Page 14 of Scary & Bright

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Page 14 of Scary & Bright

“She doesn’t need to know that,” I growled. “Wanting her to experience a bit of peace and comfort before the inevitable doesn’t mean anything has genuinely changed.”

“I don’t understand why you’re being this way.” The bear stopped in his tracks in protest. “You’ve got this wonderful opportunity to turn over a new leaf, and you’re so stubborn and committed to your own despair that you refuse to see it. You refuse even to acknowledge the possibility that things could be different.”

I took a lap around the top of the tree until I stood behind Mister Bear. I gripped the iron collar around my neck with both hands.

“Look at this, Mister.” I pulled the collar in all directions, showing Mister what he already knew—that it was locked, and there was no removing it. “This thing doesn’t care if I’d like to turn a new leaf. This thing doesn’t care if I’d like to give another path an honest shot. If Christmas Eve arrives, and I haven’t taken care of one person off the Naughty List as I always have, this thing isn’t going to give me another chance.” I let it slip from my hands, the weight falling to its familiar spot at the base of my neck.

“Just because things have always been done a certain way doesn’t mean—” Mister shot back, still desperate to have his case heard.

But I had heard him. His suggestion had been crystal clear, but—just like I had told him all those other times—his suggestion was nothing more than a hypothesis. If he was wrong, that would mean the disappearance of the magic that fueled both the North and South Poles and an eternity of torture for myself. The collar around my neck kept me in line. Santa Claus made sure of it.

“It’s just a precaution,” that bastard had assured me when he locked it in place all those endless years ago. “If you hold up your end of things, you’ll never have to worry about it. You’ll probably forget it’s even there.”

I never did forget.

“It does mean they need to continue to be done that same, certain way,” I hissed, losing what little patience I had left for the teddy bear. “It’s the only way we know for sure to keep the balance.”

The bear’s shoulders slumped forward, knowing that pressing the issue any further wouldn’t do him any favors. I knew he meant well, but every year, he tried to pitch a new plan, and this year, I was in a worse mental state than usual, and I was entirely unwilling to allow him to ramble. There was no way to explain to him that, as much as I appreciated his concern, that it was far too painful to talk about.

The fact of the matter was that if I told myself there was nothing to be done, I could protect myself from further heartbreak. There was only so much I could take, and I was skating on thin ice as it was.

“I’m sorry, Mister. I’m just so, so tired,” I muttered as I walked back the way I’d come. I stopped on the other side of the tree, hoping the bear would take the hint that I had to be done with this conversation. There was nothing more I wanted to say.

“No, I’m sorry, Krampus,” the bear said with such deep disappointment that I hardly recognized the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry you’ve given up.”

I closed my eyes and willed the bear to go away. Eventually, after what felt like hours of silence between us, I heard the quiet squeak of his paws leaving the study. To go where, I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t particularly care as long as he left me alone with my misery.

Upon opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was her image. It was reflected back to me from the golden ornament that hung close by. In the tiny orb, I watched her make her way up the grand spiral staircase, taking in the sights around her. She was observant, her head turning every which way. Her lips moved, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying or what her voice sounded like. It was probably like wind chimes or birdsong.

I reached both my hands out, plucked the golden ornament from the tree, holding it delicately in my hands, then carried it back to my chair and took a seat. My thumbs caressed either side of the ornament as I desperately wished to have the opportunity to touch her without frightening her. The sight of my broad hands with the dark hair along the back of them assured me that would never happen.

Even in a world where I followed Mister’s advice and went to her with kindness, why would she ever choose to reciprocate that kindness? I saw how she looked at me in the basement, and I knew how she saw me. I knew how every person the Christmas Spirit selected looked at me. The reminders of their screams echoed in my head on every long, lonely night.

The girl—Holly—took her time with every room she passed, inspecting the art and furniture and running her delicate fingers over the woodwork. Starlight and Tuff were really giving her a grand tour, an opportunity I was certain they both jumped at. No matter how many years a toy spent in my castle, I knew they never stopped craving that genuine human connection and companionship. I also knew that word traveled fast in the castle, so it was likely that every toy in the whole place knew Holly had been given the chance to move out of the basement and into a bedroom. I took a deep breath, dreading the inevitability that I would need to explain or deflect a thousand different questions. The toys were wonderful company when I needed them but also when I absolutely did not need them.

I began to lose myself in the vision on the ornament, imagining I was there with her, telling her all the details of why I designed things the way I did or my inspiration behind certain pieces. Mister was right in that the castle was a reflection of me because it was me. My magic—the same magic that allowed Santa’s reindeer to fly and the List to identify which people were naughty and nice—also allowed me to build this place for myself and all the toys with nowhere else to go. The downside of it all was that the walls around me changed as I did, and I had to admit there were past versions of this castle that I wished with all my heart that Holly was seeing instead.

Finally, as my eyes focused on the angelic face in the ornament’s reflection, I caught a smile. She had found a bookcase, pulled out an old classic children’s book, and began flipping through the pages. My castle was home to more than just well-loved but forgotten toys. There were also books, furniture, cast-iron pans—anything someone might have cared for and misplaced for one reason or another ended up here. She must have landed on one she liked because with every turn of a page came another smile. Her expression was intoxicating and uniquely beautiful. The bridge of her nose crinkled, and the corners of her lips rose asymmetrically, giving her a mischievous look about her that felt too perfect to be true. I felt the corners of my mouth lift into a small smile as well, unable to stop myself from enjoying this moment with her, albeit from afar.

Before I realized what was happening, I felt the room flood with light around me. Clean, cool, white light in opposition to the warm, dim fire and Edison bulb light I used in my study. I shot my gaze upward and noticed a perfectly circular, elegantly detailed skylight had appeared in the center of the stone ceiling. As the bright light from the icy world outside washed over my face, it occurred to me that I was perhaps even more effed than I had initially assumed.

7

HOLLY

So far, so good. And by ‘so good,’ I meant nobody had burst from the shadows to tear me limb from limb. Considering I had been in a basement with old blood on the walls only hours ago, that felt like a pretty good start.

The castle was an interesting place, and each room was a surprise. There were bedrooms, sitting rooms, reading rooms, art rooms, rooms full of knickknacks, and some rooms that were entirely empty. I met several more toys, all of whom were shocked to see me out and about but disguised their confusion with kindness and warm welcomes. I had to admit, it felt nice to have companionship, no matter how odd it was. Having Starlight yammering at my side and Tuff adding his own two cents when he felt so motivated was the friendliest conversation I’d had in what felt like forever. It was almost enough to force me to enjoy myself. Almost.

Along the stone walls of the balcony were various photographs and paintings depicting a happy family dressed in clothes that were definitely old-fashioned, but I couldn’t confidently identify the time period. Lederhosen, embroidered linen tops, warm hats, tall boots, and smiling happy faces stared back at me from the frames. Each representation was the same—two boys that appeared identical in age alongside their mother and father. Sometimes a reindeer or an arctic fox was pictured alongside the family.

Lit candles on elaborate sconces lined the stone walls, and combined with the light from the gargantuan tree, things were relatively bright and cozy. Or it would be cozy if my heart wasn’t skipping a beat every time we passed a long stretch of shadow or a dark room. The threat of Krampus was running rampant within me, and my fight-or-flight response shooting up every few minutes was wildly draining.

“And this is another library!” Starlight announced as we entered another room full of books.

“I guess you can’t have too many.” I shrugged with a smile as I waltzed into the next room. “But I have to admit, it does feel strange to have so many smaller ones instead of one huge one.”

“It’s been quite a while since our last major renovation,” the rocking horse mused as she followed me inside. “Rather than do a big overhaul, the boss has just been tacking on more and more rooms.”


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