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Santa's Raid on The North Pole

The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane

A Random Short Story

By

EelKat Wendy Christine Allen

~o0o~

Quaraun, a male Moon Elf silk weaver and glass blower from Ivujivik, Quebec, now residing in Pepper Valley, Maine, lived and travelled with his lover BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, who was a Lich. GhoulSpawn, Quaraun’s time travelling companion, had dropped out of the sky during the night and was now debating with Quaraun, while Unicorn slept.

“So, you’re telling me,” GhoulSpawn sputtered in disbelief. “That Santa Claus is real?”

“Yes,” Quaraun said, very matter-of-factly, while staring intently at the pink silk that was stretched across the enormous wooden hoop in front of him. He set about to threading his needle and embroidering the cloth.

“And Krampus is real. . .” GhoulSpawn went on.

“Krumpas,” Quaraun corrected, not lifting his eyes from his task. The pink silk he was embroidering blended in with the pink taffeta gown he was wearing. Both flowed over his lap, draping gracefully down to the ground, trailing into the snow, becoming soggy and frozen solid.

GhoulSpawn huffed impatiently. “What?”

“His name is Krumpas, like a crumpet. Not Krampus, like stomach cramps. Everyone always gets it wrong.”

“Krumpas.”

“Yes,” Quaraun replied again, looking up briefly to regard his companion. His tone was calm but firm as he continued his work.

GhoulSpawn sighed heavily. “But why?” he asked exasperatingly. “Why does anyone believe that this guy exists when everyone knows he doesn’t?”

Quaraun shrugged and said nothing.

“And all this time I thought you were making it up,” GhoulSpawn said sarcastically, still disbelieving.

“I’m not making it up,” Quaraun replied firmly. He turned back to his task, now attaching tiny seed beads to the embroidery.

“Krampus is a Troll. . .”

“KRUMPAS is a Phooka,” Quaraun smiled wryly as he spoke. “Faeries are real. You know that. BoomFuzzy was a Faerie. Unicorn is a Faerie. Is it so hard to believe that Santa Claus is a FarDarrig and Krumpas is a Phooka, and the Christmas Elves are Brownies?”

GhoulSpawn stared at his best friend for a moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Quaraun said. “I’m an Elf. I am incapable of making jokes or telling lies. Would you hand me those scissors?” Quaraun gestured towards the basket on the ground.

“You know I met plenty of Elves who told jokes and lies, Quaraun,” GhoulSpawn said as he knelt beside the basket and rummaged through it, looking for Quaraun’s scissors. “Your inability to laugh or smile or understand jokes or tell lies has nothing to do with you being an Elf and everything to do with you being Autistic.”

“Being what?” Quaraun asked as he took the scissors from GhoulSpawn. “Thank you.” Quaraun cut the thread and proceeded to thread the needle again, this time with a different shade of pink silk.

“Autistic.”

“What’s that?” Quaraun asked simply, continuing his work.

“It’s mental disorder. You wouldn’t understand it if I tried to explain it. Science hasn’t discovered it yet, so even if I tried to explain it, all I would do is confuse you. Just believe me when I tell you that you are the most savant Autistic Savant I’ve ever seen.”

“I will believe you, that I am whatever you just called me, if you believe me when I tell you Santa Claus is real and so is Krumpas.”

“So, besides telling me Santa Claus is real, and he’s a Leprechaun . . . ”

“FarDarrig.”

“Same thing.”

“No. Leprechauns are Irish and FarDarrigs are Welsh.”

“And Clurichaun are Scottish. Yes, I know. I know my Faerie races. Leprechauns are Irish mischief sprites who hoard up gold. Clurichaun are Scottish mischief sprites who go on drinking binges. FarDarrigs are Welsh mischief sprites who push Humans off precipices and later make coats out of Human skins. But they are all mischief sprites who grew old and became solitary grouchy old men. They are all three the exact same thing, just called something different depending on where they live. But that’s besides the point. You’re also telling me Krampus is real and his name is actually Krumpas, not Krampus?”

“Yes.”

“And Krampus. . .”

“Krumpas.”

“Krumpas, is BoomFuzzy’s cousin?”

“Unicorn. Yes.”

“And you two go visit him at the North Pole every Christmas?”

“Labrador,” Quaraun said.

“What?”

Quaraun didn’t say anything for several moments. He sat back, crossing his legs, looking down at the glistening snow thoughtfully. Finally, he nodded slowly, seeming to think better of whatever it was he had planned to say.

“Santa’s Village is in Labrador,” Quaraun said slowly and calmly. “Not the North Pole. Common mistake. We of Ivujivik are actually further Northward than Santa Claus is.”

“Oh yeah?” GhoulSpawn’s tone was condescending.

“Yes.”

“Whatever. You’re telling me he’s real and you visit him?”

“Yes.”

GhoulSpawn crossed his arms angrily in front of his chest, as he muttered under his breath and stomped through the snow, pacing for several moments.

Quaraun intently regarded GhoulSpawn’s cloven hoof prints in the snow.

“Your footprints look like reindeer trails,” Quaraun mused.

“What?” GhoulSpawn was caught off guard by this change in subject.

“When we get to Santa’s Village, you need to run past the stables a few times, so I can see how much like reindeer hooves, your sheep hooves are.”

GhoulSpawn threw his hands in the air in frustration. Then he paced back and forth some more.

“He’s real? Like, really real?”

“Of course.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t been back in a few years, because last time you were there, Unicorn ate Santa’s Elves, slaughtered his reindeer, and accidentally produced a portal that sent Santa to Hell and brought Satan to the North Pole?”

“Yes, but that was years ago. I’ve dealt with those situations.”

“Oh.”

“And besides, I told you, it’s not the North Pole. . .”

“Uh! Whatever!”

Quaraun momentarily glanced up from his embroidery, then continued focusing on his project.

“And you just informed me all of this, because I inquired if you celebrate Christmas?”

“Yes,” Quaraun said.

“How?”

“How what?”

“How is Santa real? Explain that.”

“You’re a talking sheep. Explain that.”

“I’m an Ursiug. I am a Welsh sheep-Demon. I’m a Chaos Demon with Cotswold wool. I was born in Hell and I escaped and now I’m here, stuck with you again. And Santa Claus isn’t real.”

“Santa Claus is real. He’s as real as the Easter Bunny.”

“What?”

“I said . . . ” Quaraun started again.

“I heard what you said!” GhoulSpawn yelled. “What are you even talking about? No one believes in Santa Claus. I don’t even believe in Santa Claus. He’s a made-up story to get children to behave. Now you are telling me the Easter Bunny is real too?”

“He’s real. Santa Claus is real. Satan is real. Krumpas is real. And the Easter Bunny is an Elf who accidentally got turned into a rabbit and is cursed to hand out chocolate coated marshmallow bunnies to all the children, one day a year, for the rest of eternity, or until I can figure out how to undo the wish he made.”

“Wish? You don’t mean you . . . ”

“Yeah, I may have unintentionally made the Easter Bunny real. You see there was this Elf, who was singing some holiday song at random, something about Easter Bunnies hoping down bunny trails, and he stopped singing to announce he wished he was an Easter Bunny so he could hop down bunny trails too, and, he turned into a bunny, and . . . ”

“That’s enough,” GhoulSpawn interrupted. “Why do you keep doing things like that?”

“Like what?”

“Granting these hare-brained, numbskull wishes people ask for.”

“It’s not like I meant to do it!”

“You are a terrible wizard,” GhoulSpawn said. “How do people call YOU, of all people, the world’s most powerful wizard, when you can’t even grant a wish properly?”

“Can YOU grant wishes?”

“No. But I’m not a Di’Jinn either. How do you do things like this so often?”

“Well, I was a kid at the time. I didn’t yet know I had a wish granting area around me. I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens. Every wish I hear, my soul somehow grants it.”

“So, Santa Claus is real? Satan is real? Krampus is real?”

“Krumpas.”

“And now on top of that, you are telling me the Easter Bunny is not only real, but he used to be an Elf who you accidentally turned into a rabbit, because you’re a Di’Jiin?”

“Yes.”

“So if I want to go to the moon, all I have to do is to wish it, and you will make it happen?”

“Yes. But please don’t wish for that. You’ll end up inside the centre of the moon or something like that.”

“How in the heck do you expect me to believe any of this?”

Quaraun shrugged. “Don’t know what I can say to cause you believe me.”

“And you find that odd?”

“You said Santa isn’t real. That’s like saying that the Easter Bunny isn’t real. That’s like saying that Hell isn’t real.”

“Hell is real,” the cloven hooved sheep-Demon said. “I should know. I was born there. I spent my childhood there. And I never want to see it again.”

“Did you ever believe in Santa?”

“I used to believe in Santa when I was a kid. . .”

“Don’t you mean lamb?”

“What?”

“Aren’t kids goats?” Quaraun asked.

“I . . . that’s . . . not . . . you know what I meant!”

“I thought you were a sheep?”

“I am a sheep!”

“You should let your horns grow out,” Quaraun said.

“I have to live with Humans,” GhoulSpawn protested. “I have college classes to attend. I can’t walk around in the twentieth century with horns on my head.”

“You should stay back here. No one will mind you having horns.”

“Are you crazy? HERE? In the late 1400s? Do you have any idea what is going to happen in a few years?”

“No.”

“The Salem The Witch Trials! You want me walking around New England with horns on my head, in the heart of the witch hunting craze?” GhoulSpawn then added sarcastically: “Yes. You, me, and a few others will be enough. We will travel to Massachusetts, in the heart of the controversy, and we will ask the people there if they need our help. And I’ll be there with my Demon horns being killed, along with the rest of them. No thank you!”

“What’s The Salem The Witch Trials?” Quaraun asked, looking puzzled. “And we are going to Labrador, not Massachusetts.”

“Do you even know where Massachusetts is?”

“Uhm . . . ” Quaraun paused and thought for a moment. “No. Can’t say as I’ve ever heard of it before. Is it near here?”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s the last place a Demon wants to be when it happens, that’s what it is. Humans are going to go crazy and start massacring witches.”

“They already do that.”

“No, not like this they don’t.”

“If you let your horns grow out,” Quaraun went back to his previous thought. “Then you and Krumpas could get together and compare horns.”

“Why would I? Compare . . . ? My horns? With . . . ? Krampus?”

“Krumpas,” Quaraun corrected.

“Why would I want to . . . ”

“BoomFuzzy has horns in his beast form, you know?”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“He’s a frightful thing then. All covered in long shaggy black fur, glowing red eyes, long sharp fangs, huge black talons, and two great big pairs if horns. He’s only ever let me see his beast form a few times.”

“Beast form? Does he have a beast form? I thought he just had a Human form and a Horse form.”

“His beast form is horrific,” Quaraun went on, paying no attention to GhoulSpawn now. “But he rarely ever uses that form. In fact, I've seen Unicorn use the beast form. BoomFuzzy used it often. Unicorn likes his horse form the best. I make him use the Humanoid form when people are around. Most Humans just don’t deal with a talking horse well. They have goat horns, don’t they? Krumpas and BoomFuzzy. Are they goat horns?”

“How would I know? I’ve never seen them,” GhoulSpawn answered.

But Quaraun wasn’t listening. “Or are they gazelle horns? BoomFuzzy’s horns are long and tall, spiral, like a gazelle or a Katopa. Poor Katopas. I didn’t mean to kill them, you know?”

“What’s a Katopa?”

Quaraun ignored the question. “If you was a sheep and not a goat, you’d have big round horns on the sides of your head, wouldn’t you? I’ve never seen you with horns. Do you have ram horns?”

“Yes. Big, round ram horns if I let them grow.”

“Have you ever let your horns grow out?”

“I don’t want to talk about my horns,” GhoulSpawn sputtered angrily.

GhoulSpawn glared at Quaraun. He didn’t enjoy talking about his horns. GhoulSpawn kept his horns sawed off and filed down, so that no part of them could be seen under his woolly golden hair.

GhoulSpawn went to great lengths to pass himself off as an Elf here in the past or as a Human in his correct and proper time and not let anyone know he was a sheep-man.

Living in the 1970s when hippies and man-dresses were all the rage, it was easy for GhoulSpawn to grow his blond Afro to his waist and wear floor sweeping tie-dyed caftans with no one suspecting that his big hair might hide horns or his floor sweeping skirts might disguise his long wool covered digitigrade sheep legs, cloven hooves, and a long tail.

GhoulSpawn felt an urge to chide Quaraun, but then continued his original train of thought. “But I grew up, and I stopped believing in that nonsense.”

“What nonsense? Growing out your horns, like every other Demon does? You should be proud of your heritage. You’re a Demon. Be a Demon. Don’t hide it.”

“No. Santa Claus. Quaraun, you’re not stupid. Stop trying to be! And I’d rather not be bullied or beaten up by Humans, thank you.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I suppose next you’ll be informing me the Elf on the Shelf is real?”

“What’s an Elf on the Shelf?”

“Oh good! Something that’s not real.”

Quaraun stabbed his needle into the slippery material, then calmly placed his gold armoured hands on his lap and stared directly at GhoulSpawn.

“Look, I told you,” Quaraun said. “Unicorn wants to visit his cousin Krumpas and we are going to Santa’s Village. We were getting ready to leave when you arrived. Had you come tomorrow, we would already have been gone.”

“Where did you even hear this nonsense?”

“From Unicorn.”

“Oh good! We’re believing anything he says now.”

“I’m only telling you what Unicorn told me last night.”

“Yeah, and no wonder it’s crazy. Quaraun! BoomFuzzy is insane. Have you never noticed that?”

“No. It’s probably because I was too busy being insane myself.”

“You’re not insane, Quaraun.”

“Trying telling everyone on the planet that.”

“People just don’t understand you.”

“Just like you don’t understand Unicorn.”

“So, what exactly did BoomFuzzy say, anyways?”

“Unicorn spent the night complaining that he had spent his entire life fighting for the Easter Bunny. . .”

“The Easter Bunny?” Really?”

“. . . and the regime of the FarDarrig Chris Kringle, but suddenly the army of Santa Claus had been taken over, driven out of The North Pole by The Ghoul King.”

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“The Ghoul King? Who’s The Ghoul King? You don’t mean my father, do you?”

“Your father. Yes.” Quaraun nodded.

“My father is in on this?” GhoulSpawn asked. His father had been The Ghoul King, that was why he was named GhoulSpawn. His name literally ment *Spawn of the Ghoul King*.

“Yes.”

“My father disappeared centuries ago.”

“Well, supposedly, he’s back.”

“And he’s trying to take over the North Pole?”

“Santa’s Village is not in the North Pole. I keep telling you that. It’s in Labrador.”

“Okay.” GhoulSpawn waved his hand in the air. “Whatever. Tell me the rest.”

“Santa Claus made a deal with the Ghoul King to gain control of the North Pole. . .”

“So, Santa is making deals with Satan?”

“The Ghoul King is not Satan. He just works for Satan,” Quaraun pointed out. “But it never went through. The Ghoul double crossed him. . .”

“Sounds like my father all right.”

“Unicorn fought not for something he loved and cared for, but for something he despised, a cause that he absolutely hated.”

“The Ghoul or Santa Claus?”

“Both, I think. But then suddenly, he found himself alone, fighting for nothing more than his freedom and survival. The Elves of the world had surrendered, now slaves, to the big red King of the North.”

“Elves are extinct,” GhoulSpawn reminded Quaraun. “Except for you.”

“The Elves in Santa’s Village are not actual Elves. They are actually Brownies, not Elves. They have more in common with Gnomes than they do us Elves, but people call them Elves, regardless.”

“Aren’t Brownies like Pixies?”

“Similar.” Quaraun paused and picked a piece of lint from his pink silk sleeve.

“So what happened after that?”

“Unicorn said he was made a slave too. And so was his cousin Krumpas. He said the Christmas Elves had fought because they believed in the cause, but he did believe in it. Why had he not too? The cause they fight for was noble and just, but will the freedom of the Elves come at the cost of his life? He didn’t see any reason to risk his life for them.”

“So, he just abandoned them, right?”

“I guess.”

“Does he ever help anybody but himself?”

“Santa Claus had been taking over the North Pole for years. But it had been The Ghoul’s lair first, and he wanted it back. The Ghoul, being a Demon, he had centuries of time. He patiently waited for the Candy Elves to grow old and weak for his retribution.”

“Retribution?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“Retaking the North Pole,” Quaraun answered.

“I thought you said Santa wasn’t in the North Pole?”

“He’s not.”

“But, you just said. . .”

“I said, The Ghoul ruled the North Pole and Santa took it from him, but he wanted it back, so he attacked and took it back. That’s why Santa today isn’t at the North Pole anymore.”

“Oh.”

“The time had come. . .” Quaraun started to say.

“So was BoomFuzzy helping Santa or my father?”

“Both, I think. Near as I can tell.”

“Both?”

“He wasn’t loyal to either. And just kept changing sides depending on who was winning at the time.”

“Oh.”

“Santa Claus and his naughty rag-tag army of Christmas Elves, Gnomes, Faeries, Dragons, Demons, and Candy Cane Vampires, took control the North Pole, but Santa knew that the North Pole could only remain his if he can conquer all of The Ghoul King’s realms.”

“Conquer all of The Ghoul King’s realms?”

“Yes.”

“Including Hell?”

“Including Hell. To do this, Santa needed to take out two of his biggest competitors, the Easter Bunny and Jack Frost.”

“Wait, now Jack Frost is real too?”

“Yes.”

“And BoomFuzzy told you all this last night, before passing out drunk?”

“Yes.”

“And what’d you do?”

“I just sat at my loom here quietly, right where I am right now, still, in fact. Weaving my yardages of silk and listening to the drunk Phooka. I’m uncertain if what Unicorn said was true or not, considering how drunk he was last night. But I’d like to find out.”

~ * o0o * ~

“Should we help Santa or fight back and help the Elves?” BoomFuzzy asked when he finished his story.

“Fuck Elves,” Quaraun said, not looking up from his work, as he began to weave a new yardage of silk for his supplies.

“Ah! I forgets. Ye is Elf what hates all other Elves. But it Christmas Eve. The Naughty Helpers are plotting raid on Candy Cane factory to steal all it sugar.”

“Stealing the sugar?”

“Aye.”

“How does stopping them from stealing sugar help the Elves?”

“Ain’t about what good for Elfies. It about what good for Candy Cane Factory.”

“It is?”

“But of course. I is world greatest candy chef. Now dead and no longer remembered for me masterwork in candy creation. They making all kinds of Candy in Santa’s Village. In my Candy Factory no less! I built it. That were my Candy Factory when I were alive. We need to help me cousin Krumpas to help Santa, save the Candy Factory.”

“Meaning it’s personally important to you that we do this?”

“Aye.”

“Then we should help Santa.”

“Good. I guess we should go, eh?”

“Yeah. Let’s go. But, you know all of this, how?”

“I has letter here from Krumpas. Big black crow deliver it to me. Him want for us to come help.”

BoomFuzzy held up the letter.

“And he wants us to come, even after the mess we left last time we were there?” Quaraun asked BoomFuzzy.

“Aye, him does.”

~ * o0o * ~

“And then this morning you arrived,” Quaraun went on, talking to GhoulSpawn. “No one knows how. You didn’t know how either.”

“Yeah,” GhoulSpawn said. “One minute I was at Rapid Ray’s handing a customer a box of Choc and Fries and the next second I was falling out of a cloud and landed in front of your pink striped silk tent, where I found you sitting outside, here in the cold, freezing snow, soaking up the moonlight in you hair, and now here we are arguing over whether or not Santa Claus is real.”

“Well, Santa Claus is real, that I know. I’ve met him before. But all this stuff about a war with the Ghoul, I don’t know about. But I’d like to find out what is going on, that’s why I agreed to go with Unicorn.”

“When are you leaving?” GhoulSpawn asked.

“Soon as Unicorn wakes up,” Quaraun answered. “He sleeps late.”

Quaraun’s tent mate, a small burly Phookan man, was snoring lightly.

“Is he asleep?” GhoulSpawn asked. “I assumed he was passed out drunk.”

“Eh. Maybe.” Quaraun shrugged. “He sleeps when he’s drunk.”

“Is there a difference with him?”

Quaraun glanced back inside the open door-flap of the pavilion at the sleeping Phooka. BoomFuzzy was laying, sprawled out naked, face down on the bed of fur pelts that was crumpled in the rear corner of the tent. “I suppose not. He does, drink too much, don’t he?”

“Too much of anything is bad.”

“Tell that to him when he’s hungover.”

“You both drink too much,” GhoulSpawn said. GhoulSpawn didn’t drink, as he was a Mormon, so he often chided Quaraun and BoomFuzzy on their excessive drinking habits. “You shouldn’t drink.”

“Ah, but it’s Christmas, and we’re evil master mind super villains according to pretty much everyone on the planet. We celebrate with lots of booze. Him with Rum, Wassail, and Eggnog, me with Fairy Wine.”

“It’s not the right time of year to be drinking. We should be thinking about Christ’s birth at Christmas.”

“Should we?”

“Do you even know anything about Christmas?”

Quaraun frowned. “Ah. You’re a Christian. I forgot.”

“I am.” GhoulSpawn nodded. “And you should know that Christ was born on December 25th.”

“Yes. It’s the celebrate the birth of the Lich that Humans eat the flesh and drink the blood of every Sabbath day.”

GhoulSpawn shrugged. “You have a strange view of Christianity.”

“I’m a Necromancer. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. But maybe you two could try to cut back on the drinking while I’m here?”

“I didn’t used to drink.”

“Well, you certainly do now!”

“I’m an Elf. I don’t get drunk. Well, not as drunk.”

“So,” GhoulSpawn said. “Should I come with you? To Santa’s Village?”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll give you a chance to meet Santa and Krumpas both.”

They were near to Santa’s Village now. They were camped in a Human outpost just a few miles South, so it was only two or three days walking to reach Santa’s Village and get more details of what exactly was going on.

GhoulSpawn decided it would be best to avoid unnecessary conflict, so dropped the subject of Quaraun and BoomFuzzy’s drinking problems and instead turned to the subject of Quaraun’s obsession with the moon.

Quaraun was an early riser. The sun had not yet risen, and the snow still remained untouched. It glistened like diamonds under the light of a full moon.

The air was crisp and clean and damp after the freshly fallen snow.

The only trace of humanity to be found was the sound of the wind blowing through bare branches and the occasional bird’s call from above.

One could never expect the sun to be out for very long this far North, this time of year. They’d be lucky if they had three hours of daylight once the sun rose. But this was perfectly fine by Quaraun.

The snow was soft and the ground not quite frozen. It would not take long to cross this vast, barren wasteland of the tundra.

It was good to have company.

But right now, it was a full Moon, and they were going no where for three days.

Quaraun was a Moon Elf, and he took being a Moon Elf very seriously.

Elves divided themselves off into clans, each clan assigned to function as the guardians of some aspect of nature. Being a Moon Elf meant that it was Quaraun’s duty, or so he concluded, to act as the guardian and protector of the Moon. He translated this to mean that he had to pray to the Moon, worship the Moon, set up altars to the Moon, sing praises to the Moon, light candles each night as offerings to the Moon.

In short, Quaraun thought being a Moon Elf meant he was supposed to worship the Moon as though she were his goddess.

Quaraun also believed that the Moon blessed him by filling his hair with magic powers. And so on nights like these, when the full moon was high in the sky, Quaraun spent the night in front of his tent, not inside of it, letting his hair soak up the Moon’s magical rays.

Thus, too, was why Quaraun never cut his hair.

Quaraun believed that the longer his hair grew, the more power he had.

And thus his hair was now twelve feet long and flowed in waterfall like waves all around him.

Because his hair was so long, Quaraun had difficulty walking without tripping over his glorious silvery-white tresses, so, most days he took to levitating and floating a few feet above the ground, instead of walking, using his hair like tentacles, slithering beneath him, to glide along instead of walking on his feet.

Of course, his hair actually was tentacles. Very fine, hair-like tentacles. Because Quaraun was actually a female JellyFish who was passing herself off as a male Moon Elf, which was why she mixed things up so much, like how she thought Moon Elves were expected to worship the Moon. But one had to be very close to notice that his hair was not hair, or that it wriggled and moved on its own.

With no one but Unicorn and GhoulSpawn around to see, Quaraun let his tentacles do the work his dead hands could not do. And so, long strands of his hair were busy threading needles and embroidering the pink silk, which was stretched across the loom in front of him.

“You’re looking for something?” GhoulSpawn asked. “That’s why you are so far North, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Quaraun answered, still focused on his embroidery.

“I can help you find what you are seeking. If you let me, I can. . .”

“No, thank you. I just want you to keep my company is all.”

“So, Quaraun, what’s the deal with not doing anything on the three days of the full moon?”

“I am a Moon Elf.”

“Yeah. I know that. But I don’t know what that has to do with you sitting and staring at the moon for seventy-two hours.”

“I like the Moon.”

“I can see that.”

“The Moon is my Goddess. She blesses me when I take the time to reverence her.”

“Do you mean you worship the Moon?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you worship the Moon?” GhoulSpawn asked. “It’s just a big rock floating in the sky.”

“Do you see any other rocks around here that can float in the sky?”

“No.”

“Well, it must be that you don’t know what a goddess is. The Moon is not a rock. She is a goddess.”

“I don’t think you understand how gravity works.”

“The Moon is our Queen. She is the Goddess of Life, Death, Eternal Peace, Sleep, Sexuality, Fertility, Wisdom, Knowledge, Magic, and Secrets. She watches over us when we sleep at night. The Moon blesses those who pay her respect.”

“The moon is not a she. It’s a rock. You know, I don’t think I ever realized before how primitive your mind was.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No. I just. . . you’re primitive. I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Primitive? How so?”

“Science proved the worship of astral objects to be folly, centuries ago.”

“Centuries ago for you, perhaps. Did you forget you are in my time now?”

“Yeah. I did. I keep forgetting how dark the Dark Ages really were. The Enlightenment hasn’t happened yet. What you people here call science is noting but hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo. You believe weird superstitions as medical facts. Christianity is so new and unheard of that none of you even knows the basic principles of it. And you all worship objects as gods, like how you yourself worship the Moon, because you simply can’t understand what the moon really is.”

“You are calling me stupid, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not. In fact, you’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve met in this time period. You actually have some form of an education. You can at least read and write. I think ninety-nine point nine per cent of the 1400s is illiterate. I didn’t realize how few people had any semblance of and education back then. Here. In your time. But even with all your advanced knowledge over everyone else back here, most grade schoolers in my time learned more than you know, by the time they are ten years old.”

“So you are calling me stupid.”

“No! I’m not. I’m just having a hard time getting used to how primitive your time period is compared to my time period. There’s so many things you don’t have. Basic every day things like toilets and kitchens or sinks or ovens or light-bulbs or TV or cars or planes or phones or. . .” GhoulSpawn paused for a moment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining. It’s just I’m not used to this type of lifestyle you live. I’m used to living in a house in the city, surrounded by lots of people and you don’t even have a house. You live in a tent, and just . . . just. . . you’re a hippie.”

“I’m a what?”

“You’re a hippie.”

“What’s that?”

“In my time. . .”

“1974?”

“Yes. It’s a type of lifestyle people in my time live. They think modern science is destroying the world, so they leave the cities to deliberately be homeless, living off the land in the forests, and they refuse to drive cars because they say cars polite the planet. And they refuse to eat meat and they chain themselves to trees to prevent lumbermen from cutting them down. And they call the moon their Mother Goddess, just like you do. You’re a hippie.”

“It that a good thing or a bad thing?”

GhoulSpawn shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither. It’s just a thing. A way of life. Why do you live like this, anyways?”

“I have to because I have a mission to save Humanity.” Quaraun said, still embroidering. “And bring back the old ways. The old ways of magic.”

“The old ways of magic?”

“Yes. Summoning Spirits. Bringing Demons out of Hell to our world. . .”

“You’re on a mission to rescue Demon from Hell and bring them to Earth to save Humanity?”

“Yes.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“Invocation. Evocation. Ceremonial magic. . .”

“So, you mean, like, the dark arts?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

“Do you really believe in that kind of magic?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what I believe.”

“Believe it or not, I have magic powers of the nature I just described. And I get them from the Moon. She puts her magic in my hair every full moon. Like tonight.”

“Is that why you’re sitting outside in the freezing cold wind and snow, instead of sitting in the tent where it’s warm?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve never really see you do any magic. You know that, right?”

“That’s true. You haven’t had you?”

“What are your powers like exactly?”

“Like? I have the power to bring rain, create wind, and change water into food. I can restore life to plants. I can see, hear, and speak to the dead. Also, I can wish for whatever I want. And apparently you show up whenever I want to have sex.”

“Wait. . . what?” GhoulSpawn’s pleco-pupiled, gold eyes widened.

“I want to have sex with you. That’s what I was thinking about when you fell out of the sky.”

“Oh.” GhoulSpawn stared at Quaraun in confused shock.

“I think I accidentally wished for you to be here, because I don’t really want to go to Santa’s Village. Not after the last time. I wished I had you with me, so I could have company while Unicorn and Krumpas were out destroying the town.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t have anyone else. Besides Unicorn . . . well . . . you’re the only friend I have.”

“Oh. I . . . I didn’t know that.”

GhoulSpawn looked around. He did not recognize where they were, but there was snow everywhere, and it was getting stuck to his fur and icing up between the clefts of his cloven hooves.

“My feet are cold,” GhoulSpawn said.

“Do you have feet?”

“Hooves are feet.”

“Are they?”

“My hooves are cold. Happy?”

“Why don’t you wear shoes?”

“Have you ever seen shoes for sheep?”

“No. I suppose I haven’t. Perhaps you could ask Santa Claus to make you a pair? He is a cobbler, after all.”

“Santa is a cobbler?”

“Yes. He makes shoes of all the good little boys and girls.”

“Santa makes shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Not toys?”

“Toys? No, of course not. Santa makes shoes. And he fills the shoes with candy and leaves them on the front door stoops of the homes of obedient children.”

“And what does he do to the naughty children? Spank them and stuff coal in their socks?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that.”

“Good.”

“No. He feeds them to Krumpas.”

“He. . . what?”

“Santa feeds naughty girls and boys to Krumpas.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“You’ll like Krumpas. He’s a Demon like you. You both have cloven hooves.”

“I thought Krampus. . .”

“Krumpas.”

“Yeah, whatever. I thought he was BoomFuzzy’s cousin?”

“He is.”

“Isn’t BoomFuzzy a Phooka?”

“He is. He was.”

“Aren’t Phookas Faeries?”

“Yes, but what are Faeries other than a sub type of Demons, who don’t originate from Hell, like you Chaos Demons do?”

“I never thought of it that way. Huh. I suppose you’re right. Wait. Does that make me a type of Faerie?”

“Weren’t Ursiugs listed in that book of yours?”

“What book?”

“The one with all the nude paintings Unicorn was jerking off to.”

“He jerks off to everything. Is there anything he don’t jerk off to? He’s got a serious problem.”

“That book about Faeries.”

“Oh. Brian Froud’s Faeries. Yeah. Ursiugs are in it, aren’t they?”

“Along with Phookas. See? You Demons and Faeries are the same.”

Quaraun pulled out his rainbow wand and waved it in a circle over the ground beside his chair, while whispering a few words GhoulSpawn did not understand. Instantly a campfire appeared, with a bedroll, piled with pillows and soft, fluffy fur pelts, beside it.

“Sit,” Quaraun said to GhoulSpawn. “Take your hooves out of the snow and warm yourself. Unicorn won’t wake up for a few hours yet, so we have plenty of time to soak in the moon and talk.”

“Talk about what?” GhoulSpawn asked as he settled into the pillows and wrapped up in the furs.

“Anything. I’m not one for talking much, and you are. So talk about whatever you want and I’ll listen. I’m good at that.”

GhoulSpawn talked excitedly about his high scores on Pong and PacMan and Pole Position. Then moved on to talking of other strange future things from the 1970s that Quaraun’s 1400s brain had no clue how to comprehend, but it didn’t matter as Quaraun enjoyed listening to GhoulSpawn talk even if he couldn’t understand anything the time traveller was saying. After a while, Quaraun realized the year was different.

“1987?” Quaraun asked.

“What?”

“You said 1987.”

“Yes. It’s 1987 now. Or in my time. Where I’m supposed to be.”

“So you’re older now?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m twenty eight now.”

“You were nineteen last time we saw you. And fifteen before that.”

“Yes.”

“Every time we see you it’s only been a few weeks for us, but for you it’s always a few years.”

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

“And Gremlin was ancient when we saw him. He must be a few hundred years old at least.”

“You said he was me from the year 2525, so yeah, I’d be five hundred and fifty-five years old in 2525. I was born in 1959.”

“You can do math that quickly?”

“I’m good with numbers. Science is kind of my thing. I was going to college. I’m taking AstroPhysics. Working towards a Ph.D. This whole portal thing got me to thinking if I could figure out how they worked, I could harness them and build a time machine, so I could come and go between your time and my time, at will, going to specific dates and places instead of just being sucked into random wormholes at random and never knowing where or when I’ll pop out.”

“Future, you, Gremlin, has a time machine or something. I’m not sure what. But he does what you just said. He goes wherever he wants to whenever he wants to. He also seems to be very intelligent.”

“Meaning I’m not?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I meant he knows things. Science stuff. Big science stuff. Bigger science stuff then you know. I can’t understand the things he talks about. He’s got a quite a lot of education. I gathered he’s been to university a lot.”

“Yes. I do like studying. I would expect future me still would too. But I guess I’m going to miss my classes now that I’m back here in the 1400s again. Exams are next week, then we are off for Christmas vacation. I’m going to miss my finals.”

“I’m sorry. Should I try to send you back? I think I could wish you back to your correct time.”

“I thought you were the one always saying wishes were dangerous?”

“I am. And you’re right. They are. I probably shouldn’t try that. I wouldn’t want to risk hurting you.”

“You have an education, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Than, how come you can’t do math or science?”

“I’m not very smart, in case you hadn’t noticed. Numbers don’t stick in my head. I’m good at the things I do, but I’m not good at much else. My brain doesn’t function properly. It never did.”

“Does BoomFuzzy have an education?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.” Quaraun nervously tapped his foot as he spoke. “He’s never mentioned it. He’s extremely intelligent, though. He’s very smart. Very sly. Very sneaky. Gears are always turning in his brain. He’s always thinking and planning and plotting. He’s cunning and conniving. I wouldn’t want someone with a brain like his, for any enemy. I’m sure if he ever sat down long enough, he could learn quite a lot of things. He’s just too hyper to focus.”

“He can’t even read, can he?”

“No. . .” Quaraun paused. “Uhm. Yeah. There is that.”

“What?”

“BoomFuzzy. . . before he died. He wrote a lot of books. In fact, he’s the one who taught me a lot of what I know about Necromancy and Blood Magic.”

“But I’ve seen him. He stares at a book like he can’t read. He’s said he can’t read.”

“I know.” Quaraun dropped his hand to his lap and stared at the gold armour on his fingers. “He’s a Phooka.”

“Meaning?”

“A Phooka can be anyone. They have this ability to see into your mind and can become the thing you most desire. They can see your memories of a dead loved one and pretend to be that person based on what they see you remembering about that person. And. . . I have no memories of BoomFuzzy being evil.”

“King Gwallmaiic was evil,” GhoulSpawn said. “Everyone knows that. He was a war criminal. He killed tens of thousands with his own hands. Tortured people to death for the fun of it. Mass murdered Elves into extinction.”

“Well, perhaps. Maybe.” Quaraun’s pink painted lips twitched.

“What do you mean, maybe?”

“I don’t know that he did those things. I mean look at the stuff people say I do. There are so many rumour about me and yet, none of it is true. I murdered my wife and children, That’s true. But then because of that everyone says I’m a serial killer marching across the world on a killing spree. They say I killed millions, and I didn’t. So how am I supposed to believe what those exact same people say he did?”

“King Gwallmaiic became King by killing off all the other Kings in the Realm of Fae until he was the only King left. He ate them all. He’s admitted that part.”

“Yes.” Quaraun’s voice was sadder then usual. “But that was before I met him.”

“So?”

“So? It means I don’t have any direct memories of him doing those things. I never saw him do that stuff.”

“And another Phooka could only pretend to be BoomFuzzy, but not King Gwallmaiic, because you never met King Gwallmaiic, right?”

“Right. When I met him, he was old and sick, he’d gone blind and was in failing health.”

“Like Unicorn is.”

“Yes. The only reason his stopped killing everyone he met was because he’d become disabled and could barely sit up any more. He wasn’t kind to me, he was just not as evil to me as my family was.” Quaraun’s voice was hushed. “He raped me. . .”

“BoomFuzzy raped you? I thought you said. . .”

“The day we met, yes, he raped me. And then later when we met again, he. . .he didn’t rape me again, but was sexually abusing me. I was too young to understand at the time. We didn’t become lovers until I met him a third time, several hundred years later, and he was different then. A lot older.”

“The one you met later was Unicorn though, right?”

“Yes. And he wasn’t abusive or as sex crazy. He wouldn't rape any one. This one. That's a big change. It was one of the first things I noticed about Unicorn, and it made me not believe he was BoomFuzzy, right from the beginning.”

“So you’ve always suspected Unicorn wasn’t actually BoomFuzzy?”

“Always. Unicorn is gentle. Well, gentler. And BoomFuzzy was very abusive, but he didn’t kill me like he did the other Elves before me, because he was just too old and too sick. He was at a point where he needed someone to take care of him, and I did, and he kept me around because he knew no one else would have helped him. He didn’t love me. I knew that. I wanted him to love me. I thought I could make him love me. I don’t think he could ever love anybody. He was so full of hate. But, you see, I never knew him when he was the war lord killing people. I never knew him as a murderer. So I don’t remember him that way. I didn’t know him as a king. I have no memories of his war crimes or his kingdoms. I only remember the elderly, blind candy chef who nursed me back to health when my village tried to kill me and left me for dead.”

“So, what are you saying this? I don’t understand.”

“BoomFuzzy, King Gwallmaiic was a Phooka.” Quaraun paused. His lower lip trembled. “But all Phookas can mesmerize and glimmer. They can all see your thoughts. Your memories. It’s almost impossible to tell the real person from the Phooka pretending to be them.”

“And I suppose its worse when it’s a Phooka pretending to be another Phooka, right?”

“Yeah. But you can tell. When a Phooka takes on the identity of a dead lover, they don’t have the memories of the dead lover, so they make mistakes."

"But he's a Lich. Liches are incredibly rare. What are the chances of two Phookas becoming Liches."

"A powerful old Phooka could fake being a Lich."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've seen it before."

"So you have no way of knowing if Unicorn is really BoomFuzzy or not, because he's a Phooka?"

"Phookas only have your memories of the lover. They don’t have the dead person’s actual memories.”

“So, different from Thullids?”

“Thullids attach to your brain and live in your skull for years, studying your thought patterns and absorbing your memories. They actually become you. Eat your brain. Wear your body like a coat.”

“And with Phooka’s it’s just illusion magic?”

“Yes.” Quaraun’s words were low but deliberate and distinct. “They become the person you remember, but are never fully able to fully replace your dead lover because they didn’t know the dead lover or the dead lover’s thoughts, they only have your memories of the lover to build on. Unicorn, can’t read or write, but BoomFuzzy, my lover who commit suicide, he was well educated. He’d gone to a lot of colleges and universities. He read books all the time. He had a huge library in the back of the gingerbread house and he wrote a lot of books. I have his books. I still have all of his diaries and . . . he knew how to read.”

Quaraun fell silent and sat staring blankly at his crippled hands.

“BoomFuzzy made me these,” Quaraun said, holding up his hands and indicating the gold finger plates. “My hands were crushed under the wagon wheels. They tied my hands down and then drove the horses and wagons over my hands, over and over again. Then they ran my hands through the mill wheel, between the mill stones. The bones were crushed.”

“That’s why you never take off the gauntlets?”

“Yes,” Quaraun said mournfully. “Pulverized.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do it.”

“You should go back with me, to my time. We have doctors there. They could probably do something to fix your hands.”

“There’s nothing left. My hands are dead.”

“But there’s a doctor in my time, Vangonese. He works miracles. I bet he could fix your hands so you could use them again. He does stuff like that.”

“BoomFuzzy was a very powerful mage,” Quaraun went on, not paying attention to what GhoulSpawn was saying. “He made these gold finger plates for me. They are enchanted. I can control them with my thoughts and make my metal hands work like real hands. Without these, my hands are dead and useless. They do not function. I don’t know how he made them. He could do things with magic, that I don’t think anyone else knew how to do.”

Quaraun paused and stared at the sleeping Phooka, then turned back to GhoulSpawn.

“It’s why I call him Unicorn and not BoomFuzzy. Unicorn can’t read. Unicorn can’t write. Unicorn . . . I don’t think he could make magic items like this.” Quaraun held up his gold hands. “Unicorn’s not evil. I don’t think he would have it in him to slaughter women and children just for the fun of it. He looks like BoomFuzzy and on the surface he acts a lot like BoomFuzzy, but he only looks and acts like how I remember BoomFuzzy and he . . . he doesn’t have memories of being a war criminal. In fact, he out right says he wasn’t.”

GhoulSpawn sat silent for a moment before speaking. “You mean, Unicorn’s not really, BoomFuzzy, is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He’s BoomFuzzy now. Or some version of him.”

“Quaraun? What would happen if it turned out Unicorn wasn’t the real BoomFuzzy, and you found the real BoomFuzzy, King Gwallmaiic?”

“I. . . I don’t know.” Tears filled Quaraun’s eyes.

“Would you want the real BoomFuzzy still?”

“I think . . . I would want them both. But BoomFuzzy, the one who died. . . he was mean. Really mean. Evil. Cold. Cruel. Bitter. Jealous. Vengeful.”

“And Unicorn’s not like that, is he?”

“No. He’s predatory, aggressive, like all Phookas are. But. . . he’s not . . . evil. If Unicorn was a fake BoomFuzzy, the real BoomFuzzy wouldn’t think twice about killing him. That scares me. I don’t want to think about it. I think. . . it’s been so long since BoomFuzzy died. I think I love Unicorn more and. . .”

“And he might not be the real BoomFuzzy?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that might have been a possibility.”

“Yeah,” Quaraun choked back the tears. “I just. . . try. . . try to ignore it. I love him. Be he the real BoomFuzzy or not. I love this one now, even if he’s not the original one. I love Unicorn more than I loved BoomFuzzy.”

~o0o~