Holidays are Hell

"Put this on, and you won't be afraid anymore," the ward mother said, pulling a wooden mask from behind her back, and slipping it over his eyes. Zoe had seen masks like this before. Countless Himalayan artifacts such as these adorned the Tulpa's living areas, creations of that region's animist tribes. It made sense that the Tulpa cherished objects created by people who believed souls inhabited ordinary objects as well as animate beings. But why put a middle hills tribal mask on a living, mortal child?

Well, the boy immediately calmed, Zoe saw, and why not? He could no longer see the woman looming over him with no eyelids, no tear ducts, no reason or inclination to blink. If he had, he'd see her looking up as she knelt before him, nodding once. Her partner nodded back, then in one swift motion slammed her palms on the sides of the child's head, like a school marm boxing the ears of a naughty pupil. Zoe jolted, but the boy didn't cry out. Instead he immediately stiffened and fell unnaturally silent. Then the mask appeared to begin melting, thinning out like the finest leather until it molded itself to the child's face, encasing it fully from forehead to chin. The ward mother rose and, for the first time, acknowledged the Tulpa.

"A new recruit," she said serenely as they steered the now-docile child to the left, and disappeared behind a pair of great oak doors which shut with a sharp click.

"You're distressed," the Tulpa said, patting Zoe's arm and drawing her closer.

She nodded stiffly and fought for control. "I'm just… confused. That boy was mortal, wasn't he?" At the Tulpa's nod, Zoe tried for a lighter tone. "You've never allowed mortals in your home before. And what was the mask for?"

"Would you like to see?" the Tulpa replied, motioning to the door.

She didn't. She knew that much. She wanted to run from whatever was being done to that child behind those doors, but she thought of her granddaughter and nodded instead.

"It's fitting that you should see this today, on Thanksgiving," he told her before throwing open the great doors and spreading his arms wide. "Because this is my first harvest. And it's a bumper crop if I do say so myself."

They were lined on the floor in rows of five, wearing dark brown robes in the fashion of the ward mothers, each masked like the first boy, uniform but for their heights. They were all children, and from size alone Zoe guessed their ages fell between three and ten. Except for those along the wall, where another unblinking ward mother stood guard. There cribs were lined up for the smallest of them. Zoe, aware of the weight of the Tulpa's stare on her face, tore her eyes away. "I don't understand."

But she was beginning to. The horror of it was slowly sinking in as she watched a ward mother read to the silent, unmoving children from the Shadow manuals, introducing the mythos and lore of the paranormal world into impressionable young minds encased in living wood. Zoe pocketed her shades, bent, and passed her hand in front of the child nearest her. The girl didn't move. That's when Zoe saw the tiny pins anchoring the mask in place. There was a slot next to the temple where a perfume vial was cradled, half-full.

Zoe swallowed hard. Not just a mask to keep out the light, then. Or one that merely limited expression. It was shackled to their skulls, and the drug did the same to their minds. Because children, she thought, as she straightened, should never be this unnaturally still and silent.

"It's simple, really," the Tulpa was already explaining. "It's children's belief in us and our mythology that grants us the energy to battle the Light. Problem is, children grow up. They become adults and stop believing in comic books, star signs. Me. So I came up with the idea of harnessing their minds, and of harvesting all that potential energy and intelligence and natural curiosity. They think solely of the Shadows. They study our history. They worship me."

Zoe couldn't help herself. Despite her mortal senses she suddenly recalled the smell and taste and touch of this creature's festering spirit. Her Thanksgiving dinner spoiled in her stomach. "So they're your slaves."

"They're my family," he corrected smoothly.

"And the babies?" she asked, her eyes instinctively searching out Ashlyn in one of the cradles. At least they had no idea she was a child of the Light. They'd merely stolen her because the opportunity presented itself… as they'd stolen all these children from their families. "Surely they're too young to contribute?"

"Oh, no. They've the most concentrated chi of all." the Tulpa smiled. "I'd take them from the womb if I could."

Zoe was glad they were no longer in the mirrored room, because for one moment his image flickered and the skeleton that flashed from beneath his skin wasn't human. It was scorched bone: tooth, fang, and the invisible power that reared up from the bowels of midnight. Zoe quickly realigned her thoughts, glancing around to make sure none of the ward mothers had noticed.