A.N: I own nothing.

A.N#2: Take care, people. Strong gore and violence.

A.N#3: Touched this fic up 03.24.19.

.

"Is it possible for anyone in Germany, nowadays, to raise his right hand, for whatever the reason, and not be flooded by the memory of a dream to end all dreams?"
–Walter Abish, How German Is It?

.

.

Inside the Wallpaper

.

It was the weekend.

Jamie Bennett ran out of his house convinced today would be the greatest day ever. The sky was blue, the sun was hot, and his brand new Keds flashed with each step. It was almost summer, which meant easy days of playing baseball, tag, and above all, no homework. He could feel the lure of freedom like a perfume in the air, sharp and powerful. Jamie slipped under the squeaky fence panel, cutting across Mr. Robert's yard with the stealth of a ninja. Mr. Robert acted like he hated kids, but Jamie thought he was just lonely.

But summer vacation wasn't the only reason Jamie was grinning ear-to-ear: he was friends with Jack Frost, bonafide Guardian of Fun and Awesomeness. Since the discovery of the white-haired spirit Jamie was thrown into a world better than all the theme-parks combined. He had always believed in things like the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, even when the older kids at school scoffed and called him a 'baby-fag.' He didn't know what 'fag' meant, but he knew better than to repeat it in front of his mother.

The names had hurt. A lot. But when he clapped eyes on the giant blue form of the Easter Bunny and the Sandman and the others, vindication had never tasted sweeter. He knew something existed beyond the world of grownups, something magical and bright. There were dangers to that world too, of course. Jamie had seen first hand what Pitch and his Nightmares could do. But Pitch was gone, defeated, and summer was right around the corner.

The young boy took his favorite path into the woods, fishing his bike from the bushes. With the ease of years of practice, he swung himself up and kicked to a roll. The sloping downhill took care of the rest, and soon the wind was roaring in his ears. He yipped like a coyote the whole way down, pedaling harder to pick up enough speed to crest the upcoming hill. He knew every rock and root of the Burgess Park as if it were a well-worn book, knowing where to go if caught in a rainstorm or the best hiding nooks for hide-and-seek. He'd like to come here when the others were busy to daydream and imagine himself being a knight or superhero, just like the ones in Saturday morning cartoons. But now his daydreams included Jack Frost, that he was a Guardian like them, protecting the realm of children against the evils of the night.

Jamie's bike rolled to a stop at his favorite clearing, tire treads biting into the dust of the trail. It was his favorite because not a lot of people knew about it. The older kids thought playing with sticks in the woods was a 'baby-fag' thing to do, and Jamie only showed his best friends the spot. A few days after Pitch fled with his tail tucked between his legs the boy had shown Jack the clearing. Only then did he remember Jack had been invisible and probably already knew about the place. Even in his child's mind he felt uncomfortable, until Jack chuckled.

"It's alright, kiddo," the Guardian had said, corners of his eyes crinkling. "It'll be my first time being properly invited."

Jamie had beamed, eager to show his new best friend his secrets, only thinking afterwards there had been something sad about Jack. But his child's wisdom was not enough to comprehend the weight of isolation the winter spirit had suffered, so in time he forgot about it, embracing Jack's games and tricks with ever-growing zeal.

The white-haired spirit was nowhere to be found. Jamie wasn't worried. The Guardian would come eventually, and when he did, he would take fun to a whole new level of awesome. Maybe Jack would freeze the stream and together they would slide across, whooping and hollering, until day faded into evening. Jamie swung his arms around and around, pretending to be a heroic American pilot on a dangerous mission. The daydream morphed into him being a Guardian like Jack, except his powers involved throwing flamethrowers from his palm. He leapt from rock to rock, shouting Bam! Bam! Bam! every time he scorched an enemy.

"Hello, Jamie."

The boy whirled around, enemies and powers forgotten. For a single shining moment he thought he heard Jack's voice, but then realized the speaker was nothing like his friend. It was a little horse, no taller than him, its satin coat the colour of spilled ink. Its wavy mane was the same colour as its body, glossy in the sun-dappled air. It clip-clopped out of the bushes on tiny round hooves, regarding the boy with frank regard. For a brief instant Jamie thought the horse had eyes like boiled eggs, white and bloated, but then the moment was gone. They were a cheerful blue, friendly. The boy felt himself relax.

"You can talk?" Jamie asked.

The horse tossed its head and, incredibly, Jamie could see its mouth stretching in a smile. Its flat teeth were very white. "But of course, silly. Who else would be speaking to you?"

Hope flared within him. "Are you a Guardian like Jack Frost and the Tooth Fairy?"

It whickered with delight and pranced closer. It smelled like fresh rainfall, clean and sweet. "Yes, like them!"

Any friend of Jack Frost was a friend of Jamie Bennett. The boy admired the flowing muscles and the small tussled forelock. It never occurred to him conversing with a talking horse may've been a sign he was crazy. This was a world of Guardians and Easter Bunnies and the magic of possibilities. Nothing was beyond the realm of reality. Jamie accepted the nature of the creature before him as easily as putting on his Keds.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" Jamie asked. "Are you friends with the Tooth Fairy? Can you fly? What kind of cool things can you do?"

The horse pealed laughter. "I like your pizzaz, kiddo."

Jamie extended a hand to shake, remembering too late he was talking to a horse. The voice was smooth and masculine, kind of like Jack's. It even called him 'kiddo', as Jack sometimes did. It was comforting. "I'm Jamie."

The little horse tossed its head in what Jamie could only assume to be a shrug. "I'm a bit of this, a bit of that. Do you like riddles?"

It was Jamie's turn to shrug. "I'm okay at them, I guess. I'm hopeless with the crossword puzzles in the newspapers, though."

The horse clicked its teeth in a chuckle, trotting a circle in a patch of sunlight. Its hide gleamed blues and greens and reds, like the iridescence crow feathers sometimes gave off when the sun hit them just right. "Not that kind of riddle. More like a surprise. Do you like surprises, Jamie?"

The boy's face lit up. "I love surprises!"

"I can tell you and I are going to be fast friends. Why don't you hop on and I'll take you to it."

Jamie took two steps forward before pausing. He looked around, searching for the white hair and frosted blue hoodie of his best friend. The treetops were empty, the boughs swaying ponderously in the breeze. He bit his lip.

"I dunno . . . I was kinda waiting for Jack Frost. We were supposed to play together."

The little horse whinnied. "Who do you think set up the surprise? Come on, he's waiting for us."

Jamie grinned. "Really?" He took another step forward.

"We don't want to be late for the party now, do we? Hop on. It's something to die for."

With the last of his reservations dying away, the boy went to the horse's side. Without thinking he extended the back of his fingers to its nose so it could catch his scent, like one would do to a dog or cat. The horse extended its little nose, its humid breath misting on his skin and tickling his hairs. Jamie giggled. He'd ridden ponies before, last summer when Sophie asked to go to the carnival for her birthday. There were pony rides for two dollars. He liked the smell of the fat little animals, their skin warm, their liquid eyes gazing at him beneath thick lashes.

Jamie stopped at its shoulder. The horse's rainwater scent was stronger now, thicker, as if mud was mixed in. But this wasn't the good earth-smell of a springtime thaw, but the undercurrent of heavy, sloughing muck found in the bottom of trenches. Jamie's nose wrinkled, but he didn't want to offend his new friend. Its skin was cool, as if it had been sitting in a cellar. Fisting the mane near the withers and the other hand on the spine, Jamie hoisted himself up. A little like a bike, he thought.

Jamie Bennett was still thinking about the connection between bikes and ponies when the horse's head twisted a full one eighty degrees around. The boy could only stare, open-mouthed, as the jaws parted. What had been equine teeth were now translucent and thin as fishbones. Ropes of gooey saliva spattered on his jeans. In a moment of insane clarity he could see little white bugs squirming in the liquid. He cried out in fear and revulsion and tried to get off, but to his horror found his seat was stuck fast to the horse's back. A horse's head can't do that, he thought. This wasn't happening. He was sleeping, this a bad dream, just a—

Nightmare.

Of course! The horse was Pitch's—this was Pitch's doing.

"I'm not afraid of you, Pitch!" Jamie shouted, but the horse-thing gnashed its jaws into a horrible, leering grin.

"It's just you and me, kiddo," it said, voice like rotting seaweed, and the fear returned like a thunderclap. Its face turned and Jamie saw its eyes were white like poached maggots, bulging. The foul trench-smell was a noxious cloud. Jamie's breath whistled between his teeth, his lungs too afraid to pull in air. He tried to swat the muzzle away but in a move quicker than his eyes could register it swallowed his arm and bit down. Jamie screamed as a gout of blood spattered his face and shirt, white-hot agony coursing through him. The chewing sounds were horrible.

The horse head began to melt like taffy, stretching and ballooning until it was twice as big as before. Its jaws opened, bits of his own flesh caught between its teeth. Its dark throat yawned and inside was eternity. Jamie shrieked again as the mouth bit down, this time at his chest. Something was cracking and tearing inside of him but the boy couldn't feel anything anymore.

He ebbed, drifting on gray clouds of shock, until the long jaws closed over his heart and tore it out.

Miles away, a shard of pain lanced through Jack Frost. He gasped, clutching at his midriff. He landed on the ground, the momentary hurt fading as suddenly as it came. He frowned, looking about in suspicion. His first spontaneous thought was it was Pitch's doing, but that was foolish. The Nightmare King was deep in his lair, roundly beaten. There was no one here but himself.

The forest around him was empty, the wind and the birds oddly absent for such a fine day. Jack breathed in deeply, smelling the rich aromas of the oncoming summer. Now with school almost done, the winter spirit would have all the playmates he could want, filling days with magic and fun abound. The familiar warmth that came with thoughts involving his new friends glowed in his chest. Being seen was the best thing that could've ever happened to him, he decided. To be finally part of something bigger than himself, no longer alone or on the outskirts.

Jack continued his way to Jamie's favorite spot in Burgess Park, flying high in the sheer blue of the sky. Maybe today he'd take Jamie flying so he'd know how it felt too. The winter spirit landed in the spot Jamie liked to park his bike. Sure enough it was there. Somehow it had upturned, one of its wheels spinning slowly in the air. Jack smiled.

"Jamie! You there?"

The wind was his answer, slow and wistful through the conifers. He's probably playing hide-and-seek, Jack thought. He tossed his staff from hand to hand and began to walk around, calling the boy's name intermittently. Jamie couldn't have picked a better spot. Very few people knew about it. They could have all the fun they wanted without interruption. One shot from his staff and the little stream froze solid. He hopped on it, sliding. He thought he saw something flash at the corner of his eye. He turned, grinning.

The grin died. His eyes widened with dawning horror as he saw a small lump of clothes.

"Jamie!"

In a single leap Jack was there, only then realizing he was standing in blood-soaked earth. He made a noise of deep disgust, a sound that fell away into frozen silence as he realized where all the blood had come from. He stared for a long time at the carnage, at the jagged ribs, at the pale face, seeing but not comprehending. He realized the buzzing in his head wasn't his imagination at all, but a cloud of flies. He thrust at them with his staff and they rose in a furious roar. One slash turned them all to snow. Jack turned back to Jamie's body, numb as ice. He slowly sank to his knees besides the remains of his first true friend, a part of himself withering like a frost-bitten leaf.

It was only later, when he was tenderly wrapping Jamie up, did Jack notice the tiny hoof prints.

.

.s.

.

Pitch paused what he was doing, shuddering under the sudden influx of power.

After months of hiding in his lair he had almost forgotten the delicious sensation fear brought him, and this one was more visceral than most. This was a child's mortal fear, fever-hot. Pitch basked in its glow, feeling strength he'd forgotten flow back into his limbs. The Nightmare King flexed his fingers, lips curling as he tested the newfound strength. Messing with the Sandman's dreams had been fun. Turning children's dreams into Nightmares had filled him with power, true, but terror in its purest form was something Pitch hadn't experienced in quite some time, not truly since the Dark Ages. He felt as if he'd scared a hundred children at once.

The Nightmare King glanced at the twisted bronze sheets of his globe, the familiar hatred biting him. It was a constant reminder of his failure, but as much as he wished to destroy it, a greater part whispered to keep it. The day may yet come where he could triumph over the Guardians and return fear to the world. The promise was tempting. It soothed the worst of his hurts as he licked the wounds of his defeat. He had lived long enough to know the tides would turn. Eventually the Dark Ages would return, and the Guardians would remember what it was to fear the night.

But as much as Pitch liked to dream, reality was a cold mistress. It had been months since he showed his face aboveground, his fearlings unyielding gaolers. Their yellow eyes narrowed whenever he tried to slip past. Pitch submitted to their rule only because he knew his strength would eventually return and they would once again fall under his command. That was the way of the universe, the great cycle of yin and yang, the never ending rise and fall of darkness and light. He was a patient creature. He could wait. His only regret was not being able to take his revenge sooner.

As he stared at the miniature world, it dawned on him one of the bright specks was absent. Had it been any other light, Pitch might've not noticed, but it wasn't any random glow: it had been the brightest one on the globe, a tiny molten sun. Jamie Bennett, the Boy Who Believed.

Pitch's mouth thinned. It had been his sorest spot, the true cause of his downfall. But it was gone now, snuffed. At first Pitch couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. That boy had believed in the Guardians when all others had fallen away. The dark spirit leaned in close, brushing at the empty spot with his long, narrow fingers. He eyed his gaolers. They seemed oddly restless, throwing their heads and half-charging at each other. One tried to take a bite out of another other. The victim in question squealed, flattening its ears. The Nightmare King watched their antics. Did they, too, sense the change in the air? Could they feel the power of terror thrumming inside him? He began to make his way towards them, crooning appeasement.

"Easy, easy girls. Whoa, there, shhhh."

As he expected all heads swiveled his way. He moved closer to his wayward charges, hands up in peace. One reared before falling quiet, blowing air. It trotted up to Pitch, tail swishing. It smelled of old fears but to Pitch it smelled of comfort. He shushed at it, resting a cautious hand on its nose. When the fearling didn't buck off his touch he continued his exploration, running his hands down the flanks and neck, muttering compliments all the while.

Others began crowding around. Pitch let them, laughing, reveling in the burst of newfound power. One child's terror wouldn't be enough for him to show his face, not yet, not when the Guardians patrolled the boundaries so vigorously. But it meant fear had returned to the world of children, and with it, his hope of vengeance.

TBC