Earth 97, New York, Brooklyn, Israel Union Synagogue

“Gather in now, let’s have the story of Hannukill. Light the hannukiah, David. Now listen closely, little ones.” The children crowded in close with bright smiles, their stomachs full of Babka.

“Who remembers the story of Hannukill? What do we celebrate during these eight nights?” The rabbi smiled generously at his young charges as their sticky hands shot into the air. “Yes, Adaya.”

“In the second century BC, the Maccabeans rebelled against the Mechanists and reconsecrated the Temple.” The young girl recited from memory in a monotone, bringing a smile to Rabbi Dov’s face.

“Yes, and why do we light the eight candles?” Another burst of little hands. “Tell us, Jacob.”

“Because when the battle was won and Judas entered the temple there was no oil to light the ner tamid! They used the oil from the mech warriors they killed to keep it lit for 8 whole days when new consecrated oil was found!” Little Jacob mimicked swinging a sword then made spark and explosion noises with his mouth eliciting a chuckle from Rabbi Dov.

“Yes, children! Hannukill celebrates the revolt that freed our people from mechanical overlords and the rededication of the temple! These are very important moments in our history! Even today, we light our own ner tamid, an eternal light to represent the presence of God with us!” Rabbi Dov smiled warmly and patted the children’s small heads. “Come on, little ones. I smell Challah, let’s meet your parents at the table.”

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Earth 101, The North American Amazon, Lake Hearon

The water churned as Jackson stepped quietly through the shallows. His spear was carefully poised and struck at the exact moment. He withdrew it from the murky water. The Wideye impaled on the end thrashed as he held it up for examination. Decently sized and with minimal bloat. Jackson decided this would be a decent enough offering for the village Christmas dinner.

Jackson swished his feet through the water, freeing his toes of the thick mud that caked the bottom of the lakes. He recalled stories that he’d heard passed down about clean water that turned solid in winter and laughed. It was warm and his clothes were damp with sweat despite the time of year, there was no cold and there would be no cold. But if the village wanted to pretend and have a party with free food, he wouldn’t miss it.

He walked along the familiar game trail into the thick jungle, he walked carefully for an hour before arriving in a clearing where several wooden huts comprised the center of the village. He rolled his eyes at the tree limbs that had been cut and decorated with pressed flowers and scavenged trinkets and approached Emma.

“Here.” He plopped the dead fish down onto the table next to here as she prepared several cuts of rabbit for roasting. “Now can I join the Christmas feast?”

Emma didn’t pause her preparation and barely spared a glance for the Wideye that was now stinking up her cooking space. Instead, she skewered one of the rabbits and set it on the spit to cook then turned to point at Dale, her sandy haired brother.

“Dale, prepare this stinking fish before we all die of the smell.” She continued with her preparation.

“Still? Emma, I brought a peace offering! You can’t stay mad!” Jackson stomped a foot and turned to Dale for help.

“Don’t look at me. You know how important the Christmas is for Emma.” Dale grabbed the fish as Emma shot him a glare.

“It’s just Christmas, not the Christmas. And he cursed Santa!” Emma pointed her cooking knife at Jackson and he took a measured step back. “You know how important Santa is! You know the old story!”

“Ok, ok, I take it back Emma! I’m sorry! I’m sure that Santa Kringle was real and I’m sure he delivered Coca Cola to children.” Jackson held up his hands supplicantly. Emma continued to glare but slowly softened.

“Alright, you can stay for the feast. I knew you had some Christmas spirit in you!” Emma laughed despite herself and looked up at the break in the trees. “Oh look! There he is!”

Jackson stared slack jawed up into the air as a flashing light crossed the patch of sky he could see between the trees.

“Santa…?”

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Earth 89, New York, Manhattan, Times Square

“Ten!”

This is the year. I just know it. This year I’ll be better. I know I can be better. It’s time to break free from those old habits. Going clean and going straight. That’s what the new year is all about, right? I can do this. Sure, it’s been 165 years of the same old Carmilla but this is the year, I can just feel it.

“Nine!”

So many people. Maybe just a little taste though. I have nine seconds. I could just grab a little bite then finish the countdown and then, Wham, new and improved Carmilla! No, no. That’s the whole point, keep it together Carmilla. No biting. We do not bite anymore. We do not feast. We can do it.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Eight!”

Thank goodness they do this thing at nighttime. Just these stupid lights are killing me. Eighty years in this city and no wonder the natives all say to stay away. Just awful, these lights. Ugly ads too. Oh, my god. They’re reviving Dracula, the Musical. I must go.

“Seven!”

Almost there, Carmilla. Think of all the things we can do next year when we aren’t stalking darkened alleyways or fluttering outside windowsills or enchanting beautiful virgins at that awful nightclub. I should branch out to other clubs, maybe it’s just that 18-21 club that’s so horribly bright and loud. No! Carmilla, no more need for clubs! No more need for virgin blood!

“Six!”

God, for ten seconds this is taking an awful long time. Whoever came up with this stupid ball should be hung upside down and carefully drained. No, Carmilla, stop. That’s the kind of thing we can’t be thinking now that we’ve decided to go sober.

“Five!”

Yes, this is for the best. It’s so very tiring having to hunt and then cover up death after death after death. I know I could prey on some of the more undesirables of the city and have less post-meal cleanup to do but where would that leave me? Magnus started that unhoused shelter a decade ago and the man is practically feral now. This is for the best.

“Four!”

And think of brunch! Ambrosia will surely reinvite me now. She’s been unbearable since she went Vegan. And the un-invitation she sent me was pretty mean and unnecessary but I do miss Esmeray and Lillith. I wonder if they’re vegan too or just pretending. Come to think of it, I think I saw Esmeray skulking around Alaric’s penthouse at the last dinner party.

“Three!”

If Esmeray is still partaking then maybe I could just pretend to go clean. I could just cut back and then for all Ambrosia knows, maybe that is just pig blood in my Mimosa. No! Carmilla focus. You can do this! It’s much healthier anyways, think about that. It’s a new me.

“Two!”

Yes, I know it. This will be a good year. The last decade has been so lonely. Even the dinner parties haven’t cheered me up. Less and less attending these days. Alaric is hardly good company. The man spends more time naked than otherwise and has the wit of a mortal. Two millennia of life, you’d think he would pick up a single interesting quality.

“One!”

Almost there! A new year, a new Carmilla! I’m really going to do it! It all starts now.

“Happy New Year!”

Here we go! The new Carmilla! Oh my, folks really do take that kissing tradition seriously. Oh hello lovely. She’s leaning in, I suppose a kiss with a stranger is a cultural norm for the new year, why not? When in Rome! My what tasty lips, look at that neck. The collar bone. So. Exposed. And clean. Maybe. Maybe just a little taste. Just once. Nobody keeps these resolutions anyways right?

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Earth 165, Midgard, Trondheim

“Hail, Harald. How holds the Eastern Wall?” Arne nocked another arrow and fired it into the throat of one of the creatures that ventured into the shallows of the river that formed his cities western border as Harald approached.

“Jarl Arne…” Harald began but Arne held a hand up to interrupt him.

“Hersir, or even Thane, but I am no Jarl.” Arne nocked again and fired. Another of the creatures fell as Harald cleared his throat.

“Thane Arne then. But please consider. The Jarl is dead and the people need you. These draugr fill the people with fear and show no sign of ending their siege. The winter is a cold one and some think we won’t survive the night.”

“Harald, tell me this. Every year comes the Winter Solstice and every year Trondheim stands strong, does it not?” Harald nodded gravely.

“Yes, Ja… Thane. But the draugr are thick this night. They’ve nearly breached the Eastern Wall. Your men grow weak with fear.” Harald pointed to one of the lifeless creatures as it ventured into the deeper part of the river and Arne put an arrow through its head.

“Are they warriors? Will they not protect their children?” Arne shook his head angrily then turned to a nearby archer. “You, Troels. You will hold this river, will you not?”

“Yes, Thane Arne. By my bow, not one draugr will cross those waters!” Arne grasped his arm and nodded.

“Archers of the riverbanks! To Troels! You will defend these banks or die in the reeds!” The remaining archers gave a warcry and re-assembled around Troels as Arne turned to walk with Harald.

“Harald, where are the walls weakest?” Arne strode with purpose, large even among men, and Harald rushed to keep up with him.

“Near the Old Gate. The draugr have set upon it with great force, throwing themselves into our spear.”

“Then that is where I will go.” Arne turned down a dirt road and arrived at his destination. The longhouse of the Jarl was dark. “Bring me the Jarl’s robe, Harald.”

“Thane?” Harald muttered nervously.

“Bring it to me.” Harald rushed to the body of the Jarl, pierced a hundred times over by draugr weapons, and returned with the thick robe.

“Now horses. And the Jarl’s sledge.” Harald rushed to bring Arne what he requested. Soon, Arne stood in the Jarl’s sledge wearing his heavy robe.

“My Thane, how will this help hold the gate?”

“The gates will hold Harald. Our warriors will hold it. Hya!” Arne whipped the horses into a run and they pulled him through the city towards the eastern wall and the old gate.

“On Glenr! On Grani!” Arne shouted at the horses as they approached the barely held gate. His warriors scattered out of his way and at the last second he called out to the steeds. “Leap Glenr! Leap Grani!”

The sledge soared through the air and with it Arne. He landed like a boulder smashing several draugr at once and spun like a top, his axes carving a large opening in the hoard. Arne flung a handaxe at the draugr nearest the gate as his warriors watched in awe from the ramparts. Before them, Arne stood tall in the robes of the Jarl, covered in the blood of enemies. Stained red he let out a primal roar, Hooooooo!

“To the Jarl!” Came the cry from Harald the skald and the warriors flung forth the Old Gate and charged out to meet the draugr head on. At Arne’s feet were forty corpses before they even arrived. The warriors of Trondheim fought through the night alongside Arne as Harald the skald watched from the wall. As the son rose, the draugr collapsed lifeless as they did every Winter Solstice and Arne stood tall and mighty. Harald looked on in awe as the men cheered their new king.

“A Solstice miracle.” Harald whispered to the sunrise.