Dark Christmas Tales Read online

“...Five, four, three, two, one!”

  Wenrith the elder felt a sudden surge of energy wrap around him, waking him from the deep slumber he had been forced to endure. His mind slowly waking, he reached out through his body to see what had happened. He could feel small balls of light dotted around his body, connected together by vines that buzzed with power. Amongst the vines, he could feel small balls of shiny stone that hung from his branches, reflecting the light into bright pretty colours.

  He had been dressed to look like a fool.

  “What happened to me?” Wenrith thought.

  “Merry Christmas everyone! Don’t the lights look fantastic? Round of applause for the men and women of the council who put this display together.”

  Wenrith felt out with his mind, seeing hundreds of smaller minds around him, gathered in a huge thronging mass before him. “Softwalkers,” he thought, “I should have known.”

  He looked around him and realised he was far away from the forest, the distance from his home and kin causing him to shiver. He was alone. Without the other elders he felt powerless. Something hand to be done. Wenrith reached out through his nerves, firing through his many limbs, waking them from their long sleep. Preparing them for action.

  “And take a look at this incredible tree...” said the lead Softwalker.

  “Tree?” thought Wenrith, “What did this puny Softwalker mean by tree? I am an elder, I am the forest. How dare it belittle me.”

  He shook out his limbs, stretching against the vines that bound him. He could hear the Softwalkers cry out in shock and awe as he moved.

  “We have Arnold Lane here from the council. Where did you find this magnificent tree?”

  That insult again.

  “It was shipped in from Lapland. We believe it could be the tallest Christmas tree in Europe although...”

  Wenrith’s soul flared with anger. “They took me from my home? From my people? And for what, to be this pathetic display? For their amusement?” thought the great tree.

  He willed roots into life, white tendrils sprouting from his base, multiplying rapidly. His branches pulled the buzzing vines taut around him until they strained tight against his body. “Is...is that normal?” said the lead Softwalker, its mind turned to Wenrith.

  “Just a bit of a breeze,” said the Softwalker named ‘Arnold’.

  “I can’t feel any wind.”

  Wenrith felt the crowd move back, stepping away from him. Finally showing him respect. He appreciated the gesture even if it was too late. They would have to be punished regardless.

  The roots shattered the stone base Wenrith had been planted in, sending the fragments into the crowd, knocking Softwalkers down where they landed. His roots felt out ahead of him before smashing down into the rocky floor, searching for purchase. Wenrith’s mighty limbs snapped the vines around him, the thousands of lights dying in an instant, smashing into pieces as they hit the floor around him.

  “Let’s try to stay calm...” shouted ‘Arnold’.

  “Run!” screamed the Softwalkers.

  The lead Softwalker tried to run, Wenrith stopping its escape with a swing of a branch. The Softwalker flew through the air until it landed on the stony ground with a hard, wet splat.

  Wenrith’s roots lifted him up and moved him forward, towards the crowd who fought violently amongst themselves to get out of his way. He reached out with his many mighty limbs, picking up Softwalkers and crushing them easily within his grasp. Then he plucked off their heads and dotted them around his body, his own twisted design. “They want decoration, I will show them decoration. No longer will they insult me with petty baubles. Now when they look at me, they will feel nothing but fear!”

  He strode forward, crushing Softwalkers with branch and root. None of the small minds could escape his wrath, trapped on each side by the fake stone cliffs with transparent walls. Wenrith’s branches soon hung heavy with the weight of their blood.

  Calming himself for a moment, Wenrith reached out around him, feeling with his mind to find out just where he was.

  “Softwalkers...thousands and thousands of them. A whole hive of them. All of them with...”

  The realisation hit him with the weight of a thousand fallen trees. Trees that were held hostage inside a Softwalker nest. Decorated and shamed. Made to look like fools. Trapped. Scared. Alone.

  Wenrith shook with anger. “How could they do this to my people?”

  He moved faster, no longer picking up the Softwalkers, now just squashing them like bugs. “You will pay for what you have done!” thought Wenrith as the Softwalkers screams grew louder, “Before this night ends, I will kill you all!”

  Wenrith yelled out a shriek of anger and rage before charging onward in to the city, to continue his rampage.

  WINTER’S BRIDE