Advent Calendar - Day 21 Fiction by Almathea!

 

More fiction! I'm honestly so happy and grateful for all these generous contributions for our writer-reader friends! It's made this calendar such a special one.

So this morning we have another fiction offering. This giftie comes from Almathea.

Disclaimer and warning : 

Though it is a Christmas story -kind of- it is a darker one that way trigger some people. There are heavy mentions of suicide and a lot of grief. So if this is a trigger for you, please do not read further.
This is also a coda I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, because it directly follows the ending of one of my very favorite books by Josh. But one I was not prepared to write before because of its mix of dark themes and very personal use of Dickens. It is a weird headspace to be stuck in.
Please, keep in mind that English is not my native language so any mistake or heavy sentence is due to lacuna of the language on my part.
Still I hope you will like it as I promise you hope and mystery at the end. ^^

 

THE HAUNTED HEART : A DARKER CHRISTMAS CAROL

When I finally climbed into bed I could hear Kirk playing his guitar downstairs.

I turned out the lamp ans stared at the pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. The bed was warm and more comfortable than I remembered. I thought I would sleep well that night.

After a time, I closed my eyes and listened to Kirk strumming. Not random chords, not a haphazard scattering of notes, juste a slow, tentative introduction to an unfamiliar melody.

Something new that accompanied me while I drifted into sleep.

**********

The dream started.

Not a usual one.

Not an unfamiliar one.

Even in my sleep I knew I had already had it and I didn’t want to have it again. Please not that dream.

 

The dream started exactly the same way as it did before. I was strapped on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more anger than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I wanted to die.

Someone grabbed my hand. It was weird because I hadn’t heard the door open, nor the sound of the key in the lock. But the weirdest part was that suddenly the ache in my body vanished and I felt so light. Floating like a snowflake in a winter gust. Am I dead ? Am I asleep ? It didn’t really matter. I was feeling almost good. The hand holding mine pulled and my body followed the gentle command, drifting upwards. I opened my eyes and startled. I was facing myself. A distorted version of myself, like a face seen through a frosted window. But it was me.  Maybe a slightly older version of myself as the other me with the sad eyes and the wry smile wore a beard. Before I could react or blink, the bearded clone turned around and led us towards the door of my hospital room. But it was not the same door anymore. Gone was the bland light brown of the ward door and its window. In its place was the warm chocolate of an apartment door with the number 13 on a plaque. I knew this door too well. It was our apartment door. Alan’s and mine. I couldn’t go in there ! I couldn’t face his absence ! I tried to free myself from the hand holding me, this hand so gentle and so cruel, but it dragged me though the door like it was just mist.

What awaited on the other side was like a rusty blade stuck and twisted into my heart. The dim lights. The illuminated tree. The colorful wrappings like a rainbow sea on the floor. And the laughs. Oh these laughs ! So full of joy, so full of hope, so full of LOVE. I couldn’t help bursting into tears. Alan and I lying naked in each other’s arms after making love, the most radiant raft of this multicolor sea. Kissing, snuggling and giggling as we were exchanging the most ridiculous endearments we could think of. « Cuddlebug. » « Snugglebunny. » « Love muffin. »

I was watching one of the highlights of last year’s Christmas Eve like the most heartbreaking movie ever made. All that delight was unbearable. I wanted to scream « Stop laughing ! Life is a bitch and this is your last Christmas together !!! » But I couldn’t breathe, let alone shout. All I could do was watch through a curtain of tears, intruding on my own passed happiness, on that day that would never come back again.

I tried to step forward to get closer to the warmth of Alan’s smile, to carress his cheek or maybe to revel in his smell one more time, but the other me, this witsful ghost, stepped in front of me and sadly shook his head. As painful as it was, I got it. « Yeah… This is gone. It’s only a memory of my… Of our past. But please… » The spirit or whatever didn’t let me finish. With his hands gently put on my shoulders, he suddenly pushed and I stumbled back through the door that was not there and found myself lying strapped on the bed, with all my pain and all my loss. Unwanted.  

 

Unwanted and crying on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more despair than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t want to live in a world where Alan was not.

A thin and delicate hand grabbed mine under the thin cover. No, no, not again. Like the previous visitation, the new hand grabbed mine and yanked me up floating. But this was not a gentle touch. It was a hard and cold one forcing me to face a gorgeous woman whose face seemed to be hiding under a veil of backwater. Black hair twisting and hateful gaze, the only features I could comprehend. So much rage. Even more than I felt. All my pains were gone again, except for the hand the stranger woman held, crushed and numb with cold. Without a word, she turned around and dragged me like a disobedient puppy towards the door. A door that had changed again. Not a bland light brown nor a warm chocolate. Now the door was a stylish white with trimmings and a bronze lock and handle. A door I had known every day of my childhood. I didn’t want to got there ! Even less than the previous place I was taken to. I didn’t want to witness more bygone memories. But when she towed me through the door, my parents living room was not like any remembrance I had of it.

A fir tree was up but out of place, bare as it was of any kind of ornament. A skeleton of Christmas exumed from a closet. Facing the naked tree, my parents were on the leather couch, where the entity brought me. My dad, always the stoic man, suddenly appeared… small. Shoulders hunched, blank stare, tan turned to ash, he seemed as lost as a bankrupt mogul. Isolated in his own bubble of grief while his wife was curled up on the other side of the couch, wailing like a banshee. Gone was the collected and sophisticated woman I called mom. Her ever perfect hair were now in a mess, her eyes red and puffy while snot was running out of her nose to end its course with the tears on her once pristine shirt. The cold mantel clock on top of the unlit fireplace was tick-tocking as ever, a language of time claiming it would always be the winner. The only answer, a denial from the heart, was in my mom’s broken mumbles. « My baby. My poor little baby. »

After an eternity of a minute, my dad’s hoarse voice finally echoed back. « We will visit him as soon as the doctor allows it. You know he wants to run a preliminary diagnosis on Flynn’s mental state before. To think he cut his wri… if we hadn’t found him in the nick of time… » Dad stopped there with a gulp and resumed his staring into the green nothingness of the bare branches.

This was no memory. This was now. My parents devastated by my own choice waiting here to see their son strapped to a hospital bed. The son they had almost lost but hadn’t. Yet. The son who still wanted to take his leave and who would. Who would force them to live this hell again. My decision almost wavered while I was floating there, facing the consequences of my actions on the people I loved, sick with guilt. « But everything is in the almost, isn’t it ? » I whispered. Maybe to myself. Maybe to the unknown scary woman. She seemed to take it for her as she grabbed my shoulders, pure fury in her eyes -the kind of fury where lightning was born- and shoved me back trough the door. Alone.

 

Alone and crying on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more culpability than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t want to wreck my parents’ life.

Another hand grabbed mine. Please stop ! Not again ! I beg you, I can’t take it anymore. This hand was big, warm and firm. A calloused and nice male hand. Again I was taken out of my body and facing another entity. A tall and muscular man wearing a grey camo uniform and a tan beret that eerily succeeded to put all his face in shadows, despite its lack of brim. Still this creature was more comforting than the other entities. I knew he would lead me to another door. But to my surprise, this time there were two doors. No. A double set of heavy doors in opposite condition, one dilapidate and lank, the other renovated and glossy. Impressively carved, richly ornate wood beautifully screaming Victorian era doors. The ghost guided me through the dilapidate one…

On the other side was a clutter of an apartment, full of sturdy mismatched furnitures and a mess of books, magazines and knick knacks, and a garage calendar on a wall showing this was taking place one year later . The place was colder than a grave. No fir tree of any kind in sight. Only the back of a broad man sitting on the floor and playing with something, his long-ish black hair a shrew’s nest. I wanted to get closer, but my guide kept me where we were floating, staring at the man on the ground. So I stared too. The shabby man was hunched, shivering and his frame was racked by silent sobs. He was also on a mumbling rampage. « I’m sorry Flynn. I tried. I swear I really tried. I wanted to save you. I needed to save you ! But in the end I failed. I couldn’t convince you to give up your fucking Agreement ! But who was I kidding ? I’m such a failure ! I couldn’t save save Gordy back there. I couldn’t save Maria, Chess or anyone else from my squadron. Not even this Afghan kid ! I’m no use, I can’t save anyone. Oh Flynn… Flynn, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be better. I couldn’t be more. I couldn’t be enough to ground you here. But I wouldn’t want myself either. Such a fucked up useless poor excuse of a man ! And still I tried to save you. I swear Flynn ! » And it went on. My heart ached for this bereft  stranger who was hurting so deeply. Mostly because of me. Again. Suddenly the man straightened up as he shouted « But I won’t let anyone else down ! Nobody else will die on my watch ! » and he raised up his left arm. The thing he was playing with was no toy. It was a gun ! It’s steely grey as devoided of hope as a November sky. I sreamed « Don’t do that ! » I tried to reach him, to stop him. But my guide still kept me at his side and the sound of my voice didn’t reach the grieving stranger. The gun went to his temple and I closed my eyes at the exact moment it spat its deadly charge. I didn’t want to watch anymore, but I could still hear the heavy thump of a massive body hitting the flooring. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to curl up there on the ground. Another life destroyed because of me. But my guide firmly guided me back to my hospital room and immediatly through the other door, the renovated one.

We found ourselves in the exact same place. But everything was different. It felt warm. The rooms have been renovated too. Every wall, door, window frame, trimming was in perfect condition. Gone was the clutter and most of the sturdy furnitures. In their place was still a mix a furnitures, some I’ve seen in the scene before, some from my place and a few antique ones that seem to have been chosen with love and taste. The trinkets and books were all well arranged on shelves in the company of other books, baubles and framed pictures. Pictures of a well groomed older man, tall and muscular, handsome with his black neatly trimmed beard and fashionable haircut framing dark smiling eyes looking at me. Because I was with him in these pictures, always with his arm around my shoulders or mine snaking around his waist. There were only two different pictures : one of a younger version of the man that he shared with a stranger, a lovely red haired guy, both wearing grey camos. And another one of Alan and me taken the day we moved in together. They were all couple pictures !

Between a set of window panes stood a large Christmas tree towering over the living room, all bursts of lights, colorful ornaments, garlands and bows. A kind guardian for the cheerfully wrapped gifts and the couple seated at its foot on a thick rug, the true focal point of this happy scene. Me and the man from the pictures. Me, smiling serenely in the arms of that handsome man, nursing a mug of mulled wine while the stranger with a deep voice was reading me some kind of… Play ? Sometimes I was laughing, sometimes suggesting some change in the text, sometimes he laughed, sometimes he kissed my head or my temple or asked for a sip of my wine. My laughs were not the same  ones I had shared with Alan. The youthfulness, the levity, the innocence were lost. But it was still such a joyous sound. Deeper. More trusting. More placid. A laugh coming from a place of grief and acceptance. An adult laugh... I wanted to see more of me snuggled with so much content against this man’s torso, my head lying in the curve of his neck. I wanted to learn more of this obvious love. But my guide started to take me back towards the misty door.

I resisted as much as I could until my guide turned towards me, head tilted on the side like a question mark. « It is you. The man who killed himself and this man reading to me. They have the same voice. They’re both you » I said. My guide didn’t speak, but the shadows vanished from his face and he was exactly like the man in the picture with the red haired, smiling like a proud teacher. But I was not done. « Why are you doing this ? Why put the weight of your fate on my shoulders ??? I can’t be responsible of you. I don’t want you to be sad and take your own life but I don’t want to live and love without Alan. » Still mute and smiling, the stranger put his left hand on my heart. It was clear enough. Alan would always remain there. His right hand let go of mine to carress my cheek. A snowflake kiss laid there. And his hand still on my torso pushed me back through the fog. Pondering.

Pondering on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more questions than blood. More grief. More hope. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t know what to do anymore.

The sound of keys in the lock. The bland light brown door opening. And a man as lean as his thin fake smile entered the room, getting close but never touching my hand. A man in a white doctor coat I would soon learn to know and loathe as Dr. Kirsch. The dream I just had was forgotten the moment he said « Welcome back Flynn. Well, what are we going to do with you ? »

**********

I woke up in uncle Winston’s bed. The sun was shining through the window, melting the last puddles of snow. I felt rested for the first time since… In months. My mind was clear. And I remembered every second of the dream.

Not the usual dream.

Not the unfamiliar dream.

The exact same dream, down to the tiniest detail, I had only once when I was recovering from my suicide attempt and had forgotten. Until now.
The impossible dream. Impossible, because I couldn’t have known anything from it at that time. I couldn’t have known about my mysterious clone from a bygone era I had seen on a picture for the very first time just before bed the night before and that I had mistaken in the dream for an older version on myself. I couldn’t have known about the still to come Agreement. I couldn’t have known about the second entity though now I knew the ghost of Ines too well. And I couldn’t have known about the house on Pitch Pine Lane nor about Kirk Murdoch and his rooms. It was all impossible. Despite the strong Dickens vibes, I was no Scrooge and things like that did not happen in reality.
 
First I became a magnet for an angry ghost, then an unknown copy of a man from a different era and now I had glimpses of the future in my dreams ? And Kirk’s fate in my hands ? Yes I was starting to have doubts about the Agreement. Even more now. But this was a new source of concern. Too many impossible things were happening to me. Last night’s question came back to me with urgency.

Who was I ?

 

                                                                                                                                                      The end (for now…)

Almathea

 

 

 

 

Holiday Fiction from Almathea!

I'm sure you remember Almathea's wonderful last year's contribution to the Advent Calendar. Well, as busy as she is, she still found time to send another sweet holiday tidbit ("sent with love from Belgium") 

The perfect heart-warmer for a brisk and chilly Tuesday Solstice morn. ;-)

 DRIVING AWAY FROM HOME FOR CHRISTMAS (Carter & John from Murder Takes the High Road)

 

I was happy.

Like drowning in absolute contentment and warm serenity as I sipped my coffee from the couch, ogling my perfect fiancé in the open kitchen of our Los Angeles home. John was making the Christmas breakfast while singing and shaking his butt to the pop version of a Holliday tune.

Well, almost perfect fiancé. As pleasant as John’s baritone was, he couldn’t stay in tune to save his life. But the way he was moving around the kitchen island was a sight to behold, something I suspected I would never grow tired of.

Never as in « till death to us part ». That kind of never.

This was the life I  had hoped to find with Trevor. And had finally found on the Scottish roads leading to Samradh Beag and murder. The end of a highly controversial existence for Vanessa mirroring a new beginning for me. All the irony and paradox of life one could say. But THIS was what I had always wanted. Love with a caring, reliable and funny man. Spending the Christmas day together with tokens of affection brightly wrapped under the glittering tree. Trust and companionship. Indulgence and complementarity. A few hassles here and there followed by mind blowing make-up sex. Being one half of a healthy couple.

I snuggled up in the couch purring like a sated fat cat and thought back about the three last years while enjoying my cozy surroundings.

*****

After living Castle Dìomhair, we had toured Scotland on our own, each passing day deepening the connection between us. We had returned to the US together and parting at the airport had been very hard. We had started to officially date, seeing each other as often as we could. Sometimes we had only a day or so together so we met halfway in a nice hotel in Santa Ana. We were staying at each other’s place when we could grab a few days.

The hardest times were when John had to put his Knight armor back on to chase his four-headed Nemesis, aka the Scherfs/Rice gang. Of course, it gave me all the time needed to take care of my garden and catch up with my pile of books waiting to be read. I even found a new favorite mystery writer who added a dash of gay romance to her stories, making it perfect to share the best titles with John via Kindle. A bond of sort to link us while apart and good conversation topic whenever he called. Because sex phone ? So frustrating. Take my word on this matter. But reading or gardening alone were poor substitutes to John. So it was a huge relief when he finally gathered the evidence he had needed to have the thieves arrested by mid December.

 

We spent our first Christmas day together at my place only months after we had met. While we were cuddling in front of « Love Actually », John had suddenly announced that he was fed up of chasing the bad guys all around the globe and tired of driving across Orange County. He had asked for a transfer to Case Analyst at the Los Angeles branch of Birch.

That decision had led to me to suggest him moving into my house. John never said yes. Not in so many word. But the battered couch never recovered from his athletic sweaty agreement and had to be

replaced by John’s.

For a time I kept in touch with the members of our Scottish tour, at least the ones of the unhomicidal kind. But as time went by, life drove us in different directions. I still kept exchanging a few mails a month with Rose and Nedda. And strangely enough, Sally Daly, who had remarried to a nice cop, had become my absolute BFF. We got together at least once a year and skyped every week. She was the one who had squealed the most acute -even worse than my mom indeed- when John and I got engaged. She was also the one who had told me that Trevor and Vance were still together but playing « I love you / Neither do I » on a regular basis. Talk about a toxic relationship ! I almost felt sorry for them now that I was in a good one. Emphasis on « almost ».

Today was our third Christmas together and I wanted still more of John. Our stay-at-home life probably seemed cushy to some of our friends but it actually was as blissful as can be. I couldn’t think of one more thing to ask Santa. Apart from the latest book from my new Gay Mystery Grande Dame obviously.

*****

A kiss on the nose brought me back to the here and now.

A chuckling John was handing me a plate heaped with delicacies with one hand and another mug of coffee spiked with liqueur de chocolat -a delicious chocolate liquor we had discovered the previous year while touring continental Europe and stopping over in Brussels- and cinnamon powder.

We ate and drank while opening our presents. It was a perfect Christmas morning. Finally their was only one present left. A small flat black box with golden accents and ribbons. John’s eyes were full of anticipation when he put it on my lap. « Come on handsome, open it » he said.

I couldn’t help from laughing, knowing a new adventure was coming. My love had had the exact same expression when he offered me the plane tickets to Europe last year. Or when he proposed to me in Paris.

Still, I was puzzled when I opened the box to find a black silk band and a slip of paper stating « Voucher for a mysterious tour starting now. »

I felt dumbfounded. Did he really want to trade our deliciously quiet Christmas day for juggling with suitcases in an airport ? « Now ? What do you mean now ? We can’t leave now ! I must ask for vacation time to the library. Plus Sally is flying from New Mexico today and I don’t want to miss meeting with my three-year-long-new-bestie ! Also we must do the dishes, put the trash out, do some laundry, get visas and passports, pack, ask the neighbors to… » I cried.

But John interrupted my sound check list with a bark of laughter and an arm thrown over my shoulders.

« Chill, babe. I already took care of everything. I asked your boss to give you two weeks off eight months ago when I heard about this event. No visa or passport needed as we won’t even leave California. Don’t worry about Sally, she knows already. I warned the neighbors and packed most of the stuff we will need yesterday and completed our bags this morning while you were in the shower. And you were daydreaming, your chin on your empty mug, as I took care of the rest. So let’s go brush our teeth so we can be on our way » was his unrelenting answer.

I was still trying to process this… This premediated Christmurder as John dragged me in the bathroom upstairs, took our tooth brushes to the office room where the bags were hidden, then dragged me back to the living room. I may have complained too. Just a bit.
But when he grabbed the band of fabric and blindfolded me with it, I had to took some control back.

« Huh ? Listen honey, I got it. You’re really excited with your secret treat and all the cloak and dagger prep work but a blindfold ? Really ? Don’t you feel like you’re exaggerating a little ? » I tried.
He deadpanned. « Nope. It is not. It’s a multi-layered surprise and I want you to embrace it all. »

I was still trying to argue and dragged my staggering feet while John guided me to the passenger seat of his car. Two bags in the trunk later, we were heading to where the hell knew.

*****

Reading mystery books teaches you a few useful things. Like the victim of an abduction should ever try to orientate themselves using their other senses. So I knew we were in Downtown L.A. when we reached our mysterious destination. Allright, allright. No need to call on my Spidey senses much when the drive had not been much longer than twenty minutes and I could hear honks.

« I’ll come back later to fetch our stuff » John said.

I was still hesitating between the thrill of such a planned surprise and longing for our comfy couch, as I was guided again. From a streetwalk through what was clearly a door helped open for us and inside a big hall of some sort, judging by the excited conversations echoing all around like a sea of voices. John made me stop a few feet only from the entrance. I could make out some rustling noises just in front of me.

John removed the blindfold. I blinked my eyes a few times under the bright lights of the sumptuous Millennium Biltmore Hotel lobby. And then I saw…

« SURPRISE !!! » several voices shouted.

I found myself facing five huge smiles sported by as many blast from the past persons. I didn’t even have time to fully realize before my long distance best friend Sally rushed to crush me in an overexcited hug, followed by a still very dynamic Rose Lane, a pair of amused Nedda and Wally Kramer and a quieter Alison Barnes. All the people I had kept in touch since the the Fall of the Rayburn House. Except for Alison.

« Guys, what are you doing… » I wasn’t able to finish my sentence before my friends -well except for Alison again- all started to talk together at the same time.

« Merry Christmas C.! Oooh it was so hard to keep it all secret each time we skyped ! John should reward me just for my silence ! » I think it was Sally’s voice.

« Hey Carter, long time no see. It seems you really had no clue ? Such a mystery buff you are ! » The teasing sounded like Rose.

« I was so happy when John reached out about this tour ! My poor Wally never had a chance to deny me this trip. » Okay, that was clearly Nedda.

I felt dizzy. And happy to see my friends from Scotland again -maybe not so much for Alison. I also felt at loss. So very very much at loss.

John embraced me from behind, his familiar hands clasped on my stomach as he explained :

« This is the first half of your gift. We won’t travel alone but with people you trust. »

Wait ! Since when were « Alison » and « trust » used in the same sentence ?

« I’ve always been sorry that the Vanessa Rayburn tour had ended so badly. Especially after I ruined your ultimate encounter with her. So I wanted to give you some of it back. This is the second half of the gift :  we will be part of the very first tour ever made about your new Mystery Queen ! Which happens to be organized by Alison. »

Alison’s waved her hand with a proud smile on her face.

« After what happened to Vanessa, we obviously had to shut down the Tour to Die For. It took me three long years to launch this one. But here we are ! With the same basics, like visiting some places of inspiration and ending with a few days with our literary star, but also a totally new concept. Of course I can’t tell you more. »

She winked.

« It’s really nice to have you with us Carter. And all of you. I hope we can catch up later. For now sorry but I have to get to work. I know you’ll have the time of your life on this tour ! » And on these words she purposely strode toward a large gathering of people.

I turned to my fiancé, overflowing with delight.

 

« So I’m going to meet her ? Wow that’s amazing ! »

I heartfully kissed my wonderful John, under my friends’ catcalls.

« I just happen to love you. Merry Christmas Carter » John said against my lips.

With no bed in sight, I had to break the rising heat between us. And nothing does that job as well as a snarky comment.

« Okay so another writer tour with seven of the twenty one participants of the Rayburn one. What could go wrong ? »

« Everything Babe. Everything » John answered playfully.

I blinked to my chuckling beloved while Alison clapped her hands together.

« Everybody ! Everybody ! I just got word. Can the Josh Lanyon’s Fatal Tour people please gather near me ? »

At that moment a steely female voice echoed in the hall.

« It was about time ! When you consider how much we’re paying for this trip, making us wait standing in a hall is absolutely unacceptable ! »

We all turned with a chill toward the voice but we couldn’t see the woman from where we were standing.

John and I looked at each other with eyes going huge and mouths rounding like an O as we groaned in perfect unison.

« Oh no… »

 

THE END ?

 

 

 

Advent Calendar Day 16

 

Good morning! Grab a cup of your favorite hot beverage and settle down for a nice long-ish read set in the world of Sort of Stranger Than Fiction. I'm not sure what it is about Karl's character, but he has inspired no fewer than two (possibly more!) holiday codas. :-) 

Today's offering is from another first time contributor: Almathea. She not only tackled her first holiday short story, she did it in English, which is not her native language! It's so wonderful that we've had so many delightful and heart-warming contributions this year. It's always appreciated, but something about you all finding time to participate in such a hellish year, makes it even more special. <3 

So without further adieu...

 SORT OF STRANGER THAN A CHRISTMAS FICTION

 

“Once upon a time in North Pole, there was an Ice Troll living all alone in a weirdly carved ice cave. This Troll was always angry and grumpy, for he only had is loneliness to accompany him. So he spent his days fetching ice and sculpting it with the craft of his hands and the twisted in his mind and giving it the sinister shape of his unfulfilled dreams…”

“You stupid moron! If you were any dumber, you’d start doing photosynthesis!”
Karl Hagar’s eyes drilled through the equally disgusted eyes staring back at him from the mirror. He was so sick with himself. With his inability to say the right words. How could he be the rising star of the MFA Writing Program, so at ease with written words, and then so awkward with spoken ones?

When he was writing, words were flowing easily. They were pouring from him to his computer screen like a tsunami, expressing all his anger in his murder stories. Anger for everything he didn’t have. Like friends. Support. Love… He didn’t hate the characters he murdered in his tales. But he liked his killers most because they were misfits. Unhappy weirdos full of loneliness and pain. Like Karl. Writing was his catharsis. A way to both express and punish himself. Talk about self-loathing…

But this emotional way out was a double edged knife, as he had finally realized. The eerie stories and gruesome deaths made people really uncomfortable. They only saw the cruelty in them and tend to wonder about Karl’s sanity. Add to that his cold looks, his deep shyness and his total inability to say his mind and one would only understand why people were avoiding him, burying his dreams of a new life here in San Francisco in the process. He had thought that leaving Peabody would allow him to be himself. Not being “the Hagar son” anymore. Not being the only single gay guy in town – and in the closet. He had thought these were the cause of his unhappiness. Now he knew better. HE was his own curse.

Karl closed his eyes and laid his head against the cold surface of the mirror. Defeated.  He could still hear himself saying “We should date Killian. Spend Christmas together. You owe me since I saved you last week”. Still see Killian’s lovely face ignite until it was almost as red as his hair. And then there had been this final glare full of wrath and loathing, so alien on Killian’s sweet features telling him what a lower being he was before he briskly turned around and disappeared into the winter night. Out of Karl’s life.

“It’s Ethan all over again” whispered Karl. And he let himself remember. 

************************************ 

“…One day, as he was fetching more ice at the bottom of a remote fjord, the troll saw a Christmas Elf gracefully picking edelweiss on the cliff. He watched this rare occurrence with wonder at first and then horror when the elf lost his grip and tumbled down. The troll refused to see the magical creature die and used all his power on ice to create a thick pillow of snow where the elf was going to crash.

After getting back on his feet and checking that he was still alive, the elf assessed his rescuer. “Thank you for saving my life, M. Troll” said the elf. “I owe you a Christmas wish for this. My name is Lear from the Sunny Elves Tribe.” The troll grunted. “And you are?” insisted the elf. It was hard to form a word after so many years of silence and now the troll had to struggle with his own tongue just to crow his name. “Karrel.” The elf appeared jolly after this inelegant introduction. “Do you have a wish?” Oh yes! The troll had a wish. He wanted this cheerful creature to become his friend and fill his loneliness with joy. He wanted to have someone to talk to. He wanted to carve beautiful statues instead of twisted ones! But it was too much to say for a troll who had spent years without speaking. The best he could manage was “Tomorrow. Come back.” The elf seemed to understand all the feelings hidden under these three words and giggled happily. “This is hardly a wish my friend. I’d be delighted to come back to my savior for as long as you can put up with me…”

Karl was in a bad mood when he left M. Carson’s office on December the 16^th. Writing a Christmas short story due before the Christmas Holidays?  Without a killing Santa? Not even one teeny tiny murder with poison? But full of magic and feel good? Really? Jeez, Karl didn’t have a clue about how to find the beginning of an idea. But Carson had been adamant: Karl had to prove himself in a completely different genre if he wanted to get an A. “Look around you and you’ll find your inspiration” Carson had said.

Yeah! Of course. And I will see a Christmas elf appear out of thin air?

Just to prove how ludicrous this was, Karl looked around him… And saw The Elf missing a step from the steep staircase and plummeting to the ground, bewilderment rounding his eyes and mouth. Without even thinking, Karl threw himself in the trajectory of the human missile like he used to do on the football field and caught The Elf in the cradle of his arms before they ended up lying on the ground, Karl’s lungs void of air. He didn’t know if it was from the physical shock of the catch or because of the gorgeous hazel eyes focused on him. Maybe both.

With a shaking hand, Killian O’Leary –aka The Elf- pushed back his copper bangs. And then he smiled! He smiled to Karl!

“Whoopsie! That was a close call. I’m always so clumsy but this time… I thought it was all he wrote for me. Thank you for saving the damoiseau in distress Karl.” And then Killian did the most unexpected thing of all: he kissed Karl on the cheek.

Karl couldn’t speak. Not because of his usual struggle for words. Just because his mind has suddenly been turned into a blank sheet. All he could do was to absorb every detail of the moment trough his senses. The warmth of Killian’s body pressed against his. The warmth of these hazel eyes dotted with golden specks like the stars in a clear sky. The warmth left by the velvety lips still tickling on his cheek. The warmth in the sweet voice while saying his name…

Of course he had noticed Killian from Day 1. Karl had always had a soft spot for gingers with hazel eyes. But this one was definitely breath-taking with his beautiful face and lean frame. Graceful and blazingly ethereal. Hence the nickname he had secretly given him: The Elf. Karl had a serious crush for Killian but never dared to approach him. The ginger was a different type of being: always cheerful, surrounded by friends, talkative and openly gay. He was really talented for writing, but favored comedies with gay romance in them. They were just coming from two different worlds.

Except that Killian was in his arms at this very moment. And it went all supernova in Karl’s brain.

Killian chuckled. “You’re comfy and I’m certainly not complaining about you saving my neck but I think we’re drawing a bit of attention onto ourselves here.”

The words snapped Karl’s neurons back to functioning and just a quick look confirmed that all the people in the hall were staring at them, a few of them shell-shocked. Karl grunted and started to twist to extract him from under The Elf. Still giggling, Killian stood up and held a hand to Karl. “Hi, I’m Killian O’Leary. Let me help you big guy.” When they were both back on their feet with the crowd around them thinning now that the show was over –and with the next classes about to begin- Karl finally answered “Karl Hagar”. Then he realized that he must seem like a retard, stating what was already obvious. But Killian’s smile was genuine and kind when he said “Oh I know who you are! We share the same Creative Writing class. And your writing skills are certainly… 

Impressing.” Karl didn’t know what that really meant so he just grunted. “Look Karl, I have to go to my Literature class now.” Of course thought Karl, though the ginger was not finished yet. “But I’d like to repay you for what you did. Not that I could ever really repay you… What about having a coffee after classes?” Stupor muted Karl who could only manage to nod. “You know what? Give me your phone number and I’ll text you”. Like a robot Karl recited the numbers while Killian tapped them into his smartphone before rushing to his class on a last “See you!”

Two hours and six texts later –texts were good to Karl- they met at a coffee house. Though Karl felt awkward and barely dared to speak, favoring monosyllabic answers, it all went surprisingly smoothly, thanks to The Elf’s easy going and chatty nature. And he felt something like joy when Killian proposed him to do it again on the day after. After all, it was the closest thing Karl ever had to a date…

“…And the day after Lear came back to spend one hour with the taciturn troll. And the day after. And the next one, as Karrel always asked him to. Day after day, hour after hour, the troll’s throat opened up to let more words come out. And finally he was able to explain why he was living alone so far away from his people. Karrel was one of the three sons of the Ice Trolls King, Hagard, a hard man who focused all his considerable strength and gold to get more of each. If he had ever loved his third son, he never showed it. Actually he seemed to hate everything about him: his desire to craft ice instead of gaining wealth, his shyness with others while he could crush them with his regal power and –worst of all- he sensed his last son may have sympathy for Christmas beings! So, feeling that each one his words was cause for his father’s ire, the troll stopped talking until he forgot how to speak. And ultimately he left for his lonely cave where he could express himself in silence through ice. The elf always listened with patience and compassion and even wonder about his craft and his being an Ice Prince...”

For the following days it became a routine for them to meet at the coffee house at the end of the day. At first all they did was small talk. Ages. Origins. Hobbies. Living places. Favorite movies and songs. Reverting on the day classes. Innocuous topics that allowed Karl to feel at ease and speak without fear, though he never was loquacious. But he really enjoyed these meetings. They were the best part of his days. It felt right and good like… Having a friend?

Gradually they started discussing more personal topics. Killian told Karl about the day he came out and how supportive his family had been. How much he was missing his dad who had passed away from kidney cancer a few years ago. All the shenanigans he did with his siblings.

And Karl opened up like he had never before. At least, as much as he could: with short sentences and a clipped voice.  He told Killian how it was to grow up in a small town where everybody knew who he was. He talked about his life in the closet and how he had been turned down by his first crush. And he finally talked about his Father comparing him to his brothers. How he always disappointed him and was told to man up. Karl had never told about this to anyone and it felt great to finally take this weight out of his chest. More than great: freeing!

But the best part was that Killian never expressed pity. He had this way to see the best in everything and cheer Karl up. Sometimes by saying something positive like “That sucks. But hey! Look where it brought you. On the right path to become a writer!” Some other times by making silly jokes that always made Karl smile and snort.

But he really laughed when Killian told him “Heck! They call you The Ice Prince but you’re actually coming for a troll horde!” Karl had never heard anything so silly and couldn’t help laughing out loud, discovering the sound of his own adult laugh. “Trolls it is! That’s a good one. But what is it with this Princy thing?” he said when he finally could speak again.
“You really don’t know? You’re so handsome but always act so cold and aloof, that the people in CreaWri have nicknamed you The Ice Prince”.
Karl felt a bit at loss. “Are you sure? Because the last time I wore a black outfit, I heard some of them say “Beware! Here comes the Gestapo!” It was… Very unpleasant. So a prince, even and icy one, that’s… Better.”
Killian’s phone beeped. It was time to part.
But as they were saying their goodbyes in the parking lot, Killian whispered with a smile almost mysterious “You know, I may have been the first to call you The Ice Prince…” And with this he climbed into his car and left.
Karl remained there for a short while pondering over these last words, wondering if this was an opening to something more intimate, his heart warming in his chest as he watched His Elf drove by.

“…On the sixth day, the troll asked “How is it? Happiness?” This was a tricky question for Lear. How could he explain such a complex and glorious feeling to one who had never experienced it? To one who knew only rejection and frustration? He couldn’t find the words for it so he did the unthinkable. “Let me show you” he said while gently putting his hand to the troll’s chest and pressing it just above his heart. Then he thought about all the past Christmas, the merriment, the friendship the cinnamon rolls. Lear conjured all his best memories and sent them like a glowing ghost into Karrel’s heart. The troll felt like a burning sun was melting the ice surrounding his heart. Nobody had even ever touched him and there was the touch, and all this warmth and joy he didn’t know about. It was the most extraordinary feeling! And it was too much. Too much at once. The troll broke the contact, reeled back and after stuttering his usual “Tomorrow. Come back” he ran away...”

On the next evening, Karl’s chest was still tingling with warmth. And something that appeared a lot like hope.
Karl ordered his usual large espresso. Killian, who changed his order every day, went for a hot cocoa with whipped cream, cinnamon and caramel chips. It was part of their habits now. They ordered their drinks, found an isolated table and enjoyed their beverage in silence for a few minutes. Or comparative silence, as His Elf had a tendency to moan every time he tasted something he really liked.

That was one thing Karl never tired of: this ability Killian had to enjoy small things to the fullest. Like every little nice thing brought him a huge pleasure. It was so endearing. And strange too. But mostly endearing. God I have it bad! Everything about this guy enchants me. Not to mention what these moans of pure pleasure did to his crotch… Karl wiggled in his chair.

“What is it with you and sugar?” he asked to end with this torture.

Killian’s greedy eyes met his. “Oh man! This is not sugar, this is pure bliss! It’s about mixing tastes and textures. It’s about the cream and caramel melting in the chocolate. It’s like… Like a perfect kiss! Wanna taste?”

Oh yes I want to taste, but not from the cup… Still he took the cup and then a sip. It was tasty indeed. Too sweet for his taste but nice. He hesitated, braced himself and finally asked “Seriously, how is it to kiss a man?”

Killian froze. “I thought you were gay! Was it some kind of sick homophobic game?”

Karl’s eyelids fluttered. “Yes. I mean, I am. Gay. It’s not a game. And certainly not a homophobic one!”

His Elf’s posture softened. “So… Are you telling me that you’ve never been kissed at 28?”

Karl nodded curtly. Deadly ashamed. Thinking Killian would laugh so hard about how pathetic he was. Knowing he should have never asked.

“Woaw! I knew you didn’t have much experience but I didn’t realize… Sorry for thinking you were making fun of me; for believing that you could play… well forget it.” Killian paused. “Honestly, I don’t know how to describe a kiss. With the right guy it’s sweet but devastating. It’s like a prelude and like sex at the same time. Oh! But then you don’t know about sex either…”

Redder than Killian’s hair, Karl shook his head.

“Hmm… I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself…”

Karl wanted to vanish. Now.

“Hey, don’t be ashamed. We all have started as virgins you know,” Killian said with a wink. “And with your good looks I wouldn’t worry if I were you”. The understanding and praise lightened a bit Karl’s discomfort.
“Hey! You didn’t tell me: have you finally started writing your Christmas story?” Okay. Not a bad move for a change of topic. This was safer ground. Karl could relax at last, while bitching about the assignment he had only two days left to do and had not even started.

As usual, they went back together at the parking lot and Karl escorted Killian to his battered Toyota Corolla. When the door was opened, Karl stepped back, as he always did. But Killian grabbed his arm. “Wait. I’ve got the answer to your question.” Before Karl could even understand what His Elf was talking about, he felt Killian plastering his body against his. The next second thin arms were around his neck and lips were softly caressing his. At first Karl didn’t know what to do. Then instinct kicked in and he embraced the lean body and lost himself into his first kiss.

It was intoxicating. Killian’s lips were so much softer and plumper than he had imagined. The flat body pressed against his in all the right places, like the yin and the yang. And when Killian’s tongue invaded his mouth, he tasted like chocolate, cream, caramel and cinnamon. Pure bliss. Soon, Karl was lost in their panting breaths and entwined limbs, giving as much as he received, pressing Killian between his body and the old car, his hands roaming every place he could touch trying to get to the skin, rubbing his hardening dick on the other’s stomach, bathing in the scent and taste of the man he loved.

The man he LOVED… Oh my god!

Karl jerked back, struck by the lightning of his epiphany. I was not a crush. Not anymore. It was love. Still breathless he stared into the eyes of an equally breathless Killian. How an entrancing face he had with his lips and cheeks all rosy from their shared kiss.
My first kiss. With my first love.

It was something he had waited for all his life. And suddenly he felt unprepared. Terrified by something utterly unknown. So out of his league.

Karl staggered back. He mumbled “This is… Was… That was great… See you tomorrow, okay?” Without waiting for an answer he rushed to his TR7 sports car and fled the scene of his enlightenment under Killian’s startled gaze.

“… On the seventh day, the troll was still giddy with amazement and wonder. He knew he could never go back to his silent cave and twisted statues after… After that. He wanted more joy. More happiness. He wanted to spend every single second of his life with the bearer of such light, he wanted to become a part of Christmas. That was his Wish. The wish from his heart. But it was so much more than the usual Christmas wish! It had nothing to do with “I want a new chisel” for Santa’s sake! And he feared refusal so much that the words came all wrong: “I know my Wish. I want you to be my slave as I own your life.” The troll realized what he had said only a second before Lear vanished...”

That night, Karl barely slept. He was so overwhelmed with it all. And so afraid too. 

Afraid that Killian had kissed him for no other reason than helping a friend. Or that he was looking for casual sex. Afraid to hope and see his hope crushed. Afraid to lose his first friendship and afraid to ruin his first love. Afraid of what might and what might not be.

He wanted to hope. But he knew he wasn’t exactly a keeper.

And that kiss! It had been everything. Like His Elf had said: “sweet and devastating”. He still had Killian’s taste rolling on his tongue and Killian’s scent lingering on his sweater put down next to his pillow. Just remembering Killian’s arms caressing and kneading his back, his moans or the way he had rubbed his erection against Karl’s thigh made him hard again. That night he did two things. For one, he decided to ask Killian out. Only his sheets remember the other one.

On the morning, Karl had barely slept and was unable to focus on his classes. All he could do was dream of all the things he wanted now. More kisses. Many more. Kisses were amazing. And sex, because it was said to be even better. Just thinking about sex with His Elf was a liability for his jeans buttons to pop out so hard they would ended up in orbit. But more than everything he longed for being loved in return. He needed a chance to build a real relationship with Killian. To cuddle in front of the TV. To share the intimacy of sleeping in each other’s arms. To spend Christmas together.

He spent most of his day looking at the time that passed so slowly, barely able to contain his eagerness to be with Killian again. Daydreaming about the coming evening. Too bad they didn’t have Creative Writing on that day. He even craned his neck in the hallways, hoping to catch a glimpse of His Elf without luck. But as the afternoon went by, Karl started to feel worried and unsettled. He remembered how Ethan had turned him down, kindly but firmly. His old fears crept back. And what if Killian laughed at him, thought he was preposterous?  Or was just not interested in him? Suddenly the ticking of the clock sped up. And when it was time to leave for their coffee house, Karl was a bundle of nerves. And a little late.

Seeing Killian ordering for both of them when he entered the café didn’t calm him. No more than the wave of a steaming cup and smiling welcome he received. “Hi there!  I hope you didn’t decide to try something else today, ‘cause here is your large espresso!”

It was only when they sat that Karl realized Killian’s smile was a bit forced and his silent slightly awkward. Because of the way I fled yesterday?  Or because he’s getting bored with me? They took a few sips in silence. There was no moaning today.

“Hmm… Nope. Maple syrup is not a good match with coffee.” Another silence. Karl was trying to hold his countenance.

“So… Are you going back to Peabody for the Holidays?” asked Killian.

“No. I don’t want to. I will stay here. You?”

“I wish I could go back to Denver spend Christmas with my family. But that’s a hell of a drive and planes are too expensive for us. So I guess I’ll stay here too and maybe spend the day with a friend…”

That’s my queue! I just have to tell him that I’d love to be the one spending Christmas with him because he has become so important to me. That I want to date him. It’s not that hard! Come on, man up!
Karl opened his mouth and completely different words came out. “We should date Killian. Spend Christmas together. You owe me since I saved you last week.”

One minute later, Killian was gone.

“…And so, Karrel was back to his loneliness and the cold of the cave that he couldn’t call home again, for his home was where the elf was now. Except that he would be less than unwelcome there after the stupid offensive words born of his stupid aching fears. He had lost everything. He felt sick with himself, regretful and more miserable than ever. The amount of his loss was too much to bear. He couldn’t live with it. He had to make amends no matter the cost, even if the elf would never forgive him. And he had to find a way to do it without his traitorous mouth to fail him again. So he started to express his feelings in the best way he could: by carving ice. He put all his present remorse into a statue of Lear, but also everything he had started to feel since meeting the wonderful elf. He created an artwork that was not the exact replica of the magical being, but the reflection of the elf into Karrel’s heart. Gorgeous. Warm. Glowing. Loving…”

Karl left his bathroom and sat on his bed. Alone in the dark. As always. He had fucked it all up. Again. But it was worse. So much worse. He could see now that Killian had been hinting about spending Christmas together. The same Killian that had invited him for a coffee at the beginning and knew his name. The one who had called him The Ice Prince. The one who had kissed him.
Killian had liked him. Had been attracted to Karl. But… Yeah, past tense…

Karl felt broken. Maybe he should call Killian and try to apologize and explain… But no. He would probably say something mean again. Make it worse. If that was even possible. Maybe he should write him a letter. Written words were his allies. So yes he could write him a letter, a beautiful letter where he would be able to express all his love and regret. A love letter to His Elf.
Yes he could do this! He could write…

Wait! Write? To My Elf? Just before Christmas?

Karl knew what he had to do. He was going to write the Christmas story! Not to get an A, but to get a chance to redeem himself. And maybe, just maybe, get a chance at happiness.
Karl sat at his computer and started to type. The story was coming to him so naturally. An easy flow of words about a troll and a Christmas elf pouring from his heart.

By 11 P.M. he was done. Or almost done. Before he could second guess his action, he took his phone and typed “Please, I know you’re mad at me. But please read this. You’re the only one who can tell me how the story ends…” He put his short story in attachment and sent it to Killian.

Afterwards he remained there, his eyes locked on his computer clock, then on his screen saver, seeing nothing. Just waiting. Shallow.


“…The troll was exhausted when he finished the statue and truly it was a masterpiece. But he was not done yet. He cleared his throat, enchanted the statue and said “I’m so sorry Lear. I didn’t know how to tell you that for me you ARE happiness. My only happiness. You’re the blazing sun that melts my heart. You are everything to me, as unworthy as I am. I was so afraid to tell you these words that I said horrible things instead. If you could ever forgive me, I would spend my life atoning. Will you be all my future Christmas?” Karrel gathered his last strengths to summon an ice wind strong enough to carry the enchanted ice statue to the elf’s doormat. And then he collapsed on the ground and waited for his fate. He waited for what felt like years. Not daring to hope for a Christmas miracle. Not daring to let his fears sneak in back again. Barely daring to breathe. He waited and waited. Finally he realized that a snow petrel had entered his cave and landed on one of his twisted statues, glaring at him with a vellum roll in his beak. With a shaking hand, the troll took the message, unrolled it and read the answer…”

It was past midnight when Karl’s phone rang. “Lothlórien's Theme”. Killian then.

Karl was astounded. In his core he had known that Killian would answer him. Because he was a kind man. But he had expected a short text. Not a phone call.

After remaining still, now he was shaking and he fumbled with his phone to take the call before it went to voicemail. His voice too was quivering when he picked up.

“Killian?”

He could hear muffled sobs on the other end of the line.

Had it succeeded in making it worse after all?

“Please Kil, talk to me…”

Another sob. Then Killian’s constricted voice.

“You’re so dumb!”

Okay. Nothing new here.

Then a trembling laugh.

“It’s beautiful Karl. It’s the… most wonderful thing that was ever done for me.”

“I… Thank you. I’m so sorry Kil. You are My Elf. Always. But the ending is yours.”

Another laugh, less trembling. Merrier.

Karl braced himself.

“You’re really really dumb! It’s a Christmas story! Of course there’s a happy ending. I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes. And for the record, I’m in love with you!”