The Gift

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In my mind, Christmas is synonymous with over indulgence. That is embodied most fully by the stretch of time post-dinner, after you have gorged yourself silly on trifle and chocolate-dribbled biscuits. You should, as a rule, be capable only of going slack before the TV and mumbling excuses about why you can't do the dishes.

The TV was blaring senselessly, and I could feel the old, primal impulse creeping up on me. My chair was comfy, soaking up my body and gradually killing off my desire to move. Strangely, I felt a stubborn need to fight it. Just as everyone was preparing to watch E.T. for the umpteenth time, I rose and announced that I was going for a walk.

My stepmother, curiously the sharpest person present despite having done the most work, immediately looked up from the screen. "What?"

I shrugged with the non-committal air that I knew she hated. "I just want some fresh air. I don't mind company, if anyone wants to come."

As I expected, there weren't any volunteers. Dad mumbled something about keeping warm. Merlin barely flapped his ear when I called to him, stuck fast to the rug. Toby, of late my shadow in every adventure, didn't even manage to force out a reply. I probably should have felt insulted, but consoled myself with the knowledge that, to five-year-old Toby, E.T. was every bit as addictive as crack cocaine.

In that moment of profound rejection, I was glad that I was used to being by myself; thirteen years spent as an only child meant I had had no choice but to become accustomed to my own company. So I put on my coat, my scarf and my gloves, and went out into the snow.

The lawn was pitted with paw and foot prints, but the road beyond was a picture of tranquility. The snow had stopped, and everything was quiet and still. The only movements came from behind curtains, mostly constituted of flickering TV screens and silhouetted figures.

The cold and the stillness of the street were exhilarating, and I found myself walking faster and faster as I headed towards the park. I was determined to reach it before the sky went dark, and knew I didn't have long. The snow was soft and soaked up my steps like a thick, furred rug, but I knew it wouldn't remain hospitable for long. I told myself it would just be a brisk walk. A quick, brisk walk to the park and back again.

When I finally reached the park, I came to a stop on the bridge and looked out over the river. The sun was just setting, casting a rich, orange light over the water. It was beautiful to watch. In fact, it was so very beautiful that I quite lost track of time. When the shimmering light finally left the river, I looked up to find that darkness had stolen up on me. There were no lamps in the park, and the cold had gained a sharp, bitter sting. I tightened my scarf, and turned back towards the town. I could just make out some twinkling street lamps through the trees. The snow crunched in time with my steps.

The stillness, which had seemed so welcome when it was light, now felt oppressive. I moved faster than I had before, determined to break it. I craved the noise and warmth of home, and the prospect of letting my eyes glaze over as E.T. played out filled me with a new sense of anticipation. I walked so quickly, so intently, that I didn't notice when my feet left the snow. I only realized I was on ice when my front foot skidded forward with a careless step. I fell heavily, cracking my head against the marble-hard ground.

I remember my blood pounding in my head more than I remember the cold, and I remember watching. As long as I could see the stars, I was alive; I knew that much, so I was determined to keep my eyes open. I tried to call out for help, but my voice felt very small and I couldn't hear it. When I attempted to lift my head, I felt a rush of wooziness and immediately set it back down. The blood slowly soaking into my hair had flowed with frightening speed when I'd moved.

The next thing I was aware of was a pricking sensation, accompanied by the sharp, musical clatter of claws moving over ice. I felt a sharp fingernail prod my arm, and heard a muffled voice ask "She dead?"

I moved my lips. While I couldn't produce any discernible sounds, they must have seen the movement. "Not yet, she ain't."

I winced in pain as a small, scaly creature climbed up onto my torso, clambering up my puffer jacket until he was resting in the warm, red nest of my scarf. My breaths immediately became strained and reedy. Heedless of this, the creature stretched his head forward, blocking out the stars and filling my field of vision. "Hey, girly!" the voice sounded like it was coming from another room, though I could smell the pungent stink of the creature's breath all-too strongly. "You wanna live, yes?"

I managed a gasp, but could not produce any words. Strangely, though, words didn't seem necessary. I was understood.

"Then make the wish! You know it. You said it easy 'nuff before."

I gasped again, my breath turning the black air that framed the creature's knobbly face misty-white. The goblin—for that was unquestionably what it was—rolled its eyes.

"Think it. If you can puff smoke like that, you can think."

The thought came to me before I could bid it, every word as clear in mind as if it had been spoken. I should have thought about the ramifications, but I was conscious only of my fear. I didn't want to die, and in that moment I didn't care what I had to do to live.

The first thing I felt after making the wish was his cold, fine fingers in my hair, cupping my skull, as he gently raised me off the ice. The pain should have been searing, but I felt nothing. The stars quickly swooped out of sight as he raised me, replaced with a thick horizon of shadows where I knew a thin line of trees should have been. He held his hand close to the break, and I think he might have recited a chant just beyond the limits of my hearing. The only thing I was entirely aware of was that everything was very still again, and very quiet; while I suspected he was speaking I could hear no words, and the scuttling sounds of the goblins had gone.

A jolt of panic cut through me when I felt his hand leave my head, and I expected myself to fall backwards. I surprised myself by keeping my balance, and was suddenly made aware of my body again. I ached all over, and my head throbbed from the earlier impact. But that didn't concern me. I only frowned because I could feel no blood; I had reached my fingers back to my hair only to feel no damp, sticky substance. Confused, I turned my head back to look at the ice on the ground behind me. While it was dark, I could make out my blood, darker still and catching snatches of starlight, on the ice. I shivered, and scanned my surroundings for my savior. He had vanished into the shadows as smoothly as he had emerged from them, and I was left to make it to my feet and stumble home alone.

E.T. was just finishing when I got back, and the screen was filled with teary-eyed children waving up at the stars. The music from the finale was soaring to a crescendo; every chair was facing away from the hall, and every set of eyes was on the screen. I slipped up the stairs unnoticed, retreating to the bathroom. I figured that, at the very least, I would need to wash. Miraculously, though, I didn't bear as much as a scratch. There were no bruises on my body, and my hair was only mildly tangled from the soft winter wind that had seen me home. My skin was clear, only slightly flushed from the cold. Even the ache had gone; my movements were easy and painless again.

I was crossing the hall to go to my room when Dad called up the stairs: "Sarah, is that you?"

"Yes, I'll be down in a minute," I replied. There was a deep tremor in my voice, and in that moment I was glad for my father's enduring obliviousness to all but the most obvious emotions.

I released a shaky breath upon closing my bedroom door behind me, finally feeling safe again. When I left the door I moved towards my dresser, unwinding my scarf and shrugging off my coat. I picked it up from the floor and slung it over the back of my chair, and that was when I noticed the immaculately wrapped box resting on the surface of my dresser. It was covered with silver paper, and was tied at the top with a fancy bow. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, searching fruitlessly for a gift tag. I looked back at the door and considered going downstairs and asking who it was from, only to think better of it. I had enough sense to realize that this was unlikely to be a normal gift.

I pulled the bow off first, discarding it on the carpet. I hesitated slightly before tackling the paper—it was the most beautiful, shimmering wrapping I had ever seen—but tore at it eagerly after pulling at the first corner, my curiosity overcoming my wonder. I was soon left with an obsidian-black box. I removed the lid of the box to find a glass vial resting upon a plain, white card. I picked the vial up first, holding it up to the light and recoiling when I realized that the thick fluid it contained was a dark red. I set it down instantly, sinking into the chair as a dizzy sensation overtook me. I stared at the card for a long moment before taking it from the box. I took a deep, steadying breath, and parted the card quickly to find it only contained five words:

No gift is freely given.

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A/N: This was written for the monthly writing challenge over at the LabyFic LiveJournal community. Feedback of any kind - positive or constructive - is most welcome! Merry Christmas, everyone - don't be creeped out!