It’s me again, and I’m sure the first question on your mind is Ian, have there been any more murders?
Or maybe it’s Ian, has Henri released you from your alcohol-filled prison to let you run any errands, and if so, did you jump again?
Let’s just get those answers out of the way right now: yes, and no. Meaning, yes, more murders, and no, I remain confined to Griffin’s Edge. With even more of a watchful lilac gaze on me than usual, due to my increasing instability and the aforementioned murders.
Because, yeah, they’re still going. In the last two weeks, three more inhuman beings have turned up murdered. Word is starting to spread; the bar is a lot more crowded on weekdays now than it usually is, because creatures and beings from all over Neverland are coming here for solace and safety. No one would kill someone on the bar’s premises. Certainly not with Henri around.
But while the bar may be safe, its reach can only extend so far. Five murders total now, and no one is any closer to solving who’s behind them. I see the clusters of ancient beings conversing in corner booths, speaking languages older than Latin whose words hurt your head upon their mere utterance. I notice the messages Henri slips to these beings as they leave, folded notes in his looping handwriting, scrawled on Griffin’s Edge napkins. And I hear Uncle Henri late at night, whispering to himself as he scours book after book in his office.
It’s through all this that I know they’re trying, but that they’ve come up with nothing. Even the wisest of them don’t have a clue. There are no signs of any murderer in Neverland; it’s like he appears, stabs someone, and then vanishes from existence once more, until the next death.
Needless to say, I have not been allowed to leave. I’ve insisted that I could help hunt him down—I’m probably the most experienced dimensional traveler out there, so I could cover a lot of ground very fast—but each time, I’ve barely spoken two words before the look Henri gives me shuts me up. He’s scared. He’s never seen a Neverland serial killer before, let alone one impossible to track, and it worries him. He hides it when he comforts our patrons, but his smile never reaches his eyes these days.
Anyway, not much more I can say about that. I don’t know much more.
But since I’m still cooped up and getting bored again (these long stretches of me being grounded are really getting to me), I thought I’d tell you about my holidays instead.
Now, I’m sure you know some of the most famous entities that emerge along with the Christmas trees, menorahs, and shiny red bows in December. Santa Claus, for instance. Maybe even the Yule Cat or Belsnickel or Perchta, depending on your culture. There are plenty of famous holiday visitors in the world—some nice, some naughty, some in-between.
Most don’t exist, as far as I know. They’re only legends made up by humans, passed down by generations to scare their children into good behavior.
But legends have to come from somewhere.
I’ve said before that most humans would combust within a few minutes of being in Neverland, and vice versa for supernatural beings in the human world. That’s absolutely true, except for yours truly, of course. There are a few…exceptions, though.
See, just like the boundaries of the realms are weakest at Griffin’s Edge, the fabric of reality twists and stretches over time too, not just space. So there are certain areas that are more prone to producing gaps that allow travel (take Iceland—there’s a reason they have so many superstitions and stories there), as well as certain times of year.
And yep, you guessed it! Late December is one of them. Not only are the gaps wider and more plentiful, but something about the balance of the worlds shifts, just a little. Enough that some entities—the powerful ones—can spend more than a few minutes in the human dimension. For about two weeks, some of those creatures can visit humans for a few hours at a time. Maybe even a whole night.
Lends itself to a lot of holiday-time myths and monsters, don’t you think?
No, this doesn’t mean that Santa exists. If he does, maybe he’s just a normal human with some supernatural blood, or maybe he’s a huge fan of wherever the North Pole actually is and only leaves one night a year. All I know is, we’ve never seen him around the bar, and we probably would’ve by now if he was real. Trust me, I asked Henri if Santa would come to Griffin’s Edge every year when I was a kid.
We do get a few exclusive December guests, though. Samantha, for instance; a shapeshifting ice witch who turned into a giant cat one time and chased after a few humans in Iceland on a dare. Not her fault they happened to have been the only ones in their family not to receive grandma’s knitted sweaters for Christmas. Just a coincidence, she insists, an unfortunate misunderstanding. But by God, she’s never lived that one down. And considering the persistence of the Yule Cat story, I’m not sure she will.
She hibernates most of the year in glaciers—ice witches, as the name implies, take their power from ice—and spends a few nights a week of her waking wintertime with us. She likes mint juleps, and as long as you don’t bring up the whole cat dare, she’s pretty chill.
Pun intended. My bad. Couldn’t help it.
As for Eira and Pax, I first remember them visiting the bar when I was about ten. They were probably here before, but I was lucky enough not to have a run-in with them. Now, every year since, I dread the possibility of seeing them walk through the door.
And more often than not, they do.
The first year was the worst. I’d never seen anyone like them before, but I’m used to that. I’ve learned that it’s never a good idea to stare; neither humans nor nor-humans like to be gawked at. And staring at the wrong being can get you killed if it’s taken as a sign of disrespect. Early on, I figured out that it was better to act natural while serving and ask questions to Henri later.
Eira and Pax weren’t even unnatural, just…odd. And I don’t say that lightly. Twins, probably, or at least brother and sister, due to their similarities: sharp cheekbones, eyes dark and lifeless as lumps of coal, short curly hair. Both wore massive fur coats, black like their eyes, made of some kind of coarse fur that did not look particularly cozy. And wrapped around the arms of those coats, trailing behind them with a soundtrack of metallic rattling, were chains.
I tried not to look at the thick links of chain as I brought out their menus and said their server, Dessa, would be with them in a moment. At the time, Dessa was a young selkie who worked at the bar. Selkies live a long time, but physically she looked about sixteen, and at ten years old, I had a huge crush on her. Kind of like how I imagine some kids have massive crushes on their babysitters.
God, that’s embarrassing to admit to a bunch of strangers.
Anyway, I passed her by the bathroom door and pointed out her new guests. She glanced at them and wrinkled her nose. “They look…interesting.”
“They seem okay,” I said earnestly, because so far, they hadn’t said a single word to me. “But those chains…” I shuddered. “Be careful.”
She tousled my hair and winked at me. “I got this, kid.” Kid? My heart sunk to my toes as she walked away.
I’m ashamed to say that I avoided her for the rest of the evening because I was mortified by the hair tousle and clear implication that she considered me way too young for her. (To be fair, I was. Especially considering that she was probably like, two hundred, and I was ten. But back then, I was horrified that she saw me like a little brother rather than a potential love interest).
I noticed that they were pretty quiet overall; the chains clanking as they ate and drank was louder than their voices. That’s all I really noticed though, because I had plenty of other patrons to handle. It was the holidays, after all, and we get a lot of family reunions at the bar that time of year. I was swept up in the hustle and bustle of elves passing gifts to their human children, druids adorned in holly and mistletoe cuddling up with boyfriends beneath it, and a rowdy half-human, half-dwarf family that took up most of the bar and way overstayed their welcome.
The next time I took notice of the chained siblings in the corner was when they were about to leave. Dessa went to collect their payment, they started to rise to their feet, chains clinking—
And suddenly Dessa was shouting obscenities at the pair. To be honest, some of it was in a unique variant of Scottish that selkies use, and that all sounded like barks and growls to me. But the parts in English that I understood—oh, boy, those were scathing. She was screaming about them stiffing the check, leaving only tiny coal pebbles when they knew full well that we required some kind of monetary payment, and that while many forms of currency were acceptable, coal was not one of them. She couldn’t believe they were disrespecting the hospitality of Griffin’s Edge that way, she told them heatedly, especially when they’d stayed for over two hours, having nine drinks between them, and raked up a triple-digit bill.
There was a lot of cursing in there, too, but I won’t repeat that. Selkies often have real bad tempers, and they can get pretty creative with their swears. I’ll let you use your imagination.
Through it all, the siblings stood there and watched her with stony silence. When she was finally done, her face red and sweaty, the brother reached deep into his coat—almost impossibly deep—and pulled out a few silver coins. I watched as he made eye contact with Dessa, reached out his hand—and then dropped the fistful of coins onto the floor.
She dutifully dropped to her knees and began picking up the coins, though not without resuming a string of Scottish curse words. The siblings merely gave her one last icy stare and calmly walked out of the bar side-by-side, chains rattling, while she continued to gather coins.
Despite her temper, Dessa mercifully didn’t chase them. She brought her handful of coins behind the bar, and I wordlessly opened the cash register for her to deposit them inside. “Assholes,” she muttered. I nodded but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make any assumptions; for all I knew, they didn’t know our payment system. I’d never seen them here before. And like I said, Henri always taught me to air on the side of caution and respect when dealing with inhuman beings at the bar. I would’ve started off with less swearing and yelling.
But, like many selkies, Dessa was a hothead. It was her nature. So I didn’t want to disrespect her either by disagreeing.
We didn’t mention it for the last few hours of work, and Dessa quietly fumed, mixing drinks a little more vigorously than necessary. When it was finally closing time, Dessa offered to clean up for the night—something she almost never did, but tonight insisted would help her calm down—and I gratefully accepted. After all, it had been a busy day, and I still had homeschooling with Henri in the morning.
Nothing is ever that simple, though. I drifted into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of coarse-haired coats and endless chains, of lumps of coal in dead faces.
And less than two hours later, I jerked awake. The clock by my bed displayed 4:13 AM—unlucky numbers in several cultures. I wasn’t sure why I’d woken so suddenly, but I was freezing. Like, I could see my breath.
Then I heard it: the noise that must have disrupted my sleep. Chains rattling, accompanied by deep, guttural growls and panicked seal barking. Immediately, my blood turned to ice. This couldn’t be good.
To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t go get Henri, who was sleeping in the bedroom beside mine. Maybe because I heard the seal barks and thought I could be Dessa’s savior, and if I was, surely she’d finally see me as a suitor and not a little brother.
Whatever it was, I crept out of bed and down the hallway. I tiptoed halfway down the stairs and crouched there, leaning over to see what was happening in the bar without being noticed—I hoped.
I nearly vomited; I had to cover my mouth and nose to prevent audibly gagging. In the corner, where Dessa had knelt to pick up coins, two towering creatures were now torturing her. They were tall, covered in coarse black hair, standing upright on massive cloven hooves. Their hands were sharp-clawed; horns—like those of a goat—emerged from their scalps. And chains, just like those of the siblings from earlier, were wrapped around their bodies.
One was holding Dessa still, her arms pinned behind her back. Clearly, she had already been being tortured; tears streamed down her bloody face. I watched as the other goat creature whipped her across the chest with what appeared to be a bundle of branches; her shirt tore, and blood blossomed from the wound.
Another whip, this time to her face. Dessa barked as blood sprayed onto the floor. My heart seized. Could I creep up the stairs quietly enough to get Henri?
I tried to turn—and the stair creaked. I froze.
Time seemed to stop as one of the goat-creatures looked back and saw me. It grinned wickedly, revealing pointed fangs, and said something in a language I’d never heard before. I don’t think Dessa even knew I was there; her eyes were swollen shut from the branches.
Apparently, the words were some kind of cue, because before I could do anything, the other creature pulled out a long, silver rod designed to look like a tree branch from somewhere, and in a motion so fast I barely registered it, ran Dessa straight through.
I squeaked in horror. Her head lolled, and I watched as her slumping body turned into that of a seal’s. The creatures dropped her to the floor, and the one that had been holding her leaned over and placed dark lumps over her eyes—coal.
I was still frozen. They were coming for me next. They had to be. Would running to Henri save me or only anger them more? I could only pray that if I did nothing, they might spare me.
But they didn’t make any move towards the stairs. Instead, black smoke began to swirl around them, covering most of the bar. I coughed and covered my watering eyes with my sleeve.
Seconds later, I felt a hand on my arm. “Come and sit with us, child.” A female voice. I opened my eyes to see the sister from earlier. I think I’d known it was them, but somehow the confirmation still chilled me to the bone. I also knew that her invitation was not optional.
I nodded and let her lead me to the same corner booth they’d occupied earlier that night. Her brother was already sitting there, waiting for us, and Dessa’s body had vanished. I felt sick thinking of what had happened to her and what they might have done with her remains.
I slid into the booth, and the sister followed, blocking me in. They both stared at me with their soulless, coal-like eyes, as if expecting me to speak.
I knew I should be respectful, but I was still freezing—my breath continued to come in visible puffs—and terrified. So I couldn’t help it when I glanced at the edge of the silver branch sticking from the brother’s coat and whispered, “Are you going to kill me too?” My voice shook, though whether from the cold or the fear, I don’t know.
The sister laughed and stroked my cheek with a long, icy finger. “No, child. You’ve been good, haven’t you? She’d been naughty.”
I was beginning to put everything together. The chains, the branches, their goat-like forms. “Are you…Krampus?”
The brother snorted, and his sister made a dismissive scoffing noise. Oh God, I hoped I hadn’t offended them. “I am Pax, and this is Eira. Krampus isn’t real.” I could’ve sworn his dull eyes twinkled. “Although even fake stories have roots in reality.”
“What Pax is trying to say,” purred Eira, stroking my cheek again, “is that Krampus is a derivative human tale, an over-simplification that their minds can understand. But its basis lies in us.”
“So you punished Dessa because she’d been bad?” My words were barely a whisper.
“Oh yes,” said Pax. “All that screaming and cursing. Very bad, indeed.” He shook his head. “Good thing you are a much more well-behaved child.”
I nodded wordlessly, shivering as Eira laid her hand over mine. “There is one more thing you need to do.”
My heart nearly stopped. “What?”
She turned my head to face her, and a chill ran down my spine as I stared into her lifeless eyes. “Do not tell anyone what you saw tonight.”
“That was business between us and her. It would be very naughty of you to share what happened to your friend,” purred Pax. “And you know what we’ll have to do to you if you’re naughty.” His hand stroked the edge of the silver branch, jutting from beneath his coat.
I swallowed hard.
“That includes your uncle, of course,” added Eira. “His bar is just as clean as before. As far as he knows, this never happened.”
I didn’t want to agree, but I heard the threat in their voices. This was not optional. If I said no, they’d kill me right here. So I nodded. “I won’t tell him. I won’t tell anyone.”
Eira stroked my hair. “That’s a good boy.”
They both got up from the booth, chains rattling. I stayed frozen as they strolled towards the door. Just before they reached it, Pax turned back to me. “Remember your promise. We can always come back for you. But we’d hate for that to happen.”
Eira smiled sweetly. “Of course we would. Keep being a good boy, Ian.”
And then they left, the cold exiting with them; immediately, the room warmed up a solid twenty degrees, and my breath vanished. I stared at the spot on the floor where Dessa had slumped. There was no sign of her. Even the blood, sprayed across the floorboards, was gone.
I didn’t even realize until I was lying in bed later that night, completely awake and staring at the ceiling, that they’d known my name. I’d never told them. Somehow, that only made their threats seem more real.
Uncle Henri asked me what was wrong the next morning, of course. I hadn’t slept for the rest of the night, so it was obvious I was exhausted. Not to mention emotionally traumatized. I immediately dissolved into tears and kept insisting that I couldn’t tell him.
When Dessa didn’t show up to work that afternoon, I felt Henri’s piercing gaze on me. I said nothing, but he’s the wisest person I know. I could see him piecing things together.
I still have no idea how much he figured out. If I had to guess, probably most of it. I do know that every year they’ve come to the bar since, he won’t let any of the usual bar staff serve them, especially me. Henri himself stops whatever managerial business he’s up to and takes care of their orders. He is exceptionally polite, but when he smiles at them, the smiles don’t reach his eyes.
I think he knows he can’t ban them for breaking the rules of Griffin’s Edge, because then they’ll think I told him. And even now, eight years later, I have no doubt they’d fulfill their promise. I see the way they watch me every time they visit. I feel their creepy coal eyes on me.
So instead, Henri simply makes sure no one else has the opportunity to disrespect them. He protects the bar staff and patrons in the safest way possible.
I still feel sick every time the temperature drops twenty degrees as they walk in, chains clinking. They haven’t been back every year since, but they come most years. And I dread it every December.
They visited us this year, a few days before Christmas. I hated every second. Henri hurried over and served them kindly, but it was me they watched for hours. My skin crawled as I mixed drinks and tried to avoid looking in the direction of their corner at all. I barely breathed for three hours.
Because all I could think was, with the murders going around and my increased jumping and all the weirdness of the past few months, what if they decide I’ve been naughty?