Festive Frights

by CW Publishing House

  His form grew steadily larger, drawing on the strength of the shadows around him to bring his torso into being. He laid out on the frozen earth, pulling himself forward with his thick arms, as his lower half emerged from boiling blood and black dirt. Soon they resembled the large hind legs of a goat, ending in dark stone hooves. He stood, his filthy coagulated skin hardening into cracked and wrinkled gray flesh, riddled with scales and lesions like an animal with mange. Crusty patches of deep brown fur that clung to him in places suggested that he had once borne a magnificent pelt. Threadbare and exposed in the biting wind, he screamed an ear-splitting wail as he thrust a clawed hand back into the ground, calling forth the burning souls of the children he had previously consumed.

  A surging tide of steaming ichor slid upward along his arm, rising from the depths of Hell to clothe the mighty creature. The deep crimson swill covered his chest, his legs, and his arms, writhing and whimpering in agony. Soon a thick, smoldering robe enveloped the demon, shielding him against the elements. The wind muffled the anguished mewling of the damned, until only a soft tinkling could be heard, like small silver bells. Confident that he had gathered enough strength, the great beast straightened his spine--reaching nearly ten feet tall--and tossed his head back in a horrifying howl that no mere goat had ever produced. Stalking toward the nearest house, he sniffed the air. Saliva poured from his mouth in anticipation of the feast he sought.

  The Julbocken had risen.

  ***

  The morning sun was bleak against the cold, gray sky. The woodpeckers were already busy by the time the first feeble rays touched the earth, and their repetitive drilling into the nearby tree trunks were a wake-up call for Annette. She jumped out of bed the moment her eyes opened and rushed out of her room to check on the children. They were still sound asleep in their shared bed, with their slimy, green scrap dolls still resting on the floor beneath the raised mattress. She breathed a huge sigh of relief, knowing that the Julebocken had not come while they slept. That meant they only needed to make it through two more long nights.

  The day flew by, and before long it was time for bed again. Once the kids were asleep, Annette paced around her room as she had the previous night. This time, even John was too nervous to offer any words of comfort.

  ***

  He approached the house in the shade of pure darkness. The moon was absent this midwinter, and even the stars seemed to dim in the presence of the demon. The doors were barred. The windows were sealed. The only way into the small, humble home was through the smoking chimney on the roof. The demon crouched down beside an outer wall and eyed the top of the house strategically, like a viper preparing to strike. In one sudden motion he leapt up, and his blood red coat moaned as it thrashed in the wind. The sound of bells grew louder until he landed with his hooves firmly on the aged wooden shingles. Two steps brought him to the stone chimney, and he peered down through the billowing smoke.

  It was a tight fit, but he compressed his body into a thick sludge and slowly oozed down the soot covered stone. He dripped in large chunks onto the burning Yule log, the flames turning green and shooting up high into the smokestack. The last clods of his remains sunk into the heaped mass that had lumped together on the floor just beyond the hearth. For a moment, the wriggling pile shifted and convulsed, before stretching upwards and narrowing out. Arms rose from its sides and a gap formed between its solidifying legs as the figure regained its shape, and the soft tinkling of souls were wrapped around the beast once more.

  The dim light of the fire threw wicked shadows across the walls, twisting his demonic horns in true hellish design. He bent forward as he swept his cadaverous head from side to side, aggravated at the low ceiling and abundance of odors in the small, cramped quarters. His large, flaring nostrils detected a strong scent and he drew a deep breath. It was a crude, wild smell--nothing to satisfy his hunger. Following the trail to its nearby source, he extended a curious snout toward the wide fir tree that sat in the corner of the room. Irritated and noting the slight scent of children beneath the overpowering pungency of the tree, he uttered a deep, rolling bleat as he slashed out at the nearest branches. His large, brutish claws sliced the wood like teeth tearing through rotten flesh. The branches fell to the floor and the Julbocken looked down at them. He lifted a cloven hoof and stomped down on the offending brush until it lay flat and broken.

  He turned back toward the fireplace, seeking the children his nose had ascertained must be in the house. The salty fragrance of young human wafted just below the sweet tang of clotting blood, and his eyes narrowed as he searched for the origin of the delicious secretion of life. His mouth watered, drool spilling over in large puddles on the floor. There on the dining table, laid out on a large wooden platter, rested a feast of old, stinking beef and pork. A goblet beside the raw meat was filled to the brim with the blood of the slaughtered animals. The Julbocken gnashed his jagged teeth and rushed toward the table, scooping up the savory meal and thrusting massive handfuls down his throat, swallowing them whole. The meal was soon demolished. He wrapped his elongated fingers around the stem of the goblet, pouring the entire cup of blood into his wide, open jaws. Thick drops splashed onto his face as he drank, and he extended his long, wet tongue to lap them up.

  When the meal was finished and the blood gone, the Julbocken approached the front door to leave. But as he crossed the room, the scent of children hit him once more, light yet distinct and immensely enticing. He chased the odor, tossing his head and snorting as he stepped around the room, jingling all the while, until it led him to a closed door. Turning the handle with one hand, he laid his other wide, padded palm on the center of the door and pushed it open.

  ***

  Madeline was afraid.

  She had woken in the middle of the night to the tinkling of bells on the roof. Her excited curiosity had faded quickly as sounds of snorts and growls coursed through the house. There was a soft crash, followed by a succession of muffled bangs, then what seemed to be loud, rapid gulping. She thought of her father's tales of the frightening demon of midwinter; her imagination began toiling with bright red eyes, twisted horns, hooves, and sharp, bloodstained teeth. Shivering, she pulled her wool blanket up over her face leaving only her eyes exposed to peer through the darkness.

  There is nothing to fear, she repeated in her mind. The soft glow of the fireplace emanated through the crack beneath her door. She was grateful for any light it could offer, until a shadow crept across the brightness, stopping directly in front of her doorway. The handle creaked as it turned, the hinges groaned, and the door slowly swung open.

  Madeline's eyes broadened as wide as they would go. The silhouette before her was more alarming than anything she had imagined. She slid the edge of her blanket upwards as slowly as she dared to move, until it covered her entire head. The heavy footfalls of the terrifying beast grew steadily louder. She was sure the horrible demon was upon her. The room fell deathly silent, and she wondered if anything was there at all. She cautiously lowered the blanket, coming face to face with a thick, brown snout. Heavy, pungent breath threatened to suffocate her, and she opened her mouth to scream.

  Something clammy and warm covered her mouth. She quickly realized it was her brother's hand stifling her scream; the salty savior from her destruction. J.J.'s voice whispered faintly into her ear, urging her to lie perfectly still and to stay silent despite the demonic creature before her. She breathed in deeply through her nose, choking on the vomit that sat in her throat. Swallowing as quietly as she could manage, she forced her body still. The only light was the small flickering beam that fell through the open door--just enough to illuminate the gargantuan beast. The small girl's wide eyes stared straight ahead of her, gazing into the black oculus of the Julbocken.

  He was looking to the side with his wrinkled, gray ears perked up, as if he had heard something that distracted him. He was motionless, if only for a few seconds--though it could have been an hour as far the frightened child was concerned. His nostrils f
lared and a deep snort echoed through the small room. He sniffed; first once, then twice, then a third time in a long, steady inhalation. As he exhaled through his mouth, his jaw flexed and his knife-like teeth flashed in front of her. His attention was drawn to the floor, just beneath her bed. He shoved his nose against the scrap dolls, leaking putrid juices onto his snout.

  The renewed odor of aging meat rose to greet Madeline, and she gagged. The sudden sound drew the Julbocken back up to eye level, and terror gripped her throat, forcing silence. She dared not even to breathe, with the moist snout of the demon a mere hair's breadth from her cheek. He growled hungrily and opened his mouth wide, hundreds of teeth all aiming directly for her and her brother. Madeline squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the imminent pain.

  ***

  "Annette!"

  She awoke with a start as her husband shouted her name a second time. Fearing the worst, she leapt from her bed, rushing out of her room and into total destruction. She glanced around quickly, taking it all in as she made her way to her husband, who stood by their children's doorway.

  The first thing she noticed was the cold. It was unusually chilly for being indoors, and a stray breeze blew her hair over her shoulder. Then she saw the open front door, the bar torn in half and lying by the hearth. The tree was askew, leaning against the wall. A large section of branches had been ripped from the trunk and stomped into the floor. Fir needles were strewn across the room, and she noticed drops of blood scattered atop them as they neared the kitchen. The dining table had been knocked out of place and sat crooked with deep scratches in the surface. Her largest plate sat bare, with no sign of the pile of meat that had been on it the night before. The goblet laid on its side by the plate, a small line of dried blood on the inside, spilling onto the table.

  As she reached her husband, she finally took note of his expression. It was blank and unreadable. Mute tears tumbled down her cheeks as she considered what she would see beyond the threshold. John turned his head into the children's room, and she forced herself to follow his lead.

  The bed was empty. The blankets were tossed back, half of them on the floor at the foot of the mattress. Huddled in the far corner were her two children, wrapped in each other's arms, asleep. Their cheeks were still wet and their skin still pale, physical remnants of the trauma they had endured.

  Annette nearly fainted into her husband's arms. Leaning against his chest and sobbing in relief, she thanked Father Sun for chasing away the long Night, and the demon with it. When she had finally composed herself, a stray thought crossed her mind. She stepped up to the children's bed and stooped beside the mattress. Peering beneath the bed, her breath caught in her throat. She reached down and pulled out two fist-sized chunks of charred bone that closely resembled lumps of coal--the remains of the scrap dolls.

  A stirring from the corner of the room caused her to drop the bones, and both her and her husband rushed to their children, embracing them--soothing them--after their terrible experience.

  ***

  The next morning, after the three long nights of midwinter were finally passed, the town members gathered together to celebrate in the rising of Father Sun, and to discuss the Julbocken's visit. He had been to quite a few of the houses, and many grateful parents had their children in their arms.

  However, each year there were those inconsolable few who had arrived empty-handed, their children replaced with loss and despair. Words of sympathy were passed through the townsfolk, but murmured whispers of hellspawn dwelt beneath the hypocritical offerings of compassion. Many rationalized that if the Julbocken ate your children, they must have been so naughty that they themselves were born of Hell, and were deserving of their just punishment from the midwinter demon.

  About Crystal M M Burton

  Crystal M M Burton is the beloved wife of a brilliant Texan electrician, and super-mom to three beautiful, energetic children. She runs a local cake decorating business out of her kitchen, and in her free time enjoys crocheting, reading, gaming, and movie marathons. Writing is a passion she has carried with her since childhood, developing into a full-time hobby. She has been featured in a few anthologies and a collaborative novel, all published by CW Publishing House. She has a blog on Wordpress for short stories and tall tales, and a multiplicity of works in progress, some of which can be seen on Wattpad.

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/crystalmmburton

  Twitter: @CrystalMMBurton

  Wordpress: http://crystalmmburton.wordpress.com

  Wattpad: http://www.wattpad.com/user/CrystalMMBurton

  Keep the Home Fires Burning

  By Rachel Fox

  “Must you go today, Archie?”

  “’Fraid so, Edith. Who’ll deliver the letters if I don’t?”

  “I know, but it’s been so nice having you home these last few days. I get lonely.”

  “I know, but Mum and Dad are coming round. If I’m late, they’ll stay the night.”

  “If you’re late?”

  He stroked her hair. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Archie pulled on his coat; he knew only too well how things could change at the drop of a hat if the raids started. He kissed Edith on the head before he left.

  It had been difficult for them since Sally had been evacuated to the country. They knew it was safer for her to be there, and they’d had letters so they knew she was happy, but they missed her. Christmas was the worst time. They’d put up a tree and a few decorations. Edith had even put some tinsel up in the shelter, but they hadn’t needed to use it over Christmas this year. Not yet. They’d agreed not to buy gifts for each other; money was tight, and it was no fun without Sally anyway. All the same, Archie wished he’d been able to buy something special for Edith just to cheer her up a bit.

  Archie’s uniform scratched at his skin. All his clothes did since the rations started and proper cleaning products, like everything else, weren’t available. He trudged along the road he knew so well. He’d lived here all his life, had been born just round the corner and was still within a stone’s throw of his parent’s house. It was the same for Edith, they’d known each other since they were kids. The thought of her still made him smile. He turned the corner and tried not to look at the bombed out houses. That one had been far too close for comfort. He crossed the road and took a short cut through the park. He liked to walk in the park, it reminded him of days before the war. They used to bring Sally here on sunny Sunday afternoons, he would play chase with her while Edith set out the picnic. Sometimes his mum and dad would come or friends from the street but most of the time it was just the three of them. The memory was almost too painful to hold onto but he refused to let it go.

  The post office depot loomed above the other buildings. Archie had been coming here to work every day since he was fourteen; it felt like a second home. He’d grown up with the other lads who worked there. They were close-knit and it was hard to watch them go off one by one to war. Even harder when they got news that some would never come back.

  It was just as cold inside as it was out. Archie chatted to a few of the boys and then collected up his satchel, which bulged with Christmas cards. He heard the distant whistle before the others; the painful whining sound of a doodlebug heading their way. They all stopped and waited for the whining to stop.

  “Get to the shelters!” someone shouted, and they all ran down the concrete steps and out into the cold air. The blast hit before they made it any further, but it was a distant echo rather than the deafening blasts to which they’d grown accustomed.

  “Must have passed over us,” someone whispered.

  “We should still go to the shelter. Bound to be more,” Archie said, and they all agreed. They waited hip by hip in silence and listened to the bombs drop. Some were close but not close enough to really make them worry. Someone else was in for it tonight, and they all felt a guilty relief in that knowledge, though their hearts ached for those who wouldn’t be so lucky tonight.

  When they were sure it was over, th
ey crept, heads bent low, out of the shelter. The light faded quickly. “How long have we been in there?” Archie asked, finding it hard to believe that they’d lost half the day.

  “Bleedin’ hours!” the governor said. “And we’d better get going unless anyone wants to go home.”

  None of them would. It was a point of pride that the post was delivered no matter what. Archie would do his bit; he hadn’t been able to fight—polio had seen to that—but his limp didn’t stop him from making his round as fast as the others.

  “See you later, boys,” he called as he set off. His round had changed since the war arrived. With half their team missing, he had to cover a longer round and, of course, some streets simply no longer existed.

  He started up the high street. Shopfronts were closed, but despite the blackout rules he could still see glimpses of lights through the heavy drapes. He heard the laughter and music from some. Life went on.

  At the end of the high street, a little removed from the other houses, stood a grand townhouse. He didn’t know the family well, though he saw them often and they’d always given him a few bob in an envelope at Christmas. The letter box rattled its thanks as he slipped the letter in, and he felt the warmth seep out from inside. As he walked away, the door opened.

  “Come in for a drink?”

  He turned to see a red-cheeked man leaning out of the door. “It’s a bit early for me,” he said. He checked his watch and was surprised to see how late it was; he hadn’t noticed the time passing.

  “Come on, just a quick one. It is Christmas.”