Never Fear (63 page)

“
Remember to close the
door behind you,” the Minotaur growled.

Pitch turned back as he entered the
portal. “What—” he had time to ask before he was seized.

A sudden burst of bright white light
and it felt as though his body had being grabbed by a giant fist
and crumpled up into a ball. He was pulled, twisted, and turned
inside out. Everything went black. He smacked hard into a cold, wet
surface, and all was still.

Pitch groaned and opened his eyes.
There had to be a better way to travel Up Top than this. He had
heard rumors of an ebony staircase that moved, and all you had to
do was stand on it and you would be taken up. It was only
accessible through a room in Satan’s palace. Barnaby insisted he
had been on it twice, but... you know. Barnaby.

He got to his feet and looked around.
He was in a small cubicle with walls that did not quite reach all
the way to the floor or ceiling. Was this a prison cell of some
type? There was a white porcelain seat with a hole in the middle.
But why would—? Pitch looked in the hole. Ah. Human feces. Then he
remembered. A toilet. He never understood the human desire to
eliminate their waste. Why not leave it out to fester and bloom?
How else do you keep others away from your sleeping mat? He fumbled
with the latch on the door for a moment and stepped out into a
larger, shiny room. Mirrors were set above a long counter that ran
the length of the wall. There were more circular, white porcelain
openings in the counter. Ah, were these toilets as well? Before he
could find out, he remembered the Minotaur’s warning and turned and
closed the stall door. There was a sign on it that read “Out of
Order.” So this would be his way back as well.

Pitch approached the counter and
looked in the openings. No feces. He caught his reflection in the
mirror and he jerked back. He’d seen humans, of course, but only in
their undead state. He’d never really paid much attention to them.
Was this what living humans looked like? Pitch moved closer. A
round, pink human face gazed back at him. Short brown hair. He held
up his hands. Pink. With five (five?) round-tipped fingers. They
would be worthless for ripping out an enemy’s throat. The eyes were
small and round and the teeth were laughable. So few and so flat.
What did they eat up here—paste? He was wearing a black,
short-sleeved shirt with “HERE COMES TROUBLE!” stenciled in garish
green neon across the front. Pitch felt around behind him. No tail.
Interesting. He pulled the front of his shorts out and looked down.
He was male.

The door burst open and two humans
entered. Pitch backed away, thought about racing back to the stall,
and then remembered. I look just like them. As far as they know,
I’m human too. He watched them closely.

“
...and when I see Santa
I’m going to give him a big hug!” the smaller human proclaimed
excitedly.

The larger one, most likely a guard or
keeper of some sort, smiled and nodded. “I’m sure he’ll love that.
Everyone loves a hug.” He helped the small one unfasten his pants
and approach yet another porcelain receptacle, but this one was
built vertically into the wall. Pitch watched, curious. Ahh. That’s
what it was for. The adult human glanced at Pitch. “Are you going
to see Santa, too?”

“
Uhh. Umm. Yes?” Pitch
started at the sound of his voice. Clear and high pitched. Almost
like a female’s. And the way his voice resonated in this tiled
chamber! He began hooting and shouting, listening with delight as
his voice reverberated around the room. The larger human bent down
beside the smaller one and whispered something in his ear. His eyes
never left Pitch. As they made their way out of the bathroom, they
stayed as far away from Pitch as possible. The smaller one turned
and waved his hand and called out, “Bye! See you in line!” as the
door closed.

Line? What line? Remembering that he
had only a limited amount of time to find a gift, Pitch yanked the
door and ventured out.

Sparkles. Noise. Humans. Glitter.
White. Green. Red. Everywhere. He spun around, trying to find some
sense of direction. He wasn’t sure where he was, but it seemed to
be some type of indoor trading post or marketplace. He saw the word
“MACY’S” plastered on walls and pillars, surrounded by tinsel and
streamers. Green, pointed trees decorated with small shiny objects
were placed seemingly everywhere. Signs pointed him in different
directions: Housewares, For Him, For Her, Home Furnishings, and on
and on.

He walked through the crowded
marketplace, eyes darting all around. Would Satan like a necklace?
He had so many. Pitch approached a table and picked up a black
cylinder with a clear top. He wasn’t sure what that was, but it was
black and shiny. It appeared to be a container of some kind. He
glanced at the sign: Coffee Grinder. What’s coffee? Did Satan like
coffee? He sighed and put the cylinder back. This was hopeless. He
had no idea what to get.

He spotted several Demonkind in
various guises throughout the store. One, wearing the form of a
tall human male, was at a glass case, asking to try on a diamond
bracelet. As the worker turned away to retrieve it, the demon
quickly reached out and snatched a ring off of the counter. Another
was surreptitiously tearing the price tags off of clothing items.
Pitch wished he had time to enjoy himself, but he needed to get
moving.

A group of humans, two adults—male and
female—and three smaller ones, hurried past. He heard one of the
young ones point to a sign and squeal.

“
Santa! Santa’s this
way!”

Pitch turned. He’d heard of Santa. He
lived Up Top. He was some kind of minor god. He accepted offerings
of sweetened breads and bovine mammary liquid, and in exchange,
gave gifts to human children every Christmas. Surely Santa would
know what to give Satan.

Pitch followed the human family group
(which was what he assumed they were) to the end of a long queue.
It consisted of similar family groups, with tense, harried,
overstimulated young ones. Two demons were in line. One wore the
form of an infant in a wheeled carriage of some sort. He was
gleefully screaming his heart out, but to the humans, he appeared
to be crying. The other demon, posing as a maternal figure, paid no
attention and placidly tapped on some sort of glowing device in her
hands. Pitch noticed many of the parents were doing the same,
ignoring their children for these strange small glowing devices.
What were they? He sidled up and glanced over the shoulder of an
adult woman to sneak a peek at her device. A kitten? They were
looking at pictures of kittens? But why? Sure, kittens were
delicious, but humans didn’t eat them. They kept them as household
servants. At least that’s what he’d been told. The line moved
forward and Pitch went with it.

Near the end of the line he passed
beneath a red-and-white arch that read “Welcome to the North Pole.”
White, sparkly powder was spread the floor on either side of the
queue. Pitch wondered if it was edible. Large, colorfully decorated
boxes sat in piles here and there. A small fence made of large,
red-and-white canes lined a red-and-white brick path. Pitch
scoffed. That fence wouldn’t keep anyone out.

More humans wearing colorful
green-and-red outfits with pointed hats were taking the children by
the hand away from their adults. The children were led toward a
red-garbed figure sitting on a large throne. The parents stood to
the side and watched their offspring. Pitch pushed forward for a
better look. Were they being sacrificed? An old white-bearded
human, wearing a suit of red, sat atop a golden throne. Pitch had
seen his likeness on posters throughout the store. This was Santa.
He squeezed between a large human woman and her husband. A tiny
child of indeterminate sex stood between them, idly exploring a
nostril with a dirty finger.

“
Hey! Watch it!” The woman
grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, kid, you have to wait your turn.”
Pitch glared at her, but backed off. The first rule of going Up Top
was “Blend in.” The woman looked down at him smugly. She yanked her
child’s hand out of his/her nose and held it tightly. The child
took his/her other hand, pointed a finger, and got back to
work.

Finally it was Pitch’s turn. A smiling
female human approached him, holding out her hand. She was wearing
a green dress and a red pointed hat. Her ears were also pointed,
but Pitch saw with disappointment that they were false ears. False
ears?

“
Come on with me,
sweetheart.” Pitch took her hand and she led him along the
fake-brick walkway.

“
Are you excited to see
Santa?”

Pitch looked up at her big red smile
and blinked.

“
Don’t be scared,
sweetheart.” She knelt beside him and whispered conspiratorially in
his ear. “What are you going to ask Santa for?”

“
I’m not sure,” Pitch
replied. Which was the truth. What did one ask Santa for? He
remembered the small human in the bathroom. “Should I hug
him?”

“
Of course! Santa loves
hugs from little boys and girls! It’s his favorite thing, next to
milk and cookies!” She giggled unconvincingly. She glanced around
at the adult humans.

“
Where are your mommy and
daddy?”

“
Oh, they're in Hell,”
Pitch replied, looking past her. Santa was speaking earnestly to a
young human female whose face was flush with excitement. She was
leaving, but turned and reached up and put her arms around him.
Santa laughed good-naturedly and put his arms around her. That was
a hug. Pitch knew that much. The girl released Santa and clambered
down the steps with the help of yet another Santa’s helper. Two
adult humans were there to greet her at the bottom. They held up
their kitten viewers at her and then they hugged her. So much
hugging.

“
It’s your turn,” said the
female Santa’s helper, shoving Pitch forward. There was no
inflection in her voice. She avoided looking at him.

Santa’s throne was not as grand as
Satan’s, but it was still something. He could see right away that
the gold wasn’t real. And where were the human skulls?

Pitch walked up the steps. Santa was
beaming broadly. Another of Santa’s helpers stood beside him, this
one a scrawny male with a spotty face. As Pitch stepped on the top
level, he reached down and lifted Pitch up. Pitch was too startled
to resist and before he knew it, he was planted on Santa’s lap. He
looked up at the twinkling eyes, the ruddy cheeks, remembered
himself, and reached around Santa as far as his stubby human arms
could go. Santa laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. Pitch
held on. A hug. His first hug. It was odd, being this close to
someone and not inflicting pain on them. Pitch didn’t know if he
liked it or not. Santa continued to laugh, but when he removed his
arm from Pitch’s shoulder and the laughter became forced, Pitch let
go.

“
So what’s your name,
buddy?” asked Santa.

“
Umm... Pitch,
sir.”

“
Pitch, hmm. That’s a
wonderful name! So what would you like me to bring you for
Christmas?”

“
Umm... well it’s not for
me, exactly.”

Santa looked puzzled. But then his
familiar smile returned. “Ho ho ho! What a good little boy! So who
would like me to bring a present for?”

Thirty seconds later, two burly
Santa’s helpers were half dragging, half carrying Pitch past the
line of waiting humans. He had time to note that several pointed
their kitten viewing devices at him as he passed. There were
audible clicks.

“
Wait! He didn’t even tell
me what to—” They ignored his protests, releasing him just inside
what appeared to be the main doors. Pitch squinted against the
bright light shining through the transparent doors. The two Santa’s
helpers strode away without looking back.

Pitch sighed. What now? He had no gift
and time was running out. He tried to imagine a best-case scenario
if he had no gift to give Satan. The best-case scenario was the
same as the worst-case scenario. Dismal. Humiliation, torment,
demotion. If he was lucky.

He looked around in a last ditch
effort to find a gift. A comfy chair? Clothing? Quality footwear?
No. No. No! He wanted to scream in frustration. Why couldn't he
have picked Vlad’s name? A bloody bone. A broken spoon. Vlad would
be overjoyed at either gift.

He strode back into the bowels of
Macy’s, his head lowered in defeat. That’s when he heard it. A
beautiful tinkling sound. Music. But not like the muddy music that
blared through the hidden speakers in the ceiling. No—this was more
delicate... more elegant. This music spoke to him.

He followed the sound past a large
plastic tree covered with white clumps of powdered plastic. Beside
the tree was a table on which sat several small boxes. One of them
was open, and a tiny figure spun slowly as the music played. Pitch
was enthralled. He moved closer. The delicate figure slowed and
stopped and the music died. Before he could react, an older human
woman stepped up and picked up the box. She held it in one hand and
twisted some type of key in the back of it. Pitch could clearly
hear the gears turning. She smiled down at him. Her hair was white,
but she didn’t have a beard. At least not one that he could
see.

“
Do you like
it?”

Pitch nodded. The less he spoke, the
better, it seemed.