Site Index | Spec the Halls Main Page | Submission Guidelines | Recommended Submissions | All Submissions | FAQ | Newsletter Archives | News | Contact

2007 Spec the Halls Is Now Closed! See the winners below! The 2008 Spec the Halls contest will open Nov 1st and close the week before Christmas. To sign up to the newsletter and receive a reminder when the contest opens, send an email to specthehalls@gmail.com with "Subscribe" in the subject line.

Web www.aswiebe.com

Spec the Halls is a contest for speculative winter holiday-themed fiction, artwork, and poetry. The holiday may be fictional or real; it may be Christmas or Yuletide as we know and love it, or it may be something much stranger. Links to the submissions can be found at Recommended Submissions and All Submissions. You may sign up to receive the Spec the Halls weekly email, containing contest news and weekly featured selections, at any time by sending an email to specthehalls@gmail.com with "Subscribe" in the subject line.

2007 Spec the Halls Contest Winners!

Editor's Note: Sadly, nobody submitted to the artwork category this year, so the prize went unclaimed!

Return to top

Poetry Winner

I am a mother of three grown children and work for the local Clerk's office. I have always had an active imagination and write stories more often than poetry. For right now, I guess I will continue to write to entertain my families and friends.

Yuletide poem

by Elizabeth Perry

Yonder time, in the land of fairies and elves

Unforgotten celebration of the winter solstice

Log burning bright and made of ash

Early pagan customs that cannot be dismissed

Trimming a tree and hanging a wreath

Ivy and mistletoe loved by the druids

Darkest of nights, giving birth to a new sun god

Embracing traditions that forever remain fluid

Return to top

Fiction Winner

Lapp Dancing

by Tracie McBride
I needed to disappear for a while. Luckily Sneaky Pete owed me a favour, and he’s the best “disappearer” in the business, which is how I ended up working for Layla, an anorexic chain-smoking dwarf with a penchant for wearing green. She owned a bar in Lapland, where I was to spend part of an Arctic winter pulling pints and fending off advances from drunken Finnish lumberjacks.

I’d just got word from Pete that it was safe for me to go home. A few more weeks at Layla’s, and I’d have enough money for my airfare. It was a quiet night in the bar, and I was fantasizing about barbeques at the beach, margaritas by the pool and tanned men in shorts, when in he walked.

He seemed to fill the doorway, blocking the wind with his bulk as he stamped the snow off his massive black boots. He looked up, and a tremor ran through the dozen or so drinkers in the bar. Must be some kind of local celebrity, I thought, as patrons raised their glasses in unsteady hands and toasted the newcomer.

Layla beckoned him over from the top of her bar stool with the built-in stepladder, where she was holding court with assorted paper mill magnates and reindeer herders. Standing on tiptoe, she was just able to kiss his chin. “Nick, darling!” she said. “How lovely to see you!” She snapped her fingers in my direction. “Amber, make sure you look after Nick. All drinks on the house.”

Nick took a stool at the bar. His lush white beard and fleshy cheeks obscured a face that looked as though it would customarily be twinkly-eyed and smiling. No smiles tonight, though. He slumped in his seat, his beard brushing the counter. “Bourbon,” he said. I tried not to slop his drink on the floor as I stared, transfixed, at his hands. They were huge, fat and white, like a pair of pillows tacked on the end of his arms. There wasn’t a callous in sight. Obviously not a lumberjack, then. He downed the bourbon in one gulp, signaling for another before his glass left his mouth.

“Women trouble?” I guessed. He looked startled and nodded. “Don’t tell me,” I said as I pushed his glass towards him, “your wife doesn’t understand you, right?”

“Worse,” he replied. “She doesn’t believe in me any more.”

“I don’t get it,” I said.

“It’s those bloody Jehovah’s Witnesses,” he said, as if talking to himself. “If they hadn’t knocked on our door, we’d still be a happy couple. Coming into my house, filling her head with nonsense, converting her…if I get my hands on them, I’ll…” He trailed off, his face contorted with rage and his fists clenched. Suddenly his hands looked considerably less pillow-like.

I still didn’t get it, but then, I’m a barmaid, not a psychiatrist (although customers frequently get the two confused). I poured him another bourbon. “Perhaps you should go home and talk to her,” I said. “You’re not going to make things any better by sitting here.”

He nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He knocked back his drink, slammed the glass down on the bar and strode off. There was a lull in the wind that was roaring outside, and in the momentary quiet I thought I heard the tinkling of small bells. I felt quite pleased with myself, despite the fact that I’d lost Layla a customer for the night. It wasn’t often any of the punters actually listened to me.

He was back the next night, however, looking more morose than before.

“That little talk with your wife didn’t go so well, I take it?”

“No, it didn’t. And now I’ve got even bigger problems. Half my staff have come down with cervine flu. At my busiest time of year, too.”

“What line of business are you in?” I asked.

“Toys,” he replied.

“Really?” I said. “I thought that sort of stuff all came out of sweatshops in China these days.”

“Don’t get me started!” he roared, thumping his fist on the bar. Here comes that temper again, I thought, taking a couple of steps backward. “All the cheap plastic crap they turn out…that junk doesn’t even make it from one Christmas to the next most of the time.”

I could almost see the thunderclouds forming over his head, when he suddenly brightened. “Mind you, you’ve just given me a good idea,” he said. “I could make a few phone calls, pull a few strings, maybe get a couple of Asian factories to switch over to my product line for a week or two…” He gave me a wide-faced smile, the first I’d seen from him, leant over the bar and kissed me full on the lips.

“You’re a genius!” he said, and once again he swept off into the night.

I didn’t see him again until the night before I was due to fly out. Layla had already turned in, and I was finishing up as my last customer staggered out the door. Nick pushed past the exiting lumberjack and all but collapsed at the bar, burying his head in his arms. His shoulders heaved with huge gut-wrenching sobs. Without a word, I lined up three bourbons. When he had composed himself sufficiently to drink two of them, I dared to ask.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s Rudolph,” he said. “He’s dead!”

Who the hell is Rudolph, I thought. His brother? His best friend? His dog?

Nick continued. “He broke his leg this morning. I had to….to shoot him!”

That ruled out my first two guesses.

He fell into another crying fit, then sculled the last bourbon. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him!” he cried. “I’ll never find another lead reindeer in time.”

What could I do? I was fresh out of good advice. I came out from behind the bar and gave him a few tentative consoling pats on the shoulder. It only seemed to make things worse. His wailing intensified, and he threw himself into my arms, almost knocking me off my feet. And that’s how we stayed for the next half hour, until his tears were spent.

#

I’d like to say that I slept with him against my better judgment, but I don’t think I have a better judgment. It’s not that he was completely unattractive. In fact, he had a strangely powerful allure. Every time I was around him, I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to climb into his lap. One night embracing that mountain of white flab, however, and I was completely over it.

I tried to break it to him as gently as I could. “Look,” I said, “There’s no future for us. I’m flying home tomorrow. Besides, you’re a married man. I make it a rule not to steal other women’s men. I just borrow them for a while.”

He didn’t take it well. “You can’t leave me now!” he ranted. “Not after all we’ve been through together! I need you! Tomorrow’s the most important night of the year for me! I can’t get through it without you!” By now he was storming around my room, which was essentially a storage room at the back of the bar with a double bed in the corner, and he was breaking stuff with his flailing arms. A forty ounce bottle of rum tumbled from the top shelf and shattered at my feet, closely followed by a bottle of cognac.

I squealed and jumped up on the bed. Nick paused in his rampage, and his eyes narrowed as a malevolent thought entered his head. He picked up another bottle of spirits and, holding it high above his head, hurled it at the floor, where it exploded in a splatter of booze and glass. The ceiling echoed with loud thuds as Layla thumped on the floor of her apartment above us. “What’s going on down there?” she yelled.

“Nothing, Layla,” I yelled back. “I’ve got it under control.” I turned back to Nick.

“That’s it!” I hissed. “Layla’s going to take the damage out of my wages. If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call the cops.” I waved my cell phone at him to show that I meant it.

“Go ahead!” he said, gesturing widely and destroying another bottle in the process. “I’m highly respected around here. They won’t do a thing.”

I rolled my eyes and started dialing. Rock stars, politicians, adult movie directors, I’ve heard them all say the same thing. Nine times out of ten, they learn the hard way that they’re not above the law. I hardly thought a local toy manufacturer was going to have much pull.

The two cops that arrived five minutes later were a twin drool fest, with their white-blond buzz cuts, classic Nordic features and chiseled pecs straining against their shirts. I half-expected them to be carrying a portable CD player and wearing tear-away pants. Damn it, I thought, why couldn’t there have been a bar brawl that needed breaking up six weeks’ ago?

Nick stared intently at one of the cops. “I know you,” he said. “Marko Vatanen, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, said the cop. “I’m surprised you remember me. I didn’t get too many visits from you when I was a kid.”

“What did you expect?” said Nick. “Pulling wings off flies, stealing money from your mother’s wallet, blowing up your neighbour’s letterbox with a homemade pipe bomb…” Nick counted off the offenses on his overstuffed fingers. “Frankly, I’m astounded you were accepted into the police force.”

Marko shrugged. “Are you familiar with the term ‘good cop, bad cop’?” he said. “They had a shortage of bad cops.” He twisted Nick’s arms savagely behind his back and snapped on handcuffs.

“Hang on a minute, Marko,” said the other cop. “Aren’t you being a bit hasty here? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow night. I’m sure this can all be sorted out without having to take him in.”

Marko shook his head. “The law’s the law,” he said gleefully. He marched Nick out the door. His partner trailed after them. I was too intent on cleaning up the mess to give much thought to his parting words.

“But Marko,” he said, “think of the kids…”

#

The first thing I did when I stepped off the plane on Christmas Eve was buy several bottles of fake tan and the skimpiest summer dress I could find. The second thing I did was select a table in a garden bar within stumbling distance of my flat, and order a big creamy cocktail, complete with a little paper umbrella, half a tropical jungle of fruit garnishes and one of those chewy green cherries that nobody likes. The third thing I did was order another one. I can’t remember the fourth, fifth and sixth things I did. At some point I must have made my way home, because I woke up the next morning in my own bed with the mother, father, uncle and second-cousin-once-removed of all hangovers. It took me a few seconds to realize that the pounding I could hear wasn’t just in my head. Someone was hammering on my door.

It was Sneaky Pete. “Merry Christmas,” he said, blowing me air kisses and sweeping into the room. “Oh, good, you haven’t unpacked yet.” He grabbed me by the arm and propelled me towards the door, scooping up suitcases as he went. “You can dress in the car,” he said. “You’re in trouble. Again.”

“But I’ve only been back 24 hours,” I protested. “That would be a record, even for me.”

“It’s the Finns,” he explained. “You slept with the wrong man. Again. Layla rang me last night. His wife has friends in high places, apparently, and when she found out you’d bedded her husband and had him arrested, she made a few calls and hired Joey the Snake to pay you a little visit.”

I shook my head, trying to prompt my few functioning brain cells into some kind of activity. “But…but he said that his wife was some kind of religious convert. That doesn’t sound like very pious behaviour.”

Pete gave me a pitying look. “Oh, honey,” he said, “You didn’t fall for the old ‘my wife doesn’t believe in me’ line, did you? Again? Come on. I’ve got you booked on a flight to Kazakhstan. I’ve got a contact there who owns a strip club. You’ll be safe there – well, safe-ish – until I can sort this out.”

I groaned. “Not again!” I followed him to his car. As I stood blinking in the early morning light, I could hear all up and down the street the ear-aching screech of children crying.

Return to top

Editor's Note: Sadly, nobody submitted to the artwork category this year, so the prize went unclaimed!

Return to top

Poetry Winner

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

by Mary Cook

The night before Christmas we went for a drink

Just me, Steve and Darren – and Liam, I think.

We downed a few beers then we went for a curry

We’d nowt for the bill so we left in a hurry

We sang a few songs about Santa and holly;

Some were quite rude, but all very jolly.

Then Darren chucked over some keys on a ring,

Saying: “You’d better drive as you’re too drunk to sing.”

I did so then felt a great blow to my head,

So the lads supped from cans round my hospital bed.

The next thing I heard was a voice at my ear

That roared: “Welcome to hell – and a ghastly New Year!”

Return to top

Fiction Winner

BRIANNA MAY'S GREATEST CHRISTMAS WISH EVER

By Kevin Lucia

It was Christmas Eve, and Brianna May O'hara was angry with her imaginary friend, Bob the Water Sprite.

Brianna May mumbled and grumbled like unhappy children do, sending plumes of frosty breath into the winter air as she trudged home, kicking the intermittent snowdrifts piled along Main Street. Having forsaken pigtails long ago because they were for kids and she was now a grown-up fifth grader, her ponytail swished back and forth in time with her angry steps. She missed her old jester cap with the tinkling bells because it had always kept her neck toasty warm, but she'd also outgrown that, exchanging it for a pair of stylish pink ear muffs – though truthfully, the jester hat had kept her much warmer.

Brianna's troubled thoughts weren't on the cold or her accessories; instead she fretted over her classmate Mary's horrible Christmas party, which had completely ruined her day. Every year on Christmas Eve, stupid old Mary Wicksens' family threw a huge Christmas party for her whole class and their families at the Clifton Heights Rotary Club, which was right next to Heights Elementary School. As usual, her parents made her go--even though she didn't want to--because they said it was good for her "to socialize with her peer groups now and then".

Of course, her parents themselves hadn't gone because Dad had been called into work and Mom had too many errands to run, too many things to buy.

It had been terrible. Everyone there had at least one parent with them; a mom here, a dad there, and in the end she was the only one there without her family. Mom had arranged a ride to the party with the Andersons, but they were headed out of town afterwards, so as usual, she had to walk home by herself.

Brianna sniffed in the cold as she remembered sitting all alone at a table in the corner, with one lonely Christmas present in front of her, and that was nothing more than a big, foil wrapped Hershey's Kiss, the standard token present ever kid got each year. Because her parents had most likely not even opened the letter mailed home about this year's "Santa Gift Swap", they hadn't bought any presents for her classmates, so therefore she'd received none in return.

That wasn't so bad, because she honestly didn't like most of her classmates anyway. The girls were all snooty and too "girly" for her tastes, and the boys were rude, smelly, gross, and infected with a terminal case of cooties. It was hard, however, to see Julia Miles gleefully unwrap a big, fluffy teddy bear with her pretty mom smiling over her shoulder, and then watch Bobby Overstreet's dad help him assemble a remote-controlled Monster Truck.

The worst, however, was knowing her imaginary friend Bob the Water Sprite had lied to her again, and hadn't shown up to the Christmas party like he'd promised.

"Stupid Bob," she grumbled, feet plodding on the icy sidewalks, "stupid, stupid Bob!"

The O'Hara's fancy, big house sat on Spear Street, which was over Black Creek Bridge on the other side of town. However, because Clifton Heights was fairly small, Brianna's father felt that paying the school district's fee to ride the school bus was "superfluous"; a big word he used a lot that Brianna was petty sure meant "silly". Because it was silly and Dad didn't want to spend the money, even though he made lots of it, she hadn't ridden the school bus to or from school since the end of first grade.

Her family was always very busy; so she usually walked home alone. Dad often worked late, hardly ever making it to dinner, dance recitals or soccer games; and lately Mom had been too busy with all the grown-up parties she threw at other houses; parties with weird names like Lia Sophia, Pampered Chef, and Domestic Delights, to pick her up either.

A burst of wind chilled her, and she shivered while hunching down into her jacket, feeling tired, cold, and mad. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she shouldn't always walk home alone.

Someone in her family should care enough to pick her up.

"Right," she said through chattering teeth, "just like someone should be there to make supper so we don't have to eat microwaved junk every night; like someone should do the dishes so I don't always hafta do them."

There were a lot of somethings that shouldn't be; of which Brianna was well aware. Girls her age shouldn't walk home alone; Dads shouldn't always work late and miss family dinners, dance recitals and soccer games, and they shouldn't miss their daughters' Christmas parties, either.

Of course, Moms shouldn't be more interested in throwing fancy parties than being with her family, and most important of all, if there was any time of the year a family should be together, it was Christmas.

Unfortunately, she knew the routine, and so far nothing had given her hope it'd be any different this year. Despite his promises, something 'big' had come up at work today, so Dad had rushed to the office to 'tie some things up'; and he'd missed Mary Wicksens' Christmas party, even though he'd promised not to. More than likely, he'd stay late and not get home until after she'd fallen asleep, and he'd probably work tomorrow, too.

Of course, tonight Mom would be so busy preparing for Christmas dinner at either St. John the Evangelist's Soup Kitchen on the edge of town, the homeless shelter in Old Forge, or the Salvation Army in Boonville, their Christmas Eve dinner would be forgotten. Brianna would be left to microwave herself something and grab some snacks, her mother chattering away all the while about what a blessing it was to sacrifice their time for others in need, her own daughter's needs never once crossing her mind.

So, Brianna would spend Christmas Eve not with family but with her favorite flickering pixel friends Jimmy Stewart, Frosty, and Rudolph. While Dad hacked away on the 'Johnson Account' or 'ran the numbers' again for the billionth time that night, Mom would fret endlessly over elaborate dinner projects for someone else, while Brianna would snuggle in tight with her stuffed animals and televised Christmas promises.

Long ago, before Dad was promoted and Mom became convinced she was the last civic-minded person on the planet, they'd traditionally allowed her to open one present on Christmas Eve. However, as their lives got busier, as Dad hurriedly re-knotted his tie while walking out the door and Mom desperately stuffed someone else's turkey, Brianna was blithely given permission to open any present she wanted, a brisk, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart!" tacked on the end. She'd stopped doing that two years ago, because really – what was the point? The thrill of opening a present was doing so in front of her parents, and without them, every present opened had soured, tainting the tradition beyond redemption.

The next morning, on Christmas, they'd spend perhaps ten minutes together; Dad pausing just long enough in his rush to give her a casual peck on the head and a muffled " 'Erry Chris'mas, kiddo!" before he rushed off to work to put the 'final touches' on the 'Montgomery Project'. Mom would ask again if she'd like to come to the Soup Kitchen, homeless shelter, Salvation Army or wherever, wondering if maybe she'd be 'bored sitting here all by herself', and of course Brianna would shake her head and mumble, "I'll be fine." Then, in a whirlwind of arms, legs, crock-pots and briefcases, coats and scarves, her parents would be on their way, and Brianna would be left with a bowl of Sweetie Tarts cereal and a stack of presents almost as high as her, as if all the Christmas goodies in the world could make up for her mother and father's absence.

She'd spend the rest of the day with Jennifer Lopez, Katie Couric, Joe Piscopo, and a host of marching bands, floats, balloons of her favorite cartoon animals, and of course, Red Ryder at five o'clock.

She sighed as she stopped at the corner of Main and Allen, glancing across the street at old man Chin's pizza place. The front window of Chin's Pizza & Wings, framed by deep, fire-engine red brick, throbbed with a welcoming glow. Though Mr. Chin would probably let her sit there and get warm, she had no money. Soaking up the warm, oily odor of crust, sauce, and garlic without eating a slice would only be torture.

She sighed again, glanced down Allen to make sure no one was coming, and crossed the street, leaving the pizza place behind. All the while, she thought about Bob and how he'd let her down by not coming to the Christmas party today.

She wasn't stupid; she knew girls her age were supposed to shop, download songs to their iPods, go to the mall, and watch "Hannah Montana" on the Disney Channel, not have imaginary friends no one else could see. She couldn't help that she was different and didn't like the things her friends did. Those things just weren't for her.

Instead of "hanging out" at the mall, she loved to read all kinds of books in quiet, hidden places. Her favorite she called the "Wooded Den"; a small copse of trees behind her house whose lowest branches intertwined like a thatched roof, the floor a soft, quilted rug of browned pine needles. In the late spring, summer and early fall she hid there and read everything from The Brothers Grimm to all the Nancy Drew Mysteries and even Harry Potter, soaking up adventures and chilling tales like a big sponge. She'd rather read every day of the week and twice on Sunday than do whatever it was girls her age were supposed to do.

Meeting Bob had been the best thing ever, because he loved to tell her stories, as much as she loved to listen. This past summer, she'd spent hours sitting on the edge of Black Creek Bridge, listening to Bob's wonderful stories of fighting off enslavement to an evil witch named Morgan. His stories had changed her life, and she didn't know what she would've done if she'd never heard him under the bridge that fine summer day, chirping merrily in what became his standard greeting, "Well, well, well! Who's that, trip-trapping over my bridge?"

Lately, things had changed. Even though he still told her stories she mostly liked, some of them had become dark and scary, about the bad stuff Morgan used to make him do. Also, he'd been a bit mean to her since Halloween, playing awful tricks like waiting until she'd almost crossed the bridge and then popping out from underneath, yelling, "BOO! I'm gonna gobble ya right up!"

This always scared her terribly, but he seemed to think it was very funny indeed; and sometimes, Brianna wondered in the back of her mind if his joking threat to "gobble" her up was only a joke, or perhaps something more - which she always dismissed, of course, because that was just so…superfluous?

Still, something was different about him; and she never knew what he was going to do next.

"It's like playing with Mrs. Snowballs," she whispered as she neared Black Creek Bridge, "every time I pet her, I don't know if she's gonna hurt me or not."

Mrs. Snowballs, her Aunt Sylvia's cat, was old and losing its mind, and could never decide anymore whether it was a friendly lap cat, playful kitten, or bitter old feline who'd soon as take someone's eye out than let anyone touch her. Lately, playing with Bob had been the same way; she never knew what was going

to happen. He made her laugh often enough and still told her stories, but a couple times he'd been rude enough to almost make her cry.

"Sometimes," she whispered, "I kinda wish you'd never showed up, Bob."

However, if Bob hadn't come along, she would've spent the last year alone, as always. That was not something she wanted. Plus, there was her Christmas wish to think of. She knew Mom and Dad would never make it come true, they'd become too busy with more important things. Brianna was scared that if she sent Bob away, maybe her Christmas wish would NEVER come true.

She scowled and kicked a frozen patch of snowdrift as she walked by, watching it crumble into icy dust. Bob had let her down by not showing up at her Christmas party like he'd promised, and she'd sat by herself in the corner, all alone the whole time, feeling terrible. How could she trust him anymore to make her Christmas wish come true?

For years, Brianna May had only one wish, for her family to spend Christmas together. That was all she wanted, two days to pretend she had a Mom and Dad like everyone else, two days to be happy in the warmth of family love.

Somewhere around the fourth grade, however, Brianna realized that would never happen, and over time her wish slowly transformed into a desperate dream: that someday she wouldn't spend Christmas alone. She gave up on Mom and Dad, wishing for anyone to spend Christmas with...anyone at all.

She had no one else, and this was probably the worst feeling of all, that the only hope of her Christmas wish coming true rested on the furry blue shoulders of an untrustworthy Water Sprite.

She was just out of town and about ten feet from the bridge when she heard it: a sharp bark, a pitiful canine whine. Claws scuffed the ground; the bark repeated, followed by another sad yip.

"Oh, jeeeeeeepers," Brianna moaned, looking to the sky. She was cold and hungry, depressed, and downright mad. She didn't need this.

She turned and crossed her arms, glaring at the dirty, mangy mutt following her: Captain Stinky, the Super Ugly Wonder Dog, as she'd named the smelly but friendly stray who'd taken up residence in Clifton Heights over the past year. Captain Stinky was a scruffy old Irish Setter; he was terribly annoying, always around to bother her at the worst times.

There he stood on stiff, excited legs; dingy fur tufted by the winter wind. His usually ragged, drooping ears perked straight up, his tail wagged like window wipers, his pink tongue lolled out in glee.

Dad had told her to stay away from Stinky because "one can't be too careful these days", as he always said, "who knows when he had shots last; maybe he's even got rabies, for God's sake". She wasn't worried about rabies, though; Captain Stinky just smelled bad, and though she liked to read instead of watch American Idol, she was still a girl, and smelling bad was bad no matter what you liked.

Whenever she encountered Captain Stinky, the dumb dog always jumped around her with muddy paws, trying to slobber her with his tongue. She'd push him down and then he'd try to rub against her legs, running around in circles, yapping, generally making himself a "nuisance"; as Mom sometimes jokingly called her when Brianna begged to visit the town library.

Eventually, (though she hated to admit it), she tossed rocks and sticks and whatever else she could find until Captain Stinky kept his distance, barking sadly yet somehow happily all at once.

And here he was today, when she wasn't in the mood, thanks to Bob not showing up to the Christmas party like he'd promised.

"Go away, Stinky!" she yelled, her nose wrinkling as she imagined the dog's sour stench even this far away, "Just go away!"

Ignoring her, Captain Stinky barked; tail wagging and tongue curling while he trotted towards her.

Brianna clenched her fists and stomped the ground; she'd had enough. She turned and stalked off, fully intent on ignoring the dumb dog all the way home. She walked quickly, hoping to escape Stinky's dirty fur and slobbery tongue, because if she had to shout or throw things at him, she somehow knew she'd feel worse than usual.

Her angry stalking faltered, however, as she reached Black Creek Bridge.

Everything was quiet; it was getting cold and dark out, most everyone was warm at home. It was just her, Captain Stinky, Black Creek Bridge, and if she crossed it…

Bob the Water Sprite.

Looking at the wooden, slightly arched bridge that crossed only a few feet above Black Creek itself, she remembered the first time she met Bob. It had been after one of her summer soccer games last July, and she'd been both mad and depressed because as usual, no one had come to watch her play. Dad had promised to take the day off from work but hadn't, while Mom had booked an Avon party in nearby Boonville at the last minute.

She was upset because she'd played her best game ever, and no one had been there to see. She'd scored two goals and made three steals while every parent cheered their kids on, not her. Worse yet, after the game the whole team made a special trip to Pizza Hut over in Old Forge, and none of the families lived near her, so she couldn't find a ride home. Not only had her parents missed her best game ever, but she also had to miss the team's victory pizza party and walk home by herself, again.

It had been the worst day ever, until she walked over the bridge and heard those fateful, cheery words, "Well, well, well! Who's that, trip-trapping over my bridge?" and found Bob, living in the water under Black Creek Bridge.

He'd changed her life, mostly for good….until lately; until today.

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and walked onto the bridge, ignoring the trailing Captain Stinky. She made it halfway across when her fragile hopes of not encountering Bob died as she heard his cheerful, gravelly voice…

"Well, well, well! Who's that trip-trapping on my bridge?"

At the sound of the voice that had let her down, Brianna's anger flared. She halted, stepped to the bridge's edge and grasped the cold rail with mittened fingers. Leaning over carefully, she glared at the iced-over creek, under which the truant Water Sprite floated with his wide grin.

His soft, furry serpentine body stretched out for miles under the frozen creek, which never made any sense to her, seeing as how Black Creek was only four feet deep. Outstretched hands with four slender fingers pressed up under the ice, a patch of wavy tendrils on his head rippled back and forth in currents Brianna knew couldn't be there, seeing as how the creek was frozen and all.

Bob looked like a cross between a fuzzy seahorse, a sea snake, and those wanna-be Muppets on The Cartoon Network. He sported catfish-like whiskers on either side of a long, narrow face, and even grew a small, wispy beard on his pointed chin. He didn't have any ears she could see, nor legs, his body ending in a triangular point. Along his back was a spinal ridge looking a lot like those on the iguanas in her science textbook at school, and it sparkled with an iridescent, ever changing kaleidoscope of colors.

Although he wasn't exactly frightening, he wasn't cute either, because there was something different about him. If she were grown-up, she'd say Bob was alien, but being only ten; she just thought he looked weird.

Bob's smile flashed rows of perfectly square, stubby teeth as he growled again, "What's shakin', ma belle? You look a bit out o' sorts, kiddo."

Brianna scowled. "I don't wanna talk right now, Bob; I'm mad at you."

"Go away."

Bob spread his hands, grinning wider, stretching his narrow, rubbery face. "Aw come on, Baby Cakes – don't be mad. I wanted to show up fer yer little party; I tried, honestly. There was just too much of Morgan's witch mojo floatin' in the air, and I couldn't break outta the ethereal plane."

Brianna kicked the bridge, not believing him. "You promised, Bob. You lied."

Bob folded his arms, furry blue caterpillar eyebrows arching. "Lissen, Baby Cakes – I promised I'd try. I didn't promise nothin' about bein' there for sure. You filled in those blanks on yer own, kiddo."

Brianna frowned, biting her tongue. Bob was lying; she knew, for sure and certain. She'd wondered for awhile now if he'd lied about other things, but she'd never been able to catch him at it, so good a storyteller was he. This time, however, she wasn't going to let it slip by, because it was so obvious he'd told her one thing, and then done the exact opposite. The worst part was, she didn't think he even cared.

She kicked the bridge again in frustration. "That's not true, Bob," she persisted, "you promised you'd be there, and you weren't. Everyone else had someone there, except for me. I was all alone."

Bob's stern look vanished; face softening as he folded his hands. "Aww, lookit ya – yer so precious when you get mad; I swear I could eat ya right up."

Brianna fidgeted. Her stomach always felt queasy when Bob said that, because of a hungry twinkle in his eyes. Pushing her icky-stomach feelings down, she asked, "Why, Bob? Why didn't you come?"

Bob shrugged. "I'm sorry kiddo, I really am. Like I said, fer some reason Morgan's entrapment mojo was too strong today. There was nuthin' I could do, honest."

And here, of course, was another story, another lie.

"Uhhh…Bob…." This was so hard, because not only had she grown a little afraid of Bob, but she'd also grown to love him too, in a strange way. In a small town where most girls wanted to be rich pop stars, life was lonely for an imaginative girl like her. Bob had been great company; his stories about fighting off evil wizards, battling trolls and dueling underwater monsters had filled her lonely days with color, wonder, and amazement.

Still, something about him bothered her deep down. Probably the only good advice Dad ever gave her was that friends who made you feel uncomfortable were probably not friends, and she could no longer deny that Bob made her uncomfortable.

"Hey, Baby Cakes…turn that frown upside down, willya?" He pressed close to the ice, smiling, eyes widening. "It's Christmas Eve kiddo, and even though I kinda messed up an' missed yer party, I'm gonna make good on my other promise, and grant ya yer Christmas wish."

Brianna stared at the kindly Sprite and pressed her lips together, remembering. Around Halloween, when things with Bob had still been good and fun and exciting, when she still trusted him, she'd confided in him about how awful Christmas always was for her. She'd told him things she'd never told anyone else; including her wish not to be alone on Christmas.

On that day, Bob promised he'd make her Christmas wish come true. All she needed to do was say his real name, (which he was magically bound not to say himself), three times on Christmas Eve to free him from his watery prison. According to his story, the evil witch Morgan had imprisoned him with an escape clause: should a good and pure girl of the world have mercy on him, on the eve of the God-Man's birth, if she said his name three times, he would be free. Just as El Shaddai gifted the world with his Son, so could a pure girl of the world gift him with freedom.

Brianna had whispered the name to herself many times since then, (never three times in a row, of course), and in many ways, the name had taken root in her subconscious, to the point where she was pretty sure she'd dreamt about saying it several times already.

Dagon.

"It's time, Brianna; you know my name, my real name. Just say it three times, and I'll be free. You'll get your wish, and won't be alone this Christmas." He flashed a grandfatherly smile, leaned closer to the ice, palms pressed against its frosty underside. "You have no idea what wonderful things I can show you, Brianna," he whispered.

She sucked in an icy, burning breath. She'd waited months for this moment; as the days crept by, as Mom and Dad left her home alone more and more. Every day she looked forward to Christmas Eve, the night she'd say Bob's real name and set him free, so she could finally have someone real to spend Christmas with.

But she didn't trust him anymore. What if this promise turned out like all his other promises? On the other hand, what if she didn't say his name and he left forever? She'd be all alone like before and it would be just her, Jimmy Stewart, Frosty and Rudolph again this year.

She was scared of Bob; but she was more scared of being alone. The thought of never spending Christmas with anyone was too much to bear.

She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Dagon."

Bob clapped his hands, smiling widely. "It's okay, Brianna, everything is goin' to be okay. Yer about to get your greatest Christmas wish, ever."

Just then, Brianna heard a soft whine and scrape. She cast a look over her shoulder to see Captain Stinky sitting quietly behind her, head cocked inquisitively, eyes shining, pink tongue still hanging askew. The Irish Setter chuffed once, snapping his jaws in an almost questioning click, and then laid down, head between paws, deep, thoughtful eyes fixed upon her gaze.

Even as she looked at Captain Stinky, she pursed her lips to say 'Dagon' a second time. As the name formed on her tongue, however, Captain Stinky sat up and quickly barked once, with strange authority for a mere dog.

Brianna stopped mid-name. She looked into Captain Stinky's eyes and saw something she'd never noticed before. His eyes shone a vibrant sky blue, blazing with warmth and depth.

"You don't want me to say it," she whispered, "do you, Stinky?"

Stinky huffed and shook his head with another sharp click of his jaw, and though he was only a mangy Irish Setter, Brianna swore he smiled at her.

Over her shoulder, she heard Bob curse under his breath and mutter, "Bug off, mutt ….this tasty tart's mine."

And there, was the truth.

"No," she said as she turned to face Bob, hands squeezed into little fists at her sides. "I won't do it."

On the outside the Sprite look crestfallen, almost depressed, but Brianna felt something twitch in her stomach as his eyes flashed darkly. "Brianna, kiddo, I know it's an awfully big step, but this is fer you; so you don't haveta be alone on Christmas Eve no more. Yer almost done, just say my name two more times…."

"No." Brianna repeated, folding her arms, trying to ignore the pleading look on Bob's face.

"Aw, c'mon," Bob snapped abruptly, his gentle façade slipping, "don't be such a little sissy, Brianna."

Brianna's eyes widened and she glared at the water sprite floating just beneath the ice; his form no longer attractive or strange, but somehow disgusting. Since she'd known Bob, he'd never spoken like that to her, even the last couple of months. If he really was her friend, he would've learned one thing about her by now, she was no sissy.

Sissies didn't walk home every night by themselves, never afraid of strangers or the dark, chilly nights. Sissies didn't sit at Christmas parties all alone, never crying once. Sissies didn't play soccer hard, never giving up, never once thinking about the parents that were never there.

Sissies didn't spend Christmas all alone, year after year, never complaining, ever.

Nobody called her a sissy.

Nobody.

"I want you to go away, Bob," she pronounced; her anger giving her strength, "and never come back.

Ever."

The stinging, cold air bit her skin as she gazed at Bob. All was silent; the wind no longer blew and the sounds of winter – water trickling beneath ice, settling of snowdrifts, icicles tinkling in the wind – ceased.

Captain Stinky himself sat several feet behind her, huffing in the cold air, and nothing more.

Bob looked at her, expressionless, round eyes suddenly dark, glassy pools. His furry blue chest rose and fell with breaths she knew were impossible because he was underwater; but other than that and the coiling of his long tail, he was dreadfully still.

Finally, his whiskers twitched, and his long, lizard-like, pink tongue flicked out and licked his lips. His face still empty, but eyes glittering, he growled, "Don't even think about it, kid. I've gone through a lot of trouble to pick you; had to sort you out from a bunch of others. You don't want to spit in my face, get it?"

His edged tone carved something cold in Brianna's stomach, touching a nerve. "What do you mean?" she whispered, "What other kids?"

Bob showed teeth. "What, ya think yer the only one with a Christmas wish?" he sneered. "I got a whole laundry list of kids like you who want me to make their Christmas wishes comes true. You're just a number, sweetie, and that's it."

Brianna lurched; Bob's words a slap to the face. The urge to flee clanged against her frozen limbs, and though she opened her mouth; nothing came out. She swallowed, throat sore, and finally wheezed, "No… that's not true. You said I was your only friend; the only one in the whole world."

Behind her, Captain Stinky pawed the wooden bridge slats and whined fretfully, but she was oblivious to this as her whole world shattered.

Bob's nasty grin widened, showing more teeth than she thought imaginable – rows and rows of sharp, razor-like teeth – and he pressed himself against the ice. "Kid, I've got tons of friends, and they all want me to make their wishes come true."

Tears trembled on her eyelashes, and then stiffened and froze in the cold as she bit her lower lip. She shook her head quickly back and forth in short, jerky sweeps. "N-no," she sniffed, her anger suddenly doused by the weight of her loneliness, "s-stop staying that."

The blue, fuzzy little monster, (as she now thought of him), pushed back from the ice, folding his arms. "Sorry, princess, ya gotta grow up sometime. First of all, there's little Timmy Johnson, who lives right at the end of South Street? His Christmas wish is for all the other kids to stop beatin' him 'cause he likes poetry and not sports. There's also Samantha, the one who wears all the eye shadow? She wishes she was dumber and prettier so the boys liked her, because boys don't like smart girls, do they? Then there's Billy Hopkins," Bob counted each child's name off on an extended blue, worm-like finger, "the fat kid with the big, thick black hair and all the pimples?" Bob rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "Well, you can imagine what his Christmas wish is…"

Fresh tears flooded her eyes, and she hugged herself tightly, shivering in the suddenly suffocating cold. She reeled with the torrent of names; Bob was lying, had to be, because all the kids he'd named were….

Bob's laugh was slick, sliding, nothing like the warm chuckle she knew so well. "That's right, sweetie, they're all in your class; the little schmucks from this afternoon who laughed at you behind your back for being at the party all alone. Every one of them knows me, and knows me well."

The truth thundered down upon her, hammering her heart into her feet.

Bob smiled all teeth. "That's right, they all got wishes, just like you, and I've promised all of them I'd make their wishes come true."

Captain Stinky barked once; loud, sharp, but all she could think about was Bob's deception.

"Why?" she rasped. "Howcum so many kids? Why?" She stomped, her voice shrill. "Why?"

Bob shrugged. "I had ta find out which was the best kid, right? The best, strongest, most imaginative one to hook up with?" He waved a blue hand, adding, "I know I played ya, but I hadda do it ta find the best kid to let me outta here. I wanna bond with a sure thing."

His words made little sense, but one word in particular resonated with ominous meaning. "Bond," she whispered, "what do you mean…bond?"

Bob leaned forward, hungry hands caressing the ice. "That's the best part, sweetie. When one of you frees me, we'll be pals forever. I'll be on the inside; you'll be on the outside, and we'll have such fun…."

Brianna stood terribly still, part of her mind refusing to understand…but part of her understanding all too well….

I'll be on the inside….on the inside…

Bob clapped his fuzzy hands together, rubbing them gleefully. "C'mon, Bri….ya gotta see how much fun that'll be." Brianna shook her head, her face pale, cold against the wind. Bob rushed on. "Well, it'll be great, because when I'm inside, you'll be able to see and hear things like never before, understand things no kid your age does. How wouldja like to ace school for the rest of your life? You'll be stronger, faster, heal from pain a lot quicker."

He leaned closer to the ice again, his gaze penetrating. "You'll be able to do whatever you want; Brianna," he whispered, "and you can have anyone you want, for the rest of your life. No more being alone on Christmas Eve ever again. When I'm a part of you…everyone will want a piece of your action, savvy?"

The last two sentences caught like fishhooks in her heart; tugging, twisting, refusing to let go. She had the barest ideas of what Bob meant; all she could imagine were strange images of Bob playing with a Brianna marionette puppet, but the thought of having lots of friends and not being alone anymore, especially on Christmas…

She swallowed. Bob looked tender, almost forlorn. "I'm lonely too," Bob said, "I know what it's like, kiddo. All those other kids ain't nuthin' like you…"

In response, Captain Stinky barked, snapping his jaws with a menacing click at the ice.

Bob narrowed his eyes and hissed, "Bug off, mutt; this ain't any of yer business…"

Brianna stiffened, clasping her hands to her tiny chest, as her betrayed feelings resurfaced. "You're lying," she said, "you're not lonely, at all – not with all those other kids…you're lying, like you always do!"

Bob smiled; his gentle demeanor slipping back into place. "Listen Bri, all those other kids don't mean nothin', 'cause I'm pickin' you, get it? Yer the one I wanna bond with!"

Captain Stinky came alive, lunging past Brianna and snapping his jaws at the Water Sprite hovering beneath the ice. Brianna looked on in wonder as she realized the dog not only sensed Bob's presence, but could also see him, as well.

In a violent flurry, Bob slammed a small, furry fist into the ice, causing it to shake, both Brianna and Captain Stinky jerking in alarm. "Beat it, dog! Go chase a cat, eat yer Kibbles n' Bits, and leave us alone!"

The lure of having lots of friends and being able to do whatever she wanted was gone. Somehow, because of Captain Stinky, she no longer felt alone, or needed what Bob offered.

Bob's genteel mask slipped back into place as he realized his mistake. "Listen, babe, this mutt ain't lookin' out for you; he just wants a nice warm bed and some good grub. Me, on the other hand…"

Brianna stomped her foot. "No," she spat, "I'm not letting you out, Bob. I'm not saying your name."

Silence. Bob stared, hands closing and unclosing, whiskers and furry tuft of hair waving back and forth. Something flashed in his black eyes, and for the first time ever, Brianna knew what it was to stare death deep in the face.

Exploding, the Water Sprite attacked the ice, pounding and flailing and thudding with all his might, howling away. Brianna screamed, scrambled, slipped and fell onto the cold, hard bridge. She quaked in fear as a green glow flared to life beneath the ice, spreading into the gray winter evening.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl!" Bob yowled as he pounded, each blow harder than the last, shaking the ice worse with each impact. "Say my name and lemme outta here; lemme outta here now! I get outta here, I'm gonna tear you to shreds, you worthless piece of….!"

Captain Stinky leapt forward, something transforming his face from a good natured dog to wild, fierce protector. He snapped at Bob over the bridge railing, clicking his teeth, pawing and scratching the wooden slats of the bridge, as if desperate to get his jaws around Bob's scruffy little neck and snap it.

Shame like she'd never known filled her, because she'd been so horrible to Stinky, and here he was defending her. She wasn't alone anymore; would never would be again, at least not while Captain Stinky was around.

Still afraid but now emboldened, she climbed to her feet on shaking legs, huddling close to the dirty Irish Setter, who no longer smelled bad at all.

With an ear-splitting howl, Bob swung one last blow, striking the ice hard enough to convex it outward. Cursing, Bob spat, "You miserable dog! She's mine, get it? Mine!"

Leering at Brianna, Bob placed his hands on serpentine hips and hissed, "There's a small bit of the bedtime story I forgot to tell ya, sweet thing. Guess what happens to all the other kids when one of ya finally does set me free? After me and the lucky one bond, we get to have some fun; my kind of fun. First thing we get to do? Find all the folks that've done us wrong and take care of 'em, if you know what I mean."

Brianna clung to Captain Stinky, whose furry hide rippled with a menacing growl, to which Bob paid no attention as he leaned in, dark eyes shining. "Oooh, that's right, sister…if one of those other kids lets me out, and not you…I'm comin' after you first, and then I'm having you and mommy and daddy and Brian for dinner, and no one will ever know what happened."

Brianna said nothing, merely clung to Captain Stinky and buried her face into his scruffy fur, which mysteriously carried the scent of jasmine, roses, maybe even wild clover.

She was scared. She knew that the "Christmas Eve only" clause was probably a lie and most likely Bob could get out whenever his name was said, and maybe he would get out someday, come looking for her, do the bad things he promised. If he looked and sounded and even smelled like someone else, how would she ever know? She was just a little a girl and the thought of this horrible, terrible Water Sprite stalking her was more than she could bear.

"Let me out," Bob cooed, "and we can have all the fun you want. I may ask for a few small favors now and then," he shrugged, looking innocent again, "but what's a little people-meat compared to all the power and friends in the world, right?"

To her childish horror, a small part of her wondered how bad people-meat could really be.

With a great sob, Brianna choked back tears, trying to dry her face on Captain Stinky's fur. Oddly enough, the Irish Setter no longer barked or growled or quivered, merely stood stiff at attention, as if waiting for her to make a choice.

"You've really got no choice, now do you?" Bob whispered, almost reading her mind. "You've only got me, babe – and that's it."

Choice. Choosing. Her choice.

It came to her then, with a thunderclap. She had all the power; could say his name, or not.

He couldn't do anything.

"But I can," she muttered into Captain Stinky's warm, soft fur. "I can…." she stopped, afraid Bob would hear, afraid she was wrong and the blooming magic inside would be destroyed when she whispered it, afraid it was simply untrue…

"….I can make him go away," she whispered.

Everything stopped. It was no longer cold, the wind stilled, and the sound of Bob's voice faded from her mind. There was nothing but Captain Stinky and her, and the realization that she could make Bob go away.

"Well babe, what's it gonna be? Are you an' I gonna party, or am I gonna hafta to hook up with some other kid, and then come back here and eat ya for dissin' me?" Bob chuckled, raising his furry, blue-caterpillar eyebrows as he did so, looking impish. "I gotta be honest; I'm of two minds. Yer the best kid out of the whole lot, buuut…" he leaned forward, pressing hands and face against the ice, "I bet you're also the tastiest, too. Either way – I'm gonna have a bellyful of kid-meat by tomorrow morning, that's for sure."

She threw her arms around Captain Stinky, hugged him once, drawing as much strength as she could from his warmth, and she stepped away. Balling her little hands into tiny fists, she approached the bridge's railing and looked at Bob the Water Sprite.

He looked his best at this moment, which made it much harder. Smiling face, wriggling blue beard, he looked nothing more than his friendly self. Beneath the surface, though, she saw the points of teeth hidden in the back of his mouth.

She swallowed, rocked back and forth on her toes, and squeaked, "No. Go away."

Surprise registered on Bob's face, but Brianna saw something else there, too.

Fear.

"Brianna," he reasoned with a smile, "it don't quite work like that sweetie; you can't order me away." He grinned, blatantly exposing his teeth. "You don't have the power."

Though he brimmed with self-confidence, she knew he was lying, again. "No," she said in a firmer voice, "that's not true. I can do whatever I want; I can make you go away, because I don't want you here anymore."

His smile hardened, anger flowed from him. "If that's what you want, sweetie, is to send me away to Timmy or Sally or Bonnie, so I can come eat your eyes out later, fine by me! Just remember you had your chance to…"

She stomped her foot, and to her delight Bob actually flinched. "No! No more lies, Bob, no more, 'cause even if you do go to someone else, you can't hurt me – because I said so. You can't touch me!"

With a roar that shook the ice and the heavens, Bob the Water Sprite swelled into a rippling, muscled mass. No longer a little sprite, but now a horrible man-lizard-snake, Bob became something ancient and evil. Her entire body went deathly cold at the sight.

"I AM DAGON!" he screamed in a deep, hollowed out voice. "I get what I want, ALWAYS! I've eaten bugs like you for centuries, and I won't be stopped now!"

LET! ME! OUT!" Each bellow was accompanied by a horrible blow of a horrible fist, which shook the ice. With each blow, great splashes of spectral green light pulsed into the falling night.

Brianna closed her eyes, plugged her ears….and screamed back.

"GO AWAY!"

She screamed for the days and nights of loneliness, wondering where her family was, why they left her alone all the time. She screamed from the hole in her heart where "Daddy" and "Mommy" were supposed to be; black, aching holes that hurt all over. She screamed for the best friends she didn't have, the sleepovers she never went on, the parties she never went to, and the Christmas Eves she'd spent all alone.

She screamed for the stories that were her life, because she sensed – she knew – deep down in the dark place inside, if she said Bob's true name, she'd never have a story of her own, ever again.

She screamed for herself, and screamed for what Christmas was meant to be.

With a deafening blast, something exploded from the watery depths. Ice and snow and frost flew everywhere, shards of coldness bit into her skin. The blast threw her backward and she fell, arms and legs akimbo, hands flailing for purchase and finding none. Everything was bathed in a green glow, the air rent by a horrible scream born of darkness. Horrible images burned her mind and then faded, as something wicked fled, intent on leaving behind whatever mark it could.

Brianna fell back, thumped her head on the bridge, and everything went black.

* * *

A snuffling filled her ears, undercut by a soft murmuring - the wind, maybe. A high-pitched whining punctuated the muffled sounds, occasioned by a snort and some more snuffles…

Something wet and rubbery ran down her check, over and over, licking, lapping, bathing her.

Brianna May O'hara's nostrils twitched, as she caught a faint whiff of rotten leaves, sour smelling garbage… and maybe even poop, for Pete's sake….

..with just a hint of jasmine, roses, and wild clover lingering underneath.

But still, it was pretty smelly.

A quick, sharp bark and Brianna woke to the sight of a black, wet, smelly nose and a ginourmous pink, wet tongue descending from above.

"EWWW!" She shrieked, and scrambled to a sitting position, flapping her hands and pushing away Captain Stinky the Super Ugly Wonder Dog, which only wafted around his putrid smell even more. Worse yet, because the mangy old Irish Setter had apparently been licking her face and fawning over her for the past several minutes, she looked down and sniffed herself…

"Aw, gross," she wailed, and then glared at the smiling dog. "Stinky! I smell like you! YUCK!" She raised a hand to shoo him away…

…and her gaze caught Stinky's, which was pretty thoughtful for a dog. The wheels spun and whirred in Brianna's head, the sour garbage scents faded from her nostrils, as the fog over her mind cleared.

She remembered.

Bob. Dagon. People-meat.

She scrambled to her feet, frightened yet hopeful. Captain Stinky instantly sidled up to her and she reached out and pet him, unmindful of horrible smells as she peered over the bridge's guardrail at the broken, splintered patch of ice on frozen Black Creek.

Nothing was there, save the winter trickling of muddy water, stone, pebbles, and maybe a brown stick or two.

She cocked her head, listening. Maybe he wasn't gone and was hiding; waiting to pop up the first time her back was turned. Maybe Timmy Johnson or Bud Jenkins or Chris Baker would show up on her doorstep tomorrow, with a strange, hungry glint in his eyes.

She listened for sounds she couldn't hear, motionless, still.

There was nothing; splendid, wonderful nothing.

She looked down at Captain Stinky and smiled as she pet him, his kind, wise eyes all the reassurance she needed.

She repositioned her hand and scratched him between the ears, and he cocked his head in tune with her fingers, angling himself to get the best scratching reception. She smiled and said, "Mom and Dad are just going to love you, Captain Stinky, but I think you need a new name." She sniffed again and her nose wrinkled, but still smiling, she added, "Plus, you really need a bath."

Captain Stinky the Super Ugly Wonder Dog – soon to be named something sweet, kind, and appropriately fluffy – barked once, as if in total agreement. Brianna nodded. "Let's go home."

Brianna May O'hara walked across Black Creek Bridge with her new friend, leaving behind Black Creek and nothing else, her greatest Christmas wish fulfilled at last.