The village had been entombed centuries earlier by a flash avalanche. Bodies, perfectly preserved in the ice, were twisted, mouths open in horror…except one: a young woman, standing with hand raised, as if hailing a friend.
I visit the site nightly, as my colleagues sleep. My frozen siren...
At last, I place my hand against the ice, mirroring hers. Her eyes snap open. Scalding ice flows up my arm, encasing my body even as it cracks and thaws around her.
The dark-haired girl steps from her melted pedestal; her hand trails aside my new arctic prison as she passes.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>