“Time Under Tension: A Christmas Story”

M.J. Downing

               “You look like a monster in that thing,” Finn called from the porch.  He was speaking to his father, Professor James McCoy, just home from his college office, who was carrying the yard waste to the curb. He wore a long wool coat with a wide hood as he walked down their driveway, a full steel garbage can in each hand. Finn’s dad cut an impressive figure in the charcoal gray overcoat. Standing six feet three and weighing in at a solid two fifty, James’ broad shoulders rarely fit into any coat, but this one, found at a military surplus store, gave him room for his typical tweed sports coat beneath. Finn would have greater room within the coat but not by much. James turned toward his son and replied in happy tones,

            “If you are making a reference to my apparel, I was going for wizard, really, and you may borrow these wizards’ weeds to conjure the other two cans out of the backyard. They’re heavier.” James dropped the two cans on the edge of the street in a pile of slush. The previous night’s snowfall had all but melted away.  He made his way back towards Finn, who was clad in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with “Tigers Football” emblazoned across his chest

            “Thanks. Don’t need it,” Finn said. “I guess you’re cold because you’re so old, huh?”

            James placed a heavy right hand onto his Finn’s shoulder, almost as wide as his own. “The word you’re looking for in your limited muscle-headed vocabulary is wise, ‘because you’re so wise,’ see?  Wizard, wise?  As in wise enough to not stand around outside in freezing weather wearing a shirt as thin as a handkerchief? Did your mother see you come out that way?”

            “No sir. She’s prepping for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” Finn replied, frisking about as though he would tussle with his father.  He dared try and trap his father’s hand in a wrist lock that Tom Doughty showed him.

            “Easy on my poor shoulder, boy,” James said, pulling his hand away before Finn turned his wrist. “I hit a personal best on inclined bench today, so I’m a bit tender.”

            “How much?” Finn asked, backing away.  James told him, and Finn chuckled. “Ah, man. I thought you did that weight before!”

            “Many times, but not for twelve reps, lunkhead. That was a personal best.”

            Finn ceased his antics and stared. “That’s incredible, dad. Twelve?”

            “Strict, too.  None of your bouncing bench presses, my young cock-a-whoop,” James said entering the house ahead of his son. He handed the heavy, hooded garment to Finn, who folded in over his arm and stepped inside. “You were on your way to get those cans out back, maybe?” James asked.

            They shut the door on the thirty-three-degree breeze. Finn said, “I’ll get them, Dad. How come you didn’t just go up on that lift, see how much you could do?”

            James stood still, enjoying the delicious scents coming from the kitchen. Pies baked in the oven, while hints of sage and onion in the air told him that dressing was being made. He knew Claire was making all of his brother, Declan’s favorites, hoping to coax him to come, which James knew was not going to happen.  James forced his attention back to his muscular son and said, “Because, getting stronger isn’t about showing off.  It’s about time under tension, smarter training, optimizing the work you ask your muscles to perform. You might consider that modality, son.  You cannot tackle well with a torn triceps or a ruptured pectoral muscle.”  Finn went back out the door, and the damp cold of the swirling November wind ran up under his t-shirt. He donned the overcoat. “Is Uncle D coming tomorrow?” Finn asked.

James closed his eyes and murmured, “Says he’s busy but is thinking about it.”

“Oh.  Okay,” Finn murmured in reply. Uncle Declan was a sore spot with his father. “I need to run and see Albert over in the park.  I probably won’t be gone long. I’ll get the cans when I get back.”

            “You two are riding with the team, right?” James asked.

            “Yes, sir, in a little over two hours. For us, it’s win or go home. If we win tonight, we’ll  maybe go to state.”

“Just do your best, and I’ll be glad. Your mom and I wouldn’t miss it, so don’t be late getting back, okay?”

“No problem, Dad,” Finn replied. “Albert said this won’t take long.”

            “We haven’t seen enough of him. Bear my greetings to young Albertus Magnus.  Tell him not to be a stranger and that we hope to see him in the line-up tonight,” James said and closed the door. Finn put the hood up, glanced at his reflection in the glass of the door for a moment, his face shadowed.

            “Guess I look like a monster, too,” he mused and strode away. Their game later in the evening was across town, at Eastern High’s home field, and Finn also wondered why Albert had to see him now, rather than just talking on the bus.

            Albert, though, had asked Finn earlier to meet him in the park, down by the dark culvert where the creek ran under the main road. It was a familiar spot, one associated with one of Finn’s earlier adventures.  Those, Finn had tried to forget about, for his ability to see beyond what normal people could see had become a burden to him. On the past Halloween, though,  Finn, Albert and Tom Doughty experienced their first shared vision of a winged being who told them that it was crucial for Albert to embrace his gift, whatever that meant. As Finn strode to the park, he noted that little snow remained, only in small patches between the trees. The long coat billowed around his ankles. Finn hoped that Albert had discovered something that would help unlock his gifts, whatever they were.

            In the five minutes he took to get there, Finn remembered his first visit to that dark culvert, by himself. Years ago, a fairy named Pep had granted Finn “The Sight” and nearly trapped him and another boy in a life of servitude in their parallel reality.  Since then, Finn could see fairies—when they were less than cautious—and ghosts, especially the harmless shades of humans, which occurred in many places. Seeing things that others cannot had, at first, been fun. Take ghosts. They were like filmed segments of specific lives of yesteryear, played dimly against the background of the day-to-day world. Fairies, while perilous, were reminders that he lived in the midst of wonders, and some of those were dangerous to humans. Last Halloween had introduced them to a winged figure who wore the shape and face of Finn’s girlfriend, Stacey. He had seen Stacey often but not the winged version of her.  Had that been a fairy using Stacey’s appearance, or a ghost, or an angel, maybe? Finn didn’t know and had seen nothing of her since. It helped him know that he could not turn his back on what he saw.

            Perhaps, he thought, Albert had seen fairies around that culvert in the park. The fay were less careful to stay hidden there, and folks generally stayed away from it.  It was a dark, wet place that often stank. The culvert’s opening was a little over five feet in diameter at its widest part. Finn had seen small fairies fly into that opening, their fluttering wings catching the light.  He had gone into one summer’s day in the year after his father rescued him from Pep’s trap. Of course, he and Tom had ventured a few yards within it in a dry summer but had not gone far, for it was quite dark.

However, after his rescue from Pep, Finn dared to enter the tunnel, since the terrors of his earlier adventure faded from memory He had taken an old ball peen hammer with him for defense—fairies cannot abide iron—as well as a flashlight and gone into the mostly dry tunnel to see if it contained another entry to the realm of Faerie. What happened there, Finn had kept to himself.

That day he found, far within, a side tunnel into which creek water did not run. There was another, larger opening far within, where the water did not reach. Even before his flashlight went dead, something stopped him:  a feeling of dread, a sense that deeper in that larger tunnel was something watching him. There he had heard a horrid sound, something like a howl from a bestial throat, and two thuds shook the walls of the tunnel around him, as though a giant fist pounded within. A low,  mocking laugh followed. It terrified him.  Could the realm of Faerie hold something more dangerous than Pep and his minions? Something awful had seen him, and Finn knew that he would never willingly go into that tunnel again, Sight or no Sight. A short time later, the city had placed an iron grid over that opening, ostensibly to keep the tunnel from getting clogged and the creek backing up into the park. He was only glad that whatever was in there was behind cold iron bars.

            *

            Albert waited for him on the hillside that led down to the creek, whose late fall run-off now sluiced through the culvert’s half clogged grid. No getting into that tunnel now. The evening grew darker each second.  Finn called to him from the hilltop,

            “I’m here, big Al. What’s going on?”

            When Albert turned toward his voice, Finn saw the big guy jump as though he was shocked, Albert’s eyes wide with sudden fear.

            Albert shook his head to get rid of the scared look. “Wh…what are you wearing?” Albert managed to ask as Finn’s long strides brought him near.

            “This? It’s my father’s coat.  Why?”

            “Has…has he been taking walks through this park at night lately?” Albert asked in a quiet voice.

            “I doubt it. He’s been grading essays all the time. Last night, his office light was on near midnight,” Finn said. “He’s not much for walks in the park at night, though he does come over here on his leg training days and walk this hillside with a weighted rucksack.  Remember?  We even tried it with him early this season. See,–”

            “But last night, around ten, was he out?” Albert demanded, his face serious. “I went to bed early and dreamed all night. I saw him.” 

Finn shook his head ‘no,’ and added, “I heard him on the phone, arguing with his brother just after ten. What’s going on, buddy? What’s this dream have to do with the culvert?”  Albert was no longer looking at Finn.  Finn’s growth was staggering over the past year, but Albert’s was explosive. Finn looked at his friend, his huge hands—the strongest on the entire football squad, including the coaches—which were clasped in front of his round face, twisting together in what appeared to be severe anxiety. “What is it, Albert? I’m here to help you, right?  Together we’ll get through this.”

Albert shot a look at Finn that the latter had never seen on the big boy’s face, teeth gritted, fear and anger lighting his eyes, making his usually soft face into stone. “I…need to be sure…to know that he wasn’t here—for someone his size, in that coat, was down there, in the snow, standing over  a…” Albert gulped and shook his head ‘no.’

“Standing over a what?” Finn demanded, even as he assured himself in memory that his father was, indeed, at home in his study. He had seen the light there, smelled the smoke of his father’s pipe, around eleven when he raided the fridge.

“I saw a big man in a hooded coat.  There was fresh snow all around him, covered in blood.  And at his feet was…a body.”

*

Albert got to start at center that night and was, to the surprise of all, amazing.  He never missed a block and was better at pass protection that he had even been, despite going up against Eastern High’s nose tackle, who was touted as all state. Finn played well, too, but their efforts were in a losing cause. They lost 21-14, and their season was over. Though Finn was sad, he had been most amazed at the change that had come over Albert, not just on the field: during all his time off the field, Albert stared at the stands and the side of the field, keeping track of Finn’s dad.  He wore that big coat, of course, which took Albert’s complete focus.

They were late walking home through the park.  Coach Austin had gathered the team to talk about their season. He had even nodded to Finn and Albert when he talked about bright outlook for the next season.  Albert, however, looked as downcast as the seniors who had played their last game at St. Francis. At last, walking in silence towards home, a cold wind driving leaves against their legs, Finn sought to draw some lighter talk out of his big friend.

“Look,” Finn said pointing to the top of a hill to their right, “The park pavilion has been all fixed up.” The trees, devoid of leaves for the most part, now, let them see the old stone building lit up with strings of bright lights, as well as the dance of flames from the firepits outside. They were playing rock music, too, and the bass tones crossed the distance and echoed off the hill to their left. “Coach said something about using that place for the team party.  That’ll be cool, huh? Who are you gonna bring? I know Stacey’s friend, Sa—”

“Shut up, Finn! Do you hear that?” Albert demanded, pulling Finn to a halt.

“Hear what? The music? It’s—”

“No! The pounding! There was a roar and pounding. The ground shook under my feet!” Albert insisted. Finn listened hard but could not hear what Albert did.  However, he could not help but think about the time he dared enter that culvert and go beyond where the water flowed, down to where there was a dark entrance to Faerie and some horror he had never seen.

That had been years ago, though, and the music from the party was loud, for it was early enough in the evening.  The party was in full swing. People laughed, fires blazed, and big speakers thumped out a steady rhythm.

“I think that’s just the music and the bass from those speakers. Somebody brought a big system to that party.”

“No, no, no!” Albert cried, turning to look at Finn as they trudged up the hill. “I hear that, too, but—”  Albert stopped short and gasped, pointing ahead of them up the hill. Finn followed his focus and saw a huge, hooded figure among the trees. It stood still, as the wind whipped its long garment about heavy legs. Dark trees were etched against the overcast night Beneath the trees, the figure stood. The uncertain light prevented them from seeing any detail of a person, except the overall shape, so Finn, called out in uncertain tones,

“Hey! Dad?”

Finn sighed when his father’s voice came back to him: “Son? You’re late. I was worried.”

Albert said nothing, though he stared at Professor McCoy’s shrouded figure and followed on slower steps when Finn started up the hill again.  James McCoy walked toward them, the tails of the long coat billowing out at his sides. To Finn, his dad returned to normal size as he neared them.  He called out, “You both played so well this evening.  I’m sorry that your team lost. Albert, you were magnificent,” he said as they came together.

“Th, thank you, sir,” Albert replied. “Did you…did you walk here last night wearing that coat?”

“Uh, nope. I did not. I graded papers until very late and tried to talk some sense into my bull-headed brother, as I recall,” James replied, placing a fatherly hand on Albert’s shoulder. “May I ask why that matters?  You both looked sort of spooked.”

Albert could not find words at that moment, but Finn said, “He had a dream about a really big, hooded figure standing over a corpse in the snow. He’s been thinking it was you.”

“Me?” James replied, startled, “the corpse or the one standing over it?’  Albert looked at the ground at his feet, shrugged massive shoulders. Finn and his father exchanged confused glances. “That must have been some dream, er, nightmare, Albert. Maybe you should tell me the whole thing while we walk, huh?”

“It…wasn’t really a whole dream, sir.  It was just the scene I described to Finn. I…I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” Albert offered as they walked out of the park. He would not look at Finn or James as they went but kept his gaze fixed on the path he walked. “It’s just that it kept repeating, over and over, and there was a thumping noise and a roar that filled the park around me. I…I was sure that I heard it just a little while ago.”

James listened, as did his son, to the pain in Albert’s voice, the fear that haunted him.  After reaching their yard, James stopped both boys and said, “Albert, please take off your jacket.”

Albert gazed back at Finn, at his dad too, with a frown, for the air was cold.  He did as he was asked, though, and James did the same. He took off the hooded overcoat and put it on Albert, raising Albert’s right arm and guiding the coat over it, up around his shoulders. Albert had to bend his left arm backwards to meet the other sleeve, but the coat slid into place.  James pulled the hood up, stepped back, and said, “Maybe this will help you find who you really are in that dream, maybe in your waking life, too.”

“It just fits,” Albert murmured, looking down at his arms encased in the heavy wool.  It was warm inside the coat, too, comforting, as though some of James McCoy’s self-confidence stayed with it.

“I suspect it’ll be a bit tight in your chest and shoulders.  You’ve got at least twenty pounds on me,” James said.

“The way you pushed around Eastern’s linemen tonight, I might wager a bit more than twenty pounds, Big Al,” Finn said.

“Albertus Magnus,” James said, reaching out to shake his hand, “You may return the coat when you have learned what it is that your dreams are trying to teach you.  Wear it in good health!”  And with those words, he turned and went into the house, leaving the two boys outside.

Albert turned his hooded face towards Finn, asking, “Is he telling me to be the monster?”

“You remember that winged figure we encountered on Halloween? We were told that you had to discover your gift, and that we would then know what it is that we do, the three of us, I mean, you, me, and Tom. Seems like we’re about ready to see what unfolds, huh?” Finn clapped Albert hard on the back and turned to follow his father.  He looked back at Albert, standing still, and thought that he really did look like a monster, or was it a wizard? In any case, a shiver ran through Finn, remembering the fright of being deep in that tunnel, long ago, hearing the thumping, the howling roar and mocking laugh.

*

Two nights after Thanksgiving, Finn and Tom Doughty paid a visit to the park at night.  Warm winds from the south blew leaves about their feet as they approached the culvert. All the snow had melted. Finn told Tom about going into the tunnel long before.

“I always figured that the culvert was important. Why didn’t you tell us before?” Tom asked. They stopped well short of the culvert, where melting snow near filled its opening.

“Kinda hoped nothing would come of it,” Finn said with a shrug. “I mean, I could see that it was an active place for the fay, but with the iron grid over it…”

“Something big from Faerie could not get out,” Tom finished for him. “ Tell me again what Albert said after the last game.”  Finn complied, both of them turning to look up at the dark hilltop where the pavilion stood, silent now. Tom sucked his teeth and said, “It reminds me of something but what, I can’t remember. Look, there, now!” Tom said in a harsh whisper, pointing at the stone building.

There, a huge, hooded figure strode around the corner, coat tails whipping in the warm winds that swirled around the pavilion. “Gotta be Albert, right?” Finn said and started up the hill.

“Well, I hope so,” Tom replied and followed, “but I thought Albert was out of town for the Thanksgiving weekend.”

Finn did not reply with more than a shrug.  He made no effort to go on quiet steps, and it wasn’t long before the hooded figure heard their approach through the thick leaves and stopped, waiting for them.

“What are you doing out here, Albert?” Finn called out from the dark. The huge figure sagged.

“Waiting…for something,” Albert replied in a low voice, though within the hood his voice came muffled.

“Trying to find out if you’re the monster in your own dream?” Tom asked.

“Maybe,” Albert said, he turned to walk away, back in the direction of their homes.

“We thought you were out of town, with your folks,” Finn added.

“Just got home,” Albert said, as they caught up with him, “and I’d appreciate it if you two left me in peace.”

Finn and Tom stopped. “We might,” Tom replied in easy tones, “if you looked even a little peaceful.”

“Albert, buddy, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying,” Finn added.

Albert turned and took two violent strides toward them, his face shadowed by the hooded coat. “I’ll tell you what it means. I don’t want to have any more to do with all this fairy and ghost stuff. Period. Leave me alone.”

“So, that winged figure was just another tricky fairy?” Finn asked. “Remember? The one who told us that we would know what it is that we do when you found your gift? Albert that wasn’t—”

Albert turned and thumped Finn’s chest with a heavy finger, muttering “Anything to do with me,” through clenched teeth.  He turned again and stalked away.  Finn was on the verge of asking for his father’s coat back, but a sudden thought prompted him:

“And your vision doesn’t have anything to do with that howling, thumping thing in the depths of that tunnel behind us, somewhere behind that culvert?”

Albert did not turn but stalked on, coat tails trailing out behind him. “I don’t know!” he yelled and walked on. He left Tom and Finn speechless, and they wandered away from the now colder, darker park. Albert had not challenged the notion of a large, dangerous creature in the tunnel, though Finn had never told him about it.

*

For the next couple of weeks, Albert avoided their company.  After school, Albert spent at least two hours in the school weight room each day.  Finn was there three days a week, but Albert avoided talking about anything but lifting, at which he excelled, breaking every powerlifting record at St. Francis, many in the state. Albert told the coaches that he did not want to go to lifting meets, nor go out for shotput or discus in Track.  He just wanted to lift and be left alone.

Tom had gone over to Albert’s house twice without an invite, and both times, he had turned away, due to shouting he heard within. “I tell you, Finn, Albert was yelling at his parents, which I have never heard.  I’ve heard you fuss with your dad in raised voices, but it was never anything like this.  Albert sounded angry, but he was scared, too, if I know anything about him.  I heard him yell at his mother, Finn!  He told her, ‘You don’t know anything about it—or me!’ and after that, doors slammed so hard that the windows shook.”

“Yeah, he’s in the middle of something and fighting it, fighting everything,” Finn replied, yet he had no idea what it was, nor why his friend would refuse his help.

*

Now, the notion of noises on the heights and an angry response from below ground also stayed in Tom Doughty’s mind. In quiet moments, it nagged at him, as did the absence of Albert’s usually pleasant presence. School was about to head into Christmas break, and Albert remained aloof. The big lad stalked along near them but never offered to talk to his friends. He even took to wearing the hooded overcoat as often as Finn and Tom saw him. Albert’s change worried both Tom and Finn, especially since he would share nothing about it. Even on days when the football team was celebrated for their winning season and they all wore their jerseys, Albert declined to join in. He remained distant.

In the gym, Finn tried to engage him, but Albert just lifted, muttering that he was just there to do his work. So, Tom decided to break the silence. He waited for Albert after school, Finn staying behind him, on the day before Christmas break started, just before the Solstice.  Tom got in front of Albert as he was coming out the door wearing the hooded coat. Tom put his hand against the big man’s chest and held his position. Albert sought to move around him, but each time he shifted his position, Tom kept contact and stayed in front of him, stopping him. Albert started to grab Tom’s hand.

“That, my friend, will only land you on your butt.  You can go when you have answered one question,” Tom said.  His voice was quiet.  Albert, though, pushed his luck, tightened his grip on Tom’s wrist and pushed him backwards through brute force. At that, Tom pivoted on his back foot, turned Albert’s arm and let Albert’s own force move him through a turn around his center.  It took the big lad to his knees. Tom let go immediately and moved to help Albert back to his feet.

“When will you return Professor McCoy’s coat?” Tom asked in quiet tones. Albert stared out from within the hood, his mouth slack, as he breathed hard.  Finn, looking on, hoped that Big Al was not going to take a swing at Tom, for that would have a similar result, though Tom’s take-down had not looked aggressive. If anything, it had been quite gentle. Albert merely mumbled,

“I…I don’t… know,” and hurried away. Finn and Tom stared after him.

“Maybe we haven’t lost him yet,” Finn observed.

“Yeah.  Keep an open mind, sort of thing, huh?” Tom said with a shrug.

“A keep an eye on him, sorta thing, I’m thinking.  I have an idea that Albert goes to the park most nights. Maybe we should look after him, huh?”

“Good idea,” Tom said with a nod. “I’ll be over just after dinner.” That night, and several thereafter, Finn and Tom watched Albert from a distance as he stalked the quiet park.  They stayed behind him and watched him make several sweeps through the park, always moving down towards the culvert.  When all was quiet, they watched him leave and walk home, yet they had no desire to follow him to his house and listen for sounds of arguments with his parents.

*

On the evening of December the twenty-second, Finn’s littlest sister opened the door to Tom and ushered him into her father’s study, where Finn was draped across a large leather armchair under a lamp in the corner of the room, reading a book on weight training. “Are you ready to go?” Tom asked, as James McCoy entered the room.

Finn nodded and rose from the chair.  He reached for a dark coat that lay nearby. “Where are you two off to tonight? Stacey’s?  One of the parties over in the park?” James asked.

“She doesn’t like it much, but I told Stacey that I couldn’t see her until Christmas night. In truth? We are going to spy on Albert,” Finn said. “He walks the park every night. He says he isn’t ready to give up the coat, but something is going on with him, and we don’t want  him to go through it by himself.”

James nodded and asked, “Is he looking for his hooded monster or seeing if he is the monster, or if the thing in the hood is a monster at all?”

Finn shrugged, shivering a bit at the mention of the monster, and said, “We’ll have to get back to you about that,” as they went out the front door. Past knowledge gave him confidence that the dangerous fairy creature he learned about in years past could be the threat that Albert’s dream implied. Albert’s gift as part of their team, though, had not been made clear.  Perhaps it was merely a matter of his seeing this vision of a monster’s predation. Or, was Albert, usually so timid, fated to become a monster slayer? It’s victim? Was he going to become the monster he loathed? Nothing about it was clear.  Finn’s memory of the tunnel, in which a large creature scared, then mocked him, remained too clear. As they made their way to the park, Tom asked, “Is it possible that Albert could, you know, be the monster in his dream?”

“When it comes to dreams, I’d say it is a possibility,” Finn replied with caution. “Dad tells me that we are all the characters in our dreams, that dreams are just ways of talking to ourselves honestly about who we are, you know, what’s going on in our skulls.  Maybe that’s why his vision, as Albert calls it, scares him so.

“On the other hand, I have a feeling that Albert’s vision is a warning,” Finn said.

“About that thing in the culvert you heard once?” Tom asked.  They entered the park and walked around its boundary in order to arrive on the opposite, the parking lot, side of the pavilion. Already, a dozen cars were in the parking lot, and people bustled into and out of the pavilion carrying food, plates, dishes, and one big radio.  A sign reading “Male High School Science Club Solstice and Christmas Party: Members Only” adorned a placard outside the pavilion. Albert was nowhere in sight, which made sense. Finn was nodding his head and said,

“I’ve never told Albert about it. Maybe, just maybe, Albert’s gift is all about his ability to have these visions. Remember, back on Halloween, how that winged figure said that “we have been noticed,” and that what we three do about all this spooky junk will be made clearer when Albert realizes his gift.  Is there a monster down in that tunnel?  I’d say yes. But, Albert is so spooked by what he has dreamed that he’s moving away from us, rather than becoming more a part of the team.” Finn handed Tom one of the yard long pieces of rebar he had brought.

Tom took it and put out a hand that stopped Finn. “I just remembered something.”

“What?” the bigger lad asked turning back to him. Music, then, began to fill the hilltop area. The Science Club kids started to party.

“I told you that something about Albert’s vision sounded familiar, especially with what you told me about the, er creature you heard. The way you put it, that thing seems to have gotten angry at all the noise coming from this park, dangerously mad at the sound of a celebration,” Tom whispered in urgent tones, his grip tightening on Finn’s jacket sleeve. “What I was thinking about was Beowulf. Remember? Grendel attacked the mead hall of King Hrothgar because of the sound of men celebrating!”

“That th, thing…in the tunnel…” Finn whispered back stuttering, “is…Grendel?”

“Well, no, not the original Grendel,” Tom replied, “’cause Beowulf killed him, his mother too, but, Finn, what if, such things as ‘grendels’ are…are a type of fairy monster, some sort of supernatural enemy of humans? Grendel and his mother were called the ‘Kin of Cain’ in the poem. They hated people and wandered the wilderness. I don’t know if that makes them fairies, but there could be other…things like them, things that hate humans, like some fairies do, right?”

Frowning, Finn nodded. He kicked himself for not having figured out what “the kin of Cain” meant back when they read the poem. Having only heard the thing in the culvert, he had not given thought to what, exactly, it was, but the monster from the poem was more than just a little dangerous.  It could wipe out scores of people with ease—warriors, too, not Science Club kids. The potential slaughter was unthinkable.  He whispered, “Let’s hope not, or else Albert is wandering around in my dad’s overcoat trying to protect people from a thing that ate full grown, battle-hardened men like candy!

“We gotta find Albert!” Finn cried, and took off around the pavilion. The party was beginning to get loud. Several people started to build a fire in the pit outside the door.

“Should we, maybe, tell these people that they’re in danger here?” Tom asked, catching up to him.

“Sure, ‘cause they’ll believe us, right?” Finn muttered, heading off down the hill. This was something no one would believe.

Cold, dismal rain began to fall, dampening the leaf mold, so their passage down the hill made little noise. There were audible groans of disappointment coming from the crowd of solstice lovers in the pavilion.  Finn considered that good, because they would have to abandon the plans for outside fires. If they went inside and closed the pavilion doors, the sound of their music and laughter would not be so loud.  Still, there was much noisy celebration going on atop the hill. So, Finn and Tom carried on searching for Albert on the hillside leading down to the bottom of the park.

Many trees of variable size grew on the creek banks, along with brambles and vines now dead.  The black opening of the culvert lay beyond them. “I see him,” Tom said, pointing to a thicket a dozen yards or so from the culvert opening.  Albert in the heavy coat squatted down behind a stand of three-year-old saplings, watching the culvert. Finn’s Sight revealed to him small, winged shapes in the air around the tunnel, hovering there as though waiting. The creatures were oblivious of any approach, but Albert heard the pair’s approach, turned and motioned for them to get down low.

“You shouldn’t be here!” he hissed. “It’s trying to get out.  Look,” he whispered, pointing to the dark opening. Tom, moving between the saplings, was closer, and even in the dark, he could see the iron grid bending slowly at the corner. The protesting metal groaned and made pinging sounds.

Finn saw the hand that did the damage, for it was more than four times the size of his own hand and covered with coarse hair.  Its claws were long as knives. The hand smoked as the iron burned it, so he knew that this creature was from the Faerie realm. Still, the creature pushed, twisted, pulled emitting a whining growl.

Springing forward, Finn leapt atop the culvert and aimed a blow at the gigantic hand that worked at the grid.  Tom was at his side in an instant, raining blows on the same spot. They both struck sparks off the iron but hit fairy flesh as well, and the hand let go.  Immediately, a howl of rage shook the ground below them. Another bellow of rage followed, though, this time, from deeper within the darkness. Growls faded as the creature moved up the tunnel, and the quiet of the park soon returned. The merriment at the pavilion had moved indoors and was muted by the heavy stone structure. Rain pattered down around them. Finn grinned at Tom and Albert, though the latter simply turned his back on them and stalked up the hill, the heavy, wet coat dragging leaves and trailing lengths of bramble behind it.

“Al, buddy, I think you found your gift,” Tom called after him, but Albert did not stop.

“Albert, wait!” Finn called. “We need to talk about this.  We are in this together, right?”

“No, not as far as I’m concerned,” Albert called back over his shoulder. “This is my task.  I’m supposed to face that thing, even if it is the end of me.”

“It will be,” Finn replied, “if it gets out of that tunnel.  We think its big, Albert, too big.  It’s at least four times your size—and if we’re right, not remotely human.”

Albert shrugged and walked away, calling back, “That’s why it isn’t your concern but mine, my call. I’ve seen what it will do.”

Finn and Tom watched Albert walk away. They followed as he made his way back to the hilltop and settled his bulk below a sliding board in the play area. Finn found a spot on the far corner of the stone building under its wide eaves, and watched with Albert for another two hours, while the quiet party went on. No sounds came from the dark down the hill.

“We will need to find the rental schedule for this place,” Finn remarked later as the last of the party goers filed out of the far end. Albert moved away from his hiding place when the last person shut and locked the door.

“I’d imagine that there will only be a few parties here, until after the holidays, right?” Tom asked, watching Albert wend his way through the wet trees toward home.

“I gotta hope so,” Finn replied. “I’m just glad that the rain kept all these kids inside.  There wasn’t much noise, and that…Grendel thing didn’t put up much of a fight to get out.  Did you see it?”

“I think I saw the hand, but it was shadowy,” Tom mumbled. He went on in stronger tones, saying, “I remember that in the poem, Grendel couldn’t be killed with an edged weapon—”

“He—it—didn’t like the iron bar across his fingers, though,” Finn added.

“But do you recall that when Beowulf killed Grendel’s mother and took off Grendel’s head with a magic sword that it took four men to carry it back to Hrothgar’s hall,” Tom went on. “Four men.  If it was just twice the size of a warriors head, they wouldn’t have carried it on spears, right?”

“And it was big enough to eat a grown man in several gulps, if I remember right,” Finn replied. “ And, judging by the size of its hand, this creature is big enough to do that.”

“Yeah, so, where are we gonna get a magical sword?” Tom asked. Finn failed to reply.  Albert had set himself to take on this threat, which was as bad—worse, even–than anything Finn and his small team had faced before.  Albert’s decision was, in a word, deadly, in another word, doomed, too. After a long moment’s thought he said, “We need to talk to our dads.”

*

James McCoy wasn’t at home that night.  Claire, Finn’s mother, met both boys at the door with the news that James’ brother, Declan McCoy, was in the hospital, having suffered a heart attack. “James will likely be there all night,” she said. “He told me that he has to see Declan through this. In the morning, if you’ll stay home with the girls, I’ll go down there to be with James and the rest of Declan’s family.  Is there any chance that you could get Albert to come over? You, too, Tom, dear, but the little ones asked for Albert. They love the way he reads to them.”

“I’ll call him in the morning,” Finn said as they stood by the door.  Tom turned to go, but Finn pulled at his coat and asked,

“Can you check on the schedule for the pavilion?”

“I’ll call the parks department before I come over in the morning,” he said and headed away. Finn closed the door.  Silence, like a weight, pressed down on him. He found his mom sitting in the living room in front of the fireplace.  She sipped a cup of tea, smiled to see him, and beckoned him to join her there, where they could both enjoy the lights of the Christmas tree and listen to the quiet crackle of the flames on the hearth.  After a few minutes, Claire asked, “Are you okay, Finn. You look a little drained.  Can I get you a cup of  chamomile tea?  It’ll help you sleep.”

“Thanks, mom.  I’m okay, just got a few things on my mind, about Albert, actually.  I hope he will come in the morning, but I don’t know.  He’s…well, he isn’t himself these days.”

“Hm. Things that happen to us, to those we love, especially around Christmas, always seem so much bigger, harder.  It always seems like a time under tension, this season, from within and without—from parts of ourselves we don’t even know how to talk about, and it feels as though the very darkness of winter is out to get us.”

Finn shook, startled at thought of the thing that he saw trying to get out of the tunnel, making him wonder if his mother could sense it somehow, feel its lurking threat, though it was likely Uncle Declan who had her worried, along with her husband.  And there, again, was the “time under tension” phrase that his dad used days before but in a totally different context—something about getting stronger. Finn had seen enough in his life, thus far, to look carefully at coincidences, for they revealed much and could leave him reeling.  Yet it was hard not to see the monster, the enemy of mankind, the Grendel-like ogre, as the darkness of winter that stalked them. Finn had to force himself to listen to his mother.

 Claire went on with another thought: “As they grew, James and Declan had such a hard time getting along. Your dad got bigger, stronger—much better looking—” she added with a smile, “and smarter. Uncle D, I guess, wanted to be the big brother, not just the elder. Oh, how they would fight—until your dad got too big to mess with. But your father has always tried to reach him, connect with him, no matter how Declan resists.”

“It’ll be…hard on Dad if he loses him, especially now, at Christmas,” Finn said, bringing his whirling thoughts back to the present.  Fear rose in him, one he could do nothing about and the other which could take his own life, as well as many more. “Time under tension” provided a general description of Albert Miller’s situation, Uncle Declan’s heart attack. Finn brought himself back to the moment with his mother to say, “I know that he always tries to get Uncle D to come over for the big dinner, Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Dad would do anything to have him in his life.  A guy needs his…brother…his family.” Finn let his gaze wander over the tree ornaments as they reflected the twinkling lights, thinking about all the old ones that James always insisted needed to go on the tree, even the broken ones, because they were about keeping some of the old Christmas alive, no matter how new times tried to bring changes to the season. If something happened to Albert when he tried to face that…ogre, Finn would regret it for the rest of his life. If he fought that source of fear, he could die, along with many others, all suddenly important to him.  And then, no more warm Christmas memories, no more times around the family hearth. Just the deadly winter threat.

“I think I’ll go to bed, Mom,” he said. “I’m tired.”

“And maybe you can remember some of this little talk, too, when you get bigger than your father, hm?”

Finn smiled, nodded, kissed her on the top of her head: “I’ll do my best.” Finn hoped that he would survive to do that.

As he settled into his twin bed, which was getting too small for him, his thoughts went to Albert and James, two big men who would sacrifice anything for those they loved. His father always told him that Christmas was always essentially the same, that it was a special time that came back every year, no matter how much change came with it.  The feast of the Incarnation was what James meant, that it was a holy time and therefore always the same in the most important ways, especially with the love that it embodies.  Finn, though he had yet begun to think like his father about the coming of Christ into the world, knew that Christmas time was  the most important time in his life. However, he was powerless to meet the demands that had come to him now that Albert’s gift was manifesting, especially since this “gift” was not very clear.  Following this calling could get Albert killed.

He drifted off to sleep with his father’s idea about the significance of the Christmas tree ringing in his thought. “Every Christmas Tree is an embodiment of the ancient notion of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, in Norse lore. It is a living, vibrant reminder that every home that has one proclaims itself the center of the world, because it celebrated the Incarnation, the gift of God coming for us, all of us, each of us, one at a time.” It was an odd, eerie notion, invoking the old myth and the very center of Finn’s faith, that the king of the universe risked coming in the form of a helpless child in order to show us how He loved us. How does such openness, such vulnerability sow in us divine love? Finn thought and thought.  It was such a risk, one not unlike Albert wanted to take on by himself.

The windy chaos of these ideas transformed into dreams filled with bitter cold and biting gales, where small creatures huddled together for the warmth of protection against the huge things that would think nothing of devouring them. Smallness gave some possibility of survival.  Accept one’s inherent tininess in the face of a vast, sub-zero universe, huddle close with loved ones and hope that things that devour would miss, pass by. Yet, still, always, the desire remained to be big enough to defend against the things that devour, just once, just for me, us, the small ones. Powerlessness, the truest lot in life, was hardest to accept at Christmas and yet the most important one.

Soon, though, Finn’s dream changed.  Suddenly, Finn found himself oddly at home in the bitter night air.  He did not shiver but was invigorated by the cold. And he flew!  Astride a stag of some sort, Finn flew without wings. Around him in the crystalline cold were a host of strange figures, many of them like the vision he, Tom and Albert had shared at Halloween: luminous, winged beings—that no longer had the features of Finn’s girlfriend, Stacey.  They were, however, beautiful and fierce, armed with silvery spears, as Finn found he was. Others in the spectral gathering were man-like, some bestial, likely fairies of some wild kind, astride stags or winged horses, armed with bows, spears, and swords. Still others were faint, yet present, ghosts bent on revenge, flying through the night with this astounding troupe. And there were hounds, as big as bulls, black hounds with fiery red eyes, racing at his side and at the front of the pack, their voices like deep bells ringing with the mind altering harmonies of many cathedral rings sounding out changes at once.   They jetted all around him, tearing through winter night,  hurtling through the bitter air, searching, always searching but for what, Finn did not know.  For a time, it did not matter! They swooped low to skim frosted treetops in snow covered landscapes and swept back high over ice encrusted cliff faces, back into the upper airs.  At their head rode a majestic figure in a blood red, hooded cloak, a mighty man, strong and proud though his features were unclear.  He was astride the most magnificent stag Finn could imagine. Its ponderous antlers wide and strong, sliced the cold mist into vapor trails. And the master of the hunt laughed as he flew, raucous, joyous, dangerous, enthralling to hear.

The figure in red wasn’t easy to see, perhaps because of the cold tears that streamed from Finn’s eyes and crusted to crystal on his face. His skin, though, glowed with joy—and terror.  The rush, the deadly gamble of the ride, made thinking impossible, but Finn could not care. He had become one with the figures around him, and riding, hunting was his sole intent. He lost any idea of being in a dream. Finn had become, like all his companions in the sky, simply pursuit: like the figure in the red cloak, he was the hunt.

The hounds’ belling voices took on greater urgency as they scented their quarry, a lone shambling figure of great size shaking the trees below as it fled their ineluctable approach. Where the monster fled, snow erupted into icy particles that caught what light was there, as branches and boles snapped with the violence of its destructive flight. Bright blood speckled the snow from the remains of some poor victim the monster had torn asunder, its bloodied hand trailing in the snow. White hot anger erupted in Finn’s heart at that sight, and he brandished his spear in defiance.

The red cloaked hunt master rose high on his steed, hauling back his bright spear, preparing a killing cast, while Finn and all his companions did likewise, shouting vengeance against the terror they hunted, the enemy of mankind. Finn, crying havoc with all his compatriots, cast spears in the same instant as the red-cloaked master of the hunt. The sound of the spears’ flight came as a crash that thundered in Finn’s own ears and woke him: the front door of his house opened and closed with a bang. “I’m back!” James cried in a voice that carried pure joy. His father was home, and Finn bounded out of bed in the chilly dark, hurtling down the stairs as though he still rode his antlered steed. There was a winter power to fight the enemies of mankind, and it burned hot in Finn’s strong body. Before he turned into the hallway to greet his father, Finn stopped to wipe away the ice that clung to his, lashes, brows, and hair.

*

The next morning, the news went through the McCoy house that Uncle Declan came through the emergency procedure exceptionally well and was expected to be home in time for Christmas. Both Finn’s parents and his little sisters, Marley and Junah, were going to stay home now.  Albert showed reluctance to come over to the McCoy’s, until Finn told him that Marley and Junah wanted him to read Christmas stories to them. Albert would do anything for a child.

 The girls were delighted to have Albert come over to read to them, even though the change in the family’s plans had not required it. Finn told him, simply, that Marley and Junah needed him. Finn was setting things up for a meeting between his friends and his father, which gave him greater hope that the situation they all faced would not end up in all of them dead. Somehow, his dream, his vision, had buoyed him with confidence.

However, he still had to open up to his father, so Finn told his father everything about Albert’s situation after breakfast, which threatened the festive mood in the McCoy house for a while.  Given Finn’s exploits since his first contact with fairies—and James’ involvement in them–the fatherly reaction wasn’t too bad:

“Do you mean to tell me that you know for a fact that a dreadful fairy creature—”

“Tom and I think it may be more like Grendel, an, um, ogre, which I’m pretty sure is fay.  It reacted to iron, though, so…”

“…And I am hearing about this all NOW?” James went on, with volume increasing, “and that Albert intends to throw himself at it like some sort of sacrificial offering? And how do you know it reacts to iron?”

“Well, the other night, when there was a party in the pavilion, it, the, um ogre, was trying to get out, bending that iron grid over the opening, until I whopped it’s knuckles with a piece of rebar,” Finn explained.

“Jehosaphat, boy! You, Tom, and Albert have been at, like, Def Con 4, and you let me just go on thinking that it was some teenage thing!”

“It may be that the creature won’t be that big of a problem unless there’s a loud party in the pavilion,” Finn explained.  Tom Doughty stuck his head into the room and said,

“Hi.  The women’s volleyball team at the university have scheduled a party there on Christmas Eve, And, they’ve rented a band.”

Finn grimaced, looked at his father, and asked, “Can you, maybe, lay your hands on a magic sword?” James merely fixed him with a hard stare, jaws clenched.

“Let’s go over this again, shall we?” James asked in tones of stressed patience.

With Tom’s input, James went back over the whole story, while Finn provided needed descriptions and details that he missed earlier. When they had finished going over everything—what was going on with Albert, the available features of the monster behind the culvert–Tom asked,

“Is this thing a sort of relative of Grendel, the one from Beowulf?”

“Who knows?” James cried with a shrug of mighty shoulders. “The name or something like it is seen in the folklore record, given to one kind of monster or another, associated with a  pond or bog of some sort, always deadly, as befits what can happen to a wanderer in those sorts of places. Even if what you’ve seen, Finn, is only a dangerous water fairy, we all know that it is a serious one, especially since it reacts to sounds of celebrating. It would wreak havoc all over, once Christmas Day comes. It should be dealt with immediately and in no case is something that Albert needs to face alone—and no, I do not know where to get a magic sword,” he finished, glaring at his son. “I need to talk to your dad, Tom.  Is he at work?”

“That he is, sir,” Tom replied, “and he is expecting your call,” handing his father’s business card to James, who motioned the boys out of the room.

“But Dad, I still need to tell you—both of you, really–about my dream last night, which was more like Albert’s vision, I think.”

James stopped in mid dial, set the receiver back in the cradle and crossed his arms. “Please go on, son,” James said. When Finn had finished, James asked, “And you suspect this was more than a dream because…?”

“The ice on my face and hair when I got out of bed,” Finn said, “Oh, and we need to all talk to Albert when he comes over in a while.”  James winced, motioned them out of the room, picked up the phone and began to dial, muttering, “a potential suicidal gesture to a water ogre and the Wild Hunt.  Glad I made up with my brother. Probably be dead in two days…”

Finn closed the door to the sound of his father’s forceful twisting of the of his phone’s rotary dial, which, for those who have never heard such a thing, is a fairly precise measure of a parent’s frustration.  Between slamming the receiver back into the black bakelite body and torturing the rotary dial, Finn’s father was wont to go through at least two phones a year. The push button variety was no good at all. The “pound” symbol was something James Mccoy took literally.

“Do you think we should, maybe, keep Albert’s talk to just us today?” Tom asked.

“No, if there is a party at the pavilion tomorrow night, we can probably use dad angry,” Finn said.

“I spoke to my dad about this, so he expects your dad’s call,” Tom said.

“Good thinking.  I don’t fancy doing anything without either of them. Look,” Finn said, pointing out a nearby window, “Albert is here.”

The hood was up on the heavy overcoat as Albert came towards the house. His face beneath it, pale, with reddened cheeks, looked no less angry than it had been when the boys had seen him last.  Finn wrangled Marley and Junah to open the door, with books in hand. They would have Albert in a better mood in no time. Tom hoped that Finn’s dad reached his own father, with whom he had already spoken about the matter. He knew that his own father planned to reload some twelve-gauge shotgun rounds with silver covered steel deer slugs, just in case. Finn thought that Beowulf could not have prepared any better.

*

Neither Finn nor Tom were allowed into the office, though, when James asked Albert to step in for a short talk.  They were locked in together for at least an hour.  When they emerged for lunch, Albert looked a bit calmer, more composed, though he excused himself and left without dining. Finn raised his eyebrows to his father, as though to ask what had transpired, to which James said,

“That was a private conversation, the contents of which I cannot reveal. I have been sworn to secrecy, son.  When Albert wants to talk to you about it, he will.  It will be our job to see that he lives long enough to do so. You will each need to have several good pieces of iron and be ready.  Unless I can convince the women’s volleyball coach to postpone or move the party, we have a fight on our hands, come Christmas Eve, one in which there may be no winning or losing, only devastation.”

Finn walked Tom back to his house, mostly in silence, until Finn said, “I guess you can see now why I, back before Halloween, wanted to walk away from all of this mystical stuff.”

“Our safety?” Tom replied.

“Yours? How about mine, my father’s, your father’s?” Finn exclaimed. “How about what happens to our moms, our sisters if things go bad?” Now that their fathers were involved, Finn’s confidence began to falter, though he knew he had to go on.

“True, but someone has to do it, right? That thing coming out of the darkness isn’t going to stop after it wastes a few people in the pavilion. In one night, it could mu…”

“But we don’t know exactly what it will do, do we, if it gets out of that tunnel?” Finn shot back.

“No, we don’t really, but the lookout isn’t good, is it? But you have always had a reason to believe it is a danger, right?”

Finn stared back at him and at length nodded his head. “When I went down that tunnel years ago, I heard it but could see nothing.  It roared, like it could see me, which was bad enough.  It made the ground shake by pounding on the wall of wherever it was. Then, it laughed, and it made me feel so tiny, so weak, like it could get to me whenever it wanted, like it was mocking how puny I am, how we all are. I was relieved when the parks department put that grid over the opening to keep debris from clogging the tunnel. I believe that it is happening now because Christmas is coming. It hates us, I think. I can tell it wants to…”

“Like in Albert’s vision, it wants to make us its prey,” Tom said. “Merry Christmas, huh?”

“Time under tension.  We’ll have to see about that.” Finn replied as Tom mounted the steps to his front door.

*

James reported that the volleyball coach ignored his plea to postpone or move the party.  James argued that the park was not the safest place to be at night, since car break-ins had occurred and that there was always the danger of unsavory characters lurking about in big, unruly crowds. The volleyball coach said that supplies of firewood had already been delivered, the food was ordered, and the mood on the team, which had a great season, was high.  He laughed at James’ concerns about physical danger, saying that all his athletes—plus their guests—were grownups—some of them, very well grown—who would take care of each other.  He pitied the fool who sought to crash that party. And James recognized that he could say no more and appear sane.  The party was scheduled to begin at eight, and the thrash metal band they hired promised to play as long as the party lasted. 

That night it snowed, dusting all surfaces, frosting branches, and giving the outdoor strings of lights that extra brilliance that makes them worth the trouble to drape over bushes and wrap around porch columns, hang from eaves and such. Christmas Eve came and the snow turned to sleet and freezing rain, making all surfaces slick. Then it turned back to heavy, wet flakes,  as though the sky was determined to coat the ground.  It snowed all day, for a short time, an inch an hour.  Finn and James both hoped that the weather would cancel the party. When Tom and his father, detective sergeant Edward Doughty arrived at the McCoy home, though,  it was seven-thirty.  From the McCoy front porch, they heard the band over in the park doing a sound check.

Claire watched from the front door as they gathered, a misty look in her eyes and a wan smile on her lips. James smiled and blew her a kiss.  Finn gave her a thumbs up and a smile, to which she shook her head, turned away, and closed the door.

“So, Mom knows?” Finn whispered.

“She knows enough to be worried,” James said, “but your mother is a fighter.  She’s where you get your courage.” They left the porch, making scrunching noises in the wet snow.

Ed carried a long duffle bag over his shoulder.  It clanked a little when he moved. “We saw Albert heading over to the park.  I asked if he wanted a ride.  He said no. But there are four men, guys I trust, whom I sent over to the park to station themselves just outside the light of the fires.”

“Do they know what we’re up against?” James asked.

“No, not really.  I told them that if they hear me fire three times from down the hill, they are to get the people in the party away. One is my partner and the other three work out with us at Mr. Leung’s,” Ed explained. “They are men who will not walk away from threats.”

“They know it might get rough,” Tom added, “but they aren’t the fearful types.”

“Let’s hope that we don’t have to test that this evening,” Finn said, hoping his confidence would return.

Though they searched as they went, none of them saw Albert anywhere in the park. “Maybe he rethought everything,” Finn said. “Maybe your talk, Dad, made him wise up.”

“I doubt it.  A powerful calling has him in its grip.  He sees only one thing to do: answer it,’ James said and neither Finn nor Tom added another word. At the same time, high energy guitar riffs and laughter flowed down the hillside. They didn’t expect the thrash metal to be sped up versions of “What Child is This” and a not so “Silent Night,” but the band had the sound well in hand.  Thumping bass and screaming, distorted electric guitar made talking together difficult. “Your fairy interloper isn’t going to be long showing his face tonight,” James yelled above the tunes.

“And if they keep that up, there will be noise complaints that bring other officers to the scene,” Ed added at volume.

“More people to keep safe.” Tom added, whirling a piece of rebar in his gloved hand. Wood smoke from new fires drifted around them in the cold air, but none of them thought about the cold.  They heard, though, the first guttural calls from deep inside the culvert. The pounding that shook the ground did not come from bass speakers. It came from behind the culvert itself. With each heavy thud, the snow fell from the top edge of the culvert. The  brightness of the winter landscape all around made seeing easy. The culvert shook.  They ran towards it,  and each of them gave a startled cry as the concrete split down the middle and began to buckle outward, inch by inch.

“Now!” Finn yelled. “Down into the ditch.  Push it back!”

It was a smart enough ogre, Finn thought, to avoid the cold iron of the grid, which, before, burned its hands.  It was going to open the hillside.  Only the concrete of the culvert and four terrified men stood in its way.  Finn knew that once out, they weren’t going to hold it back.  He leapt into the icy water and wedged himself against the concrete, pushing back against the impossible force. His father, Tom, and Ed Doughty were beside him in an instant, all of them grunting, panting as they sought to keep the stone culvert in place with main strength. The feet of all four churned in the freezing mud of the creek bed as they poured their combined might against the bitter hard concrete.  For a second, the culvert began to go back, the cracks on its surface closing with their effort.

“Albert! Albert! Albert!” Finn shouted, hoping that the giant strength in Big Al’s legs and back would help them keep the monster contained.  He wasn’t there, though, and all Finn could hear under the driving guitar riffs from on high was the sounds of effort of his companions, each of them putting muscle, tendon, and heart on the line to keep the unthinkable from happening. Exertion unlike any they had known before brought to Finn’s mind, “time under tension” again.  The tension was too great: the time too short. The wall under their hands and shoulders cracked with a fusillade of pounding from within that shook the earth around them, and the roaring from inside gained in volume until the culvert wall split into several pieces and began to topple outward, falling around them.

“Back! Back! Give ground!” James shouted as the head and shoulders of the monster emerged above the ruin of earth and broken concrete. It was, in shape, a mockery of a human, swollen with power and menace.  Its red eyes glowed as it looked down on them, and it roared its hatred and defiance into their faces. Long arms, each as thick as Finn’s torso, knocked away the remains of the culvert. Clawed hands crushed concrete to powder.  It lifted hateful eyes to the sky and bellowed.  Finn breathed in ragged gasps as his father moaned, “God…help us!”

Ed Doughty was the first to leap away, as the thing from the culvert emerged, its wide, fetid torso rising, a roar like mocking laughter came from its savage throat. It aimed a blow from its right claw at all of them, sweeping fast, killing claws revealed in the white winter night. It missed most of them, for Finn and Tom rolled back into the frigid water at their feet. One claw scored a slash through the front of James’ coat, its tip opening a furrow of bright red, as Ed Doughty’s twelve gauge sounded, once.

The silvered steel slug struck it in the center of the ogre’s wide forehead, drawing a howl of pain as the thing reeled.  It stepped backwards, it’s lethal hands covering the point of the slug’s impact, and Tom gave a shout.” Yeah!” which trailed away as the thing shook its head, wiping the molten silver from its face.

Again the shotgun let go, this time striking it just below its mighty ribcage, making it double over and howl. Tom reached the duffle bag and pulled out a Dao, a Chinese broadsword, and hurled it to James. Pieces of rebar he jerked loose and tossed two to Finn, one for each hand. Last came a long straight sword, a Jian, which he tossed to his father, who caught it as he fired the last silvered steel slug into the monster’s stomach, hoping for some softer target. Tom ducked under a sweep of the monster’s left hand, stabbing with the sharpened point of iron.  It bit but not deep, and it drew another howling roar of rage from the monster’s throat, who tore the smoking iron away and hurled it into the ground. 

It’s eye red and glaring the ogre rose high again, kicked away the remains of the crumbling culvert wall allowing it to step out into the water. Finn attacked with both pieces of rebar raining blows on the beast’s leg.  James struck at the clawed arm that sought to kill his son.  The blade rang, a hammer on anvil clang that was the only sound any of them could hear beyond their own grunts of effort and panting for breath. James held a broken sword. The music on the hilltop had stopped, and the nightmare creature flexed its lethal hands, opened wide its maw to laugh at them. 

Ed Doughty dashed towards it, moving with blinding speed, his razor-sharp Jian, with which he was a master, landed cut after cut on the monster’s neck, hands and torso. He was too close, Finn saw, too vulnerable, though no fear showed on Ed’s face. With his last strike, the steel rang and the sword snapped. The ogre struck him with its left hand and sent him pinwheeling thirty feet away, crashing into the saplings that grew along the water’s edge. Finn leaped high and aimed a blow at the ogre’s left eye, which landed and caused it pain, not enough to keep it from raising a right hand, balled into a fist like a boulder. Finn fell into the icy muck. The ogre aimed to crush Finn McCoy.  James McCoy, though, caught that blow in both hands, stopping its deadly descent.  For an instant he stood, struggling with it, but Finn knew that his father, though strong, was no Beowulf, with the strength of thirty men in each hand: it flung him to the other side of the creek bed into the saplings which bent and snapped under him.  He lay still, balled like an infant in the snow, looking broken.

Finn and Tom stood before the beast, slowly retreating into the icy waters at their feet, their eyes looking only on the gloating, loathsome face above, a mockery of a human smile.   Shouts from the hilltop, the hum of other alarmed human voices, sounded around them.  Finn took his friend’s hand.

“What… a way… to go, huh?” Tom quipped at his side.

“This is…what we…do,” Finn asserted. “We answer the call,” and he turned a smile to Tom, who asked,

“Do I hear…hounds?”

Daring to turn their backs on the ungodly thing, they also heard the metal band crank up the most raucous, robust “Angels We Have Heard on High” at the top of the hill.  Their speakers had to be maxed out, for there came a roaring sound from the sky.  Yet it was also hounds belling, horns blowing, voices from many throats that were only vaguely human filled the sky, and light rushed toward them.  Finn remembered the winged, spear bearing crowd with whom he had flown: the Wild Hunt had come.

The ogre stood tall and roared its defiance at them, yet the cloaked figure on the gigantic stag at the front of the spectral pack roared back with even greater volume.  Finn and Tom saw them all, and Tom shouted “Is that him? Is that St. Nick leading them?”

Finn said “No. Jump out of the water!” for the master of the hunt led his cohorts into a steep dive, down to the level of the creek, their speed atop it pulling the shallow water out of its banks, turning the snow into mist in which light, red, green, blue, yellow swirled and eddied in the gale force wind that followed the hunt. As they scrambled up the bank, Finn looked back and saw the face of the master of the hunt.  It was Albert.

And it was not Albert.  It was his large friend filled with power and majesty beyond human means. Finn watched as the monster met them head on, claws slashing, maw biting, though it was hit with myriad brilliant spears and lifted into the air, onto the antlers of the huntsman’s stag.  It shrieked in pain as the hunt closed around it and rocketed upward a hundred, two hundred feet, more. A flash blinded them, then the detonation hurled both boys to the ground, silenced the band, and blew out even the biggest bonfire on the hilltop.

Finn could not hear, though he saw the hunt hurtle back toward the ground, like pieces of a meteorite after it detonated in the air.  The winged beings, fairies and heroes on flying beasts, all flew towards the ground and disappeared just before impact, with the exception of one red headed winged thing, like a Valkyrie, Finn thought, who hovered over one body, a hooded and cloaked body that lay in the snow. Finn cheered as he saw his father rise from the ground and limp towards the figure. He saw Tom  helping his father to his feet, so he sprang after his dad who moved towards the fallen figure. Finn yelled “Albert!”

Sure enough, Albert sat up it the snow, looking around him, his red cheeked face a mask of confusion.  He stood with James’ help, staring at the ruined culvert and the trampled snow.  He looked up at the winged being that still hovered over him.

“Have I missed it again?” he mumbled. “Hey, Professor M, you’re bleeding.”

Jams looked down at his chest, from which a few drops of blood seeped and scattered.  They steamed as they dropped onto the white surface. James smiled and drew his arm around Finn’s shoulder. “I think the ancient ones would ask, what’s Christmas without a little blood on the snow?”

Above them, the winged figure, who once again, took on the appearance of Finn’s Stacey, smiled down upon them.  She said,

“You have been shown your gift.  Use it well and answer the call when the darkness threatens.” And with that, she rose into the icy air. They watched until she was out of sight.

“It is as I said, Albert,” James said. “There are many ways of answering one’s calling, though, in truth, I did not expect this one.” He paused, looking at his son and added, “though maybe I should have.”

“Now this is a Merry Christmas,” Finn asserted drawing a weary but satisfied laugh from his companions.

*

On Christmas night, after a day of fairly quiet revels, Finn and his friends sat before the warm hearth of the McCoy home. By that time, Finn and his dad had discussed the nature of The Wild Hunt, where it came from, what it meant for the ancients who believed in it. It’s history was dark, in many ways.  Some even thought of it as evil, dangerous, rarely associated with Christmas.  Finn, though, having ridden in it knew it as an avenging force, where creatures from all three worlds, the dead, Faerie, and human hunted monsters that preyed upon people. They would discuss it at greater length over the next twelve days—mostly for recovery of James and Ed Doughty, who bore the strains, bruises, and twists of the ogre’s rough handling. In the quiet before the hearth, Finn turned to Albert and asked, “So, what did you and my dad talk about yesterday that he could not tell us?”

Albert looked took his eyes away from the dancing flames and said, “We talked about my calling.”

“Your calling to…?” Tom asked.

“To give my life to God, God’s call on my life. I don’t have a good name for it,” he murmured. “See, I have been aware of it for some time.  My mom always wanted me to go into the priesthood, and I kinda thought that’s what this was about.”

“But you said that you don’t want to be a priest,” Tom replied.

“I’m not going into the priesthood. I never wanted that. More than anything else, I want to have a wife and children, be a father, you know? I can’t do that in the faith I, we, were raised in,” Albert replied. “It all started a lot of arguments with my mom, which I never wanted to have.  Once the visions started, I thought that my life was over.  I couldn’t see a way out, other than to fight the evil I saw, and I knew, I guess, that it would take my life.  I was so hurt and angry that I guess I wanted it to.

“It was your dad, Finn, who helped me know that there were many ways to answer a call, and that there were a bunch of ways to let it shape my life, not just one.  He helped me see that the desires of my heart, if I turn them over to God, would show me the way, that I did not need to try and force something on myself. I don’t know enough to see all ends.  In addition to the coat, which he said I should keep, he gave me room to think, and for that I am grateful.”

“So, are you okay with your folks, now?” Tom asked.

“Well, sort of, but they will have to learn as I do,” Albert replied. “This is far from over.”

“But,” Finn asked, “how did you become the leader of the Wild Hunt?”

“I don’t know,” Albert said. “I don’t remember much of it. You will have to help me with that. But, after I talked to my mom and dad yesterday, I decided to come back here to talk to your dad again, but you guys were already gone. Your mom, Finn, told me that you guys could use my help, that you were in danger. She said,’Please, Albert, take care of my loved ones.’

“I was scared, thinking that I really might die if I faced that monster, but I could not turn my back on you all. I guess I expected to die, all of us really. But, I just turned it over to God, and I felt the weight of it all leave my shoulders, like somebody just tore away that heavy coat.  I turned to leave, and after that, I remember waking up on the ground with you guys standing around me.”

“It…it was a Christmas miracle,” Finn said, “one all of us needed.”

“I think it was light in the darkness that the darkness cannot overcome it,” Albert murmured. Those words startled Finn, who remembered that the Hunt, with Albert at its head, came with a shattering brightness that overcame that threatening evil. Whatever The Wild Hunt was—whatever Christmas was—defied Finn’s understanding. Maybe the Wild Hunt was just a motif, a story pattern, but as such, it was a powerful thing we use to tell ourselves that there is a protection that we cannot control. Somehow though, of greater importance, powerlessness, vulnerability, stupendous risk were all wrapped up in the timeless magic of Christmas, which, in turn, wrapped everything else in its reality and was offered to us all. 

In the presence of such insights, Finn saw himself as small.  His Sight had gifted him with things others could not see, things at once mythical and more real that the breaths he took. And they were getting bigger, darker,  harder to face, each time he stepped forward to do the things that needed doing.  Clearly, he was not enough, not even with such good friends standing beside him against the dangers that others could not see.

Finn sat there, one small creature huddled with those he loved by a fire on a cold night, sheltered from things that could devour him, in the heart of the time under tension, Finn understood that Christmas was—is—a once upon a time, now, and forever.  It is grace unasked for, unmerited, extended from the very heart of Love itself to all. And the One who seeks entry to our hearts will risk anything to find us, hunt us, if you will, and claim us for the light. Finn wondered how to express this to his friends, and all he had, all he needed, were the words, “Well, have a Merry Christmas.”

16 December, 2025.

M.J Downing