Creative Writing: The Christmas Clock

The grandfather clock began to toll the hour, its chimes reverberating deep into Arthur's bones. Was it his imagination, or was the Christmas tree growing taller with each stroke of the clock?

At the twelfth chime, there was a great flash of light from the top of the clock, and smoke rolled through the room. Arthur thought he saw his godfather perched on top of the clock, cloak billowing out behind him like wings. Arthur had the impression of fire spitting from his mouth, but then Kilgharrah’s trunk burst open and the mechanical doll flew out in a whirl of limbs. She spun around the room in a dizzying sequence of turns, though no music played. She segued into a series of whipping fouetté turns, mesmerizing in their precision. When she finished, balanced in a perfect arabesque, her hands were no

He wasn't sure how much help it would be, but otherwise he was completely defenseless. He dashed towards the tree, but was immediately swarmed by mice tearing at his night clothes. He lunged for the armchair instead and climbed up as high onto its back as he could manage to escape the ripping claws. He held the nutcracker close. It gave a strange comfort in the face of this nightmare.

Arthur had given himself up for lost when there was a sudden explosion from the fireplace. A dark shape as large as a man appeared, a golden crown upon its head. But it was no man that stood there. Arthur could see wild fur, giant whiskers, a snake-like tail, and a gleaming sword in its hand. The mice surrounding Arthur immediately fell to the floor, prostrate, and dragged their bodies across the floor till they surrounded their king. They lifted their tiny arms over their heads, then bowed down repeatedly, a grotesque mass of writhing mouse bodies.

Arthur ran to the tree, looking for a sword. He found the toy one he had received at the party. It was little more than a flimsy wood stick, but it was all that he