Never Fear (22 page)

As the sleigh descended from the ebon
sky into the moonlight, the driver and creatures leading it became
clear, and the horrors of what they were became evident. They were
eight-in-hand, yet not one was a horse or mule or ox, but a
combination of all. They had horns that grew straight back from
mule-like heads, curving down at the shoulders, with cloven hooves
on long thin legs, backs that were strong and full at the loins,
and a tail that looked like that of a rat’s.

The creatures brayed as the crack of a
whip sliced into their backs. They bucked in the air, tossing their
heads, horns clashing, with the sound echoing into the
night.

With a little old driver,
so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must
be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his
coursers they came,

And he whistled, and
shouted, and called them by name!

The driver, dressed in black fur with
a cloak that undulated behind him, snapped the whip once again and
called in a voice filled with malevolence to each of the creatures
pulling the sleigh. A guttural sound that no man could make or
understand, he growled what to my ears I thought might be their
names. As each creature was called, it responded with a
snort.

"Now Dasher! Now, Dancer!
Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On,
Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!"

Then with the whip twice as long as
three men, the driver stood, pulled his arm back, and cracked the
leather lead onto the backs of the creatures. They grunted and
brayed like no animals on earth. A horrendous sound of terror
descended upon my ears and heralded their arrival. Then a cackling
and hiss from the driver could be heard above the creatures’ cries.
The sound sent an uncontrollable shiver throughout my
body.

As dry leaves that before
the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an
obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house-top the
coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of
toys, and St Nicholas too.

The driver directed the creatures by
pulling on a harness of leather embedded with nails, creating deep
scratches in their darkened hides, where a black liquid oozed out.
Scars blighted their sides and flanks, where harness and whip had
met the creatures’ bodies many times before.

And then, in a twinkling,
I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of
each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and
was turning around,

Down the chimney St
Nicholas came with a bound.

The sleigh turned and dropped, heading
straight for the cottage. It was out of sight for only a few
seconds when I heard it light upon the roof. Snow, dust, and soot
fell from the old broken beams supporting the roof, filling the
interior with a curtain of particles. I quickly covered my mouth
and nose with the sleeve of my shirt.

He was dressed all in fur,
from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all
tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys he had
flung on his back,

And he looked like a
peddler, just opening his pack.

Out of the dust and from the fire, a
figure appeared. He was covered in soot and ash and it cascaded
around him, falling from the black fur collar and cuffs of his
cloak. The fire instantly flashed, nearly igniting the table and
tree. Even though only one log lay in the hearth, flames burst
forth as though it had been stoked full.

His eyes-how they
twinkled! His dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like
roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was
drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin
was as white as the snow.

He hesitated, then caught sight of me
crouched on my bed in the corner of the room. In the loft above, my
mother and father slept soundly, unaware of the intruder. I pulled
the blanket up closer to my shoulders, hoping it would help to hide
me. His eyes gleamed a reddish glare and he scowled in my
direction. His face was black with soot and a dark beard hung from
his chin. He remained where he was, and his eyes also remained
staring directly into my soul. After a moment, a slow smile spread
across his face.

The stump of a pipe he
held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled
his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a
little round belly,

That shook when he
laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

At first, I thought I could make out a
pipe hanging from the corner of his snarled smile, but as he moved
into the dim light cast by the moon coming through the window, it
became apparent that it was not a pipe at all, but a long, twisted
tooth that hung like the fang of an old hog. Then, while I watched
with dread, a second tooth in the other corner of his mouth
extended and snaked its way down till it met the length of the
other. He cackled and stepped closer. As he did so, the flames in
the hearth faded and the room grew suddenly cold.

He was chubby and plump, a
right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw
him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a
twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had
nothing to dread.

The black fur collar and cuffs, along
with the wide cloak that wrapped around him, gave him the
appearance of some girth, and he stood taller than most men. As he
closed the few feet between us, I could make out more of him: hands
that were skeletal and a face that betrayed his many, many years.
 His skin was near gray and patches of it were bruised and
rotting. I wanted to look away, but dared not. He took another
step.

He spoke not a word, but
went straight to his work,

And filled all the
stockings, then turned with a jerk.

And laying his finger
aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the
chimney he rose!

He moved slowly, nearly gliding over
the warped and worn floorboards. Not a sound did he make as he
stepped closer and closer to me. I sat with the blanket pulled up
tightly as possible, with my back flat against the wall in the
corner of the room, where the small bench that served as my bed at
night and for storage during the day had always been. I could not
move.

Then he sprang. His body reached mine
in the blink of an eye, and should I have blinked, I would have
missed seeing him move at all. Suddenly, he was over me, leering at
me. I was paralyzed in fear. I tried to yell for my father, but my
dry throat would only choke out a strained whisper.

He cackled at me, then let a long hiss
slip between the blackened fangs and his lips.  He slowly
moved down toward me, lowering himself as if he were a puppet on a
string. I could feel the bristles of his fur cuffs as his hands
reached for my head. They brushed my cheek, and if the
circumstances had been any different, they would have tickled, but
now they caused a deep chill to rush down my spine. He leaned in,
pushed my head to the side, revealing the throbbing vein in the
side of my neck. I tried to resist; I could not. As if possessed, I
allow my head to tilt without resistance, exposing my neck to him.
I could feel the hot breath on my neck, then the scratch of fangs
on my exposed skin, tearing slowly across my jugular. And then they
pierced. Scalding pain seared through me, and yet I did not move. I
was in his trance, before falling into a nightmarish
slumber.

He sprang to his sleigh,
to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew
like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim,
’ere he drove out of sight,

“
Happy Christmas to all,
and to all a good-night!”

I awoke, confused, panting, my lungs
hungry for air. Darkness enfolded me. I tried to raise my hands but
hit rough canvas. Reality began to settle in, and an image filled
my mind’s eye. I was inside the large cloth sack the monster had
brought with him. I could now hear the wind and felt the occasional
bump as the sleigh rose into the night. Then, just before I went
unconscious again, I heard the unmistakable sound of his
cackle.

I was not alone when I woke. There
were others: another boy of twelve or thirteen, a girl nearly an
adult. We had been piled in a corner of a room that was clearly a
tinker’s workshop. Machinery stood silent, and sawdust littered the
floor, capturing little footprints from those who had worked the
machines. It was dark and quiet and smelled of wood and grease and
sweat. A calendar on a distant wall hung crookedly from a nail. Red
marks were drawn through each of the days: day number 1 marked, day
number 2 marked. And so were all the remaining days up to the 24th,
the last day marked. The 25th remained unmarked.
Christmas.

A small, thick wooden door opened near
where the calendar hung. A figure appeared in the doorway and
beckoned to us. “Come.”

The girl stood and started moving
first. The other boy and I followed.

As we drew nearer to the figure, I
could see that he wasn’t a man, but a boy. Not much older than I
was. He looked into my eyes as I passed through the doorway and he
whispered to me, “The story was wrong. He does not bring gifts...
He takes them.”

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER 8

“
Wow,” Nick said after
he’d finished the story. “You don’t think Santa could really
be—”

“
You still believe in
Santa Claus, Nicky?” Jack ribbed.

“
Not the real one,
moron... but this one... I mean, hey, there are unexplainable
things out there in the universe.” Nick turned to his twin. “Look
at us. We’re twins. Same DNA. But I’m a boy, you’re a girl. I’m
good-looking, you’re—”

Nancy punched him in the gut this
time. “Don’t even. I’ll have you know—”

“
Knock it off!” Dan stood
up. “I’m getting —”

Judy jumped in, “I think that might be
enough with these stories. Christmas is supposed to be a merry
time.”

Nick raised his mug. “Aw, Mom, I’m
merry. Aren’t you merry, Nancy? Jack?” He continued before they
could answer. “Dad, Grandpa? Aren’t you merry?” Again, he barreled
on before anyone could answer. “See, Mom? We’re all
merry!”

Judy started, “I don’t know... There’s
dinner...”

“
I’ll read the next one
too. It’s kinda long. One more.” He was almost manic. “Hey! How
about some eggnog, Mom? Yours is the best—with your special
ingredient.” He waggled his eyebrows. Badly.

“
You know he means the
spiced rum,” Nancy muttered to Jack.

“
Duh,” was Jack’s
response.

Nancy looked up at him, shook her
head, and went back to her phone.

Grandpa to the rescue. “You know,
Judy, the boy’s got a point. Your eggnog is the best I’ve ever had.
And I consider myself a connoisseur.”

Judy smiled hopefully. “Everyone want
some?”

The five nodded eagerly.
“Yep.”

“
Definitely.”

“
Yum.”

“
A tall one.”

“
All right. Start reading,
Nick, but speak up so I can hear you in the kitchen.

“
You got it, Mom.
Ahem.
The Twelve Frays of
Christmas
...”

THE TWELVE FRAYS OF
CHRISTMAS

LEE LAWLESS

“
And so now we have the
promise of a New York that no longer festoons its capitalist
mythologies with promises of social mobility, but rather a place
where rich people can sell things to each other, and sometimes to
slightly less rich people, without having to worry about too much
else at all.”-Brendan O’Connor

“
Nowadays people know the
price of everything and the value of nothing.” -Oscar
Wilde

New York City—December
13
^th

The First Day of Christmas.

As she leaned forward toward me, I
wasn’t sure if Clara smelled overwhelmingly like peppermint because
I’d been skulling cocoa spiked with peppermint schnapps all
morning, or if it was due to the foot-long peppermint pole she’d
just been fellating on the mainstage. It was part of her act —“Mrs.
Claws”—a Yuletide dominatrix thing where she stripped off a
matronly dress and white wig to reveal a bandolier of candy canes,
including the lucky long one that she’d so sweetly swallowed before
disgorging it and tossing it to some weirdo in the crowd. She also
had a whip made of tinsel, some strategically-placed snowflakes,
and a strappy red leather outfit that wouldn’t have kept her warm
for two seconds if we were at the actual North Pole.