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The Cold: Part 9

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 9

Priya holds my hand with one of hers while she drives. The streets are as silent as ice.

After we arrive at the mall, I tell Priya, “Wait here. If I don’t come back in an hour, call the police.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “I’m coming with you.”

My eyes fill with tears. They sting. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Priya and I walk up to the mall’s main entrance. Of course, the mall is locked at 2 a.m., but we wanted to try. “Let’s try the back entrance,” Priya says. We walk around to the back of the cafe, near the trash. That door is of course locked, too.

I begin to shiver with worry. What if Dad is in the freezer in that cafe? What if he is slowly dying, and I can’t get through the door?

I walk around the mall, trying every door to see if someone forgot to lock it. Priya stays by the cafe, pressing different numbers on the lock. Maybe she can guess the password.

We try to get in the mall for an hour, and it does not work. My fingers are frozen, and my heart is heavy. I begin to say, “Let’s go home,” but hear an engine. It’s getting louder. Priya and I hide behind the bushes next to the cafe entrance. A red light shines through the leaves and gets brighter.

A large, white truck is backing up right next to the cafe.

The driver steps down from the truck and throws open the back door. Three more men climb out. They are wearing medical masks and gloves. The driver drops his keys, and another man picks it up and throws it gently toward the driver. They laugh.

Priya and I crouch lower. The men begin unlocking the door. But it is not the cafe door. It is the door next to the cafe.

After a few minutes, the men come out, pushing a large metal box on a cart. They lift it into the truck. They go back inside and get another box. And another. And another. They stack the boxes on top of each other, like coffins. One of the men sits down on the back of the truck, tired and breathing heavily. He says, “I wish I were them now,” and the other men laugh.

The three men climb into the back of the truck, the same as before, and the driver shuts the door. Priya and I look at each other and nod. It looks like they have ice bodies. We have to follow them.

When the truck begins driving away, Priya and I run to the other side of the mall and jump in her car. The truck goes down a long road around the mall. Priya keeps her car’s headlights off and follows them. When the truck gets on the highway, Priya turns on her lights and slows down. “I want to get farther from them,” she says. “They can’t know we’re following them.”

There are sadly a lot of trucks on the road in the early morning. Priya changes lanes on the highway. The white truck is always a quarter mile ahead. After 20 minutes, the truck turns off the highway. Priya and I follow.

We drive for 30 more minutes. The rushing sound of the highway grows quiet. We drive past cow fields. Their eyes shine under our car light.

Finally, we reach a large building. It is gray and has no windows. There is one entrance for people and one entrance for trucks. Neither entrance has a sign. The truck parks next to the big entrance. The driver gets out, opens the door, and drives the truck inside. The door closes with a loud bang behind them. Priya and I drive past the building. We don’t want them to think that we are following them. We stop the car down the road, behind a wall.

Priya and I sit quietly. Then Priya claps her hands together. “I don’t care if we get in trouble. It’s time to call the police.”

I nod and take out my phone. My hand shakes. A woman with a calm voice answers. “911, what’s your emergency?” I tell her about the truck and the metal boxes. I even tell her about the ice that I saw in the old cafe. I hear the woman typing my report down. She then says, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but fifteen people called us today. They all said that they can help find the ice bodies. I know you want to help, but our police are so busy.” She sighs. “But I’ll send a police officer to see you. He’ll be there in about half an hour. You’re pretty far away from the station.”

In half an hour, Dad could be dead. If he is still alive…

I turn to Priya. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and this is about my dad, so it’s my responsibility. I’m going to that building before the police get here.”

“Ari,” Priya grabs my hand. She is adventurous, but I know that she is scared now. Her cold fingers squeeze my palm. “Those boxes… I think they’re coffins. If your dad is in there…” She shivers.

“I might see his dead body.” I finish Priya’s sentence.

“Why don’t we wait for the police? They have guns, and they can ask them to open the boxes. They can save your dad better than you can,” Priya whispers, “If he’s alive.”

I put my head in my hands and wait to hear the police sirens.

Part 10>

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The Cold: Part 8

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 8

I found Dad’s note two days ago, and I cannot stop thinking about it.

We still can’t find him. Every day I watch the news. Will they find a new ice body? Will this one be Dad?

While I am watching the news, Ms. Sato calls me. “Ari,” she says with a gentle voice. “Are you doing okay?”

“We can’t find my Dad.” I want to cry.

Ms. Sato is quiet on the other end. She finally says, “Well, I have some information that might help you know where he is. Some of our journalists interviewed the police. Yesterday, the police found something the same about all of the ice bodies. About a month before each person died, they all took out $50,000 from their bank accounts. It was cash, and they took it out in small amounts. About $5,000 ten times. Because they didn’t use a credit card or do a bank transfer, we don’t know who they paid the money to.”

My chest feels cold. I know what Ms. Sato wants me to do.

“Ari, if you check your Dad’s bank account, you can see if he took out $50,000 recently.”

I can’t speak. If Dad really took out $50,000, then I know he is an ice body.

Ms. Sato adds, “Don’t worry about work this week. And I hope you can find your dad.”

She doesn’t say, “I’m sure he’s fine.” We both know the possibility.

Mom is still sleeping, so I wake her up. With her eyes closed, she whispers, “Did they find him?”

“Maybe we can find him, Mom. I need you to check your bank account.”

“Why?” Mom sits up and reaches for her glasses beside her bed. Before I can answer, she turns on her phone and opens her bank app.

“I need to see if Dad took out money from the bank recently.”

“Oh, Dad keeps most of his money in his own account.” Mom looks worried. “But I can try to find his login info.” Mom walks to Dad’s desk and begins searching through a stack of papers. She never asks why I need to check his bank account, and I don’t want to tell her.

We look through Dad’s notes for an hour. Finally, Mom cries, “Here it is!” She opens Dad’s banking site on her laptop and types in the login and password with shaking fingers. My heart sinks when I see the screen.

December 22, 2023 -$5,000
December 29, 2023 -$8,000
December 30, 2023 -$6,000
January 5, 2024 -$7,000
January 11, 2024 -$3,000
January 15, 2024 -$8,000
January 22, 2024 -$8,000
January 25, 2024 -$5,000

That’s $50,000.

I tell Mom about Ms. Sato’s phone call. She closes the laptop and calls the police.

When Mom called the police, they said sadly that Dad is probably an ice body. They told Mom to keep checking the bank account. If Dad takes out more money, then they know he is still alive.

So far, the police have found 755 ice bodies. And now there are 82 missing people. Now, banks will have to call the police when any customers take out a large amount of money, but this won’t help people like Dad who already took out the money. The ice bodies were only found in or near Clayton. Local hotels are filled with scientists, FBI agents, and news reporters. They all hope to find more information about a disease, a killer, or a war. But no one has an answer.

I call Priya. I don’t know what to say to her. When she picks up the phone, singing “Ari Brooooooks!” in her usual way, I start to cry. I cry for several minutes, and Priya waits patiently on the phone. When I finally whisper the words “ice body,” Priya says, “My dad is asleep now. I’m coming over.”

Priya, who lives five minutes away from my house, runs through the front door and hugs me. We stand in the front hallway for a long time, just hugging. Priya’s shoulder is soaked with my tears. Priya holds my hand as we go upstairs to my bedroom. She says quietly, “I noticed your Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway. Is it your Dad?”

I nod.

“Did they find his body?”

I shake my head, crying more.

“Then there’s still time. He might be okay.” Priya grabs the tissue box from my desk and wipes my face. “How do you know that he died?”

I slowly tell Priya about the $50,000. She squeezes my hand tighter.

“Ari, Carlos told me that you found ice in the mall, right? At the cafe that closed?”

I nod.

“Then let’s go! The police aren’t being helpful. We can do more.”

I look outside at Mom’s car.

“I know your mom will worry,” Priya says, understanding the problem with her plan. “So let’s sneak out tonight.” She whispers, “I’ll pick you up at 2:00 a.m. We’ll come back before 5:00.”

I sigh. I couldn’t save Alex. But maybe I can save Dad.

Part 9>

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The Cold: Part 7

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 7

Carlos picks me up in front of the mall. I get in his car, close the door, and whisper, “I saw something crazy.”

“An ice body? Should we call the police?” Carlos looks worried.

“No, but there was ice. And it was still cold, so it must be new.”

Carlos laughs. “But it’s winter! There’s ice everywhere. And there’s about five restaurants in the mall. They use ice.”

“But this ice was in an old cafe! Remember Green Leaves? They’re closed now.”

“Ari, you went into the construction area? You can’t do that! And you can’t write a news article about the ice. If the police read the article, they’ll know that you trespassed.”

I sigh. Carlos is right.

Carlos pauses, and then asks, “Do you think the ice was used for the ice body?”

I nod. “The cafe is right next to the dumpster.”

“Do you think the construction workers killed someone?”

“No,” I say. “I think that someone put the body in the freezer overnight. The construction workers only work during the day. They seemed normal, too. I don’t think they killed anyone.”

Carlos and I are quiet for the rest of the car ride.

When I get home, I walk into the living room. Mom is reading a book on the couch. She looks up. “Is Dad still parking the car?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Did he go somewhere?”

Mom frowns. “He went to pick you up from the mall.”

“Carlos picked me up, remember?”

Mom closes her book and goes to the garage. Dad’s car is not there. “He said that you called him. He said that Carlos couldn’t bring you home, so you asked him. I heard him talking to you on the phone!”

My hands begin to sweat. “That wasn’t me. I never called Dad.”

Mom picks up the phone and dials 9-1-1. She tells the police that her husband is missing and that he might be at the mall. The police ask for information about him, and they say that they will call again soon.

Mom and I wait. We sit quietly in the living room for hours. When a car drives by our house, Mom jumps up to see if it is Dad’s car. It never is.

The sun rises. My eyes want to shut, but I keep them open. Mom looks tired, too. I know that we are thinking the same thing: What if Dad becomes an ice body?

Mom’s shoulders shake, and she puts her head in her hands. I cover her with the blanket on the couch. “Dad will be okay,” I say. But I don’t believe it. “I’m not hungry, but let’s eat something, okay?” I don’t have the energy to cook, so I put bread in the toaster and boil water for tea. Mom lies down on the couch, looking at the window.

Right after we finish breakfast, Mom’s phone rings. “We still can’t find your husband or his car,” the policeman says. “But we will keep looking.” Mom begins to cry again.

“This is good,” I say, hoping to comfort her. “If they didn’t find him yet, he’s probably okay.”

“But what if the police find Dad’s car in a river, like with Alex? It took the police two days to find him. Maybe Dad’s car slipped on ice or…” Mom can’t stop crying. We almost never talk about Alex. But we remember Alex in everything we do. Now we drink tea because he liked coffee. We eat dinner in front of the TV because the table feels empty with three people and four chairs. We keep his old bedroom closed, untouched.

I begin to cry, too. Mom may be right.

After calling Ms. Sato to explain that I have a family emergency, I went upstairs to try to sleep. Mom went to her bedroom, too. But I can’t sleep. I think about Alex. He died last year in a flood. He was 17. It was raining hard, but he wanted to go to his friend’s house. He stayed until the night, and when he drove home, he didn’t see that the river water was above the bridge. The water quickly washed his car into the river. The car flipped over, and he drowned in the water.

After Alex died, my parents fought a lot. Mom asked Dad, “Why did you buy him a car?” and Dad asked Mom, “Why did you let him go out when it was raining?” I stayed in my room and studied for my exams. Slowly, Mom and Dad stopped talking about Alex. They couldn’t find answers for their questions, so they stopped asking questions.

I still miss Alex.

I miss his loud music. I miss his baseball collection. I miss his wide smile. I miss his messy bedroom.

Without thinking, I get out of bed and walk down the hallway to Alex’s old room. When I open the door, I smell Alex’s favorite body spray. I used to hate that body spray. Now the smell makes me feel like Alex is hugging me.

I look around his bedroom. It is exactly the same as one year ago. His homework is still on the desk. His dirty clothes are still on the floor. Even his coffee cup is sitting next to his bed. I lie down on his bed and look at the tree outside his window. This tree had flowers on it when he died. What did he think when he looked at those flowers in the morning on that day?

When I open my eyes, it is dark. Probably 6:00. Remembering I am in Alex’s room, I feel the furniture in front of me until I find his desk lamp. His bad handwriting on his English homework makes me smile.

And then I see another piece of paper next to the homework. This paper has neat handwriting with small letters. Dad’s handwriting. The paper only has three sentences:

I’m sorry, Alex. If I didn’t buy you that car, you would never have died. It’s all my fault.

Part 8>

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The Cold: Part 6

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 6

Carlos arrives at 6:55 p.m. He’s always a little early. Mom gives me a face mask after I put on my jacket. “We don’t know the reason for the ice bodies. Just be safe,” she says.

Carlos drives a used Toyota truck. It is old, but he cleans it every day. The inside smells like pine trees. Carlos is wearing a face mask, too. “You ready?” he asks. He looks at my backpack. “Got my journal and recorder,” I explain. “I’ll take videos with my phone, too.”

It takes 15 minutes for us to drive to the mall. The mall closes at 10:00, so I have about three hours to get information about the ice body from here. “Text me when you’re finished,” Carlos says. His apartment is only five minutes from the mall, so he’ll wait there until I text him. He has not been to a store or a restaurant since the first news story about the ice bodies. Instead, he buys all of his things online. “Better to be safe,” says Carlos.

I enter the mall through the clothes store. At 7 p.m., the mall was always crowded. Even on a Tuesday night, high school students usually come to the mall to look at clothes or get coffee. Now, only a small group of high school girls look at the prom dresses, talking quietly. Half of the mall workers wear face masks. Some construction workers are moving tables out of an old cafe. In the window of a spa, a woman gives an elderly man a bathrobe. Two couples wait outside the movie theater, talking loudly. A young perfume seller sadly packs her perfumes in boxes and hangs a CLOSED sign on her cart. A homeless man sleeps on a bench in the corner of the mall. Everyone looks at me when I walk by. There is almost nobody here, so it is easy to notice other people. I pretend to look at some of the things in the store windows while I walk through the mall. Really, I am looking for something strange.

Everything in the mall looks normal, though. How did an ice body come from inside the mall? I decide to look outside the mall. There is one area in the back with large dumpsters filled with trash. That’s where the ice body was found. The cold air hurts my cheeks. I try to breathe warm air into my face mask and pull my hat lower over my ears. Using my cell phone flashlight, I look around the dumpsters. One rusty dumpster is covered in yellow police tape. The ice body was probably here.

I find a box on the ground and stand on it to see inside the dumpster. The police tape says “DO NOT CROSS.” But if I stand next to the dumpster and look inside, I am not crossing the line. The inside of the dumpster is surprisingly boring. There are only a few empty coffee cups, dead leaves, and broken clothes hangers. I look behind the dumpster, and there is still nothing.

I open my phone to check the time. It is 9:30. I haven’t found anything about the ice bodies. Maybe I should just call Carlos.

But where am I right now? I open Google Maps on my phone to send Carlos my location. I look closer on the map. The dumpsters are right behind a cafe. Is that the cafe that closed?

If the cafe is closed, people wouldn’t notice a dead body. The construction workers aren’t in there the whole day.

I decide not to call Carlos yet. I still have 30 minutes, and I am going to look around the old cafe.

Thankfully, the construction workers are gone. No one is shopping now, and the workers are all cleaning up their stores and getting ready to go home. I quietly go inside the cafe. The lights are off, but enough light is coming in through the plastic that covers the doorway. The construction workers took out all of the tables, chairs, and doors. Half of a long counter is on the right side of the cafe. The other half was broken with a hammer and lies on the ground. I look up. The ceiling is painted with green leaves. I remember this cafe now. I went here on a date in my second year of high school. My date wasn’t fun, but I liked the cafe. I feel sad that I never came back. The cafe was called Green Leaves and decorated like a jungle. Tall plants stood by the heavy wooden doors, and there was a small fountain in the middle of the cafe. Now, there is a circle in the floor. The fountain must have been there.

Behind the half counter, there is a rectangle hole in the wall. It leads to the kitchen. I walk softly to the kitchen. When I am behind the wall, I turn on my cell phone flashlight. Wires hang out of the walls like dead tree branches. They used to connect to stoves and ovens. The kitchen still smells like coffee and cake. On the other side of the kitchen are two doors. One has a small window, and I can see the back parking lot from there. This is where they took the ice body out. The other door is thick and metal. It must be a large refrigerator for Green Leaves’ famous milk tea and fruit cake.

My heart beats faster. I turn the fridge handle, and the door is unlocked. The fridge was turned off. Large metal shelves stretch from floor to ceiling on both sides of the fridge. They are empty, too.

Across from me is one more metal door. This one is unlocked, too. I open it to find a freezer.

A freezer.

The freezer is turned off, but inside there are about twenty bags of ice on the ground. And the ice is still cold.

Part 7>

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The Cold: Part 5

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 5

My phone buzzes, and I wake up. It is 2:45 a.m. I don’t know the phone number, but I answer the call.

“Hello?”

“I need your help.” It is a man’s voice. He is whispering.

“Who is this?” I ask.

“I can’t tell you. April gave me your number. She doesn’t want to talk to any reporters. But I do.” He sounds scared.

I quickly get out of bed and turn on my desk lamp. I open my notebook and say, “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“I saw an ice body.” He pauses. “And I saw where it came from.”

I begin writing down his story.

“Do you remember the news about the ice body behind the shopping mall?” he asks. I remember. It was a 30-year-old man. Trash collectors found him in the dumpster behind the mall. As usual, he was naked, and parts of his body were frozen. His hands and feet were purple, and his ears were black with frostbite. “I walk my dog on the street by the mall every morning. Four people came out of the back of the mall. They were carrying a large metal box. It looked heavy. They dumped the box into the dumpster and carried it back inside.” The man on the phone begins speaking quickly. “I didn’t know it was an ice body! I thought that the metal box was strange, but…”

“Did you see the faces of the four people?” I ask.

“No, I was too far away, and they were wearing face masks.” He pauses. “But when they went back into the mall, one of them opened the door. The back door of the mall is locked with a password. Those people know the password.”

“Did you see them leave the mall? Did they have a car?”

“No. They only went to the dumpster outside the mall, and then they went back inside.”

I have one more question. “Why doesn’t April want to talk to reporters about the ice bodies?”

“She thinks that news stations are killing people… so that the news stations can make more money.”

I roll my eyes. “What do you think about that idea?”

“Well,” he says. “It’s not crazy. The CEOs of WRN and NewsAmerica are both $50 million richer now.”

“Then why are you talking to me? The Observer is a local news station, but we’re still journalists.” I expect him to get angry. When people believe all news is fake, they believe that all journalists are liars.

“I think the CEOs are bad, but I don’t believe you’re bad. You saw an ice body, right? Maybe my story can help save people.”

I need to get to the mall.

There is still a lockdown. The mall is not closed, but the news says that people shouldn’t go out. I can’t drive, and Mom and Dad will definitely not take me to the mall.

I remember Ms. Sato’s words: “We are a news station.  We report real news.  We can’t write an article that says, ‘Maybe the ice bodies are real, but maybe they aren’t.'” She will not be happy with my online research. And the man’s story about the mall body isn’t enough for a full news story. I need to give Ms. Sato a good news story. Or a great one.

I text Priya and Carlos. Can one of you take me to the mall?

Carlos replies quickly. WTF? There’s a lockdown. Why do you want to go shopping?

I reply: It’s for a news story. I’ll explain later.

Priya replies a few minutes later: let’s go!!!!!

And then she sends another message: …but my dad probably won’t let me go…

And then another: but who cares! we’ll find a way.

Priya lives with her father. It’s different from my situation. I live at home because I don’t have enough money to move out. She lives at home because her father was paralyzed last year. He can’t move his legs, so Priya helps with housework.

We both want to move out.

Carlos sends another message. I don’t want to go inside the mall, but I can drive you, Ari. Unlike me and Priya, Carlos has a car and an apartment.

Thank you!!!!!! Is tonight okay? I still don’t know if my parents will let me go, but I make plans anyway.

Carlos will pick me up at 7 p.m., so I go downstairs to tell my parents, thinking of a reason to go. They are watching TV in the living room.

“So I need to go to the mall tonight for work,” I say strongly.

“Your boss wants you to go to the mall?” Dad asks.

“Yes,” I lie. Ms. Sato didn’t ask me to go, but I’m going for work. Close enough. “I know you’re worried. So I asked Carlos to go with me.” Mom likes Carlos. He likes to bake and brings a pie or pastries every time he visits.

“Well, if Carlos is going…” Mom says.

Dad frowns. He stands up and walks upstairs. “Do whatever you want.”

I didn’t get a “yes” from Mom or Dad, but I didn’t get a “no” either. I’m not going to argue.

Part 6>

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The Cold: Part 4

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 4

After breakfast with Mom, I go upstairs.  It’s only 6:30, but I can’t wait any more.  I turn on my computer and desk lamp.  My desk faces the window, and I look outside at the dark winter morning.  A thin pink ribbon of light stretches behind the mountains.  It will be a beautiful sunrise soon.

Where should I begin?  A journalist finds the best information from many different people, so I decide to look on different social networking sites to see who is writing about the bodies.

There are more social media posts than expected.

On just one site, hundreds of posts appear when I search “dead bodies found outside.”  It seems that on the Internet, people are using the name #icebodies.  I enter #icebodies into the search bar, and thousands of posts appear.

Many posts are not interesting.

@yuki925:  OMG!  This is crazy!  What’s happening?!?!?!

@chessman:  thanks #icebodies for this lockdown!!  no work for a week!!!!!!

I read the posts for one hour.  I begin to see a pattern.  About half of the people are scared of the ice bodies, and about half of the people do not believe the ice bodies.  Many people have strong ideas and opinions.

@kycm71524:  The ice bodies must be prisoners from jail.  The jails did not want to pay for the prisoners, so they killed the prisoners.  Wake up, America!  Our jails are evil. 

@aaa888:  The ice bodies are not real.  The news is boring, so journalists made a fake story.  They want to get famous.

@yestolove:  people are dying because they are sad… their hearts are cold, so their bodies are cold…  we need more kindness!!!

@jimmywilder1980:  I never saw an ice body.  They are NOT real.  Let’s go back to work.

There are so many ideas.  Many stupid ideas, too.  I count the “believe” posts and the “don’t believe” posts.  It takes four hours, but I finish.

There are 3,862 “believe” posts.  Most of the “believe” posts are not interesting.  They only say, “I’m scared!” or “Why did these people die?”  About 25% of the “believe” posts have ideas about why the ice bodies appeared.  Most of the reasons are about disease.  People think that there is a new disease like COVID-19.  Some of the reasons are about the government.  People think that the president wants to kill these people.  Or another country is trying to kill Americans.

There are 433 “don’t believe” posts.  Most of the “don’t believe” posts don’t have a reason.  Some of the “don’t believe” posts say that the ice bodies are fake images from the government, from the news, or from other countries.  Interesting.  The government and other countries are reasons for both “believe” and for “don’t believe” posts.

Finally, there are only 17 posts from people who saw the ice bodies.  I want to send a message to these people.  Their stories are the most important.

@april.may:  Do NOT go near Parker Street today.  There are two ice bodies there.  I called the police, and the police were scared too.  Stay safe.

Parker Street.  That’s the street where I saw the bodies.  Is @april.may the angry woman from that day?  I click on her username and send her a message.

Hello, my name is Ari Brooks.  I am a journalist.  I saw the ice bodies near Parker Street.  I was on the bus that day.  I want to write about the ice bodies for my job.  Could we talk about what you saw?  My phone number is 555-739-2080.  Please call me any time.

I sent a similar message to the other 16 people.  I hope they will reply soon.

It is 3:55.  I have to call Ms. Sato at 4:00.  She wants to talk with me about today’s work.

I realize that I am still in my pajamas.  I put on a white sweater and gray jacket, and I quickly brush my hair.  There is only one minute before the call, so I stay in my fuzzy snowman pajama pants and turn on my video camera.  Ms. Sato joins the video call right at 4:00.

Ms. Sato starts talking about work right away.  She does not have a “small talk” personality.  “So, what stories did you get today?”

I feel embarrassed.  I spent a lot of time reading the social media posts.  I didn’t talk to anyone.  I sent the messages at 3:30, so of course no one replied.

“Well…  I found a lot of interesting opinions on social media.”  I opened my notebook and began to read my data.  “I read 4,312 posts about the ice bodies.  3,862 of these people believe that the ice bodies are real.  433 of these—”

Ms. Sato sighs.  “Of course the ice bodies are real.  We are a news station.  We report real news.  We can’t write an article that says, ‘Maybe the ice bodies are real, but maybe they aren’t.’” 

Part 5>

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The Cold: Part 3

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 3

“I can’t believe it.”  Dad comes into my bedroom.  “Why did you take the job this morning?”

I am confused.  Dad wanted me to get a job.  He often said, “Why can’t you find a job?  You need to try harder and apply to more companies.”  But now he is frowning, and his arms are crossed.  From my desk chair, Dad looks much taller than me, but when I stand up, he is the same height.

“I did what you wanted,” I argue.

Dad sighs.  “Come on, Ari, think.  There is a lockdown now.  Your mom is crying in the bathroom.”

“But journalism is a dangerous job!  The world is a dangerous place!”

Dad’s green eyes look sharply at the floor.  Then, without replying, he walks out of the room.  This is normal for Dad.  Since I was thirteen years old, he has always been thinking of my mistakes.  Everything I do is a mistake to Dad.  And everything I do is dangerous to Mom.

I stop thinking of my parents and look at my computer.  The screen glows blue.  I am waiting for Ms. Sato’s email, but it doesn’t come.  I got the job… right?

Feeling worried, I text my best friends, Carlos and Priya.  I didn’t tell them about my job yet. 

Priya replies immediately.  yes!!!!!!!  i knew you could do it, queen!!!!

Carlos replies right after.  Are you going to write about the bodies?

I start typing I think so, but my boss hasn’t—, when an email appears on my screen.  An email from Ms. Sato.  I thought she was going to send an email only to me, but she sent it to nine other people.  She wrote:

Hello everyone,

As you know, many news companies are contacting us.  They all want to know about the bodies.  Sadly, we do not have a lot of information for them, and it is difficult to leave our houses during the lockdown.  You ten are the only employees who agreed to leave your houses, so you will be very busy.  I attached a PDF to this email.  It has details about your schedule for tomorrow.  Please look at it and let me know if you have any questions.

Also, I want to welcome Ari Brooks to The Observer.

-Emily Sato

I open the PDF.  Each journalist’s name is next to a different location.  A journalist called Tatiana Vasquez will visit the police station.  A journalist called Jimmy Cheng will visit the family of the first person who died.  What interesting place will I go to?  I look for my schedule.

Ari Brooks  /  January 23, 2024  /  Internet

The Internet?!  Ms. Sato just told me that I will need to go outside!  That my job will be dangerous!  Why don’t I get to go to interesting places like the other journalists?

Maybe it is because I am new.  Maybe Ms. Sato doesn’t trust me yet.

When I was in fifth grade, my class performed Alice in Wonderland in front of our families.  I wanted to be Alice, but instead, I was the Queen’s servant.  I was a playing card.  When my teacher told me about my part, I cried until the teacher called my mother.  When Mom came to school, she wiped my tears with her sleeve and said, “There are no small parts—only small actors.  Be the best playing card you can be.”  At the time, I didn’t understand the meaning of “small actors,” but her words helped me.  I decided to practice my part every day.  Mom and I made my costume out of cardboard and painted a big red heart on my face.

On the day of the play, I yelled my only line, “Off with her head!” more loudly than anyone else.  Actually, I was too loud.  Some of the parents laughed.  But Mom smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.  Dad was smiling, too.  And Alex, too…

Now I know about “small actors” and “big actors,” and I will not be a small actor at my job.  Even if I have to search for information on the internet about the bodies, I will work as hard as I can.

I will find better information than anyone.

I wake up at 5:00 a.m., and I can’t fall asleep again.  My work does not start until nine, so I decide to make myself breakfast.  Usually I eat cereal or something easy, but this morning I will make pancakes, eggs, and sausage.  I walk downstairs quietly, stepping on the right side of the stairs because the left side squeaks.

Surprisingly, Mom is already awake.  She sits at the kitchen table, looking at her phone.  She notices me when I turn on the kitchen lights.  Even more surprisingly, her voice is cheerful.  “I woke up early to make you breakfast.  I haven’t started making it, though.  I thought you were going to sleep later.  Are you excited for your first day of work?  What time are you leaving?”

I forgot to tell her that I will work from home today.  Does she know?  Is that why she is happy today?

“I’m actually not going out today.  Ms. Sato wants me to search for information on the Internet.” 

Mom jumps up and claps.

“Don’t get excited.  I’ll probably go out soon.  Our schedules change every day.”  I expect Mom’s smile to disappear.

Mom walks over and gives me a hug.  “I am just happy that you are home today.  Want me to make you lunch?  I’m working from home today, too.”  Is she not upset?

“Sure.  I’ll be pretty busy, though, so is it okay if I eat in my room?  I want to do a good job on this research.”

“Only if you’re okay with this!”  Mom takes out a small box from a kitchen drawer.  I untie the purple ribbon and open it slowly.  Inside is a black pen with a silver clip.

“It’s a recording pen,” Mom says.  “I’m sorry you’re not able to use it today, but I hope you’ll have interviews real soon.”  She grabs my hand.  The dry winter air often makes her hands bleed, and three of her fingers are covered with Band-Aids.  They feel rough against my skin.  “I’m sorry about yesterday.  I still don’t want you to go out until the lockdown is over, but you’re an adult, and I trust you.”

I squeeze her hands back.

“But just be safe.”

Mom’s gift is so kind.  I don’t want to tell her that I already have a recorder.  “This is perfect, thank you.  And I’ll be safe.  I promise.”

Part 4>

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The Cold: Part 2

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 2

When I get home, the house is dark.  Mom and Dad left this evening to stay with my grandmother in Pennsylvania for the weekend.  I usually don’t spend much time with them, but tonight my house feels too quiet.  Too dark.

I lock the door, turn all the lights on, and put a frozen pizza in the oven.

While I wait for the pizza, I remember that Mom sent me a text message two hours ago.  “How was the interview?”  I reply, “same as before,” and throw the phone on the couch.

Really, I’m lucky.  I’m not the two people on the side of the road.

I turn on the TV.  The laughter of children in the theme park commercial makes the house feel less empty.

Suddenly, a red bar appears on the bottom of the screen, with the familiar screeching noise that plays during a bad weather warning.  Words move across the red bar: Lockdown.  Lockdown.  Residents in Clayton, please stay in your homes.  30 bodies were found dead today.  It is not safe to go out.  Please stay in your homes until the lock down ends.  If you see anything suspicious, please call your local police station.  Lockdown.  Lockdown.  The message repeats. 

I turn the TV channel to the news station.  The red bar is still on the screen, so I cannot hear the news reporter.  I turn on the subtitles.  They read: Today, thirty bodies were found dead around Clayton.  Most of these bodies were found outside by roads and in fields, and a few were found in parking lots in the city.  All thirty people were naked.  No one has seen these people being killed, but police ask anyone with information to contact them now.  Police believe that there is a group of killers in our area.  There are no cuts on the bodies, so police do not know how the murderers are killing.  Doctors wonder if there is a new drug or a new disease that affects the brain.  Maybe it causes people to take off their clothes and stay in the cold until they die.  Because we do not know what is causing these deaths, the government has asked everyone to stay in their homes as much as possible.  It is not safe to go out.

I turn the TV off and open my phone.  Mom called five times.  I call her back.

“Ari, are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine.  I guess you saw the news about the bodies?”

“Dad and I are coming home right now,” Mom says.  “We’ll be back around 2 a.m.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to stay at Grandma’s?” I ask.  “I’m fine, really.  I won’t go out.  There’s enough food at home.”

“We’re coming.  Just don’t go out at all, okay?  I don’t want…”  She stops talking, and we are both quiet.  I know that she is talking about Alex.

“Okay,” I say.  “Be safe coming back.”

I hang up the phone as the timer beeps.  I bring my pizza into the living room and turn on the news channel again.  Here is what they know about the deaths so far:

  1. Thirty people between the ages of 25-80 died.
  2. All thirty people were naked.
  3. All thirty people were found outside.
  4. No one saw the killers.
  5. They did not seem to die because of drugs, guns, or knives.
  6. None of the thirty people knew each other before they died.

On the news, there is a smartphone video of three teenagers lying in their bathing suits in the snow.  Suddenly, they sit up and scream at the camera, and the person holding the camera runs away laughing.

The news reporter repeats that everyone must stay inside and that it is dangerous to make videos like this.

I turn off the TV, and the living room is silent.  The snow shines coldly under the front porch light.

By Sunday evening, fifty-two people were found dead.  Mom and I spent the weekend watching the news.  Dad stayed in the garage to finish building a new bookshelf.

“I hope this is not like coronavirus again,” Mom says while we watch the news Monday morning.  “I can’t do another lockdown.  How will we go to the store and to work?”

“Mom,” I say slowly.  “I saw two of the bodies…”

Mom turns off the TV.  “When?  Where?”

“On my way home from the interview—well, the interview that Mr. Jones didn’t come to.  You know, I don’t think it’s a disease.  Everyone was naked.  And…”  I pause.  “They looked like they were in the cold for a long time.  Maybe they died from the cold.”

“Why didn’t anyone notice them?”

“I don’t know.”

I want to believe that these people died by accident.  Maybe they were making stupid videos for the internet, going out naked in the snow.  Maybe they did take drugs that the doctors couldn’t find.

But fifty-two totally different people…

My phone rings.  It’s the number of The Observer, the newspaper company I was supposed to interview at last Friday.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Ari Brooks?” the familiar soft voice of the receptionist says.  “Emily Sato, our managing editor, wants to speak with you.  May I put her on the phone?”

As soon as I say yes, a strong iron-like voice says, “Ms. Brooks, are you still interested in a journalist position at The Observer?”

I am shocked.  Where is Mr. Jones?  I say, “Yes, but I thought that Mr. Jones—”

“To be honest, we do not know where Mr. Jones is,” Ms. Sato speaks before I can finish talking.  “But as you know, right now we need journalists.”  She sighs.  “Since there is a lockdown now, I can’t invite you to the office, so I will email you a link for a video interview.  Can you interview now?”

I look down at my pajamas.  “I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“It’s okay.  This interview can be casual.”

I quickly run upstairs and put a sweater over my pajamas and tie my hair into a ponytail.  When I open the video chat, Ms. Sato is wearing a gray suit and is sitting in a home office.  A casual interview?  Sure.

“This will be short,” Ms. Sato says.  “One of our journalists, Tom, was one of the fifty-two who were…  who died.  We do not know if Mr. Jones is alive, and we already do not have enough staff.  The whole country wants to know more information about the people who died, but we don’t have much information to tell them.”  Ms. Sato crossed her arms.  “I called five other people who applied for this journalist job, and none of them want it.  They don’t want to leave their houses.”

Great, I think.  I’m Ms. Sato’s sixth choice.

“This journalist position could be dangerous.  You will have to leave the house to learn more about the people who died.  You can make calls and emails from home, but sometimes you will need to go to the place where the bodies were found.”

I think about Mom.  She will be upset if I take this job.

But this is my chance.

“I’ll do it,” I say.

“Great.”  Ms. Sato’s voice sounds happy, but she does not smile.  “I’ll send you the job offer letter with your salary and the job description.  After you sign it, I will send you Tom’s notes before he…”  She does not finish the sentence.

“Thank you,” I say gently.  “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

Mom hears that I finished my video interview and comes into the living room.  Her face is rock hard.  “Please don’t take the job.”  She was probably listening to my interview from the kitchen.

“This was my only job offer,” I argue.  “Besides, the lockdown is just for people who go out for fun.  Most people still go to their jobs.”

“But we don’t know why those people died!  What if you—”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Alex was careful, too.”  Mom’s eyes were red.

Neither of us says anything.  I look down at the floor, and Mom leaves the room.

Part 3>

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The Cold: Part 1

The Cold (An Easy English Story): Part 1

My heart is beating fast.

I wait alone in a room.  There are newspapers on the wall and a big leather sofa in the corner.

I sit on a small, uncomfortable chair by the door.

Waiting for that door to open.

“Ms. Ari Brooks?” a woman says while she opens the door with her cherry red nails.  “Mr. Jones… did not come to the office today.  Can you come back tomorrow for an interview?”  The receptionist stepped through the door.  She looks annoyed, but she politely smiles.

How can this happen to me again?

“Actually,” says the receptionist, “Many of our staff are not here today.  It’s January, so maybe they are sick or have the flu…”

“I understand,” I say.  “Please ask Mr. Jones to call me when he feels better.”  I try to smile, but I want to cry. 

I leave the newspaper office and get on the bus.  I want to buy a car, but I don’t have any money.  I am 22 years old, but I live with my parents.  I graduated from college with a degree in journalism, but I can’t find a job.

My sadness becomes anger.  Why didn’t Mr. Jones contact me to reschedule the interview?  Even if he is sick, he can still send a short email.

This is not the first time.  My interviewer last week did not come either.

People can be so rude.

The bus ride home is quiet.  The only other person on the bus is an elderly woman with a cowboy hat.  She gets on the bus at one stop and gets off at the next.

This newspaper company was my last interview appointment.  I applied to twenty companies, got rejected by eighteen, and got an interview for two.  Both interviewers had to “reschedule” for an unknown reason.  This one didn’t even come to the interview.

I look out the window of the bus.  In Clayton, there is a small city and a lot of farmland.  Cows stand close to each other in the field beside the highway.  It is hard to count them in the snow, and their black spots look like many watching eyes.

Screech!

The bus stops suddenly, and my black bag flies off the seat.  Many cars behind us honk their horns angrily.  A woman next to us rolls down her window and takes out her cell phone, recording a video of the bus driver and yelling horrible things.

The bus driver, a man with a large belly and a small gray moustache, does not respond to the woman.  He rushes down the bus steps and runs to the side of the road.

The bus driver is tapping something on the ground and shouting.  He calls for help and takes off his jacket, laying it over something I cannot see.

The angry woman from before runs over and begins to make a phone call.  She squats on the ground and covers her eyes while talking to the person on the phone.

I wonder if there was a car accident.  Is there a dead animal or a dead person on the side of the road?  The woman is crying now.  She hands her phone to the bus driver, who continues talking to the person on the phone. 

Thinking it is probably a person who died in some accident, I stand up and walk to the front of the bus to see what happened.

Most people do not want to see a dead body.  I don’t want to see it either.  But if I want to be a successful journalist, I need to get used to seeing terrible things sometimes.  It is our job to tell the world about these terrible things, hoping that the world can learn how to be more careful.

As I get closer to the front of the bus, I see a head of blond hair next to where the bus driver is standing.  A man, in his late forties.  His face is paler than his hair.  He looks like he was in the cold for a long time.  Did no one notice him until now?

I stand up on the bus seat to see more of the accident.  Was he riding a motorcycle?  Was there a helmet or a bike on the side of the road?

From his pale face, a pale neck appears.  Then pale shoulders.  Then a pale chest.  The rest is covered by the bus driver’s jacket.  Two blue-white feet stick straight out from the jacket.

This man died naked.

Sirens cry in the distance.  Soon, two police cars and an ambulance show up.  A police officer interviews the bus driver and the woman with the cell phone.  Another officer takes pictures of the body on a camera.  She calls to the other officer and points to a tree next to the road.

Among the tree roots that stretch out from the tree and disappear into the snow-covered ground, two legs appear from behind the tree.  Like the other body, the legs are naked, and they do not move.  Unlike the other body, both legs are dark purple.

Part 2>