Act I

In a dark chamber of an old run down cabin, muffled sounds were barely audible above the sputters of fire. Atop the fire, there was a black cauldron, big enough to boil a person. A dark figure, with olive skin and dark eyes, was draped in a long, dark dress.

A woman, wearing a large, pointed black hat stirred the contents of the cauldron with a large wooden spoon in slow, steady circles. while a black cat brushed against her leg and began to knead its paws against the thick drapes of her dress.  

The Witch whispered her recipe, “Leg of frog. Eye of newt.”, trying to concentrate.

Murmurs and sounds of rustling came from the corner of the room. What looked like a small boy with pointed ears was bound securely, tied with golden tinsel and red ribbons him to a rough, wooden stake. His head rolled side to side before his eyes opened.

“I’ll tend to you soon enough, Alabaster,” the witch muttered, never looking up.  

“Where am I? How did I get here?” Alabaster demanded. “I must get back to working on Santa’s Naughty and Nice list. Please let me go!” he pleaded.

“I have plans for you, elf, and bigger plans for Salem, but first you must recruit others for our cause.”

She held up a jar whose contents glowed a shimmering pink and squinted, knotting her mouth in concentration.

She half tipped the jar above the cauldron, pouring its contents in the bubbling goop. At first, nothing happened. Then, steam began to rise from the cauldron, pour out over the floor and into the air around them, obscuring everything in a dense fog.

 

Gunshots rang out in the distance.

Alabaster tensed and began to shake.

 

“Don’t worry about them deary”, the Witch laughed, “We still have work to do here.”

He struggled to peer through the white and pink clouds of smoke, but the dark and fog turned all shapes into shifting shadow.

The Witch, cat and cauldron were the only things he could make out. The rest of his surroundings blended together like shadow puppets. The cat arched its back and hissed towards something behind him.

The den of gunshots faded slowly in the distance, rolling over the hills and through the trees like a passing storm.

The Witch took the stirring spoon from her cauldron and began to trace a large circle around herself and the cat.

Alabaster tried thinking of hot chocolate and candy canes. Mistletoes and toys. Anything to calm himself. Licorice, Christmas Trees, Eggnog. “Oh I could really use some Eggnog” he thought to himself. He finally closed his eyes, hot tears streaming down his red cheeks.

 

Then he could hear them. Sounds coming from just outside the cabin. “Voices”, he thought. “Someone is coming.”

Still shaking, he opened his eyes and squinted, through the tears, into the steam. He could hear the old, rusty door hinges squeal as the door was opened. He could hear someone, something, walk through the doorway.

Two figures, began to take shape. Then three. They slowly made their way through the steam, walking with a hobble. It reminded him somewhat of his friend Otis after a long night of eggnog.

The first figure shuffled closer, parting the fog. Alabaster recoiled at its sloughing skin, pallid complexion and expressionless gaze.  He… it… had a patchy beard, and an eye that had gone completely white.  Its gaunt frame was barely covered by tattered clothes of green and red, despite the December cold.  It wore one green shoe which appeared to be laced by golden string, and drug behind him one foot still bare and mapped by blue veins.

At last, it seemed to notice the elf that was tied to the stake in the corner of the room. It turned it’s head slowly. Unnaturally.

Alabaster screamed.