"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
”Didn’t anyone ever tell you Santa won’t come when you are awake?” The Grinch says, coming to stand before you. He finds you. Of course he does. Whether you were dropped at his feet, standing with a gun in your hand, or hiding behind locked doors. It doesn’t matter. You may not have magic, but that doesn’t mean there’s no magic in this world.
He shakes his head slightly, those green eyes blazing a trail back and forth. One flick of his wrist, and any weapon you may have is flicked away from you, the doors of your hiding place blown away. “We aren’t here to hurt anyone, unless you get in our way. But since you are up…” Again, another flick of his wrist, and a pair of antler’s appears in his hand. It’s ridiculous, actually, as this green demon holds a pair of headband antlers in his hand. The kind you can buy at any and every store this time of year. “We could use your help. Santa’s elves are swarming now, and really, we are simply trying to do everyone a favor.” His voice is smooth, you notice, hypnotizing. It almost begins to make sense, the things he says. You can understand, you may even believe him. He pauses for a moment though, obviously listening. You hear it too now. There’s commotion everywhere. The sound of the demons cackling, the jingle of bells that must belong to Santa’s elves. Everything rips and crackles and pops outside. The world is fighting over Christmas. You have no idea if you are the only house awake, but that doesn’t seem to matter. You are the one the Grinch is interested in. “See, Christmas has become so terribly commercial. It’s all about the tree and the presents and whose house has the most lights. It should be only about family.” There’s something wrong in that voice though. Beneath your desire to believe The Grinch, something tastes wrong and bitter. There’s just that hint of hell in his words. But still, no matter his real intentions, perhaps he makes a good point? “We’ve left all the food, and taken all the commercial junk. In the morning, we want the whole word to wake up to the only thing that matters. Food on the table, surrounded by family.” “I’ll tell you what. Just to prove my point, I promise no harm will come to your family, no matter what you choose. But you should send them off to bed now. The reindeer know not to hurt anyone sleeping.” He pauses, and holds the reindeer antlers out just a bit more. It’s clear he wants you to take them, put them on, and help. “So, what do you say, friend? Want to help us save Christmas?”
Blazed and Hestia have been eliminated from this quest. For the next 2 real life weeks, you will randomly see The Grinch walking around Beqanna and you will scream rather loudly. No one else will see The Grinch.
CHOICE 1: Go with the Grinch
If you choose this option, the reindeer demons will accompany you on your journey from here on out, and you may power play them
You are to help them destroy Christmas by raiding all the Christmas goodies (except food) from at least 2, and no more than 3, houses on your street
The world is at war – your fight will not be an easy one. You should encounter obstacles on your journey (guard dogs, other people awake with shotguns, whatever you want). In the last house, you must encounter Santa’s elves (you can start this fight, but do not end it)
The antlers give you limited Dark Magic – you may perform no more than two acts of magic and the damage will be minimal (you can smash a box, not a wall) – for this round only
CHOICE 2: Run/Fight
If you choose this option, Santa’s elves will come to your aid. You may power play them, but you must get out of the house before the elves notice you need help
In this option, you can either simply try to flee, or you can try to work against The Grinch and save all the Christmas goodies
You must run past/fight the demons in at least 2, and no more than 3, houses on your street
The world is at war – your fight will not be an easy one. You should encounter obstacles on your journey (guard dogs, other people awake with shotguns, whatever you want). Outside the last house, you must encounter reindeer demons (you can start this fight, but do not end it)
The elves have limited Light Magic – you may ask the elves to perform no more than two acts of magic and the damage will be minimal (you can smash a box, not a wall) – for this round only
Replies are due Monday, December 9th at 9:00am EST
If the elves forgot useful rules, or you have questions, please PM or post on the OOC board
The Grinch steps out before the staircase just as the duo reaches the last step, causing them to flail and nearly tumble right on top of the reeking figure. Utterly flummoxed, Xiah barely has a mind to utilize her weapon before the Grinch flicks his wrist and sends her rolling pin flying. Well, so much for self defense.
Jude snorts and crosses her arms at the Grinch’s suggestion, Xiah knows she’d rather die than be in his collection. Clearing her throat pointedly, the latter scours her brain for a peaceful way to decline. At the moment however, there’s not much room to speak; the Grinch soaks up every second available to advertise his cheesy antlers, antlers her children wore every day around this time of year. Her lips part to disappoint His Greenness, but then his smooth voice plays tricks on her ears and she just can’t quite squeeze a word in edgewise.
When Jude moves to obey his final command, however, Xiah is roused from the hypnosis. Jude would never back down so easily, become so subdued. Snatching the woman’s arm, Xiah frowns up at her; Jude’s eyes beg to stay, yet her body is no longer her own. Whimpering wordlessly, Xiah stumbles up the steps after her, and without thinking, softly kisses her goodbye. No murder this time. No vampires. Just them.
It ends all too quickly when the Grinch shoves the reindeer antlers ever further towards her, and whisks Jude involuntarily into bed. Eyes staring after the onyx woman, Xiah’s breathing becomes rapid. Snapping her silver eyes to the Grinch, words spit from her mouth like tongues of fire.
“I’m no friend of yours, not when you break Jude’s spirit like that.” Turning to flee without a formal goodbye, Xiah prays that her supposed children are truly asleep; she knows them not, but in this world, their lives must be important. As the Grinch begins his evil cackle just behind her, Xiah breaks a sweat, feet pumping harder, eyes scanning the house for any way of escape.
Coming to the end of a corridor, the woman stifles a noise of terror when her only option is the window. Fists curling instinctually, Xiah double steps forward and throws her weight against the single pane glass, shattering it on her first attempt. Knuckles throbbing (and bleeding too, though she does not notice), Xiah gingerly removes herself from the house. Just as she lowers herself by her fingertips off of the windowsill, the Grinch rounds the hallway corner, and Xiah releases herself quite messily.
Falling about five feet (she vaguely remembers not being able to afford a large house, though the memory is utterly foreign) Xiah lands on her feet before tumbling inelegantly into a small drift of snow. There’s not much of the white stuff here, but it’s enough to send one hand into a frozen hell, and to sooth her window-punching hand.
Collecting herself rapidly, Xiah brushes the snow off of her hands via her cheesy red PJ pants. As she stumbles blindly away from the chaos inside of her house, the woman slowly realises that the chaos is everywhere.
Little elves in jingly hats oppose the ridiculous demons on every sidewalk, and it seems that she is not the only one to have woken due to the commotion. Hands flying to her ears at the bang of a gun, Xiah shakes her head incessantly, momentarily succumbing to the terror of the scene.
C’mon Xi, you’ve been through worse. The Mistress was worse than this. You can do this. This is just a dream, you came back last time remember? Just keep going and it will all be okay.
Inhaling shakily, Xiah raises her newly tear-striped face. A small sort of bravery begins glowing in her stormy eyes, and with a drag of the back of her hand across her ebony face, the woman starts to run.
Mrs. Walters stands on the deck of the first house she passes, screaming profanities at both elves and demons alike. When the old lady spots her young neighbour, she raises a hand and whips a lamp head towards Xiah with an unbelievable strength, screaming: “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU ACCURSED LESBIAN! THIS IS GOD’S PUNISHMENT FOR THE WHORE-WIFE OF YOURS!”
Screaming herself, Xiah lunges to the ground, arms protecting her head. When nothing hits her, the woman peeks out from beneath her arms to see an elf, hand extended, holding the lamp-head stationary in the air.
So magic does exist here. Great.
“Come now little friend, help us! The Grinch is ruining Christmas, and we could use the reinforcements.” The elf’s squeaky little voice brings a smirk to Xiah’s face, but at the mention of the Grinch, she snarls.
“All right, I’ll help you win against that bastard.” Xiah bounces to her feet, fire in her eyes. “Thanks for that, by the way. Mrs. Walters was never my biggest fan.” The elf nods silently, allowing the lamp-head to fall. Gesturing towards the next house on the street, the elf goes at a sprint towards it, followed by Xiah.
Reaching the front entrance, Xiah tugs at the doorknob, but to no avail.
“Oh c’mon, I can hear the little assholes in there!”
“Step aside, human.”
Doing as the elf asks, she watches in fascination as the green-clothed dwarf extends a hand towards the knob, and click, unlocks it. She thinks she sees him smirking at her amazement, but Xiah pretends it’s just her imagination.
Tumbling into the reindeer-ruined house, Xiah gives her best impression of a battle cry, small hands raised in a kind of adorable boxing position. Just as the duo reach the living room, however, the final demon zips up the chimney, gifts clutched in its paws, a grin plastered on its stupid face.
“Fuck! We’re too late.” Slamming the flat of her hand against a wall, Xiah ignores the elf’s urgent warnings and plunges back into the cool winter night. Fire rolling through her veins, she races to the third house, only to encounter a horde of reindeer demons waiting for her.
Stopping so quickly she nearly falls on her face, Xiah dares not move, or even breathe; the little bastards look at her with an identical grin on their faces, one that she now decides is the creepiest expression she has ever seen. Extending her arms tentatively as though a cop had told her to put her hands in the air, Xiah’s left foot inches backward, and then stops.
Just at that moment, one demon’s head tilts to the side with a disgusting snap before they all begin advancing towards her.
So much for saving Christmas.
You won't have any friends, and I'll live in a room With flowers on the walls, and golden doorknobs
He was trembling as the door was ripped off its hinges, his eyes finding the glowing orbs that couldn't quite be called eyes and yellowed nightmare grin before shrinking back into the corner. He couldn't help but search the pantry for something to protect himself with, to save himself, he just felt so cold and small and this was going to be the day he died, he just knew it - but even as he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the darkness of death, even as his skin crawled and his body was wracked with chills, he found himself still very much aware of himself and of the harsh breaths of the demons. His eyes slowly opened back up, and the chills slowly seemed to leave his body as the Grinch's smile slowly closed.
It was news to him that they were not here for harm; his childhood home was a mess, the tree was a disaster, and the presents he and his mom had wrapped so carefully were broken and charred, and he felt as if he were in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He was only a child, one who should be in bed, dreaming about hot cocoa and presents and a white Christmas, but instead he was huddled in a pantry, moments away from what could determine his life or his death, and was he really getting offered a pair of antlers, was this a joke, was he really being spared? These antlers, they had shown up out of nowhere, and he could remember seeing what seemed to be the same pair in the grocery store the other day with his mom, why would such a monster offer this to him?
“We could use your help...”
What would've sent chills down his spine moments earlier now made his head feel fuzzy, off, and the more he tried to tear his eyes away from the Grinch's the more they stayed locked on. The more he talked, the more the situation he was in seemed to make sense; of course, this holiday was so commercial, presents were just a social construct and family was the only thing that mattered, of course they should take it down, how could he refuse? He was too young to fight the powerful persuasion, to tear himself away from the magic that the Grinch was using over him. He was oh-so malleable at this age, perfect for twisting and bending to the demons' will, mind not developed enough to truly fathom how wrong this all was, now that the Grinch had so eloquently explained himself. He could hear the buzzing laughter of the other demons, obviously amused with something, but it seemed to be barely penetrating the fog swirling around his head.
"I will help you."
The words were off, the tone ever-so-slightly robotic, influenced by magic and a bent will. He took the antlers, a gasp slipping past his lips as electricity swarmed his veins, filling him as they rested on his head. Something told him, through the fog, that these antlers would only come off when they were ready to, and something else whispered that they wouldn't be off for a while. He felt something, not quite hands and not quite tendrils, help him to his feet, a confident warmth coursing through his veins. The fog was ever-present, but he knew what he had to do, where he had to go; his hand found the neck of a reindeer demon and within moments they were out the door and onto the street. Outside, there should've been a soft quiet that one can only associate with Christmas; snow had been falling, the streetlights should've been emitting a soft, yellow glow, and the houses should've only been illuminated by the cheery glow of Christmas lights and their accompanying trees.
Instead, it was hell.
Something told him that between the sounds of shattering glass and muted screams, there was reason to all of it, but the small voice that tried to penetrate the fog was telling him to run, you're going to die, they will kill you, why would you agree to help these monsters?! But the antler-gifted magic hushed that voice quickly enough and brought him a cool-headed peace, a steely determination that should belong to someone much older than he. Elves were fighting the reindeer, identical to the one he was with, and there were flashes as magic was used on both sides. The reindeer urged him on and he ran, feet bare, sinking into the snow, to the house next door.
He used the magic for the first time and found himself exhilarated, his foggy mind growing hungry for more than that little flash of power. He had broken down the door, a surge of demons appearing out of nowhere behind him, bounding into the house. He ran in with them, enraptured by the mob, kicking things out of the way; he was running blind, in a sense, but he knew what he was doing as he ran to the tree, a box with a burst of magic, and then his hands. Many of the gifts had been saved by the elves - damned beasts, a voice that was not his own whispered - but there were still some left that were subsequently destroyed.
Soon enough they were onto the next house, and he could feel the pins and needles from the cold spreading from his heels up his legs, pajamas wet from the snow, but the fog told him to ignore it. So he did. He dashed into the next house, fists finding gifts and toys, fingers curling as he crushed them in his hands, the dark magic swirling in his mind and through his veins. He tried to use his magic, the glorious magic, but found it unwilling to come; a growl of frustration slipped past his lips, but he continued to do as he was bidden, breaking toys and shattering ornaments. He heard shots, gunshots, and instinctively ducked behind the tree, watching as a man came around the corner with a shotgun, swinging. The demons attacked him without hesitation, but he kept shooting, shouting things he couldn't understand through the haze. He was nudged to the window and pushed through it - through it? - with the sound of glass shattering, delayed, spreading through his ears.
He could hear more shots outside, mixed with the growls of demons and the cries of elves, the shouts of people and the cries of children. He found himself running blind again, demons pushing and urging him forward, before they stopped, a wave of discontent moving through the darkened shapes. He looked up with dilated eyes, the Grinch's magic still coursing through his veins, and saw the elves. A lot of elves.
12-05-2015, 10:32 PM (This post was last modified: 12-05-2015, 10:35 PM by Anahera.)
while the morning stars sang together
She is silent...hoping…praying he won’t figure out that she is just behind the very cabinet doors he is standing in front of. A small droplet of nervous sweat rolls down the side of her face and down to her chin. Her breathing was hard and fast, her chest moving swiftly, like a frightened small bird in the clutches of a careless, unknowing toddler. But, her hopes are crushed...he speaks to her through the crack of the little pass through doors…. she knows now, she can’t get away now. He is words were true though….she should have been sleeping, all tucked into her pretty pink princess bed, but of course her naive curiosity to see Santa got her in this bind. Suddenly the doors to the pass through fly open with such a force that makes her squeal loudly. The frying pan she was clutching ever so tightly was now gone from her grasp. She tried to sink further back into the pass through, but the Grinch’s henchmen on the other side kept pushing her further out into the living room. Soon she was pushed all the way out and was sitting just before the Grinch.
Her eyes are wide...staring fearfully into that glowing green gaze. He shakes his head, telling her he was not to harm anyone...but his last words echo in her head over and over for what seems like an eternity.
but since you’re up…
That didn’t sound good at all...but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t break from the green stare. She was stuck here. She has no choice but to watch as he flicks his wrist and a pair of reindeer antlers are produced out of thin air. Yes, the kind you would find in the Holiday section of a Kinneys or Walgreens. She is silent still, his voice is smooth and entrancing...she can’t look away, full attention on him. Could use her help? Santa's elves are swarming? Trying to do everyone a favor??? She realizes now that she is beginning to understand...she was beginning to feel a small twinge of...trust? No Anahera, you poor girl…
As he pauses his speech, she can now hear the commotion outside her destroyed home. The sound of elves screaming, smashing of things, demons cackling, and bells...lots of bells. She felt wrong...why was this happening? Why now? But questions had to wait, for she notices the Grinch is not at all interested in what was going on outside...he was fully focused on her...but why? He begins again, proceeding to tell her how Christmas was too commercial and that it had to be saved since it is no longer about family. She could understand...and it was seemingly the truth. All of the Christmas light and decoration competitions, all of the people hurting or even killing each other over “great Holiday deals” at stores….presents and material things...it was true...it was not about family anymore. But still...there was something off about his tone...something bad. But Anahera being the naive and too trusting girl she is, believes him. He had a point there right? That is a seemingly good reason for what he is doing.
He then poses a proposition...he would not harm anyone no matter what she chooses to do...he calls her friend, and asks for her help. She is silent for a moment...to say yes or not to say yes...she didn’t have time to dilly dally. But, poor Anahera being an easily convinced girl felt the desire to reach out and grab the antlers from the Grinch’s gnarled hand. She does. And she can see his TOO satisfied smile...she nods to him her voice light.
”I….I will...help you…”
She then gets up and starts up the stairs, surprisingly everyone is still asleep. She quickly runs into her room, throwing on her very pink converse and a navy blue peacoat. She then grabs her little red hat and mittens and slips the antlers on over her hat. She then slipped back down the stairs and down to the kitchen. She looks around out the windows, seeing that her backyard was seemingly safe. Slipping through the back door quietly, she begins her Christmas adventure. She runs through the snow swiftly to the broken fence board, sliding through it with a little bit of a struggle. But here she is now standing in the Patterson’s back yard. Human Anahera’s family had known the Patterson family for a long time, they were quite close family friend’s but Anahera knew how dangerous this house was going to be. She may know them well, but, Mr. Patterson had just acquired a new dog...a big black vicious guard dog with teeth that could rip clear through a car tire with ease. She shakes a little nervously...looking around the yard to make sure the coast is clear. As soon as she sees no threat she bounds across the snow covered back yard and slips up their back stairs and onto the back porch. She knows for a fact the door is locked, but thank goodness for that doggy door!!
She crawls through quietly, slowly making her way through the house and into the living room where the presents sat perfectly under a beautifully lit and decorated tree. She tries hard to be quiet while destroying everything she possibly can. She shreds through boxes and bags, ripping clothes, breaking toys, and even tossing some into the fire. The toys in the fire place crackled and burned as she continued on, this time she started on the decorations...then..a quiet growl catches her attention.
There at the top of the stairs, a large black shadow stepped slowly round the corner. The flickering light from the fireplace illuminated the tags on his collar and lit up his large ivory fangs. There was no time to plan...it knew she was here...and it DID NOT want her there that was for sure. The dog snarled and started down the stairs at her. In her quick thinking she ran to the tree and started pushing as hard as her little arms could. If she could knock it over in time she could delay the dog enough to get out and get to the next house. Her pushing works, and the large tree crashes to the floor just at the end of the stairs. She makes a run for it, though the dog is not delayed for long and just jumps over the tree and started after her. She begins to panic, she had to make it to the shrubs outside, it was the only way to get out onto the main street. She is there...she jumps, and it feels as if she is in slow motion as she glides through the air and grabs onto the thick light covered shrubbery. But as soon as she gets a grasp on the bush she feels an intense pain….the worst pain she has ever felt in her life. She is soon being pulled back down...and she looks behind her to see the black dog sinking its teeth into her little calf. She screams in pain, crying as she tries to struggle to get out of its grasp. She feels helpless...this can’t be the end….she can’t fail this early. She had to think of something and fast. Soon she can hear a slight cackling...the Grinch’s demon reindeer….Three of then skittered down into the yard trying to distract the dog as another comes down to whisper into Anahera’s ear. Soon she knows what she is to do...the antlers begin to glow a slight green color, and she thinks hard of what she wants. Soon the pain in her leg is dulled, but their is still a pressure there. She looks down and realizes the dog’s teeth are no longer shining white bone...but rubber. She doesn’t know how she managed to make it do that, but what she does know is that the antlers were full of dark magic.
Finally able to kick the dog off of her, the reindeer help her as she manages to finally pull herself over the hedge and down to the main road on the other side. She can see now, the Christmas battle between Santa’s elves and the Grinch’s demon “elves”. Battling in the streets and in the windows of homes being damaged. She tries to look around quickly to find a house that looks to be untouched yet...and she is successful. Just across the street, past a rumble of battling elves, lie a house decorated nicely with no commotion in the windows...this was her chance. She began to run...with a painful limp. Her now ripped red pajamas soaked through with the blood from her dog bite. She finally made it up the stone path to the house, and managed to find an unlocked window and lets herself in, the reindeer follow quietly. She looks around. Making sure the coast is clear...no humans..no elves….time to get busy. She starts again with the presents. One by one ripping through them and making sure they are too damaged for repair as the reindeer ripped the decorations off the walls, one began eating the stockings...ew. But as she is about to ruin the first ornament on the tree, a high pitched voice stops her in her tracks…
”Stop it right there…how could you...you were on Santa's nice list!!! How could you team up with these...these....disgraceful, disgusting, hateful creatures!?”
The real Santa’s elves stood before her, a group of almost ten...they outnumber her and the three reindeer demons at her side. She doesn’t know what to do now...she is too far in now to back out of this. There was no going back. She looked to the elves, she felt strange, she wondered if it was the influence of the dark magic filled antlers atop her head. She gripped the ornament a little tighter, her voice is stronger now. At this point she does not care about the naughty and nice list...the black magic courses through her.
”Why are you trying to stop us? We are doing what is best. Christmas is for families and being thankful for having one another...STOP INTERFERING!!”
The ornament leaves her hand and smashes over top of of one of the elves’ head. She doesn’t know what had come over her, she is shocked, but there is no time now to ponder...this was war..the elves then began to charge. The head elf ran toward her, jumping onto her, trying to take the antlers from her head and ripping her hair out in the process, but she once again uses it’s power to aid her. She is knocked to the floor, kicking and screaming, it’s difficult to concentrate on the antlers but she has to. She thinks hard, trying to ignore the ripping out of her hair and the scratching of it’s little sharp nails into her skin, and the antlers begin to glow again. This time the elf is lifted up off of her and it is thrown far across the room, hitting the other elves and one of the reindeer (accidental casualtyyyyy) down like bowling pins. But alas they get back up and keep on coming. More are coming now, attracted to the sound of battle in the home. She is becoming tired...she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on, especially with her leg injury..this battle was becoming too intense...elves and demented reindeer wrestling and attacking each other brutally all around her. Little did she know it would get worse from here...this was to become the battle of a lifetime.
Arka was not prone to the fantastical – a strange quality for one who distinctly remembered that not 24 hours before he had been a horse, to be sure. But the same experience made the sudden appearance of a green, furry creature with a smile too crooked at the margins a little easier to swallow. He sensed that even if he hadn’t wanted to accept the new presence in his house he would have had little choice. His gun was gone – spirited to some corner of the room, shattered in to its component parts and now useless – but he didn’t really care. There was something so hypnotizing about the King Demon’s smile, disarming in his even tone.
If Arka were a different man, he would have found the Grinch’s idealism hard to refuse. As it was he was just disappointed the demon had promised no harm would come to his family no matter his decision. That was kind of the whole point, wasn’t it?
Some force he didn’t recognize begged him to go with the Grinch despite the acrid flavor the demon’s speech left him with. He was left with two choices floating up from the murky depths of his consciousness, struggling to break through the Grinch’s spell. He could fight the Grinch for invading his home, join with whatever merry band was outside waiting to oppose him. Or he could join the Grinch. Neither option saw him being relieved of his wife & children, and frankly the King Demon’s talk about ‘returning Christmas to the family’ or whatever was kind of nauseating. But only one of the two choices involved wonton destruction.
“I’ll help you,” he answered, taking the antlers and tying them snugly to his head. The Grinch nodded, his pleasure with the decision accentuated further by his eerily large smile. The antlers left him with a sense of power he had not known before and he neglected to pick up his gun again, though he had the sense the green fuzzball calling the shots wouldn’t have minded so much now that Arka was proving to be helpful.
“Let’s just go,” he said, in reference to the notion that he should tell his wife and children to go back to bed. None of the aforementioned appeared to have left their mattresses, cowed by fear and uncertainty. Disgusting.
The imperative driving their mission made the notion of shoes and a shirt obsolete, leaving the house alongside his new companions with just a pair of sweatpants on. He sensed the eagerness wasn’t entirely his own, some magic from the Grinch. But the King Demon had found an exceptionally willing participant in Arka and he had little trouble riding the waves of otherworldly persuasion. The cold bit viciously at his skin, the snow making his feet scream for a pair of socks. But the potential drove him on, the promise the dark cul-de-sac offered. Rows of houses stretched out in the light of the moon reflecting off the snow, their windows dark – their inhabitants unsuspecting.
He would see it burn.
…to return Christmas to the family, of course.
Arka and his family lived in one of those communities where all the houses had been built at the same time to meet a demand, and therefore were all close to each other and sickeningly similar. The monotony drove him insane, made him white-knuckled and angry as he drove home from work every day (how do I remember all of this?)…but it made this current job very easy. He appreciated order, and with no house presenting more of a prize than the other, he chose to just hit them in order.
The house immediately to his right – a neighbor he knew well, though not through choice – was dark save for the faint glow of a television somewhere on the first floor. Insomnia? It would make sense. Jack was intensely frenetic – always looking over his bushes as he trimmed them, looking for conversation, too nosy, always watching and thinking and being irritating – and Arka could imagine it was difficult for him to sleep.
Loping up to the doorway, Arka took a deep breath and wound a smile on to his face, knocking on the door. With a posse of demons he assumed he didn’t really need to enter the house in such a conventional way, but there was something ironic about intruding on his nosy neighbor Jack with the same unassuming, dopey expression the man always seemed to wear.
Bleary-eyed and yawning, Jack opened the door looking somewhat bewildered.
“Arka? Is something wrong – its 3am…”
Almost without thought Arka lifted his right hand and ‘pushed’, watching Jack go flying backwards, skidding until he knocked up against the small table at the end of the foyer. It overturned on him with a crash, causing Jack to sputter and swear as he attempted to push it off of him. The power the antlers had granted Arka was not infinite, nor exceptionally powerful, but that had given him enough satisfaction for his faux-dopey grin to turn disturbing.
Stalking in to the house, his new friends skittered around him, shoulder-blades rolling like waves under their inky hides as they invaded.
He followed as they flooded in to the front room, making a beeline for the tree covering an enormous array of presents. Jack had lots of children, but it looked as if he’d cleared out every store in the county. It would be so good destroying it all. Hurrying forward he joined his newfound friends, stomping the first present he reached with a joy unmatched from all his Christmases past. It crunched under his bare foot, gift wrap tearing under his force to reveal the now-mangled body of a Batman action figure. It stared up at him accusingly.
White-hot pain tore across his skull as something hit him. Disoriented for a moment, he lifted his fingers to his face and came away with blood. One eye twitched in rage as he turned his head slowly to see Jack’s terrified wife – Martha, wasn’t it? – standing stock-still in the doorway as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. The vase she’d thrown at him lay in dozens of pieces at Arka’s feet.
“Stupid, Martha,” he growled at her, reaching down for one of the larger shards.
“It’s Maria, you asshole!” she shouted back, the fear in her voice egging Arka to wilder heights of excitement. She took a step back as he stalked towards her. He waited for the Grinch to say no – to mention the thoughts pounding through Arka’s head weren’t particularly family-oriented – but the command to stop never came.
Maybe that acrid taste he’d had in his mouth at the Grinch’s plan hadn’t just been coincidence.
“Does it matter?” he asked as he grabbed the front of her nightshirt in a fist, holding her in place as he wound his arm back to drive the piece of ceramic in to her throat. (And he could almost imagine it. Red was one of the quintessential Christmas colors anyway. He would be so festive, painted in her. And she would be too! A beautiful present, a Noel tableau for her children when they woke from their dreams of sugarplum fairies and crept down the stairs with excitement. Blood!)
But Jack seemed to have grown a spine, his yell and bull-like charge stopping Arka at the last minute. He let out a grunt as Jack slammed him in to a wall, Martha – no, Maria – flying backwards and going limp. At the last minute Arka lowered his head to the right to avoid Jack’s punch, shoving the rotund man off him and snarling like something feral.
“Why are you doing this?!” Jack screamed, reaching with a shaking hand to pluck the last piece of the broken lens in his glasses out before it stabbed him in the eye.
“I always thought about killing you Jack. But my new friends just gave me an excuse,” Arka answered, stalking towards the blubbering waste of air crawling backwards up the stairs to escape him.
At that moment, the Grinch materialized between Arka and his prey. Arka thought about killing the King Demon but held back, looking at the expression plastered along the creature’s face. He looked…pleased – delighted, even.
“Arka, you are doing magnificently. With your help, Christmas might just be saved. But we cannot waste time. There is an evil coming to oppose us and we must keep moving. Leave these people to my pets. Come,” he said, sweeping out of the house with six of his demons in tow. The other three stayed behind, covering Jack’s body as they devoured him so Arka could see nothing. He could only hear bones crunching, flesh torn, and screams of agony.
He wanted to be doing it himself.
But that same otherworldly insistence had him following the Grinch to the next house, taking one more glimpse of Jack’s trashed front room. The demons had left not a single present intact.
The next house was completely dark. Arka could see the shadowy outlines of some of the demons crawling up the sides of the house to enter through the chimney – some crude parody, no doubt – while others searched for another point of entry. Arka simply reached for the doorknob and, using the power afforded him by the antlers, broke the doorknob off so the front door swung open. With joyous cackles the remaining demons swarmed by him, heading right for the tree as if they possessed some sixth sense to find it.
He was about to follow when the obnoxious and panic-inducing blare of an alarm system sounded.
“Shit!” he cursed, scrambling to find the alarm-pad. The house was nearly pitch-dark, forcing him to run his hands along the walls to try and find the offending plastic interface. Nothing! Panic clawed at his throat, made him work faster and faster. Grabbing the doorknob of the small coat closet, he felt around for light-switch and was almost immediately rewarded in more ways than one. The light snapped on and he saw the alarm console blinking furiously. At this point the police had already been alerted but that worried him less than the potential for his insanity if the sound didn’t stop. It was louder than usual, seeming to pierce his very brain. He started smashing it with his elbow, the plastic screen blooming a brilliant rainbow as the computer chips inside shattered. But it went on and on and on and he couldn’t make it stop and JUST STOP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!
Looking down, he saw a bag of golf clubs and ripped the zipper off in his rage and haste, pulling the biggest club he could find from the bag. The cessation of the alarm was the sweetest thing he’d ever accomplished in recent memory. He considered cracking a golf joke as the security panel sparked in its death throes, but thought better of it.
Joining his compatriots in the front room he proceeded to destroying everything in sight with them. Presents were thrown, ornaments smashed, the tree uprooted from its stand and torn to pieces – a carpet of evergreen needles, soft under his sore feet.
It didn’t occur to them until they’d finished that besides the alarm there had been little resistance. Almost at that exact moment he heard something upstairs. A soft, reassuring voice…
“Do not be afraid. Stay up here, and we will protect you…”
“Th—thank you!”
The floorboards creaked as multiple people moved upstairs. Arka stalked to the bottom of the carpeted staircase, watching with eyes narrowed in predatory curiosity as a group of short creatures traversed the second floor’s landing to stand at the top of the stairs. They jingled as they walked, little red hats bouncing bells sewn to the tips. They came to stand together in perfect formation as they stared down at Arka.
“Where is your leader?”asked the first of them, the same voice that had reassured the family cowering upstairs.
“You won’t get to him,” Arka answered, tilting his head in alien expression.
“You still have a chance to really save Christmas. He is twisting your mind, don’t you see? He’s promised you nothing but falsehoods. What you’re doing is destroying Christmas,” said the little Helper, taking a step down the stairs.
Arka took a step up to meet him in the middle, hearing the demons gathering behind him.
“Honestly, he’s not taking it far enough for me. He even promised nothing bad would happen to my family, and I hope he was lying about that too,” Arka answered, grinning at the look of disappointment on the little creature’s face.
One of the demons behind him threw a coffee mug – still wrapped – at one of Santa’s helpers and it was on. Arka sprinted up the stairs two at a time, grabbing for the little creature that had told him he could stop if he wanted to, grabbing him by the arm and lifting him from the stairs to throw him over the banister towards the first floor. More elves grabbed at him, screaming in outrage. Demons swarmed around him to get an opponent of their own, a chorus of two opposing sides intent on stopping the other.
He imagined they would make an excellent Christmas jingle out of this – the kind that made people forget about Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree.
12-06-2015, 06:48 PM (This post was last modified: 12-06-2015, 06:50 PM by Oakheart.)
"Shit..."
That's all those full lips could utter as her dark eyes slowly crawl up the now present green ghoul. Fingers grasp and grope for the now absent crowbar. Oak snaps her neck over her left should...her right...she is alone with the Grinch. Against her will, he speaks to her. His voice is soothing--a lullaby. The small thin woman can not help but be drawn to it. Slowly, her fear melts like snow on a spring day. He licks his lips and smiles a crooked smile. His mouth seems too big for his ugly pointy head. His teeth almost the same shade of yellow as his eyes. Oakheart cringes inwardly at their sight. Suddenly, she sees herself in third person being charmed like a cobra to a master playing his snake charming flute. The Grinch is the Pied Piper and Oak is the rat...
THIS image shatters the spell. It falls away like broken pieces of a cracked mirror. The antlers are thrust in her face and she catches her hand hovering towards with a mind of it's own. Oakheart finds herself in control once again curls her fingers into a fist and -cracks- it against the knotted and dirty fur. His fur is matted like a rabid raccoon's, thick with mud and sweat.
The small woman takes the time while the Grinch is caught off guard to push passed the slug and bolt down stairs and outside the ruined front door. She trips and falls into the powder snow in her pajamas and bare feet. The cold shocks her and Oak finds her feet pretty fucking quickly but only to meet eye to eye with like red, white, and green dressed elves. "Whoa!" Shock then relief then assertion take place like lenses over a camera. "Help-help me stop them!" Oak looks over her should briefly then back to the more friendly looking elves and thank the heavens their little heads nod in an in synced jingle. Off they go through the snow to Oakheart's neighbor's home.
Dashing through the snow...
The neighbor's home is a one story rancher nestles deep in the blanket of snow. Oak feels herself shiver as her buzz from earlier finally wears off. Silently, she wished for her flask for the warmth and the courage. "Focus, dammit!" She growls to herself under her breath as she approaches the home, opting to go around the back in case there were nasty little demon fucks inside and she could get the drop on them. Ha! When Oakheart tries the door, it's locked tight. The little elves crowding as she tries to force it. "Fuck fuck fuck!" The small woman is exacerbated when a elf puts a hand on her arm and stops her and with a snap of his little fingers, the door opens...
It's dark inside but it's at least quiet except...except for something...
In the glow of the kitchen nightlight, the shadow of fur and teeth leaps outward and the shriek of an elf is high and thin. The neighbor's mutt Bruno has a fucking elf in his mouth! "Bruno! Bruno!" Oak yells as friggen hushed as possible when she grabs the dog's collar. He's given the little guy one hell of a shake when Oak decides the kick the out of control dog straight in the fucking balls...
Bruno lets go.
Oak moves to inspect the poor elf. He's bloody and bruised but alive. A death look is cast over her should at the dog (who now is nursing a pair of swollen testicles) before looking back at the little guy. "Stay here, guys." Vocals are murmured as Oakheart rises to inspect the home. She sweeps the place in a hasty few minutes and determines there is no one in the home but them, the dog, and the older couple whole Oak assumes managed to sleep through the noise because of their lack in belief of hearing aids but this is good. The Christmas tree and presents are still nestled neatly in a picturesque fashion. The woman moves back to the group of little people , who are now petting the damn dog. If the elves can open doors then Oak naturally assumes they can befriend crazy guard dogs."A one of you stay here...he can't walk." Thumb is hitched at the little bloody elf. "Keep the dog with you and use him as a guard. He can help. The rest of the seven of you...let's go."
Into the snow they go again, their shadows laying out of the fresh powder under the full moon's gaze.
This walk is longer till they near the other neighbor's home but something is wrong. Tiny black prints with melt snow lead to this porch. Oak feels her breath catch as the little elves help push her along. She is cold, cold, cold and just wants to sleep but little hands help get that ass moving towards the home.
A soon as Oakheart enter's the home, the smell inside is dank and acidic. It's feels like a tomb. She wrinkles her nose instinctively as the elves pour around her in pitter-patter of booted feet. Where she stops, they continue on, scattering. The woman moves quietly to inspect the living room. It's tree still standing and it's presents still where they were lovingly placed mere hours ago but she doesn't get far before a shrill scream deafens her ears and she slams her hands over her ears. Through watering eyes, she peers up to see a ratchet ass little demon reindeer positively shrieking at the top of it's lungs! Oak starts to feel faint, woozy. The rooms slides too and fro like a ship of choppy seas. She feels sick...sleepy...
But wait! In a dash, one little elf is on top of the little demon bastard and the screaming ends! "Oh thank God!" Oak's proclamation is short lived as more reindeer emerge from the shadows. Slithering and slinking towards her and the tree. The elves and she are surrounded. Oak sucks in her breath sharply as the elves begin to move, conjuring something as the demons near closer...they would not give up without a fight.
"Bring it." A smirk flickers smoothly over her lips when she realizes things were not as they appear. There was magic in this land. Good always trumps evil right? RIGHT?
The stand off held still, like the calm before the storm as smoke from the chimney dissipated. Kat bounced the bat off her spare hand, the Grinch and his demons softly cackling across the small gap between them. Kat glared a look that could kill; she was furious. The demon Grinch and his little minions had ruined everything her mother had worked so hard for- the extra shifts at work, the hours in Black Friday lines, the effort of perfectly wrapping each gift just so. It all lay ruined on the floor a terrible sight that fueled her to break the standoff. Her muscles clenched as they braced for the pressure of impulsion, but it was like the Grinch read her mind. Just like that, poof the bat was gone, which cause Kat to skid to a premature halt after only two or three steps. Her signature teenage line ran through her mind again, ”You have got to be kidding me!” Somewhere in the back of Kat’s mind he was amazing how many different ways she had used that phrase, but saying it was second nature just as saying “um” or “like” as filler words was unavoidable for many people. Kat back peddled looking for any other weapon in which could help her against the Grinch, but the Grinch just laughed. His maddening little demons just guffawed alongside their master, adding to the furry about to erupt from her teenage form.
The Grinch spoke then and Kat stood defenseless, unable to block his words she had to listen. They were mocking at first, which Kat met by literally spitting at him, she was no dainty princess. ”You just don’t know when to shut the hell up do you? Look here you twit Santa can kiss my ass. He didn’t have some pea-brained oaf come wake him up in the middle of the night and ruin their holiday!” Her eyes flared her words were venomous, she wished that was enough to make him wilt away, (and this terrible night would end) though she knew it wasn’t. The Grinch was completely unfazed just shook his head and droned on about not hurting anyone and trying to save Christmas. Kat felt the draw on her attention, his words pulled her in, captivated her. She started to feel the anger fade and there was a haze folding in around her, embracing her. It was as if nothing else in the world existed. Kat realized that she kind of agreed with the demon Grinch, but she still screamed “no” from the depth of her mind.
Even when the Grinch paused and lifted the veil that kept the world out, Kat still felt the haze around her. The sounds flooded her, screaming, crying, crashes and banging. Dogs frantically sounded the alarm that it was the middle of the night and all was definitely not well. She realized she was not alone in her eventful evening but before her thoughts cleared the Grinch spoke again surrounding her once more, the embrace of the foggy haze grew stronger with each word. He spoke of commercialism, the materialistic greed that had overcome the nation, and how it had ruined Christmas. The little voice inside her mind that was once screaming to not listen (cause he was full of shit) was now a faint whisper. The whisper was not enough to make Kat think he was lying, and she found herself nodding along with him in agreement. The furry had faded to anger and then to annoyance, but not with the Grinch. Kat was annoyed with mankind. How could we allow ourselves to become so lost in such meaningless little things?
The Grinch continued on, how they would leave the food and family alone—for all that stayed asleep. Kat was now thankful that her mother slept through everything, and that her siblings were somehow still asleep—or at least too afraid to come downstairs. He offered her a pair of antlers and she found herself reaching for them before he even finished, the haze drove her forward like a spell. But the little whisper that was the clear-minded part of her mind would stop nagging her to check on her siblings. Kat pulled her hand back, shaking her head trying to get a clear thought as to why she did so—the Grinch just wanted the real Christmas, what did she have to worry? But the nagging continued until she had the thought formed. It felt like ages to Kat, but I must have been quick, as the Grinch hadn’t made a comment just continued holding the antlers. Kat looked at the orange-eyed demon, she no longer saw a terrible beast, just a misunderstood creature. She nodded to him, her mind made up. ”If you mean that you will not hurt those who are asleep, then you will not mind if I check on my family before I go with you. Send a babysitter if you must.” Kat wasn’t asking for permission, she was going no matter what. The haze the Grinch had worked around her with his words had fully enveloped her- there was no escaping its pull now.
She jogged up the stairs, and glanced in each room, Her two brothers were asleep, but she heard sobs from inside her baby sister’s room. Kat opened the door, and cross the room to the sobbing girl. She soothed her until the tears stopped, reassured her as much as she could that everything was all right. Kat believed that now- the Grinch was just correcting the wrongs of mankind. ”Shhhh, it’s ok. The tree just fell over. Everything is ok…..shhhh….shhh…it’s ok…” Kat cooed until the girl was back to sleep. The Grinch must have been impatient as she heard him call from downstairs, coxing her back with words of saving Christmas. Just like that the haze took her back, back out of the room, back down the stairs, back down to the antlers. The Grinch looked at her, as he handed her the antlers. The whispers in her mind whimpered one final plea, but the haze of the Grinch’s words was too strong. Kat took the antlers and donned them.
The demon minions danced and cackled with glee of their master’s crafty victory. Kat felt the antlers fuse to her head; there was no removing them, not for now at least. It was an odd feeling Kat didn’t need the Grinch to tell her what to do it was if she just knew, like she had been told already. The Grinch stood and laughed menacingly, stomping his feet in a fit of hysteria- he was so very amused with himself. Kat turned and ran out the front door, only to come face-to-face with chaos. There were demons and elves everywhere, and people where out fighting for their own Christmases. She slowed, wanting to get a game plan, but demon reindeer jumped out from all around her and began running across the street to the O’Shea’s house, ushering her along with them.
The antlers were not just a little decoration to give her the image of a reindeer to keep the Grinch’s demons from turning on her. It was as if the antlers kept her in the altered state the Grinch weaved into her. Kat’s thoughts were her own, but she believed she was in the right that the Grinch was really trying to help save Christmas. The whisper was long gone, the voice of reason squashed
Kat took off at a jog across the street. Kat stopped at the garage- she knew their garage code after many nights spent babysitting. She punched in the code and the garage rattled into life. She ducked under as soon as she could, only two of the reindeer were with her, the rest had gone up to the roof, to enter through the chimney. She came up on the other side of the garage door to snarls. The O’Shea’s yellow lab, Bentley, stood before her head low, mouth in a snarl, and legs wide- braced in a defensive stance. The reindeer hopped and danced around the dog, and made it into the house. Kat was scared for a moment; Bentley acted like he had never seen her before. Oh, I hate dogs! She side-stepped to try and gain some distance and scooted around the perimeter of the garage. Bentley followed, snarling and barking. Kat yelped and made a dash for the door, Bentley at her heels. Before she could get through the door Bentley lunged, knocking her over. She howled as Bentley sunk his teeth into her calf. Anger flared in her and before she knew what she was doing a box fell off of a nearby shelf hitting Bentley, and gave her the distraction she needed to shuffle inside and shut the door on the dog.
Kat looked down at her favorite yoga pants, ripped and bloody. Luckily the bite wasn’t too bad it would heal, but it hurt like hell. She snarled and shouted out while looking up ”You have better be grateful for my help Grinch, you owe me a pair of yoga pants!” She wasn’t sure why, but she knew the Grinch could hear her and just like that she heard a grouchy reply in her mind “Just get to work, stop whining.” Kat ran-limped to the living room and joined the rumpus. The reindeer demons and she danced about they tore apart wrappings, and busted ornaments on the floor. The demons cackled and she found herself enjoying it as well. She smiled- though not evilly as her partners did. She smiled with the reassurance that she was doing right—commercialism was evil. She pulled Barbies apart, smashed Ironman figurines, and pulled apart stuffed animals all in the name of Christmas. Like the Grinch said- they didn’t touch the food. The demons were pleased with the destruction and the hissed their evil approval, then flew up the chimney. Kat ran to the front door, but not before looking over my shoulder. The place was a mess. It was then she realized she had magic, that she had knocked over that box on Bentley. ”You have got to be kidding me, how awesome is this!!” She wondered how much she could do. She thought of the tree catching on fire would be cool, so she concentrated hard on it, envisioned it. Kat probably looked like an idiot to any outsider- glaring at the knocked down tree eyes bugging out of her tilted head. Nothing happened. Then there was that cackling in her head, the Grinch was amused at her failed efforts “That is funny little girl. Now stop playing and get going to the next house!”Kat sighed, she would have liked to be able to set things on fire. Oh well. She spun on her heal, and exited the house.
Kat squeaked and flung herself to the ground as a knife went whirling where she had stood a moment before. Things outside had gotten so much worse. Around her elves fought demons, as did her neighbors- so many were out in the fray. Chaos and Destruction were everywhere. The teenage girl decided staying low might be the best safest route. She crawled across the lawn further left, further away from her sleeping family, further into the Grinch’s clutches. Kat kept her eyes down, trying to seem scared, or inconspicuous or… something to be overlooked. She had made it several yards before she ran smack into a pair of heavy boots, Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry was ex-military; he was big, muscular and every kid in the neighborhood did what he said--when he said it. There were rumors of what happened to kids who didn’t listen and not a single one was a phone call to your parents. Mr. Henry took her arm and lifted her with little effort. He gave her a stern look, “Go home, now.” Kat swallowed hard, she had to tell the most terrifying man in the neighborhood no. Her words wouldn’t work, she tried to speak but the words just stuttered and fumbled refusing to fall from her mouth; so she just shook her head no. Mr. Henry’s eyes flared, he was not happy, he looked up to the antlers on her head. “You are with THEM! They are destroying everything!” Kat shook her head, words finally made their way past her lips, ”No, they are SAVING Christmas! Making it what it used to be! Mr. Henry, they are just trying to help us see what really matters- family!”
Mr. Henry just shook his head, a small amount of sadness behind his eyes. Without letting go, he started to drag her to the shed behind the house, “Don’t worry Kat, this will just but until this crazy night is over. I don’t want you to get hurt, or do anything else you’ll regret come daylight.” The whole time he spoke he was pulling Kat behind the house. Kat fought hard, she jerked and tried to smack and hit him. He’s wrong! Christmas is so out of control now, the Grinch is trying to help! She felt her emotions surge and tears flooded her eyes, as she began to cry. She couldn’t seem to do anything that she wanted to, and now she couldn’t save Christmas because Mr. Henry was going to lock her in his shed. He must have heard her sobbing because he stopped and looked at her softly, his grip just a bit lighter. Kat’s eyes flared and she ripped free, pulling her knee up as hard as she could into his groin. Mr. Henry nearly fell over as he groaned and coughed. Kat wasted no time- she ran into his house.
The reindeer all stopped the destruction in progress, and glared angrily at her. They must have not liked how long it took her to get inside, they must have thought she was slacking. Kat stood and glared back at them, Ok, ok, geeze…I’ll do better next house! He threw her hands out to the sides in exasperation and all the bulbs on the tree exploded. The demon reindeer clapped and crowed their approval of her destruction. Kat nodded, and got to work, she ran to the tree and toppled it over. She jumped on packages until they were in pieces then she kicked them across the floor. The next parcel she picked up and threw it at the wall, she heard a sharp crack as whatever was inside broke. She felt good- she was helping bring Christmas back to what it was supposed to be. She reached for the final gift on the floor, and raised it up above her head. Just when she was about to throw it to the ground in a triumphant flex of her teenage girl arm muscles, green and red sparks flashed all around. The demon reindeer hissed barbarically at the unwanted guests, and Kat glared at them with equal loathing.
The elves didn’t wait long before they started to advance on the reindeer; sparks flew around as they fought the demons. Kat felt torn, she believed she was on the right side, but fighting Santa’s elves felt wrong. Every childhood story told her the else were good, that they helped make Christmas possible, that they brought people happiness. Kat stood frozen, until an elf advanced on her. Kat backed up she needed more time to decide what to do. She heard the demons hissing to attack, to protect the true meaning of Christmas. The elf threw his magical sparks at her; they hit her hard in the chest, knocking her over. The elf looked sad to do this to her, but there was also determination. To the elves she was an enemy it was that simple. Kat scooped up a handful of the shattered glass (from the ornaments), then threw it at the elves face, hoping to get some in his eyes, she was not successful. The elf shook his head, “What are you doing Kat? Why are you helping them! Look at all the destruction you have caused! How can this save Christmas?” For the first time since she left her house all that time ago she heard the whimpering whisper in her head telling her to help the elves. It was no use; the weird hypnosis that the Grinch had her under was too strong. With a grunt Kat threw herself at the elf. She managed to tackle him, and she held him pinned below her, her forearm across its chest. ”You’re kidding right?!?! The Grinch, he wants to help. You elves and Santa only breed greed and materialism. Can’t you see you are ruining Christmas, not saving it!”
The elf vanished out from underneath her in blinding sparks of red and green. She quickly got up and turned to look around for the elf. The noise was deafening. The whole house seemed to shake, the windows rattled as elves and demons flew into them, the floor shook as a demon was thrown down. Kat wished she had that baseball bat form home, she didn’t have magic like they did. She needed something to help her. Mr. Henry had a lamp on a side table, so Kat ripped the shade off and yanked the cord from the wall. This would have to do. She then helped her demons, the elves were focused on the reindeer and she was able to knock a few out before they caught on. Kat knew this battle would take some time so she would have to pace herself. She dropped back to look for another opening. All the while she kept chanting “you’re on the right side, you’re on the right side” to herself, steeling herself for fighting the elves she grew up thinking were good -- just like in the storybooks. She saw another opening she rushed into the fray lamp held high, voice shrieking, ”FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!”
He leans his weight forward onto his hands and knees. But before he can take his first crawl toward his closet: Didn’t anyone ever tell you Santa won’t come when you are awake?
The boy freezes, glancing at the door. And then it blows open, too much force for a creak — only the loud thwack of His magic. The inside knob digs itself into the wall opposite. He yelps, sitting back down, raising his hands like a shield. Squeezing his eyes tight, “This is so fucked up. This cannot be happening...” He wheezes breathlessly. But when he lifts one eyelid, peeking between the fleshy digits, there He stands. He stands there with his fists on his hips, his pot-belly swaying with every exhale. We aren’t here to hurt anyone, unless you get in our way. But since you are up… The teenager blinks, his mouth is agape. He swallows hard, but there isn't a drop of saliva in his mouth.
We could use your help. He opens both his eyes wide, dropping his hands to the ground. And he wonders, for a moment.... could you really? Someone needing his help... wanting his help?! Had that ever happened in his life? The words are a temptation. The chaos outside is equally an intoxicant, turning up something deep and...
(‘Oh! Come now, Pollock, let's not fall for this lark! When has that ever been the case,’ It says with a snark. ‘When have you ever been of use? When have you ever been wanted?’ Now Elliot shook his head, unsure exactly who taunted. ‘Well. Okay. If you've fallen for it, you stupid, stupid boy, Go on then. Fine. Be off! Let him play you like a toy...’) He moves his eyes back up, having fallen to the floor, now narrowed suspiciously at the green man before.
But what He says next plucks a sad and small string deep in the boy. Elliot looks down between his feet, anger mixing with something even more wounded. “About family?” He spits, surprised at the tears that squeeze from his eyes, “Really? Why the fuck would I want it to be about family?” He feels something smoldering in his gut. Growing bigger and bigger. Glowing hotter and hotter. Spreading through his veins and pushing warmth and venom into his chest. He puts his good hand behind him on his bed and pushes himself to his feet. “My family is a joke,” He sniffs and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, feeling his face flush. “That's assuming you can even describe what I have like that. Would be a fairly fucking liberal use of the world in my opinion.” He blinks the remaining moisture from his eyes, jutting out his chin.
“What about other people's families... well, you'd help them see, wouldn't you?” He grins ear to ear, his headlight eyes flickering with blinks. The boy almost thinks he can see a deceptive glint in their depths. (What is your game, Grinch?) The makeshift antlers, with red thread, clutched in his hairy, green hand.
His eyes focus on the dark between the Grinch and a bored looking gremlin, his unholy eyes flicking back and forth. “I remember this one time I came back from the Playground...” He scratches his head, “I... I... I had told her I had brought back a friend.” But the memory is receding. He shakes his head, “Anyway, it may have been the first time mom got at me, but it definitely wasn't the last. She's a bitch. And everyone else and their family can rot in hell.” He hisses the last few words savagely, unconsciously reaching his right hand back to examine his left shoulder. Still smooth. His eyes fill with a shock and shame, but above all a confusion — his brain feels pulled apart at the line of longitude.
It's what he soo wanted. To believe the Grinch's vision. To capture it for himself, a perfect and rosy snowglobe. But Christmas was one night, one blip on the year. Tomorrow? How could the Grinch guarantee tomorrow?
Of course, the answer is simple. He can't. (‘Hold on there, now, boy. Remember your options are scant, See, they're blocking the door and your not terribly fast, He'd grab you up by your toenails if you tried to get past.’ It sighs, a long and thoughtful sigh. ‘You're not very athletic nor very smart, Good luck. You'll need it, Pollock. All you have left is... heart.’ It laughs and it laughs cruelly, searing doubt in his mind,) ...And the young man grew darker, the longer it opined.
The Grinch looks at him, perhaps curiosity in those wells of green. His hand thrusts forward, offering the boy power beyond his wildest dreams. But his decision is made, feeling something rebelling against it in the frantic hurl of his stomach. It feels wrong, the dark b-zzzz-ing hum he thinks he can hear from the antlers is speaking to his core. A tone he understands on a mysterious and primordial level. It is like understanding a language you have never heard before, like a second life was spent nursing on that dialect. But his draw to that dark and demonic troupe is overwhelmed by his swelling animosity for his dam...n mother.
Maybe in that moment the Grinch understood, for the boy thinks (just maybe) he saw his hideous grin falter. With disappointment, or anger, he'll never know. Maybe both in equal measure. But in a flash Elliot Pollock feels a galvanization. His path is clear, except... well, it literally isn't. As if on command, he hears scratching on the roof above his head and maybe the faint jingle of bells — his bedroom door slams just as fast as it was caved in. And then the door glitters with a seal of ice and frost. He feels impelled by a deep understanding — this is not going to last long. This is one of scant few moments of power like this. He has to make it count.
He springs for his closet. He pulls a hoodie over his head, adrenaline numbing the effects on his shoulder. And then in his closet he finds some pairs of thick socks, clumsily pulling a couple of them onto his feet. They might keep him warm, it's better than nothing. And then he flings himself onto his bed, hurriedly pushing the window ajar. He steps onto the section of roof below his window and wonders now: where to go from here? The great clashing and clanging of the world around him is more evident that before. (And he smiles for a second, a small and crooked grin, before smoothing that strange animus away.) He can jump down. It is not so far, and the drop would be gentled by the snow below. Or he can crawl left or right and into one of the attached neighbouring houses. And then the door behind opens with an even greater crack! than before. He scurries to the right, his time for thinking cut short.
“Get him!” Comes a great, angry bellow. He thinks he can hear a couple odd little skitters as he reaches the neighbour's bedroom window. He places his hands on the panes and pushes up, and with no magical miracle, it gives. He slips uncouthly through the window without a thought of what is inside. Closing it, he turns the locks, and replaces the curtains in front to block the view. There, as he turns, are two small children wrapped in each other's arms. And their father, standing vigil at his bedroom door. Clutching a knife.
He turns to the teenager, brandishing his knife and stepping closer. His face lined with stress, and his hand shaking. But when he sees it's only the son of the woman next door, he lowers it slightly. “What the hell is going on out there? It's Elliot, right, Pheobe's boy?” His ears fill with the stark sound of silence. Like in war movies when an explosion goes off next to the protagonist. His eyes narrow, and with the catlike grace only afforded to a teenage boy possessed, he leaps at the man, knocking him off his feet. The man is undoubtedly stronger than the boy, but he is caught off guard. As his back hits the ground he releases the air in his lungs with a heavy hrrum-phhhf. Elliot Pollock's left foot strikes out, kicking the knife from his half open hand. He gives the next door dad's head a few knocks on the ground, before hissing and reaching for his bad shoulder. It pumps with fierce pain, arm falling limp and weak by his side. He rolls onto his right hand, turning and crawling quickly left for the knife. The dad is rubbing his head, and his boy and girl are crying their little eyes out. He straightens up with a sigh, rolling his head and looking at the scene...
(‘Now, with knife in hand. Well, Pollock, the choice is aallll yours,’ The voice is mean. ‘...But you haven't got the strength,’ It finally roars. ‘You haven't got it in you now! Oh, but we'll find it still yet.’ It grows in anger, ‘You'll remember who you are. That is my bet.’) He stumbles and fumbles, and feels a great squeeze in his head, A great, disfigured monster is rising from bed.
He points the blade at the family, his bad hand rubbing his forehead. “Just. Stay here! I've got things to do.” He leans in close to the kids, “I'd stop screaming if I were you.” He chuckles, but he doesn't quite recognize it from his own lips. Then he moves to the door, holding his finger to his mouth. Elliot pushes it open. It gives in silently, and the hall, left and right, is dark and deserted. He breaths in deep with resolve, before leaving he turns back to the dad. “Lock the door behind me, and the window, too,” And then back again. “Better yet, move to a different room and keep quiet, go back to bed.” He motions over his shoulder to the window. “They may have seen me come in.”And they are looking for me, He remembers. Although, he cannot think why. What was it about him that the green man is drawn to?
He squeezes himself against the wall, side-stepping towards the stairs. He knows this layout like the back of his hand, being the same, room for room, as his own home's. And sure enough he comes to the top, and looking down he feels confident that the house is yet untouched. What he knows, through and through, is that his own house would not take long to rid of holiday stuff. He doesn't have much time. He tip-toes to the ground floor, looking at the front entrance. Standing there, are a pair of large, lined boots. The dad's no doubt. The boy places the knife down and sits, feeling a surge of panic as the comforting blade leaves his hand. He struggles for a moment with pulling the boots over his doubled-up socks. Finally he stands, and he wriggles his toes. It is snug, but more importantly: warm.
The ground floor is one big, open room, more or less. The entrance way flowing into a living room (Christmas tree in the corner, a-light), with the kitchen at the back. And on the very back wall of the kitchen is the back door. He hesitates for a moment. Even more likely now than being found by a group of maundering gremlins, is being hounded down by those sent directly to find him. But there's no time for this. He imagines the gremlins won't hurt the family upstairs, that Grinch promised... He isn't convinced. He creeps across to the bitter cold, moonlit kitchen. The back lawn looking deserted through the frame of the door's window. He tightens his grip on his weapon, a straight but small vegetable cutter. On the counter is a holder, prominently displaying the handle of a much larger chef's knife. He places his own down beside and draws the new blade from its wooden scabbard. “Better,” He whispers. “Much better.”
Pollock takes a step toward the back door. The LEDs that had lined the triplet's gutters are gone. But no gremlins, either. They are ransacking other houses around, he is sure. No doubt the gremlins would be coming down once they found his presence lacking upstairs.
His yard shares a border with the back of a detached bungalow, separated by white chain link. He hears the sound of an explosion, like a thousand party crackers being pulled at once. He wonders if a great battle is ensuing somewhere. Without much time to think he creeps from the doorway, pressing against the vinyl siding, then dashing off across the yard! He hardly hears anything! Or even feels the wind on his face! He stumbles once, the snow thankfully not too deep. He reaches the fence and near hurdles the height. With great bounding steps he shifts low towards the front. He slinks around the walls of the house, trying to stay in the shadows. But as he approaches the corner he hears a small din, and he stop in his tracks. He leans to listen in.
“We'll it's awfully big,” He hears a high, thoughtful voice. “Awful big! It's huge! It's gigantic!” Comes a much more frantic screech.
The boy peeks around the corner and his mouth drops open, noiselessly. Huddling around on the front porch of the house is a small group of... elves, not much more than a foot tall themselves. They were basically human, as far as he can see — save for the pointy ears and overly bulbous noses. “I think I can deal with it.” The thoughtful voice again, and he sees the elf now is jumping down from a plastic lawn chair in from of a window. He rejoins his group, and their voices die to a hush, muffled by their huddle. He tests his grip on his knife and pulls the black hood over his head to protect his ears from the cold. And then with a confidence, the source of which he doesn't understand, he approaches the small band. He feels, with no sense of camaraderie, that these little men are his allies. At least, they are on this fucked up night.
“What's in there?” He calls out, approaching slowly. His answer comes from the soft-spoken one again. “Well, we're not exactly sure.” He admits gesturing with both of his hands. They seemed friendly enough. He couldn't tell if it was because they were a naturally trusting sort, or because their intuition told them he was on their side. “You got out. That's good,” Pipes in a particularly squat chap, “I was sure that only Grinchy was going to get his hands on you.” Without explanation, the thoughtful one steps out again, “Maybe you could help us? See, we have limited powers here and, quite limited size and we aren't quite sure what we'll find inside. The door was unlocked, and open just a bit, and from what I can see, they've gotten here, first.” His chin falls to his chest, and his voice has grown sad. The boy drops the knife to his side and climbs up the steps, looking through the window. Sitting just on the back of a sofa is a fat, white persian cat, staring down at them contemptuously. And maybe a tiny bit hungry. “That's just a cat,” He says with bravado in his voice, moving through the group he pushes the door open. The white cat licks it chops, but soon loses its nerve, hissing out of the room and out the front door, scattering the elves back.
The group of small men all let out a sad gasp. The house is empty, nothing at all left of any Christmas cheer. From his puffy coat, a skinny elf produces a single silver bell. He lets it ring out mournfully before putting it back. Then from a different pocket retrieves a string of golden tinsel, throwing it up in the air with an ever solemn look on his face. It lands unceremoniously on the ground to their left. Elliot rolls his eyes, walking across the living room floor. Their quiet is disturbed by two demons with wide bursting from the kitchen door. They carry rattling bags over their shoulders, something glittery jutting from the draw-string tops. The two demons garble in surprise, dropping their bags to the ground and baring their yellowy teeth. “Get ready, boys!” Calls out the squat elf, pulling his triangular cap down over his brow, but Elliot thinks he hears sharp shrieks from at least two of his comrades behind.
“Grab something you can use as a weapon...” He looks around, pointing emphatically at a set of knitting needles poking out of some yarn in a basket. The thoughtful one pushes forward, and his face lapses into great concentration. Then one of the heavy sacks that the gremlins were carrying, floats in mid air. It swings back a little, for just a bit more momentum, and then slams into the back of the demon on the right.
The cackling creature tips over, sprawling at Pollock's feet. A few of the elves, one now armed with the needles, scream out a war cry and rush the other. Without even thinking, in one swift motion, he lifts the knife over his head and brings it down into the back of the face-down foe. His breathing is faster and heavier, black-blue blood pooling around the wound. He jerks the blade out, the body lifting a bit with the motion, and then turns to the other, overwhelmed by cheerily-garbed men. Pollock stands up, and marches over to the scene.
With a white needle sticking out from his shoulder, the demon lets out a hell-raising scream, cut short by a blade driven deep into his chest. That scream was not a normal death knell, of that the boy was sure. He pushes past the group of gaping elves and hurries across to the front door.
From every house on the street came a gremlin or two, but so did the elves, attracted to the coup. (‘Here it is, Pollock, more chaos than you could ever dream!’ He cleans his knife across his chest, inspecting its gleam. ‘You feel that, young man?’ It whispers close in his ear, He feels warm and alert, ‘That is violence without fear.’) He walks out onto the porch, surveying the scene, And behind the green glow of eyes, a growl, “So that's where you've been.”
12-07-2015, 11:49 AM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2015, 04:50 PM by Weir.)
The strain on the roof sounds a groan that is paramount. Weir isn’t sure how it manages to hold the weight of the person, or being, that owns the lumbering footsteps from above. There isn’t much time to think in schematics, there’s a grunt, followed by the scraping of boots on brick.
“What is that Weir, an elephant coming down the chimney?” Darwin pipes from inside Weir’s bag. The demons cease their assault, crowding around each other and the doorway. A few of the little green blighters trickle out into the hallway, obviously in expectation of the something, or someone that is stomping up the stairs. The wooden slats moan with protest but they hold, the figure bobs into view with each step.
A large, hairy, green, monster in a red Santa suit ascends. Rotund to say the least, his belly jutting out from the space between coat buttons. You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch.
A childlike song fills the redhead man’s mind. A bedtime story told to children during the Christmas holidays, written by Dr.Seuss, if he recalls correctly.
It was a meeting Weir never expected, but he supposed in dreams, nothing could be certain. The eyes are the most unsettling thing about him, flashing with a haunted green light, searing through him with their hard gaze. His teeth are crooked and rotting, forming uneven grey-tinted rows as he opens his mouth to smile. A flick of his wrist and the croquet mallet he’s been holding, flies end over end from his hand. Weir stares at his empty hand, jaw hanging open, how had he done that?
“We aren’t here to hurt anyone, unless you get in our way. But since you are up…”
A crack sounds, bursting with a pop against his eardrum, and a pair of reindeer antlers appear from nowhere. They’re obnoxious and absurd, a brown velvet material over a headband. The same mass produced headband found at each corner store from here to Wisconsin. That foul, growling Grinch wants Weir to help him, to assist him and his reindeer demons on their quest to save Christmas. Then, the Grinch falls silent and as if by magic everything else seems to quiet too. It’s a silence that’s hard to come by these days, when the world is so full of computers, and tablets, and constant ways to plug in. Everything else, except for the commotion that resonates from outside.
He can hear the bells ringing, jingling with a clink as they toss into each other with sweet music. The sounds of a clack and a pop. The sounds his heart knows are magic thrown from foe to foe. Sounds blasting against the still winter air, as two sides fight, each hoping to claim Christmas for their own.
The sounds fade out once more and Weir still stands before the Grinch, the Grinch who waits for an answer. And our dear Weir, as always, has one.
“No.” He says in a breath as he looks at the ground. His hands bunch into tight fists, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
“Sorry, what’s that?” The Grinch pries, his voice like gravel between large stones.
“I said No! Never!” Weir yells, his chest puffing and protruding with courage. He slips a hand into his coat before pressing more insult upon the green hellions. “We’ll never help a slippery sod like yourself.” “Hear, hear!” Darwin insists from the canvas bag, in full agreement with his host.
It’s the best plan he’s got in a pinch like this, yanking from his pocket a tube of spray hand sanitizer.
Thrusting his arm forward, he presses a spritz of the alcohol based concoction into the Grinch’s eyes. A yowl breaks from his janky jaw, reeking of foul, rotted food. The Grinch grabs his face, pressing his wooly hands into his burning eyes, stepping back onto one of his demons. The creature gives a sharp shriek and Weir takes this chance to bolt for the door, clutching his bag tightly to his right side. As he squeezes between both Grinch and demon, the ominous Grinch flings his clawed hand at Weir, striking him with such force that Weir smashes into the bedroom window.
It’s a theatrical tumble, head over heal from the sill to the field of the roof. Weir fumbles with his hands, awkwardly managing to latch onto the eave. The ache at his side is outstanding, causing a hitch in his muscle that screams. Darwin shouts from his sack, crying with indignation. “Weir! Weir, blast it all! Don’t you dare let go, don’t you fall on me!” Weir’s amber eyes widen as he shuffles his feet towards the side of the house, desperately trying to gain leverage. The demons, skirt the broken window, peering out with malice. Their eyes afire with fury.
Weir dangles, a proverbial fish in a barrell, open to any manner of attack. A soft tinkling fills his ears, and he turns his head to peer down, a small group of Santa’s elves assembling below him. “Halloo, you there! Help a fellow out?” A pained voice rises from his throat, in desperate need of assistance. The elves chitter at each other, then finally agree to help, shaking their heads fervently at the redhead above.
A familiar crack sizzles against the air and Weir finds himself standing firmly on solid ground. “Are we alive?” Comes the muffled inquiry of the sack. “Yes Darwin, we are whole we-” the elves cut him off, clustering around his sack, poking their hands and heads through the folds of material to investigate the voice. They seem pleased with what they find, excited laughter and foreign talk bubbling from their high pitched voices. “We what? Weir? What-..Oh! Yes, yes, hello. No don’t..ahah..ahahaha, stop! Confound it, stop tickling me!”
Weir looks on amused but at the increase in pitch coming from Darwin, he decides enough is enough- shooing the elves away. “A crotchity thing, ever since he’s been made a turtle. Don’t take it to heart.” Weir assures them, though they do not seem fussed with the turtles grumping. A blast of green light whizzes past Weir’s head, igniting the shrubbery behind him. Looking up, he can plainly see a group of demons advancing forth, and from the opposite end a couple of Santa’s elves marching to intercept them. The nearest helper-elf snatches Weir’s hand, dragging him away towards the drive and the adjacent house. Weir’s side protests, but he is hurried along with no regard to his pains.
It’s not the warm, welcoming sort of house. It’s quite cold, there’s no welcome mat on the porch, the yard is in dire need of tending, and the screen hangs barely affixed to the door frame. Likely from being slammed one too many times. The elves drag him up the steps, open the door without so much as knocking, and wander into the house.
Their greeted with a loud, growling voice, booming from the den into the foyer. “Son of a bitch, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred damn times. WEIR?!” An impressive man stomps towards him, tall and broad. His eyes are dark shadows, his jaw is fine but hard, lined with a few days stubble. His flannel shirt is haphazardly buttoned, the thick lines of a chest tattoo peeking out from uncovered skin. Over his shoulder sits an axe, the kind you might see someone felling a tree with. A black, bird, proudly sits burned into the pine handle. His axeless hand, grips the neck of a Jack Daniel’s bottle- still half full of amber liquid.
“Did you do this?” He gestures his head towards the door, referring to the chaos outside. He brings the liquor to his lips, index finger pointing directly at Weir. “War?-Warshyshippy!” Weir exclaims in realization, elated that Warship would be here to assist him in this dream. What kind luck of his brain to work him in that way, he’d thank himself later. Warship is not so fond of Weir’s chosen namesake for him, his hand clenching the axe handle tightly- the elves swarming him chattering nonsense and shaking their heads.
“Did I? No, no..I did not do this. Or perhaps I did, it’s my dream after all.” The possibility is not entirely out the window. Since Weir was sure this was a dream, his dream, then the entire scenario had come from his own subconscious. “Elves, this is my great friend Warship. The most glorious warrior in all of Beqanna, we are in good hands I promise you.” Weir beams, proud to impart this knowledge on the elves.
“Ahem! Sorry to interrupt, dont mind me now.” Darwin interrupts, feeling forgotten. “Yes, of course, Darwin says hello Shippy.” He opens the flap of his bag to show the General the tiny turtle inside. Warship sneers, rolls his eyes, and takes a large swig of his whiskey.
The splintering of wood, the resulting crash of noise doesn’t leave time to discuss details, or make further introductions. Warship is obviously cross, “And you led them to my place?!” He throws a knife of an accusation at Weir and the elves, shoving them all aside to begin his own assault on the Grinch’s demons. The one’s that Warship does not engage, turn their attentions to Weir and his jingling companions. Having been unceremoniously parted with his mallet, Weir searches in earnest for a new weapon to wield.
He spots a long, black, cylinder resting on a tv tray serving as a side table. “Ho,ho-that’ll do pig!” He exclaims, making a break for the mag-lite, his injured side hitching into a knot when he reaches it. In one hand he clasps the metal flashlight, the other presses into his hip. For some reason applying pressure lessened the ache, and he stood hunched into his side- watching as demons progressed towards him. A grimace takes his features, and the folds of his bag are parted just enough for Darwin to peek up.
“Weir. Weir remember, focus. You’re in control, forget that the magic is not here. This isn’t a tournament Weir, do what you must to win.” The red headed man looks down at his satchel, a determined look on his face and he gives a curt nod. “Quite right old chap.” He agrees, righting himself against the wobbling tv tray. He shakes his hand, the one with his mag-lite, testing the weight of the object. Then he waits, waits for them to come because he knows they will come to him regardless. The first demon, he cracks against the jaw, sending the creature into a spin. The second advances quickly, slashing at Weirs thigh, raking the pajama bottoms like butter and leaving two decent lacerations behind. He grimaces, thrusting the flashlight at the dark ones funny bone, which does not feel so funny he hears. The elves are exchanging magic, bolts of silvered light against an eerie green glow. Weir can only hope they are victorious, he is sure to need them again.
When he has successfully gotten past his own threats, he limps towards the elves who have just finished off their own rivals. They’re looking around concerned, checking each other over to asses any damage. It all seems minor enough and they turn to look happily at Weir. Tutting over his leg injury, and poking in his bag to check on Darwin. The tiny turtle calls from the satchel, “Still alive!” as to avoid their tickling fingers.
Through the doorway stomps Warship, a gash over his eyebrow and a burn mark to his bicep. Other than that, the soldier seems unphased by the battle, glowering at both Weir and the elves. “You idiots are going to get yourselves killed.” He makes sure to inform them, stalking away into another room and returning with some bandaging. “Here fool, I’ll not have you bleeding all over my carpet.” He advises, thrusting the roll at Weir and leaving him and the elves to sort out triage.
The house rattles, sending the elves toppling over. Weir grabs a stair rail, Warship returns to the room to see what mess the others have caused now. They're receiving an air assault, balls of colored magic falling from the skies and exploding against the residence. Large chunks of rubble splinter through the air, and Weir imagines this is what an earthquake would be like. The elves jump up, grabbing at both men, pulling them out the door into the street. Another crash against the house shakes them across the dirty porch, sending both Weir and several elves sprawling. The redheaded man manages to twist his body, falling on his backside and cradling his bag to his stomach. “Not to worry Darwin ol’ chap.”
The elves pop up in a hurry, clambering from the porch slats, grabbing again at their two human companions. Their foreign speech is unknown to Weir but he can assume they only mean to say that they have to leave NOW.
The redhead is half limp/running, half being dragged down the street by his small companions. Warship brings up the rear, deftly smashing the onslaught of green minions that seek to cause harm. The outside world is chaos, bursts of green light fall in their wake, sending them seeking paths to the left, then to the right. A vicious dog, bolts from its yard, the fence damaged from a recent magic attack. The hairy, brown, mutt, makes for Weir and the elves, as if he has a personal vendetta against them. Weir is in no condition for sprinting and is seized by his injured leg, tumbling to the asphalt as the mutt jerks his limb around. Darwin goes flying from Weir’s bag, turning in the air as Weir watches horrified. It’s like his life flashes before him as he crawls helpless against the ground, pulling against the dog.
There’s a flicker of sun flashing off metal, and a large rough hand coming into view. Warship with one hand, catches Darwin mid air, with the other he (without remorse), chops the mutts head off with his axe. Blood splatters bright and red against the asphalt and Weir’s jeans, the elves look on in terror, several of them with their tiny hands over their gaping mouths. Warship unceremoniously thrusts Darwin at Weir, looking at the redhead with a cold stare. “I trust that scratch hasn’t made you useless.” He gruffs, as Weir takes Darwin in trembling hands. “H-Hardly, just a leg of course. The gods saw fit to grace me with a spare.” He laughs nervously, straining to his feet with the help of the elves, again they flee.
A good five houses down, and the red-clad Santa’s elves, drag both Weir and Warship to a house.
Pillars line the front of a grand abode. Twin gargoyles border the front steps, both in the shape of vultures. The house is warm, inviting, decorated to the nine’s for the Christmas season, and the elves form an elf-made ladder to rap the brass knocker against the door. They call excitedly, jumping down from each other’s shoulders to bombard the threshold, "Yes, inside quickly you lot,” says the man that gives them access to his home. Weir crowds in with the rest, followed by Warship who does so resentfully, probably still unsure why he was helping in the first place.
The house is immaculate, with gleaming floors, and polished hardware. Taking a good look around, Weir’s eyes come to rest on their savior, a grey haired young man. Younger than him at least, younger than Warship by far. He dresses much smarter than either of them. A navy quarter-zip over a grey crew neck tee,and a pair of jeans with the bottoms rolled up to reveal a pair of dark brown, leather, Timberlands. His demeanor is suggestive of a leader, both with a commanding presence and an obvious weight that the burden would bare. Somehow he seems to display a grace to shoulder it, and a knowing smile for Weir. “Can’t say how glad this boy king is to see you!” He grabs Weir for a hug, patting over his shoulders with enthusiasm. “You bring odd company but if I know you, then you have your reasons, and I welcome them.” He looks over Weirs shoulder at Warship, as if his words needed direction.
“Ramiel?” Weir questions, Darwin shifts in his satchel, trying to clamber up to see. “Is it really? Let me see, what good news finally!” His bag shakes and shifts, and Weir has no choice other than to scoop the tiny Darwin from the confines of the canvas. “Indeed it is Ramiel! Oh thank Tiphon, thank Talulah!” He wiggles around shouting from Weir’s palm. A loud chorus tumbles in from the kitchen, followed by the distinct sound of flapping wings. A beautiful grey parrot sails to Ramiels shoulder, where it perches and gives a happy cry. “Oh wonderful, wonderful!” Darwin prattles on, elated at his friend’s presence.
“Come, come in,” Ramiel beckons them all further into the house, “no doubt they’ll be right behind you.” He announces his prediction as they all cross into a sitting room. “Weir, your leg, is it bad?” The young king takes notice of Weir’s limp and bandaging as they enter the room.
“Fine, I’ll be fine, no worries here.” The redhead assures them all, including the chittering elves that dog them. From the other side of the room Warship Hmmphs tracing his fingers along Ramiels jade figurines, and fine leather books. He seems to be searching for something, picking along the shelves, running his hands behind statues and vases. Finally he finds it, an oak liquor cabinet which he opens without asking. Ramiel raises his hand, starts to cross the room, but Warship turns, axe and drink in hand. Downing the amber liquid he looks down at the young man, glaring, daring him to suggest he behave otherwise. Weir determines it is a fine time to speak up, “A drink yes, I could use one, what a grand idea.” Babbling as he limps over, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the reserves.
It’s just now that Weir discovers why the elves seem so taken with Ramiel, how they knew to lead Weir here in the first place. Strewn throughout the house are stockings, presents, christmas decorations of all sorts. They are so mismatched and precariously stacked about, that it is obvious they do not all belong here. Ramiel’s been watching, looking at Weir side long and offers an explanation. “I’ve been helping them secure the gifts they can save, they’ve put a barrier on the house, but they tell me it will not be able to hold much longer.” He appears reflective as he sips his own drink, if only to have something to do with his hands. “I offered to take us elsewhere,” he suggests cryptically, “but it was no use here. Wouldn’t work. I told the elves to fetch you, to bring us some help, you can help the barrier hold right?” Ramiel looks expectantly at Weir, the red’s face only falling into his brandy.
“I’m afraid I’m of no help either. The magic doesn’t work right here, I can do nothing with it.” He relents, tipping the rest of his drink into his mouth.
The house trembles, a deafening boom splits the air, and Weir smashes his hands to his ears. So it seems, does everyone else. The elves scamper around, finding each other and clasping hands, looking nervously around the room at the men. “Well, that didn’t take long” Ramiel sighs, knocks out his own drink, and comes to stand next to the elves. Another boom and the sound of shattering, the elves groans rising in a forlorn chorus. “Well, that it. they’ve just broken the barrier.” The young king informs them, patting the shoulder of the nearest elf comfortingly.
“They?” Weir asks, looking puzzled. The demons surely he thought, but it’s the way he says they.
“The reindeer.” He says flatly, looking up from the group of little people. Weir nods, recalling the pair of antlers he had been offered himself. The ones he knew better than to take. “We’ll fight them off!” Weir announces with importance, digging his hands into his bag. “Fight them off?” Darwin inquires, appalled at the notion, crawling along the shelf where he’s been placed. “You’re in no condition, you havn’t any weapons!” He gripes, not thinking this a good plan at all.
“Don’t worry about me Darwin, we’ll make do.” Weir responds, still shoving things aside in his bag.
“Not worry about you? I must worry about you, especially since you will not worry about yourself.” Stepping closer to the edge of the shelf peeking with his little turtle eyes over the ledge. “What’re you doing? What’re you looking for Weir?”
“Oh, things, this and that.” He pulls bottles, baggies, and nonsense it seems from the depths of his tote. “Ahah! For Ramiel, some itching powder.” He declares, thrusting a baggie at the lad. “For WarshyShippy, a canister of tear gas. Use wisely my friend, it’s the only one I have.” He pats the severe looking soldier on the arm before moving along. “Elves, well, I hope your magic can serve you well.” They all nod, clearly not in need of the man’s odd devices.
There’s a sound of glass breaking, a gurgle of yells emitting from beyond the parlor. Weir grabs Darwin, mouthing a ‘sorry’ as he stuffs him back in his bag. The parrot squalls from Ramiel’s shoulder, clearly some form of battle cry or threat. Their group of misfits emerges from the house, to the porch, where they are greeted by nine snarling reindeer demons.
The reindeer demons growl from the street, their fake antlers sitting crookedly on their lumpy heads. Weir feels like the light has been sucked from the world, a hush falls over the group, and he whispers uncertainly. “Oh my, wish we had kept hold of that flashlight Darwin.” The elves take this as a cue to help, one seems to nod to the others, a steely look on his face. They join around him, each placing a palm against the chosen elf, a somber look in their eyes. From crackling silver magic the three men find themselves armed, and the sixth elf crumples to the porch spent. Warship holds a great shield, emblazoned with two crossed candy canes to join his axe. Ramiel looks over a long sword, gleaming like christmas tinsel, a similar shield appears in his free hand. Weir clutches a war hammer, but he does not take in the detail. He’s still looking at that poor elf, the one who so freely sacrificed himself. Why would he dream of such a thing?
His own shield is adorned with a Star of Bethlehem, and the remaining five elves nod solemnly before them. No time to mourn that brave elf, the dark things are coming, and they best all be ready. From his end of the porch, Ramiel speaks solemnly, somehow knowing what they all mean to say. “Thanks be unto him for this great gift. Fear not, but behold the magic and wonder of Christmas.” Finishing, he shakes his head, as if freeing himself from some spell. Even Warship stands in silence, his jaw clenched tightly, looking like he is readying to strike. Weir turns then, facing the growling reindeer demons, muttering fervently under his breath. He braces for impact, knowing with his injured leg, his weapons may not be enough to save him.
And inside you're burning with some secret yearning
She lands on the floor at his feet with a thump, repressing a wince as her bones jangle inside her skin. No doubt she would be bruised in the morning. The vile demons had not been kind with her. Raising her gaze, she peers at the beast before her with mingled horror and fascination. The Grinch. She has seen the movies, of course. Read the book. But he is nothing like they portray in those trite little children’s shows, save for being green and hairy. No, this one is large and ugly, a revolting scent emanating from his greasy green fur. His teeth are sharp and yellow, the gums turning black and rotted. His eyes glow an unearthly green, looking as though toxic waste is spilling from his gaze. She shudders in fear and disgust, unable to hide the primal reaction. She tries to scoot away, but is unable to. The reindeer demons are there, sharp nails digging into her skin to prevent her escape.
His voice is the very opposite of his appearance. It is made up of sweet, dulcet tones that play tricks upon her ears, upon her mind. She shakes her head, trying to reconcile the image with the sound. But there is something beneath those smooth tones. Something black and horrendous. Something that sends cold shivers of dread racing up and down her spine.
She cannot quite place a finger on it, but she knows that this is the truth behind the sweetness. The rotten core of a beautifully red apple.
His tones sing to her, honeyed and convincing. She would be doing everyone a favor by destroying Christmas. The petty commercialism, the greed and gluttony of the season, it could be rectified. Could be turned back into what it was originally meant to be. Food and family.
Family.
The word strikes something harsh and discordant within her, recalling her back to the present. Back to the truth. That the commercial pettiness is all she has. Her husband does not love her. Barely even notices their children most days. He would not spend Christmas with them. He never did. Her one joy was watching her children open their gifts, attending the glittery parties of the season, eating delicious food and drinking too much mulled cider. He could not take that from her.
Want to help us save Christmas? The words are alluring and horrifying all at the same time. ”No!” she shrieks, hand flying out reflexively at the antlers proffered to her, knocking them from the Grinch’s sickly green hand. ”You are not saving Christmas, you are destroying it!” she says hotly, unable to help herself.
She is scrambling backwards then, not realizing at first that the demons have let her. That they are not prodding her back, forcing her closer. She is too focused on their master. On the horrible grimace that twists his features at her words, the outraged expression quickly replacing whatever cordiality had once been there.
Clambering to her feet, she scoots backwards even further, never taking her eyes from the horrible beast. He doesn’t try to stop her, true to his word. She is surprised by this. Surprised that he would not retaliate against her thoughtless lashing out.
”Very well,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice now gratingly clangorous. ”You have made your choice. Now you must live with it.” The last words are spat at her, much like a snake might spit venom.
She doesn’t realize she has backed all the way to the front door until she hits the console table. The bowl of ornaments that decorate its surface wobble precariously for a moment. What once might have made her heart seize in dreaded anticipation is now all too easily ignored. The rest of her lovely house is already destroyed. What does one more smashed item matter?
Clutching a doorknob, she yanks one of the heavy double doors open and scoots outside, away from harm. It is only once she has reached the bottom of the stairs that she realizes she is wearing neither shoes nor coat.
Well hell. What is she supposed to do now? There is no going back in her house. Her only option is to run across the street and see if her neighbors might be willing to help her.
Not that they were likely to believe her story.
Deciding that the worst case scenario would involve her simply being turned away, she breaks into a sprint, darting down her ice covered driveway, across the road, and up to the MacKenzie’s front door. Before she can even pause to ring the doorbell, a small figure is approaching her on swift feet across the snowy lawn. She freezes in horror, thinking it must be one of the Grinch’s demons coming to reclaim her.
But rather than an ugly little beast with fake antlers upon his head, she sees a small sprightly man with pointed ears and festive green and red garb. Her mouth drops open in astonishment. For a long moment, she is too stunned to even speak, much less move, when the elf grabs her hand and begins to tug. Afterwards, when she thinks back on it, she doesn’t know why she was so surprised. If the Grinch is real, why not Santa and his elves?
”Miss Lirren, you must come quickly! You’ll catch your death.” The little man’s words spur her into action. She doesn’t even stop to wonder how he might know her name. Forcing her rapidly numbing feet to work, she follows the elf around to the back of the house as her teeth begin to chatter violently in her skull. He leads her to the patio, a snap of his fingers unlocking the sliding doors. She enters the house, immediately grateful for the blessed warmth. It had really been foolish of her to leave without shoes at the very least.
”Thank you… uh…” she begins before realizing she has no clue what she might call the little man.
”Mr. Thimble,” he supplies matter of factly. ”And don’t thank me just yet. Christmas is still being destroyed.”
”Oh god.” Lirren whispers the words softly, tears springing to her eyes as the events of the last fifteen minutes catch up with her. ”I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop them.”
”Now, now, my dear,” Mr. Thimble says sympathetically. ”Don’t fret, we will stop them.”
Lirren nods slowly, refusing to allow herself to fall into hysteria. Not yet. Not when this isn’t over. Not when her children are still in danger. ”I will help,” she says, the quiet vow filled with fierce determination. But before the small man can make any sort of response, there is a thud echoing from above, followed by eerily familiar cackling.
No. Not again. Her lungs clutch in remembered fear as she recognizes the all too familiar sounds. Suddenly several more elves dart into the room, whispering urgently to Mr. Thimble. When she is finally able to gasp in a breath, she manages to turn her attention to the elves long enough to hear what they are saying.
They mean to put up a fight. To wage a battle to save Christmas in this very house.
Suddenly a shriek sounds from above, an ear splitting, familiar scream. Jenny, Mrs. MacKenzie, must be awake. Must have seen the horrible little creatures. She always had been a bit melodramatic. At the sound of the scream, the elves spring into action, dashing from the room and up the stairs so that they might confront the evil that awaits. Lirren follows them more cautiously, unsure what she might do against these creatures. She had been so terribly unsuccessful last time.
Just as she is leaving the room, she spies the fireplace out of the corner of her eye. Oh my god, the fire poker! What better weapon could there possibly be? Longer than any knife she might find in the kitchen, but certainly just as deadly. Doubling back, she snatches the thing from its holder, swinging it over her head as she tests its reach.
Perfect! She would not go into this one unarmed.
With far more confidence in her step, she exits the room and follows the elves up the stairs. She can hear the battle already. The cackling of the demons as they strive to pull the house apart followed by the dismayed tinkling of the elves as they work to set things right.
When she reaches the landing, she sees a figure too large to be an elf or demon lying on the floor. ”Jenny!” Lirren exclaims in alarm, rushing to the woman’s side. Kneeling down, she gropes desperately for a pulse, hoping she is not too late. Fortunately it is there, steady and strong. No blood either. She seems to have simply been knocked out. Though given her horrendous scream, she might have been tempted to knock her out too had she been close enough. If she had had it in her, she might have smiled wryly at that thought.
A sudden yowl splits the air just before a large object leaps onto Lirren, sharp claws digging into her skin. Giving a not so insignificant shriek herself, she grasps wildly at the creature, poker flailing uncontrollably as she does so. It is only after she rips the hissing, spitting thing off of herself and tosses it halfway across the room that she realizes it is a cat.
”Oh, Butters!” Lirren gasps, even as small drops of blood trickle down her neck and back, soaking into her pajamas. ”I’m sorry!” She has no time for any further lamenting as a whole passel of elves and demons abruptly tumble into the room from the kitchen. The demons are clearly trying to make their way towards the Christmas tree standing proudly across the room in front of the large picture window. The elves are clearly trying to stop them. The result is a large, wriggling mass of little bodies as they grapple with each other.
”NO!” Leaping to her feet, Lirren races for the tree. Planting herself in front of it, she grasps the fire poker before her, fierce resolve written clearly upon her features. If she couldn’t save her own Christmas tree, she could at least save this one.
The demons come for her. Or rather, for the Christmas tree. Wielding the poker like a bat, she lashes out at them over and over again, attempting in vain to repel them. But there is only one of her, and far too many of them. Before long, one has managed to grasp her wildly swinging hand in an attempt to subdue her in a fashion similar to their previous encounter. Flailing desperately, she manages, to her surprise, to disengage the creature from her hand. Unfortunately, the sudden absence of weight causes her hand to swing wide and the poker to fly from her grip. Right into the large window behind her.
To her horror, the impromptu weapon smashes through the window, shattering the glass and causing a blast of cold winter air to enter the room. With a fresh bout of gleeful laughter, the tiny beasts disentangle themselves from the elves and leap out of the destroyed window. The elves quickly follow, leaving Lirren to make her own way. She can only stare at the broken window in shock for a long moment before finally coming to her senses. Darting for the front door, she pauses at the closet long enough to snatch a jacket and stamp her feet into a pair of too large boots before dashing from the house to follow the rapidly disappearing group of elves and demons.
To her dismay, she sees them enter the house next door. The Wilton’s house. Her daughter is friends with their daughter. Dread fills her at the thought of another child being placed in harm’s way. She sprints for the house, hoping she might actually be successful in turning the demons away this time. While it’s true they hadn’t managed to tear down the MacKenzie’s tree, the smashed window would not lend itself to a festive Christmas morning.
Racing in the front door, she can immediately hear the distinct crashing and shouting and cackling of the battling horde. Bolting into the living room, she finds the place already in shambles. ”Oh no,” she whispers in dismay as she takes in the trashed space. She is too late.
The demons are already moving on, the whole horde darting out the wide open front door as their delighted snickering echoes in their wake. The elves are hot on their heels in dogged pursuit.
Lirren moves to follow them, but a small noise alerts her to the presence of someone behind her. Whipping around, her silver eyes fall upon the familiar face of the Wilton’s daughter. ”Oh Lily,” she says in heartbroken tones. ”Go back to bed, dear. Please.”
Lily doesn’t seem to hear her as she stares at the destruction, at the battling mob of elves and demons, with wide-eyed terror. Starting forward, she means to usher the girl back up the stairs, away from this fight. ”Mr. Thimble, I…” she starts, hoping to alert him to the girl’s presence, to incite him to keep the demons away. Before she can finish, the door slams shut, locking itself so that Lily cannot leave the house. Glancing back, she sees the elf toss her a quick grin before he gets tackled by an antlered devil.
This time, without hesitating, she leaps into the fray, forgetting for a moment that she has no weapon. But she does have obstinacy on her side, and that has to count for something, right?
In any case, she is determined that this is the last house those horrid creatures will have a chance to destroy.
Lirren
starlit daughter of joythief and carnage
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