when all through the house | round ii

[farren]

Of course he had found him. Of course.

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.

Shit.