The stage lights of *Britain’s Got Talent* burned brighter than ever that night. The cameras panned across an audience ripe with anticipation, faces glowing in the electric buzz of live television.
The host’s voice echoed:
> “Please welcome… **Aaron Marshall!**”
A lanky figure in black jeans and a vintage band tee strode onto the stage. His long hair framed pale eyes that flicked nervously toward the judges.
Simon Cowell leaned forward. Amanda Holden smiled warmly. “Hello, Aaron,” she said. “What are you performing for us tonight?”
Aaron’s voice came out calm, almost too calm. “A song everyone knows. A little something from *Frozen.*”
Amanda’s grin widened instantly. “*Let It Go!* Oh, I love that song!”
“Yes,” Aaron said softly. “But I’ll be doing… my own version.”
—
### The First Note
The familiar piano intro began, pure and glittering, echoing through the theatre.
Amanda closed her eyes, visibly pleased. The audience swayed gently, ready for the Disney nostalgia.
Then Aaron opened his mouth.
The sound that emerged wasn’t a note—it was a roar. A guttural, tearing growl that rolled through the theatre like a thunderclap.
“LET IT GOOOOOO!”
The crowd jolted. Amanda’s smile shattered.
“What the—?!” Simon muttered, half rising in his seat.
Aaron’s performance tore the air apart. He stomped the stage, voice vibrating between agony and ecstasy, turning Disney’s anthem into something primal and apocalyptic.
Within seconds, Amanda slammed her red buzzer. The X blazed crimson. “Stop! Please stop!” she shouted.
But Aaron didn’t.
His eyes, wild and burning, fixed on her. “Can’t! Hold! It! Back! Anymore!” he screamed, each word hitting like a hammer.
—
### The Shift
At first, the audience laughed.
Then something strange happened.
The laughter died down—not from discomfort, but from fascination.
A few people started clapping. Then humming. Then singing.
A strange duality unfolded: Aaron’s demonic voice clashing against hundreds of melodic voices trying to restore the song’s innocence.
It shouldn’t have worked.
But it did.
The heavy riffs from his backing track melted into the audience’s chorus, twisting the moment into something hypnotic.
A bizarre harmony—light and dark, beauty and chaos—danced together on that stage.
Even Simon’s jaw tightened, torn between disgust and awe.
Amanda, though, looked pale. Her fingers dug into the armrest.
—
### The Blackout
Halfway through, the theatre lights flickered.
Then died.
Gasps filled the room. The massive LED screen behind Aaron glitched, freezing on a distorted image of Elsa mid-scream.
Then—darkness.
Only Aaron’s voice remained, echoing through the black void.
> “The cold never bothered me anyway…”
But it didn’t sound like him anymore.
It was layered, warped—like a hundred voices were singing the line in unison, ancient and dissonant.
When the lights came back, Aaron stood perfectly still. The audience fell silent.
Behind him, the screen now showed something new—footage that hadn’t been programmed.
Grainy black-and-white video.
A snow-covered landscape.
Figures moving through the blizzard, faces half-buried in frost.
The crowd murmured. The technicians scrambled backstage.
Amanda whispered, “What is that?”
Aaron smiled. “That’s where it began.”
—
### The Story Behind the Song
Aaron took a step forward. “You all know *Let It Go* as a song about freedom. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was a warning?”
The judges exchanged uneasy looks.
Simon cleared his throat. “Aaron, what are you talking about?”
Aaron’s eyes locked on Amanda. “Do you know what they found in Norway in 1954?”
Amanda blinked. “I—I don’t—”
“An expedition,” Aaron continued. “Thirteen scientists frozen solid in a cave system beneath the Arctic Circle. The last recording they made was… a song. *This* song.”
Laughter rippled nervously through the audience.
Simon frowned. “Okay, I think we’re done here—”
The lights flickered again.
This time, frost began to spread across the stage floor. Actual frost.
Amanda recoiled. “Is this some kind of trick?”
Aaron’s expression darkened. “No trick. I’ve just been finishing what they started.”
—
### The Unfreezing
The sound returned—low, rhythmic, otherworldly. The backing track twisted into something that no human instruments could make.
Aaron spread his arms, his voice splitting into harmonies that layered on themselves unnaturally.
The temperature in the theatre plummeted. Audience members exhaled clouds of breath.
Then came the voice—not Aaron’s.
A woman’s voice. High, clear, and cold.
> *“Conceal, don’t feel…”*
Amanda clutched her chest. “That— that’s Idina Menzel’s voice,” she whispered.
Simon’s face drained of color. “No, it’s not.”
The sound wasn’t coming from the speakers—it was coming from *everywhere.*
The air itself was singing.
The LED screen behind Aaron shimmered once more, and a shape began forming within it—feminine, spectral, woven from light and frost.
The apparition’s mouth moved perfectly in sync with the voice.
> *“Let it go…”*
—
### The Meltdown
Screams erupted as the glass panels on the judges’ table cracked.
Aaron’s microphone melted in his hand. His eyes rolled back, and when he spoke again, it wasn’t words. It was pure, sustained sound—a single note that split the decibel monitors.
Simon ducked under the table. Amanda stumbled backward, slipping on the frost that coated the stage.
The audience began to rush for the exits. But the doors—locked. Frozen shut.
Security pounded on them to no avail.
Aaron raised his hand, eyes glowing faintly blue. His breath came in white plumes. “You wanted the song,” he said, his voice doubled, echoing with another tone underneath. “Now you’ll hear it.”
The spectral figure behind him reached out of the screen—literally out—its fingers of light brushing the back of his neck.
When it touched him, Aaron gasped. Then smiled.
And vanished.
—
### The Silence
The lights snapped back. The frost melted.
Aaron was gone. The screens blank.
The stage sat empty—except for a single microphone, standing upright in the middle, its metal base still rimmed with ice.
Simon stood slowly, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
Amanda didn’t answer. She was staring at her phone.
It was playing a video—automatically, though she hadn’t touched it.
A shaky live stream. Aaron, standing in an Arctic wasteland. His hair frozen white.
He looked into the camera.
> “It’s not over,” he said. “The song wasn’t written. It was found.”
Then the feed cut.
Weeks later, fans began claiming to hear strange echoes when playing *Let It Go*—a faint male growl under the final verse, whispering words no one could quite make out.
Disney denied involvement. The clip was scrubbed from the internet.
But one night, Amanda Holden woke to a sound outside her window.
A man’s voice. Soft, distant, singing through the fog.
> *“The cold never bothered me anyway…”*
She looked out.
And saw footprints in the frost, leading away—melting slowly into nothing.