Winter's Master

A short Lovecraftian tale about the horrors that rule when the cold night settles in

Centuries have passed since last I left my master’s stronghold, hidden in the frozen wastelands far to the north. In those long years, I expected humans to accomplish little, if anything. But now, as I skulk the streets of the thriving human city, I marvel at the changes they have wrought in the intervening span. I pause at a street corner, letting my eyes rove over the blinking lights, smiling faintly at their cheerful colors. It seems humans have finally learned the secrets of the electron. And with that simple discovery, they think they possess all knowledge. What fools. My master is coming, and they have no idea the power that awaits them.

An icy wind blasts between the buildings, and the humans bow their heads even lower against the onslaught, pulling up collars and scarves to block the chill. They brush past me, but none take the time to gaze at my face and see my nearly-human features. My smile broadens. They’re as oblivious to my true identity as they are to my master’s. I send out little tendrils of power, easily slipping suggestions into their minds.

Sleep. Home. Warmth. Bed.

The ideas are nothing more than seeds, but they easily take root and blossom in the thoughts of those around me. The humans scurry away, suddenly determined to be at home as the night chill settles over the city. I walk on, continuing to influence those I can, encouraging them to abandon the city streets. My master’s powers wax strongest in the shadows of the half-seen, in those barely coherent dreams that few can recall upon waking. To heighten his strength, my kind must clear the way, driving humans into the loving arms of willful ignorance. Most of them are all too happy to dwell there forever.

Of course, not every human’s mind is fully open to my suggestions. Little children, for one, are so easily swayed, and yet their minds are so difficult to ensnare. One little boy, scarcely old enough to walk, stares right into my fearsome eyes as he passes by, holding his mother’s hand. Though his own eyes widen, he says not a word. But I know that what he has seen will haunt his dreams for years, until he is old enough to fool himself and say that I was nothing more than a nightmarish dream, half remembered in the vagaries of childhood.

And there are other powers here too, sending out oily tendrils of thought and force among the city. Some of them try to slither against my mind, grasping for purchase in the darkness. But they are weak, and I easily repel their mental efforts. As my master’s thrall, I possess great power this night, greater than any of the other weird and terrible forces at play in this world.

Some people on the streets are dressed in ritual clothes, venerating the Master of Winter, and my sensitive ears pick up snatches of songs and chants to him as I walk. But even on this sacred night, these worshippers pay him little more than lip service. I know that few truly believe in him in their hearts, for his true essence is too terrible for their puny minds to even contemplate. But it matters not, for my ancient master will walk among them once more, whether they wish it or no.

Each day, he spies on hearts and minds from the depths of his frozen fortress. Unseen by all, he sends forth his will, wrestling to read the thoughts and deeds of humanity. Tonight, their minds are laid bare before my master. None are secure from his sight or grasp. None can hide.

I continue walking, surveying the buildings as the cold darkness drapes over the city. In a matter of hours, he will descend on these little humans with a power they cannot comprehend, dispensing his justice to all. Blessings to those he deems worthy, and a black warning on the hearths of those who displease him. The humans he finds lacking will be wise to heed his warnings, but few seldom do. Soon, his wrath will manifest as more than simple warnings, and they will regret their stubbornness. Soon, but not yet. Not this year.

The streets grow quieter as I work, and fewer people hurry through the snow. The hour draws near, and I find my heart beating faster in anticipation. He approaches. The last of the people retreat to their houses and beds, hiding against the inevitability they feel but cannot name. Their homes give them an illusion of comfort, but they offer no true protection against he who comes. Nothing can stop my master.

A clock high in a nearby church begins to chime the notes of midnight. But as I listen, each chime comes slower and slower, until the eleventh note drags on interminably before fading into a terrible silence. The whole world sleeps, and I know. The time of my master is here. All other powers quail away, their tendrils of influence fading from my senses.

The streets are empty now, and I move like a wraith among the shadows. Time stands still, holding its breath in anticipation. I scarcely dare to breathe, myself. All is ready. We stand on a precipice of time, moving neither forwards nor back as my master descends upon the world once more.

Suddenly, I spy a little girl through a frosted window across the street. She’s rubbed a small circle clear of ice, and stares at me with enormous eyes. As one, both of our gazes snap upward, as if commanded by a word of power. A light like a meteor streaks through the night, and I feel a thrill shudder through me. It is no meteor. The time is now. He walks among us.

The girl turns away, and I distantly hear her excited cries.

“Mommy! Mommy! He’s here, he’s here!” By the time she returns to the window, I’ve already disappeared down the street. I smile as I walk, looking up as the light streaks by once more. Far above me, I hear my master’s faint cry carrying over the icy wind.

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas to all!”