Cold, Hard Truth

It never snowed until Mr. Nieven moved to the neighborhood. Snowflakes swirled, gently pattering to the ground as a moving van pulled into the driveway. Nosy neighbors clamored for a glimpse at the new occupant: a young white-haired man in a suit that matched his icy blue eyes.

Rumors swirled like snowflakes that dotted the lawns. Some said Mr. Nieven made his money in the illegal diamond trade. Some said he sold arms to a military base in Siberia. The only thing the gossip agreed on was his disposition, as icy cold as his eyes.

Amy's footprints marred the pristine snow as she trudged up the driveway to her mailbox. Spotting Mr. Nieven, she waved. He fixed her with a cold, silent stare.

Amy turned away, slipping on the ice. Mr. Nieven appeared, offering her a hand. “Sorry, I'm clumsy on ice."

Mr., Nieven withdrew his hand sharply, as if he’d been burned. The light snow fell thicker and faster, flakes clinging to Amy’s hair. “Well, goodbye.”

“Wait! Please attend my housewarming party tonight.”

Amy stopped, startled by the voice. She squinted through the blinding snow, but he was gone.

Amy stood under a gentle snowfall, knocking on Mr. Nieven’s crystalline door. She shivered at the dropping temperature inside. Everything was made of ice: the snow-white couch, the powdery carpet, even the crystal chandelier.

Mr. Nieven appeared, a flurry of snowflakes hovering over his hand.

"You're-" Amy stammered.

"An ice elemental."