The cold, wintry wind blew over the darkening Ottawa horizon, causing what snow that had befallen the Canadian landscape to drift and become more than what it was. It cast the Ottawa National Forest in a blanket of holiday cheer for those passing or walking through the trees, along the paths, simply to enjoy the feel of the Christmas season and what warmth it brought to the human soul. Of course, that was assuming that all who walked through these trees was actually -- human. Despite the feel-good sensations a time of year like this would gift the heart and mind, something in the air cast a chill that was not caused by the cold weather. It was almost -- unnatural.
One young man and woman walked along a path, his arm draped protectively around her shoulder to stave off the chill and shield her from whatever was causing this dreaded sensation to chill their blood. It was as if they felt they were being watched from afar. That something had intruded on the solitude of this peaceful serenity.
Something indeed was watching them from afar, from across the frozen lake that separated this part of the forest from the other side and an even larger field of tree, devoid of life. The ragged breath caused thee cold air to mist before it, as it's eyes watched the happy couple through the dead branches of the overhanging tree limbs...
"Are you okay?" The young man asked his young female companion, and she nodded, although she huddled her arms tightly around her upper body while he held her in assurance.
"Don't worry." He smiled, despite his own subconscious discomfort. "The car's just at the end of this path. Soon as we get there, we'll go home."
She smiled in gratitude, snuggling back up against him when something aught her attention from the side of her vision. She frowned and turned her head and gasped. The young man paused, noting her reaction, and turned his had and frowned at what he was seeing...
It had almost made a move to part the dead branches and pounce, when it too spotted thee pale, white figure walking across the frozen lake. The ice was not near frozen enough to support the weight of a fully grown man, but here he was, walking safely along the surface as if it were solid and his own weight was a trifle. More disturbing than this was that the figure's body was not clothed by a stitch, and he was seemingly not bothered one iota from the cold.
"Mark?" The young woman whispered as they remained fixated on this scene, watching as the pale figure walked along the ice, away from them and toward the other side.
Brother Grimm walked across the ice, his amber colored eyes looking out into the wild surroundings. He slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling a scent on the wind. A chilling smile crept across what would have been a handsome face if it were not otherworldly in its malevolence.
"Ahhh..." He sighed in soft contentment in the hunt. "I can smell you."
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'rywhere you go,
Take a look in the five-and-ten, it's glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes that glow."
Indeed it is that special time of the year, where each and every man, woman and child feels the special glow in their heart as that special Christmas morning slowly approaches. Slowly being the operative word, as the younger you are, the longer it seems to take to get here so that you might enjoy tearing open the colorful wrapping to shreds and revel in the bounty that was left for you at the base of the fir tree in your home. For those in their wee years, it is a most magical time as it meant that while you were in your bed, sound asleep with sweet, sugary dreams dancing in your deep, subtle thoughts, a magical fat man was paying you a visit and leaving gifts galore that your heart had been set upon, and all in exchange for his own gifts of milk and sugary cookies. As you got older, you came to understand the 'not-so-subtle secret about that jolly old elf, but the magic never truly died in your heart. Nor the greed as the spirit of giving was lost on you in fashion of the desire of getting.
And as you get older, the magic of the season slowly ebbs from one of wonder to one of family. It is the one time where you are free to indulge without guilt or consequence in food and drink, and revel with the company of loved ones. Still, the greed of gifting never truly does leave us, now does it? In the back of your head, you yet wonder what gifts will be yours to claim come Christmas morning. What will your family have bought you, and what presents did you treat yourself to this time?
Warmth and cheer was added to this home in particular as it was the first Christmas to be celebrated not as husband and wife, but as father and mother. Indeed, a newborn had blessed this young couple. Extra care and time was taken to make this small and humble threshold as in tune with the season of the holiday as was possible. Everywhere you looked, you saw decorations, despite the simple fact that the holiday was still two weeks away. It never hurt to get an early start -- in most cases. in others, it acted as a beacon, as did their special blessing.
Christmas lights were strewn about the windows, surrounding the frame so that those outside could gaze within and be comforted. A banister that led upstairs to the home's bedrooms and the new born's nursery had green garland with red berries twisted about the banister itself, as well as the railings. False candle lights were spaced about along tables and on dishes against the wall, casting a flickering illumination throughout. The fireplace itself was perhaps the most humble and inviting of settings, with the traditional stockings hanging over it, pinned in place with glitter and sequins used to stitch the names of each recipient of Santa's 'goodies'; Cynthia, Derek ... and Trevor. Lined along the edge of the brick mantle was more garland decorated with more holly berries. And above the fireplace, pinned against the wall, a soft, green wreath dusted with false snow.
Most prominent of all was the Christmas tree set back in the corner of the sitting room, well away from the fireplace as it was indeed a real tree, not one of those fake, plastic ones. The husband and wife even went so far as to decorate it old world style with the simple trimmings of candy cans and popcorn, along with the modern garland and bulbs of varied colors in gold, blue, red and silver, and bright, white lights to illuminate said tree alongside their white walls in a dazzling kaleidoscope of color. Hung on several branches were ornaments crafted of a rare herb, and along the walls and front door were wreaths fashioned from meadowsweet. A herb that was pleasing to the senses but had one slight drawback; it attracted the attention of unwanted 'guests'.
As the music on the Christmas CD switched over from the classic "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas" to another...
"Said the night wind to the little lamb,
do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb,
do you see what I see"
The scene pulled slowly across the spacious living room, and found the residents of this lovely home, tightly bound with rotted, old rope and withered vines, but unable to move due to their unusual bindings, nor make a sound because of a dark, brown substance glued over their mouths. Their eyes were wide as they remained fastened along their own couch, flop sweat beading their brows as their eyes remained off-scene, watching and the only clue being a piercing creaking...
"A bit overdone."
The ancient voice said and the scene pulled further along to find the figure of Baba Yaga seated on her rocking chair in front of the fire place, enjoying the warmth on her old bones, while her hands worked the knitting needles fashioned from the bones of children, working on whatever project she had been focused on for untold ages. She then turned her head to briefly look at the imprisoned couple and she smiled, despite herself.
"But it's nice. Very festive."
She went back to her knitting, her eyes intent on their focus of her project while she continued to speak.
"It's just a shame that people these days aren't even fully aware of what it is that they're celebrating. Oh maybe they are somewhat. Perhaps they've heard a nugget of information, but the reality? The birth of Jesus Christ?"
She chuckled beneath her breath.
"You Christians burned my kind alive for their religion and way of life, and yet you choose to worship a carpenter that lived over two thousand years ago." She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "And that is all he truly was. A carpenter. Son of God?"
She scoffed.
"He was just a man with a delusional sense of self importance. Nothing more."
She looked up and over to the couple and smiled.
"Does that offend you?" She went back to her knitting. "The truth usually does."
The young couple from before, the aforementioned Mark and his girlfriend, Alicia, are nearing the end of the public path that they were on in the Ottawa National Forest. The drive where cars were parked could be seen by the light of the overhead streetlight, now that dusk had fallen to completion and the stars could be seen overhead through the branches of the leafless trees that towered over the pair like so many lost giants of old.
"There, see?" Mark said just low enough that only Alicia would hear, not that anyone else was around to eavesdrop. "We're almost there."
"Thank God." Alicia breathed in relief when a snap was hard from within the trees to their left, prompting she and her boyfriend to stop and look around in the direction from which the noise had originated.
Okay, so perhaps they were not as alone as previously thought.
"What was that?" She whispered hoarsely, the aura of fear permeating into near something alive in itself. And although he did not answer her querie, Mark could not deny feeling the dread well up as an icy knot in the center of his back. It was all that he could do to keep his arm from trembling and alert Alicia to his own deep rooted fear. The pair glanced around briefly when they stopped short.
A pair of glowing eyes was staring coldly at them from within the order of the trees. They heard whatever it was breathing deeply and take a single step closer -- toward them.
"Run!" He commanded, but it took his hand on her back and a shove forward to propel Alicia to do as instructed. The moment their bodies turned and feet started to run, the mysterious figure in the trees burst forward, scattering dead branches from the brush and animals and birds scattered in its wake!
Alicia risked a glance over her shoulder as she ran (why do women in such tales always do that?) and she shrieked at the sight of what she saw, even though all she got was a glimpse before Mark hurried her along! They could hear the racing sound of pursuit on their heels as they tore along the path, towards what was thought to be the safety of their vehicle!
It could have happened as they hoped were it not for the burrow in the ground, hidden from sight by fallen dirt and snow. Mark's foot caught and it tripped him up and he went hard to the floor of the path, and as Alicia was holding his hand, she was taken down along with him! They rolled to their backs by instinct and recoiled at the sight of their pursuer!
It could easily have been described as a dog, or more likely, an extremely large wolf -- one that, once stopped, rose from its animalistic crouch and stood on hind legs! It stepped out from behind the bushes and Alicia whimpered as it drew nearer. What the two lovebirds had the most unfortunate luck in crossing paths with was a fabled Loup Garou -- but a fable no more! The werewolf-like beast of Canadian lore stalked them like prey, because to its hungry, animal senses, that was exactly what it saw them as. Mark started to stand up, grasping at Alicia's wrist to pull her up along with him, but the beast's roar of anger and hunger pangs caused him to spin back around and collapse to his backside, but with enough presence of mind to shield his woman using only his body.
He felt Alicia grasp his hand once again, thinking perhaps this was their final moment together. The beast crouched once again, ready to pounce -- when another form blew out of the trees and caught it in mid pounce! The action crashed along the path and brought up dirt and snow, and Alicia and Mark's eyes were wide with shock and horror as the figure they had spotted walking across the frozen lake was now kneeling before them, its head down and fist buried deep in the now-dead loup garou's sternum.
Slowly, Brother Grimm brought his head up and his eyes met that of the couples' and he said, "I have what I came for. Now why don't you count yourself lucky and run along unmolested?" His black lips curved into a sardonic smile. "While I'm still feeling all Christmas-y?"
The pair need not be asked twice as Mark all but dragged Alicia to her feet and they ran for the parking area and their waiting car, while Grimm watched his nails elongate into sharpened claws and he went about proceeding to skinning the werewolf creature...
Baba Yaga had paused in her knitting long enough to drape it over the arm of her old rocking chair and pick up the delicate porcelain cup filled with hot cocoa as she gently rocked back and forth, chatting with the entrapped and silent husband and wife as if she were invited company.
"I suppose it's through no fault of your own when your ilk run around in ignorance. The Church long ago decided what was best for you to know and to not. Mortal men are like that by nature, but when they have the power of the Church behind them?" Baba Yaga shook her head. "It only adds to their arrogance. People belief too often that December 25 is the birth date of Jesus Christ, but simple logic, if you capable of using such a thing, would tell you just why that was impossible. The simplest proof of all was thee fact that shepherds did not stand in the field in December. It was too cold and would have dealt them their deaths with exposure."
She scoffed, and shook her head. "And the trek to Bethlehem could not have ben accomplished in such a short time, even for three so-called Wise Men."
She set the cup with just a trace of cocoa left in it on the coffee table before her and resumed her rocking, but not her knitting.
"The only reason you celebrate that date now the way you do..." She waved a gnarled hand around to display their lavishly decorated home. "... is because the Church co-opted the Pagan holiday Saturnalia, and the day that marked the end of the Winter Solstice. It was the grandest celebration by those such as myself, so the Church leaders believed if they were going to drag us away from our beliefs whether we wished it or no, they would meld in a holiday or two from our own to make the transition easier."
She glanced at the couple briefly and thee anger behind her cold eyes made the married couple shudder.
"It was insulting, is what it was. They thought we were not wise enough to know the action for what it was; an attempted end to our way of life. And for a time, it was just that!" She spat. "But our ways survived, even if the reasoning behind them are all but forgotten!"
Baba Yaga pointed to the frame of their front door where there was hung a sprig of mistletoe. She said, "That plant is a powerful one to those like myself. People used to do more than kiss beneath it while they worshipped the god Saturn, but not so much these days." She smiled in amusement, knowing well enough that some mortals might just do a tad (much) more than simply kiss.
"The presents you give each other? It was a woman I knew by the name of La Befana, a witch, that started that tripe. She would freely give gifts to well behaved children during the Winter Solstice, and there you are." She motioned towards many colorfully wrapped packages beneath the tree. She looked around her, to all the decor in sight, and sighed.
"I do so miss the old ways, but this time of year I think is good for me." She picked up hr knitting and soon resumed her project. "So many of these modern traditions are not so modern, and it helps me to reflect. Hanging holly... the yule log..." There was a crackle from the fireplace where three of those very logs burned and leaving off a pleasing aroma in the fire's wake.
She continued, "Your delightful, if somewhat overdone tree there originated thousands of years before Christianity was ever even a thought." She smiled. "Even that jolly old elf, Santa Clause, was pagan in origin before he became what he is now."
She looked up from her knitting, and shook her head at the couple. "Why people like you think it such a good idea to tell tales to your young ones, allowing them to think you permit a strange man in red to enter your home without interference is beyond me. I should think it would undermine their sense of security should they..."
"Tell me, dear woman, are you planning to kill these two fools by your history lesson?" The voice spoke from the shadows nearby, as they seemingly elongated across the living room floor. "Because if that is the case, perhaps they should be put out of their misery."
Baba Yaga sighed as Brother Grimm rose from a crouch behind the sofa, startling the couple. Were their mouths not covered, they would have cried out in alarm at what had now entered their home.
"I was merely telling them a bit of fact." Baba Yaga said as she resumed her knitting. "I had to pass the time a bit while waiting for you." She glanced up at him, her gray eyes meeting his own ruthless, amber colored ones. "Where were you anyway?"
Brother Grimm replied, "Getting you a present." He reached into the large canvas bag that was his own and removed a still bleeding pelt of thee loup garou and tossed it over toward the witch, it landing with a sickening wet sound at her feet.
She looked it over appreciatively for a moment and then back up to him. "A Yule present? From you?"
"You wanted something to decorate the floor of your ... 'charming' ... cabin." He shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the skinned beast. "I felt the desire to hunt. Two birds... on stone."
"Such a charmer." Baba Yaga chuckled as she went back to her knitting, if only for a moment. She then brought her head up and smiled. "I thought you were up to some pleasant surprise, so I have one for you. I prepared you a little dinner. A bit of home cooking."
Brother Grimm frowned at her words, until he turned his had and saw just what was roasting in the open flame of the house's fireplace. The married couple, their faces wet with tears, muffled their agonized cries and moans. Grimm turned from the 'meal' and looked to them.
"Oh not to worry." He smiled. "You can always have another."
"Dear Santa..."
The old fashioned feather quill pen dipped into the ink bottle and it started to scrawl on thee unrolled piece of parchment.
"I have not been a very good boy this year. I believe that a sense of honesty might buy me some leniency so allow me to tell you what it is that I want, and if you know what is good for you, you will deliver. Your stronghold in the North Pole is not so difficult to get to, and its defensive measures not so hard to overcome. Trust me. I know. I have taken the liberty of proving you with a bit of proof as to my intentions."
The free hand picked up a candy cane from where it had ben set aside and it was slipped between a pair of black lips. There was the obvious sound of a sucking noise, while the figure took a great sense of pleasure in this holiday's traditional candy of choice before the hand set the treat side, picked up the quill, and then resumed its writing.
"I believe the most important thing I ask for is the fear that is so rightfully my own. It exemplifies who I am, what I am, and yet still the fools I surround myself with day in and day out, continue to see me as something of a monster out of legend. Granted, I am just that, but they continue to believe what I am is just that, a legend. So as I pen this letter to you in the hope you will be as wise as they hint you are, and gift me with the soul of a certain man I am expected to meet in open combat in a matter of days."
"Simon Jones."
"A man that originated himself in SCW history by coming from literally out of nowhere and grasping the biggest prize of them all, the World Heavyweight Championship. A feat he managed to repeat on at least one occasion. And although I will be the first to voice my belief that such gawdy trinkets are folly, a senseless way to indulge in your own massive ego, I must acknowledge the fact that these emblems bring evidence to the fighting spirit of the individual that holds it. I should know. I held a belt very much like it not so long ago. Would I like to hold another? 'Like' is such a strong word, and not one I would actually use in a case like this. But I get ahead of myself. This letter is about my wish to claim what is rightfully mine: the soul of Simon Jones."
The pale, white hand sets aside the quill pen and encircles the handle of the mug, filled to the brim with what appeared to be hot cocoa with little miniature marshmallows floating in it. It rose and one might hear the sound of sipping before it was set back down. The pale hand then picked up a sugar cookie sprinkled with red and green sugar crystals, from a plate of many, and you heard the soft taking of a bite before it was set back with the others and the writing went on as before.
"Yes, I am all too aware that Simon Jones is not a child, nor one that I would usually collect, but this time it is special. This encounter -- special. We move toward the day that is celebrated the world over for a figure steeped in as much mythology as myself, and I felt what better way to instill fear and poison this date in memory than to have a victim such as this one will become. Simon Jones will step inside of the ring with me, his face putting on a brave front, but I will feel the fear radiating off of him, even if he would not be aware. I will watch as his eyes twitch and limbs tremble as realization dawns upon him that I am no ordinary opposition, and he himself is no threat in opposing me."
"Beaten, battered, an bloody he will become, and I want to drink of it to the dreaded horror of one and all watching, whether they be there in live attendance, or watching from the comfort and 'safety' of their own homes. I want them to see that if Simon Jones, of all people they look up to and worship, is not safe from me, then no one is."
"His blood will be my Christmas wine, and his fighting spirit if a gift to be savored and not stashed away beneath some ridiculous tree. The pain he will feel, the fear he will have thrust upon his form, is all I wish and desire. Deliver this to me, old man."
The hand scribbled the last remaining portion of the note...
"You know who this is from. Message delivered."
With that, the seated figure rose and walked off of the scene. It slowly drew back to find the setting of a toy factory, one unlike any seen by mortal eyes. One with the soft crystals of ice and snow laid against the windows. A factor laid waste with the bodies of small elves strewn about...
