The Stocking

The Confession

The accusation fell upon Fawn like a sentence of death. She began to quake terribly once again, heart shuddering against the crushing pressure mounting in her chest.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her voice tremulous and small. "I should have never touched your things...I had no right. I didn't mean to ruin everything...I thought - I thought I was doing something good..." she trailed off pitifully.

His piercing eyes bore into her, as if deliberating her fate. She could feel the bright sting of fresh tears clouding her vision, her body doused in waves of shame and fear. She hated the fact that there was no escape from that all-encompassing gaze: her suffering put on display for him, his eyes absorbing every second of her unravelling.

"Why did you do this."

It was a rebuke more than an actual question, his voice as controlled and emotionless as his face. Somehow his restraint made it all the more frightening, like the singular calm before the storm.

"Please," she rasped, her terror making it increasingly difficult to force words from her mouth. "I just...You were sad. So sad.  I was just trying to bring you the joy of Christmas. I didn't mean to cause you pain....I swear I didn't know about their deaths - your family's. At least...not until last night, when it was too late."

His brooding brow slowly darkened, realization dawning over his face. When he spoke his tone was as heavy as lead.

"Their spirits...They were never in the house. It's been you. All along, it's been you."

Fawn choked out a sob, collapsing to her knees before him. She looked up at him helplessly, the impossible landscape of his colossal body rising up before her like a vengeful God's.

"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered. "Have mercy...I beg you."

His enormous hand rose up at her pathetic plea, the sheer mass of it bearing down rapidly toward her. She clenched her eyes shut, cowering helplessly as she braced for the violent blow.

Only it never came.

Fawn jolted as her skin met his touch: calm, gentle...almost tender. Swallowing heavily through ragged breaths, she lowered her trembling hands slowly. The pad of his forefinger was flush against her delicate jawline, concern etched deeply in his eyes. He tilted her head up slowly to look upon him, his thumb carefully brushing away a strand of dark hair plastered to her tear-drenched cheek.

"Fawn please..." he murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Fawn looked up at him blankly, red-rimmed eyes blinking dumbly. "But I tarnished your keepsakes...I reminded you of Christmas...of their deaths..."

"Look at me, Fawn," he commanded. "Nothing you could do or say would ever make me want to harm you. I promise you that."

Fawn's head buzzed with adrenaline. It was trap. It had to be a trap.

"You mean...you're not going to punish me for this? Keep me locked up as your plaything...your prisoner?"

His brow furrowed, breath gusting out around her in a halting laugh.

"Would you like me to? I believe I have some glass jars in the pantry..." he gestured casually behind him. His tone changed quickly at the horror on her face.

"Easy, easy, little one," he soothed. "I'm only teasing. Besides...I'm not angry with you. I'm...surprised..."

He sighed deeply, bringing his chin down to rest upon his folded arms. Fawn's stomach clenched; from here, they were almost eye-level with one another.