A family celebrates their holidays with a getaway cabin in the great Canadian Rockies. Their tradition is damaged after a tragic death. Whispers of a tall tale come from the locals, describing an unimaginable horror in the wilderness that is not keen on visitors.

Enjoy the horror story in written form, the artwork, and audio through the podcast with improv music.

Ice Face

The winter can kill you if you’re not careful. Living outdoors every day is something our ancestors did all the time. Now we defy the elements and live all over the planet. Some of these regions are pretty remote. Canada is no exception to this. Our country has plenty of dangerous wilderness all throughout the provinces. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can get yourself killed. If it’s not the weather, there’s plenty more out in the wild that will get you. Bad luck? Likely. Motivated revenge? Unlikely.

An example of dangerous wilderness would be the Canadian Rockies. It is home to a tourist town known as Banff. It’s a fun place with shops, eateries, hot springs, ski resorts, you name it! With that, my family made a tradition of a cabin getaway north of the town, higher up the mountains. A lot of people head for the Rockies this time of year. I get it.

I’ll admit, I do enjoy the getaway. When it’s minus thirty degrees outside, sitting close to a burning brick fireplace in the middle of nowhere is a great way to ‘Zen out.’ I just try to forget about all that went wrong.

The tradition goes way back to my grandparents, I think. They built the cabin and my dad inherited it after they passed. We spend Christmas and New Year’s here all the time. Even Uncle Tom and Aunt Jenny join us too. Dad used to come, but that’s another story I’ll get to.

For years it was no problem. Despite the natural cold that can kill you, we tough it out. There’s been talk around the neighbouring cabins and even the Banff locals. They whisper of a legend in recent years. It’s not like other tall tales you hear; it’s about a creature specific to the region and specific to this time of year. They call it Ice Face.

Ice Face wanders the wilderness, lurking in the snow and waiting to strike people. Some people say it’s just an updated version of Bigfoot’s story. I don’t think so. It has motive, unlike Bigfoot. For example, anyone who sees Ice Face dies. Their body is later found frozen in the snow, with bloody icicles running down their orifices and their skin shred apart.

The story goes that Ice Face is a hideous being jealous of people’s warmth and flesh. Ice Face is only cold, jagged, and unwanted. They say Ice Face sings a song before taking you. You ever hear of that ice mummy discovery years back? Scientists think it was the Neanderthal that was shot in the back by an arrow and froze to death. My guess is that something similar happened to Ice Face and turned them into the monster that they are.

Either way, Ice Face sings.

“Nice Face. Nice Face. Such a warm embrace for Ice Face.”

I’m not sure how much anyone would buy into the tall tale from locals. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make sense. How do people know the song if Ice Face kills everyone who hears it? It doesn’t make sense. Then again, what tall tale does?

People go missing in the wilderness all the time, all year round. Again . . . the weather will kill you. If you manage to survive the weather, then there are bears, wolves, cougars, and wild men in the mountains.

And what does Ice Face do in the summer? I can’t help but wonder where the tall tale comes from. I’d like to know, maybe it could explain why some people go missing, like my dad.

This time of year hits me hard. It’s not because of the Ice Face or family reunions. It’s because it’s the anniversary of when Dad went missing. I was much smaller then, probably a good eight years ago when I was seven.

Eight years ago, smartphones were still kind of a new thing. Cell reception was notorious in those devices way up in the mountains. It wasn’t like they could call for help right away. I remember hearing him go down the rickety wooden staircase, getting dressed, turning on his flashlight and heading outside. The door closed with an extra click. My guess was he was off to use the outhouse. He never did come back.

At first, I thought I had simply fallen asleep and didn’t hear him return from the snowy evening. Later in the night, I got up and went downstairs to pour myself a glass of water. That would have been about the time Dad should have come back. I saw Uncle Tom and Mom in the living room, sitting by the amber of the dying fire. They both were drinking hard liquor. Uncle Tom was adjusting his shirt, startled to see me.

Mom said I’d best get some sleep if I wanted the presents from Santa tomorrow as she adjusted her messy hair. I thought nothing of it and went back to bed, passing the foyer to see the front door was locked. Thinking back to the incident, I think Uncle Tom and Mom were unfaithful to Jenny and Dad. Deeply reflecting, I can’t help but string a malicious sequence of events through my mind.

The following day, I wanted to be thrilled about opening presents. The most memorable gift I received was the horror of Dad being nowhere. Uncle Tom went back into town to alarm the authorities. Mom had a permanent scowl on her face, retreating to her whiskey as the sun rose. Aunt Jenny simply cried with me as we pretended it was only a dream.

I try to tell myself that Dad isn’t dead; he is simply missing. Maybe he found out about Uncle Tom and Mom and decided to book it. I like to tell myself that. Uncle Tom, Aunt Jenny, and Mom moved on. Maybe dealing with death is something you learn to do when you’re older. That or the life insurance money eases some of the worries. It’s a mystery how they claimed that since there was never a corpse.

Either way, we continued the tradition every year. This holiday we went to the cabin with Uncle Tom and Aunt Jenny. As per usual, Mom cracked open her whiskey once we arrived, and the three adults started drinking. They eventually get boozed up enough that they give me a small glass each year.

The day carried out as usual with cooking, chopping wood, and we all went to bed. Uncle Tom had to use the outhouse, and since Dad’s disappearance, we always go with an outhouse buddy. It’s safer that way, especially with all the wildlife and the weather, which will kill you.

I was Uncle Tom’s outhouse buddy, and we bundled up, grabbed our flashlights, and went outside. The icy wind bit our faces as we marched through the fresh snow. It crunched with each step we made as our feet sunk a good two feet deep. The wind howled and was easily mistaken for wolves under the starry night.

I stood by the outhouse while Uncle Tom went to do the deed. It’s a burning cold out there, but I stood my ground as everyone does for anyone that has to go. I’ve thought about asking Uncle Tom about him and Mom, but there’s no point. Mom hasn’t dated since Dad, so I can only presume their affair was still at large. Then there’s my concerning theory, which I’ll never bring up.

The thoughts got the better of me as the wind picked up, making me shiver. Usually, I can focus on ‘Zen’ing out,’ and the cold doesn’t nip. Not this time, I knocked on the outhouse door for Uncle Tom to hurry up. He finished his deed, and we began our hike back to the cabin.

That’s when we heard it.

“Nice Face . . .”

The song. It started as a soft, gentle whisper with the first two words.

Uncle Tom and I exchanged glances, both wondering if the other person had heard those two words. The wind rocketed, almost knocking us to our asses, sending a howling whistle through our ears. Through the high-pitched bites, we heard the remaining verse.

“. . . Nice Face . . .” The whisper grew louder into a raspy voice. It was loud enough you’d think it was someone yelling into your ear. The voice continued to escalate into a growling high shriek that complemented the wind. “. . . Such a warm embrace for Ice Face.”

“All right, get inside,” Uncle Tom urged.

His hands were shaking as he held the flashlight, making our path disjointed. I held mine with both hands, now second-guessing everything I once thought was real. Ice Face. There’s no way we heard that verse.

Uncle Tom stopped in his tracks. His flashlight flickered a couple of times just as the protective case of the bulb cracked, and the light went out. He hit it a couple of times, trying to jolt its life again with no luck. My flashlight began to dim. I swore I had just replaced the batteries. It faded into nothingness, and we were left in the soulless dark.

“Nice Face. Nice Face. Such a warm embrace for Ice Face.”

“L-l-l-e-e-t’s ge-e-et a move o-o-on,” Uncle Tom said in a shaky voice. I don’t think it was the cold. I think it was fear.

We began marching in the snow, trying to follow our previous footsteps to the cabin. Most of it had snowed over, making it impossible to figure out which way we came. We thought it was a straight line, but it’s easy to get disoriented when you’re in the dark surrounded by a blanket of white.

We walked close together, acting as our lifelines, knowing how dangerous the Canadian winter nights can be. Our hearts thumped in rhythm with each step we made, marching for several dozen paces. I thought that was the distance to the cabin, but I was dead wrong. We kept walking.

Uncle Tom stopped again, and his eyes squinted. “Bill?”

Uncle Tom had to have been hallucinating. That’s the name of my father. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone else in the snow. We were in an open patch of snowy hills. No trees were nearby to be mistaken for human shadows.

“Waaaarrmmm,” the high-pitched voice swirled through the gust.

Uncle Tom gasped, stumbling back. I turned to see what startled him. In front of us, the snow began to rise upwards as if it were being vacuumed into the air. It rose to about six feet as more snow hurled aloft, compressing into the shape of a man. The figure took its first step forward, causing the entire body to rattle, snow trickling off its chest.

“Nice Face . . .”

Uncle Tom grabbed my arm, and we booked it as fast as we could, running back to the outhouse. Or at least where we presumed the outhouse to be. We couldn’t find it. I glanced back, seeing that the snow had finished compiling the humanoid with hands, fingers, neck, and a face covered in icey shards. The Ice Face. Ice poked out of where the ears should be. Icicles ran down the eye sockets and mouth, shielding the black void inside the three holes.

We slipped on a decline. Uncle Tom and I tumbled down, sliding on ice, away from each other. I was the first to attempt to stand, looking around for Uncle Tom. He was a good fifty paces away from me. I slid on the ice again, falling onto my stomach.

Ice Face descended into the snow. Only his upper torso and head peeked out, slithering through the snow like some giant cobra in the sand. His speed was unmatched, and he made it to Uncle Tom before I could even stand. Ice Face rose from the snow, walking towards the man, the body clattering with each step.

Uncle Tom tried to scurry backwards, but he froze purely in fear as Ice Face’s form expanded into an enveloping sheet of white and ice, soaring straight into him. The tiny shards of ice ripped into his jacket, shredding through the fabric and piercing into his skin. The frozen water shredded into his face, ripping through his cheeks, nostrils and piercing into his eyes. Blood oozed out his wounds and face, quickly freezing in the weather’s cold embrace. He howled in agony as the snow blanketed over his body, entering his mouth and shooting out his nose and ears.

The snow slithered off Uncle Tom’s dead body, reanimating into the form of the humanoid. I wanted to run. But I couldn’t, for I was also frozen in fear. Instantly I knew that I was next for the Ice Face.

The monster took its complete form, with the icicles forming above the eye sockets and mouth. They eventually started to crack, paving way for new snow piling delicately onto the face, forming more details under the moonlight. The face was distinguishable.

“Dad?” I said.

A gust of wind blew by, causing Ice Face to disintegrate. The snow particles blew away as the icicles collapsed onto the ground. My flashlight flickered and beamed bright over the scene, giving me a clear look at Uncle Tom’s dead body with bloody icicles running down his face.