A Winterland Tale - Part Four

Clare thought she was going to be hitching a ride in a golden carriage, through the forest to who knew where. But the carriage wasn’t a carriage, it was another portal.

The glittering hand pulled Clare to a place that was warm and clean and grand.

She couldn’t be sure because she was already standing inside of it and defrosting, but Clare had the suspicion that she was inside a castle. An honest-to-God castle. She hadn’t even bothered to look at the person who had helped her because she was too busy ogling all of the pretty and shiny things that were scattered about. Everything was gilded in gold or covered in rare gems. Paintings of the Prince hung on the walls, some of them so large that they basically were the wall.

“I had to use the old doorway to get you back. I don’t mind telling you that it took a lot of bloodshed to get myself here, even after that wretched mouse left,” said a dusty, haggard voice.

Clare turned in time to see the Prince stepping out of the portal and hugging an old crone. The woman was ancient, like something Clare would see in a fairy tale book about witches. Her nose was long, her frame was short, and she was hunched over as far as her legs would allow. The witch ran her hands lovingly over the Prince’s face and through his hair. Clare thought that, for a moment, they looked a very happy picture of a mother and her son.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she croaked.

He nodded. “Yes, yes, I am fine.”

The witches gnarled hand flung in Clare’s direction. “And who is this?”

Clare waited for the nutcracker to introduce her. If this woman was gifted with magic, it was probably best if Clare didn’t piss her off by saying the wrong thing.

“This,” he said, as he confidently strolled to Clare, “is the girl who saved my life. She is also the hero that killed the mouse rebel’s leader.”

“Brave girl,” she said, eyeing Clare uncomfortably.

“Tell me, did the soldiers remain loyal?” he asked the crone as he started down the hall.

The crone followed, and so did Clare.

“Yes, just as I told you they would.” As she spoke, the witch lifted her hand to her face and stretched it. Her hand blazed like a Christmas tree on fire, that same dazzling sparkle that had met Clare through the carriage.

The nutcracker certainly knew his way through the castle. Clare wasn’t going to ask but she could safely assume that he had had his crown taken by the mice, and now he and his witch were taking it back. She wondered what might have happened if she had not picked him up from that little antique shop she had run across the other day. She also wondered what other treasures might be hiding there but she couldn’t recall the name of the store. Only that its sign had a large owl resting atop of a grandfather clock.

The nutcracker spoke, pulling her back to the present. “Were you able to take prisoners?”

The crone smiled. “Of course.”

He smiled back. “Let’s meet them.”

A couple of things happened all at once. They entered a throne room, or a court room, Clare didn’t know the difference. Guards praised the nutcracker’s arrival and ran off to collect the prisoners. The witch had a table and extra chairs brought up to the throne and it was soon filled with the most delectable treats Clare had ever seen. As she didn’t know protocol, Clare waited for him to tell her it was okay to dig in – which she did, with gusto. Lastly, a group was led in and each of them had chains wrapped around their wrists and waist. Clare expected humans, or possibly more mice, but this group was eclectic. There were angels with expansive silver wings, women who were covered in vines and flowers to the point that Clare knew that they, themselves, were part plant. Animals, strange creatures molded out of chocolate and taffy, porcelain dolls, and beings that were so beautiful and ethereal, Clare decided they had to be elves.

All of these people were in irons. They were also beaten, bruised, and terrified.

The Nutcracker Prince stood to address his captives. “I would try you for treason but it would be a waste as I already know that you are guilty.”

No one spoke.

“I know that there are more of you usurpers who would take my crown from me. Name them and I will let you live.”

Clare put her fork down, her appetite suddenly gone.

One brave soul raised her hands. When the Prince acknowledged her, she stepped forward, losing some of her delicate purple petals with each step. Her face was swollen and only one brilliant violet eye could focus on him. “We are indeed guilty of treason. We have plotted to kill you since your coronation two years ago. That same coronation where you proudly told your kingdom that you had murdered your father, a brilliant and loyal ruler. That coronation where you had innocent people – people from our villages, members of our families – tortured and killed for your amusement. You are nothing but a sadistic child.”

“Am I, now?” he laughed.

Clare couldn’t breathe. This man that she had inadvertently saved was apparently a monster. She had helped him win. Clare had killed the biggest obstacle in his way.

“You are,” the flower girl replied. “Go ahead, kill us. There will always be someone else to take our place.”

“Yes. You are nothing more than cockroaches. Plum,” he turned to his witch, “this one is all yours.”

The flower girl trembled as the witch approached, and the other prisoners behind her backed away. It was like they knew what was about to happen. Clare wanted to shut her eyes or look away, but she couldn’t. She needed to see this.

The witch hobbled up to her. There were no words spoken, not even time to scream. They exchanged glances, then the witch raked her claws across the girl’s throat. Green blood poured from the wound and the witch grabbed the girl and began lapping it up. The more blood the witch consumed, the younger she became. Her long hair turned golden, her hunch disappeared, her skin was smooth with not a single wrinkle left behind.

When she finished, the girl dropped to the floor, her once verdant petals now pale and gray. Her eyes were still open. Clare knew that those dead eyes were looking at her, into her soul, and judging her. Why shouldn’t they? Clare had returned to them a tyrant.

The others were watching Clare, including the Nutcracker Prince, anxious for her reaction.

The witch wasted no time. With the wave of her glowing hand, she changed her wardrobe into a slinky, pink silk dress with a long fur cape. Her hobble turned to a strut as she approached the Prince, a smile curving her rosy lips.

“Ah, that’s the face I’ve been longing to see. So much better when you’ve had something to eat,” said the Prince.

Plum went in for a kiss as she returned to her seat, but the Prince held her off. “I am glad to see that you are back to your old self, but things are going to change around here, Plum.” Was it Clare’s imagination, or did the Prince look at her when he said that? “Sit, and enjoy the rest of the show.”

What show, thought Clare. Couldn’t he send them back to the jail or the dungeon or whatever, and be done with them?

“Let’s have music!” declared the Prince. “I will need some dancers. Who wants to dance for me?”

He aimed the question at the prisoners, none of whom wanted to dance.

“Someone will dance for me, or you will all die right here, right now.”

Hesitantly, the two china dolls stepped forward. Their skin was cracked and broken in places, the paint on their faces was faded, and their satin clothes were all but shredded. He bowed, while she curtsied.

Music began to play, and the china dolls danced. They danced beautifully. Their patent shoes twirled and glided across the marble floor until the music ended.

Clare clapped, but no one else did.

“You enjoyed that?” the Prince asked her.

She nodded. “It was very… very beautiful.”

“It was beautiful. Now, though, I want exciting. Let’s get some faster music, get our dancers jumping and leaping.”

“We can’t do that, Your Majesty.” The male china doll was shaking his head as he spoke. “We would break.”

“If you can’t do it, then I must get someone who can. Guards! How well do you dance?”

A few guards went to the china couple, laughing and catcalling. Two of the men grabbed the male dancer while another man spun the girl. The music began and it set a frantic pace for them. She screamed as he twirled her and tossed her into the air. Every time she landed, a new crack appeared on her legs. If he tugged on her too hard, a crack would open up on her arm. With each movement, the china girl was literally falling to pieces.

Clare was going to be sick. She rose from the table and asked, “Where is the bathroom?”

“Are you all right?” the Prince asked.

“Yes,” she blurted out. “I just – I think I ate too much.”

He motioned for another guard. “Take her to the restroom. And Clare?” He waited until she looked at him. “Please hurry. I don’t want you missing any more of our performance.”

He smiled and her stomach turned.

She followed the guard down the vast hall to the bathroom, and she ran to the toilet.

“So it has dawned on you, then?” asked a voice above her.

It was the man in white again. His chesire grin was staring down at her from a linen cabinet in the corner.

He jumped down without making a sound. “Look what he does to people.”

“I’ve seen,” Clare replied.

“I don’t think he intended to meet you in your world. He was simply hiding from us. His witch changed him into a toy and sent him away until she could work out a plan. She was failing. Had you not rescued him from the mice, Winterland would have passed into the hands of a new ruler. Maybe not someone better, but at least someone less cruel.”

“Did it ever occur to any of you,” she bit out, “to tell me all of this up front? I didn’t ask for any of this! I bought my mom a gift. That’s all. I just want to go home.”

His smile widened. “He is never going to let you leave.”

Her insides felt like they dropped to the floor. “What do I do?”

“You are going to help us and, in return, I will send you home. And once you are home you will destroy that music box that the Prince gave you.”

“He gave me that?”

“He needed a doorway close by. That is how the mice found him. He had reached out to Plum to send him the music box. As long as it exists, anything from our world can cross into yours.”

She added, “Including you?”

He shrugged. “Some of us don’t need doorways.”

Clare thought about it for a moment. What did she have to lose? That wacko wasn’t going to give her up and she certainly didn’t want to live here forever. She said, “I’ll do it. Whatever you need. Just promise that you’ll get me home.”

“Deal,” he said with a grin. “All you have to do is get me through the door.”

Clare smiled at the guard waiting for her and followed him back to the chaos. The china doll’s legs had broken off and now the guards were stomping on her partner. Clare couldn’t take any more. She pulled a silver owl from her jean pocket and slammed it on the table where it quickly transformed into the smiling man.

“How did you get in here?” screeched the witch. “My protective spells should have kept you out.”

His smile broadened. “Spells don’t work on toys, Plum. You should have known better.”

He pulled a long sword from thin air, as the witch raised her hand to aim a spell at him. One slash from his blade, and her hand and forearm fell to the table. The room erupted. Soldiers attacked the smiling man, the witch howled in pain, and the Prince gave Clare a deadly look.

Not all of the soldiers had been on the Prince’s side. The few who weren’t released the prisoners and fought against their fellow soldiers.

The Prince lunged toward Clare, but the smiling man stood in his way, sword pointed at the Prince’s throat. “I think you’ve hurt enough people today.”

“Drosselmeyer,” spat the Prince. “I was wondering when I would see you. Is this how you meet your end?” The Prince drew his own sword.

Drosselmeyer shook his head. “Sadly, no. But it is where you meet yours.”

Drosselmeyer didn’t attack the Prince, the prisoners did, and Clare couldn’t bear to see what they were doing to him. Not because she felt sorry for him, but because she had seen enough blood to last her a lifetime. Drosselmeyer, still smiling, wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You don’t need to see this. Let’s get you home.”

He led her to the portal she and the Prince had entered from, spoke a few words to the door, and opened it. There was her garage, the lone bulb still burning.

“You don’t need to worry. In your world, only a minute or two have passed,” he assured her.

“Thank you, I guess.”

Before she walked through, he stopped her. “You still need a gift for your mother, yes?”

She nodded.

“Take this.” He pulled an owl from his jacket pocket. It flew from him to Clare, and when it landed, turned into a ceramic statue.

“This isn’t going to be like the nutcracker again, is it?”

“No. Think of him as a guardian. And I know that he is made from clay, but don’t be afraid to leave out snacks for him at night. The happier he is, the fiercer he will protect your family.”

Clare smiled for what felt like the first time in days. “Thank you so much. Mom’s going to love him.”

Drosselmeyer let her cross over. “Don’t forget to destroy the box.”

Clare shook her head yes, and Drosselmeyer closed the door.

Her garage was colder than the castle had been, and Clare knew just how to fix that. She set the little owl on her dad’s work table and picked up a box of matches. It didn’t take much to set the box alight, and Clare could have sworn that she heard tiny screams coming from inside the box.

“Serves you right,” she said. “You let him take me.”

When the box was gone, Clare took the owl and gave it to her mom. The party had ended and everyone was putting their coats on to go.

“Hey, mom. Looks like the party finally ended.”

She replied, “Yeah, now we have this big to clean up before Santa comes.”

“Santa can deal with a little mess. Here, I didn’t get a chance to wrap it.”

Clare gave her mom the white owl, who traced her fingers over the outline of the feathers and its beak. “It’s so sweet. Thank you, honey.”

“I thought he could live on the mantle. He could be like a guardian,” suggested Clare.

Her mom smiled and kissed her on the cheek. “I think that’s the perfect place for him. Do you want to find a spot for him? I’m going to tidy up a bit. I won’t be able to go to sleep knowing that the house looks like this.”

“Sure.”

Clare set the owl in the center of the mantle, and next to him she put a small bowl of trail mix. She didn’t know what ceramic owls ate so she guessed.

Clare couldn’t wait any longer for bed. Her brother was already asleep and her father was helping her mom clean up, so Clare popped in the shower, found her most comfortable sweats, and covered herself in her warm blankets. After thinking she had been asleep the whole time she was in Winterland, it didn’t take long for her to actually fall asleep.

She only woke once. In the middle of the night, Clare woke to find their guardian owl sitting on her nightstand and looking out the window. She said, “You really are a guardian.”

It gave her a tiny squeak in return, and she went back to sleep.

Clare never saw Winterland again. There were times that she thought a toy or a Christmas decoration was watching her, but she chalked that up to anxiety. After all, the nutcracker had died that night and, what could hurt her when she had her guardian owl? She made sure to feed him every night, and every morning she would find him someplace different in the house. No one seemed to notice his movement and, though he was technically her moms, Clare took him with her when she left for college. Then she took him with her when she got her first apartment, and when she married.

Clare would never forget her adventure in Winterland, and her guardian would never abandon her.