[Far away from Montfort]

"Hey, I hear something!"

The high pitched voice echoed around the stone chamber. Sure enough, a
scraping sound could be heard, distantly at first, then louder.

"Hey Santa! I got someone here that will get you out!"

"Spangle, is that you?"

"Yes. MOVE it, you evil little pixie," Spangle said, his patience wearing
thin. The nasty little imposter had been trussed up like a turkey, his feet
left with barely enough slack to walk. As the pair rounded the corner, a
cheer went up from the other elves imprisoned in the cold stone cells, and
even Santa beamed.

"He knows how to open these cells?" Santa asked, eyeing the bars
suspiciously. Charged as they were with magic, they were capable of
delivering a sizeable bolt of energy to anyone that touched them.

"Oh yes, I've already made sure of that," relied Spangle, grinning. Though
Santa's elves were renowned for their pleasant nature, what he'd seen so far
that day had appalled him. He had no qualms about forcing this disgusting
imposter to let free the captives.

"I caught a hedgerow pixie not long after I escaped from here and managed to
shake a little faerie dust out of her." Spangle smiled as he remembered the
long string of curses that had followed him - for the Pixie-kin never gave
up their magical dust without a struggle. A feud had raged between the
Elves and the Pixies for centuries over the whole issue - and looked set to
continue for just as long.

"It was just enough to get me the help I needed to capture this one," he
said, jerking the rope that the elf was tied to and making him stumble to
keep his balance.

"Now, set to it, and free my friends. You know what that strange woman told
me was true, don't you... and you know she's waiting just around the
corner..."

The elf looked horrified suddenly, and set to the task. His hands flashed
over the walls, pressing this stone and that, and with one last crackle and
spark, the bars slid down into the floor, becoming completely hidden in
their deep channels.

"Don't do it, please don't... not that..." he pleaded. "I've let them out,
now will you let me go?"

Spangle smiled at him, a not altogether friendly smile. His eyes were cold,
and he shook his head.

"You'll come back with us. If we leave you here, you'll only warn the
others. Come on the rest of you, Prince is outside, and we have to get back
to Montfort as quickly as we can!"

Spangle turned to Santa as they made their way back to the tunnel, and
started to tell him what he had seen so far - of the lethal presents, the
families torn apart, and of the whispered rumours that linked Santa with the
happenings...

---

[Penner's House]

Charles pulled the watch out again, as he had done so many times during the
morning. It was running fast, and still he couldn't find any way to adjust
the mechanism. He put it down on the small table, unwrapping his tools from
their leather case beside it. His fingers shook as he hovered over one of
the small instruments, and swallowed nervously. Pulling out a small lever,
he worked at the edge of the glass.

"There MUST be a join here..." he muttered, running one hand through his
hair. He didn't notice the long strands of white hair that came away to
drift slowly to the floor.

"Damn thing!"

The hands were pointing to two now, and he wrenched his magnifying monocle
off and stared at it. It was useless to him, not able to focus on what must
be the finest join ever crafted. He looked around, realising that the edges
of the room were blurred and indistinct. His back ached, and his knees were
stiff and creaked alarmingly as he tried to lift himself out of the chair.

"What's happening to me," he croaked, his voice a whisper of what it had
been the day before. He shuffled over to the window, peering out at a white
fuzziness beyond before turning back and looking across the room.

Rage got the better of him then, and he strode stiffly back to the table and
pulled a small hammer out with shaking hands. Holding the watch with his
other hand, he brought the hammer down on it with all the strength he could
muster. It bounced off, and he peered at the face, looking for any sign
that the glass had cracked.

Nothing.

Again and again he hit it, each blow glancing off without so much as
scratching the glass. The hands inexorably counted off the seconds and
minutes, the hands spinning faster and faster as Charles got more desperate
to stop the hands - somehow - it didn't matter how - he had to stop them...

His vision blurred so badly he could see no more than a gleaming golden blob
on the table, Charles lifted the hammer for another blow, and felt the
rythym of his heart suddenly skip.

Thump.

Thump-Thump.

Tock...

...

..Tick-Thump.

The hammer slipped from his trembling grasp, tumbling to the floor
un-noticed.

...

...

Thump.

Charles' face screwed up with pain as his heart beat fitfully, slowing as
the watch hand slowed. Long seconds passed before the hand ticked on to the
next tiny groove - seconds in which Charles grabbed his chest as he sank to
his knees. His vision swam hazily, tiny pinpricks of light flashing
randomly. It felt as if someone was twisting his very heart from his body,
wrenching at it. The second hand jumped again, and Charles felt the blood
surge in his veins. He grabbed for the watch as he fell forward, fingers
scrabbling at the table.

Darkness engulfed him as he hit the floor, the watch bouncing beside him and
rolling across to lie next his hand. His fingers tightened around it, then
relaxed as his heart stilled for evermore, just as the watch beside him
ticked off the passage of time no longer.


---


[Montfort]

A flurry of motion skidded to a halt in the barn, becoming a short, fat and
ugly elf. His pointed ears stuck out almost horizontally under the felt hat
he wore, and he snarled at the big beasts that were milling about. Their
teeth were very long, and one eyed him up with more interest than he cared.
Still be-decked with ribbons, the bells on their harness tinkling softly as
they moved around, and the elf frowned as he looked through the forest of
legs.

"Oi, anyone around?" he shouted, peering around.

Two black shiny boots stomped into view, heading straight for him. The
reindeer lurched and scrambled out of the way, and as the elf stood up, he
found himself gazing at an enormously rounded belly. He forced his eyes
even further up, following the white fur that trimmed the red clothes.

"What do you want," Santa said, his annoyance plain. "Coming here yelling
and hollering like that. Didn't I say not to disturb me?"

"Well, I just thought you'd like to know that I saw one of those - you
know - OTHER elves earlier on. In the town. Running around he was,
shouting and screaming about the presents."

Santa frowned. Things were progressing nicely - he could feel the souls of
the dying and the anguish of those they left behind funnelling into him.
The power it would give him...

The elf backed away a step or two, worried by the change in his boss's eyes.
They glazed over momentarily, a tint of ruby red gleaming within them.

"Did you take care of him?" Santa asked his elf, who shook his head. "Then
take the others and stop him!"

The elf nodded, stumbling as he backed away toward the door of the barn.
Santa growled and turned away, the red glow in his eyes fading slowly.
Folds in his suit rippled as he walked off, the seams stretching so much
that the threads were clearly visible in the strain.


---


[The Church of the Ever-Burning Flame]

Miles' voice droned on and on, his mind starting to wander from the task at
hand as his eyes roved over the words written before him. Having conducted
so many sermons before, he no longer needed to concentrate, and his thoughts
went instead to Lady Keril. She was indeed a charmer, he thought. Such a
shame that she was already married, he thought, for she would have been such
a pleasant thing to wake to each morning.

"... and so I ask you to rise and join me in praise of the heavenly flame we
hold so dear."

Miles glanced at the choir, lifting his hands as he turned toward the twin
bowls of flames on the altar. As one, the choir lifted their voices, the
first notes ringing out strong and clear in the church. Miles lifted his
hands slowly, and the flames rose with the choir's voices, leaping and
flickering ever taller. The congregation joined in with gusto, and he even
saw the Nuns at the back singing along. He smiled, then something caught
his ear, and he glanced back at the choir. More than a couple of them had
frowns on their faces. A peculiar thrumming sound filled the church, faint
but audible enough to put them slightly off key. Miles looked around, but
could see nothing out of the ordinary. The choirleader shrugged, raising
his voice above the humming sound, trying to keep the others in key with
him.

At least the congregation seemed none the wiser, he thought, and he could
hear Lady Keril's voice amongst the others. Vibrant with husky undertones,
it fit her strong good looks well. The choir lifted their voices up once
more, the youngsters' clear tones a high counterpoint to the older children.
The thrumming sound grew louder, rising in pitch as the voices soared
skyward, and he looked around, concerned now.

He heard a voice or two falter before picking up again. The humming
strengthened, becoming higher pitched now, and he saw some of the
congregation had heard it too. Several of them were looking around too,
frowns on their faces.

Miles was about to open his mouth when suddenly the humming turned into a
shriek.

ShreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

ShTING!

Golden light exploded from above, spraying over the congregation below.
Shards of bright glass rained down on them, and screams of panic rose from
the people huddled below.

Shhreeeeeeeeeeeeee!

KerKRACK!

Another explosion of light, and this time Miles saw something spatter,
liquid raining down amongst the glass - then movement between the foliage
caught his eye and he saw another bauble shivering, trembling.

"Get DOWN!" he shouted, ducking out of the way of more flying glass. The
screams from below strengthened, and Miles scuttled down the steps, trying
to stay out of the range of the exploding globes. A face suddenly loomed up
before him, red blistered hands grasping at his robes.

"H-Help me... p-please..." He didn't recognise the face, the features had
warped and distorted horribly. As he recoiled, he saw bubbles rising from
the goo that coated the face. It was, Miles realised with horror, eating
away at the skin beneath it.

"Hel-lp..."

The hands that grasped his robes slipped, and the man slipped downwards as
Reverand Trent stepped back in disgust. The man's face peeled upwards
against the material, and Miles let out a gasp of revulsion. That gasp
heralded another crack, and as Miles looked away, he saw a familiar hat
ducked down, one hand shading a face beneath it.

Lady Keril.

Miles started toward her, then abruptly stopped as another bauble shattered
with a piercing whine. Glistening liquid spattered down, and he shouted a
warning - too late - as Lady Keril's head looked up momentarily. Their eyes
locked across the pews, and Miles stared in horror as the beautiful face
suddenly blistered under the acid, bubbling fiercely. Lady Keril's hands
rose to claw at her face, yet her eyes still stared at him, filled with
agonising pain. Thin curls of smoke rose lazily from her hat as the acid
ate through the material, punching small holes in the brim.

SHhhhreeeeeeeeeee.... CRACK!

Miles felt something cold, that instantly turned to searing heat as it
dribbled down the back of his neck. He slapped a hand to his collar, then
pulled it back as the pain flared in his fingers. They bubbled before his
eyes as he looked at them, the skin peeling away from the bone, falling away
in ragged strips.

"Aaaargh!"

The pain was becoming unbearable, and as he heard another shrieking whine,
he fell to the floor, scrabbling under a pew for protection. Others were
scrambling away from the church, and a blast of icy air whistled through the
church. He could feel the burning liquid eating into his flesh, and then he
frowned as a most peculiar sensation started in his legs. First of all he
felt a tingling, followed by an itching. He writhed around as the itching
grew more and more insistant, then abruptly it stopped. Only problem was,
he discovered as he tried to wriggle back under the pew, all feeling had
gone too. His legs sprawled uselessly to one side.

SHhrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeik!

BANG... Tinkle!

More screams sounded, but most of the noise was, by now, rather wet gurgles.
Miles felt his arms starting to tingle, and tried to pull his legs under.
His arms rebelled against his efforts, and he only succeeded in thrashing
around unco-ordinatedly. The back of his neck didnt hurt anymore, and he
supposed that was good - but he
couldn't see it. Had he been able to, he might have been a little more
concerned at his chances of survival. Bone glinted in the flickering light,
the spinal cord exposed to the air.

The door crashed open again, bouncing off the wall and shuddering. Miles
lifted his head to look, and saw a pair of bright green boots step inside
the church. Snow was crusted around the soles, the toes curled up and over
with a brass bell dangling from the stiff felt. His vision faded into
fuzziness as he tried to make sense of the boots, his mind shutting out the
wails and groans around him. He didn't hear the wearer of the boots, the
high pitched muttering lost amongst the other cacophany.

"Oh no, too late, too late," the elf was muttering, the bells on his hat
tinkling gently. He grabbed for them as another bauble exploded, suddenly
realising the cause of the horror below.

"Don't scream," he said, trying to make his hushed words loud enough to be
heard, but not so loud that it would set off more of the lethal decorations.

Nobody paid any attention to the short elf standing in the doorway - they
were all too wrapped up in their own world of suffering and pain. The elf
growled under his breath, turning away dejectedly. So much suffering, at a
time when there should be only joy and laughter. It made him sick to the
very pit of his stomach.


---


[Montfort]

The burly figure strode straight down the centre of Montfort's main street.
Sunlight glinted off the iciles on the roofs, sparkling like diamonds. The
snow lay crisp and white all around, the fresh carpet covering the tracks
and ruts from yesterdays traffic. Behind him, eight elves skipped and
jumped through the snow, the shiny bells on their boots and hats jingling
merrily.

The look on their faces was anything but merry, however.

For a rather portly - and no longer young - gentleman, Saint Nick was
walking at a considerable pace, directly toward the centre of Montfort. He
had seen ample evidence so far of the havoc wreaked in the town, and he was
now very, very angry.

"Glisten and Snowflake, go to the city council. Do anything you have to -
they MUST listen to you and mobilise their forces to save the rest of the
town. You've got the faerie dust?"

The two elves nodded, patting the small pouches at their belts. It had
taken a considerable amount of effort, persuading the Faerie-kin to part
with their magical dust, but they had managed it in the end - though the
concessions they had been forced into would have repercussions for decades.

"Good. I - we - must find this imposter, and deal with him. I will NOT
have this happening again - not to Montfort, nor any other village, town or
city."

The elves ran off to one side, their feet leaving tiny tracks in the snow.

"Onward, the rest of my faithful elves, onward..."


---

"Boss?"

Santa sighed, opening one eye to see an elf peering down at him.

"There's something I think you oughta see, boss..."

He rose, frowning as he heard a commotion outside the barn. What on earth
was going on...

Santa staggered over to the door, opening it just a crack. His suit had
split across the back, the red plush material hanging down in tattered
folds. Beneath, grey-green flesh shone slickly, strange bumps moving around
slowly under the skin.

A horde of townspeople were rounding the corner of the house, and making
straight for the barn, waving all manner of weapons. Some bore swords or
bows, whilst others carried pitchforks or staves. They were led by an elf,
and that elf didn't look happy. A low growl rumbled from Santa's throat,
his eyes glowing red again.

"Fools," he snarled, turning on the elf looking at beside him. "Don't just
stand there, loose the reindeer on them..."

The elf scuttled off to obey, herding the huge beasts toward another smaller
door. Their hooves scuffed through the straw, leaving steaming footprints
behind. The tips of the reindeers' horns glinted in the red glow that shone
brightly from the nose of the leading beast. Their breath steamed in the
winter chill, sending great clouds of steam into the air.

"Go Vicious, go Damage, go Panic, go Torture," the elf whispered, slapping
each on the rump to send the reindeer flying toward the approaching
townsfolk.

"Go Carnage, go Fury, go Terror, go Pain..."

Inside the barn, Santa chortled quietly as he watched the animals heading
straight for the people of Montfort, the screams and shouts of panic
widening his grin. His red suit bulged and split from the neck to his wide
leather belt, two huge folds of bunched up skin bursting out.

The townspeople scattered as the reindeer stampeded toward them, flames
sparking up from around their blurring hooves. Breath snorted out of their
gaping mouths as the reindeer tore into the crowd, huge teeth snapping from
side to side as they mauled on anything that didn't get out of the way in
time.

"ENOUGH!" boomed a deep voice. There was a loud crackling, and the reindeer
slowed to a stop as ice crusted over them. Steam rose from their hooves,
the flames extinguished by the cold as frost and ice encased the beasts,
rendering them immobile.

"YOU WILL STOP THIS AT ONCE!"

Another portly gentleman, with long white beard and fur trimmed robes strode
up to the first reindeer, peering at it through the ice. A feeble red still
shone faintly from its nose.

"Tsk Tsk Tsk," he said, shaking his head. He looked toward the barn,
sensing something within, something malevolent, and unwelcome on this of all
days.

"Stay with these people," he said as his elves did their best to calm the
worried townsfolk. "I'll deal with this..."

Saint Nick's black boots crunched through the snow, following the
curiously cloven hoofprints scorched into the ground that led toward the
large building. Something clattered inside the barn, and he yanked open the
door, glaring around the darkness
within as his eyes adjusted from the bright snow outside.

A small shape exploded out of the straw, latching onto Santa's legs. He
looked down as an elf frantically scrabbled at him, biting and clawing
through his clothes as the bell on its hat jingled merrily.

"What the.."

He reached down, grabbing the snarling elf by the scruff of its neck and
hauling it up to eye level. Razor sharp teeth snapped and chomped at the
air between him and the elf, and its eyes gleamed with pure unbridled
malice.

"You need someone to teach you a few manners," Santa said as the elf writhed
around trying to latch onto his arm. "In fact, here's one you can learn
right now."

He dumped the elf into a trough of water, its legs breaking through the
crust of ice. Santa was about to release his grasp on the now drenched elf
when another shape shot out of the shadows toward him. His other hand
snatched something round from his pocket, flinging it with great accuracy
and speed at the moving target.

It hit the oncoming elf right between the eyes, showering cookie dust in all
directions. The elf blinked, dazed for a couple of seconds. A couple of
seconds however, was all it took for Saint Nick to send another hard cookie
slamming into its head. The elf toppled over, and Santa turned back to the
one still struggling to free itself from his grasp and avoid the icy water.

"Jack Frost, lend me your gentle touch to still the water and stop this elf,
until I have the time to deal with him myself..."

Crystals of ice shot across the surface of the trough, clasping the elf's
legs firmly as they joined and flowed around them. The elf screamed and
swore as his struggles did no more than almost wrench his legs out of their
sockets. Santa let go, turning his attention back to the inside of the
barn. All was quiet, but he couldn't believe there had only been two elves
lurking in here. He looked around, cautiously moving deeper inside the
barn, checking the stalls as he went.

He was almost to the last stall when a shape launched itself out of the
shadows, leathery wings flapping as something huge wrapped itself around
Saint Nick, its jagged fangs darting toward his arm, shredding the material.

"AAaargh!"

His shout rang out, albeit rather muffled from under the enormous creature.

"Get... off... me...."

Snarling rose from the creature's chest as its eyes glared at Santa, it's
hot breath steaming in the cold air. Santa grappled with it, trying to keep
the teeth at bay while its claws raked long gouges into his flesh. The
beast's scaly tale thrashed from side to side, beating against Santa's black
shiny boots and threatening to sweep him off his feet. Straw kicked up
around the pair as they stumbled about in the barn, each trying to gain the
upper hand.

Outside, a few of the townsfolk were cautiously edging toward the reindeers
still encased in ice. One of the elves borrowed a weapon, and scraped the
swordtip over one of the frozen beasts, barely scratching the surface. The
eyes within still glistened though, alert and watching every movement the elf
made as he paced around the animal. Neither he nor the gathered
people noticed as the snow drifted gently into a corner next to the
barn, gradually building into a sizeable heap.

Suddenly, a huge explosion ripped the side of the barn off, splintering the
wooden slats and sending hay and straw everywhere. What rolled out provoked
screams and general panic amongst most of the townspeople, sending them
fleeing back to their houses. Several dropped their weapons where they
stood, the weight of the iron and steel plunging them deep into the snow,
whilst the elves stood staring in shock.

Snow hissed and steamed as the creature rolled and thrashed around on the
ground, its tail wrapped around Santa's waist and trying to squeeze the life
out of him. Clouds of vapor enveloped the pair, drifting in a mist as the
breeze wafted gently. The pile of snow in the corner had grown by now to a
towering heap, fully six feet tall, and fast developing what looked
suspiciously like a head and a pair of arms. Black stones made up a pair of
eyes, and it abruptly lurched toward the struggling figures, heading straight into
the steam.

The elves rushed toward the barn, but paused on the outskirts of the steam,
peering into its foggy depths. They jumped back as a fierce hissing and
spitting erupted from within, building up until the sound was deafening as the
foggy cloud doubled, trebled, then quadrupled in size. Suddenly, it abruptly died
away, the wind blowing away the thick mists to reveal two bodies lying
sprawled in a huge pool of steaming water.

The elves looked at each other with worried expressions as long seconds
dragged by without any sign of movement from the crumpled red suit, with its
now grubby fur trim. Coils of sulphurous vapour rose from the creature's
nose, and one scaled eyelid trembled briefly, snapping open abruptly.

The eye inside gleamed, a dull fiery glow flickering within its depths. The
creature's gaze slowly roamed over its surroundings, one clawed hand
clenching repeatedly before dropping to lie limp against the stone cobbles.
With one last shudder, the creature's eye slowly closed.

The elves crept forward once more, moving cautiously around the tail that
lay coiled around. Water ran off the slick scaly hide in rivulets, pooling
around the still steaming form.

"Er, Santa?"

One bold elf reached out a hand, fingers stretching toward a corner of the
red cloth.

"Boss?"

The cloth moved under his hand, and the elf choked back a scream, then
grabbed for the leathery wing that lay across the prone form of Sant Nick.
It was greasy under his grasp, the scales cooling rapidly in the icy chill.
He tugged hard, folding the wing toward the body, his face grimacing as
another wisp of sulphurous steam coiled from the beasts mouth. It stank.

Muttering started, feint at first, but increasing in volume as one leg
kicked around, the boot searching for purchase on the wet cobbles.

"This dang thing.."

A stream of invectives followed as the portly figure huffed and puffed,
gradually wriggling out from underneath the beast. Santa, far from the
normally immaculate image, resembled a victim of some backalley mugging.
His clothing was tattered and torn, lumps of mud and drying blood
intermingled in the fur. His white hair was tangled and wayward, and
scratches and gouges criss-crossed the exposed skin.

Santa staggered away from the scaly creature, toward his waiting elves. In
the distance, the reindeer still stood frozen in their icy prisons.
Sunlight glinted on the snowy street, sparkles of light flickering and
dancing off the hanging icicles. The elves clustered around Santa, helping
him slowly down the street. As he passed the reindeer, he waved one hand
tiredly, expending the last of his energy. The ice suddenly flared with a
painfully bright flash of light, and in the afterglare, they were gone.

Behind him, the carcass of the creature collapsed in on itself, bones
cracking and the skin drying paper thin before crumbling into a fine dust.
A wailing shriek echoed around the street, and the dust melted into the
ground, slipping and dribbling between cracks in the cobbles to vanish
utterly from sight.

Thus the town of Montfort began a new year, the evil vanquished once more to
beyond the gates of hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Granpapa?" a tiny voice asked, wide blue eyes gazing around the edge of the
thick book.

"Yes, my dear?" the girl's grandfather replied, his gnarled hands closing
the book carefully and putting it on the top shelf of his extensive library.

"Santa IS coming tomorrow, isn't he..."

Her grandfather laughed and slowly knelt beside the little girl.

"Of course he is, sweetie. It is Christmas Eve tonight, and he has to
deliver all the presents. You know, that story is very very old... nearly
as old as me."

"I - I don't think I like your stories any more, Granpapa," she said, her
mouth turning down into a pout. Her lip trembled and quivered as her blue
eyes stared up at the old man.

"Papa only reads me nice ones..."

Something red flickered briefly in the old man's eyes then, and she flinched
away from him, turning to run out the room with her golden ringlets
bouncing. Grandpapa smiled as he watched her go, his hands clenching into
tight fists that dug sharp nails into his palm.

"Sleep well, little one," he whispered...


[End]
copyright 2000, 1999 by Louisa J. King (Grey Feathers)
and Marc Washington (Dark Icon)