004. “Underneath the Mistletoe”

             I found myself walking head first in the glaring intensity of the blizzard hours after I gave in to his supplication. I considered backpedaling from my word, but the weakness he exuded only pushed me to help him.

            Help, a four letter word so simple yet carried a great responsibility.

            I was freezing cold, not to mention hungry. I was still physically weak and mentally exhausted after all, but I still dragged my body and tailed on him, and his perfect posture never seemed to falter. “Where are we off to?” I stuttered through clenched teeth. I had both hands wrapped around me, my thick jacket offered little to no comfort at all.

           He didn’t need to turn his heel on his direction to answer me, for his response boomed from the abyss of my mind.

           I am off to hunt.

           I should’ve realized what he meant by that, and I guess I did, but I may have chosen not to make sense.

           By the time I realized what hunt stood for, we were already on our way to the lone mistletoe tree by the frozen pond. A shack came into view, the same shack I used to own after I got out from the orphanage; the same one I owned before I got a part time job and afforded my own little decent space in the village proper. From what I saw, it stood shelter to a beggar now.

           His pace quickened, but it seemed as if his feet weren’t touching the ground. There wasn’t even the slightest trace made on the snow.

           Hide.

           That one word was stated with outmost lucidity, as if its speaker won’t take no for an answer or won’t even entertain any questions about it. My brows creased in question at his back, but I decided to settle behind lone tree near the shack.

           The loose hinges of the make shift door squeaked as Winter made his way inside. I rubbed my temple as the first kiss of brain-freeze made itself known but was caught off guard when heavy pounding followed by cries of torment broke from inside the hut.

           I dared a look, eyes frantic over curiosity and fear. The wooden crane by Winter’s hand was lying atop the beggar’s head, and I almost cried when I caught the latter whimpering like a dog.

          Winter leaned down to do his…thing, and from where I was standing, it may look they were kissing, but I knew better.

          Winter was hunting.

          And he was draining the beggar of its last traces of life.

          Nausea got the best of me, and I leaned by the mistletoe tree to steady myself and my breathing. The promise of salvation brought by his arrival last night turned to horror. Everything was still, even the raging storm seemed to lose its vigor and stopped altogether as Winter stood.

          My cue came with the flick of his fingers. For seconds fear and denial assaulted me, petrifying and chaining me to the spot. From the pale blue hue of the colors above, I caught sight of his expression. It was calm and deliriously serene, but the underlying impatience lurked. My knees threatened to give out, and I heavily made my way to the man lying in a pool of blood. Nothing prepared me for what I saw, or for what I heard Winter asked me to do after.

         Clean this up, Kibum.

         I heard him clearly in my head and slowly, my trembling hands s its way into the beggar’s arms in an attempt to scoop him up, but I was rooted to my position. His words were clearly stated, but it seemed evasive to me back then. I was brought back to my senses when the beggar tightly took hold of my shirt, his eyes suddenly frantic and pleading.

         Clean this up, Kibum.

         Clean.

         End.

         Kill.

         I wanted to rush him out, to seek somebody’s help, to save him, but I remained immobile. I couldn’t do anything other than absorb the look of mercy in the beggar’s eyes, and finally feel the last weak tug of his dying hand on my shirt.

         A shell of a soulless person was sprawled in an awkward position beside me.

         I was crying whilst lifting his body, stumbling a few times as uncontrollable tears sprang from my eyes. I don’t remember how we ended in the cemetery at all, after what I saw firsthand, everything seemed nothing but blurred images I wanted badly to dispel from my mind. I do remember covering his body with dirt I scooped from the depths of thick snow. The dirt and snow sealed the body in twisted peace that first night I accompanied Winter on his hunt; the first night of my own soul’s death.

        We trudged home as the first signs of pale daylight fought its way into the heavens; the snow glistened as it piled into a mass of dirty white carpet and covered the whole sleeping village.

        Jealousy stirred inside me, but not because of the usual reasons; I envy the fact that the people of my village slept too soundly while I felt nothing but guilt that day, but I know and understood one thing; he feeds on human soul.

        But still, knowing the fact didn’t make things any better.

        I watched a man get killed by last night’s savior that first night under the mistletoe tree.

        ...and nothing was ever the same for me again.