Maryella’s bichon frise puppy, Muppet, laid across her lap and happily chewed on a mini bone. Maryella got him last Christmas. She named him Muppet because when he would get extremely happy or excited, it would look like he was smiling gleefully like a Jim Henson muppet. Muppet was her best friend. He would wake her up in the mornings with a loving lick to the face, always making her laugh. He would also wait all day by the door for her to come home, and the moment she would step through the door, he would jump into her arms. He was always there for her, no matter what.
Maryella continued to watch the snow until she saw her neighbor, Fred, staggering toward the house drunkenly in his elaborate, turquoise wizard cloak. He was almost forty and a prime example of Peter Pan Syndrome. He lived with his grandma and didn’t work. Instead, he and a group of friends would play Dungeons and Dragons, dress up, and get drunk daily. Even though he lived right next door, he often got lost and wandered to their house. Because her mom and dad were so kind, one of them would often walk him home.
She let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. Muppet growled quietly at Fred through the window. He never liked Fred.
“Easy, Muppet,” giggled Maryella, scratching him behind the ears, “it’s Christmas. We should show cheer to everyone, even to the neighborhood lush.”
She turned off her Bluetooth speaker, grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand, and headed downstairs, knowing her mom and dad were still too busy in the kitchen to answer the door immediately. Muppet followed her as always. As they were at the bottom step, Fred knocked vigorously on the door. Looking through the peephole, she carefully unlocked and opened the door. The snow stopped falling, but the wind was frigid. Despite the cold, she stood in the doorway with bare feet. Muppet stood in front of her in a protective posture, ignoring the biting chill in his face.
“Merry Christmas,” she said in a friendly tone, “do you need some help getting home?”
Fred could barely stand up straight or utter a complete sentence. His hazel eyes were half-closed, and his cloak was askew, his ginger hair poking out from the hood.
“Merry…yeah…help…it’s cold.”
“Mom…Dad,” she called out, “Fred is wasted again! I’ll just walk him home since you two are still busy!”
She then went to get her jacket and boots that were in the hallway closet. Muppet stayed at the doorway, making sure Fred didn’t cross the threshold. Maryella’s mom, Annie, stepped out of the kitchen. Her strawberry-blonde hair was in a messy bun. Flour covered her cheeks. She asked Maryella: “Are you sure? He can get rowdy and stubborn sometimes.”
“I’m sure,” Maryella replied confidently, “it’s just next door.”
“But if he does get too rowdy,” exclaimed her dad, Lance, from the kitchen, “call us! We can call his grandma.”
Flour was in his brown hair and covered his now stern face. Maryella could tell he wanted to say something harsher, but he was being nice because it was Christmas, and Fred was within earshot.
“It’ll be fine.”
Maryella put on her green gloves and scarf, black pleather bomber jacket, and fuzzy winter boots.
Mom was still concerned. She was about to say something else to Maryella when the smoke alarm began to go off. Dad wasn’t paying attention to a batch of cookies in the oven, and now they were burning. Mom abruptly ran back into the kitchen without thinking.
Maryella could hear her parents bicker for a moment over the scream of the alarm. Then, they suddenly laughed, kissed, and turned off the alarm. She just shook her head and giggled to herself. At least one batch of cookies would burn or almost burn every year. As she put her left glove on, with slurred speech, Fred said: “You have such a foo-foo dog!”
“You said that before, Fred.” She was ignoring his drunk ramblings.
Muppet growled at him angrily.
“It’s okay, Muppet.”
Then, Fred suddenly sounded sober and said something that caught her off guard: “I heard those kinds of dogs cost a lot of money.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, still being friendly but getting a weird feeling, “my parents adopted him from a shelter.”
“Yeah,” he continued in a raspy and evil voice, “they cost two thousand dollars or higher. If you sold that foo-foo dog, you could buy anything.”
Instantly sensing danger, she quickly put her phone in her pocket and ran to the door. She heard Muppet let out a fearful yelp. To her horror, Fred grabbed Muppet and was running away with him into the woods. She cried out for help, but the smoke alarm went off again, so her parents didn’t hear her. Maryella chased after him, panic filling her. She fought back the tears. Her heart pounded as she zoomed through the trees and snow. Even though it was only after six-thirty, it was already dark, but the moon and snow gave her light. Fred staggered ahead of her, but she was swiftly catching up. Muppet was scratching him and trying to squirm out of his grip, whimpering and barking.
“Hey, Jerkwad, you better let go of my dog,” she screamed breathlessly, “before I call the cops! Don’t worry, I’m coming, Muppet!!”
She kept on screaming as she ran until she was almost hoarse and her chest hurt. Fred tripped, and she nearly grabbed his cloak, but he darted through a thicket.
She followed him like a bullet out of a gun, branches tugging at her clothes and hair. She was now standing in a clearing. She couldn’t see any trace of Fred or Muppet. Her heart sank. All she could see were a dozen snowmen and snowwomen randomly standing on the clearing. There were snowmen with top hats, knitted winter hats, dress coats, frock coats, scarfs, or bow ties, and snowwomen with mop heads or yarn as hair, bonnets, summer dresses, vintage evening gowns, or aprons. The snowmen and snowwomen also had different kinds of beautiful gemstones for their eyes, fruit for their noses, and gleaming crystals for their mouths. Maryella would have thought this was amazing if she wasn’t on the verge of tears. She looked around the clearing frantically. She thought Fred might have been hiding in the trees nearby.
“Muppet,” she yelled out desperately, “speak boy! Muppet?!”
She started weeping and was about to call her mom and dad for help when she heard Fred bellow in terror somewhere in the distance and saw someone coming towards her. She immediately noticed something odd about this stranger. The stranger was a teenage boy around her age with short black hair and steel eyes but dressed like he was from the Victorian era, wearing a black top hat, a red scarf, a long gray dress coat, gray slacks, leather gloves, and black boots. He looked otherworldly; a golden light illuminated his body, and his skin was the exact color of fresh-fallen snow. A stunning arctic vixen with blue eyes was also walking beside him.
Maryella was finding somewhere to hide, but then she saw that he was holding Muppet. He looked unharmed and happy, grinning and panting excitedly in the boy’s arms. She was tremendously relieved and shaking from pure joy. She was a little uneasy about the boy but ran to him. As she approached, the boy grinned, the vixen calmly sat in the snow, and Muppet hopped into her arms. Muppet licked her face enthusiastically while she was crying and laughing at the same time. She couldn’t stop hugging him. She thought he was going to be gone forever; she had heard horrible stories of dogs being taken and sold on the black market. It was a miracle that this bizarre boy saved him in time. Was he a guardian angel?
“I’m assuming this little rascal belongs to you,” smiled the boy with a British accent.
“Yeah,” she replied joyfully, “thank you so much!”
“It was my pleasure.”
Muppet calmed down slightly and nestled in her arms. The more Maryella looked at the boy, the more she became curious.
“Hi, I’m Maryella. What’s your name?”
“Hello, Maryella,” said the boy, bowing formally, “my name is Stephen Thorebourne.”
“Where are you from?”
“London, but I have visited many places over the years.”
“Where did you find Muppet?”
“He was with your neighbor, Fred, who was drunk as a boiled owl. Poor Muppet was struggling to break free from the man, so Alyssa tackled him. I picked up the poor pup and gave him some water. Then, we heard you calling out in distress.”
“Who’s Alyssa?”
“She is always with me,” said Stephen, pointing at the vixen.
“She’s so pretty!”
He nodded in agreement and added: “And protective.”
Maryella gingerly reached out to her muzzle, and Alyssa licked her hand affectionately.
“But what did you do with Fred?”
“Ah,” he chuckled, “we had some help. Come, I will show you.”
Maryella knew he was paranormal but felt he wasn’t up to anything sinister, so she followed him. She carried Muppet, walking with Stephen and Alyssa to a snowman by a tree. Fred was shivering and hollering and stuck in a snowman’s arms. The snowman was in a fancy tuxedo and bear-hugged Fred tightly from behind.
“Run, Maryella,” hollered Fred, unable to move, “they’re heartless monsters!”
“Says the dognapper,” said Maryella sarcastically.
Muppet then began to snarl and bark at him, almost lunging at him.
“It’s okay,” she said assuringly, petting Muppet and kissing his head, “you’re safe now.”
Muppet was pacified again and curled up in the crook of her arm.
“Look,” whined Fred, “I know, it was the stupidest idea I ever had, but I wouldn’t have hurt him! I probably would’ve brought him back once I sobered up.”
“Probably?!”
“Either way,” cried Fred, “these creatures are evil! The wolf-thing attacked me and ripped my cloak…”
“She’s a vixen,” Stephen corrected angrily, “you boozer!”
Alyssa growled at Fred but didn’t move.
“Whatever,” exclaimed Fred, “Then, a possessed snowman crept on me and held me captive.”
Maryella thought he was imagining things. Then, the snowman said: “We better get this infuriating man home. He keeps screaming.”
She jumped back a little, shocked and slightly afraid.
Fred screeched: “See?!”
She shuttered: “B-but h-h-how?”
“Don’t be frightened,” Stephen told her calmly.
“Yes,” the snowman added, “Alyssa gives us the ability to talk and move every Christmas Eve because of a gift she gave Stephen right before he died.”
“So you are…?”
“A spirit,” Stephen confirmed, “yes.”
“Is Alyssa some kind of shape-shifting witch?”
“Hi, lovely,” Alyssa said to Maryella in a soothing voice, hugging her, “it’s nice to meet you! It’s so touching to see how much compassion you have for your dog.”
Maryella was too in awe of her to reply.
“Stephen,” Alyssa said, “are you going to tell her the story?”
“Of course,” he replied, “but should we assist Fred first?”
They all looked over at Fred. He had passed out from seeing Alyssa morph.
“Poor man,” giggled Alyssa.
The snowman wearing the tuxedo and a snowwoman in an elf outfit offered to take him home, for they had seen his grandma sitting at a window earlier.
“Thank you, my friends,” smiled Stephen, “but remember, don’t let people see you and frighten the whole town.” They nodded and delicately carried Fred home.
The night gradually became colder, making Muppet and Maryella shiver.
“I would love to hear your story, Stephen,” said Maryella, “but it’s getting colder. Muppet and I are freezing. He shouldn’t be out here, and my feet are also tired from all that running.”
“I can take care of that,” smiled Alyssa. She snapped her fingers and a mini, purple, silk igloo appeared on the ground for Muppet. A long log for Maryella to sit on also appeared, and a thermos of hot chocolate suddenly popped into Maryella’s hand. Muppet hopped down from her arms and climbed into the igloo.
“Merry Christmas, sweet child,” Alyssa smiled, hugging her again, “you have such a good heart.”
Maryella was confused but returned the hug, saying: “Merry Christmas.”
Then, Alyssa abruptly turned back into a vixen and climbed into the igloo next to Muppet, snuggling. She curled and wrapped her bushy tail around him like a blanket. Being warm and cozy, she and Muppet fell asleep in no time, their muzzles touching.
“Aw,” exclaimed Maryella in a whisper, sitting on the log and sipping at the hot chocolate, “That’s so cute!”
“That is a darling sight,” agreed Stephen with a tenderhearted grin. Then, he asked: “Since you are comfortable, would you like me to tell the story now?”
A group of snowmen cheered behind her: “Tell the story!”
She said: “Yes, please tell me.” As she savored her hot chocolate, he began his story.
Since he was a lad, Stephen had loved making snowpeople. It was one of his favorite parts of the winter season. As soon as the snow began to fall, he would be outside, waiting to create his snow companions. He never knew his birth parents. When he was eight, he was adopted. Even though his adoptive parents gave him a home, expensive clothes, food in his stomach, and a good education, they never gave him any kind of affection. They were hardened, cold, and silent with him. They only adopted him to make it seem like they were charitable. His only solace was grinning snowpeople. These snowpeople were his family and friends for a moment. Sometimes, he would even talk to them as if they were alive. He knew he was strange but didn’t care.
It was December 24th, 1839. He just turned fifteen the week before. He was at boarding school, which looked like a stone, colorless, and dreadful fortress. His teachers often told him that playing in the snow all the time at his age was foolish, but he couldn’t wait to finish his schoolwork and make another snowman in the courtyard. He was finally walking outside when he heard pleading screams. It was Jasper, who was only ten. He was the youngest and smallest boy at the school. He was so meek that he was afraid of his own shadow. He was always getting picked on by students and professors alike. Stephen barely knew the little boy, but he always thought it was unfair and cruel for Jasper to be a constant target.
When Stephen walked out that day, Jasper was getting a severe beating with a long wooden stick, his green eyes flooded with tears, his clothes and blonde hair soaked with blood, and his entire body bruised and gashed. Blood was staining the snow as Jasper curled up into a ball on the ground, screeching and quivering after each blow. Professor Pipkin, a heartless mathematics professor, was beating him. If a student asked him a question in class, he would say the student was speaking out of turn. If a student didn’t understand something, he would say the student was just stupid and undisciplined. The student would usually get beaten for that, but this time, Jasper was getting a beating for humming a Christmas carol under his breath during an exam. The other students didn’t hear it, but Professor Pipkin heard. He thought Jasper wasn’t taking his class seriously, which offended him greatly.
Many boys had seen Professor Pipkin beating Jasper and just walked by, but Stephen had to help. Stephen quickly approached the professor and grabbed the stick before he could strike Jasper again. The little boy was barely conscious, moaning in pain.
Stephen exclaimed: “What are you doing, Professor Pipkin?!”
“It doesn’t concern you, Mr. Thorebourne, but this disrespectful urchin was humming a Christmas carol during my exam, so I’m beating some manners into him!”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” said Stephen, “and we went to mass this morning. Maybe he was in the spirit! You shouldn’t punish him for being cheery. This grim school could use some cheer. Besides, look, he needs medical aid! Please, Professor, have a heart!”
Professor Pipkin scowled, snatched back the stick from him, and said: “He will be fine, and there’s no room for the Christmas spirit or cheer in my classroom. I’m making outstanding scholars!”
“I’d believe that if I didn’t see first-hand that teaching is just a power trip for you,” snickered Stephen sardonically, “You even pick on a little boy for you to feel important.”
“You ungrateful brat!”
He swung the stick at Stephen’s head, but Stephen ducked. Swinging the stick again, the professor tripped and fell into the snow. While the professor was distracted, Stephen tried to help Jasper stand up, but the boy had lost consciousness. He was about to pick Jasper up and carry him back inside when the professor was suddenly on his feet again. The professor crept toward Stephen and Jasper with the stick in hand and hatred in his eyes. Stephen knew he would beat them both to death. He had to protect Jasper, so he rushed upon the professor. Then, he was rolling in the snow with the professor, violently tussling for the stick. The professor was furious that a teenage boy dared to stand up to him. Revenge was on his mind. As we were still fighting, a horse carriage was approaching the school.
Before Stephen realized how sharp the point of the stick was, the professor stabbed him in the chest. The stick horrifically protruded from him. He gasped in excruciating pain and coughed up blood. He was bleeding profusely and feeling tortuous pain, extremely cold, weak, and as though he couldn’t breathe. He collapsed into the snow, but not before he managed to push the professor away into the path of the horse carriage picking up a student. The horses trampled the professor, instantly killing him.
As Stephen was dying in the snow next to unconscious Jasper, time slowed down. His surroundings became blurry, and people’s voices and screams became muffled and far away. The only clear thing he could see was an arctic vixen walking towards him. He was frightened but couldn’t move. The vixen licked his sweat and tears away. Then, the vixen suddenly turned into Alyssa with all of her beauty.
Trying not to choke on blood, he asked: “Are you an angel?”
“Yes,” she replied softly, “My name is Alyssa.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” she replied, “I’m here to comfort you, sweet boy.”
“So you can’t save me?”
“Sadly, it doesn’t work that way.” She sat on the ground and gently put his head on her lap.
She then added: “But I can do this.” She waved her hand over his chest, and the stick disappeared.
“Thank you,” he said weakly, coughing up more blood.
“Also,” she told him, “I’ve been watching you since you were born…”
“I hope you’re not my guardian angel,” he said in jest, “because if you are, you’ll be standing in the employment line soon.” He didn’t know how he could jest or smile while dying, but Alyssa somehow put him at ease.
“Well, my boss is more forgiving than that,” she giggled, “Besides, he gave me the power to give you a gift.”
“What gift?”
“As I said, I’ve been watching you all of your life,” she explained, “and I know making snowpeople gives you so much happiness when you’re lonely.”
“Yes,” he coughed, “are you turning me into a snowman?”
“Something better,” she smiled, “Since you sacrificed yourself to save someone who you barely knew, you can come back as a spirit each Christmas Eve to make all the snowpeople you want, and I will make them speak and move, so they can truly be your family.”
“That sounds whimsical,” he smiled, spewing even more blood.
“It will be,” she whispered compassionately, kissing his clammy forehead, “I promise. Now, let go. It’s time. The hurt will go away.” She then held him in a loving embrace until he took his last mortal breath. She also guided him to the beyond when his soul left his body.
“That’s so sad,” said Maryella tearfully, as Stephen finished his story, “yet so beautiful. She didn’t want you to die alone.”
“No, she didn’t,” he smiled, “and I haven’t been alone since.”
Maryella then asked: “What happened to Jasper?”
“Alyssa woke him up before we left,” Stephen replied proudly, “and one of the other teachers helped him. Despite what happened to him at that school, he grew up to be a kind and brave businessman, always humming Christmas carols.”
“Good,” she smiled.
Just then, Maryella’s cell phone buzzed. She took it out of her pocket and read the new text. It was from her parents, wondering where she was. She hadn’t realized she was out there for an hour. She quickly texted them back, stood up, and said to Stephen: “Muppet and I should be heading home. My parents are worried.”
“Can you find your way back home?”
“Yeah, my feet are sore, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
As if on cue, both Alyssa and Muppet woke up and stepped out from the igloo. Muppet ran and swiftly hopped back into Maryella’s arms, so his paws wouldn’t get cold.
Petting him, Maryella playfully asked: “Were you all cozy with Alyssa?”
He barked affirmatively and licked her cheek. All of a sudden, a big sleigh appeared in front of them. Then, Alyssa was wearing a harness attached to the sleigh.
“I think Alyssa wants to give you two a ride home,” said Stephen.
Maryella sat on the sleigh and put Muppet in her jacket, so he wouldn’t fall or get too cold. She zipped it up a little, Muppet’s head adorably poking out. Stephen sat in front and grabbed the ropes, but he didn’t guide or control Alyssa. He just held on for balance. They dashed through the woods, brisk wind going in their faces and snow crushing underneath Alyssa’s paws. It was exhilarating to go at such a high speed. The snowmen and snowwomen waved at Maryella as Alyssa galloped through the clearing. Maryella never told Alyssa where she lived, but she knew exactly where her house was.
They stopped at her front door. She didn’t want to say goodbye because she didn’t know if she would ever see Stephen or Alyssa again. She only knew them for a night but felt like she had known them forever. Plus, they saved Muppet from idiotic Fred.
Climbing off the sleigh, she said: “I don’t know how to thank you, Stephen. You saved Muppet, and I’m so grateful!”
“There’s no need,” grinned Stephen, petting Muppet’s head, “it was the humane thing to do, and I could see how much love this pup.”
Muppet licked his hand as if saying thank you as well.
“But I’ll never forget it,” Marryella said, hugging Stephen, “you’ll always be our snowman-making guardian angel.”
Maryella then walked to Alyssa and petted her, saying: “And thank you. I hope all angels are kind and beautiful like you.”
Alyssa licked her cheek lovingly. Muppet then leaned over and booped noses with Alyssa as if showing his gratitude.
“Good boy,” smiled Maryella, “Bye, Alyssa.”
“You should go inside before your parents see us with you,” said Stephen softly.
“Okay,” she replied, hugging him again, “will I see you again?”
Tightly hugging her back, he said: “I do not know. I never come back to the same place, but if I ever do, I’ll make a snowwoman by your front door to let you know I’m here.”
“I’ll always be looking.”
Maryella slowly stepped towards the door, stopped, and looked over her shoulder. Stephen and Alyssa were gone as if they were never there. A snowwoman was suddenly standing in the front yard. She winked, making Maryella grin.
The moment Maryella stepped inside, her mom exclaimed: “What happened? Are you okay?!”
“We called Fred’s grandma,” added her dad, “we thought she invited you to come inside their house, but she told me somebody knocked on the door and just left Fred on the porch. Where were you?”
As she took off her jacket and set down Muppet, she told them about how Fred tried to take Muppet and how she chased him through the woods. Of course, she didn’t tell them about Stephen and Alyssa. She told them a little white lie, saying: “Muppet escaped from Fred while we were running. It took some time for me to find Muppet in the woods. As for Fred, I think another neighbor took him home, but I’m not sure.”
“You should’ve called us, sweetie,” said Mom.
“But everything was under control,” replied Maryella.
Both Mom and Dad hugged her. Then, Dad called Fred’s grandma and told her what Fred did, and she apologized profusely. He told her he wouldn’t call the cops if Fred stayed away from their house. She promised he would. After everything was said and done, Mom, Dad, and Maryella put on their pajamas, ate the half-burned batch of cookies, drank peppermint hot chocolate, and watched Home Home. Muppet curled up in Maryella’s lap as she petted him and watched the movie.
Maryella never saw Stephen and Alyssa again but never forgot about them. Seeing kids make a snowman or a vixen walk in the snow, she would smile. Every Christmas Eve, she would check the front yard for a snowwoman. She never got disappointed when she didn’t see one. She just vowed to keep looking. The story of the snowman maker became part of her.
©Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2023
Music by: Kelly Clarkson
Art by: Lena Holdman
Author Notes: Merry Christmas! This story comes from my love of snow.
The angel/vixen character is based on my friend, Alyssa, and it's no coincidence I made her an angel. 😉 She's an angel on Earth.
This story is also dedicated to Fozzie Bear. I miss you, my muppet. 🐾
