are water and ice. It is the cold. I need to show my dad the Christmas Tree too. That is important. I don't know why. But that Christmas Tree is a good thing, even all alone in that old building. All by itself. Just like me.
I can make it. I crunch my galoshes in the frozen patches of snow and mud and junk in the pool. The wires cling to my legs again. No. Not wires I said in my head.
I walk along a fence and through the bushy areas. But I know I was only swishing around in here. In the ice. In the water.
The dog at the motel does not bark this time. The dog was not here. Why did I think about the dog? He had been out back, during the summer, in a little pen. Maybe he was hiding. I look along the snow, but see only ice floating. It doesn't make any sense. Where am I?
I want to climb the fence. It is in front of me now. I have to get over that fence. Even with all these wires grabbing at me. What wires?
I ignore the floating ice chunks around me. But the wires pull me down. I worry about other dogs too. How could I run, if all these wires tangle me? The dogs would get me.
The fence is easy though and I work my way around junked cars to another fence. I don't remember this place or these fences at all. I can see the apartments where we lived, but they are so far away.
Ice moves from under the fence. It follows me. It is like a big slushy thing, but on the ground, full of leaves and mud and big chunks of mushed up leaves and icy hands and a hot painful thing.
I climb the second fence to get away, but bump down hard on a tree stump on the other side. It hurts bad. My stomach feels tight. Like I am going to throw-up, but I don't. Neither does John Wayne..."you sissy," I tell myself. I hear laughter.
I sit on the ground for a long time. I can't move now. I look for the tree stump, but it is gone.
Maybe if I can just sleep. My only good eye is so blurry and it would feel so good if I could get the frozen gunk out of it and sleep. I rub my one good eye and then see the “Keep Out” sign. I was over the pool fence.
So I was never saved. I made it out of the pool alone?
I come out on my back street. How did I get here? I am between a shed and the apartment where we live. I look back for that tree stump, but there is only a row of apartments.
I am on my back. The sky is a hard gray. The ground is warm on my back. Was I still in the pool? I don't remember.
There was a man with stained teeth in a car. His hands were on his steering wheel. They didn't look right. Long fingernails. His car had steam coming from the back. The trunk was open. Plastic was hanging from there.
I realize that my thoughts were scrambled - as a kid. I must have been half-crazy with cold. But the guy in the car?
I loved not having my snot-nosed brother here. I was alone in my own head and I liked that. But my head hurt so bad now. And my eyes. It was so hard to blink. My eyes ache. But I was moving again. I was running.
I fell flat. I made it. The man in the car was gone.
Jesus, that was close call. I was being stalked. That guy almost had an easy victim.
If my brother was here he'd just laugh at me. He'd call me names. “Get off the ground or I'm telling,” he'd say. "You ruined your coat!" But I don't have my coat. "Why are your pants down?" I pull my pants up.
I can see my youngest sister in the window now. She is staring at me. Fingers in her mouth. Drooling. Big blue eyes. A rattle in one hand and a pacifier in the other. All smiles and shaking arms. She seems happy. But then her smile is gone. She is gone.
And I am still laying here. I can't move.
I see my arm next. My coat is off. I do not remember taking it off. The coat is all wet and icy and partly over my head or is it my shirt? Big plastic buttons on my coat sleeve have twisted around and pushed against my face so I can't see now. Then I can see a little bit with my one good eye again.
The coat is not here now. I wonder if I am breathing. I don't feel breathing. My toes are past hurting now. They are numb. I try to stomp my feet, but I can't move. I am still on my back. I need to stomp.
I am hot-cold. I have to get away from these wires. I mean this pool. I am back at the tree stump. Then I am back in front of the window where my sister was. The lights are off in there. My sister is gone. Where is everybody? The wires are all over me.
I jump and land on the road. I bump my head hard. I look up. The man from the car is standing back. His trunk is open. My legs are tangled there. The wires are real. I am wrapped in them. I am trying to escape from him.
Someone hits the man and he falls. That same someone drags me up. Pulls the wires from me. Mumbles something, but I spin away. I race away again. As I run, I hear thumps and screams. The someone is beating the man from the car. The monster is dying.
That makes sense. They never caught the guy. Someone killed him.
Maybe I can roll. I can't roll. I must have moved though. The front door is right there. I can hear a baby crying. I am almost home.
We moved around a lot. Before this, just at the beginning of school, we were in Salt Lake. And before that, several towns and cities in Utah, while my Dad worked. He was a salesman. I missed my friends in Salt Lake. But not that much.
My hand is on a tree. I look at it. It was blue and white and icy. My fingers are so cold. I have a bite mark. The wires are gone now. I am on my knees. How long have I been here? It seems like forever. I don't remember getting here. I try to grab at my collar to turn it up. But my coat is gone and my hand doesn't work. My pants are pulled down. I will be in trouble now.
Then it is summer time and kids are eating hot-dogs and I am holding my breath in the bottom of the pool.
Then I am at the door to my home. I can't reach the knob.
Everything turns gray and soft.
I awake. It is orange colored in here. Everything is wonderfully warm. I have tubes in me. I am in the hospital. Everyone is here. Everyone is asleep, next to me. Except my baby sister. She is sitting up on my mom's lap, with her rattle. Blue eyes watching.
I learned years later that my youngest sister crawled to the front door the day I almost froze. She just sat there and started screaming and smacking the door with her rattle. My mother opened the door and there I was, a frozen lump of ice, with one eye open, fast asleep - almost forever. I stopped walking on thin ice then. I watched the people better after that. We moved the Florida soon after my near freeze experience...
This much I remembered.
...I'm in bed now. It is late. Everyone is gone. Buried. My old fingers rub the rough box. My mother left it for me. She said that I should remember the "rattle". That's how the Last Will and Testament read.
She was with Dad now. I never understood the "rattle" thing until it came back to me just now.
I am holding my sister's rattle. She died in a war saving people long ago. She had been a good doctor. A bomb had struck her hospital. She never made it out. They found her body at the exit door. Scratched into the burnt steel of the door was one word: "RATTLE!" It was a message to me. But why was it so damned important? What was I supposed to remember?
Somehow, that one detail opened something else. Something that I had closed tight for over 80 years. It made me ready for the next thing, before I had to go. A memory I had shoved so deep that it has eaten at me. It is bubbling up of its own accord. I don't want to face it.
I reach into the box again. It's in the bottom. The real reason I have these messed-up convoluted dreams. I never fell in a pool. I did almost freeze to death, but I was worse off than that. I was really tied up with wires. The monster almost got me.
I un-crumple the old piece newspaper. It is stained, torn and deeply yellowed. The rattle had been wrapped with it. The title of the story reads "Child Rape Suspect Killed by Vigilante."
It floods in now. I was saved not by a vigilante, but by my Dad. He'd always kept track of me, but I never knew. I never knew until now that it was Dad who took care of the monster. He had written on the newspaper story simply..."It was me."
The monster of Idaho Falls was identified, but found dead. He'd been tied with wires, to his steering wheel. In his trunk were three dead boys. All had been assaulted in the worst way. The fourth boy - me - made it out. The police never identified the vigilante, but they never tried very hard either.
I always wondered why the police liked my Dad and how all of his overdue parking tickets just disappeared. He was happy about that.
Ice sickles begin to melt again, just outside my window. But they are not bones and their drips are not blood any longer.
I seem whole again.
The Christmas Tree, a little silver one, sparkles in corner of my hospital room.
I hear a rattle.
My family is sitting there, like before, waiting.
There's one last thing.
I pull out the tubes and I never hear the alarms on the heart monitor.
I'm gone by then.
Photo Sources: Wikipedia
"The People in the Cars": By Sukanto Debnath from Hyderabad, India (SMILE at night) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
"Ice Sickles Everywhere": https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Icicles_forming.jpg#file
"The Building": By Albertyanks Albert Jankowski (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
"The Lonely Chirstmas Tree": By EverySpoon (Flickr) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
"Old Houses": By katie chao and ben muessig (condemned houses) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
"The Bottom of the Pool": By Emmanuel Boutet (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY-SA
"The Fence": By zeevveez from Jerusalem, Israel (Iron Fence Covered with Snow) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
© 2015 Jack Shorebird