Spirit Of Winter


It’s live folks. Spirit of Winter is now available on Amazon. Feel free to check it out. As always the physical print copy of this is printed in the double-spaced format, which I have dubbed the Easy Read Format. As always feel free to leave feedback! We authors thrive on that.

Happy Reading!




Hi folks,

I decided I would put Iseult on hold for a little while and see where I could go with the origin of Jack Frost and why he is so bitter. And what could be done with his bitterness.

As usual remember that this is a rough draft and concept in the making. As always feel free to leave a review and


Jack’s youthful face was framed with spiky white-blond hair. He sat in a bay window staring at gently falling snow. A frown marred his youthful feature as tears lined his blue eyes. He was clutching a heavy silver locket in his hand.

He watched as the neighborhood kids bundled up in heavy coats built snowmen and forts. One snowball and then another flew past the window. Jack could barely make out the raucous laughter of the children. Shaking his head violently, Jack wiped the tears from his eyes.

Looking up from the window Jack noticed that Grandpa Frank was watching him with a sorrowful expression on his weathered face. “Why don’t you go out and play Jack?”

“I want to go home, Grandpa Frank. I miss playing with Noelle,” his young voice squeaked.

Grandpa Frank shook his head as he explained, “Your parents aren’t going to be home Jack. Between their work and sitting at the hospital with Noelle your parents thought that it would be easier if you stayed with me for a while.”

“It’s not fair! Noelle should be playing with me too,” Jack whined.

“She’s sick Jack. You know that. Now why don’t you go play with the other kids; Noelle wouldn’t want you to stop playing,” Grandpa Frank insisted.
“It’s not the same without her Grandpa Frank,” Jack cried plaintively as his tears finally fell.

Grandpa Frank sighed as he sat next to Jack. Pulling Jack into his lap, Grandpa Frank held him close as he cried himself to sleep. Never once did Jack let go of the silver locket at his neck.
“She’ll get better Jack. I promised,” Grandpa Frank whispered into his white-blond head.

On the other side of the room a fire sprang to life in the fireplace casting a reddish-orange glow across the room. Grandpa Frank had a ghost of a smile on his face as he cuddled Jack in his thin arms.

Carefully rocking his grandson Frank silently prayed that he would be okay. Before Grandpa Frank could finish his silent prayer Jack woke with a start. “When did you light a fire Grandpa Frank?”

With a wink to Jack, Frank pulled a small, rectangular remote from his pants pocket and said, “Don’t tell. I cheated.”
Jack smiled wanly and decided, “I think I’ll go to my room for a bit grandpa.”

“What about going out to play, Jack?”

Jack shook his head and sadly whispered, “Not without Noelle, grandpa.”

The last thing Jack heard as he left the room was a low sigh from grandpa. Jack quickly made his way to the stairs. Once he climbed the red carpeted stairs Jack went down the little hallway and into his room.

Grandpa Frank had lived in this house for as long as Jack could remember. He and Noelle even had their own rooms here. Noelle’s room had a green door with sprigs of ivy painted on it. Jack’s room had a blue door with white icicles etched into it.
Jack loved icicles. His bed had icicles and snowflakes on the cover and pillows; he even had icicle action figures. The only thing that Jack owned without icicles on it was his silver locket. In it there was a picture of his twin sister – Noelle.

Jack sat on his icicle shaped bed and opened his locket once more. He watched longingly as Noelle danced her heart away in the snow. “I wish you were better Noelle. The snow isn’t the same without you,” he whispered as tears stained his young cheeks.

A loud crash startled Jack into looking up. Disbelief carved itself into Jack’s sad features as he saw a snowball in the middles of broken glass on the floor. “What,” he exclaimed.
Jack tiptoed around the broken glass and approached the window. Before looking out the window he heard a merry whistle. With confusion Jack peeked out of the now broken window only to see Grandpa Frank waving at him from below.

Dropping his jaw, Jack exclaimed, “Grandpa! Why did you do that?”

“It got your attention, didn’t it,” Grandpa Frank hollered up at him.
Jack cocked his head and frowned as one of the neighborhood kids ran up to Grandpa Frank. Jack watched and his grandpa and the kid talked animatedly. The kid looked at grandpa and then up at Jack. The kid waved and yelled, “Do you want to come play with us?”

Not knowing what to do Jack shook his head at the scene below him and backed away from the window. Jack surveyed his now messy room and frowned deeply. This time there were no tears in his eyes.

Grumbling to himself Jack left the room and walked to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He grabbed the broom and dustpan as well as the trash bin. When he got back to the room Jack noticed that the door was open. Looking inside he saw Grandpa Frank sitting on his bed with a half smile on his face.

“Grandpa, you broke my window.”

“I know. I’ll clean it up too, don’t worry.

“You need to relax Jack. Why don’t you at least go and sit outside,” grandpa hinted.

With a sigh accentuating his slumped shoulders Jack made his way downstairs once more. Jack knew that if he didn’t at least go outside Grandpa Frank would keep pestering him until he did.
While shaking his head at Grandpa Frank’s antics he went to the hall closet and pulled out his heavy blue winter coat and snow boots. As he was snapping the icicle buttons Jack heard Grandpa Frank coming down the stairs.

So Grandpa Frank would see him outside Jack quickly went out the door. Once he closed the door Jack was blinded by the light reflected off the blanket of snow. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the other kids playing in the snow.

Before he could start to cry Jack sat on the stoop. With his elbows on his knees Jack watched as two kids skated on the street where someone had loosened a hydrant. In two different yards kids were building snowmen; at the base of the snowmen were snow angels.

These made Jack smile. Last year Jack remembered Noelle making a chain of snow angels that circled the snowmen. Their dad had even dressed up like Santa and pulled up in a sleigh – Jack still hadn’t figured out how his dad had managed to hide the motor of the sleigh.

As Jack remembered the last winter before Noelle fell ill he started to smile.

“Hi,” a boy’s voice greeted, startling Jack.

Jack sourly smiled at the boy. “My name’s Nicholas. What’s yours?”

“Jack,” was the bitter reply.