For anyone who might care a little, there was an earthquake where I live the other night and I’ve been dizzy and nauseated since. I was planning on revising my next chapter of Life Could Be A Dream and posting it this weekend but I just can’t concentrate on anything that takes more than a little brainpower. As soon as I’m feeling better it will be revised and posted straight away. I’m sorry 🥺
{A/N} Sorry this one took a little longer, mid-chapter my wrists started acting up. Carpal tunnel is a monster. D:
Anyways, I hope you enjoy and that I’m doing our beloved Charlie some justice at least so far. <3
Warnings: None.
Chapter Five - This Isn’t Real
My voice had returned and my mind was racing even more than I expected it could’ve when Vic stopped talking. She picked up a pen from the table we sat at in the kitchen and fidgeted with it, clicking the top a few times as she looked me in the eye. It was clear she was waiting for any kind of response to the boatload of information she’d dumped on me.
“So I’m a… strong creative,” I made air quotes around the words that sounded more like a question than a statement.
She looked at me and nodded. “You don’t need to lose your voice every time you use it, though. I have a friend who’s just like us. Her name’s Maggie.. She figured out how to keep herself from dealing with the cost of using her gift.”
“What’s her gift?” I interrupted, curious.
“Her tiles,” she rasped. “She has a purple bag with scrabble tiles in them. They’ll tell you anything you want or need to know as long as you ask them. But, we have gotten the tiles mixed up before.”
All of this sounded like some magical bologna that I could’ve found in a novel somewhere, and had I not used my gift myself and seen the outcome with my own eyes, I would’ve laughed and told her she was losing her mind.
“Anyway, Maggie told me you either have to hurt yourself… or someone else.”
It sounded as though she was reluctant to tell me the latter of the two options.
“What’s the cost of your gift?” I asked again.
She hesitated, setting the pen down and looking me in the eye. “My eye,” was all she said, and I put it together.
I had seen her come back countless times that week with a bloodied eye, but the last time it seemed to have gotten worse. When we left Christmasland, it was bleeding. It all clicked then.
“But Maggie burns herself with a cigarette every time she uses her tiles,” she continued. “I’m sure you can find something to keep you from losing your voice. You have to focus on the pain in order to make it work. But don’t hurt people, {Y/N}.”
I nodded, taking mental notes of her advice. I’d never been told to hurt myself for any reason before but I guessed there were a lot of things that were new to me when it came to this seemingly supernatural situation. My lungs filled with air as I absentmindedly sighed. It felt as though I was thrust into a film and forced to figure out the plot. I was more thankful for Vic than I could’ve ever expressed.
The clock on the wall felt as though it ticked slower than usual as I realized how late it was. Time had gotten away from all of us once we’d started looking for Wayne together. After Vic extracted me from Christmasland on her dirt bike through the tunnel I saw in the forest, she instructed me not to say a word to anyone about what had happened. Wanting to gain her trust enough to figure out what all of this meant, I complied. Once we arrived back at their place and Lou went to bed, she stayed up to elucidate what was going on. But before she got into my gift, she explained that hers was not what I thought was a tunnel, but the bridge.
She called it an inscape. Her “shorter way.”
But after all of our efforts, it came to be that Wayne hadn’t actually been missing. He’d simply run off to play and threw Vic and Lou -and me- into a spiral of worry. Or at least, that was his story and he was sticking to it.
“Your knife is your voice,” she began again. “And your inscape…” Her brow furrowed as she looked around, picking up the pen again. “Well, I’m not sure. What were you doing when you found Christmasland?”
“Singing,” I said immediately. “I was looking for Wayne and singing.”
She clicked the pen on the table a few times, looking as though she were completely uneasy.
“Maybe you have a shorter way, too,” she swallowed hard, as though that wasn’t the first thing to come to mind.
“But Wayne was never at Christmasland,” I added.
“No.. No he wasn’t. But that bastard Charlie Manx is trying to change that.”
Ah. Charlie Manx.
The man of the evening that I wanted desperately to know so much more about. Vic had abruptly taken me from Christmasland without so much as an explanation, and at least now I knew why she was there. Still, curiosity had gotten the better of me to say the least. He was all I could think about during our search for Wayne and I was slightly bitter that I didn’t get to figure out what I was doing at the winter wonderland in the past through questioning him. He seemed to know far more about me than I knew about myself.
“What about him, anyway?” I questioned, trying not to sound as though I were too excited to get into the subject. “Who is he? What is Christmasland? Where is Christmasland?”
She leaned back in the chair, slipping out of her motorcycle jacket and hanging it on the backrest as her eyes seemed to grow dark.
“Christmasland is Charlie Manx’s inscape. It’s just a big, intricate figment of his sick imagination. His knife is a classic Rolls Royce Wraith, and he picks up innocent kids and he kidnaps them with it, and then brings them to Christmasland.”
Her voice became rushed and shaky.
“Once they’re there.. Well, I don’t know if they ever get out. They turn into something else.. Something inhuman. They attack people and they think he’s their father.”
She spit the words out like venom on the tongue. I wasn’t sure why, but I almost felt offended that she was speaking of him that way. My thoughts drifted back to when he called me by his last name.
“He thinks he’s doing them a service, these kids, by taking them from what he calls “neglectful parents” and giving them the home they never had,” her expression twisted into a cringe. “It’s somethin’ out of a horror movie. Probably why the plate on the Wraith says Nosferatu…” she finished, the statement sounding like a solemn attempt at a joke.
I had a voice now but I still sat in silence, mulling over everything she’d said. It was easy to remain quiet, especially when I had no idea how to handle what was going on when none of it seemed real. It was a lot to grasp, but the more information I had, the better. I must’ve looked as though I were deep in thoughts I shouldn’t have been having, because she reached over and grabbed my wrist then, her slender fingers squeezing it tightly.
“You can’t go back to Christmasland, {Y/N}. No matter what you do or what you think you need. It’s not safe. He’ll kill you. He’s tried to kill me, and Maggie, and..” she trailed off, clearly remembering something else. “Just don’t go, okay? Promise me.”
Somewhere deep in my chest, I felt a pang of hurt again. That kind of sensation where your heart breaks and you know the tears are next. Holding it in, I looked her in the eye, and against what I knew I wanted, I nodded.
“I promise.”
-x-x-x-
This was all more information than I could process in a day. My eyes were heavy as I layed on the couch and pulled the fuzzy blanket they’d given me over my shoulders. The house creaked and groaned occasionally as it settled for the night and it was warm and cozy inside despite the chill outside.
My day had been long and confusing, from the funeral, to visiting my house to grab my things, to finding myself at Christmasland. While I knew I promised Vic I’d never go back, I couldn’t shake the thought of it. The way the snow glistened under the lights; the way the maze of ice seemed to go for miles; the way the houses looked like gingerbread creations and— the way he smiled. His dark, deep set eyes narrowing at the corners just a bit as his lips pulled upwards with them. As though he had a million secrets and he was about to let you in on every single one of them.
I rolled over on the couch, and tried to think of something else as I dozed off, but I couldn’t help that my thoughts were too adamant for my own good. I didn’t understand how I could’ve been so captivated by him, especially after Vic’s rendition of Charlie as she knew him. Something deep inside told me I knew another version, and I just had to figure out which. But I’d made a promise to her, and learning about him personally was no longer an option. No matter how hard I tried to think of anything else, the last fragments of imagination that materialized behind my eyelids were of him.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the road to what I thought before was nowhere. The snow topped trees lined either side, but the moon in the sky was brighter than usual— in fact, so were the stars and everything else that surrounded me. The entire Milky Way could be seen above me, and everything I set eyes on was awe inspiring. Studying myself, I noticed I wore a deep crimson rockabilly halter dress with a big black bow tied in the back. I felt like a present wrapped under a tree, and while dresses weren’t my norm, I felt just as pretty as the atmosphere around me.
Oh, it was my usual dream, but it seemed every time I dreamt it, the more it changed. This time, it was gorgeous.
Snowflakes fell like glitter as I made my way forward, admiring the beauty of the surreal world that surrounded me. It was as though everything was suddenly clearer; as though my place in this icy dreamscape was solidified. My ears caught vague hints of the song that brought me to Christmasland, and I quickly realized that I was facing the wrong way. The twinkling lights weren’t ahead of me anymore, but a spectrum of colorful lights caught my attention as they reflected against the snow from behind me. With a deep breath I tried to conceal my smile. If I couldn’t visit it in real life anymore, my dreams did me the honor.
Upon turning around, I was met with the sight of Christmasland’s gates just up ahead. I’d finally reached my destination, and I knew exactly what my dream was all about. The entire time my subconscious was trying to remind me of a memory; a memory I’d soon revisit.
Seemed a little dramatic to me to have the dream so often, especially after how short my time there was, but at least I knew. I knew that there was more to me than just being the girl with a rough past and an unstable future.
When I took a step forward, I heard his voice.
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” He said somewhat wistfully.
Charlie had appeared next to me at some point and I hadn’t even noticed in my mystified state. Still, just as he had in person, he stood a small distance away from me. I hoped my voice worked this time as I opened my mouth to speak.
“It’s beautiful,” I smiled.
Thank goodness I still had my voice. However, I had to remind myself this was only a dream. Even if it was lucid, it mattered not what I said or how I said it. But it was still the only chance I’d get to immerse myself in whatever fantasy this was anymore. It was the only place I could let my desires run freely without the repercussions of losing my only friend, and really, my only hope as survival. I rolled with my audience of Charlie Manx. Maybe my subconscious could answer a few of my burning questions about the situation, but he spoke before I could again.
“I must say, I was surprised to see you so quickly after your mother’s passing. My condolences..” He ended his sentence with a hint of joy, as though he were glad the death of my mother brought me to Christmasland, accident or not.
“It wasn’t my intention, but I guess it was meant to happen.”
I held my hands in front of me, letting our eyes meet. The electricity I felt buzzed through the air. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I didn’t want to lose myself so soon in the illusion. Fidgeting with the ends of my hair, I stood taller and began my small line of questioning.
“What is this place? Why do you know me?”
There was a glint in his eye as I spoke to him, as though he were absorbing my voice, some kind of odd pride becoming him. With a wave of his hand to gesture me to follow, he began a stroll towards the gates. I did as he suggested, wanting to hear what he was going to say.
“What do you remember?” He countered instead.
Damn it.
I tried my best to pull any memory I could from the darkest parts of my mind, sighing with a faint shrug.
“Not much.. I remember riding the carousel.. And playing the carnival games. Running between the flashing lights and laughing with other children,” I tried to rattle off, hoping a new memory would suddenly appear. “I remember how to get out of the maze, but I can’t remember ever being there..”
I peeked over at him.
“You did love the carousel,” was all he said, like he was waiting for me to make a breakthrough on my own. Until he spoke again.
“You were a model child at Christmasland, my dear. You played well with the others, made sure no one was left out. In fact, you enjoyed Millie’s company very much.”
Millie…
The name rang a bell, but before I had time to ask, he continued.
“You came to us one day quite on your own, which hadn’t happened before, and hasn’t happened again. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that that voice of yours brings you to Christmasland. Of course, you didn’t know that the night your father laid hands on your mother. But you left your cruel home to soothe yourself with song. The next thing we all knew, there you were. Tearful, and quite pitiful-looking outside of the Candy Cane Gates.”
“I came here on my own..” I reworded out loud, attempting to piece together any thoughts from that night.
It happened in my house more often than not, more often than anyone should’ve endured or any child should’ve seen. I remembered the night I left, the only night I left. For the life of me, I could not remember singing my way to Christmasland. At the same time, it was nice to hear that my scrambled memories weren’t just things I’d made up or imagined. They were real. I was there. Then again, no matter how vivid the entire dream was, I had to remind myself it was just that. A dream. This was all coming from my own mind.
“From then on we took you in,” he finished. “I knew there was something special about you.. That you were a strong creative, just as myself. That, and you wouldn’t have dreamed of putting yourself in a predicament that would place you on the naughty list.”
He offered a charming smirk at his quirky bit of information about me and I looked away, fighting the pull towards him I felt when he did. I assumed that my need to be good was out of fear after what Vic told me about him. But what he said next surprised me.
“You must bring Bruce Wayne McQueen to me, {Y/N}.”
My brows pinched together almost immediately. Victoria was right.. Or was this just my subconscious making Victoria right?
“Why?” was all I said.
“Because he wants to be here, with me, my dear. He’s told me so himself. I was well on my way to helping him, and then you made an appearance at Christmasland.. I’m man enough to admit that your surprise arrival distracted me enough to let the boy slip away. You must help me get him back now. Do not listen to Victoria. She doesn’t understand how unhappy her son is. He longs to join me and the other children. To finally be safe from her derelict ways of alcoholism and neglect.”
For being my dream, the request was odd.
“I— I would never bring Wayne here.. Vic told me all about you. All about how you think you’re doing right by these children but you’re not. I would never betray her like that. She’s given me a home when she didn’t...“ I cut myself off and regrouped, not wanting to get personal, whether it was real or not.
Despite my rattling off, he didn’t make a sound. He simply let me, as though he knew something I didn’t. As though it didn’t matter what I said, because he would find his way anyway.
“This isn’t even real.” I continued, stopping in my tracks, not moving any further towards the gates. “You’re not here. I don’t know why my thoughts are panning out this way, but I’m not bringing Wayne to Christmasland. I don’t know why I chose to stay here when I was a kid but I have a feeling I didn’t have a choice.”
He stopped several ahead and turned to face me. Shaking my head, I ran my hand back through my hair and dared to let my eyes rest on his again. There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes, like I’d disappointed him— but only for a second. I immediately began to speak again.
“This isn’t real,” I repeated, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince anymore.
“Not real?” The expression on his handsome features changed into something near mischievousness as he arched a single thick brow and approached me. It was the closest he’d gotten to me since we’d met again.
My heart pounded in my chest as I wondered what was going to happen. Each step he took was slow and calculated. It felt as though he didn’t want to get so close, but had a point to prove in doing so. My dress began to feel tight around my chest as I tried to steady my breathing.
Can you die from a dream?
He towered over me once we were opposite each other, and I allowed myself to look up, holding his gaze. Swallowing hard, I inhaled deeply and waited for whatever fate was to become me, mustering the strength to endure whatever was going to happen should I not wake up. It crossed my mind to pinch myself; to wake up before anything traumatic happened. But something within me wanted to stay. It was a strange sensation to stare what might’ve been my brightest dream or darkest nightmare in the face and not know which way the chips were going to fall.
Confusion was all I could sift through when his large hand reached for my neck, placing his thumb and index finger on either side of it as his palm rested lightly against my clavicle. I watched his features, noticing his jaw clench just enough for me to wonder if I had imagined it.
My {E/C} eyes were full of fear that I knew he had to see, but I stood still, waiting for his grip to tighten or his careful movements to turn into some kind of gruesome act. But as the seconds passed, I instead felt how cold his hand was despite not feeling the chill in the air around us; how gentle his touch was against my warm flesh. He treated me as though I were a porcelain doll, set to break at any moment if he made the wrong move. The faintest of smiles placed itself on his lips then, and my heart kicked up for a different reason that I hoped he couldn’t detect in my pulse.
“Wake up,” he instructed, showing off the velvet in his voice.
I gasped awake. Blinking my eyes rapidly through the blackness that was the dark room to gain any kind of clarity about my surroundings. I haphazardly reached over to the coffee table in front of the couch, tapping my phone’s screen for the time before looking around the room through the small amount of light. It was the middle of the night and I was still at Vic’s. Of course the dream wasn’t real. A quiet laugh passed through my nose as I shook my head and settled back into the couch, listening to the quietness around me. Almost hoping deep down that I would hear his voice again. But it all was silent.
What a strange dream it had been this time.
Charlie Manx had certainly made an impression on me, and I wasn’t sure yet in what kind of way. I didn’t want to think I was infatuated by his charm and devilish good looks, but it seemed more and more that I couldn’t deny the feeling. At least the only place I’d ever see him anymore was in my dreams. I couldn’t break my promise to Vic.
As I laid back down and stared up into the darkness of the ceiling, I let my hand linger up to my neck where his hand had been in my dream.
I bolted upright again when I felt a necklace that wasn’t there before.
My fingers swiftly felt around for a pendant or any sort of indication of what the piece of jewelry contained, and when I found it, I lost my breath altogether. Remaining deathly still, I held it.
It was the locket I’d hidden in my little cedar chest for years.
Someone mentioned in some comment they wanted to hear Charlie sing, so here ya go. Excuse me while I go off to slowly die in a corner from this cuteness overload.
Where is the “Romantic Christmas carols with Charlie” album!!!??
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