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“Citizens of the North Pole!” a male voice booms from outside. The voice is loud, strident, and unfamiliar. Though I don’t recognize it, icy fear skates down my spine and encases my heart.
I immediately race towards the nearest window, balancing precariously on a stack of hay, while the five reindeer flutter in the air around me.
Standing on the tallest snow hill, using a child’s karaoke machine to amplify his voice—how the hell has he hooked it up to electricity? Is that his power?—stands one of the demons from earlier. This one has greasy blond hair that hangs longer in the front than the back, covering one eye completely. He’s tall and lanky, but there’s something about him that has my heart stuttering to a stop in fear. He just seems…dangerous. Evil. There’s a malicious glint in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. Not once.
The rest of his demon murder spread out around him, their wings, horns, and talons on display. At their feet, trembling and sobbing, are some of the cherubs from the workshop. Almost all of them I recognize, and a cold wave of fury gathers inside of me. These are myfriends. My family.
And currently, they’re scared out of their minds, snot running down their faces and mingling with the tears already present.
“You are under new leadership!” the demon continues, gesturing towards two of his demons. I recognize the one with the hideous blue wings—let’s call him Blue—and he’s joined by an ugly man with a beak-like nose and copper hair. Between Ugly and Blue, his head lolling against his chest, is Santa.
“No,” I breathe, terror squeezing my heart in an iron vise. I can barely breathe through it. My hands shake as dark spots dance in my vision. “Daddy?” I whimper, feeling young and small all over again. Feeling like that little girl who begged her father to check underneath her bed for demons and other monsters. The girl who worshiped the ground he walked on.
Cupid releases a tiny mewl, pressing his furry head against my palm, and I absently scratch behind his ears. But my eyes are fixated on the horrific sight before me.
Ugly and Blue drop Santa unceremoniously on the snow in front of the obvious murder leader…let’s call him Bangs.
Bangs offers the cherubs a cruel, malevolent smirk. You ever heard the saying “capable of making angels weep?” Well, Bangs takes that to a whole new level. I’m not even near him, and I want to pee my pants, curl into a ball, and cry my eyes out, all in no particular order.
“As of now, Santa no longer runs this little shit show. The North Pole is under a new regime.” Bangs kicks at Santa’s stomach, and my father rolls over, allowing me to see his mottled face for the first time. I inhale sharply at the myriad of vicious green and blue bruises and deep cuts. He won’t die—his Center passed away a long time ago, so he’s not vulnerable—but he will be in pain until his magic heals him.
Ifhis magic heals him.
I imagine the demons don’t seem too keen on giving him the chance to get better.
What will they do to him? Torture him relentlessly?
And what about the cherubs?
What aboutme?
What about Christmas? All the faith and hope that it gives little children?
As of now, it appears that these demons don’t know that I even exist, but I know my anonymity won’t last. All they’ll have to do is ask the cherubs—creatures who can’t lie—specific questions concerning the residents of Christmas Village, and they’ll have no chance but to spit it out.
I begin to step away from the window, from the image of my dad lying in a pool of his own blood. From the cherubs being cuffed and dragged back to the toy shop for…who the hell knows what.
The North Pole has been overrun, and I know that the cherubs won’t lift a pudgy finger to save it. Sure, they’re smart and wholesome and pure, but they’re not fighters. They never have been, and they never will be. They’ve relied on Santa for centuries to protect the North Pole, and now that he’s out of the way, not one of them will step up and be the leader we need them to be.
Which means it’s up to me.
