Chapter Text
Prologue
Look out your window on a cold winter night, when the wind is howling as it whips around the corner of whatever structure you’re huddled inside for shelter, with nothing between you and the bitter cold of death but a narrow pane of glass, perhaps a curtain. Little else, and suddenly civilization seems quite far away and you can very easily put yourself in the minds of ancient people, the ones who huddled around fragile flames, praying for the light to not go out.
When you look out into the darkness, it isn’t hard at all to understand why they needed something to fight back the bitter cold of winter. When the sun stayed in the sky for less time each day, when the fruits died and the animals became scarce, when death wasn’t a far off dream but a neighbor, near and close, ready to come the moment someone fell weak. When the darkness crept ever closer and the cold ever deeper, those ancient people, in their desperation, created a festival of light.
To celebrate what was beautiful and bright and warm. To stave off the hunger and fear; they lit the yule logs, they lit the candles, and the darkness shrank back. They searched out what was green and alive in the midst of the frozen snow and brought it into their homes, and feasted when feasting should not happen, when food should be scarce and preserved. They sang and danced and made merry, all while the wind rattled outside of their widows, ever close, ever ready, to take whomever dared leave the brightness.
But even now, in modern times, when the Christmas lights are turned off for the night and the songs have gone quiet, every one of us knows down to our bones that close on the heels of Christmas lurks the thing that the holiday was created to push away. Near in the darkness, in the cold and the ice, it runs deeper than the merry-making, older than the songs, and though we may never utter the thought aloud, every one of us still knows that within the winter, there lives the evil.
Chapter 1
Will swung the axe harder than was really necessary, the chunks of pine flying from the trunk and past his shoulder, landing in the snow behind him. With one more swing the tree was toppling and he stepped out of the way, not caring much when the outer branches scraped along his face, leaving scratches on his cheek.
He set his axe down in the snow and picked up the small tree by its trunk. He started dragging it back towards the truck, a gust of wind whipping through the Christmas tree field to bite his cheeks where he’d let his scarf fall away.
He grunted as he hauled it up over his shoulders and onto the bed of the truck. Several other Christmas trees were tossed up already by other workers, but the truck was nowhere near capacity and he knew he still had a long day of harvesting ahead of him.
He trudged back out into the snow, sweat rolling down his back inside of his coat while his eyebrows froze, begrudging his miserable life with every step and swing of his axe.
It was dark by the time he got home, because they worked until the last ray of light left the sky, and then tonight worked longer, because it was the last harvesting night of the year with Christmas only a week away. He took his meager daily pay and shoved it into the hole in his bedroom wall under the windowsill the one hiding place he had left that his drunk father hadn’t found.
“Boy, bring me a log, I’m freezing in here!”
Will grunted and rose to his feet. After having spent the entire day out in the bitter wind their small cabin seemed warm enough to him. But he supposed it wouldn’t do him any good to let the fire go out, so he threw on his boots, not bothering to lace them, and trudged back out into the snow to the woodpile.
He grabbed as many as he could carry and hauled them back inside, dumping the logs unceremoniously beside the fireplace. He didn’t bother to look at his father while he threw two more on and stirred the embers with the poker, thinking about just how easy it would be to take it and smash it across his drunken father’s face.
Instead he walked into their tiny kitchen and pulled out a jar of peanut butter and some bread. There was nothing else to eat. Tomorrow he’d be working in town, selling the trees, and he’d buy some meat on his way home, maybe some potatoes.
Will had to leave the door to his room open to let the heat from the fire in, which meant he had to listen to his father’s hideous snoring as he slept in the armchair. He pulled the blanket up over his head to try to drown it out, and listened instead to the wind as it rattled his window, lulling him to sleep.
* * *
Will hopped from one foot to the other as he rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm. Only two customers had even set foot on the Christmas tree lot today. It was Christmas Eve; by now anyone who wanted a tree had one. It didn’t help that the sky was overcast and the wind was wicked.
Will saw the silhouette of a person step in through the gate to the lot and he headed over to help them before realizing who it was. He froze for a second when he saw it was his father, but then pressed forward and tried to save face in front of his boss.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Will! There you are.” his dad said, a relieved smile coming over his face. For a moment Will felt himself starting to smile back, wondering why his dad was so happy to see him. Then he said, “Quick, I need ten bucks.”
Instantly Will’s face hardened.
“I can still smell the last ten dollars I gave you. At least let it wear off before you ask me for more.”
His father’s smile faded, but only slightly, which was why Will didn’t see the punch coming until it was too late. It struck him straight across his nose, jerking his face to the side hard, making his neck crack.
“You little shit.” his dad said, and then there was a second punch which knocked Will to the ground. His boss and another employee both ran towards them, stopping Will’s dad from kneeling in the snow to land an third punch to his face.
“Mr. Graham, get off my tree lot.” he heard his boss say. He watched through dizzy eyes as his coworkers pushed his father back, who stumbled and was pushed easily because of his drunkenness.
“You ungrateful little shit! I raised you! Fed you, changed your diapers, and now when I need a little help you spit in my face! Fine! Stay out here! Stay out here in the frozen cold! See if I let you in the house later!”
His voice grew fainter as his cowokers pushed him towards the gate and out into the street. Will lay in the snow for a moment, waiting for the sky to stop spinning. He didn’t know when the clouds had cleared, but he could see the stars clearly, little points of white in the blackness above him, and they were so peaceful he just…stared for a while.
“And don’t come crying to me when you’re cold, either! See if I care whether you freeze to death!” his dad shouted.
“Yeah, well, I wish you’d die too.” Will said. In that exact instant a streak of light blinked across the sky, so quickly he wasn’t even sure he saw it. He’d seen plenty of shooting stars before in his life, but never one quite so bright. It lingered in the vision of his eyes for a long time, until he heard feet crunching in the snow and felt hands wrapping around his arms.
“Hey Will, you okay?” his boss asked, helping him sit up. His head was spinning. He felt wetness and reached his fingers up to his nose, seeing blood on his gloves when he pulled them away.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” he said. “Just a little headache.”
They helped him to his feet and he wobbled a bit, then steadied himself.
“Hey, why don’t you take off now?” his boss said. “No one else is coming to buy trees. You boys should both go home.”
Will sighed. He knew his boss was trying to be nice, but frankly home was the last place he wanted to be.
“Yeah, thanks.” he said. He took his pay and walked down Main Street, looking for anything else that was still open. There was the bar, but he knew who was in there and didn’t want to see him ever again, if he could help it. Then there was the diner. He stepped in, the wind whipping the door nearly out of his hands, blowing in the snow behind him.
He ordered a bowl of turkey soup and coffee, warming himself as much as he could before he’d have to face the walk home in the dark. He stared down into the bowl, the steam rising up in wisps and circles, bringing just a bit of warmth to his cheeks. He tipped the waitress extra and wished her a Merry Christmas before heading back out into the cold.
His father was already home when he got there, and already asleep, bottle still in hand. Will had no idea where he’d gotten it from. The fire was dim and he didn’t want to risk waking his father to stoke it, so he tiptoed around him towards his bed. He huddled under the blankets as he did every other night, absolutely nothing at all special about this one particular night that other people called Christmas Eve.