Intermission: Christmas, The End.

December 25, 2009. 12:01 am
It was easily twice Sam’s size, though he couldn’t really be sure. Every time he tried to look at it, his vision blurred slightly, just enough to be noticeable. He was sure, however, that the thing was jagged and cold. Looking on it, his blood chilled, and a shiver ran down his spine, only in part to the freezing air in the throne room. Winter stood, a series of delicate cracks proclaiming its separation from the throne. It held a sword made of i- Sam frowned, squinting his eyes and looking for a hand. No, Winter’s arm terminated in a comically oversized icicle. Sam actually giggled, before he remembered the ice was stinging his face.

At the sound of the laughter, Winter opened one of its mouths and the wind screamed its anger. It threatened to blow Sam over, but he stood his ground, clenched his teeth, and held his sword high. The air shifted and Winter was upon him, swinging and stabbing with its pointed arm. From somewhere, Sam found the speed to match its attacks with the simple blocks his father had taught him. This went on for a long while, the second, closed mouth of the thing holding a sadistic grin. Sam caught a blow on the flat of his sword, held it and laughed loudly. It was half from exhaustion and half from the pure ridiculousness of his situation. Sam had looked up and seen the toy sword he was fighting with. The thing did not like that, and it screamed with both of its mouths, and Sam could feel the encroaching darkness get just a little closer.

Sam let out a yell of his own, breaking the counter and swinging desperately, his sword coming back with slivers of ice stuck to the plastic blade. The thing tried to block, and its pointed arm snapped in half, the toy sword biting into what Sam could only assume was Winter’s heart. Frost and fog streamed from the wound, and the fingers around Sam’s heart first relaxed, then disappeared entirely. The king shuddered once, and started to crack in places. Sam withdrew his sword, and strode into the now calm hallway.

December 25, 2009. 6:35 am
Sebastian, son of Sam, crawled out of his brand new big-boy bed, sneaking carefully up front. He wanted to try and sneak a peek at his presents, and knew his mother wouldn’t be awake so early, and his father either wouldn’t be home, or would be deep asleep on the couch. Either way, Sebastian was seeing just what had been brought in the night. Sebastian frowned in confusion as he eyed the much-abused toy sword leaning against the tree. It was almost as tall as he was. Something was up. In fact, he could swear he saw a pair of black boots behind the tree…

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, big guy?” Samuel stepped out from behind the tree, grinning at his son.

Intermission: Christmas, Part 5.

December 24, 2009. 10:45pm
Sam took a step, his boots crunching into the snow and ice coating the floor. It sunk in a few inches before hitting the slippery floor. Slowly and carefully, he walked the first few steps into the hall. Wind rose up and sent ice and snow whipping at his face. Behind him, the doors slammed shut and locked. Sam clenched his jaw, held an arm before his face, and kept moving. He was almost there. The walk seemed to take days, reminding Sam that time flowed however it wanted, here. Halfway through the hall the wind rose fiercer, the hall becoming a whirlwind of ice and clumps of snow. Within that wind was a malevolent howling. Sam knew in his heart that the sound was what a pleased demon sounded like.

An animal part of Sam’s mind told him to turn back, to run. He was surely making a mistake. Someone else was meant for this. No, no. It had to be him, and it had to be now. Sam tightened his grip on the toy sword. Turning around now, straying from the instinctual path even by inches meant getting lost in the storm. Getting lost in the storm meant a lot of things for a lot of people, none of them. Sam took another step, and walked headfirst into a pair of heavy wooden doors. He took the holly wreath from his hair, now frozen, and pushed it into the space between the doors. He pushed, and twisted, and the holly shattered. The doors followed shortly after, cracking slowly and finally simply falling over into a pile of frozen wood shards. The thing was waiting for him on its throne.

Intermission: Christmas, Part 4.

December 23, 2009. 2:14 AM.

“You don’t really need those bells, do you?” The thing seemed slimy. It wasn’t, of course. It was slimy the same way a snake was. Sam had heard this speech before of course, but he waited politely. Or at least pretended to, while he daydreamed about the ride back home and watching the sun rise in a few days. Remembering that it very well might not happen brought Sam out of his stupor. The little thing had brought out the Bag. It was a tiny burlap sack with, imaginatively enough, “The Bag” written on the side in permanent marker. The marker having been traded for the holly he was wearing over his head.

“I seek a weapon, for the king,” Sam eyed the bag, tilting his head. “I will give you two bells for it.” The little thing tapped its bearded chin, staring at the bells.

“For two bells, I give you this,” it pulled a knot of gnarled tree roots from its bag, the points of the roots twisting together into a spike. “Oh maybe,” it took from the tiny bag, a toy sword, the kind one would get from their son at a circus, “This, is more your style? Perhaps you just want to bop the king about the head, a bit?” The merchant-thing set both things down on the ground. “Or maybe even this,” It trailed off a moment, eyes glinting evilly. From its bag it took (with some work and careful tugging) an automatic rifle. “This is good stuff. The ammunition will cost you another bell, but it’s very good, I’m told,” Sam had to think for a moment, wondering where it would possibly have gotten the rifle, but it was moot. The merchant had his ways.

Sam stroked his chin, a sigh escaping his lips. The weapon and ward against the king did not always quite make any sense. A toy sword may well function as a true sword against the thing. Of course, there was always one good option. Sam lowered his voice, leaned close to the thing.

“Do you have,” Sam looked around, lowered his voice even more. “Anything iron?” The little thing narrowed its eyes, made a zipping motion over its mouth. Symbols meant as much in the kingdom than they did against the king, and so the merchant’s mouth literally zipped shut. It flailed, and some part of Sam’s mind told him his son would want a souvenir to go with the story. He scooped up the toy sword, tossed the flailing little thing two of his bells.

Grinning, Sam strode down the length of the market hall, a cheap plastic sword in one hand. At the end of the hall, he was faced with a heavy set of doors, and a matching pair of tall, gaunt, grey-skinned men. They grinned mischievously.
“One of us tells only lies,” the leftmost one started. Before the one on his right could even open his mouth, Sam held up a hand to shush them.

“I know. It was a good movie, I told you. Want another?” Sam grinned, reaching behind himself. The twins eyes widened and they nodded eagerly, leaning forward on their spears. “If you let me through, there’s a movie in it for you.” The things nodded again, waiting. Sam grinned and took out his wallet, handing one twin a scribbled note and the other enough cash to buy a movie. The twins giggled as one, lifting their legs and kicking the doors behind them, gently. The double doors swung open slowly, and the twins wandered off the way Sam had come. Ahead of Sam, snow fell in an empty hallway.

Intermission: Christmas, part 2.

December 21. 2009. 5:50 AM
Sam’s car had been beaten up so badly over the years it was barely recognizable as a car. It was rusted nearly as red as the original paint. It still drove however, and Sam stared cautiously out of the splintered windshield with tired eyes. He reached down and sipped his coffee again. He couldn’t tell how far he’d traveled, because no map had ever been made featuring the road he traveled on. Still, he knew what was coming, and the staccato sound of rocks and other things pelting his car only startled him for a moment, this time. Out the side window he saw the beasts that inhabited this place. Some had too many eyes, or arms, or oddly colored fur. Some of them looked like people, just different. These things on the road were not his concern, and he slammed his foot down on the pedal. He remembered his father’s old motorbike. It had passed down from his grandfather. Sam’s father had crashed it one desperate Christmas eve, but he had gotten home by Christmas morning. Sam wondered if his son would get this car. It wasn’t a bad car, just ugly. This led Sam to wonder if he’d be getting home, and he had to push his thoughts elsewhere.

Sam drove for another hour, he guessed. His watch and the car’s clock stopped working here. A glistening castle the color of the sky loomed ahead, and even though Sam knew it was there, he had trouble seeing it. His car skidded to a turning, spinning stop, and clipped a pair of bells to each glove. He took a few deep breaths, finished his coffee, and opened the door.

He approached the castle gates, and the ice swirling around the place solidified into a pair of human shaped guards. They had of course seen him before. Sam shook his head and took a small piece of cardstock from his coat. He held it up to the guards. “Sam C., Citizen.” It said. The things at the door had seen it many times. Twenty years ago, it had said Sam’s fathers name. Sometime, hopefully in the far future, it would say Sebastian C. The things disappeared, and the gates swung open. Sam cast a final look at the sun, and headed in. The gates swung closed behind him.

Intermission: Christmas, part 1.

Sunday. December 20, 2009.
Sam scratched at his beard, watching the sun slowly set from the roof of his house. As darkness fell, he cast a careful look around his neighborhood. All around him, lights of white and red and green flared into life. Long practice helped him to separate each set of lights from each other, and he counted, comparing them to the number of houses he knew stood in the neighborhood. His count was one off. There must have been some mistake, he had helped his neighbors to put up their lights himse- Sam looked down at his fists, clenched with worry. Clenched, that is, around an orange extension cord, and a green plug. He laughed nervously, making sure no one had seen him nearly lose it, and connected the wires. His own home flared bright white. Snowflake patterns and realistic icicles one could swear were dripping illuminated every tree, bush, and doorway on his home. The windows were lined with bright red lights, brighter than any on his street. Both his front and back yards featured animatronic, lighted reindeer. A wireframe sleigh, complete with a motorized, waving Santa was secured to his roof. Sam nodded, grinned, and headed inside.

Melissa was waiting at the kitchen table with Sebastian and three mugs of hot chocolate. One of them was unoccupied. Sam patted his son on the head and sat down, taking his time on the drink. For a while, the family sat in silence, and Sam very nearly forgot why he was so very worried today.

“I had to let your jacket out a little,” Melissa smiled at her husband, nodding towards the fur lined red coat resting on the couch. It was an old, old thing. It had been repaired and cleaned and let out and back in more times than Sam had had birthdays. Next to the couch sat a pair of heavy black boots. These were new and shiny. Sam nodded and stood, moving to pull the coat long over his shoulders and carefully secure the belt around his waist. A pair of thin leather gloves came next, then the boots. Sam, dressed and ready, moved back to the kitchen and hugged his wife, then his son. Something tangled in his hair and he glanced up to see Melissa fitting a small wreath into his hair. She gave him a thumbs up. Sebastian frowned as his father headed for the door, old enough at six to know his father was going nowhere good, but too young to know exactly why. For that matter, Sam was a bit young to know himself. He only knew that it simply had to be done.