Happy Boxing Day! I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for and showed restraint with everything the boys asked for ;-)
Bells "What's a pseudo-reindeer?" asked David as they pushed open the door to the crypt. There were narrow, winding stairs that led down to it, and it was nagging at him that nothing that suited the size of the church could possibly get down the stairs, which meant that something else must be intended to use them. The question was a way to distract himself from that thought. "Probably elk," said Tristram. "Or some variant that lives up that way. Lapland, I think?" There was a heavy jingling sound, like a belled harness for something three times bigger that the normal horse and sleigh, and then a deep tolling of church bells, slow and methodical. They stepped through into a chilly room lined all around with brown brick. Condensation was visible on the walls, and a thin mist hung in the air ten metres away, indicating that the crypt was as oversized as the rest of the church. There was a smell of wet dog in the air, undercut by something earthy and mouldy. "They're what you get when you cross reindeer with wolverines," said the Ghost of Christmas Presents. "They move almost as fast as a cheetah and they eat as fast as piranhas. They're seriously impressive animals, so long as you look and smell absolutely nothing like dinner." "What do they eat?" David didn't really want to know, but he asked anyway as he stared, half-terrified, into the mist. Where, exactly, was the jingling coming from? "They don't eat rocks," said the Ghost. "I don't know if there's anything else they don't eat, or won't try and eat. I'm over to the left, head that way please. And try not to bump into any pseduo-reindeer on the way there, please." "And on the way back?" Tristram's voice was icy-cold. "Do as you like," said the Ghost. "Well, you won't actually have much choice, since I'll be free and gone at that point. I'd still recommend not petting the animals though." They turned to the left, and a corridor wide enough for eight men to walk easily side by side appeared. They took it, and kicked their way through well-gnawed bones that were ankle-deep. Neither man said anything, though they started sweating despite the chill. At one point Tristram tensed, as though about to turn and run back, but then after a few seconds he relaxed and continued walking. David watched his hand dip into a pocket, and it occurred to him that that was where the tarot cards were. He wondered what plan Tristram had formulated. "Here," said the Ghost. "They've... ah, they've nailed me to the wall. How inconvenient."
"Well, yes, it would be, wouldn't it?" said David, his mouth trying to make small talk while his eyes tried to unsee what they were seeing. "This is you?" asked Tristram? Long grey wooden spikes were driven through the wrists and ankles of a twisted hobgoblin of a creature, pinning it to the wall a metre above the ground. It had a hunched back and its waist was twisted so severely that the front of one leg and the rear of the other faced them as they looked at it. One hand was fingerless, and the other compensated by having twelve fingers and three toes. Its eyes were blood-crusted holes into its head and it's mouth was lipless, wide-open in a silent scream, and filled with several rows of teeth as triangular as a shark's. Black and purple streaks of something ran down the wall behind it from waist height, and puddled on the ground smelling like lobsters left out in 40-degree heat for three days. A brightly-wrapped parcel had been set in the filth nearby, with gold ribbon and a bow on top, and a circlet of gold-plated barbed wire had been set on its head. A santa hat had been kicked some distance away, and was smeared with the black and purple ordure. "Yes," said the Ghost. "Looking surprisingly healthy, I must say. I thought I'd be thinner." Tristram and David exchanged glances, but said nothing. David looked around, listening hard for the pseudo-reindeer that hadn't left his mind. "Unwrap the present," said the Ghost. "That's the anchor." "David," said Tristram, gesturing. "The unwrapper gets the present," said the Ghost casually. "And because the final present is then given, I am freed." Tristram's arm shot out and stopped David from stepping forward, even though David hadn't moved. "I'll do it," he said. "Actually. I have the Old Magic. It makes sense for me to do this."
Behind Tristram's back the Ghost winked at David, who felt suddenly brutally cold, like he'd stepped out into a Canadian blizzard. "Tris-" he started, and the Ghost waved him into silence as Tristram, focused entirely on the present, said, "No, no, David, it's safer this way." Tristram pulled the golden bow, and the ribbon slithered free, the wrapping paper shedding from the box like autumn leaves from a tree, and the box fell open at the sides. A scintillating ball of light hovered inside the box, spinning on an axis like a miniature planet, and the hobgoblin on the wall moaned softly. David glanced at the Ghost, and saw that it was shrinking down and twisting up, taking on the same shape as the hobgoblin. One hand reached out though before it shrank, dipping quickly into Tristram's pocket and back. The ball of light grew to the size of Tristram's head, and he stared at it as though hypnotised. He lifted one hand to touch it, and David felt a sense of dread swirl in his stomach like the onset of food poisoning. He tried to speak, but the words froze in his throat and all he could do was cough. The wooden spikes fell out of the wall and the hobgoblin's body collapsed on the floor. The ball retreated a little, and something grey and ghostly was pulled out of Tristram's body with it. As it pulled completely free, like a snake freeing itself from shed skin, Tristram's body was pulled by unseen hands to the wall and hoisted up. The spikes plunged into to wrists and ankles, and jets of bright red blood arced out, splattering on the floor. There was a howl of rage, and a ringing of bells like a bell-tower in a storm, and then the light vanished. The hobgoblin stood, twisted and bent over, laughing. Tristam was nailed the wall, and his spirit, now the Ghost of Christmas Presents, glowered in rage. The hobgoblin lifted the tarot deck it had pickpocketed as the transposition had happened and pulled a card out. For a moment there was only stillness, and then Tristram's ghost disappeared and the card became the Ghost of Christmas Presents again. "Here you go," said the hobgoblin, handing the deck to David. "You might want to not draw that particular card yourself. The tarot archetypes have very long memories. Merry Christmas!" [Sorry for overrunning so much, but I figured it makes sense to finish this for Christmas :)]
Greg - yeah, Santa was good to us. Perhaps a touch too good to Max, but these things are difficult to control sometimes...
No apology required. That was well worth the read (and the wait to read it, now that I'm finally catching up on comments again). A satisfying ending to a terrific tale. And wide open for a continuation next Christmas! :)
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Happy Boxing Day! I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for and showed restraint with everything the boys asked for ;-)
Bells
"What's a pseudo-reindeer?" asked David as they pushed open the door to the crypt. There were narrow, winding stairs that led down to it, and it was nagging at him that nothing that suited the size of the church could possibly get down the stairs, which meant that something else must be intended to use them. The question was a way to distract himself from that thought.
"Probably elk," said Tristram. "Or some variant that lives up that way. Lapland, I think?"
There was a heavy jingling sound, like a belled harness for something three times bigger that the normal horse and sleigh, and then a deep tolling of church bells, slow and methodical. They stepped through into a chilly room lined all around with brown brick. Condensation was visible on the walls, and a thin mist hung in the air ten metres away, indicating that the crypt was as oversized as the rest of the church. There was a smell of wet dog in the air, undercut by something earthy and mouldy.
"They're what you get when you cross reindeer with wolverines," said the Ghost of Christmas Presents. "They move almost as fast as a cheetah and they eat as fast as piranhas. They're seriously impressive animals, so long as you look and smell absolutely nothing like dinner."
"What do they eat?" David didn't really want to know, but he asked anyway as he stared, half-terrified, into the mist. Where, exactly, was the jingling coming from?
"They don't eat rocks," said the Ghost. "I don't know if there's anything else they don't eat, or won't try and eat. I'm over to the left, head that way please. And try not to bump into any pseduo-reindeer on the way there, please."
"And on the way back?" Tristram's voice was icy-cold.
"Do as you like," said the Ghost. "Well, you won't actually have much choice, since I'll be free and gone at that point. I'd still recommend not petting the animals though."
They turned to the left, and a corridor wide enough for eight men to walk easily side by side appeared. They took it, and kicked their way through well-gnawed bones that were ankle-deep. Neither man said anything, though they started sweating despite the chill. At one point Tristram tensed, as though about to turn and run back, but then after a few seconds he relaxed and continued walking. David watched his hand dip into a pocket, and it occurred to him that that was where the tarot cards were. He wondered what plan Tristram had formulated.
"Here," said the Ghost. "They've... ah, they've nailed me to the wall. How inconvenient."
"Well, yes, it would be, wouldn't it?" said David, his mouth trying to make small talk while his eyes tried to unsee what they were seeing.
"This is you?" asked Tristram?
Long grey wooden spikes were driven through the wrists and ankles of a twisted hobgoblin of a creature, pinning it to the wall a metre above the ground. It had a hunched back and its waist was twisted so severely that the front of one leg and the rear of the other faced them as they looked at it. One hand was fingerless, and the other compensated by having twelve fingers and three toes. Its eyes were blood-crusted holes into its head and it's mouth was lipless, wide-open in a silent scream, and filled with several rows of teeth as triangular as a shark's. Black and purple streaks of something ran down the wall behind it from waist height, and puddled on the ground smelling like lobsters left out in 40-degree heat for three days. A brightly-wrapped parcel had been set in the filth nearby, with gold ribbon and a bow on top, and a circlet of gold-plated barbed wire had been set on its head. A santa hat had been kicked some distance away, and was smeared with the black and purple ordure.
"Yes," said the Ghost. "Looking surprisingly healthy, I must say. I thought I'd be thinner."
Tristram and David exchanged glances, but said nothing. David looked around, listening hard for the pseudo-reindeer that hadn't left his mind.
"Unwrap the present," said the Ghost. "That's the anchor."
"David," said Tristram, gesturing.
"The unwrapper gets the present," said the Ghost casually. "And because the final present is then given, I am freed."
Tristram's arm shot out and stopped David from stepping forward, even though David hadn't moved. "I'll do it," he said. "Actually. I have the Old Magic. It makes sense for me to do this."
Behind Tristram's back the Ghost winked at David, who felt suddenly brutally cold, like he'd stepped out into a Canadian blizzard.
"Tris-" he started, and the Ghost waved him into silence as Tristram, focused entirely on the present, said, "No, no, David, it's safer this way."
Tristram pulled the golden bow, and the ribbon slithered free, the wrapping paper shedding from the box like autumn leaves from a tree, and the box fell open at the sides. A scintillating ball of light hovered inside the box, spinning on an axis like a miniature planet, and the hobgoblin on the wall moaned softly. David glanced at the Ghost, and saw that it was shrinking down and twisting up, taking on the same shape as the hobgoblin. One hand reached out though before it shrank, dipping quickly into Tristram's pocket and back.
The ball of light grew to the size of Tristram's head, and he stared at it as though hypnotised. He lifted one hand to touch it, and David felt a sense of dread swirl in his stomach like the onset of food poisoning. He tried to speak, but the words froze in his throat and all he could do was cough.
The wooden spikes fell out of the wall and the hobgoblin's body collapsed on the floor. The ball retreated a little, and something grey and ghostly was pulled out of Tristram's body with it. As it pulled completely free, like a snake freeing itself from shed skin, Tristram's body was pulled by unseen hands to the wall and hoisted up. The spikes plunged into to wrists and ankles, and jets of bright red blood arced out, splattering on the floor. There was a howl of rage, and a ringing of bells like a bell-tower in a storm, and then the light vanished.
The hobgoblin stood, twisted and bent over, laughing. Tristam was nailed the wall, and his spirit, now the Ghost of Christmas Presents, glowered in rage. The hobgoblin lifted the tarot deck it had pickpocketed as the transposition had happened and pulled a card out. For a moment there was only stillness, and then Tristram's ghost disappeared and the card became the Ghost of Christmas Presents again.
"Here you go," said the hobgoblin, handing the deck to David. "You might want to not draw that particular card yourself. The tarot archetypes have very long memories. Merry Christmas!"
[Sorry for overrunning so much, but I figured it makes sense to finish this for Christmas :)]
Greg - yeah, Santa was good to us. Perhaps a touch too good to Max, but these things are difficult to control sometimes...
No apology required. That was well worth the read (and the wait to read it, now that I'm finally catching up on comments again). A satisfying ending to a terrific tale. And wide open for a continuation next Christmas! :)
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