He had been handed the coins with little explanation, only instructed to make a purchase that would amuse himself in some way. In other words, he had been instructed to purchase a Christmas present for himself.
…
This world just didn't make sense anymore.
Why would one need to buy clothes if one could simply will the creation of a garment, and it would shape itself about one's frame perfectly? Why would one need to purchase a book if a library was readily available within the individual's 'home'? (Only a home in the sense that it contained his coffin.) Why would a toy or nick-knack be desired if one was not a child, and if one did not care for nick-knacks and playthings that could not bleed? And, on the subject of blood, why would one buy a pastry or other 'delight' if one did not find such food at all delightful?
Why would Van Hellsing expect his vampire to have any desires that could be bought with two one pound coins? …It must be curiosity, a spontaneous whimsy. But regardless of its suspicious origin and its doubtful existence, the money had been handed over to the demon while Sir Hellsing had chosen to wander through London on this night known as Christmas Eve, when the snow was a thin layer of powder where it was kept pretty, and a swamp of black slush where cold feet had trudged upon it heavily without the spirit of Christmas to raise their poor spirits.
Voices filled the air, accompanied by the clacking of heels, the clopping of horses in the street, and the occasional yap of a dog and a feline's meow. Bells rung as shop doors were opened, constant traffic entering and leaving with paper wrapped parcels or fancy packages. Carolers sang to all, and a tiny boy spoke "God bless us. Everyone."
Alucard did not care much for the blessing, the caroling, the merry making, the happy, jolly shops and shopkeepers and buyers and happy little children and windows bursting with holiday cheer… He did not give a "Humbug" about Christmas either. The creature was indifferent to it, just as he was indifferent to much of the world around him. The loss of his freedom had ruined the seasons, with the fluctuating number of fools whose good reason is tossed aside by the 'holiday spirit' which prompts showing hospitality to perfect strangers, trusting all while praying for a universal blessing, and drinking until all sense and coordination was lost and the vampire was left with a stumbling or unconscious dessert that would fit in his stomach beside the corpses who had invited him into their homes or believed in his goodness when he separated them from their friends and relations to "occupy a moment of their time" – which was never directly stated as a request to deliver a swift and delicious death… The memories…
A drawn-out, glass-shattering, blood curdling scream of horror, followed by quieter notes of terror, was more beautiful than any of these songs. He missed sitting down at a dinner table to dine on the host and hostess while admiring the tinsel on their crackling Christmas tree. The melting gifts beneath it were always a soothing sight to behold.
Once the dining had been completed, the vampire would sometimes take interest in the atmosphere he had created. The night was silent, all was calm and all was bright as round yon Virgin Mother and child, flames consumed the nativity scene to warm the infant, so tender and mild. In the morning, the monster had slept so peacefully, it could have been described as heavenly.
But none of this could be bought with two pounds, perhaps somewhere in the world, but London was not the right location for the kind of festivities the former Count enjoyed most.
Those where the years when the season could be jolly, when he decked the halls with bloodbaths and melancholy…Fa la la la la – he would be laughing. But now he would don his red apparel, and never cease to damn the man who stole his freedom and made life so sterile.
Fa la la la la, he wanted to see them all burn. Damn them, every last one of them. They were frivolous, foolish, and free, and he was starving, a mongrel let loose to watch the succulent wenches, giggling and prancing about within arm's reach… He salivated at the mere thought, and passed into and out of dripping red fantasies as he paused within the crowds to stare after a plump figure – cheeks likes roses and a nose like a cherry – the winter cold and cheer making them so lively and warm - the vampire could not bear it. So he slinked into darkness only to return to the crowds, coveting flesh while crushing the useless wealth in his pocket.
If only he could be free for this single night! This one night of the year! Thanks to Clemet Moore, he could creep upon roof-tops when all through the house, not a creature would be stirring, not even the residential mouse. When the children were nestled and all snug in their beds, he would take the visions of sugar-plums right out of their heads. They would look up and believe that what they could hear was the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, all from Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, and lastly Donder and Blitzen. He would be down the chimney in a single bound, with a bundle to fill flung on his back. When he was finally chubby and plump, a right jolly old beast, his little round belly would shake with his merriment - like a bowlful of coagulated blood.
He groaned at the sight of a maid dressed as the Holy mother Mary. Give me a single one of these wenches, and I'll go back glowing with cheer! I'll return to that detestable dungeon and look forward to the feast tradition will grant me annually. Oh the ribbons and bows, the miles of lace trimming, golden curls bouncing there, and there, and with even more over there. Dear God, those fat fleshy hearts, beating – beating and beating around me always, everywhere! One or two, perhaps three or four would do… Damn this, I want them all!
He had retreated from the crowds once again, and he snarled when he found that he even wanted the dirty and diseased beggars that trudged barefoot through slush. Walking amongst them, red eyes glanced at a crumbled bundle, slumped against a wall. With a scowl for the waste, he kicked the hard bundle because it was dead, and he moved on, returning to the crowds before retreating with a bowed head, fangs fully extended. He looked deranged, and he knew it, which only served to anger him more. A girl selling matches scampered up to him, wrapped in rags from head to toe, with cloth bound around her blue tiny toes. She presented her wares with a cough and a sneeze and asked, "Please kind Sir-?" before a feral growl and a mouth filled with fangs sent her off squealing in terror.
The beast dubbed Alucard by another, and who knew himself as Dracula, floated between the realm of cheer and misery, thirsting to wet his palate with either and then allow fantasy to transform the chilled, gory slop that awaited him in his cell – to make-believe and invent the scenario and final conclusion, to use memory to replace the loathsome flavor and vile texture when he sunk his teeth into his imaginary buxom maid – escaping the experience as he gulped down the clotted soup.
Hateful, hateful, he was filled with loathing. Every time he saw a maiden or a face brimming with pleasure, he would cringe and hiss. After enduring this, he would return to the grime, he would pass the hardened pile of rags and splash through the slush, sometimes tormenting an odd poor soul. Dirty and glistening, sunken and bulging, it was like diving into ice and plunging into fire each time and left and returned. The molten eyes found Hellsing from time to time, situated somewhere in the crowd, never to be found in one place twice. The man seemed to notice his monster when the monster found him, which sent the ravenous demon striding in the opposite direction. Hate and hunger had combined to form a towering body of torturous needs, desires that were denied any satisfaction.
Fangs grated against one another, deathly ivory threatening all in its wake, as time lengthened and the vampire's boots skated on slush and ice. Alucard prepared to kick the bundled corpse to add another mark - the rags were a record of his visits, all the times he had passed between poverty and wealth on this Christmas Eve. But the journey came to a sudden halt at the form as Alucard noticed the smaller addition. The vampire loomed over the tiny ragged form, beside the basket of matches as the girl crouched over the bundle out of which peeked the face of a man, blue with death and winter's embrace. The child clung to the corpse until her hands left his pockets, then she inspected the knotted string and crushed piece of tin gathered in her lap before hovering over the body to strip it of its holey coat, socks, and hat – what was really the rags which substituted the proper attire.
As the girl wrapped and tied what she had stolen from the dead man, the monster behind her observed, calmed by the scene. So these are the gifts unwanted children hope for when Winter arrives to thin out their population? Crimson flame burst within the glint of narrowed eyes, and the pale former Count leaned down, extending his hand. When death grasped her shoulder, the girl started, wide, red-rimmed eyes gaping at the pale face she knew, and she whimpered and pleaded for forgiveness regarding what she had done only so that she could escape the frightful creature. But now that he had her in his clutches, he would not let her go. He pulled her to her feet and then bent to take up her basket, which he shoved into her arms. The girl hugged the basket carrying the dead man's property as well as her cheap wares, and was pushed along through the ice and melted snow with the vampire's glove never leaving her back.
When they came to the light and festivities, she recoiled, raising her shoulders and ducking away for protection – but Alucard forced her to enter the crowds. Soon a bell tinkled and the creature swept its prey into the store. Heat and thick garments surrounded them while other buyers hurried about, dodging the obstructions that did not move about as efficiently as themselves. Large brown eyes stared out at the world as the dirt powdered face looked all about, the cracked blue lips thawing as heat entered the thin body of rags. A coat and a scarf were thrown upon her, then mittens and the thickest stockings she had ever beheld were piled on top, the keen eyes of the predator making swift measurements and selecting what was large enough to permit growth but not too large as to be unruly. These gifts were snatched away and then returned when the purchase was made, and then out through the door she was shoved along and pushed. They entered another heated haven, but one which smelled of leather, and a lightly used pair of boots which, though not in accord with her gender, fit the walking form of bulbous cloth well enough. The purchase was made - dirty feet covered by stockings and further insulated by old rags were forced into the shoes which were then forced out the door to seek out the baker. All the remaining money was spent on filling the girl's pockets and basket with the cheapest rolls and loafs remaining, ending with a pudding that was thrust into her hands, which then served to warm her little mittens as she continued to be led through the crowds by the cold man in black – whom she had once feared and now could not understand, feeling both terror and appreciation for the terrible, fanged creature.
Despite the gloves he wore, when he had forced his gifts upon her she had felt that his body was as cold as the dead beggar's. He could be a ghost, she thought, since the shopkeepers and the baker had treated him as such – preoccupied with the flood of customers and unable to spare them much interest. Now the man led her towards another destination which was again a mystery, but now they moved more slowly, she was not shoved or yanked and the man would stop and look about, seeking something that was eluding him.
When she was shoved forward suddenly and then pushed along, the girl assumed that the man had found what he had been looking for, a shop full of little marvels. But instead of entering, they stopped at the window beside a man wearing a great red trench coat, who turned and looked at her 'guardian' and then beheld the girl herself in a state of astonishment, furrowing his brow and then wrinkling it and the rest of his face in a number of ways before the man settled with a frown of confusion. His hair was reddish blonde, a lighter shade growing near his temples, and his nose was as red as a cherry and his cheeks resembled roses – he had been outside for a long time. A wispy cloud came from his nose when he breathed, just as it came from everyone in the crowd, with the exception of the pale man.
Another shove presented the child to Van Hellsing, and then the vampire's hand left the well-padded back, severing the demon's attachment to its prey. A glower fit with a sneer shaped the pale features, and fangs glinted with malice, "Child, this is your Saint Nicolas. Be good to him, for he is the one who paid for your presents."
But in the crimson eyes, within the blue and red gazes locked together, another statement was made – one that darkened Hellsing's eyes and lined his mouth with feeling. Take the girl. I know of your love of children, of the dead child you miss. Look at her and may your wounds fester, may they tear open! And after you have pampered her with pity, you will have no choice but to abandon her! Either in the streets – which you cannot do – or in an orphanage, a charity school for little fatherless, motherless vermin like her. Or you will have to find her parents, and perhaps return her to her poverty. But, here is your burden Van Hellsing – my Master. Enjoy your Christmas - may it taste like Loss and Misery!
And the monster departed from the crowds, to spirit himself away to his dank and filthy cell – no longer wanted by Hellsing, and so, allowed to finally return to his coffin. A twisted and depraved fantasy was weaved, the cold soup was gulped down, and Alucard chewed on a gelatinous lump as he lowered himself into his coffin; he fitted the lid into place to escape into the darkness of his abysmal existence.