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Your name is John Egbert, and you are entirely uncomfortable, for a number of reasons. Firstly, you're wearing, of all things, a sweater vest over a collared shirt with a bow tie. It's hot, not terribly flattering, and chafing you beyond belief. When did you wear this last? It's had to have been several years at least, you haven't entirely outgrown it but you're still careful not to exhale too deeply.
Secondly, you're on your way to a complete stranger's home on Christmas eve. You still have no idea how you and your father were tricked into coming along. Surely your father's new wife and your step-sister can understand that Christmas eve at Nana's is a family tradition? You'd spent every Christmas you could ever remember at your grandmother's, it was hardly the holidays without spending the day avoiding her impressive amount of cookies, cakes and other holiday confectioneries. But, of course, your father was ultimately bewitched by Ms. Lalonde's batting lashes. Who cared about some stuffy old holiday party that you had to dress up for? You only ever dressed up for funerals, and this whole Christmas was feeling more and more like one. Despite your best efforts (and several wasted smoke bombs) you were crammed into a car with the entirety of your newly extended family and set hurtling along the highway along with the rest of the fools trying to get anywhere on Christmas eve.
You've been in the car for what seems like hours. The snow has been falling thickly for a while now, and it's too the point where you can't see hardly anything outside the window. You have no idea how Ms. Lalonde is navigating, but neither she nor your father seem concerned at all. You fiddle with your seat belt impatiently, and then suddenly it occurs to you that you have no idea where you're going. Both Lalondes were all but downright cagey with any details. You turn suspiciously to your backseat partner, Rose, who's sitting next to you, absorbed in a thick book with gold lettering along the side in a thick Gothic print you don't bother to try to read.
"Rose." You keep your voice low, trying to be discrete.
"Hmm?" She doesn't look up at you.
"So, just curious, do you have any idea where we're going?" You twiddle your thumbs innocently. Rose pauses, then shuts her book and sets it by her side, in the space between your pant leg and her dress. (It's a very nice dress, a long black thing that you think looks a little plain for a supposedly fancy Christmas party.) She looks directly at you with an intense gaze that makes you fidget and avert her eyes. You get the feeling that was her intention.
"I thought mom told you both, we're going to a party." She says, matching your fake innocence. You roll your eyes.
"Yes, Rose. I'm aware we're going to a party. What I don't know is where on earth we're going! As in, the literal planetary location! It seems like we've been driving forever!"
"Perhaps we've been entrapped in some sort of morose Christmas tale, and we're doomed to wander through the sleet until spirits or young crippled orphans can convince us of the true meaning of Christmas." She's doing that thing again, where her face is entirely neutral but at the same time she's somehow grinning at your expense.
"Rooooose!" You groan. She breaks character long enough to giggle into her palm.
"It's not too far from here." She assures you with a wink. "I don't know the exact address, but mom and I go to this party with all of our family every year. It's a very, very important family tradition. Consequences would be dire were we to skip out this year, I can't say aunt Roxy would ever forgive us." Her eyes have shifted down towards her lap and her voice drops just a touch. She's still trying to be funny, you feel, but there's some sort of genuine worry. Which doesn't make any sense to you, Rose seems like the last sort of person to be concerned with something as petty as what she's describing? You puzzle at her reserved expression. You're missing something here, and it's itching at you to figure it out.
Rose looks back up to you and smiles, not to reassure you but to reconstruct her cover. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it. It's always an occasion, to say the least."
"I guess..." You can't help but think that you could be in your grandmother's kitchen right now, helping her make cookies for "Santa" that she knows are your dad's favorite.
the conversation is interrupted as the car jerks suddenly to the right and you're shoved up against the window. Rose's mother points excitedly out the window.
"There it is! We're here!" Relief is heavy in her voice. You pull your cheek away from the cold glass and squint through the snow. Your eyes open wide, and your jaw drops slightly. Outside, under a growing layer of thick snow is a proper mansion, the likes you see in regency films, or owned by fictional billionaires. There's a wide, grand staircase that leads to a massive front door with columns flanking each side. The walls are a mixture of red brick and marble, the entire building has to be three or four stories tall, the highest floor has a balcony that leaves a bare patch in front of the door free of snow. Every surface is gilded and molded and there's lions built into the base of the foundation, and the entire thing is draped with red velvet curtain, glittering lights in every color and wreaths and boughs of every size. It is massively overwhelming, and it takes your breath away.
Rose is leaning over you to get a look, and she smiles. "Here we are."
Your dad mumbles something to Ms. Lalonde and she pats his shoulder with one hand as she navigates the steering wheel.
"Don't worry, dear. You and John will make a good impression, I'm sure of it."
You're not sure if you imagine it, but you think that for just a second, as her mother said that Rose stiffened.
The car stops. Ms. Lalonde pulls out the keys and the car goes quiet. The adults open their doors and cold sweeps into the car mercilessly, bringing goosebumps to your arms. You quickly undo your seatbelt and scramble out of the car along with the rest of your family. The snow is coming down thick, it nearly covers your shoes as you step into it. Fat snowflakes fly into her your eyes and the wind burns yours cheeks, you're shivering already. You start jogging toward the stairs. Even if you don't want to be here, it's gotta be warmer inside, right?
Your skin burns hot as you transition from frozen outside to a pleasantly warm interior. The main door opens into a wide foyer, the inside as just as grand as the outside. The floor is covered in a polished marble and there’s a beautiful, twinkling chandelier hanging overhead. Directly ahead of you is a hallway, with a long grand staircase curving around it and leading upstairs.
Rose, and both of your parents walk in after you, and then you heard a long, drawn out squeal from the top of the staircase.
“Oh my gosh! Family! You’re all here!” You look up, and there’s a woman on the second floor. She’s leaning precariously over the railing, waving vigorously at you all. She’s got the same light white-blonde hair as Rose and her mother, though longer, and her face is sharper where Rose’s is round. The familiar resemblance is still uncanny, despite the minute differences.
“Who’s that?” You whisper to Rose.
“My aunt, Roxy.” She waves serenely with one hand as Roxy runs down the stairs. As she does, the long pink coat she’s wearing flares out behind her and the lining catches the light and twinkles in a thousand colors like she’s wearing a rainbow that follows her as she descends to the ground floor and rushes to crush Rose in a hug. Rose is begrudgingly accepting this, at best.
“Roxy! It’s so good to see you.” Rose’s mother smiles. “Have I introduced you to my husband?” You father draws himself up and nods politely. Roxy drops her jaw and Rose momentarily, the latter of which escapes from her grasp like a crushed cat.
“No! You haven’t! Who is this dashing fellow gracing my dear home?” She winks, and suddenly you get the feeling you don’t want to listen to any more than you have to. You turn on your heel and head under the staircase into the hallway. The marble is covered with long, thick rugs here and the walls are lined with intricately detailed portraits of old men in strange garb and robes you don’t recognize. The taste of the rich just must be above what you can appreciate.
The hallway opens into a fucking huge ballroom. Like, this goes beyond just awe-inspiring and amazing and lands in just plain ridiculous. It’s nearly the size of a stadium, the ceiling is vaulted and covered in pictures of fat naked babies and even more old men in robes, there are huge windows decorating every wall that frame the falling snow in a very beautiful and picturesque way. There’s a string quartet in full tuxedos playing a soft song to cut the silence of the large room. The opulence is almost gaudy. You feel very out of place.
There are people spilling into the room gradually. Funnily enough, you don’t see a single man. It’s all young girls and older women, aunts and mothers and grandmothers, all in well-fit tuxedos and elegant gowns that fill into the ballroom and begin to make small talk. At least a few of them must have husbands or sons, you wonder where they are.
You move further into the room to avoid intruding on conversations forming around you. At the other end of the ballroom is an enormous pine tree covered in giant glass bulbs and beautiful twinkling lights. It catches your attention immediately, you and your father have had the same fake tree since you were little, you’ve never seen a real one before. It has a clear, refreshing scent of pine. It’s taller than you are by several feet, you would wager it’s eight or nine feet total. There are a small pile of presents underneath, each with a large name tag listing a name you don’t recognize. You squat down to get a closer look. Each nametag has a name on it, but they’re all boy names. You don’t see a Rose or a Roxy anywhere.
A loud BONG startles you out of your thoughts. To the right of the tree is a large grandfather clock. The hour hand lands on six and two doors at the very top open up and a wooden cat pops out, bobbing in and out six times with each chime of the clock.
“Six already?” You jump again at Rose’s voice on your other side.
“You escaped?” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah. Roxy’s vice grip is a common theme in these parties, they’re all like clockwork at this point.”
“Huh.... ok....” You have no idea what she’s talking about but you nod and pretend you do. Rose looks down at the presents beneath the tree.
“It’s kind of interesting, having you hear. It’s an unseen variable in a formula we all know by heart. Maybe it’s some sort of sign that this will be the last one.” She reaches down for a small present.
“The last Christmas party?” You ask, confused.
“In a sense. This particular Christmas party, anyway.” She stands up again and she’s holding a red box. The nametag on it says “Dave” a large, looping script. Rose sees your expression and explains, “My brother. I’ll save it for him.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.” Dad and Rose’s mother have been married for a little over a year, and this is the first mention of a sibling she’s made. “Does he live with your dad?” you guess.
Before Rose can answer Roxy comes into the ballroom, clapping her hands to gather everyone’s attention. “Merry Christmas everyone!”
“Merry Christmas!” Everyone in the ballroom echoes back.
“Welcome to the annual Lalonde Christmas party! It’s been such a long year and I’m very happy to see each and everyone of you!” She reaches into her sleeve and pulls out a long, thin stick.
“Is that a wand?” You mutter to Rose. She makes an unimpressed sound in confirmation. Roxy holds it high like a baton, her grin never wavering.
“We’ve got a long night of revelry ahead of us! Let the festivities officially begin!” She flicks the wand with a grand flourish and the band started playing a lively tune. A din of happy chattering voices started up as women moved towards the center to start dancing with each other. A crowd of small girls, the oldest being maybe 6, moved around the ballroom in between feet and underskirts like a cloud of birds. Ms. Lalonde pulled your dad by the tie to the dance floor and he happily followed behind.
The party is incredibly boring. You don’t know anyone here, your dad is kept incredibly busy by Ms. Lalonde, and all you can keep thinking of is how you could be baking with Nana, or watching old detective movies with her right now, but no, you’re here at some weird Christmas party for all the women in Rose’s family. You mill around sulkily for a few hours. People dance on and off, drinks are passed around and a few of the women get louder and louder as the night goes on.
The clock has just struck nine when something interesting finally happens. You haven’t been able to catch sight of Roxy all night, she seemingly just disappeared after starting the party. She’s resurfaced in front of the tree, dancing about with a few gifts in her hand and holding them tantalizingly above the swarm of toddlers. Rose and a few other teenagers are standing off to the side watching and you drift over to join them.
“Welcome.” Rose smiles as you come to her side. “Roxy is being a horrific aunt, as usual.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to make sure only the best of the best get one of my super-ultra-mega-awesome-custom-one-of-a-kind auntie Roxy gifts!” She tosses a small pink box into the crown and a baby girl squeals with delight as it lands in her hands. Roxy does this with a few more presents until she runs out, but the children don’t leave. They wait excitedly at her feet, like fish waiting for feeding time. Next to you, you see Rose tense.
Roxy reaches into her coat and pulls out one more thing, a long thin blue box. You have no idea how she was hiding it in there before. You’re mildly impressed. Roxy must know some magician tricks you’ve yet to master. Perhaps the two of you can compare secrets later. Roxy holds the box high above her head.
“Now, you all know what this is! It’s what we all wait for every year!” The children are a mass of hysteria, each squealing and jumping and grabbing for the present. Roxy clicks her tongue and wags a finger at them disapprovingly. “Now, am I supposed to rewards behavior like that? Of course not!” She twirls with the box over her head and her coat spins around her. “It goes to someone very special! The person who deserves it the most!” She stops in front of you and Rose.
The tenseness in Rose’s shoulder’s dissolves and you see her smile more genuinely than ever before. She reaches forward for the box. Roxy reaches past Rose’s hands and hands the box to you.
Roxy is smiling, the children around her are pouting, and Rose’s smile drops into immediate scandalized disbelief.
“I- I don’t really need it, thank you.” You try to push the present back but Roxy stubbornly pushes it toward you again.
“John, it’s rude to refuse gifts.” Her voice is low and her eyes hard suddenly. You get the feeling no is not an option here. “Open the gift.”
“Ok.” You sat quietly. You take the box. There’s no wrapping, just a ribbon you undo and then you take the lid off. There’s something under a layer of tissue paper. Roxy takes the box and trimmings from you as you pull out your present.
It's gotta be the goddamn weirdest thing you've ever seen. You've seen novelty nutcrackers before, you think Nana had a few that she puts up around her kitchen every year, and they're all a little funny looking, but this one takes the cake. It's got a big, round, orange eyes that stare blankly at you, and thick eyebrows drawn up in an expression of anxiety or indigestion. It has a normal black hat and long grisly teeth, but it's only got a small tuft of light hair, no beard. Its shirt is purple with big puffy prince sleeves and there's a crescent moon on its chest. It's the oddest nutcracker you've ever seen, and you're confused by the ferocity on Rose's face. It's not anger, but there's some fervent, manic emotion burning in her eyes you don't recognize.
"Give it back!" She hisses, and reaches to swipe it from you. Instinctively your grip on the nutcracker tightens. Rose grabs it by it's feet while you hold its head and the two of your pull on it with equal force. "No, John, you don't understand! Stop-!"
Pop!
Oh no! You look in horror at the severed wooden head in your hands, then to the body Rose holds in her's. You stutter over apologies and fumble uncertainly with the tiny head. You're such an idiot, you've broken one of Rose's gifts at her super fancy family Christmas party! However, Rose doesn't look mad. Her shoulders drop as she sighs with a sort of resigned disappointment. She lifts her head at you. Of all things, there's pity in her eyes. You stop, confusion taking precedence over your embarrassment for the moment, but then cousins start swarming around you again and yelling about how you broke the doll. You raise it over your head out of the reach of their pudgy little hands, and a taller hand swipes it out of yours.
You start in objection, but it's Roxy that has the head in her hands. You blink confusedly and she winks at you once then tucks it under the coat she's wearing. Ok, sure, why not? You wonder why she doesn't seem mad. It’s almost as if she expected this.
Rose brushes past you and you watch her stiffly approach Roxy and offer up the nutcracker's body. There's a petulant expression that seems foreign on Rose's face, like she's doing something she'd rather not only because she has too. Roxy either doesn't notice or disregards Rose's displeasure. She delicately takes the broken body and tucks it in the same spot under her coat.
"And with that, the grand wizard Roxy must bid all the good little boys and girls goodnight!" The cousins swarming you charge to Roxy's knees like a fat cloud of bees, all whining and begging her not to leave. "Alas, I've got stuff to do kiddies!" She bows deeply and kisses a few foreheads before shaking the toddlers from her leg. "I'll see you all on Christmas!" And with that she dashes away, her coat swirling around her and glinting rainbows into your eyes until she disappears in the throng of dancers.
"This isn't how this was supposed to go at all." Rose is suddenly at your side and you jump. Is everyone in this goddamn family some sort of ninja? Rose's hands are folded tersely against her chest and she's chewing the inside of her cheek. "I was supposed to get the nutcracker."
"...Sorry? You can have it if you want, I didn't even really want it in the first place." You shrug. "I'm sorry about breaking it." You add as an afterthought.
Rose exhales sharply and shakes her head. "No, she gave it to you so I guess it's yours now. I've never understood Roxy's inclinations, the motivations of wizards are simply too mysterious and too involved in the arcane machinations of some larger game for us to understand, even the motivations of fake wizards."
"Am I missing something here, Rose?" You say bluntly. This night has felt very long, and this stupid outfit is still very uncomfortable and your patience is wearing thin. "It's just a nutcracker, right? This is just a Christmas party, right? Everyone is being cryptic and aloof and making me feel stupid for no reason other than you're all kinda snooty, right?" You're almost pleading. Rose quirks a lip up.
"Nope." It's the most concise she's ever been and you hate it. She sees your frustration and is merciful. "I can't really say more. But, let's just say it's going to be an interesting night, and I've got a vested interest in what comes to light in the morning." Her eyes have gone hard again and she looks at you with a coldness that matched the blizzard outside. This is all getting too cryptic for you. You leave Rose to her stewing and roll your eyes as you go in search of something to drink.
You watch the windows with apprehension as the night wanes longer. The snow comes down thicker and thicker, and it’s nearly ten when your father approaches you and puts a hand on your shoulder to apologetically explain that the weather is too bad to try to drive home tonight. But, luckily, Roxy has no problem with letting you all stay over!
Rose won’t meet your eyes but you wonder if she’s feeling smug at all. Mostly, she just looks sad.
You’re lent nightclothes, a long billowing shirt and a soft pair of pants that fit surprising well, and lead to a room just off the ballroom. All the aunts, mothers, daughters, and cousins of the household are all sharing rooms and beds but somehow they’ve found a lone pair of beds for you and your father. Roxy drops by your room to wish you a goodnight.
“Oh, and just so the both of you know, the power’s gone out.” She leaves a candle and a set of matches on the table next to your bed. “We’ll all be up bright and early for Christmas, but just in case!” She smiles cheerily at you, and then winks. “Oh, and watch out for the mice. We really do need to get an exterminator in here.” She laughs as you draw your feet up to the bed, then closes the door.
Dad, like usual, is fast asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. You toss and turn for a while, drifting uneasily into a half-sleep that never settles into unconsciousness. This whole situation is strange and it keeps boiling in your mind. The presents with men’s names but no men, Rose’s strange attitude about the nutcracker and her surety of a snowstorm keeping you all overnight, you can’t parse together what it all means. Eventually you’re just sitting there wide awake staring at the ceiling. You concede defeat to sleep and sit up slowly so the old springs of the bed won’t wake Dad.
At home, it was always a personal tradition for you to go and see the tree in the middle of the night before going to bed proper. Dad always waited until Christmas Eve to put out his and “Santa’s” presents so it was always a wonder to come down from your room and see them all tucked under the tree. Maybe if you go and relive your tradition here, you can get some shut eye.
You light the candle and its small warm glow illuminates the dark hall as you cautiously creep from your room. You step slowly and carefully as the wood of the hallway creaks underfoot. The wood turns into cold marble as you step into the ballroom and you walk a little faster.
The tree is beautiful, just as you thought. The lights are off because of the power but you can still appreciate the majesty of it as you raise your light to see it better. The bulbs all look hand-painted, each one is a little art piece of its own. You gently brush one with your fingertips, and the ribbon looped around its top slips off the branch and it falls. You nearly drop your candle as you fumble to grab the ornament, just barely catching it by its ribbon. You breath a sigh of relief, then something catches your eyes.
Just as your feet is the nutcracker roxy gave you, now entirely whole with its head back on its shoulders. You put the ornament back on the tree and pick up the nutcracker with your other hand. It’s still a creepy-looking thing, in your opinion.
The clock chimes and you nearly jump out of your skin. The cat is peering out again, and you could swear that it’s baring its fangs at you.
BONG!
In your surprise you drop the candle. It falls wax first onto the floor and goes out, the entire ballroom is dunked into pitch black darkness. You don’t move, afraid someone heard the clattering.
BONG!
You figure no one could have heard above the noise of the clock. You kneel down to feel around for the candlestick.
BONG!
“It’s nearly midnight.” A soft voice titters from the darkness. You freeze.
“Roxy?”
BONG!
“It sure was risky picking you, Rosy wasn’t happy at all.” You swivel your head around but you can’t tell where the voice is coming from.
“But I’ve got a good feeling about you! Rose is too pragmatic, she doesn’t know how to look simply at something. This curse needs someone straightforward!”
BONG! BONG! BONG! BONG!
The lights of the Christmas tree flicker on and the sudden light hurts your eyes. You raise your hands to shield your eyes, and you only barely see the shining rainbow figure of Roxy. She’s crouched over the top of the clock, grinning at you like a Cheshire cat. She raises her hand, she’s holding that fake wand again.
“It’s not though, not really.” She answers your thoughts and then turns her attention to the Christmas tree. With a grand conductory sweep of her arms, she laughs.
BONG!
The Christmas tree begins to shake. It and the entire room shudders and you nearly fall. Roxy is still laughing as you turn and begin to run. You don’t know if this is an earthquake or if Roxy is crazy and planted a bomb, but either way you don’t want to be anywhere near her. You drop the nutcracker in your haste to escape.
BONG!
The exit is somehow getting farther away the harder you run. Your stomach dips as if you’re following, and the walls loom around you. Dizziness spins your head so far you slip and fall flat onto your face. You look up and you’re struck with horror as you watch Roxy on the clock and the Christmas tree stretch and grow over you. The clock continues to chime as you watch the world rush upwards around you.
BONG!
Roxy’s laughter begins to fade as the ballroom stops its movement. The tree is enormous, going up higher than you can even see. The presents are hills in the distance. You don’t move, you have no idea what to do.
You wonder whether this is a dream then discard the thought. It’s never a dream if you wonder that. This is all goddamn ridiculous, but you’ve always been the type to play the cards you’re dealt. Facts are, everything is huge. Or maybe, you’re just tiny. Either way, there’s a discrepancy here you can’t ignore. Then you hear a rustle in the distance. You turn and look, and decide for the time being you can ignore the size differences in exchange of more pressing issues.
BONG!
It’s midnight, and there is an army of mice gathering behind you. You’re not kidding when you say army, there are dozens and dozens of mice gathering into rows and standing on their back legs. Their tails are straight up against their back and their front paws held up in tiny salutes. A sword hangs on the hip of each one. All you can wonder is how on earth they found so many tiny swords. Opposite them you see a gathering group of tin soldiers. They’re all crawling out of a present one at a time, dropping from out of the box and running over the marble and filing into rank. Each one has a tiny bayonet ready in their arms.
A hulking, menacing rat walks through the ranks of the mice. They part to make way for him to come forward. He has big, beady red eyes and a tiny little crown on top of his head. The mice all hold themselves up taller as he passes by. He comes to the front of the lines and the tin soldiers all tighten their grips. The rat sneers as them all and you can see the ripple of anger that sends through the tin men. One moves as if to run, but is stopped by a hand at his shoulder.
A very worn tin soldier pats the younger fellow’s shoulder and steps forward. This one has been painted with a white beard, and his left arm is missing. The tin soldiers regard him with respect similar to what the Mouse King observed from his soldiers.
The tin general and the mouse king eye each other warily. The rat squeaks something at the general, and the general just shakes his head. They turn their backs to each other and their is total silence as they both walk all the way to back of their troops. Then, they turn back, and each hold up their weapons. The mice squeak in a loud cacophonous unison and the tin soldiers grind and gnash their teeth. The front lines attack and the entire battlefield erupts into chaos.
There are tin soldier’s being sliced into pieces and mice being stabbed. It’s Christmas morning. You have the beginnings of a headache pounding in your temples.
One of the mice grabs a tin soldier with its tail and yanks it forward. As he loses his balance, the mouse swings its sword merrily and the tin soldier loses an arm and falls lifeless to the ground. The rat squeaks triumphantly, then turns to find other prey. Its eyes land on you and your blood goes cold.
It’s fast, you’ve barely run two steps before it’s upon you. It pulls the same trick it did with the tin soldier, wrapping its fleshy tail around your ankle and tripping you so you fall hard. You twist over on your back and kick its tail off, but its too late. The mouse is standing over you with its sword ready, it’s ugly mouse face pulled into a sadistic smile. The sword gleams as it readies it above you.
You close you eyes and figure that you at least had a good run of it. Hopefully someone will find your tiny corpse and give you a proper send off. You take solace in the fact that at least Dad has Ms. Lalonde and Rose, and he won’t be alone.
You brace yourself.
You hear a metallic clang of metal on metal, and somehow you’re still not dead. You crack one eye open and you just see someone’s back in front of you. They’re holding a sword. Their shoulders and arms shake as it locks against one of the mice’s rapiers. You can see it’s giant, over-sized beady eyes glare daggers at your mystery rescuer as it pushes forward. Mystery guy is losing, the sword inching closer and closer to himself. You have to help, otherwise you’re both toast. But, you’re in pajamas and entirely unarmed, what can you do?
“Jump!” You shout as you push yourself off the floor.
“What?!” Mystery guy’s voice is tight with effort. The sword is, as far as you can see, nearly up against his chest.
“Just fucking jump!” The mouse spits at Dirk and readies itself for one last push, just as your mystery guy jumps high, tucking his legs up and giving you plenty of room to slide beneath him and knock out the mouse’s legs.
It squeaks with rage as it falls to the ground, though your victory is short-lived as it comes crashing down on top of you in a heap of fur and anger. Quickly it pins your arms to the floor and sits squarely on your chest. For such a huge mouse, it weighs a ton. You fight against its grip but you can’t wiggle loose. The mouse sneers at you and bares its teeth. Your throat tightens as you try to savor what it was like to have a whole and untorn larynx and you close your eyes again.
Force rocks both you and the mouse as it suddenly slumps off your body. You open your eyes and scramble up, and the mystery guy has stabbed the mouse right through the heart. It twitches a few times as blood begins to spill around it and you step away so the blood doesn’t soak into your pajamas.
“Wow, uh, thanks! I thought I was nearly dead meat there for a second.” You laugh a little forcefully. You totally almost died there, at the hands of a giant mouse. Or a regular sized mouse? This is all a little too “Honey I Shrunk the Kids” for you and you just want to go back to sleep.
You turn back to your rescuer to thank him proper, and your voice catches in your throat. A cold feeling runs through your stomach, like the way it does when you see someone’s hand bent the wrong way, a quick sensation of wrongness that makes you shiver. Your rescuer is made of wood.
At first glance, you could mistake him for a normal guy. He’s a little shorter than you, super skinny, and his skin could be mistaken for just a reddish shade of brown, but on closer look it is literal cedar. His skin is painted with a wood grain and the cut of his nose and jaw are just a little too sharp and angular. He has two cherry red circles on his cheeks, and his entire jaw drops at once as he talks.
“We’ve gotta go, more will be coming. We need to get to higher ground.” He grabs your wrist. You’re horrified. He doesn’t have any fingers, just a thumb and a large fused block that gives his hand the appearance of a mitten. He groans frustratedly at your lack of response and just starts moving. You stumble into walking behind him.
He’s wearing some purple waistcoat that on further inspection is not actually fabric, but just well-carved wood painted purple. Familiarity knocks gently at the back of your head. You’ve seen this before, where? Then it smacks you across the face and you stop.
The wooden man sighs even louder and turns back to look at you.
“What are you doing?”
“You- You’re the nutcracker.” You point at him with the hand not in his weird wood-mitten grip. He looks back at you with a dryly amused expression. He has the same bright, saturated orange eyes.
“Astute observation, figure out my name and I may give you my firstborn. But first, we really do need to get out of here before more mice show up.”
“That’s not really how those stories work, but ok.” Your mind has stretched beyond the point of disbelief and you’re just at tired acceptance now. You let the nutcracker lead to the base of the tree. The presents around it are the size of houses now, the ribbons curling off of them are as wide as your torso. The tree itself is a monolith, bigger than any building you’ve ever seen. You try to look up to the top but the dizzying height of it just makes your stomach twist. The nutcracker tugs on your arm again and you focus on keeping up with him. He starts into a sprint as you hear the pattering of rodent feet starting to catch up behind you. You dare a look over your shoulder and there’s a group of fifty rats swarming in a group maybe fifty yards behind you. Yards relative to your tiny size, anyway. A line of mice assemble in the back of the colony and you squint, they’re each holding something in their tiny, adorable paws. They each pull one paw back towards their shoulder, aiming the other upwards, and the context clues click. Twenty tiny little arrows leap into the sky and arc down towards your direction.
“Uh-” You’re at a loss for what to call this guy and you falter stupidly for a second. You’re nearly at the base of the tree now. The arrows start to land, two bulbs shatter above you and rain down pieces of glass the size of car doors. One twists and heads straight for you and the nutcracker, edge first.
You grit your teeth and push all your strength into surging forward and shoving your shoulder into the nutcracker’s back. It hits your funny bone oddly and the pain makes you stumble and fall. You and the nutcracker both fall forward onto your faces and tumble-roll forward. The shard lands and shattered into dozens of tiny pieces that imbed themselves in the back of your arms as you reach up to protect your face.
“God damnit, c’mon, get up!” The nutcracker is shouting at you again, and considering you just saved his wooden ass you’re a little annoyed. But the mice are still marching towards you so you’re inclined to just get back onto your feet instead of argueing.
Your breath is coming hard and heavy as you and the nutcracker run, you’re almost at the base of the tree now. You notice one of the branches is sagging low, a heavy ornament making the tip sag so it just barely touches the ground. The nutcracker has apparently noticed this too, the two of you climb over the pine needles just as the mice are starting to nip at your heels.
“Get comfy!” The nutcracker yells as he pull his sword from a loop attached to his hip. It’s a katana, something you hadn’t noticed before.
“What?!”
A mouse is hissing at you as it pushes its way through the needles, and then the nutcracker swings his sword down and severs the ribbon holding the ornament to the branch. The branch springs up away from the ground happily and you, the nutcracker and the mouse all go flying.
The entire world is spinning around you and you hardly have time to yell before you land hard on another branch on your stomach. It knocks the wind out of you and makes your stomach sore. You regret heavily all the food you ate during the party as it lurches towards your throat. You groan as you pull yourself up onto the branch and cling to it. You peer over the edge. You’re much higher than you were before, the mice have no chance of reaching you know. Their colony churns angrily on the ground and you laugh, partly out of relief and partly out of an “oh my god I almost just died” sort of feeling that you’re becoming all too acquainted with. The nutcracker is straddling the tree like you are, and he’s similarly relieved.
“Usually I get up here much earlier, that’s the closest call I’ve had in awhile.” He sighs. The way his mouth moves so seamlessly even though his face is made of wood is both fascinating and disconcerting. He glances at you with a tinge of concern to his hard eyes. “I’m made of wood, in case you couldn’t tell. You really didn’t need to try and save me.”
Oh. That hadn’t occurred to you at all, honestly. You brush away at some of the loose pieces of glass on your arm and wipe off the blood with the bottom of your nightshirt.
“Uh, sorry? I didn’t know what to call you to tell you to get out of the way, so I improvised.” The nutcracker looks at you quizzically.
“...Dirk. I’m Dirk.” He reaches out his hand towards you.
“Uh, I’m John. And no offense Dirk, but I don’t really want to touch your weird wood hand.” You smile apologetically and he shrugs.
“Fair.”
“Now that we’ve had introductions, can I ask what the hell is going on? I wake up and I’m tiny, Roxy’s on top of the clock, mice are trying to kill me and the nutcracker is now a dude that jumps in to save my ass at the last second.” He almost laughs, cracking an odd half-smile.
“That’s a pretty good summary of events. It’s a little complicated, and as much as I’d love to sit here all night spinning you a proper tale of this weird fucktangle of a spiderweb that is my family slash life now, I literally do not have all night.”
“I don’t need an epic.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your hands. “I can understand this is some fairytale bullshit I’ve landed myself smack dab in the middle of, all I wanna know is what happened and how do I get big again?”
“Let me counter with a question first, John. Who exactly are you?” He pulls the brim of his hat back so he can better see you and a tuft of blonde hair falls against his forehead. “This is usually strictly a family matter, you understand.” You shrug helplessly. You explain quickly how you and Rose came to be step-siblings, and how you received the nutcracker from her Aunt Roxy instead of her.
“Then you pretty much know the rest. I woke up on the floor all tiny about five minutes before that mouse tried to eat me like he was santa and I was a delicious glass of milk.”
“Greedy bastard.” Dirk muttered. “Well, I see pretty much what went down. To make a long and very classically romantic story short, some of my ancestors fucked up and pissed off some magic mice. In turn, all the dudes in my family have been cursed to turn into different things for the duration of the year. How that correlates into revenge or starts a path for character development or redemption or whatever, I have no clue. I just know it sucks ass being wood.”
“So you weren’t always wood?”
“Nah. I was in fact a perfectly real human boy up until I turned ten. Now I’m a wooden asshole three hundred and sixty-four days a year, and slightly less ugly wooden asshole the other one.” He shifts from his position to look over the pine needles down at the mice. They’ve disappeared for now, which can’t mean anything good.
“Wait, so, if all the guys in your family turn into different things, does that mean all the tin soldiers are your family members?” You guess. Dirk nods. “And, is one of them Rose’s brother? Dave?” Dirk seems a little surprised to hear that name.
“Uh, yeah, actually. He’s my cousin. We both were inducted into the curse about the same time. I think he’s one of the higher ranked tin soldiers.” You couldn’t tell any of the tin soldiers apart aside from the general, you decide not to mention that.
“Supposedly, if the mouse king dies, the curse will be broken. We get one day a year to try, Christmas eve. Whoever gets the nutcracker the day of gets to help us.”
“So that’s why I’m tiny?” Suddenly Rose’s behavior makes a lot more sense. Rose wanted to be the one to get the nutcracker, so she could help you save him. That’s why she was so mad when you got it. Poor Rose, Roxy chose you over her, even though you didn’t even know anything about the curse. “Well, while I’m here I may as well help! Is there anyway to break the curse?”
“Mouse king, that big rat, he’s the linchpin to it all. If I could put a sword between his eyes, this whole thing would finally be over.”
“That can’t be that hard, right? I’m guessing that’s the big mouse with the red eyes?”
“Yeah.”
“Then all you gotta do is skewer him! I mean yeah, he’s pretty big, but if I got the nutcracker then that means I can help you!”
“You’re not getting all of it.” Dirk fixes the brim of his hat again, pulling it down so it covers his eyes. “This is my seventh Christmas as the Nutcracker, believe me when I say it’s not that easy, despite how much I look as though it should be a piece of cake.” He sets his katana longways across his knees, rubbing the edge of it against his thumb. “It’s enough trying to keep mice from turning my ass into a chew toy every year.” Bitterly he pulls off a pine needle from the branch and chucks it over the edge.
You chew on your lip as you think over the situation. You don’t know what Roxy was thinking, Rose would have been way better in this situation than you. You’ve never been good at riddles and fairytales always confused you. As a kid it always seemed like everything was so complicated in them, you never understood why people didn’t just do things more simply, or see loopholes for what they were.
“Well, Roxy chose me for a reason, so I’m sure I can be of some help.” You argue stubbornly. “It’s not that hard to kill a rat, I bet we can do it together.” Dirk seems taken aback.
“What, we? No, it’ll be me.”
“Come on! I got turned all tiny and nearly made into mouse kibble! What am I supposed to do, stand off to the side twiddling my thumbs? No thanks!” You cross your arms. “I helped you take down that one mouse, remember?”
“That was dumb luck.” Dirk frowns. “And that’s not what you’re supposed to do. Whoever gets the nutcracker usually distracts the mice, or something like that.”
“That’s lame, I don’t want to do that.”
“Oh my god.” Dirk puts his head in his hands. “Roxy, why.....”
“Just face it dude, I’m gonna help. This may not be my family curse or whatever, but I can’t disappoint Rose by not doing anything when I took her place. And, I want to help you. Doesn’t it suck being wood all the time?” You put your arms down in an attempt to be less defensive. You hold out your hand.
“We just gotta go about this as straightforwardly as possible. We gotta kill the mouse king. All we have to do is figure out how we do that.” Dirk looks up, looks down to your hand, then slowly reaches out and grasps it. It’s a weird handshake but you fight the urge to wince.
“Fine. I suppose you’ve got a plan then?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Not quite, but admitting that is the first step to having a plan!” Dirk rolls his eyes and he looks just like Rose for a second. He looks over the edge again, then makes a soft humming noise.
“Hmm, you know, I think I might actually have an idea.” The clock begins to strike. Just one bong this time, it’s one in the morning. You look out the window. It’s still dark outside, but it won’t stay like that.
“How long do you have?”
“Until the sun comes up, so four or five hours at the most.” He stands on the branch and fixes his hat one last time. “So if we’re gonna do this, we should do it now.”
“What’s your plan?” You shakily get up and he offers his arm for support, which you take. He tells you the plan. It’s a really, really good plan. You both then take off to put said plan into action.
Your back is pressed against the tree. You’ve scoured a tiny little plastic hammer from a carpenter’s doll that you’re clutching with both hands. This plan seemed so much cooler and airtight up in the tree, but now that you’re on the ground you’re on high alert looking for some mouse to come out and shank you. Dirk appears out of nowhere.
“Everything’s set up.”
“JESUS!” You jump and clock Dirk with your hammer, which glances off his wooden shoulder. “I swear to god all of you are like, ninjas or something.” You readjust your grip as Dirk blinks unimpressively.
“Anyway, the tin soldiers are all in. They’re lining up now and they’re gonna engage the mice again, then we can go and attack the Big Man.”
“The Big Man.” You echo.
Squeaking and the class of metal sounds in the distance, you and Dirk both look towards the sound and then each other, and nod. Nothing else needs to be said. You go around the right side of the tree and Dirk goes around the left, both of you following the wall and giving the battle wide berth. The tin soldiers were weakened and usually didn’t last a second battle, but winning wasn’t the objective here. This would keep the mice occupied while the curse-ending kill went on.
The mouse king, the big ugly white rat sat on its haunches at the back of the battle, was entirely unaware as both you and Dirk sprang onto him. Dirk hooked the edge of his sword around it’s neck and flung it and him backwards in some sort of awkward furry suplex.
Hammer in hand you jump and slam the hammer down towards the Rat’s head. It barely manages to shove Dirk off in time to roll and avoid the brunt of your plastic might. You catch the edge of it’s ear and it rips. It backs up on all fours, eyeing the both of you with hateful eyes. There’s a line of blood around its neck and dripping down its ear. Slowly it stands on its hindquarters, it’s full height head and whiskers above you and Dirk. It draws its sword, and the battle begins in earnest.
You and Dirk have an easy sort of battle rhythm that comes naturally. He is light and quick and almost acrobatic in his movements, you’re surprised at how flexible his wooden joints can be as he avoids the Mouse King’s attacks with ease. You’re not as fast, but there’s a power to your hits that Dirk doesn’t have. Every one you have sends the Mouse King sprawling, but still he keeps getting up.
You watch the windows uneasily. It took hours to get down from the tree and coordinate with the tin soldiers, you don’t have much time left. You’d wager that when the clock strikes five, the game is over. And if the tin soldiers lose before then, you and Dirk will be overwhelmed.
The edges of the windows are starting to turn orange, then pink. Light warms the windows and starts shadows stretching across the ballroom. The Mouse King is bloodied, and breathing hard. You’re breathing hard. Dirk doesn’t look winded, but the wood of his arms and legs is covered in nicks. You’ve got to end this, and you’ve got to end it soon.
Dirk kicks the Mouse King in the back and it falls towards you. Lining up the shot like a baseball bat, you wind up and hit the Mouse King directly in the gut, you can almost see the stars spinning in its eyes. Dirk runs up from behind him with his sword ready to strike, then the Mouse king rears back his head and wails with fury. It catches you off guard.
Its tail whips around and knocks Dirk off his feet. Then the Mouse King grabs him by the hand and lifts him up, forcing the sword from his hand and letting it fall to the ground. It makes direct eye contact with you, then aims it’s long incisors over the joint in Dirk’s neck, its threat is clear.
Dirk and you look to each other. You drop your hammer, the mouse king pauses to snicker and gloat. Dirk’s eyes glance down to his sword, then to himself. ‘Wood,’ he mouths.
You inch forward. The sword is at your feet. The Mouse King sees it too, and you see the realization dawn on him. Before he can act, you’ve scooped up the weapon and grabbed it by the hilt, and with a mighty battle cry you bury it into Dirk, through his chest, into the Mouse King.
With a final, pitiful sqeak, the Mouse King looks at you, its whiskers trembling, and drops, sliding off the edge of the sword and onto a heap on the ground.
“Haha! Yes!” You jump up and pump your fist in victory. Take that, Mouse King! Take that, curse! “Dirk! We did it!” Why the hell isn’t he celebrating?
Dirk’s stopped short, his eyes wide. His hands went his chest, trembling. He fell to his knees, at the side of the Mouse King’s corpse. The handle of the blade was nestled beneath the moon on his shirt and the blade was sticking out his back. There was no blood, he was wood, it couldn’t be that serious, right? Dirk falls forward, curling in on himself and you drop your hammer.
“Dirk!” You kick the rat corpse out of the way and kneel next to him, pushing him up and supporting him with your arm. Dirk grunts with pain as he holds the Mouse King’s sword handle.
“Pull it, pull it out.” His voice is tight and you don’t hesitate to help him. The sword comes out cleanly, only a few splinters, Dirk gasps as it leaves him. He presses his hand over the open wound, though there’s nothing to stem.
“You’re just wood, you said it wouldn’t hurt you?!” You scowl. “He’s dead! The curse is over, right?” He’s still wood though, nothing’s changing. Dirk puts one hand around your shoulders and chuckles as he shakes his head.
“Figures, I’m not allowed out of this.”
“Shut the fuck up, you’re gonna be fine.” He’s making you mad. “I am NOT letting you give a dramatic heroic death speech, damn it!” You shake him a little. “You are not dying a martyr and taking all the credit for ending the curse!”
“You can have all the credit John, don’t worry. It suits you more, I was always more of an anti-hero anyway.” You shove him back down on his back and he whimpers pathetically. You look over him but there’s nothing to fix, just a hole. Something warm rushes past your neck. Behind you, the Mouse King’s body begins to glow, until he turns into ash and blows away like dandelion seeds. In the distance you can see more glowing lights, mice and tin soldiers, Dirk is glowing too. This is good news at first, until you see a disconcerting ring of red staining the wood around his wound.
“No, no, oh come on!” You hit the ground frustratedly. “Stupid bullshit curse, fuck!”
Dirk grabs your upper arm. He grips it tight enough to hurt, his eyes bore into you and you feel trapped in his gaze. He’s gradually changing shape, angles smoothing out, and the light getting brighter and brighter. “You make sure Dave is ok, and that he finds rose.” He grinds his weird nutcracker teeth together. “Got it?”
“I-” His arm goes slack and he falls back. The light is nearly blinding now, it’s radiating from you as well. Something in you says this is when you cry and give up, but you don’t feel sad. You’re pissed. You’re pissed beyond all belief Dirk decided to play the hero and block you from getting hurt, believing himself invincible because he’s made of wood. What a colossal asshole.
Something comes to mind, you’re not sure where from. It’s a soft, warm voice that reminds you how most fairytales end, the trump card every pure maiden and virtuous hero carries with him that bests all evil and curses of every kind. You’re not even sure it fits the parameters here, but you listen anyway. The edges of your body have gone fuzzy, you’re losing feeling in your legs, then your arms, everything is blinding white and you can’t even see yourself or Dirk now. You just go by feeling, finding his face and pressing your lips over his face.
You dissolve.
Your eyes snap wide open. You’re back in bed, tangled in sheets. You sit up and wrestle the sheets off of you. You’re back to normal size, everything’s as it should be in relation to you. Sunlight is shining in over your bed through the window. Everything is quiet.
“It wasn’t a dream.” You tell yourself. You push your sleeves up. The back of your arms are still covered in raw cuts. Everything that happened last night did happen, you tell yourself that one more time. Then you jump out of bed and run out the door. If it worked, if the curse is broken, will all the men be out there? Will Dirk?
You round the corner and your socks slip on the marble. Brilliant sunlight fills up the ballroom, the white marble is glowing and as your eyes blink to adjust to it. Before you can see anything, you can hear the people in the ballroom. It’s a happy din of joy and reunion. You hear weeping and laughing and people embracing, and the light in your eyes dies down and the scene is illuminated to you. The entirety of the Lalonde family is gathered around the tree. There are dozens of men, some fully adult men, a few are just young children with weeping mothers clining to them, all around the Christmas tree. Each one is decorated in an almost cartoonish soldiers outfit, with a bright blue waistcoat and oversized buttons and white gloves. You see one older man being led to a chair. He has a long white beard, a tattered uniform, and he’s missing an arm.
“John!” You turn and see Roxy waving you over. Your dad and Ms. Lalonde are standing with their arms around each other. Roxy steps to the side, and behind her you see Rose hugging someone, you have a feeling you know who.
“Rose!” You yell as you turn and run. Rose pulls her head from Dave’s shoulder and turns to you with tears in her eyes. She laughs at you as you skid to a stop in front of her.
“John, what are you wearing?” She’s laughing as she wipes a falling tear from her cheek. You look down at your pajamas. Everyone else in the room is either in tin soldier apparel or nice dress, you do look a little out of place.
“Don’t sweat it dude, you’re rockin’ it.” Dave nods at you. He looks remarkably similar to Rose, you wonder if they’re twins? He’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, and his uniform has a large gold medal pinned to his lapel. “He’s looking way better than any of us.”
“Nah, I think you all look super cool.” You, he and Rose all laugh. Rose takes one of your hands and squeezes it.
“Thank you.” She says sincerely. “As frustrated as I was that I was denied the opportunity to be the hero that broke the curse, I’m relieved it’s broken at all.”
“Thank you.” Dave nods at you again. “You and Dirk made a good team.”
“Speaking of Dirk,” you clear your throat, “is- is he ok? Where is he?”
“Well, you smooched him right as the curse broke-”
“Oh my god, I didn’t smooch him! It was fairytale bullshit, you-”
“You kissed him, assuming the common law rule of fairy tales that a kiss from your true love will break any curse?”
“Dude, you just met him.” Dave snickers. Your face is bright red.
“No, it was because he’d kind of princely and that’s what you do when people die? I don’t know?”
“John?” Roxy taps on your shoulder and hands you a small, thin orange present.
“Uh... Thanks? Is this another nutcracker?” A part of you is afraid as you open the gift that it’ll be some severed part of Dirk, but it’s just a small pair of oddly shaped glasses. You take them out of the tissue, not sure if you’re supposed to be grateful or not. “Thank?”
“It’s not for you.” Roxy shakes her head.
“Then, why am I opening it?” You ask, confused. Roxy points to the door, where a tall, thin, very tired young man enters the doorway. He’s got a blanket draped around his shoulders, and a worn purple uniform on under it. You ignore all that, the first thing you recognize is the bright orange eyes he’s got. Another man in a tin soldier uniform leads him forward. He squints and blinks against the sunlight and cups his hand around his eyes. He waves at you all as he joins the circle. Exhaustion weighs heavily on him, but he smiles regardless.
“You all started without me?” All the Lalondes around you smile. Dave nudges your shoulder and nods to Dirk. It takes you a minute, then you get it.
“Oh! Oh, uh, Dirk?” You hold out the glasses to him.
“Oh, shit, thanks.” He takes the glasses from you and puts them on his face. You can’t help it, you start laughing.
“You look like an absolute idiot.” It’s escalating, you press your palm over your face to try and smother them but you can’t stop.
“That’s super funny.” Dirk says with a straight face. You can’t see his eyes under the glasses anymore, you’re almost a little sad about that. “Maybe I’ll go back to bed, not like I’ve gotta recuperate from bein’ stabbed or anythin’.”
“Oh, shit, are you ok?” You can’t see his chest under the blanket but, he looks ok? Someone who’d been fatally wounded couldn’t be just up and walking around a few hours later, right? Dirk holds the spot under his ribcage and shrugs.
“Yeah, it’s not too bad.”
“The wound didn’t exactly transfer over, but he still probably needs a few more Z’s.” Roxy was standing behind him and squeezed his shoulders. She looks over Dirk to you with soft eyes.
“Thank you so much, John. I know it must have all been just absolute nonsense, but you still helped us all so much.”
“Really, it’s no problem.” It feels a little presumptuous to say you’re welcome, all you’d really done was kill a rat.
“Roxy, come over here with me and Dirk a minute.” Rose says smoothly. Roxy winks ostentatiously and nods.
“Ok! We’ll just leave you alone here, Dirk and John.” She winks again and Rose rolls her eyes as they step aside to give you some privacy.
You and Dirk stand a minute in silence, awkwardly unsure of what else to say to each other.
“That was really dumb, making me kill you, you know.” You say finally. “If I wasn’t such a nice guy, and it wasn’t Christmas, I’d be really pissed.”
“I honestly didn’t think it would hurt me.” Dirk’s tone is frank enough that you believe him. “I will apologize for that, that was entirely my bad.” The corner of his mouth twitches, “I will thank you for the kiss though, that was quick thinking on your part.”
“Oh my god, it didn’t mean anything.” You roll your eyes. Dirk nods with a little smile.
“It didn’t mean anything.” You can see how he’s related to Rose. You punch his arm and he winces melodramatically. You don’t feel sorry at all. Dirk rubs the sore spot and shakes his head a little.
“Been a long time since I wasn’t wood. We make a pretty good team, huh?” Dirk adjusts his glasses.
“Maybe we should reintroduce ourselves, since this our first time meeting proper.” You suggest. “I’m John. John Egbert. I totally saved your ass last night.” You hold out your hand. Dirk grabs it with his own five-fingered human hands and gives it a strong shake.
“Dirk. I’ve been a nutcracker since I was ten. Aren’t we a couple of characters?” You shake it back.
“We are. What do you say we enjoy this Christmas morning, completely mouse-free?” He laughs properly at that, tipping his head back and showing teeth.
“I could stand that. Let’s.” He pulls his hand back and bows at the waist. “Merry Christmas, John.”
“Oh, shut up.” You scoff.
He straightens, and you both go to discover what sweet loot has magically been transported here through some other form of Christmas magic.
End.