Full Body Chills - The Ice Man

Episode Date: December 22, 2023

A story rooted in a chilling tragedy.Written by David Flowers. You can read the original story and view the episode art at fullbodychillspodcast.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod.  Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production. Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

Happy holidays, my spooky friends. Do you want to hear something that will really give you full-body chills? This is our 100th episode, and I just want to thank you all for your continued support. We have done something special. This started out as such a little passion project of mine, and it has grown to be such an amazing show with such an amazing following. And so I wanted to give you a little gift. After you're done listening to this episode, go check out our Instagram. That's at fullbodychillspod. I left something special for you there. Now, on to the episode.

And remember, this episode was produced with audio effects in full surround sound. So for the best experience, I kindly recommend you listen with headphones. Oh, hello there. It's good to see you. You know, I've quite enjoyed our new tradition. What with me reading spooky stories and you just sitting there, terrified. I'm used to having children on my knee, turning frowns upside down, spreading laughter and joy. But this gig's pretty fun! Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! Who would have thought serving out nightmares was so alike with gift-giving? Ah, but like my 364-day vacation,

all good things must come to an end. So let's end with a bang, shall we? Or what about a whisper? Because the real stories, I'm talking top shelf eggnog, are the ones that grow in quiet. They're the kind of story that everyone knows, but which no one knows for certain. Blooming with all the wreaths and mistletoe. They are a rumour weed planted within folklore. But what is there at the root of this legend? Is it monster or myth? The answer lies in this final letter. So gather round and listen close.

Gather round now and gather close. The story I'm about to tell you ain't an easy one, but it's one you ought to hear. Now, you might be thinking this is the season for some heartwarming spin on faith or goodwill to all men. But I tell you, that ain't the case. Not here. Not in this town. Yet you'll be damned to get an honest story out of anyone else. Most folks around here love to hear his name, but next to no one knows who he is.

Not really. I do, though. Because I was there. I was working under the old sheriff back when we brought in that fella for questioning. And we brought him out that night. The night they like to forget. You know what I'm talking about? Ah, you do. I can see it on your face. His name hangs on your tongue like a cold sore. The Ice Man. Well, if I'm gonna tell this story right, I'll have to go back.

Back 30 years, before our town's name was covered in blood. Scottish Brookes had always been a quiet town. There'd never been nothing but a coyote to disturb it. And most folks had their feathers tucked so far down their Sunday pants that more hands were needed at the church than our local sheriff's office. At the time, it was just old Sheriff Connors, Betsy, and me. If we ever got a call, it was to discipline some troublemaking teen or to catch Miss Olsen's runaway hound. There weren't ever a real concern that we didn't have solved within the hour. Yet I think, like everyone, we thought if something bad were to happen,

it'd be due to the fella who lived on the outside of town. Mason Finch. Course, he goes by a different name now, one you already know. But what you might not know is how he got it. Back before we had ourselves the dollar store, there was a bait and tackle shop called Gilman's. Now, Gilman's only sold essentials, but it saw just about everyone in town. And after the old supply store shipped out, it was about the only thing standing for 20 miles. Point being, if you lived in Scottish Brooks, you shopped at Gilman's. Same was true for Mason Finch. Some folks still remember what it was like being in

the store and hearing that infamous da-da-da-da-da rusted old truck coming up the gravel. The whole place would get all quiet, then the doors would chime, and there he'd be. The burly fellow was like a statue, breathing low and labored, in and out of his ski mask. No matter what time of year it was, he was always dressed in full winter gear. Tattered blue coat with gray fur, thick gloves, and a black face mask with goggles. He'd walk inside, swivel his head straight to the clerk, and in a voice all metal and hollow, say, Ice. Keeping a steady eye, the clerk would point back to the freezer. Not like it ever moved, but he always obliged the stranger. Then the fella would turn on his boot and stride over. He'd haul a couple of bags in each hand and throw them on the counter. He'd haul a couple of bags in each hand and throw them on the counter.

He'd slap a twenty on the table. And then, without waiting for change, he'd leave. Taking the ice and silence with him. Twice a week, that was his routine. No other time would he come into town and no other soul would he ever speak to, except that clerk to buy his ice. So, truth be told, the only thing folks knew about Mason Finch was that he was a finch. And that name carried mud.

The finches, you see, were a herd of black sheep. They lived out in the woods with property scattered like beer cans on a lawn. There was their main residence, but also a shack or two just hiding in the forest. Some say the Finches were buried out there, that they had their own graveyard. They were native like that, even made a living picking mushrooms and such. But they weren't religious folks, so you can see how a town full of churchgoers would cast a mean eye on them. Mason was said to be the youngest son. Beside him, he had a mother and a brother, but hardly anyone living ever seen him. There were rumors, rumors I heard as a kid, and rumors as old as my grandpa about some strangers

living on the edge of town. They were far from kind and further from fact, but those rumors were enough to fuel an idea about Mason and his family. Some folks say the mother was something wicked, and she hurt her own kids and raised them no better than dogs. Also said she was high off her mind, that those shrooms made more of their diet than food. I don't know if any of that's true, but one thing's for sure. If there was ever a word of something wrong, you could bet your bottom dollar the Finches felt the blame. So, on the night of December 14th, 1994, when our phones blew up like charity bells,

my mind went straight to Mason Finch. This part most folks are familiar with, but I'll tell you it anyway, for consistency's sake. On December 13th, 1994, the snow around Scottish Brooks was looking a bit dull. And on that day, four of the local kids, Allie Burns, Joshua Reilly, Wesley Coach, and Mary Donegan thought they might try for something fun. Now, kids being stupid weren't anything new. Back when I was young, we'd beat time by sneaking into one of the neighboring farms and riding a cow.

But when you're that young, you ain't grown to appreciate the longevity of life. And so, it came to their bright and bored minds an idea. Let's go steal the ice from the Iceman. It weren't no secret, the Finches were like catnip to those kids. I heard offhanded several stories about some teen who went trespassing along their property. And in many of those stories, I heard how Mason scared them off waving a shotgun in the air. Now, it's hard to tell what's fiction from fact, but if Mason was waving a gun at some kids on his lawn. He technically had a right, just not a very good one. I only hoped that those kids would finally grow some brains and stay off his property. Well, Mary Donegan had some sense to her because she went home.

She didn't go missing. We had her in for questioning the day reports came in. All right, Mary, walk me through it. Can you describe what happened yesterday? Start with when you met up with your friends. What time was that and where'd y'all go? Um, yeah, okay. We went to hang out by the lake. I don't know what time it was, maybe 7, 7.30? Josh and Wesley made a fire. There was still a bit of snow, so it took them a while.

It was dark by then. Okay. Um, and we just hung out for a while. We were just talking and sharing stupid stories and stuff, and Wesley brought up the Iceman. Mason Finch? You're nodding, but I need you to say that for the tape. Oh, yeah.

Him. But we don't call him that. The kids around school just call him the Iceman. Anyways, Wesley got done with his story, and he and Josh got into an argument about something stupid. But then Josh said we should all go over there and find out. Find out what? Where? Uh, if something about the story was right. Um, and the cabin.

And listen, it's just a story, but some of the kids say the Iceman killed people? And that he keeps their bodies frozen. I know, it's stupid, but Josh said he knew where the Iceman hides the bodies, so he wanted us all to go. I don't think any of us really believed the story, but we were just playing around. And did you go? Yeah. I mean, no. I didn't go inside. I didn't... I wasn't involved. I told them we shouldn't have gone, but they wouldn't listen, so I left. Back up. You left the cabin?

Was it the Finch's property? What time? I don't know. You don't know what? I don't know where it was. It was dark. I left eventually. Mary, it's important you be honest. I need you to be as specific as you can. Mary. Yeah, okay. Josh led us into the woods. I don't know where, and it was dark, so I don't know when. It wasn't the Iceman's house, or at least I don't think it was. It was smaller, like a cabin, and it was old. If Josh hadn't pointed it out, I might have thought it

was nothing. But I didn't like it. It felt... I just didn't like it. Anything you noticed about the cabin? Anything that made it stand out? No. Oh, but there was a lock on the door. A big one. Okay, and what did you and your friends do next? Well, Josh wanted to get closer. He wanted to check what was inside. But there weren't any windows and the door was locked, so he, um, he took a rock and forced the handle.

We didn't think anyone would really notice. Go on. Josh opened the door, and there wasn't anything inside, except another door, but like the kind that leads into the ground, like one of those shelters. Well, I couldn't really see. The lights Josh had brought had stopped working, but I could hear. And when we got closer to that door, we all thought we heard. I don't know what it was, but I didn't want to stay around there anymore. And when Wesley and Josh went to open the door, I ran. I ran home and I went to bed. That's it. How'd you get back home if you didn't know where you were? I got lost,

but I got home eventually. Okay. And what time was that? I, I don't remember. You don't remember. So, you don't know where this cabin was, you don't know what you heard, you don't know how you got back, and you don't know what time. Are you seeing a pattern here? We were high, okay? Wesley brought a joint, and we were smoking,

and they broke into that cabin, and I don't remember or know what I saw because I smoked too much and freaked out. I'm sorry, can I just, can I see my friends already? To Mary's credit, the latter part of her story checked out. Mrs. Donegan reported hearing her come home around 11.30 that night. But Mary hadn't a clue as to what was going on. When we brought her into questioning, she thought her friends had gotten busted for trespassing and that she was next in line. Of course, then we had to explain that Wesley, Joshua, Allie, none of them

returned that night, that the parents reported them missing. The news hit Mary pretty hard. Even still, she hadn't any clue as to where the cabin was, but afterwards her voice took a hard turn. She described the cabin again, and in a little more detail. And what she said next was almost too crazy to believe. We heard voices. I know we did. It couldn't have been anything else. When we got close to that shelter door, we heard people.

There were people down there, and they sounded trapped. The others wanted to get them out, but I was freaked out, so I ran. But what if... What if the Iceman took those people? What if he took my friends? There was a worry in me, growing by the second. I knew this case was only a short fuse away from blowing up, but that's not where my opinion counted.

Sheriff Connors felt it too, the bubbling angst of a whole town knocking on his door. But his strategy was to push it off. We've got everything under control, he told them. We'll find those kids, just you wait. There should have been a search party. There should have been an arrest for Mason Finch on day one. But Sheriff Connors didn't want that kind of publicity. He still believed Scottish Brooks was immune to sin. But after a whole night and day of only knocking on doors and patrolling the streets, the town was at their

limit. Finally, Sheriff Connors made the call, and I drove out to Mason's home. Now, I think most folks imagine this scene with the flurry of guns and bullets. It was certainly my leading concern as I drove miles away from any sort of backup. When I pulled up to the property, I saw a rusted old truck parked around the house. Mason was home. I made my way up the porch, feeling like every creak could set off a mine. But before I even got to the top, the front door swung open. I flinched towards my gun, but stopped. Mason stood stock still, one hand on the doorknob and the other at his side.

He was already dressed in his winter suit, almost like a codum in the middle of one of his grocery runs. I stalled there for a bit, trying to remember my Miranda rights. But then Mason stepped out, locked the front door, and handed me his keys. He marched past me, steps rolling like thunder down the rickety porch, right up to my police car. And he waited there. Any other day, I might have been thankful, glad even to have a back passenger come so easy.

But given the circumstances, there was little for me to celebrate. I hadn't said a word, yet Mason knew why I was there. One of the first things I had to do was search his home. With Mason tied away, I walked through his house looking for any sign of foul play. But there was nothing. No one inside. Not even his family, which I struck as odd.

There'd be more of a thorough search later once we had a warrant, but for now I had to get Mason back to the station. We took his clothes for evidence. Mason ain't ever taken his mask off before, and now I knew why. The fella was a monster, down to his DNA. Mean scars and some kind of growth wrapped around his whole body. All bulging and rough. Those same scars spread up his throat and ballooned half his face. Looking at him, I could tell every breath must have been bailing stones out of a will. But what unsettled me to my core were his eyes. Unblinking, pitch black and half hidden by the lumps on his face, those eyes looked hungry as a shark. I learned, among his many other conditions, Mason had trouble seeing in bright

light. That's why he needed the goggles. To accommodate, we had the light in the interrogation room turned off. But I wasn't about to give any kind of favors for his swollen hands. I had those cuffs tight and anchored to the table. Once the interview began, I didn't hold back. Did you hurt them? Come on, Mason, you came up to my car. You handed me your keys. Can't tell me you're gonna back out now. So be honest with me.

Did you hurt those kids? I know you wanna talk. So talk. No other fella comes along like that unless they're guilty of something. Maybe you didn't mean to hurt them. I'd buy that. Hell, there are a couple of dumb kids going around on your property, right? They weren't where they belonged. So did you confront them? Allie, Wesley, and Joshua. Mason, those are three kids You know, Allie's in choir Sings for her family every Sunday

Wesley goes fishing with his dad every chance they get And Joshua, his uncle owns that shop you get your ice from Maybe these kids did something stupid Maybe they were in the wrong for breaking into another man's place But don't you think their parents got a right to know if their kids are safe? Are they dead? Mason, did you hurt them? No. Then Too late. Too late for what? What did you do to them? Mason!

Where are the kids? The interrogation went on and on, but went nowhere. Mason was silent as a gravestone and just as grim. Nothing I said got him to shift, but the longer I stayed in the darkness, listening to his deep breathing, the more I was set on edge. Several times we took a break from the questions. I told him it was to give him time to think, but really I had to gather my nerves. At the same time, Sheriff Connors was leading some of the town in an effort to scout the woods, but we're talking a stretch of wilderness too wide and too dense to evenly comb through. I think everyone had high hopes that the kids were only lost,

but with each passing minute, death grew on their minds. It grew on mine, too. I tried switching tactics. If Mason wouldn't talk about the kids, I'd talk about something else. Still scratching my thoughts for the state of his home. Something about it didn't sit right. It weren't just empty. It was clean. Like he and he alone was the only one there. Where did his family go? You know, I saw your home.

You take good care of it. A lot to manage all by yourself though. Don't suppose your brother helps? What about your mom? How's she doing? Hmm? What was that? Sorry, I couldn't hear. Must be tough with all of that. Did she do that to you? What kind of parent hurts their own kids, you know? My dad used to whip me if I ever did something stupid, but... Nothing like that. Sick.

What? Mother. Sick. She's sick. Well, then why wasn't she at home? Is she in the hospital? No. Well, then where is she?

What about your brother? I didn't see him at the house. Sick. He's sick too. Huh. Must be something going around. And do they have the same thing as you? You know, I'd like to talk to them.

You think you could call them? Maybe they could help clear up this mess and answer a few questions. Mason, where's your family? He wouldn't respond Something about the subject got him shy And slowly a thought came creeping into my mind Maybe his mother and brother were dead I thought about what Mary said

And I thought about the rumors Folks say the Finches have their own grave. Kids say the Iceman killed people. Maybe those two things have something in common. The town's search was going nowhere. The woods were like a maze, hard to move through and easy to get lost. More to the point, it was cold. Folks

were freezing, so we had to take shifts. I traded with Sheriff Connors and saw the mess for myself. People were so desperate to find those kids, they were dropping like ice. I don't blame them. If we were freezing, the kids were nearly dead. That is, if they weren't already. After my shift ended and Betsy took over, I stopped by Mason's house again. I looked harder for any clues, digging into every nook and cranny. Found some old photos. Back before Mason, well, developed his features.

They looked like your average family, but so does every photo. It took me a while to find his shotgun. Of course, it was hidden behind the fridge. Just looking at it didn't look like it had been fired, but then again, he might have cleaned it. I'd give it to the state lab to be sure. But then my eyes turned towards the freezer. A real bad sense of dread came up my shoulders. I imagined opening that door and seeing a cold, severed head staring right at me. I gripped the handle, nice and slow, then yanked it open.

It was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped halfway short. It was empty. I loaded up my car and sped back to the station. This time, the sheriff and I interviewed Mason together. This time, we weren't so soft. Where are the kids, you sick bastard? Chuck, throw the lights back on.

Yeah, now I can see you. You wanna talk? We'll put you somewhere nice and dark where you can sulk. But first, you're gonna tell me where you're keeping those kids. We know you're freezing the bodies. That's why you buy the ice, isn't it?

You see, normal folk store their ice in the freezer, but you? Well, yours was empty. Now how funny is that? The Iceman with no ice in his freezer. Care to tell me where it is? I ought to hang you like you deserve. Or I could toss you in the lake, see how good you can swim with those claws. But I'm a law-abiding man, so I'm willing to settle with prison if you just play along. Now I'll ask again, where are the kids?

Look at me, goddammit! Huh? Sit down on your throat? How about a drink? Sheriff? Come on, talk! Sheriff! You make me sick. Mason, I don't know what you're playing at, but it ain't gonna end the way you think. Those woods are dense, I'll give you that. It might take us years to find your secret little spot, but we don't got ears, and neither do you. You know why? Come spring, all that snow's gonna melt.

And I don't care what the weatherman says. Scottish brooks is due for some heat. And ain't no amount of ice gonna keep it cool. Right. So I don't know how many bags of ice you've stored, but I guarantee you they're all gonna melt within a few months. And that means those bodies are gonna melt too.

And I got a sneaking suspicion you don't want that. So let's cut the crap. You show us where your cabin is or we'll find it when it's dry. I wasn't sure if our play was gonna work, but evidently it did. Mason nodded. And for that single brief moment, I felt hope.

We brought him out there ourselves, just the sheriff and I. We drove to the edge of the woods as far as we could and then continued on foot. Mason led us. We kept a close eye on him in the barrel of a shotgun even closer. We would have moved faster, but that fella lumbered like a tree. I had to take off his fetters just to speed him up. I cursed the idea, but we couldn't risk the time, not while the kids were still missing. It was about a 30 or 40 minute hike, but now the sun was going down and the cold bit into our jackets Maybe he was numb to it, but Mason seemed at ease

Even with only the few layers we'd given him He had the skin of a bear I started to worry, thinking he was leading us for fools. But then we came through a field of brush, and I saw it. The last bit of sunlight reflected over the cabin. A gloomy old hut, half covered by trees. Mason paused for a moment, and the sheriff pushed him forward. At first glance, the cabin looked empty, but I called out.

Hello? Anyone there? Joshua? Allie? It's Deputy Wallace. Wesley? Hello? It was quiet.

The sheriff held close to Mason while I moved in. Snow cracked with every step, filling the silence in broken pieces. I came to the door and noticed a lock. Mary said they broke in. Someone must have replaced it. Again, I called out, Hey, is anyone in there? This is the police, you hear? After even more silence, I took out my gun. If anyone's in there, I'm coming in!

I shot the lock clean off and the door slid open. The inside was empty. There were some tools, an oil can, and an old lantern set off to one side. But no one was there. I shined my flashlight around the floor. Some crates sat over a tarp and I got to moving them. The sunset came down right as I flipped over the sheet to reveal a hatch. The door looked sturdy, all metal with a massive deadbolt. I knew I had to go in there.

I knew I had to check. But something in my gut was tying me down. I threw off the feeling and opened the hatch. I stared down a ladder and a hole. As soon as my flashlight touched the darkness, it started to blink. I tried shaking it, but it only gave a dim sight into the misty grave. I listened hard for any sign of life before finally speaking up. Hello? Anyone down there? An ice-cold breath came up from the ground, and then finally, a reply.

Hey! Hey! It's Deputy Wallace! Who's down there? Allie? Is that you? Are you okay? Can you reach the ladder? What other choice did I have? It was my job. Feeling my gut pull the other way, I descended the ladder. Each rung burned, ice cold, and echoed as I climbed. But soon enough, my feet found concrete. I looked around, but I could barely see. My flickering light caught between shadows in an icy fog.

Allie? Where are you? I found one side of the cellar. Old bricks, half-broken, covered the wall. Dirt poking through. Some kind of grass or weed was growing off the side. I followed the odd vines towards the ground. Up against the wall was something long, like a casket. I got closer, and on the ground I found a few empty bags of ice. The object which was laying on its side, I saw now, was a freezer. Ice circled the lid with more of that mold crawling out.

Every sense in me told me not to open that lid, and for once I listened to it. I shined my light just a few feet down and found another. Another freezer. I looked for the other wall and found even more. Over half a dozen crates, all spaced apart. Hello? Half a dozen crates, all spaced apart. Help. That voice, it sounded almost familiar, but it was hollow, like a doll. I followed my instincts, gun in one hand, light in the other, and inched through the fog.

I came close to it, in front of one of the freezers. Like a bruise covered in frostbite, more of those vines sprawled over the walls. The lid to the freezer was half-cr cracked open, and that fungus spilled out thicker than paint. Holding the light beside my ear, I used my free hand to grab hold of the door. As soon as I pulled, I went back for my light. But it was burning dimmer than embers now, and all I could see was a body, covered in something. They were young, female, with long, dark curls, just like Allie. But they weren't moving. Not by much. They shifted, their chest rising and falling, almost like she was breathing.

I brought the fading light as close as I could and saw she was covered in ice. Ice and something else. If the scars around Mason were a rash, then this was a full-blown cancer. It was like her skin were a glove with someone pressing their long, cold fingers through. Some of that growth let up her face and bloomed out of the corner of her milky white eyes. I smoothed around as her chest deflated. My heart froze to a stop.

The problem weren't the shallow voice coming from Allie's throat. The problem were her lips weren't moving. And then I saw it. A slit like the corner of a smile stretching down her neck and breathing. The lesions around her chest squeezed like a bagpipe forcing human notes. The living bile wormed around the hole in her neck, open and wide as if it were ready to… A shotgun blast.

I plunged. I turned my head for only a moment but found an elbow locked around my arm. I struggled back but was caught in its roots. I unloaded my gun, blowing ice and frozen flesh into clouds. The mold holding our arm together suddenly snapped, and I fell on my ass. I scrambled back as Ali's corpse stood up,

each limb creaked and bent with the bark of wood. It turned towards me, and I saw her head hanging to one side like a broken limb. The ringing in my ears had barely gone away before it was replaced by the stirring of ice. Another shotgun blast, and freezers blew open. Even more shapes rose out of their graves, withered weeds growing from ice-filled planters.

The shape of Joshua stumbled beside me, splitting its torso down the side to crawl on three legs. His innards were so intertwined with icy black vines that at first I thought it were his guts reaching out. I set it back for a few more shots before hobbling towards the ladder. One of the nightmares tried whipping its head at me. I ducked, flew up the ladder so fast I dropped my light. Another wrestled for the gun in my hand and I let him have it,

unloading what was left before letting go in its mouth. Whatever was left to Wesley tried slinking up the ladder. With barely enough time, I climbed out and slammed the hatch. I locked the deadbolt and then ran to find the sheriff. I made it to the doorway, where I met the end of a gun. Mason was leaning to one side, red painting his clothes, but he held the shotgun steady. Behind him, I saw the sheriff's body. Mason's breathing was rough, rougher than normal, and I might have been able to take him,

but whatever was banging on his cellar would easily take us both. Mason waved the gun around, and I followed his direction. Keeping a firm aim on me, he limped into the cabin. I held onto his shallow eyes, and I saw him look around. Quickly, he let go of his wound and picked up the barrel of oil and a lantern. I was confused, but then he shambled toward the hatch. He looked at me, and for the first time, I think I understood. And even though I could barely see him behind his scars, I'd almost say his eyes looked sad. Without saying nothing, he turned away from me and threw up the hatch. He unloaded two shots into the hole, and I heard something scream and fall.

Then Mason kicked the oil down there and dropped the lantern. Smoke and shrieks shot out from the ground as fire crackled and burned. Staring into the glowing pit, Mason fell to his knees, his head hung tired. Without wasting time, I ran over to the sheriff, but apparently not a moment too soon. The cabin was set to blow and threw me forward. I turned over, seeing the roof collapse in a pile of flames. The sheriff stirred from his concussion, and I propped him up. We leaned on each other's shoulders. I was ready to hightail it out of there, but Sheriff Connors stood petrified. Slowly, I followed his look

of horror to the cabin, to the roaring flames, and to something crawling out. In all directions, burning, stumbling corpses mindlessly shambled forward. Those things survived. Beacons of smoldering light, they walked aimlessly into the forest. Quickly, we limped the other way, watching over our back as the creatures faded like fireflies in the night. Joshua Reilly, Hallie Burns, and Wesley Coach. There weren't anything we could say that would bring their families comfort. Not even knowing that their said-to-be killer was killed himself would heal that wound. But it was better than knowing the truth, because the truth is, we never found their kids,

not alive or otherwise. And officially, we never found that cabin. Officially, Mason led us on a chase and drowned in the lake. Officially, what we saw was nothing but a dream. A horrible tale good for nothing but fueling a few nightmares. Pick through the rumors and take what you want. Believe, if you will, that the Iceman was evil and that he kept people frozen just for his own perverted needs. Trust, if you choose, that there's nothing in the woods and that when we all die, we stay that way. That's the bliss of hearing a story. You don't know what I know.

Aw, now, don't look so hurt. I'm only trying to get a reaction out of y'all. Come on now, it's Christmas. Go on and share in that holiday cheer. Oh, is it over already? I must have cursed off. You wouldn't believe my jet lag. Riding around every time zone in a single day, it takes me just a year to readjust. Oh! Ah! Well, I hope you enjoyed the story. And our time together. I know I have.

Reading these letters, I've learned that sometimes that which is scary shows us what's good. And that when we're afraid, it means we care. Not every day feels like Christmas, but that's okay. If the world seems dark, if the holidays have lost their magic, if you no longer believe in Santa Claus, then do me a favor and believe in yourself. Believe in yourself like I do. Believe in yourself and believe that you can do good. Because the darker it gets, the brighter you shine. And isn't that what Christmas is all about?

Shining for others and caring for all. That and hot cocoa. Frosty's hat. Would you look at the time? It's nearly Christmas Eve. I'm traveling the world and I haven't packed a single thing. Well, no time like the present. Now, I've got a holiday to plan for.

But you just remember what I said. There's a reason you're on my nice list. So go out there, share a few spooky stories, and be good. I hope you have a wonderful new year. And of course, Merry Christmas! by David Flowers and read by Christopher Swindle. This story was modified slightly for audio retelling, but you can find the original in full on our website. So, what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?