Freeze

5

In the back yard, in a furrow between two drifts, the wind blew across a patch of bluish-white snow. Loose powder drifted across the top, but there was only solid ice beneath. The wind gusted, and the ice trembled. A section of ice broke loose from the rest—now less solid looking, almost mushy—and rose into the air. It was long, cylindrical, finger like. Only longer. Tentacle like. The wind blew harder still, and the tentacle curled into a stumpy question mark of a thing.

When the wind died down, the curl of ice stayed where it was for a moment, but then it drooped, twitched, and finally stilled.

Fresh snow fell and hid any signs of the movement.