Eleventh Night
A Winter Tale
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Once upon a time, in a faraway town…
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Prologue
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It was almost midnight, the morning bell had yet to ring, and it was dark in the bookstore save for the dim glow of the lamp sitting on the desk. The old man was trying in vain to calm his excited trembling as he held the old leatherbound book in his decrepit hands.
He had found it.
After generations of Book Men, he had finally found it.
The very first written word of that wretched Story Spinner, Drosselmeier. Every one of his ancestors knew of it; the tale of Drosselmeier in his youth, when he was imprisoned by a wicked spell and how he was set free by a naive young girl. If she had known what horrors the man that boy would grow up to be was to inflict on the world, he was sure she never would have released him.
However, he and his comrades were the 'Stoppers of Stories'. They had prevented most of Drosselmeier's tragic endings in the simplest of ways. Who was to say they could not prevent his entire existence in the same manner?
Stepping down from his stool, the man took the book to the back room. Standing before the fireplace, he allowed his aged hands to trace the faded gold lettering on the front. The initials of the given and middle names were completely gone, but the name of Drosselmeier still shone clearly in the firelight, as if mocking him.
Paging backwards, the man eventually came to the very middle of the book and proceeded to rip out the pages. Once the sheet of paper was freed, he carefully tossed it into the fireplace where the words disappeared as it blackened and curled in on itself. Feeling an odd sort of glee as he watched the ancient paper burn to nothing in the flames, he continued to tear out the other pages one by one.
So intent on his duty, on the crackling of the fire and the writhing of the pages as they died, the old man did not notice the sound of small feet scurrying in the hall, or the faint scratching behind the walls. Until finally, there was only one page left. Grinning, the old storekeeper took the time to rip this last page in half. Tossing them into the fire, he was startled to see the two halves disappear in a burst of blue flame.
All at once books, lamps and various knickknacks fell from their shelves. The scratching behind the walls became louder and the scurrying was all around him. Spinning around, the man scanned the room, but could see nothing.
Suddenly, the light in the fireplace went out and the man was plunged into darkness. Trying to see through the black, the shopkeeper could not see how the fire had died. He could not even see any embers remaining from the great blaze to prove the fire had ever been burning. The entire room was deathly cold.
Turning to retrieve one of the lamps that had fallen from the bookcase, the old man went rigid.
Dozens, no, hundreds of glowing yellow eyes stared back at him from the depths of the shadows. Not moving, or making a sound. His first instinct was to remain still, fearing that they—whatever they were—would attack at the slightest movement.
But then more eyes appeared. Fourteen yellow eyes burned brighter than all the rest, all focused on the decrepit old man at the other end of the room. Those eyes were soon joined by seven wretched smiles of shining white teeth that gleamed like swords and made the old man tremble with fear.
But the worst was yet to come. Together, the seven mouths, with seven voices began to sing together.
"This son with sevenfold crown
Will bring Nutcracker down.
Yea, never fear
He will avenge his mother dear."
The sound of their voices, singing the same verse over and over was horrifying. It grated against every nerve in the old man's body, screaming at him in mad terror, until he could bear it no longer and cried out in an attempt to drown out their voices.
For a moment, the voices were silent. But after the man's outcry had faded, they're eyes smiling, they sang once more.
"O Life, blood red and milky white,
Leave thee for the shades of night."
Without needing anything further, the shadows fell over the Book Man like a giant wave, crushing him and drowning his screams.
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The church stood in the very center of Gold Crown, its tower able to overlook everything, firm and unafraid amidst the dense fog of the cold winter night. The bells rang out at the stroke of midnight, as if to say to the shadows 'I am not afraid. I will abide by my unending duty.' And the shadows in turn seemed to retreat ever so slightly at the challenge, while the rest of the city slept on peacefully.
However, there was the slightest movement atop the dome roof as something sat against the tall spire. Even if someone had been awake at that time of night, they would not likely have been able to see the man very clearly. He could have easily been mistaken for a very large owl.
The soft wind caught his yellow coat and rustled it about while his white hair remained trapped beneath his hat. The bells finished ringing, and the man smiled as he raised his cherry-wood gaze to look out at the city. The world was dark and still, and the Yuletide was but a few days away. There was work to be done.
Tilting his head back to look up at the night sky, his voice as deep as a church bell and as resounding as an owl's call, he began to sing.
"Clocks, clocks, whir softly, do not strike.
Mouse King is keen of hearing.
Whir whir purr purr.
Sing him the old song.
Whir whir purr purr.
Ring, bell, ring.
Ding dong ding dong.
He won't last long…"