The House That Jack Built

Chapter One: New Tricks

Sunlight. Snow. The laughter of children. These were the things that made up the world, and he couldn't be happier for it. He takes them all in as he watches them play; every spark of joy and surprise that flickers in their eyes, every little wrinkle in their rosy cheeks when they smile. He's running with them, through the snow banks, between the trees, across the canvas of this whitewashed world.

And he's so very happy. This is what he lives for, the thing that lifts his soul from every dark and heavy memory, that fills his heart with a glow the likes of which not even the sun itself could match. The thing that lives in the very core of him.

He pulls ahead of them, gliding across the ground as swiftly as water through a stream. A chase is in order! Further and further he runs, calling out to the tiny figures falling behind. Catch me if you can, he cries, and quickens his pace. Their footfalls grow fainter and fainter the farther he goes, and before long they fade away all together. He stops. Surely he hadn't gone that far? He turns back, eyes searching the pale landscape for them.

There they are, just past the tree line, standing silently together. There's no laughter among them, no joyful twitter. He makes his way back to them, face filled with concern. What's wrong? he asks, bending down meet their eyes.

But they don't look at him; they just shiver and hold their arms and sniffle, turning to each other with sunken eyes and chapped lips. And they begin to walk away.

He's dumbfounded. They're leaving? Without a word? He follows behind, reaching out a hand as white as snow to stop them. Wait. He calls again. Wait! He reaches for a little shoulder, desperate for an answer of any kind- and gapes in horror as his hand passes right through. He pulls it to his face and stares with eyes as wide as dinner plates. No, this wasn't supposed to happen. Not again, not after all he's been through! He reaches for another, and again he passes through them, as though he were a ghost. He watches with glistening eyes as they slowly shuffle away, fading into the pale oblivion of white that surrounds him. And then he's all alone. Just like before. Like he'll always be.

Jack woke with a start; his breath was rapid, his heart was racing, hammering furiously against his ribcage. His eyes darted wildly as he collected his thoughts. Just a dream, he realized, swallowing hard. That's all. He heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back, resting his head against the bark of his lofty bed. He dangled his feet over the sides of the branch and stared up at the rose tinted sky above. What a night; seventy-three snowstorms in less than eight hours, all across the northern hemisphere, being careful to avoid the major airports as best he could. All in the name of the Christmas spirit. How exactly North had convinced him to be the unofficial "Christmas snow" harbinger he couldn't even recall- probably used the old "think of the children" maneuver. And how could Jack say no to the children?

After ensuring that nearly every child north of the equator would awaken to the whitest of white Christmases the next morning, he'd made his way home on an icy current across the Pacific, fully collapsing from exhaustion in the branches of the highest tree he could find beside his lake. He wasn't planning on being disturbed for a long while after a night like that. But the dream he'd just had reminded him that some things would always find a way to disturb you, no matter where you hid. He scratched his head and yawned. Man, Sandy must have been off his game or something, giving him a dream like that. It was more like a nightmare.

Jack stood, stretching out his arms as high as they'd go above his head. Well, he was up now- might as well take a peek at some of the Christmas cheer he'd been bullied into spreading. He stepped casually off of the branch and plummeted a few short feet before soaring back up again, high above the tree tops. He looked out over the sleepy little town of Burgess, his once and future home, scouring the streets for any signs of activity. But it was still too early; the roads were barren, populated only by the blankets of snow he'd summoned last night. If he wanted to see anything, he was going to have to get closer.

He flew out into the middle of town, sneaking a peek in every bedroom window he passed along the way. There they were, little rumpled bedheads sticking out from beneath their blankets. Still asleep.

Not for long, though…

He stopped in front of one window and tapped on the glass. There was a little rustle as the girl inside stirred, pushing her covers up over her head. "Hey," Jack called to her, "sleepy head! C'mon, up and at 'em!"

With a violent jerk she sat upright, whipping her head left and right in search of her wake-up call's origin. Finally she caught sight of Jack in the window; a toothy smile crept its way across her freckled face as she leapt out of bed and sprinted to the sill. Jack gave a little wave as she threw the window open. "Is it a snow day?" she asked hopefully, propping herself up against the window frame. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think you'd be in school today anyway, kiddo," he said slyly. When she offered him nothing but a cocked head and a wrinkled brow in response, he added "Didja forget what today is?" She blinked twice, pursing her lips together. Then her eyes went wide; she gave a little gasp and darted out into the hallway, leaving Jack snickering outside her window. "Oh, they're so cute at that age," he giggled, pushing it closed with a blast of chilly air. He pulled around to the next house, jangling the icicles hanging off of the awnings; the house after that, he etched a festive "Merry Christmas" onto every frosted window. Before long the once sleepy town was alive and breathing: there were breakfasts to be made, bathrooms to be visited, and, most importantly of all, presents to be opened.

Jack saved his favorite stop for last. He dropped down into the Bennett's yard, kicking up a tiny whirlwind of flurries as he landed. He tiptoed cautiously up to the house, craning his neck to steal a glance through the window. Mom and Dad stood over the sink, having some kind of discussion or another- Jack couldn't really hear them over Sophie's cries of "Can we open presents yet? You said after breakfast we could open presents; it's after breakfast so can we open them now?" Jack smirked. No matter the time or the place, the thought to himself, kids were kids; there was no denying them their presents.

And there was Jamie, darting around the kitchen table, collecting everybody's dishes and carrying them over to the sink. He looked every bit as eager as Sophie to get to his gifts, but of course as the oldest, he had his responsibilities. Jack had to catch him before they started opening presents, or he might not get the chance to see him again today. He rapped his knuckles twice against the glass and ducked beneath the ledge. Jamie lifted his head; there on the window, barely visible on its foggy surface, was a tiny, intricately frosted arrow, pointing to the kitchen door. His heart leapt.

"Hey, Mom," he offered, "I'll take out the trash for you." His mother turned away from the sink, staring at him incredulously.

"You want to take the trash out? First thing in the morning?"

"Yeah," he piped. "I mean…" He snuck a peek over at the window. "Anything to help out, right?"

His parents stared at one another for a long moment. "I guess," his father replied, "but you know, we're going to have a lot more of it later today."

"All the more reason to take this load out now." He yanked the bag from the can and flung it over his shoulder. "That way we've got more room."

His parents were still exchanging curious looks as he closed the door behind him. Jamie shifted the bag to his other shoulder and stepped out into the yard. "Jack," he whispered, "where are you?" He took another step- and found his foot slipping out from underneath him, propelled forward by a sheet of ice that he was certain hadn't been there before. Without meaning to, he flung the trash bag into the air, pinwheeling his arms madly in an attempt to keep upright. He heard it crash to the ground just a second before he thought that he, too, would come crashing down, splayed out flat on his back in a powdery snowdrift. But just before he hit the snow, a pair of chilly hands wedged themselves beneath his arms, hoisting him to his feet. Jamie shot a look over his shoulder.

"Does that ever get old?" he asked, dusting off his jacket.

Jack gave a snort. "Not yet, at least."

"Jamie?"

The pair whirled around to face the now open window, where Jamie's mother stuck out her head, eyes wide with panic. "What happened?" she called to her son, oblivious to Jack's presence. A nervous laugh escaped Jamie's throat.

"Just a little icy, Mom!" he answered, reaching down for the trash bag once more. "I slipped. No big deal." His mother sighed with relief and shut the window, continuing her conversation with his father. Jamie tossed the bag over his shoulder again and gestured towards the aluminum cans resting on the far side of his house. "Wanna take this somewhere where I won't look like a crazy person talking to thin air?"

They made their way over to the trash cans, Jack pushing the snow aside with a wave of his staff to form a path for his young friend. Well, not so young anymore. As Jamie began the laborious process of stuffing the trash bag among its brethren, Jack took the time to give him a quick once over. The boy's once baby-like brown eyes had shrunk, it seemed, pushed upwards and tapered in by the sudden onset of his cheekbones. His limbs, always gangly and a little too long for their own good, had grown even longer; there was at least a good half an inch of his wrist poking out past his jacket cuff. Jack smiled to himself and leaned against his staff. Five years was a long time, in its own way- his little believer was growing up.

"Look at you," he marveled, gesturing up and down Jamie's skinny frame. "You're getting taller every day. You're a weed, buddy."

Jamie gave an unintelligible grunt as he dropped an elbow down on the mass of trash bags, packing them down just far enough to make a shallow nest for the most recent bag. He tossed the latest bag in and turned to Jack. "I think I'll be taller than you soon," he said with a smile, trying in vain to wedge the lid back onto the can. He eventually gave up and allowed it to rest lopsidedly on the top of the mound.

Again Jack snorted. "Um, excuse me?" He cocked his head and adjusted his grip on his staff.

"Well…" With one long stride, Jamie sidled up alongside Jack, placing one hand proudly on his hip; the other he laid flat against the top of his shaggy brunette locks. He slid his hand along in a straight line until it rested against Jack's neck. "And I've still got more growing to do." Another cheeky smile.

Jack's eyelids fluttered; he stuck his bottom lip out. "Is that so?" He took a step back, planting his staff firmly in the snow. He bent his legs and pushed off against the ground, pulling himself up onto the crooked bend atop his staff. He wiggled his toes as he gained his purchase, glancing down at his first believer. "There we go," he announced, spreading out his arms. "That's more like it." He turned his head, placing a hand as if to shield his eyes from the sun. "Hey, I can see your house from here." Jamie let loose a peal of laughter.

"Jamie!" From around the other side of the house, they heard his mother calling. "How long does it take to throw out the trash?"

The boy looked up at his frosty friend, making a face halfway between a grimace and a grin. "Gotta go," he whispered, shuffling down the path. Just before he rounded the corner he turned back to Jack, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "See you later," he called with a wave, more of a statement than a question. Jack smiled and waved back from his perch.

"Tell Sophie 'hi' for me."

And with that, Jamie was gone, out of sight around the corner, back to his Christmas and his family. Jack sighed. He had some time to himself, for a little while, at least; all of the children would be in their homes for some time to come, unwrapping their presents and basking in the glory and wonder that was promised them this time of year. But he knew for a fact that at least five of the children in town were getting new sleds this year- one of the perks of having an in with ol' Saint Nick himself. So Jack was contented to wait. Eventually they'd start itching for their freedom, for the feel of the snow crunching beneath their boots and the bite of an icy wind on their noses. Oh, yes, and when the time for that came, Jack would be more than happy to oblige.

In the meantime, however, he thought it might be nice to take a short rest by the lake; even he deserved a lazy day every now and then.

He touched down gently on the bank of his lake, casting a glance up at the now overcast sky. More snow later on today? he asked himself. Yeah, that sounded reasonable; there might be a great deal of it, too, judging by the thickness of the cloud cover. Actually, he thought, we might be in for a blizzard- look at how dark those clouds are. That was fine by him, though- a little blizzard once everybody was safely tucked away at home for the night? Just one more thing to round off that perfect Christmas day, snuggling up close to a loved one and watching the snow fall outside your window. Maybe he'd drop in on North while that was going on and steal a mug of cocoa or two; North always had a story to share, especially after his annual sleigh ride.

Jack stuck a toe out onto the ice. Better to make sure it was fully frozen, he decided, running the tip of his staff along the surface. He watched as the tendrils of frost snaked their way across the ice, curling in on themselves, forming a web of beautiful and impossibly intricate designs.

Before he knew it he was out on the ice, swinging his staff to and fro, sending shots of frost rocketing out across the frozen water. He skated like the finest champion from one end to the other in a wild and frenzied dance. The forest blurred around him as he span; nothing was real at that moment but him and the lake, and the limitless joy that consumed him like a flame. He was home. He was home, and he was free. What more could a winter spirit ask for?

Had he not been so enthralled, so drunk on the very thought of life itself, he might have noticed the serpentine slink of a shadow in a darkened corner.

"Hello, Jack."

Jack caught himself in mid-skate; he pushed his leg out, using the momentum from his intended glide to spin himself in the direction of the sinister voice. His fists clenched tightly around his staff; he raised his chin in defiance.

"Been a while, Pitch," he answered. He leveled his weapon at the shadow fiend's chest. "Though to be honest, we weren't expecting to hear from you for a few more decades."

Pitched strode out from between the trees, hands at his sides, palms open in a mock gesture of appeasement. "It never hurts to be a bit ahead of schedule," he purred, inching ever closed to the edge of the lake.

Jack tightened his grip. He and the other Guardians had been expecting Pitch's return eventually; fear could never truly be destroyed- it lived so long as there were things in this world that stirred it, things that urged parents to bolt their doors and close their shutters, things that left children sobbing into their pillowcases at night. But he thought they'd have more time than this. He steadied himself; he'd grown stronger since taking his Guardians oath, he knew. And Pitch had been out for the count for over five years- he was bound to be weaker than when they last met.

"Besides," Pitch continued, "I just couldn't keep away. Even down in my lair I could feel the radiant glow of the dreams of happy children, and the sweet warmth of hope and joy spreading about the globe like it did in days of old." His lip curled. "You can't imagine how ill it made me."

A little smirk pushed at the corner of Jack's mouth. "How were things down there, by the way?" Tempting the sovereign of darkness might not have been the wisest idea, but Jack was feeling brave today.

Pitch didn't miss a beat. "Oh," he retorted, "not much to tell, really. The first few years were a blur of unspeakable horrors and twisted memories; never ending plummets into a merciless abyss, hollow faces staring with empty eyes- the usual." He slunk onto the ice, keeping his limbs in close, his spine erect; he was every inch a dignified gentleman. "But there are only so many horrors that I have not already seen, so after a time the nightmares withdrew, and they once again realized who their master was." He stopped a yard or so in front of Jack. "And after a thing like that, what's a man to do?"

Jack kept his gaze on the shadow before him, martialing his strength, should the need for it arise. "Take up a hobby?" he replied sweetly. Pitch's lips twitched, stretching his gruesome mouth into a terrifying smile.

"You know, Jack, that's exactly what I've done." He raised a hand, signaling to something behind the boy. The young Guardian whirled around just in time to fire an icy bolt into the chest of the oncoming nightmare, exploding the dark and twisted thing into a shower of glittering specks above his head. He turned to Pitch, blowing gently at a grain of sand as it drifted before his nose. He gestures around him and shrugged.

"Barely touched me," he boasted, taking a step towards his nemisis.

Pitch didn't seem disturbed by the destruction of his nightmare- quite the opposite, he looked positively thrilled; another horrid smile had crept its way across his face.

"Barely is all I need," he said softly. He waved a hand at Jack and stepped back. "Tell me, Jack; are you familiar with a certain homily concerning old dogs?"

The winter spirit let out a breathy laugh. "You should out them out to pasture?" he started to ask- when suddenly he was struck with a terrible stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes. "Ngh!" He pressed the heel of his hand sharply against his eye, in an attempt to stifle the pain. But it didn't help; the pain just kept growing, spreading, 'till it felt like his eyes were on fire. And it didn't stop there. It swiftly worked its way up to his temples, back along towards his ears. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his scalp in vain.

"What did you- AUUUUGH!" Another wave of agony wracked his skull, sending him into convulsions on the hard and unforgiving surface of the frozen lake. As he shook and spasmed, Pitch loomed over him, smiling contentedly at his handywork.

"This is more entertaining that I thought it would be," he beamed, stepping around his fallen foe. "I could leave you like this, I think, if I wanted to." He knelt down to Jack's twisted and twitching form, pressing his face as close as he dared to the boy's own. "Let you feel what I've felt over these past years for a few centuries or so," he snarled, face contorted with rage and spite. But then his features softened; he glanced along the length of Jack's agonized frame, seemingly coming to a conclusion of sorts.

"However," he cooed, gently stroking the side of Jack's face with the backs of his fingers. "I think you'll find that I am far more merciful then either you or your fellow Guardians. For example…"

And just like that, the pain melted away; there was no longer the horrendous stinging gone. And in its place was… giddiness? Contentment? Delight? He struggled to understand this new development. Was he happy that the pain was gone? Certainly, but it was more than that; a feeling he never even imagined could overtake him, something so unprecedented and vile to him that the mere thought of it made him sick-

He was happy that Pitch was there.

Here he was, sprawled out on the ice after this monster had tortured him, weak and brutalized- and helpless, he realized; in his convulsions he'd dropped his staff somewhere beside him- and he was happy for the wretched thing's company. His eyes darted madly over the cold surface of Pitch's pale face, taking in every wrinkle, every pore, willing himself to hate the fiend with every fiber of his being- and he couldn't.

"Now isn't that better?" Pitch asked, brushing back a lock of Jack's snowy hair from his face. Yes, though the boy serenely. It is so much better. The world went hazy as his eyes lost focus- he was drifting to sleep…

"NO!" he cried, regaining his senses. He scrambled away from the shadowy figure, reaching out, searching for his staff. He caught sight of it and lunged towards it, only to have Pitch swoop in from out of the corner of his eye and kick it away, sending it skittering across the ice to the other side of the lake. Jack crumpled back to the ground; the fight was fading from him fast.

"Oh, no," Pitch reprimanded. "You don't get that back until we're all through here." He knelt down once more and cupped Jack's chin in his hand. "It'll all be over soon, Jack. And then you and I are going to have the time of our lives, just the two of us." He gave a little smile. "Now doesn't that sound nice?"

"No," Jack moaned, trying and failing to beat down the growing feelings of joy and elation rising up within him. Oh, the things he wanted to do- terrible, heartless, destructive things. He wanted to crush a living thing in his bare hand just to see it squirm- he wanted to raise a wind to cold and so fierce that it could steal the very breath from a person's lungs. He wanted to blanket the world in a cozy layer of ice and keep it all to himself. Well, not just himself; no, he would share it with only one other. He shuddered as these thoughts crept their way into his mind, powerless to stop their advance. He made one last, fleeting attempt to hold onto his sanity.

Pitch smiled again; such a warm, comforting smile. "Jack," he pleaded, "just give in."

And so Jack did.

Pitch stood, taking a few steps back from the unconscious boy at his feet. He placed his hand to his chest in relief. His plan had worked. It had actually, truly and completely, worked. For a brief moment he was overcome- a tiny portion of him had expected the nightmare sand to be ineffective on the young Guardian. After all, who knows what new defenses they might have concocted since his imprisonment? He smiled to himself; but even the mightiest warrior had their limits- and the Guardians were no exception. For all their power, for all their bravado, their bodies were still as vulnerable as and human's in their own way. They couldn't protect every inch of themselves, no matter how hard they tried. All it took was a few grains of twisted dream sand; they'd wriggled into the corners of Jack's eyes and made their way along his optic nerve until they reached his brain. Then, all it took was a little precise manipulation of the frost spirit's gray matter until he got the results he wanted.

"Hmn…" Jack stirred; his body shifted, his eyelashes fluttered. Pitch glanced over at the staff laying a dozen or so yards away. He summoned another nightmare to fetch it while he helped Jack to his feet.

"How are you feeling, Jack?"

The boy steadied himself and turned to meet Pitch's gaze. Pitch saw in those eyes a most terrible and marvelous thing indeed; Jack's pupils had seemed to bleed out into the icy blue of his iris, writhing and contracting and expanding like a living thing. There lay in that inky mass the smallest sparkle betraying their sandy origins.

Jack's face twisted in a look of pretend distain; he held out his hand to receive his staff from the nightmare trotting up to him. As he took his totem back, he gave the steed's ears a playful tussle. "Kinda bored, actually," he replied, stuffing his free hand into his hoodie's pocket.

Pitch smirked. "So what's the plan, then?"

Jack pondered for a moment, gazing up at the dark and foreboding blanket of clouds above. The he turned to Pitch with a wicked grin.

"Let's hit the town."

The nightmare king laughed; it started off slowly, tiny hiccups of sound seeping through his jagged teeth, and then it grew, first to a chuckle, then a throaty wheeze, until it became a terrifying roar that shook the trees. Shoulders shaking, head tossed back, he laughed for minutes on end, until finally his breath was spent, and he leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, while the last spurts of laughter escaped his mouth.

"Now that," he exclaimed, grinning up at Jack, "sounds like fun!"

TO BE CONTINUED…