Twelve Days of Christmas

Saturday, December 23rd

(Two days until Christmas)

When it came to cold, Sam could readily admit she was a wuss and a coward and any other word that might adequately express her distaste for it. Even if she loved living in Amity Park Sam didn't think she would ever like freezing her better bits off every winter. Despite Tucker and Danny's attempts to cheer her out of whatever melancholy mood had gripped her after the delivery of Doomed, Sam hadn't managed to shake it for them. Not that she tried very hard once Tucker devolved into speculating about what girl might be stalking her.

Sam had gotten her own back by telling him about the two girls she'd kissed. By the time she kicked him out, and Danny by contamination, he was near catatonic while Danny laughed at him.

The cruelty she'd dealt him had revived her somewhat; his expressions were too hilarious not to get some sense of sick pleasure out of it. But Sam hadn't tapped into the rush for very long. She'd said goodnight to her parents, ignored her mother's attempts at suggesting they go shopping this weekend, and scooped Shadow up to carry him up the stairs and to her room. She was asleep before her clock turned to eight, and she didn't stir at all barring shifting over so that Shadow could monopolize even more of the bed.

She slept past nine, though even once she woke she didn't get out of bed. Shadow was still sleeping, curled on his side so just a hint of his white underbelly was showing. Sam smiled and slipped her fingers gently through his fur. He was a precious little thing, already bonded to her well enough that he tended to follow her about like a shadow. He was aptly named, in appearance and habit. And a rescue, she knew, because he'd been neutered before she was given him.

That meant something to her, too, and more than she would have thought until she realized that Shadow was a rescue. It all meant something to her, because whoever was doing this knew her. She didn't meant that he-she-they-whatever actually knew her face to face, because, let's face it, Sam knew very well that she only really spoke to Tucker and Danny and Valerie. And she really, really hoped that Tucker or Valerie wasn't behind this.

That left it to be a total stranger, at least by Sam's standards. But they were putting serious effort into this, and that sort of frightened her. That someone she didn't know beyond a passing glance knew all of these things? What she liked, what she would appreciate, down the things that few people knew about her like her fondness for sapphires and her (not) obsession with Doomed? It was scary, and if it weren't for the fact that Sam knew very well that if anyone found out about Danny's secret, the whole world would know, she'd be more scared.

There were suspects. She knew this logically. Whoever it was had to know her, or at least associate with her to a degree. This meant it was most likely someone she went to school with. Sam could accept that conclusion easily, since she rarely spent time outside of school doing anything that didn't involve her best friends. So her first real clue was that they were a student of Casper High. She supposed she could get technical and add in anyone she'd attended school with since her freshman year, but Sam thought that taking it that far would be a step in the wrong direction. This person knew her well enough that they had to see her on a daily basis.

Her second consideration was the financial aspect of it. Any one gift by itself would feel extravagant for most of the Casper students, but saving wasn't an impossible task. Even then, though, when she added everything up to a solid numerical estimate, it seemed a little out there for her average classmate. The flowers, the edible flowers (which still made her smile), the jewelry. Sam didn't even bother with the adoption or donation gifts; those weren't necessarily expensive all on their own and, in all honesty, didn't disturb her much.

The tickets, and the game, did.

And that was her third problem. Not only did this person know her and was able to afford these gifts, but they knew people, because that's what it would take to get advanced items like these. Sam would know; she'd done it herself. Shadow stirred under her gentle petting, but when he didn't wake Sam turned her mind back to the mystery.

Sam herself had connections and money and a name that people outside of the average Amity Park citizen respected. Her family history wasn't all deli toothpicks like she'd led Danny and Tucker to believe. Nothing bad, thank god, or even embarrassing. Wallstreet was her family's friend, and there were many Manson's along the eastern seaboard that played stocks very well for the family fortune, letting them invest where interest found itself. Sam's interests tended to be more controversial than the rest of her family's, but that certainly didn't mean that she didn't know how to play the game. In fact, Sam had already taken a portion of her inheritance and invested it into a small technology company that was beginning to move up in the world.

But she had these things to trade on, not her admirer. It was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and tied with a conundrum. And it pissed her off.

"At least tomorrow is the twelfth day," she murmured as she finally dragged herself out of bed, her feet digging in to the fuzzy slippers at her bedside as she tugged on her robe. She clucked her tongue at the sleeping kitten. "Come on, Shadow," she told him as his eyes peeled open to show bright green and his head swiveled towards her. "Let's go get breakfast."

She was in the middle of hunting her own, Shadow happily pushing his nose into the soft food she'd given him, when the doorbell rang. She scowled as she recalled what Danny and Tucker (alright, mostly Tucker) had done to her last Saturday, but she headed to answer it. The water gun hidden behind her back as she opened the door was just… protection. The fib did little to assuage her conscience, so Sam ignored it.

"Good morning, Miss Manson."

She contemplated shooting him with the water gun, but given the fact that her personal delivery stalker was already coated in snow, the white flakes dusting out of the sky even trying to work their way into her house, Sam thought she could tolerate being nice. "It's Sam. Really, by now we should be on a first name basis."

He chuckled. "Not enjoying your holiday?" The package was held out and Sam took it with a tired smile.

"Let's just say I'm not a big fan of mysteries," she told him. She glanced up at the sky. "Well, merry Christmas."

The door was nearly closed when she heard his reply, but by the time she had the door open again he was already to his truck and working on starting it. It was hardly dignified to chase after him in her purple robe and fuzzy slippers. Then again, Sam knew that was only an excuse to avoid the cold that was already leaching the heat from the house and her body.

I'll see you tomorrow, Sam.

She scowled. At least someone was enjoying this.

She settled herself on the couch, the scraping sound of Shadows dish on the kitchen floor a faint amusement as she used a fingernail to slice through the packing tape. This gift wasn't wrapped, the blanket falling out on her lap in a warm, soft mass. It was softer than anything she had right now, and a dark, dark black with a purple checkerboard pattern along the edges that made her smile. It was thick and heavy and warm.

She spread it out to drape across her as she inspected it, unfolding the end still in the box as she went. Folded within that section was yet another card, this time holding a snapshot of the wind section of an orchestra. Even without counting Sam knew that there were eleven of them playing their flutes and oboes and whatever else the instruments were called. She counted them anyway, and ran her fingers across the card as she settled back, ensconced in the blanket.

"Right. I'll find out who you are tomorrow. You'd better hope I don't kick your ass."