SILENT NIGHT

  J.E. Taylor

  Silent Night © 2021 J.E. Taylor

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover Art by Adrijana Cernic

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  DEDICATION

  SILENT NIGHT

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About J.E. Taylor

  DEDICATION

  For my daughter, Victoria.

  This story was conceived and written just for you and all your Christmas fascination.

  Thank you for posing the question that started me on this crazy path and always supporting this dream of mine.

  SILENT NIGHT

  Everyone thinks the Kringles only work in toy making. Nope. I slay monsters.

  But when Christmas rolls around, I protect Santa’s sleigh.

  So, technically, on Christmas Eve, I’m his little helper.

  Most of the time, we deal with a stray rogue monster or two on Christmas Eve. But this year is different. It seems the monsters have decided they want to play with Santa’s reindeer and ring his bells.

  If I don’t put a stop to this madness, not only will Santa be their next meal, but children all over the world will wake to a Christmas that never was.

  Not on my watch...

  Chapter 1

  “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” blares from the phone in my back pocket.

  Ugh. He has the worst possible timing.

  I reach to answer it in the midst of going toe-to-toe with this monstrosity of a monster. The hairy bastard attacked me before I could step through the portal to home hidden at the end of this row of pristinely manicured hedges. It’s as if he had been waiting for me behind the shrubs on this deserted street in the west end of New York City. My focus only shifts for a second, but it’s enough to give the creature an opening.

  Unfortunately, my poor phone goes flying in the air, with the voice of my father yelling, “Chrissy!”

  I’m too preoccupied fending off the swipes of his claws with one of the daggers from my belt to attempt to answer my father. Or even begin to bother with the fact that I’ll likely have to replace the screen yet again as I hear the thud of my phone coming face-to-face with the cold pavement.

  We slowly circle, and I get a good look at this particular being when we pass under a streetlamp. He’s hideous. Even more so than the Abominable Snowman. Hairy like a Bergamasco caught in a windstorm, with arched claws that could cut through flesh and bone like butter. And the thing stinks as if he just climbed out of a sewage plant.

  All things considered, I would rather be with my father right now, enjoying a mug of hot chocolate and Elise’s special Christmas cookies.

  My father continues to call my name, his voice growing more desperate by the minute. I’m already late, and this little encounter isn’t helping. The monster must sense my impatience because he lashes out.

  I jump back as one of his hairy claws swings in my direction. But not far enough. His sharp appendage catches my sweater, slicing it nearly in half. Cool air tickles my bare stomach.

  “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. Better the fabric than me, but this is one of my mother’s favorite holiday sweaters, and now it’ll end up in my rag box.

  Aggravation blooms inside me, and instead of continuing to rely on my diminutive dagger to deal with this thing in a stealthy manner, I’m done playing around. I slide my knives back into their holders wrapped around my waist, then reach for the sword attached to my back while evading more of his deadly slashes.

  Joy, my sword, puts Excalibur in the dust. After all, Joy is blessed with Christmas magic. Forged by the elves, my steel can slice through the wickedest of monsters and still hum every Christmas tune known to man when it’s unsheathed.

  “Joy to the World” rings out around us when I pull her from her scabbard. I grin as I swing my mighty blade. The moment it hits the beast, he explodes in a poof of red, green, and gold glitter, raining down like a ticker tape parade.

  I watch as it falls to the ground, and then I return my sword to its sheath.

  Silence falls over the night.

  I pick up my phone and breathlessly ask, “What, Dad? And before you say anything, yes, I’m aware that I’m late.”

  Chapter 2

  I inspect my ruined sweater and sigh. I cannot show up at the North Pole on Christmas Eve like this. Resigned to be later than normal, I turn away from the portal and head back to my apartment a few blocks away, muttering under my breath. This year, I had conceded and worn my mother’s favorite Christmas sweater under my leather jacket instead of my normal black attire, and this is the result.

  A monster attacked me.

  In truth, I probably would have attacked me too with the way this sweater tends to—as my mother puts it—glisten.

  My parents are going to be even more upset with me than they already are. A few minutes late on Christmas Eve is one thing, but I will be hitting close to an hour or more once I finally get there, and, to top it all off, showing up in something other than the requested “family festive” Christmas sweater.

  My little one-room flat in Greenwich Village is as upscale as I can afford. Monster hunting pays a decent wage, but it’s rather sporadic compared to steady work, so I have to ration my money. Although I would have liked something more than a studio apartment, I just don’t see the need.

  If I want wide-open spaces and a grand bedroom, I can visit the North Pole.

  I wade through my drawers, and my fingers fall on the black shirt I usually wear. My mother had begged me to wear something a little more festive, particularly the now mangled sweater she got me a few years back that has yet to make an appearance in public, so I resist the urge to just pull on the familiar fabric and continue my search. Most of my wardrobe consists of grays, deep blues, and black. Outside of the festive red and green sweater the monster ruined, there isn’t much of a choice.

  I fan through my shirts and stop on a red blouse that’s similar in fit and fabric to the black. It will have to do because the rest of my choices just lead me back to the black shirt. I pull the light, silky fabric over my head. At least it’ll match my father’s outfit, even if it is hidden under my leather jacket.

  I stop at my tree, adjusting some of the tinsel strands. My eyebrow cocks up. Maybe if I tie a little tinsel on the hilts of my knives, I’ll avoid the swarming scrutiny of the elves. I do just that. With my knives dressed in tinsel and the red blouse, I at least appear a tad more festive.

  Perhaps this will ease my mother’s disappointment.

  I let out a laugh, realizing how absolutely ridiculous I sound, even in my own head. If it were up to her, I’d be holly and jolly, settled into the North Pole “penthouse” they so kindly had expanded with the expectation that I would be living there, with them, wasting away my days, making toys and baking cookies. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do love Christmas—especially in the North Pole. However, my “toys” make Rudolph’s red nose look completely normal. And don’t even get me started on the hockey pucks some may call cookies that are the result of my sad baking attempts.

  Though, I will say my hot chocolate making skills do come close to my monster slaying abilities. And I am one of the best monster slayers in the world.

  Monsters hear my name and instantly shiver with dread. Although, there was that one that sat and laughed at me when I drew Joy and “Dominic the Donkey” began blaring. But he didn’t have much to say after he came face-to-face with Joy’s magic touch. I agree, it wasn’t her best song choice, but it made for an entertaining victory. Then there are some, like the Abominable Snowman, who turn a new leaf when given the choice between annihilation and leaving their evil behind.

  Unfortunately, most meet the sharp end of my sword because monsters usually do not change their spots. Or warts. Or whatever.

  I shake the thought from my head and lock up my apartment. I am way too late to drag my feet into a daydream.

  I jog back to the portal, press my thumb on the side of the bushes to open it, and step through right into a snowdrift that comes to my knees. God, how I love deep snow. Although we get snowstorms in New York City, it’s not the same as the silky white snow of the North Pole.

  I pull my boots along one at a time and make my way through the confusing maze of snowdrifts buffering the North Pole from the rest of the world. As soon as I step out of the maze, I grin at the sight in front of me: Santa’s house, my home, and the town surrounding it. The sleigh barn sits to the side of the house, leaving a path wide enough for the sleigh between the two buildings. Beyond our roof towers the toy factory, which stands on the far side of the courtyard placed in the center of the property. The small elf village sits beyond the toy factory, and it winds around in small, looped neighborhoods. From the sky, it looks like a giant, intricate bow.

  Even with their neighborhood, all the elves choose the courtyard to congregate in. A courtyard where I had spent many years playing with other elf children and baby reindeers. Warmth coats my soul along with the prickle of Christmas magic as it seeps into my skin.

  I cross to the front porch of the house, kicking the snow off my boots. Before I step inside, I take a deep breath, readying myself, and then I cross the threshold. Before I can collapse onto one of the bright chaise lounges in the entryway, elves swarm around me, all chattering about how I’m not wearing the right clothes for a sleigh ride.

  We go through this every year. Every year they want me in brighter clothing, and every year I resist.

  “Elise wants you to look more festive this year!” one of the elves complains as they tug at my leather coat, as if to try to strip me of my monster slaying armor.

  I fend them off gently until my temper flares when they try to remove Joy. “Enough. I conceded to wearing red under my leather jacket instead of black this year, just for your benefit. So enough!” I slash my arms to the sides, pushing them all away.

  Silence follows my outburst, and then they scatter like ants.

  They want to dress me in thick layers of glitter, velvet, and fur. But I’m a Kringle. The cold doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Heat, on the other hand, is another story. Ditch me in the Sahara, and I might have a real problem. But on Christmas Eve, on the sleigh, I need to blend in with the night, not be a beacon like my father with his red coat trimmed with white fur. The only thing black on him are his belt and boots.

  I tilt my head back and breathe out a sigh at the scent of evergreen and cookies. My gaze lands on my parents coming out onto the upper landing, hand in hand. The way they gaze at each other melts me to the core. Their eyes sparkle, and I hope that someday I will find that same deep, faithful, and true devotion. Love like that is a once in a lifetime miracle.

  My mother’s gaze shifts to mine, and that sparkle fades. Her eyes fill with nervous energy. She glances at her watch, her eyes crinkling and her lips pressing into a thin line.

  We are late, and it shows in every nuance of my mother’s face and body.

  “It’s about time.” My father’s less than jolly voice drifts down from the upper floor. He’s all decked out in his riding suit. The only myth buster from the fable told all over the world is that Santa Claus is not fat. He’s as fit as an eighteen-year-old body builder, despite being well over fifteen hundred years old. The layers of the suit just make him appear...rounder.

  He releases my mother’s free hand and makes his way down the curving staircase. My mother follows him with her clipboard. A few stray hairs have fallen out of her normally immaculate bun.

  “What happened this time?” she asks as they descend the stairs together.

  I suck in my initial response to her exasperated tone. I am always a few minutes late; it’s my biggest flaw. As much as I intend to get to places on time, something always sidetracks me. It’s usually that I can’t get a cab or the subway is running slow, but this time, it’s a little darker of an excuse.

  “I would have been here sooner, but I was attacked by a monster on my way to the portal.”

  That stops my mother midstride. Her eyes widen, and then she hurries down the stairs as if her baby girl might have gotten hurt. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, but she dotes way too much for my liking. I guess when you suddenly have a child after being married for fifteen hundred years, you have a right to be a tad clingy.

  “Are you okay?” She inspects me for any marks.

  “I’m fine, Mom.” I roll my eyes at my father, and his smirk says it all. Be patient with her. Except I’ve never been patient in my life. “The bastard ruined the sweater you wanted me to wear,” I add as I stop her by grabbing her wrists, stilling her hands. “I’m fine, really.”

  Those stress lines around her mouth soften, and a smile appears. “It’s good to see you, but you and your father need to get moving if you hope to deliver all those gifts by sunrise.”

  We hustle out back where Santa’s sleigh sits all packed up and ready to go. The reindeer shuffle in place, waiting, but I notice a couple of them are slightly swaying. I glance at my father, and he has a concerned crease between his eyes as his gaze lands on the same reindeer I’m glancing at.

  “Dasher, Dancer!” he calls out.

  Both reindeer look at him with cockeyed smiles. Their muzzles drip with frothy cream.

  “For heaven’s sake, who gave them eggnog?” Santa waves at his lead reindeer as his gaze pierces the elves rushing around the sleigh.

  No one answers. They stop for a moment and trade glances with one another, only to shrug before going back to the task of getting us ready to leave.

  Santa shakes his head in disgust and glances at me.

  “There’s no time to change reindeers.” My mother glances with disdain at the two drunken beasts.

  Rudolph prances over with his nose glowing as bright as the Christmas lights surrounding the village. But his gait is just as unsteady as the lead reindeer, and the same frothy liquid coats his snout.

  He hiccups. “I can lead,” he slurs, just before tripping and falling face-first in the snow.

  We wouldn’t get a mile before this drunk deer crashed us into a mountaintop. At least Dasher and Dancer are still on their feet.

  “No, Rudolph. You can stay here and make sure the rest of the deer are... safe,” Santa says.

  Christmas Eve is a prime night for the snow monsters to attack because my dad isn’t here to defend our town with his potent magic. Every mile away from the North Pole weakens our defenses. And the monsters are partial to reindeer meat.

  None of the other reindeer seem to be wearing an eggnog beard. Hopefully, they are able to keep Dasher and Dancer driving straight.

  I glance at the elves, looking for the guilty party, but none of them pay us much attention as they prepare the sled for launch. Something about their lack of concern strikes me, and I look at my mother.

  Her eyes are hard as she scans the elves, and I can’t help the worry coursing through me. When her gaze meets mine, I give her a nod. She knows I will keep my father safe, and with two drunken reindeer, it might mean being strapped into a sleigh gone wild. Although I do fight monsters for a living, driving an out-of-control sled leaves me antsy.

  “Come on, Chrissy. Let’s get this show on the road.” Dad claps me on the back and leads us to the sleigh. He gives my mother a lingering kiss that makes my cheeks heat to watch, so I look away. “Stay safe,” he says, like he always does.

  “You, too,” she replies. But instead of the usual excitement that goes along with Christmas, there is worry in her eyes that sends a shiver up my spine. She meets my gaze and blows me a kiss.

  I catch it in my hand and return one back at her.

  My stomach flutters in warning, and every cell in my body vibrates. An uneasy nervousness flushes my skin, and I sense a hard night coming.

  Chapter 3

  Takeoff is a bit rough, but after we rise into the air, the turbulence caused by the wobbling of Dasher and Dancer smooths out. We head to the portal that takes us over the Pacific Ocean near the Christmas Islands, where we always start our travels, and the plan is to move west across the globe.

  Usually, we break through the barrier just as the sun is setting, but tonight, darkness has already shrouded the land. A testament to just how late we are and how sluggish the reindeer seem to be tonight.

  The first few islands bring about nothing that alarms me, and I find myself relaxing in the seat next to my father as we bound from hut to hut on these tiny remote islands. I cannot help but be amused at the transition from an almost microscopic speck in the night sky, to the fully fledged sleigh as we blast through the time zones.

 

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