So far, people are enjoying the interactions between Pitch and Lucy. I'm glad to hear it. And while we'll get back to them eventually, this chapter is going to start off with someone else. Please enjoy.
The darkness of the new moon offered him protection and secrecy. After just regaining his freedom, he was not eager to catch the attention of the Man in the Moon so soon. He did not intend to be locked away again.
He found the ones he sought easily enough. They lurked in the wild and dangerous corners of the world and there were plenty that dwelled near his alpine mountains. They spent much of their time in solitude or in pairs, but they would come together with the rest of their packs during certain times of the year. When the hunting grew thin and they needed to work together or when something caught their interest, the pack would unite under the command of their leader for a time. And he made certain to spark that interest as he entered the forest not far from his mountains.
He marched into the center of the group of creatures, chains and bells jingling with each step. He did not meet their eyes. Not out of fear, but because he felt no need to assert his dominance. Yet.
A few stared at him in a predatory fashion, their minds already imagining sinking their teeth into him. But those were the younger members, the ones with less experience and knowledge. The older ones knew he was a hunter too and just as dangerous as them. They saw the thick fur, the large horns, the long tongue that often coiled out of his fanged mouth, his sharp claws, and his bulky size and they recognized his strength. He might feast on children, but he could take on any member of the pack.
Ogres were large creatures, even compared to him or the bandit from the North. They were built like predatory gorillas, bulkier and more vicious than yetis. Their fangs jutted out far more than his ever did and shaggy fur far longer than his covered their arms, legs, their lower bodies, and the top of their heads. Depending on where they preferred to hunt, ogres could be various shades of greens and browns for a forest, grays and blacks for the mountains, or even white for those who hunted at the highest peaks. With fangs and claws, ogres would hunt and eat anything that caught their attention. But they particularly favored the taste of humans; the younger, the better.
He shared that preference.
Taking a step forward and sniffing the visitor's scent deeply, the tallest, strongest, largest, and clearly oldest ogre present stared at him. The creature's fur was black and his skin was dark gray. On this moonless night, he nearly vanished into the darkness with only the slightest gleam of his red eyes and the visitor's excellent vision giving him away. The yellowing of the ogre's teeth, his size, his faded scars, and the intelligence in his expression betrayed his advanced age. He was clearly the leader of the pack. Perhaps even one who dominated the other pack leaders when the groups came together.
Most ogres were dumb brutes, but pack leaders were smarter. Advanced age brought even ogres a certain amount of wisdom. Pack leaders were always the most experienced, the shrewdest, and deadliest ogres and they ended up that way by surviving for a very long time.
This was who he was looking for. This was the one that would have to be convinced.
"You know who I am," he said without preamble. "You know what I am. You've heard the stories."
"You are Krampus," growled the ogre. "You hunt the children of man when the winter grows cold and the night grows long."
"The naughty children," he corrected. "That's the difference between you and me. You hunt the humans indiscriminately and are called 'monsters.' And because you are considered monsters, those that guard humanity will try to destroy you. I am more selective about my prey, providing a reason for why I hunt them. If there is a reason for why I choose those children, then it is punishment for something they did and I am not to blame. It gives my presence a purpose, an excuse. It makes me a legend and warning instead of a mere monster. And that provides protection for my hunting."
"Legend or monster, they are mere words. You are a hunter. You are the last of your kind. You are clever and dangerous, letting you survive when others have fallen over the centuries." He sniffed deeply again with his large nose before giving a nod of approval, one hunter to another. "I am Shadowfang, pack leader. What brings you to our pack on this moonless night? Do you come to bargain, hunt, or fight?"
"A bargain more than anything else. I need assistance in preparing for December. There will be so many children, more than ever before. And some may not be happy at first with my return. You have the strength I need to make my lair better suited for my purposes and to guard what is mine," Krampus said. "In exchange for your service, some of the naughty children that I bring back that night will belong to you and your pack."
"Tender man flesh?" asked another ogre, younger and less articulate. "Bones to gnaw? Meat to tear?"
"We help you with our strength and power and you give us the young delicious flesh of man? The best and rarest prey to catch? And you shall bring them to us and we will not have to hunt them?" said Shadowfang. The grin that spread across his face was both pleased and predatory. "A good bargain for our pack. One that could make us strong and fit when winter falls. But we have traditions. You are not of our pack. You have not proven your strength. You are not an ogre."
Nodding slowly, Krampus said, "If that is the way it must be, then I shall earn my place."
The air filled with the sounds of growls and roars. Some of the ogres smacked the ground in front of them, whooping and calling out in anticipation. Krampus tightened his grip on his thick birch rod as Shadowfang flexed his short claws.
He did not have to win to become part of the pack. He merely had to prove he was strong to these creatures, to prove that he could hold his own. But Krampus knew that he needed more than that. If he wanted the ogres to obey and work for him like the yetis and elves did for the bandit, he would need to be accepted as the new pack leader. Leadership went to the strongest and most dangerous member. Leadership was decided by who won this fight.
With a roar meant to chill the blood of man, the ogre dropped to all fours and charged. Krampus dashed forward on cloven hooves, a downward swing of the birch rod striking Shadowfang's limbs sharply and tripping his opponent. As the ogre hit the ground with a pained snarl, Krampus leapt up and landed nimbly on his shoulders. Balancing as easily as a mountain goat on the side of a cliff, he took advantage of his elevated position to rake his claws across Shadowfang's face.
"Graugh!" shouted the ogre in pain and fury, swiping his long arms in an attempt to dislodge his opponent.
But Krampus didn't wait for a retaliating strike. He might possess longer and sharper claws than ogres, but even the short ones would sting. He leapt off Shadowfang just before impact while still landing a sharp blow with the birch rod. Krampus hit the ground as the ogre climbed to his feet. With more speed than his bulky coat, chains, and bells would suggest, Krampus launched himself at Shadowfang. Head lowered, he rammed his horns into the ogre hard enough to knock him back and down.
Slashing with one clawed hand and wielding his birch rod with the other, Krampus struck hard and fast against Shadowfang while the ogre tried to get back up. Blood and painful welts quickly decorated the ogre's arms, chest, and face. He was too fast and brutal to let Shadowfang gain any ground. Only when the ogre stopped trying did Krampus break off his attack.
The point wasn't to kill Shadowfang. Krampus only needed to win.
Glaring at the other ogres to ensure none of them got any ideas, Krampus circled the clearing. Some flinched when they met his gaze while others roared in excitement.
"I am your new pack leader," declared Krampus. "Whenever you leave your solitary lives to gather, it is I who you shall obey. Does anyone dispute this claim?"
"No," Shadowfang said, slowly climbing to his feet. "You are our new leader. We will lend you our strength and you will give us the children of man when you catch them."
Grunts and growls of approval filled the air as the other ogres supported his words. Krampus grinned at his success. The old bandit might have his workers, but now Krampus had his own. But they were more than mere laborers. They were an army, something to keep the Guardians at bay should they decide to interfere rather than admit he should be allowed to fulfill his role in the world.
Having a personal little supply of fear that he could depend on was rather useful. At any point in the day, there was a reasonable chance the little girl would be at least slightly afraid. She had too many common fears to avoid that state for very long. If he felt tired or low on power, he could go bask in her fear for a while. But even if he kept returning, Pitch tried to keep out of sight and not talk to the child again. He didn't want to keep having more fragmented memories dredged up by the slight similarity in appearance to someone else. He simply wanted a reliable power source. That's all.
But even if he tried to avoid her attention, he got the feeling that the girl realized when she was being watched. No matter what dark corner he hid in, her eyes seemed drawn towards Pitch. She didn't always spot him before he melted into the shadows. He wasn't even sure the girl spotted him at all, but she certainly tried. The fearful child kept searching for the Boogeyman while he kept mostly out of sight.
Pitch managed to catch glimpses of the other members of the household during his sporadic visits. The parents were caring and supportive people who clearly loved their children and each other. They held no real phobias and only felt faint traces of the more common parental and adult fears, like having something harm their children or a random accident striking. They did their best to encourage their children and ease the girl's fears. Though Pitch would have preferred for them to stop trying to convince her that there was no such thing as the Boogeyman. He also saw the infamous Ben, a boy around seven or eight years old and clearly Lucy's brother. The boy teased, provoked, and insulted his sister, but less than with some siblings. Ben feared rejection by his peers, feared snakes, and feared nameless things with too many teeth. The boy hid those fears well, burying them deep and trying to ignore them, but the faint whisperes of fear still reached Pitch.
The girl remained his main focus though. Her fear remained the most potent in the household and she believed in him. And she was a child, their fears and belief more intense than adults. That combination made her more appealing than most members of humanity. Pitch knew he couldn't reach the levels of strength he held a few months ago or back during the Dark Ages. At least, he wouldn't be able to return to that amount of power any time soon. But her fear and the gradually returning fears of the other children were slowly restoring him to a state that Pitch didn't worry about a possible encounter with the Guardians. He wouldn't win a fight, but he would at least survive long enough to escape. And that made his time spying on the girl worth the effort.
So once again Pitch materialized in the shadows of her closet and turned his attention to the room. Her nightlight glowed, there was no storm, and the child slept. She didn't tremble or fight tears. The girl rested soundly in her bed. All her fears were quieted down. At the moment, there was only her belief to strengthen him. Lucy's presence served as a bright little light among those who tried to deny his existence. It might not give him the power that fear provided, but it was still nice. It was nice to be acknowledged, to be seen.
He shook his head at the memory of what happened right before the Nightmares attacked, when the children lost enough fear and belief in the threat of the Boogeyman that he vanished from sight. It wasn't just being ignored and forgotten, though that was bad enough. He was invisible and intangible to them, letting those children walk right through him. The sensation was awful. Whenever someone walked through a Guardian, spirit, elemental, or other similar entities, they would be hit with an aching despair, a gapping emptiness that felt like it would swallow them, and the sense that they were worthless and barely deserved to exist. No one enjoyed those moments. The experience didn't physically hurt, but Pitch planned to avoid a repeat any time soon.
A golden glow from the window made him edge back into the shadows of Lucy's closet. A tendril of Dream Sand floated in and coiled down to the sleeping girl. Shapes of tiny animals scurried and danced above her head as she dreamed, but the Sandman didn't come to examine the room. There were too many dreams and children in the world to give them all individual attention.
Pitch eased his way across the child's room now that he was certain that no one would be interrupting. He leaned over the girl's head, watching the golden Dream Sand swirling above. It would be simple to corrupt them into nightmares. His fingers hovered above the Dream Sand before he even realized he'd moved. With a single touch, the girl's pleasant dreams could be changed into something darker and more frightening. And once Lucy was trapped in a nightmare, he would have a nice little spike of fear to enjoy. It would be so easy.
And yet his hand remained above her, not touching the Dream Sand. He couldn't explain why he hesitated. He came to her room that night specifically to pick up a little extra strength from the girl's fear. And unless he intended to wake her up and terrorize her directly, twisting her dreams into nightmares would be the easiest way to get it. He should corrupt the Dream Sand and go ahead with his entire reason for showing up.
Actually, Pitch wasn't even certain why he'd stayed around for so long already. When he arrived and found the girl sleeping, but before Sandman made his rounds, he should have taken action or left. There was no reason to linger when her fears remained buried by her peaceful slumber. He didn't think about it before, but now Pitch couldn't help wondering why he stayed. There was no benefit for him to remain and he was courting the chance of another paralyzing flashback.
Perhaps the reason he remained near Lucy, the little light, in the first place was the same reason why his fingers still hovered above the Dream Sand. He still couldn't bring himself to touch the golden shapes of a cat, a rabbit, and a bird twirling above her head. Pitch may have spent several centuries provoking fear for no reason, but he just couldn't do the same thing to the girl. Use the fear she naturally possessed? Yes. Frighten her beyond that point simply for his own use? No. Whether because the Nightmares' attack removed that impulse along with a portion of the corruption or because she looked superficially like another little girl from so long ago, Pitch didn't want to do it.
He slowly drew his hand away from the Dream Sand, leaving it bright and golden. The girl slept on, completely oblivious to his presence. She was so small and vulnerable; she was a child he'd observed to be fearful of so much of the world. Honestly, beyond her general appearance, she was almost nothing like his bright and bold daughter. And yet watching the small child curled up under her blanket with a colorful toy, the scene reminded Pitch of those long lost days.
The differences between Lucy and his daughter were harder to notice while she slept. Without fear radiating off her and her light-brown eyes hidden, he could almost pretend this was light years away and thousands of years ago. For a moment, Pitch could almost pretend he was the man he once was.
This time, he didn't try to resist the memories. He let them wash over him.
…He made it home far later than normal, dragging himself into the house long after the lights were extinguished and the inhabitants slept. The last several days had been exhausting and filled with desperate fighting. They barely quelled a Fearling invasion that flared up before pirates tried to exploit the resulting vulnerability. Even with the close calls, he made it home.
Exhausted and sore, he wanted to crawl into his bed beside his wife. His body desperately needed rest. He'd been pushing himself too hard for too long. But he couldn't sleep. Not yet. There was one last thing for him to do first.
He eased the door open and looked inside. His daughter's room demonstrated she hadn't listened to her mother about cleaning up a little. Toy ships, drawings of the nearby asteroid fields and the stars, and dolls remained scattered across her floor. He would need to remind her to straighten up in the morning. But even with that thought and the weariness weighing him down, he couldn't help smiling.
Tucked beneath her blankets and breathing slowly as she slumbered peacefully, his daughter didn't even twitch as he stroked her black hair. She was so beautiful, precious, and innocent. He loved his bright and wonderful little girl. There were thousands of reasons why it was important for him to go out and fight. But protecting his family, protecting his daughter, was the reason that kept him going even when the battles seemed hopeless and the forces too great. He always made it home because they needed him to.
As he stroked her hair again, his daughter stirred briefly under his hand and mumbled, "Daddy?"
He didn't want her to wake up fully in the middle of the night, so he did the same thing he did when she was a tiny baby. He hummed a lullaby, a familiar tune about a beautiful girl made from a wish with hair black as night, eyes that shone like stars, and who always danced just out of reach. Everyone knew the soft and sweet song about a dream girl who became real. It was a common one taught to every child. But if there was one thing guaranteed to ease her back to sleep, it would be that lullaby.
And just as he predicted, the tune soothed the girl and she settled back down. He stroked his daughter's hair a few more times as he continued to hum the familiar tune…
He didn't realize he'd started humming out loud until Lucy smiled in her sleep. The tune was being heard on Earth for the first time. That thought made him pause briefly.
The song, once spread across the stars, was now only known by a handful of souls. It was barely remembered. Almost everyone who would have once grown up with the quiet lullaby would be long dead. The civilizations that would have passed it on were now gone or at least scattered. The Golden Age ended.
So many lives cut short. So many deaths because of him. And not all of them were after the Fearlings possessed him.
…Fearlings were considered the most dangerous threat that he dealt with. Creatures of fear and darkness, they would attack any settlement that they could reach. And while they could take and convert anyone they chose, consuming their souls and changing them into another Fearling to increase their numbers, they had a preference for children.
Children's emotions, dreams, and belief were more powerful than adults and their people learned to harness that power long ago. And that made children more appealing targets for the Fearlings. The children made stronger Fearlings overall and their souls provided a better feast. They were a dangerous threat that would never stop and would always go after their precious children, so the general and his men fought back relentlessly.
But there were others that tried to diminish this Golden Age. Though the Fearlings would always be the greatest threat, there were those who sailed the stars in order to steal and raid. When he did not face Fearlings, he and his men would often hunt for dream pirates.
Word of a pirate raid reached him, far closer than he was comfortable with. His vessel and his men were already prepared to leave. They needed to handle the pirates quickly: capturing, killing, or at least driving them off. He couldn't let them start raiding so close to his home.
Unfortunately, his daughter wasn't happy about him leaving again so soon. He'd barely returned from their last fight against the Fearlings. She knew that protecting the people from harm was important. She knew her father was needed to fight against evil. But that knowledge didn't make it any easier when he was gone for long stretches of time. Or when he was called away abruptly.
The look on her face, pouting and sullen, made his heart twist a little. She'd wanted to go sailing with him in the morning. She'd wanted to spend the whole day with him. And he was disappointing his daughter by leaving so soon. He didn't want to, but there was no other option. Both his duty as a general and his duty to protect his family compelled him to go.
Kneeling down to face her, he said gently, "I'll be back soon."
He smiled at his daughter encouragingly and brushed the black hair out of her face. He saw a slight softening of her expression. She couldn't stay mad for long. She was too much of a joyful child to hold a grudge over this for long. A joyful, wild, and fearless child that anyone father would be proud to claim. By tomorrow she would forgive him and undoubtedly sneak out for adventures on her schooner. Hopefully she would stay close and not worry her mother too much. And he would make everything up to her when he returned.
"Promise?" she asked, letting a little hope for his quick return slide into her expression.
Meeting her eyes firmly, he answered, "On my soul."
She briefly hugged his neck. Then he stood and turned to his waiting ship, hearing his wife call their child back to the house. He resisted the urge to turn and look back at them. Leaving was always hard. But it shouldn't take long to handle a few raiding pirates. He would see them again in almost no time…
…Denial, horror, and desperation fought for dominance as the ship docked in front of his home. Smoke poured from the building, but the attackers were long gone. His men called out to him, trying to remind him of caution. He didn't listen, already running and shouting for his family.
The rooms were ransacked, everything broken or scorched by the pirates. The accursed pirates. How dare they? Why did no one realize it was a trick until too late? They lured him away on purpose. They planned this. They wanted revenge for all the raids interrupted by "the great general." And he was terrified that the damage would be more than just the building.
The silence made it worse. No matter how much he called out for them, no one answered. He couldn't find them. With every room he searched and found only shambles, he grew more desperate. One thought kept repeating in his head. Please let them be all right. Just let his wife and child be safe.
Then his fears began to come true when he caught sight of a stain on the wall. Blood. Splattered on the wall was blood and more led down the hall.
He knew. He tried to cling to hope, tried to deny what the evidence from the blade marks on the walls and the trail of blood truly meant. He tried to believe he wasn't too late. Even as he followed the trail up the stairs to the broken-in door to his daughter's room, part of him still refused to give up. They had to be all right because anything else was unthinkable.
He then saw the inside of the room and all that desperate hope revealed itself to be a cruel lie. Every fear he'd ever felt seemed to be coming true, leaving him gutted and horrified. His daughter's room was ravaged. Toys and furniture lay broken all around. The bed was shredded. His daughter's sanctuary had been violated and destroyed. And his family was still missing.
This was his fault. He should have been there to protect them. He should have kept them safe. And the pirates only attacked because of how many times he and his men fought them. All of this was because of his actions and choices. It was completely his fault.
The blood trail led to the window. A broken window that he knew overlooked a long drop outside. A coldness swept over him. The general wasn't a coward by any definition, but he was now terrified of that window. He didn't want to face what he would see below. He didn't want to admit they were… gone.
But he had to look. There was no other choice. Even as his eyes burned and his throat tightened, he moved towards the window. And when he looked down—
"Pitch Black?" a sleepy voice said, interrupting the memory and yanking him back to the present.
The girl stared up at him blearily as she rubbed her eyes, the thread of golden Dream Sand snapped and scattered by her awakening. Her brown eyes instead of the golden ones of another child helped ground him in the current time, reminding him that he was no longer in that ransacked house searching for something that could not be found.
He tried for so long not to think about that day, trying to bury it away where he would not have to face it again. He possessed so few complete memories after the Fearlings, but this was one he would have preferred to lose. Even when she sparked other memories, Pitch thought he would escape reliving that particular one. He knew it happened and couldn't completely forget, but he managed to keep the memory at bay for a time until the girl inadvertently brought it forward. The same girl now looking at him, tired and confused.
"What're you doing here?" she mumbled. "M' not scared."
She rubbed her face again. Lucy was barely awake, her fears still buried. And with her nightlight, there would be little to yank them free. She wasn't really aware enough at the moment to be afraid, but that could easily change. He knew that. It wouldn't take long for her to shrug off the lingering effects of sleep and start growing anxious about the Boogeyman being in her room again.
"Are… are you all right?" she asked, sounding a little more awake.
Pushing aside the brief surprise and bemusement at the idea of someone asking that question of the Boogeyman, he said, "Return to your nauseatingly-pleasant dreams. I have no business with you tonight and only came out of curiosity. Do not concern yourself further."
"Huh?" she mumbled.
Something caught his attention, pulling his gaze briefly towards the window. He narrowed his eyes as he realized it was movement that he saw. There was something out there.
"Go back to sleep, Lucy," said Pitch. "I was just leaving."
"M'kay," she murmured, her head settling back on her pillow and her heavy lids sliding shut. "Nighty-night, Boogeyman."
He didn't respond the childish farewell. His attention was on the dark shape outside the window. Even looking down at the backyard, without even moonlight to brighten the scene, Pitch recognized the figure. He vanished into the closest shadow of the girl's bedroom and materialized outside her home.
He walked across the lawn slowly, staring at the dark figure. This would need to be handled carefully. Experience taught him caution.
"So, did you follow me here this evening or have you been stalking the child as well, drawn by the little light's normal state of fear?"
The Nightmare snorted as she pawed the ground. But unlike normal mares, she had no fur. She appeared more skeletal or reptilian in form. The horse-shaped figure was crafted by corrupted Dream Sand, the grains just as black as they were Easter. Her ears flickered back a few times, showing unease. But it didn't act scared of him or aggressive. The Nightmare was merely cautious of him just as Pitch was of the creature.
"I haven't seen any of you since Easter," he continued carefully. "I know most of you returned to the Sandman when the Dream Sand was restored, but a few of you still exist. I know because you turned on me when you sensed my fear and what the Fearlings did to me. Do you know where the rest of your herd vanished?"
The Nightmare snorted and shook her head, black sand streaming behind her. Glowing eyes met glowing eyes firmly. Taking a chance, Pitch stretched out a hand towards the creature.
"You are my creation. And even if you turned against me, you are mine. I do not intend to live in fear of what is mine."
He didn't fear his Nightmares. Not anymore. He was cautious of them and aware of the danger they presented if they chose to attack him again, but he did not truly fear them. He'd recovered enough power to handle one should she attack Pitch. And besides, they tore away some of the Fearling corruption that threatened to consume him. Even if it was agonizing and horrific, he was better off now that he was before.
The Nightmare hesitated briefly. Then she snorted and butted her nose against Pitch's hand. The Boogeyman smirked before reclaiming control of the corrupted Dream Sand. The Nightmare dissolved into a cloud of black particles that Pitch directed, shaping and twisting it around him. He crafted shields, spikes, a scythe, and finally a sword before restoring the corrupted Dream Sand back into a Nightmare.
"Very good," said Pitch. "Welcome back… Onyx."
Newly named, Onyx snorted and tossed her head. The Nightmare trotted around Pitch a few loops before coming to a stop in front of him. He rewarded Onyx with a few strokes to her neck.
Feeling more like himself and calmer than when he was in the girl's room, Pitch said, "Come along, Onyx. I'm certain we can find some frightened children somewhere else. But leave the Sandman's work alone. We don't need an army anymore and we mustn't draw attention."
Once again, Onyx tossed her head in a manner that could be interpreted as a nod. Pitch gained a half-smile. Things were certainly improving. Even regaining control of a single Nightmare offered a few more possibilities.
Spent some time trying to work out the approximate heights of characters. That was interesting. For the Guardians, I decided to go with Bunny being about 6 foot 1 inch (not including his ears or what he can achieve when he stretches himself), Tooth being around 5 foot 4 inches, Jack Frost ended up approximately 5 foot 10 inches, Sandy being only 3 foot 10 inches, and North reaches about 7 foot 6 inches. For symmetry, Krampus will also be 7 foot 6 inches. The ogres end up being between 9 and 10 feet tall and built like professional football players. And Pitch can make himself look bigger when at his full strength, but his average height seems to be around 6 foot 3 inches. Just in case you're interested.
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