Frost covered the windows, dimming the light coming through them. Tom wiped the bottom of the nearest window, the one above his bed, with Amy's sweater and looked out. People were running from here to there, silent and quick; they carried boxes or bags, a sad attempt at celebrating Christmas in the middle of a war. He thought it was stupid, but he was only an orphan boy who had no opinion to the world; Tom stayed silent.
Inside the orphanage there were decorations hanging everywhere, drowning the place in green, red, and gold. It looked bleak and lonely, because Christmas time was when most kids were left behind, and the older ones had to go. That morning Madeline Barnes and Edmund Smith said their farewell to the few friends they had, and with fourteen years old they were sent into the world. Tom knew Edmund would enlist into the army, but Barnes would have a hard time trying to fit anywhere.
He briefly considered thanking God for the food on his stomach and the roof above his head, but he scoffed and threw himself on his bed.
The rickety thing creaked when his weight hit it, but it held. Tom guessed that by the time he turned twelve he would need to get a new bed, one that could support him. Maybe he could even get a pillow if he used his talent on the sisters; or he could steal it from Amy, who was vulnerable now without Madeline to protect her.
Meanwhile, he had to endure in the sad place, where no one cared for him and he cared for no one. He looked around. The gray walls had holes through where the other kids sometimes dared each other to spy on Tom. He saw there were no prying eyes that afternoon, and the door was closed.
From beneath the bed, hidden behind the small box with his trophies, Tom took out a small bottle of eggnog he stole from the kitchens the night before. The beverage was only for the sisters, while the kids like himself had to do with half a glass of milk. Tom had tasted eggnog once when Miss Cole was drunk and the other sisters were already sleeping. He had liked it.
A noise came from the door, and Tom sprang from his bed and narrowed his eyes. The bottle of eggnog fell to the floor, and Tom held out his hand and the bottle flew to it. He waved his hand and the door opened. A boy was freezing there, his eyes wide with fear and shielding his body with his arms as if that would stop Tom...
"What do you want?" Tom asked, standing from the bed and walking up to the paralyzed boy who was shaking a little. Tom knew him from class. He was a young boy who was too smart for the group of his age and the teacher had him moved up so he wouldn't keep asking questions. In a way, he was like Tom had been before realizing no teacher would ever pay attention to him.
"I wa- I wasn't doing anything, Tom! I swear!"
Tom kept his eyes on the boy, and suddenly he was seeing himself and a cold shiver ran through him; he understood it wasn't him feeling the fear and apprehension. He stood taller after that and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Come," he told the boy who kept shaking with fear.
Tom smiled when the boy entered the room. He closed the door, prompting the boy to jump.
"Don't hurt me. Please."
"What is your name?" Tom asked. The boy looked confused, as if he couldn't know if being scared or relieved of Tom's interest.
"Ha- Harold Green,"
The pathetic tone of the boy made Tom hesitate. He could relate to him in many ways, and he would love to kill the weakness inside Harold Green as he had done with the weakness inside himself. But it would scare the boy away, and maybe this Christmas would be better spent with someone else besides the snakes that would come tonight with gifts for Tom.
"Have some eggnog," Tom told the boy and retreated to a corner, grabbing a book on fairy tales he had stolen from Madeline before she went away.
Harold Green glanced at the bottle and then at Tom, who could feel his eyes over himself.
"Drink," Tom ordered, strongly this time.
The boy hurried to drink from the bottle and when he took a big gulp and set the drink back over Tom's nightstand.
"What was that? It tasted like milk, but sweeter."
The corners of Tom's mouth lifted a little, but the gesture could not be called a smile. There was something warm on his chest, though, because Harold sounded faintly surprised and that amused Tom.
"That's your Christmas gift, Harold Green."