Pennsylvania 1612
North hoisted his sack higher up on his shoulder.
He had left the reindeer and the sleigh a little while back, enjoying his usual walk through Burgess woods.
He was heading to his last stop in the area: a cabin just outside the town.
It was a cosy little place beside a large pond belonging to a lovely couple with two children, a girl and a boy.
As he walked up the trail to the cabin, something caught his eye.
At first it appeared to be a haphazard bundle of sticks and hunks of wood sitting a few feet away from the path.
An axe had been driven into a tree stump nearby.
The strange shape of some of the pieces of wood gave North pause.
Lowering his sack to the ground, he knelt and wiped some of snow away.
As he lifted a long curved piece of wood, he realised what it was.
The children's sled had been chopped harshly into pieces.
North had brought it for them last Christmas when the boy had wished he had something he and his sister could both enjoy in the snow.
Carefully putting the piece back where he left it, a troubled North picked up his sack and resumed his walk up the hill.
North peeked in through the window.
He could see the daughter sitting on the bed with her back to him.
She was reading by candlelight.
Her name was Emma but everyone called her 'Flee' because of how fast she could run. She loved climbing, jumping, cartwheeling and being outside.
Tonight was the kind of night she liked to be outside making snow angels in the moonlight, returning home tired out with red cheeks and chilled fingers.
Yet here she was sitting alone in her room.
It did not make sense.
'She stays inside now when it snows', came a voice on the wind.
North turned and saw a lean, dark shape extricate itself from the treeline.
Pitch walked across the surface of the pond to join North.
North felt a trace of unease crawl up his spine.
What was Pitch doing here?
'But she loves the snow!' North protested, 'The fighting with the balls, the sledding, the ice skating…'
North trailed off when he saw the glitter in Pitch's eyes.
'What happened?' North asked quietly, nervous of the answer.
Pitch waved a hand flippantly towards the pond.
'Her brother drowned earlier this year', Pitch said airily, 'She saw everything'.
North felt as if his heart had stopped.
Jackson was dead?
When he had found the boy's name magically missing from his list, North assumed it had been because Jackson, like most other boys his age, had simply outgrown stockings and hiding behind the door trying to glimpse him at his work.
He couldn't be dead…
He was always so full of life!
'And what do you bring her?' Pitch patronised as he peered at North's sack, 'New ice skates perhaps?'
North's fingers clenched around the mouth of his sack.
Pitch was relishing this, the monster!
'Wonder if he's still down there?' Pitch mused mockingly, 'If you like I can go take a look-'
'Be. Quiet'.
Pitch's mouth snapped shut at North's quiet yet dangerous tone.
A cold wind blew between the two spirits, scattering snow drifts like dancing, phantoms of stars.
North became uncomfortably aware Pitch was looking at him expectantly, like a person watching a stage show.
'How did you know what happened?' North asked, suspicious.
'She was afraid: I always know when they're afraid', Pitch said obviously.
'You had nothing to do with-'
'I didn't have to', Pitch interrupted with a touch of incredulity, 'He was the one who wanted to go ice skating. He was afraid too by the end but the impudent boy wouldn't show it'.
'Jackson was brave', North said sadly with a hint of pride.
'He was delusional', Pitch sneered, 'And now he's dead. Only little Flee left, too scared to go outside'.
'You are cruel', North said with disgust.
Pitch was unrepentant.
'Life is cruel. I am merely a symptom'.
North ignored Pitch and resolved to do his duty.
He reached into the sack and withdrew Flee's intended present.
A little cloth doll lay limply in his hand, smiling up at him with rosy cheeks. It wore a pretty brown dress embroidered with flowers.
Pitch gave a spiteful laugh when he saw it but North ignored him.
How could a doll make things better? It was so very small.
'She has such interesting dreams you know', Pitch said wistfully, 'His ghost comes from the pond in the night reaching for her through the window. Then she's on trial, her parents sobbing, 'Why didn't you save him?' He's always there beside her but she can't hear or see him no matter how much he shouts and-
North couldn't bear it any longer.
He swung a fist at Pitch but Pitch was too fast for him.
North's keen eyes followed the shadowy blur as it skittered across the snow.
Pitch rematerialized on the surface of the pond and stood like a black pillar candle.
He stamped a foot and leaning down, cupped a hand around his ear.
He shrugged when there a lack of a response from beneath the ice.
'Odd isn't it?' Pitch said, 'The more afraid they are the more alive they feel'.
North stamped a foot angrily.
'And what do you feel?!' North snapped, 'Do you feel anything?!'
'I feel full', Pitch smirked as he licked his lips, 'Goodnight Toymaker'.
Then he was gone.
But the question remained: What do you bring her?
North looked at the doll in his hand then at Flee's back.
She looked so small and fragile curled up on her bed.
But this only made North more determined to do something about it.
Pitch had a point: he could not bring her brother back.
But maybe…with the right modifications…
He reached for the tools he always kept in his pocket in case of gift emergencies such loose buttons, popped springs or torn clothing.
He could help her remember him instead of how he died.
The next morning Flee opened the door to the cabin, dreading the trek through the snow to fetch firewood from the pile stored in the outhouse.
But when she opened it, she gasped.
Her sled sat on the front step, whole once more, fresh paint shining in the Winter sunshine. Pale blue snowflakes had been painted on the varnished wood and her name was carved in golden letters on the handle.
She didn't understand: she had chopped the sled up before her father could stop her!
Sitting on top of the remade sled, one hand resting on her name, was a little cloth doll.
It was a boy, dressed in a white shirt with brown poncho and trousers.
He wasn't wearing any shoes and he was smiling at her.
Hand shaking, Flee picked up the doll and held it close.
It wasn't what she truly wanted but then… why did it make her feel so happy?
Tears trailing down her cheeks, she swore to never forget again.
She would have fun.
She owed it to him.