Frost

- One -

             She felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach as her fingers tore through the thin paper and began peeling it away. Claire was surprised to find a plain wooden box beneath the paper along with a note.

            "Dearest Claire, I know life has not always been easy, that you have felt quite lonesome over the years. I wish I could have done more, I wish I could have been around more, but unfortunately that was beyond my control. I have left in your care a dear friend, please take care of him and I hope that he will alleviate some of the emptiness in your heart. I will see you soon, and remember Claire, when the time comes, don't be afraid to leap, love always, Derek."

             Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, Claire set the note aside, and turned her attention to the box. It took a moment to get the latch undone and once she had, she was greeted with an unusual sight.

              "A nutcracker?" she murmured as she reached in to lift the wooden doll from the box. It looked old, the paint faded and chipped in some places, and missing entirely in others. The white hair of the beard was starting to take on a yellowish tinge and the jaw mechanism used to crack nuts was certainly in no condition to do so now. Claire couldn't help but smile. It had been years since she had turned to dolls for company, but she couldn't help but feel an odd sense of kinship with the inanimate object. Her godfather was an unusual man for sure, and this gift was no exception.

              "Do you have a name?" she inquired out loud, as though the doll might answer back. Fortunately for her, it did not. She sat there a moment, turning the doll over in her hands as she examined him more thoroughly. After a few minutes, Claire turned her attention to the box. Aside from the shredded paper used to protect the nutcracker, there didn't appear to be any other papers. "Shall I give you one then? Prince Walnut perhaps? You have a regal look about you, even if you are a bit rough around the edges."

             Placing the nutcracker back into the box, Claire rose to her feet and lifted her arms in a stretch high over her head. It was late, and Mrs. Crosby would no doubt be there bright and early to wake her. If she didn't get some sleep now, Claire knew she'd be grumpy all day. Gathering up the crinkled wrapping paper, Claire turned to enter the kitchen, and toss it in the trash, when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

              "Hello?" She called out quietly. "Who's there?"

              She felt silly, as if a thief was going to expose himself simply because she asked. From her current position by the kitchen she had a clear view of the front door. It was closed and securely locked as it had been since she'd returned home earlier that evening. Just as she was beginning to relax and write the incident off as her imagination she felt a cold breeze sweep across the room. A chill danced the length of her spine as her eyes shifted in the direction of the hall.

              The narrow corridor lead to the back of the apartment where the bedrooms were located. Dropping the wrapping paper still clutched in her hands, Claire approached with caution. On her way, she slid the iron fire poker from its resting place and held it in front of her. If someone had somehow gotten into the house, she wanted to have a means to defend herself.

               As she drew closer she heard a peculiar sound. A soft, irregular tapping sound inconsistent with the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock. Perhaps that was the reason she hadn't noticed it at first. Every now and then the taps would sync up, one lost within the other, but not always.

              Stepping around the corner, Claire found herself standing outside her parent's room. It took only a sweeping glance to determine the source of the noise. The French doors leading out onto her parent's balcony had blown open and one of them was knocking repeatedly into the edge of the dresser.