#wraithofchristmasfuture

what a big heart i have the better to 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 with little red riding hood even bad wolves can be 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥

The Spawn had few rules in the den beneath the town, and one of them was that he wasn’t supposed to venture beyond the sewers without the accompaniment of his protective and deadly parent. The Spawn was juvenile and far more vulnerable than IT. If he wasn’t careful, he could get hurt, or worse.

IT was out hunting, and the Spawn found the stranger far too curious to leave alone, so he broke that rule and chased after him. The small child appeared out of nowhere, wearing a yellow raincoat and missing an arm, though the bloody stump didn’t seem to bother him.

A disembodied giggle announced his presence, though his smile dropped quickly into something more neutral. “Are you naughty or nice, Mr. Manx?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Are you a good father, or a bad one?”

which 𝚠𝚘𝚕𝚏 wins? i guess it really depends just gotta wait and see which one's 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘦'𝘴 the biggest turns out i'm living in a horror film where i'm both the 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 and the 𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 so who, who are 𝙮𝙤𝙪?

Fairy tales had always been something that had been a guilty pleasure of hers. Growing up, V.ic McQueen had never been one to be accused of liking the same things as her more feminine peers. It had been obvious from her taste in shows, the clothes that she’d gravitated towards, and even her choice in the Raleigh Tuff Burner. As such, it had always shocked people to find out that Vic had quite the soft spot for fairy tales. Not the Di.sney-fied versions, of course. Those sucked. She’d always preferred the darker versions, the twisted originals that sought to frighten the reader rather than soothe and comfort. 

When she’d unintentionally revealed this secret to her therapist, the woman had instantly seized upon it. She had suggested that Vic revisit these old stories, find one or two that really resonated with her, and then draw a scene or her own interpretation of the characters. Normally, when the good doctor would give Vic ‘homework,’ she would ignore it or do three seconds of it before tossing it to the side. But this assignment? This actually made Vic excited for once.

Maggie had shared in her excitement, immediately pulling up the app that they typically used to get Vic’s audio books. The two of them had spent over an hour pouring over the various narrators and looking at the versions of fairy tales available. Due to the dark nature of the stories, the Brat was being pickier than usual when it came to her narrators. They had to have a certain type of delivery and a certain quality to their voice in general. They had to be able to aid her in imagining the stories since she could no longer do it herself, after all. 

After Maggie left, Vic settled in with a hot cup of tea and placed her sketchbook in her lap. She’d chosen Red Riding Hood as the first story to sketch from because she’d loved it so much as a kid. It had been her favorite story to re-imagine and she’d often picture herself as Red except that she’d been the one to save dear ol’ Grandma and the Woodsman from that tricky Wolf. She remembered imagining herself riding in with her sword ( it was always a sword because swords were cool ) held high, slicing open that wolf and snatching her loved ones from his nasty jaws. They would then mount the wolf’s head as both a trophy and a warning to others that little Red wasn’t to be messed with. 

She made small sketches as the narrators droned on, hand moving of its own accord as images and memories danced in her mind. Silhouettes in long cloaks that billowed on an unseen wind, dark trees opening to tempt one to explore their shadows, eyes that glowed in the darkness, lips pulled away from sharp teeth in a dangerous smile. The doodles covered the pages as the world dropped away, leaving Vic in that comfortable space between sleep and wakefulness. It kind of reminded her of being a teenager, unable to sleep, and slipping some X on her tongue. She’d spent years chasing that blissed out, ‘the world is amazing’ feeling. Who knew that recapturing it could be so simple and a lot cheaper than spending hundreds on drugs?

Somewhere along the line, Vic slipped off of the precipice that she’d been balancing on and fell into the world of dreams. The sketch pad slowly slipped from her lap, the pencil falling slack in her fingers, as her head gradually dipped and her chin came to rest on her chest. It had been years since she’d been able to fall asleep like this without the aid of booze or pharmaceuticals. 

The Brat blinked rapidly as she came to herself, standing upon a path with the mid-day sun high above her. The rays of light hit the freshly fallen snow, bothering her eyes. It was with a sudden jolt that she realized that her full vision had been returned to her and that she could walk without pain or a limp. It was these revelations that caused her to realize that she was no longer awake, but locked into a very, very vivid dream. Interesting. 

She glanced downwards to take stock of what she was wearing, scowling slightly at the fact that she was wearing some old fashioned sort of dress that was modest but also emphasized her figure. Why couldn’t she wear something more practical for walking in the woods, like pants? Around her shoulders was a heavy cloak that was a beautiful shade of red. Her fingertips brushed over the fabric, noting how nice the texture was. On her forearm sat a basket, complete with something that smelled absolutely delicious that was covered by a red and white gingham cloth. Her subconscious was really not skimping on the details of this particular dream, it seemed.

Vic then took stock of her surroundings, noting that there was a familiar quality to the trees around her but being unable to quite put her finger on why they were familiar. Beneath her feet, there was a clearly worn path that cut through the nature around her. A part of her realized that her mind had planted her directly in the Red Riding Hood story and had given her a choice, take the path to Grandma’s house or wander into the foreboding trees that surrounded her. 

A slight smile formed on the Brat’s lips as she moved closer to the trees, one hand coming to rest on the trunk of the nearest one. So far, this dream was far less terrifying than her typical vivid nightmare that left her trembling and unwilling to return to rest. It made her curious as to where it would all lead, should she follow the story instead of trying to forge her own path. She took a moment to glance back at the well worn path which beckoned to her with its warm sun and clear safety. 

Vic turned back towards the woods and forged ahead, once more forgoing safety and ease in exchange for adventure and the satisfaction of her curiosity. Her brain did go out of its way to create such a vivid world for her, after all. It would be a shame to ignore it all and stick to the boring ol’ path. But maybe that had always been one of the Brat’s core issues. She’d always had a tendency to wander off of the beaten path and do things that she wasn’t supposed to do. Seeking Manx out at the Sleigh House all those years ago had been the most egregious of those choices. It had led her down a path far more dark and twisted than the one that she probably would have taken had she not run away that first night.

The Brat moved further into the woods, head on a swivel as she sought to take in her surroundings. It was way too quiet, the air starting to grow a bit heavier and more oppressive. She shivered, pulling the red cloak tighter around her slim frame. Perhaps this had been a bad idea after all. Perhaps she should have tried to wake herself up, pull herself free from this story before it got too dangerous.

The sound of a twig snapping caused her to visibly jump, a gasp of surprise tearing from her lips. She took in a deep breath, hand pressing on her chest. “Who’s there?” she called out, pleased to hear that her voice was steady and even held a note of challenge. “I know you’re out there, so come out. I don’t want to play games!”

her fingertips tapped a rhythm on christine's wheel as a hangover pounded at her temples. her first cigarette of the day dangled from her lips as she rested her elbow halfway out of the car's open window, a part of her was incredibly grateful for the car's autonomy as they glide effortlessly down the road with christine leading and millie merely giving the appearance of driving. despite it almost being midday already, she still hadn't fully shaken off the joints or the drinks from the previous night. still, it wasn't anything that some caffeine and some deliciously greasy food wouldn't quickly fix.

something tugged at the back of her mind right as she takes a deep inhale of her cigarette, a feeling that is both distinctly familiar and unfamiliar. she tilted her head towards the open driver's side window, plucking the cigarette from her lips and exhaling the smoke. a movement in her rear view suddenly caught her eye. it was quick, but it made her feel as if she'd been dunked into a river of ice and instantly freed her from the remnants of last nights revelries. the feeling intensified, now becoming more familiar, as if a connection was trying to re-establish itself deep within her mind. christine's radio crackled with static that differed from the usual and she could feel the car's mood shift, her fingers tightening on the wheel reassuringly. 

"it's okay, christine." her gaze quickly flitted to the empty stretch of road before her before shifting back to the sight in the rear view. the familiar black and silver wraith glittered in the sun behind her, looking as new and as beautiful as she did the day that he'd brought her home. "don't worry. it's just an old friend."

millie's body shifted in the seat and she takes control of the wheel, cigarette returning to dangle from her lips. feet pressed on the peddles as she shifted the wheel just enough so that she was perfectly aligned with the wraith, going just slow enough to be frustrating. she reached up to adjust the mirror so that she can keep an eye on the car and driver behind her. she effortlessly guided christine so that any attempt to pass was instantly blocked, almost as if she could guess what he would do. slowly, she brought down christine's speed so that the two cars were bumper to fender, unable to help but feel some sort of amusement in their little game.

the little wolf had no clue how long they kept this up before a diner came into view. stomach rumbling, she clicked on the blinker and gracefully guided the bright red plymouth into the diner's parking lot, having no doubt that the wraith and her driver would follow. the cigarette had been tossed a few miles previously, having been smoked practically down to the filter, and millie already was itching for another. still, she resisted the urge, not wanting to add onto what was already bound to be a hell of a disappointed look once the emotional reunion was out of the way.

she stepped out of the car, parking lot gravel crunching beneath her heavy combat boots as she took a moment to stretch and fix her hair. a part of her wished that she hadn't left her perfume at the motel room, but knew that if his senses were anywhere near as sensitive as it used to be, no amount of perfume would be able to mask the scent of stale weed, smoke, and booze from her father for very long.

she re-situated the heavy leather jacket that hung on her thin shoulders and made her way over to charlie, her walk somehow turning to walk not even halfway there before she threw herself at him. her arms wrapped around his waist tightly, gripping him to make sure that he was as solid as he appeared. "you're real," she heard herself whispering, grateful for the sunglasses that hid her tear filled eyes. "you're actually here."

Electrifying currents steered by this emotional excretion rode out on a violent gesture at first driven out from in front of him ; wildly whipping an arm around him in a sweeping notion toward their current bearings. Metaphorically insinuating in a wave that all that surrounded them currently, was not meant to be. That they were deemable to their physical properties as coupled to the ones he regretted. The chain of events which led to their current predicament. To some it would have been dubbed normal routine, to grow up. .. but to Charlie ? It severed the magic, corrupted the stage. Stripped his little girl from him. He could not see the irony in that. At least, not willingly. Holding denial in a vice like grip. The cruel irony which nipped now at his heels harshly, demanding responsibility.

" -- wasn't supposed to happen. " Shaped under vitriol at first, hard pressed but crumbling, before completely caving into the turbulence just beneath his instructed surface. Emotions tangled and knotted. Causing his entire demeanor to pose rigid, his expression to fluctuate behind a solid mask now scrambling to make do with the splinters. [ Sorry for the mouthful over an ask. o.o ]

Her folded arms rest against her chest, dark eyes staring up at her father with a look of teenaged defiance mixed with deep hurt. It was the sort of expression that made her look simultaneously like the teenager that she appeared to be and like the ninety year plus old that she truly was. Her teeth clench together, her jaw visibly tightening, as she tries to swallow past the thick lump forming in her throat. For a second, she visibly flinched at his words, drawing back the smallest of steps as she struggled to take in a deep breath. The pain felt like a knife pushing deep within her chest, puncturing her already injured and barely patched heart. She blinked rapidly as tears formed and threatened to spill, her bottom lip quivering briefly.

Suddenly, anger pushed past the pain and caused her back to straighten once more. Millie stepped forward, closing the gap between herself and Charlie. Years of anger over their final days came boiling to the surface and lips parted from once sharp teeth in a snarl. Her breathing was shaky as she pressed a finger into the elder’s chest, a sharp nail meant to drive her point home. “This happened because of you,” came the snarl. “All of this,” she mimicked his motion, sweeping the hand that had briefly poked his chest. “-happened because someone else’s child was more important to you than your own.”

The pointed nail returned to poke him in the chest, punctuating her words. “If you had left that McQueen bitch alone, Christmasland would still be here. The kids would still be together and not thrown into a brutal system which has destroyed so many of them and I would still be that little girl that you claim to love so much. But no, you had to go and let your pride destroy everything that we spent years building together. You refused to listen to me, refused to stay with me even when I begged you. You refused to go away with me when I asked.”

The words poured out of her, draining from her like a poison from a wound that never healed. Millie’s breathing was shakier and her slender form was trembling, but she never once broke eye contact with her father. “If you had listened to me, I would have never had to feel you die.” She stopped, allowing her words to hover in the air between them and for the meaning to really sink into his mind.

Suddenly, the anger began to crumble and her bottom lip began to tremble. The tears spilled from her eyes, soaking her cheeks as her hand dropped and her shoulders slumped. “Do you know what it was like to feel you die? To physically feel that bond sever? To witness your last moments and feel your final heartbeat? Do you even care?”

❝ -- oh, we all know I'm going to walk towards it, though. Why would you play a horror game and not pursue the monster ? ❞ Timbered inwardly from his reserve , it caressed every syllable across the uttered title within an eloquent whir.

the spirit had known about this particular man long before the wraith had come into his possession. they could remember the halloweens that the man had spent with the little girls far before every store in existence began selling plastic decorations and cheap costumes to mark the yearly celebrations. from way back when those who celebrated created their own costumes and masks by hands, back when some of the older traditions still remained in the collective conscious. manx had been an interesting figure way back then as well, often encouraging those little girls with his own childish glee.

but the years had passed and manx had grown cold and twisted, becoming a specter of his own creation. just the old man and his car, luring the abused and abandoned from their beds, having the minion of the week kill the child's abusers. since manx mostly kept to himself and typically did not interfere with sam's own doings or come across their path during their holiday, the spirit left old charlie manx alone.

this year was different. this year, the wraith and her driver wound up in samhain's chosen town on all hallows eve. this meant that charlie manx needed to follow the rules or face the consequences. the spirit was curious whether or not the man even remembered what the rules were or if he was so wrapped up in his own arrogance that he thought himself above them. discovering the answer meant a little test, a reminder of sorts to manx that there were forces far older and far more powerful than himself that wandered this world. forces that would not hesitate to destroy him and his precious christmasland if he did not show the proper respect.

upon discovery of manx's presence, the spirit had chosen to stay on the corners of charlie's periphery for hours. flitting in and out of view, only occasionally allowing the smallest glimpse of orange. they wanted to pique manx's interest, make the draw almost irresistible. they wanted to gauge charlie's actions and reactions, see how easy it would be to pull the creative closer and closer into their web.

the monster? what a delicious phrase coming from such a dark and demented figure such as himself. but sam didn't view themselves as a monster. they were simply enforcing the rules that everyone should know if they chose to play the game and participate in the celebrations. but manx? manx could definitely be considered more of a monster than samhain.