The Stocking

The Mantlepiece

The somber booming of the grandfather clock echoed through the ghostly halls, signalling the hour of deep sleep. In the cold, blue light of winter, a small shape slipped like silk between the hidden recesses of the manor-house, her shadow casting long and ghostly shapes upon the ancient walls.

For the last few hours, Fawn had been hard at work, ferrying handcrafted decorations up creaking ladders and wooden ramps to the small alcove behind the mantlepiece. Through a clever system of weighted rocks and rope pulleys, she had even managed to hoist the Christmas stocking to the landing without a hitch.

Every bauble and ribbon were ready, every last detail accounted for.

Save, that is, for the master.

"Dammit, where are you!" she hissed.

It was not uncommon for him to disappear some evenings, the heavy thudding of the dark chestnut door the only indication of his comings and goings. But tonight, his absence was a thorn twisting maddeningly in her side. Frightened by the prospect of him catching her off-guard, she had stayed anxiously hidden, awaiting his return by the low, smoldering flame of a single tea light. Now, as the fickle hands of the great clock stretched past midnight, she had no choice but to risk his sudden reappearance or abandon her plan altogether.

With a terse sight, she trailed her hand across the rough clay of the brick wall, slender fingers feeling for the slight groove that marked the loose slab. Heart thrumming steadily, she pressed her shoulder flush against it, heaving her weight until it ached open with a dull scrape.

Pausing at the entrance, Fawn waited until her eyes adjusted to the gloom, body angling instinctively toward the familiar sounds of nighttime: the pendulum's heavy swing, the creaking of the house's bones, the wind caught somewhere in a lofty rafter. Outside, the lonely call of a horned owl carved a path through the dark trees.

When she was certain all else was still, she set about her task, the soft leather of her stitched boots muffling the pattering of tiny steps. In and out she weaved, soundlessly transforming the mantlepiece with half-spent candles and hand-tied bows, a year's worth of careful gathering unfolding like some half-mad miracle in the dark.

At long last, all that remained was to hang the stocking from the mantlepiece and stuff it to the brim with small treasures. It wouldn't be an easy feat; Fawn needed to secure the cuff to the hook on the mantlepiece, then toss the rest of the fabric over the side. But she was more than used to navigating sheer drops. In fact, as she dragged the heavy fabric toward edge of the mantlepiece, she hummed carols under her breath, barely able to contain her giddiness.

To think of the master's surprise when he woke tomorrow morning and found the spirit of Christmas was alive and well...

With a sudden jerk, Fawn's foot shot out from beneath her, her body slamming painfully to the ground not an inch away from the looming edge. Eyes travelling slowly downward, she could just make out the silky fabric of the stocking pooling beneath her heel.

For a moment she didn't move a muscle, her body still in a state of cold shock. Then she scrambled backwards on all fours, every limb quaking.

A single second, a simple misstep, but one that could have cost her life.

"Foolish, so foolish!" she chastised herself, sniffling back the tears that had sprung up unexpectedly. "Your parents taught you better, Fawn Braegon."

Wiping her eyes, she stood up shakily, inching backwards toward the wall despite the ample space left on the mantlepiece. Grabbing one of the stray red ribbons she began to twist it around her arms and waist, looping it under her thighs and back up to her chest, knotting it expertly as she went.

"Always wear a harness" she muttered.

Wrapping the loose string around herself a few more times for good measure, she fixed the end to a stray nail in the wall and tugged.

Confident that it held steady, she got to her hands and knees, crawling toward the edge of the mantlepiece. Gathering up as much fabric into her arms as possible, she peered over, the floor seeming to shrink further and further away from this dizzying height.

"Well, here it goes."

With one enormous heave, Fawn tossed the stocking over the edge, watching with a mixture of dread and awe as it tumbled and unfurled gracefully in the air. Its descent stopped short with a jolt, the fabric swinging slightly as it settled over the fireplace.

She closed her eyes in silent relief, her heart flooded with renewed vigor. Gathering up the stocking stuffers, she leaned forward against the pull of her harness and began to carefully lower them down one by one.

Fawn gave a tiny cheer as each disappeared: the chestnuts she had gathered throughout the summer months, strewn about the soft grasses by the wooded stream; the brass buttons and elegant cufflinks she had recovered from a magpie's nest; the pouch of golden guineas and silver shillings she'd retrieved from cushion cracks or beneath the floor. And finally, a hand-written note of Christmas well-wishes folded up tight and sealed with a dollop of wax.

As the last treasure disappeared into the dark, silk mouth below, Fawn let out a long, triumphant sigh. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, her eyes strayed over the shadowed mantlepiece until they came to rest upon the photograph of the master's family.

Fawn had spent many hours gazing at the yuletide scene over the years. From here, the faces were eye-level with her own, their small features familiar enough to curb the pang of loneliness she felt for her own kind. She never knew which of the boys was the master, but she liked to imagine it was the younger of the two, his expression curious and bright, his mouth caught in a half-smile, as if he couldn't contain the secret of his joy.

She tilted her head, raising a hand up hesitantly to touch his face.

The front door slammed open just as her fingers brushed the glass, the sound barreling through the house like a shockwave. Staggering back from the frame in bewildered terror, Fawn's head whipped about the room, before she turned and bolted toward the hole in the wall. Just as she was about to slip into the darkness, her body whipped backward with a savage jerk.

The harness.

Fawn ripped viciously at the ribbon, her fingers flailing clumsily over the knots as her hands quivered uncontrollably.

"Steady, Thomas. Are you trying to knock the whole house down?"

Fawn's heart spiked at the unfamiliar, bellowing voice, lungs fighting frantically for air. It seemed the harder she tried to remove the ribbon, the more entangled she became, the band twisting and tightening around her tiny limbs.

"I can't get it off" she gasped. "I can't - I can't - I can't -"

Grasping the trailing end between two hands she jerked at it wildly, fighting to tear it straight from the nail. Blood roared in her ears as the fabric strained, the booming storm of heavy footsteps thudding ever closer.

With a terrible rip, Fawn staggered backward into freedom, then into freefall, the world hurtling over itself in a mad spin as she plummeted over the edge of the mantlepiece and down into the fathomless dark below. 

***

Author's Note

Things never seem to go smoothly for our poor Fawn! And after she worked so hard...

New chapter(s) every day until Christmas! Stay tuned and don't forget to:

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xx