Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  “Break the spell. . . Beware of the Mouse King!” Uncle Drosselmeyer’s voice echoed so softly from far away.

  Where had he gone? He couldn’t just leave me here like this!

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer!” I called out, biting back an unpleasant curse as I pushed myself up to my feet. I needed to find him. “U-Uncle!”

  As I scurried from one rung of the sofa to the next, I found I was desperate for air. I could see the glow burning from the last of the embers in the fireplace from where I stood. And I could see him—the Nutcracker. As the furniture and the tree had grown larger, he now matched my height.

  ‘Legends say the nutcracker represents strength and power. It serves to protect its owner from evil spirits… and danger.’

  If I was to break the spell—to help save the Nutcracker—could he protect me in turn? Could the story of the Nutcracker be true? I ran across the room to him—a distance that moments before would have been only a few mere steps. Now, it felt like an eternity.

  With each step, I felt my head spinning. I paused as I approached his still form. The Nutcracker was unmoving, though he stood proud in place. Reaching out carefully, I grazed a finger over his arm. As soon as my fingers brushed over the painted wood, another curtain of glitter rained over us.

  Uncle Drosselmeyer.

  I tilted my chin upwards toward the ceiling, but saw nothing. The sounds of the Nutcracker shifting and tilting startled me, drawing my attention back to him. Right before my eyes, he began to transform. His rounded arms became more defined with fingers and elbows. The crinkle in his clothing was real, and the fabric had changed as well. And when he opened his eyes, I gasped.

  Two blue irises looked back at me curiously. Human eyes stared back at me. Eyes that had once been painted onto the surface of his face now moved like any other normal person’s.

  “N-Nutcracker?” I asked, lifting my brow in confusion.

  “Clara…” he gasped as his wooden jaw began to move more freely on its own.

  “Y-You’re… my Nutcracker?” I almost laughed at myself, the realization that I must be dreaming… a relief. I could suddenly feel myself growing faint. The room around me was becoming darker, and the air . . . it was hard to breathe. My legs buckled beneath me as I fell onto the floor.

  “Clara…” the Nutcracker said again as he took a step forward. His hands reached out slowly, as if I were a skittish animal in need dire need of calming. His voice cracked, as if he had been sleeping and finally woken. It was a familiar tune, the lull of his drawl as he accented my name. It was smooth, like hot chocolate, and familiar, though I couldn't place it. I knew he was a friend, though. He had said my name as though he had spent years perfecting it.

  His boots thumped against the wooden floor board, loud and sudden amidst the quiet. I sat in a heap on the floor; the fabric of my dressing robe tangled around my legs. I couldn’t bring myself to say any of the thoughts racing through my mind—to admit out loud that this was actually happening and, indeed, wasn’t a dream. He was real. The story was real.

  Carefully, he knelt before me and offered me his hand. As he waited, I gazed over his features. His kind, soft eyes were reminiscent of the boy I had seen in my dream.

  I took the Nutcracker’s offered hand, astonished by the strangeness of his cool touch. Though he appeared more human now, he was still truly made of wood. Just like the dancing dolls I had witness earlier at the party. I peeked a glance at his back, wondering if I would find a brass key like the others had.

  “Where is Uncle Drosselmeyer?” I asked him as I turned my gaze away to search the impossibly large room again. It was incredibly surreal to be so small, especially when the only thing that had loomed over me before was the possibility of an unwanted marriage. Now, I was smaller than our furniture, and the fear of being stepped on was greater than ever. I needed to find my uncle and make him undo what magic he had done.

  Across the sea of rugs, hardwood, and shadows, there was no trace of my uncle. He and his billowing cape were gone—not a trace of him anywhere.

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted, shaking my head. “I…”

  “Clara, I—” He worked his jaw with strained effort, as if he were trying to form his next words. But before he could speak them, a rustling sound came from behind me. I turned, startled from the noise.

  “What was that?” I whispered, easing myself behind him as slowly as possible.

  The Nutcracker reached for his waist, swiftly pulling a sword from a scabbard I had not seen. The strange metal glistened in the faint light emanating from the glowing fireplace. Shadows danced all around us, taking odd shapes and sizes. Something skittered across the floor, scraping and pattering like little feet—and a lot of them. If I listened to the sounds a little closer, I could make out the softest squeaking, like mice.

  And it was coming from underneath the Christmas tree.

  “Mice?” I asked as I raised my brows curiously. “But we don’t have mice.”

  “It appears that you do,” the Nutcracker murmured as he lifted his arm protectively, as if to shield me from the approaching enemy. “Stay close.”

  There was a sort of warmth to his voice I hadn’t noticed. A sense of comfort and protection despite the lurking danger. I was suddenly struck with the memory of Uncle Drosselmeyer’s words: “Beware of the Mouse King!”

  The reality of my suddenly new height reminded me that I was as tall as a mouse now. If not smaller. Suddenly, the sword in the Nutcracker’s hand appeared much sharper than it had before.

  I gulped down my fears, hoping that I had not become so small just to be swallowed up whole.

  Chapter 7

  I told myself that it could not be, that it was not possible. A King of Mice? Was I now caught between the rift of an unending feud between an angry mouse and a latent Nutcracker? If it had not been for the surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins and the steady frame of my protector, I might have fainted. Again.

  Oh, Clara, curse you and your insatiable curiosity, I scolded myself mentally.

  Had I not left my room to rescue my Nutcracker, I would not have been subject to Uncle’s ritual. I would not have been shrunk.

  I could have been sleeping sweetly, tucked away beneath the sheets.

  “Why is this happening to me?” I groaned.

  Nutcracker stiffened, alert and aware of our surroundings. “It is because of me, Clara. They have come for their pound of flesh.”

  “But I—I thought the king had already punished you?”

  I could see the smirk on his smug face. “He won a battle, not the war. I am too clever a warrior.”

  “Is the king with them?”

  “No, he is a cowardly piglet.”

  “So he sent his minions? Do they all belong to the Mouse King?” I asked as the Nutcracker glanced over his shoulder to meet my curious gaze. Was it possible for such a creature to be real?

  “They’re all a part of the court of the Mouse King, yes,” the Nutcracker replied as he carefully eased beside me, his smooth hand touching the small of my back. “I’m sure they will return to their master with the news of my arrival.”

  “So, it is true then… the Mouse King and you…?” But my question dissolved into silence as a sharp, silver arrow flew at my face; the side of the tip grazed along my cheek.

  “Clara!” the Nutcracker shouted, pulling me back, tucking me into his arms. He gently lifted my face with his nimble fingers, inspecting the damage. “Just a nick; nothing too serious. I’ll do better, but best to stay behind me.”

  My hand slid to the side of my face, where my fingers were smeared with blood. I hissed from the slight soreness. Who would have thought that a mouse could be a master marksman?

  The sounds of squeaking and rustling continued from behind the unopened gifts underneath the tree, though I could not see a single culprit. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from all the packages. It was as if they were hiding, keeping to the shadows in an attempt to be stealthy. Perhaps they w
ere afraid of Nutcracker—then again, maybe they weren’t. After all, the mice were here for him, and me. Weren’t they?

  But why?

  “What more could the Mouse King want with you?” I asked as I lifted my gaze to his.

  “I understand you have many questions,” he said, keeping me close against him as he scanned the room cautiously. I kept my hand on my cheek, ignoring the metallic scent on my fingers from the sticky blood.

  Another rustle.

  “But I must insist that we save them for later.” He lifted my hand from my cheek and pecked the surface of it, “When I can give you my full and undivided attention, dear Clara.”

  I blushed. “Oh, alright.”

  Suddenly, a large figure appeared from behind one of the smaller packages. Both the Nutcracker and I saw it, steady and alert. I narrowed my eyes, hoping to get a better look. The dark shadow began to take shape, formless from far away, but recognizable as it became clearer: a mouse. The creature stood upon its two hind legs while its little fingers wiggled; its large black nose twitched, sniffing the air.

  We had been found.

  “Stay still,” the Nutcracker murmured softly as he guided backward. I maneuvered myself around his larger feet, careful to avoid being stepped on. It was sort of like dancing. “They’ve sent a scout.”

  Another arrow whizzed toward us, but Nutcracker swung his sword in a high arch and knocked it off to the side; it clattered against the fireplace mantle.

  “A scout? Do you expect there could be more?”

  “It’s rare for the mice to travel alone,” he replied simply.

  “And what happens if it finds us?” Would there be a horde of mice that followed? Would they attack us with their large teeth or with sharp weapons? I imagined what Mama and Papa would find in the morning and shuddered at the very idea.

  “We’ve never had a rodent infestation…” I mumbled, mildly offended.

  “Clara, please,” he whispered urgently, his bright eyes snapping beseechingly to mine.

  “I don’t understand how—”

  “I’ll explain everything to you, but not now. I need you to go to the cabinet over there in the corner.” He indicated Fritz’s toy cabinet. Through the glass door, a line of marching soldiers was now pacing in place. Had they too come to life? Was this all Uncle Drosselmeyer’s doing? Was he a wizard—a sorcerer? If he was, it would explain his entertaining prowess with his automations. Then it clicked. The pieces fell together in my mind.

  The lights I had seen during the show.

  The way the dancer moved the more the children laughed, the more they were entertained. As if they were egged on by the sheer joy of the performance. How had I not seen it before? Why did Uncle Drosselmeyer not tell me? The wool had fallen from eyes and I could see now how it all worked.

  Then, did that also mean Anton was a sorcerer, too?

  “I need you to open the door, Clara!” Nutcracker commanded. “It’s the only chance we’ll have at defending ourselves against any sort of attack.”

  “But—”

  “The cabinet, Clara. Please!” he managed, lifting his sword toward the mouse ahead. Its black nose twitched again as it bolted forward on its feet. A large, glistening bow was strapped around its back.

  My chemise swirled around my ankles as I dashed as quickly as I could to the toy cabinet. My hands braced against the doors as I slammed my shoulder into the wood. The toy soldiers above looked down; their dark eyes doll-like, along with their rosy red cheeks. Their legs moved in unison—left, right, left, right…

  I moved to the large corner of the cabinet and tried with all my might to tug at the door. It was much too large, and too heavy for me to successfully open it all on my own. But perhaps if the others helped. I took a step back and glanced up at the awaiting toy soldiers.

  “You must help me!” I shouted up to them. “Push against the door as I pull!”

  I knew with their help I would be able to free them. The captain of the soldiers gestured toward the others behind him as he lifted his bayonet over his shoulder, and began to push against the door.

  I heard his voice bellow through the cabinet glass, “Come men! Push!”

  Each soldier mimicked his movements and pushed as I tugged. Finally, with one final pull, the cabinet door burst open.

  “Onward!” the captain commanded and gestured his bayonet out toward the parlor floor.

  I scanned the room again, catching sight of Nutcracker keeping the lone mouse at bay with his sword. As the toy soldiers jumped down from the case one after the other, I saw another set of yellow eyes from just behind another large present. More were coming.

  “The mice!” I shouted, pointing in the direction of the Christmas tree. “Be careful!”

  The Nutcracker looked over his shoulder at me, his bright blue eyes wide with concern. Toy soldiers, gleaming in their painted red and black outfits, dashed toward the tree, their swords and bayonets at the ready. Glancing around me, I tried to find something I could use to help in defeating the mice. While the Nutcracker and his toy soldiers had weapons, I had nothing. I darted a glance underneath the cabinet, and saw with a sense of relief, a long forgotten sword Fritz must have lost for one of his commanders. I dashed into the dark space and grabbed the handle with both of my hands. Turning quickly, I darted back toward the light. The silver sword glistened in the dim glow of the room.

  I was grateful to find the sword wasn’t too impossible for me to carry as I ran in the direction of the Nutcracker.

  “We look to you, Nutcracker!” The captain’s cry echoed around me as I gathered behind a few of the other soldiers. Together, we watched as mice, strapped with bows and arrows, crawled onto the Christmas gifts, hovering over us. Just as one emerged, another came, and then another; all dark and yellow-eyed.

  “Steady, men,” the Nutcracker commanded, lifting a hand. “Steady.”

  A loud cackling began from the other side of the tree as the line of armed mice began to separate.

  “It’s the Mouse King!” a soldier shouted in alarm.

  “Steady!” the Nutcracker said again, this time with more urgency. I pushed myself through the crowd of men until I was once again standing beside the Nutcracker.

  “I think he must have heard you call him a piglet,” I remarked.

  “Indeed, he must have,” Nutcracker said, unfazed by the comment.

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Clara,” he said, concern now etched on his features. “You must hide yourself.”

  “Let me help,” I said, shaking my head. I would not play the part of the unwitting damsel, the lady who was so incapable of defending herself from danger.

  “Hide, please,” the Nutcracker said again, pleading with me to listen.

  But before either of us could argue, a wave of gasps from the toy soldiers drew our attention forward. One soldier pointed the way, his shiny black eyes focused hard on a much larger figure that lingered near the sofa.

  Unlike the rest of the mice in the room, the Mouse King wore a royal blue coat, lined with black and white fur. On top of his head, a crooked, golden crown sat askew. Upon his feet were black boots with a similar crown emblem embroidered at the top. It was so strange to see a mouse adorned in such regal clothing, as if Fritz had captured him and stuck him in his toy’s clothes before the rat could escape.

  It almost made me laugh.

  “Nutcracker,” the Mouse King hissed between its large, pointy teeth. “At last. . . I’ve been waiting.”

  “I won’t make you wait a moment more,” the Nutcracker taunted as he mockingly bowed and pushed me behind him. Carefully, he lifted his sword upward. “Here I am, Mousey.”

  The Mouse King lifted a corner of his lips with a snarl and pulled his own sword from the side of his belt. He really was an ugly thing. Beady eyes, a pinkish-brown tail and scraggly fur; he was more like a sewer rat than a field mouse. I hoped to never be so close to the creature.

  I dug my fingers into the hilt of the s
word in my hand. My grip was tight, but it could not keep me from shaking. There was no waking from this dream. It was all real. For if I had been asleep, the moment the arrow grazed me, I should have awoken.

  How could any of this be happening?

  The impossible had become palpable. Toys had come to life without the use of a child’s imagination; a mouse had somehow become a king without divinity… and it was all because of a story. Because magic had made it so. As sure as my heart was beating—and it was pounding—so was the scene that had unfolded around me.

  So, I did as the Nutcracker had asked and ran for cover. I hid myself behind the leg of a table, perfectly positioned to keep an eye on the battle. With the sword at my feet, I watched from afar as the war raged on.

  “I’ll savor sliding my sword deep into your heart,” the Mouse King snarled, lifting his arm and swinging his sword from side to side. He had gotten closer to Nutcracker, but my soldier was not unguarded.

  “You should only be so lucky,” the Nutcracker taunted. He parried a blow that might have been deadly, but it instead threw the vile King off balance.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the gathering soldiers move toward the unnoticing mice, hitting them with their swords.

  If only Fritz could see his men fighting so diligently, he would be so proud. What would he say in the morning? How would I ever begin to explain this strange battle between rodents and toys? He would not believe a word of it, I was sure.

  “Nutcracker,” the Mouse King drew out his name, as if to mock him. “Still such a poor, silly apprentice. You tried to save the day… too bad it had to end the way it did!”

  “Better a nutcracker than a coward!”

  Their swords clashed again, the sound of brazened metal echoing around the room.

  “What was it that your princess had said?” the Mouse King continued. “What an ugly, wretched thing you were… not worthy of a kiss that could break your spell! You saved her, and see how she repaid you?”