Merry Christmas to everyone out there. Especially to Brook, Nelleke, Delia, Shawne, Eli and Angie. Love you all ladies and I thank you all so much for your friendship and support. It means more than I can possibly say.

So, this story is back to the dark ones again!

Disclaimer - I don't own 'em, but they like to come out and play sometimes.

Chapter 1

The mist hung heavy on the ground at that time of the very early morning. Highlighted by the moonlight, it swirled in spires and dreamy crenelations above the head stones and cenotaphs in the graveyard, lending an even more eerie feel to the already cold and lifeless place. Dark shadows played across the misty path and highlighted the silhouettes of the dips in the ground. An owl hooted in the distance and far off a cat screeched its unearthly call into the night, issuing a forlorn challenge to any who may listen. There was no other sound, the night being still with barely a breath of wind.

The dark figure made its way through the stonemasonry, its head questing back and forth, looking for something. The body was mid height and clothed in navy blue coveralls, collar hunched against the cold of the early hour. A fringe of dark hair surrounded a balding head and the eyes beneath were beady and bright as they stared into the darkness. Hands paled by the moonlight into ghostly claws reached out before the man to steady himself over the rough gravel paths surrounding the grave stones and his soft canvass shoes left no sound as the fog deadened the noise of his footfalls. On a night like this, a person could believe in ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night. But the man had no other thoughts than to attain his goal, visions of spectres being far from his head.

He stopped before a large stone structure, eyes dancing over his find. Perfect! He walked towards the stone mausoleum, which was the size of a small garage and pushed at the small doorway. Of course it was open! Would a dead man wish to break out of his stony crypt? The man walked into the small stone room, flashing a torch around him. The area was perhaps 15' x 12' and the walls were lined with large stone shelves containing the effigies of the family whose time on earth had come to an end. The middle of the room was bare and the man nodded to himself. This was just what he needed. Large enough, but not too large, with sufficient space for his requirements. The air was dry and cool and held the musty smell of death and decay, but the dirt floor was dry and would serve it's purpose. He chuckled to himself, the chuckle turning into a maniacal giggle as he rubbed his hands together. Soon. Not yet, but soon, the room would be put to good use.

Making his way back outside, he headed back through the gloom to the small pick up truck he'd stolen the previous day. He'd chosen it because it was small and inconspicuous, the brown paint peeling on its cab and blotched by years of rust and corrosion. The man chuckled to himself again, mumbling unintelligibly under his breath. The rightful owner of the truck would thank him, being able to collect on the insurance money and buy himself a shiny new vehicle. For now, this was just what he needed.

Slowly and with great patience, he started to unload the contents he'd so carefully amassed, piling them into an orderly heap at the side of him, then he locked the truck and pulled tree branches down over it in an attempt to make it less visible. Only the tail pipe and a small silver piece of fender stuck out, giving a clue as to it's location.

The journey from the car back to the crypt was repeated seven or eight times until all the pile had been moved into the stone crypt and finally, panting with exertion the man lit a candle and placed it on one of the ledges, its flickering flame making the shadows around the place dance eerily. He extinguished his torch and sat for a moment regaining his breath and looking around the room. Resting his head back against the rough wall, he thought that the crypt was not much different from the room he had recently vacated: the same plaster walls and the same windowless, airless atmosphere. But he knew that the new occupant of the room would have more to worry about than the absence of a view. He pulled a creased and tattered photograph from his pocket, holding it at an angle so that he could see the face of the teenage boy looking out at his through the dim light. He kissed it and held it to his face as the tears came unbidden to his eyes. Poor Gary. Dead before his time. For some minutes the man sobbed into the darkness before wiping the sleeve of his coveralls over the picture to rid it of the teardrops. Carefully he stowed it back into his pocket and set about his work, making little or no noise.

First he set about rebuilding a small iron bedstead. It was the sort beloved by hospitals or, and he chuckled grimly to himself, jails, with barred head and footboards, painted in a cream, chipped paint. It was a single bed frame and he placed it, when complete, in the very centre of the room, standing back to admire his handiwork. Next he draped a thin cotton mattress over the bare metal base of the bed. It didn't quite fit, and the stains on the cotton fabric looked dark in the dim light. Not the most comfortable bed in the world, but of course, that wasn't the point.

Next, and more ominously, he uncoiled a length of rope and cut it into four. He attached the four white cotton ropes to the four corners of the bedstead, leaving the ends to trail across the floor and take on the dusty hue of the dirt there and heaped a length of chain and several stout padlocks in the corner of the room, pocketing the keys. A flimsy table decorated with a battery-operated light completed the set up and the man stood back to look around. He was ready. Now all he needed was to find the other and bring him back and his life would be complete.

oOo

'It isn't Christmas if we can't have a tree' Starsky said, his eyes wide as he looked in the store window. 'When I was a kid, Mom used to choose the biggest one she could find and we'd decorate it out and stick a gingerbread man on top. Nicky and me used to have arguments about who got to go up the ladder to put it there'.

'Gingerbread man?'

Hutch smiled at his partner's reminiscences. His own Mom had never really got engrossed in the festive season before, stating that it was "a waste of money and not something that was productive". So Hutch had never had the pleasure of trees or decorations or eating so much he made himself sick. The maid had seen to all that and it never failed to amaze him that his 34 year old partner never tired of the childish pursuits.

But it was a fact that Starsky loved anything childish. Not that he was childish himself, more child-like, especially when it came to holidays and festivals. Hutch never got over the look of wonderment on the handsome face or the innocence in the deep indigo blue eyes. Once upon a time, Hutch would have gotten angry at the brunet for nagging him about the tree. He would have been fed up with Starsky going on ad nauseum about holidays, or birthdays, or Christmas. But since his partner had survived the five bullets, a code blue and a twelve-month hellish recovery, he'd adjusted to allowing Starsky full reign of his childish half, revelling in the realisation that he still had a partner and a best friend.

Gunther's attack was four years ago, and now, apart from the thin, silvery scars which marked the brunet's back and nestled amongst the brown curls on his chest like some crazy road plan along with the lessened resistance to colds and coughs, Starsky was back to his old self, against all the doctors most pessimistic predictions. His joie de vivre was no less, in fact the brush with death had seemed to redouble the curly haired cop's efforts to live life to the full and so now Hutch nodded at the store.

'Go ahead, Gordo. Go an' pick the biggest and you may as well get the candies, the turkey and the beer also. Wouldn't be Christmas if ya can't eat too much and make yourself sick'.

The dark eyebrows furrowed. 'Are you mocking me?' starsky growled.

'Moi? Would I?'

'Only ever opportunity ya get' the brunet grinned as he went into the store. He took a trolley and pushed it up and down the aisles, searching for everything he needed. Reaching over the pile of oranges, he was just about to reach for the biggest, when he caught sight of a familiar face across from him. He overbalanced and when he'd righted himself, the face had gone, to be replaced by a woman with a cauliflower hairstyle and thick, horn rimmed glasses. The brunet did a double take, sure he'd seen the face from his past, but then the excitement of the night overtook him and he continued his shopping, emerging from his mission ten minutes later laden with a paper sack full of goodies and balancing a large fir tree over his shoulder.

Hutch took the tree from him and tucked it under his arm as they walked back to the car. As Starsky put his hand on the car door he looked up, just as a figure disappeared around the corner of the store. He starred after it for a moment, long enough for the blond to follow his gaze.

'Wassup?'

'Huh?'

'You look like you've seen a ghost. What're you looking at?'

The brunet shook himself. 'Oh….nuthin. It was just ….I thought I saw someone'.

Hutch looked around at the crowded street and shrugged. 'Care to enlarge? You mean someone you didn't expect to see?'

'Yeah, for a minute there I thought it was….never mind. Get in, the beers getting' warm'.

The two men got into the car, Hutch sharing his front seat with the tip of the Christmas tree as Starsky put the sack on the back seat, unzipped his jacket and drove off. The brunet looked down the side street where he thought he'd seen the figure vanish, but there was no-one to be seen. He shrugged and drove on.

Arriving at Hutch's apartment, they got out and went inside, not noticing the battered old pick up truck drawing in to the side of the road a block back. Starsky had the off sensation that he was being watched and a shiver ran down his spine as he looked both ways up and down the road. He saw nothing unusual and shouldered his way into the room as Hutch plucked a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge. He handed one to his partner.

'Starsk are you sure you're ok? You look like you've seen a ghost' he asked.

The curly haired man looked up and grinned self consciously. 'No, I'm fine. I guess I'm just spooked reading too many Christmas ghost stories. I keep getting that feeling'.

'Feeling?'

'Yeah, ya know. That one'.

'Ooooh, That one! One day Starsk, I'll swear you're gonna start making sense' Hutch grinned.

The brunet snorted. 'Ya know, the one where ya feel like someone just walked over your grave. All shuddery an'…..'

'Oh that one. Well you're right. You've definitely been reading too many horror stories. Maybe we shouldn't do the whole tree thing tonight huh? Maybe just a quiet game of Monopoly?'

'No! We got the tree! We've gotta do the whole thing, decorations, the lot. I told ya I'm fine. C'mon, help me start propping that baby up huh?'

That night Starsky leapt to his feet each time a group of kids came to the door, coins in hand as the children from the neighbourhood sang carols. He was as excited as them and once they'd all finished singing, the brunet would solemnley dole out quarters before the carolers moved on. About 10:00 there was a lull in the calls and Hutch decided that it was probably too late for any more callers. They were just about to turn the lights over the door out when there was a final knock on the door.

Starsky leapt up again, grabbed for the dish and pulled open the door. But instead of a small group of children, a single body stood in front of him. The figure was as tall as a grown man and was covered head to foot in a long black gown, and inverted red cross emblazoned on its front. The figure's face was covered by a mask in the shape of Edvard Monch's "The Scream! It stood wordlessly on the doorstep.

Starsky's mind went into override. 6 years earlier he had been captured and held captive by Simon Marcus' cult members who dressed in a similar style of robe. They had beaten him, poisoned and drugged him and had strung him up in the old civic zoo as they threatened to cut his to shreds and only Hutch's timely arrival had stopped him from being killed that day. Marcus had retained his hold over Starsky with a voodoo type doll which Hutch finally took from the leader's possession. The whole scene had damaged the brunet for years, his nightmares always coloured by the sound of the chanting and now, even though he thought he'd gotten over it, the sight of the figure was almost too much.

Starsky staggered back a step in shock, recovering himself only with difficulty. He stared at the apparition, gathering his wits.

'A bit big for carolin' aren't ya?' he growled.

The figure said nothing. It merely raised a hand slowly and pointed at the curly haired cop.

'Mine' it hissed.

Starsky looked over his shoulder, wondering what "mine" referred to, but seeing nothing, he turned back ready to give the trick or treater a tongue lashing.

But the figure had vanished.

The brunet looked out onto the street, left and right, but the whole place was deserted, the children having long since gone home to bed. Shakily, he pushed the door closed and stood with his back resting against it, calming his breath before he went back into the living room.

'They were late, weren't they?' Hutch asked.

'Huh?.Late?' the brunet mumbled as he sat down heavily on the sofa.

'Yeah, the kids were late. It's gone ten'.

'That wasn't a kid. Looked like a full sized guy'.

'What did he want?' Hutch asked seeing the slight shiver still radiating through his partner's body.

Starsky looked up, grinning sheepishly. 'Dunno. But whoever it was, in that costume he sure scared me. He either belongs in a mental home or a cemetry!'.