#thenightmareking

@hurtbywhisperedmuses

A nervous chill crawled up Pitch’s spine as he settled in his seat. The movement eliciting a small squeak from the worn leather armchair. He took a shaky breath, trying to calm his nerves some before he set hands on his keyboard. The last time he had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, Pitch had accidentally fried his keyboard. He cursed himself and the new fangled board he bought. The old one was mush easier to navigate.

Another breath and he was ready. Pitch already had the chat window open, he simply needed to start the call. Turning on his webcam, as he didn’t believe it should be left on when not in use, he called her.

They hadn’t been chatting for very long, a few months, really. Still, it seemed that she, Christine, had managed to tug at Pitch’s lonely heart strings. The man was caught and he’d gladly stay that way for as long as she would want him.

Pitch looked around as the chat rang, checking to make sure any soiled vials or crushed plant material was pushed out of view of the camera. He didn’t want to look a mess for her. It’s not that he was, it had just been some time since he had tidied up. Potions often left quite a mess once completed.

@nose-nippin-fun

The shade hadn't ventured into Burgess in quite some time. A familiar pattern of ice trailed along the edges of a nearby shop. He grimaced. The town had left a foul taste in his mouth since his pitiful defeat at the hands of the Guardians, and especially that boy.. Frost. Just the sight of winter was enough to have Pitch choking back bile. Though, as the snow crunched beneath his feet, Pitch began to smile. He had let loose a cocktail of nightmares here not terribly long ago in hopes of disrupting the joy the winter sprite had caused.

Though it wasn't entirely clear, it had seemed to work, if just a little. The ice that decorated the shop seemed jagged and unkempt and the snow more sludge than powder. It left Pitch to wonder what it's creator looked like.

A trek through the town and through the wood and the shade came upon a familiar sight, the pond in which the Guardians had gave him his last brutal beating. He would be scowling if it had not been for the blue lump sleeping in a cradle of branches just above it. The shade moved quickly. Clutching the trunk of the tree with taloned hands, Pitch climbed his way to the top and loomed over the boy. He appeared deep in sleep, but not peaceful. It gave him a sick sense of satisfaction, of pleasure even. To see the sweat bead off the sprite's forehead, his lip quiver and his lids squeeze shut. This is what Frost was meant to look like, what all the Guardians were meant to be. Nothing more than frightened children.

Sandy was usually so very quick when it came to his duties, deams were his specialty of course and he had a lot of dreams to give each and every night, chasing the sunset.

He was delayed that evening when he heard a dream of a youngster turning into something darker. Sandy assumed it was just a Nightmare Man, something he could handle very quickly with little trouble.

The Guardian entered through the window and made to add more of his own sand into the dream when he sesned that this wasn’t the work of a Nightmare Man, this was something else.

" wow, that actually....really hurts. "

The shade smirks, raising his glass. “Merry Christmas, Jack..”

If the Boogeyman would ever stoop so low as to listen to any festive melodies during the holidays, it would be this one. A smug sneer, a large leather armchair, a good book, and possibly a cigar or a glass of wine. The shade would tap his foot to beat and hum minimally as he so pleased..  

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