The Forest Hypnopompia

He staggered out of the thicket of trees and into a glade, the full moon shining down into the open field. He paused, knowing that to stop will cost him some of his precious lead, but also knowing that the choice in front of him could be disastrous if he chooses incorrectly. He could move much faster through the glade, but so could his pursuers. On the other hand, going around and staying in the trees would be slower, and a longer path, but provide great cover.

Ultimately, knowing that he was wasting time, the exhausted man plunged into the field. The snow lingering on the ground crunched beneath his boots, sounding deafening in his ears as he ran. He cursed that sound, cursed his own panting breath, certain that it would give away his position to his stalkers. He listened carefully, blocking out the crunch of frozen precipitation, attempting to hear how close they were. He could just barely hear the thud of many footfalls, the barks and yips of the dogs. They were getting closer.

Making it to the other side of the meadow, he slipped back under the tree cover, disappearing into the predawn gloom. He still could not understand how his hunters had found him. He was always so careful when travelling from home, he rarely came to this area, and when he did, it was almost always earlier in the season. But despite all the precautions, this night found him the quarry of a relentless band of brigands, intent on his capture.

The weary man began to slow, his age and condition catching up to him. In his youth he grew up in a forest not unlike this one, and he could run through it for miles at a time. But he was quite old now, and running was not a habit he kept up over the years. So he decided to try a slower, quieter escape, and began slinking among the trees, cutting back across his own trail, spreading his scent as wide as possible. He could still hear his pursuers growing closer, but knew that outrunning them would be impossible.

Under the thick canopy provided by the trees, what little snow had made it to ground had already melted, but the evening chill still set the ground solidly, so he left no footprints. Still he stepped softly, barely rustling a leaf. In his line of work, silence was everything, and he was a master at the job. As the sun began to lighten the eastern horizon, the hounded man passed another glade in the wood. As he circumvented the valley, he saw through the trees that it wasn't merely a field, in it's center was a frozen pond. A dusting of snow, the same dusting that he had cursed in the previous glade, lay across it's icy surface. This gave the hunted man an idea.

***

The posse knew they were close. The dogs had the scent, they had the advantages of speed, age, and numbers. Their target was nearby, and they would at last get what they so desperately wanted.

They entered the meadow as the first proper rays of the sun began to peek over the hills, and he stood there, on the other side of the open space, a pond between him and them. Despite his situation, the older man had a large smile on his face, his hands on his hips, his prominent stomach standing out proudly from his solid frame. "Welcome!" His voice boomed out, filling the space with his genial greeting. "You all must be tired after our chase. I know I am."

"We know who you are!" Brad hollered back, his voice far less impressive. Brad was the leader of the group, he had found the man, he had gathered them to chase him, and he was now standing at the front of them. "You know what we want!"

"I do." The man agreed, his voice still kind and warm. "I always have. I must admit, you all have been much more committed than others that seek me. Most set elaborate traps or recording equipment. I scarcely can remember the last time I was hunted through the woods like a fox." His smile never faltered, though the words felt harsh to the trackers.

They shared uneasy looks between themselves, but before any unrest could be sown, Brad spoke to his comrades; "it doesn't matter! We do this, and everyone in the world will know us!" Brad took another step forward, right to the edge of the ice. Calling again to the object of the hunt, Brad spoke again; "You can't escape us now, we have you, and we're going to be famous!" Brad stepped forward again, onto the ice, and this seemed to trigger something in the rest of their pack, for they all rushed forward at once.

But something was wrong. When they got to the ice, they found they couldn't move forward any more. Their feet sought traction as they tried to run, but slid on ice smoother than any glass. They didn't fall, but they couldn't move forward or back, or indeed, at all. The ice was impossibly frictionless. As they struggled, the man explained, his voice shaking with mirth. "I'm sorry my young friends, but I'm afraid our game has ended. The dawn breaks, and with it I must depart. Don't worry though, as the sun reaches the pond, my magic will fade, as it is the magic of twilight, as all my power is. I do congratulate you on your pursuit, you came closer than any before. But it is not to be."

As the man turned away, several of the children, still vainly trying to move, yelled at his back, Brad the loudest of the bunch. "Santa! Just let us take your picture! We'll be famous! Please!"

As the children and their puppies, all newly gifted to them the previous Christmas, skated unwillingly upon the magically smoothed ice, Chris Kringle dissolved in a wintery gust of wind, which carried his final words back to them. "None may have a picture of me, for to have proof would negate belief. And without belief, the magic of Christmas is lost." And he was gone.

Hypnopompia- relating to the semi-conscious state prior to complete wakefulness