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The light shrank away and the dusk grew stronger in its wake; it was an evening in late January in a tiny farming community in upstate New York. Jack Frost had blanketed the ground and filigreed the fir trees with, he had to admit, one of his finest snowstorms in recent memory. The fields, fallow now, slept under his artistry, and dreamed of cultivation in the spring.He should have been happy. He knew all too well why he was not, as he watched the humans emerge from the long barn, swathed in their heaviest winter garments, and hurry back towards the warm and welcoming farmhouse.Warm and welcoming to everyone, that is, except to a spirit they did not believe in and could not see. They have each other, Jack mused as he perched in a fir tree, and I have a job that seems more and more pointless by the year. He looked up at the barely visible sliver of moon and debated shaking his fist at it, physically as well as metaphorically. In the end, he sighed and decided it was not worth the effort. He passed his staff restlessly from hand to hand and floated like featherdown to the crisp and rimey snow-covered ground. Not a whisper of a crunch nor a single footprint showed his progress as he walked dejectedly to the barn and went inside.There were ten dairy cows, each in their stalls, and a herd of thirty or so sheep in two large indoor pens off to the side.There were no horses.There should have been horses, in his opinion, although some niggling itch at the back of his mind asked him “Why? YOU never had any.”That same niggling itch nagged at him when he flopped down in the middle of one of the sheep pens as though he belonged there. They were Suffolks, with long black faces and dainty black legs emerging from their puffy light-coloured fleeces. Grunting and snorting sounds greeted him as they rustled in their bed of straw. In Jack’s current frame of mind, it seemed that the sheep were choosing to move away from him just as much as they were moving closer together to conserve heat.“Great. Just great. Ab-so-lutely spiffy. Now I don’t even rate respect from SHEEP,” he muttered. The nearest ewe waggled her head and curled her lip at him, at which he gave a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least you see me. Don’t think I don’t know that you’ll run right through me given half a chance, though.” Jack had intended to catch a nap before zooming off to Minsk to check on another cyclone system that was building towards a grand blizzard there, but his thoughts were starting to border on melancholy, and the only way his body and mind knew how to handle that was to spring into action.He was halfway across the continent when he realized he hadn’t closed the barn doors. He wrestled with his conscience for all of ten seconds before reversing in midair and speeding back to the farm. As he cruised in for a landing and started to tug the doors shut, Jack saw an odd shadow out of the corner of his eye, zipping past him at an impossible speed into the barn. Before his brain registered the notion that this might not be the brightest idea he’d ever had, he followed the creature making the shadow inside.Jack’s excellent night vision adjusted quickly to the difference between the darkness outside the barn and the darkness within it. The first thing he noticed was that the sheep were bunched together in an even tighter formation than before, their backs literally to the wall of their pen, clearly agitated by the murky intruder. The second thing he noticed was that its shape was familiar somehow, even when turned away from him...IT WAS A HORSE. A horse with a jaw more graceful and legs longer and more dainty than ever a Suffolk sheep had sported. A horse whose mane and tail each furled out like skeins of ribbon far beyond the length of its body. A horse whose coat seemed dipped in the blackest darkness, but which also shimmered with deep hues of purple and blue as its form rippled.It had to be a spirit. No creature that… beautiful… could possibly be an ordinary, earthbound animal. The mysterious creature not only had a shadow of its own, but seemed to be MADE of shadows, or some dark fluid that undulated within a specific outline.No, not it… she. The horse was definitely a she, Jack thought, a mare. A mare made of darkness, terrorizing sheep by night…A Nightmare.He was so delighted by his own pun that he burst into laughter and did a somersault into the air. This startled the horse into wheeling around to face him. Huge golden eyes burned with an impossible glow, mere inches from his own.Jack couldn’t help himself; he HAD to feel for himself if that long nose was as velvety as it looked. He reached out a hand to her, at the same moment that she leaned forward to sniff at him.They sprang backwards from one another in startled bewilderment.The Nightmare reared, her tail hiking high.The only thing the frost sprite could think of to say was “Whoa.”The word, ridiculous as it may have sounded, seemed to have the desired effect of calming the mare down. After a long moment of each keeping completely still, the Nightmare moved first. She nickered and leaned in again towards Jack, who began to stroke her, tears running down his face and freezing in the folds of his hoodie.It was rare to see a frown on the face of the Sandman; he took his duties as the Guardian of Dreams very seriously, but he genuinely enjoyed his work, sending his dreamsand out into the world to weave tapestries of happiness and restful sleep. There was a situation, only recently observed but developing for some time, that had Sandy troubled. Not all of his dreamsand was making it back to him at daybreak in its journeys around the world. Seemingly insignificant amounts, true, but those amounts were starting to add up to an idea that was unsettling to contemplate at best and horrifically dangerous at worst.Thus the frown, and a vow to be less complacent in his dozy state, and more vigilant on his watch.He remembered 1566 in Basel all too well.
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He did a head count of his Nightmares at several points each night, every night. While most of them still quietly followed at his heels, trailing their blackened sand-streams of manes and tails, a few had become willful. Pitch Black had needed to keep a stern eye on all of them, lest he lose any of the ground he’d gained in stealing dreamsand from the Sandman and shaping it for his own ends.It was a painstaking process, gathering the sand in minute amounts so that it would not be missed, then sculpting their forms into long-legged, gloriously beautiful horses of lantern eye and dusky coat. The first Nightmare that Pitch had created had involved putting some of his own essence into her; thus Onyx was both the most capable of independent thought and the most loyal of mares. Each mare thereafter was grafted with sand from her sisters in combination with the new sand that Pitch acquired and altered.His troupe. His boon companions as he travelled the world every few weeks, travelling through the air and on land, rather than just popping through shadow portals. He was anxious to shed the prison-like feeling of the Lair and to regain his strength in his never-forgotten goal to crush the Guardians.Pitch knew it would probably take another half-century, but he was proud of his progress at accumulating and manipulating his new weapons, and he was proud of his herd of Nightmares.Said herd of Nightmares was fifteen strong, now. Or it would be fifteen, if he hadn’t lost track of Ch’elema. Again. She had been in the herd's midst as they'd raced over the Baltic territories; of that Pitch was certain. From his seat on Onyx's back at the rear of the Nightmare group, he'd been enjoying the visual contrast of his dark beauties flying fiercely over icy waves and snow-locked lands. The aesthetic distraction, however, meant that Ch'elema's particular humming tone, among the chorus of her sisters, was not missed until they were halfway across Greenland, on their way to cull the fears of the cleanup crews at Thule Air Base. Pitch had started keeping a mental logbook of sorts over the last three decades, for "hotspots" of fear that his mares had located and fed upon. If somewhere new had tugged at Ch'elema's attention more strongly than a place she and her sisters had been before, the Boogeyman needed to know what it was.Onyx whinnied softly in response to the fierce clenching of her master's hands in her mane, and Pitch reluctantly turned the herd away from the promise of feasting, in order to track down his missing Nightmare.Jack checked the air around him for golden threads or other telltale signs that the Sandman was at work. Doubt and fear plagued him; this wonderful feeling of actual contact with this gloriously beautiful horse couldn't possibly be real. Or if it was real, it wouldn't last.She moved forward and tugged at a loose lock of hair hanging in front of his eyes. Jack could feel warm breath on his forehead and the daintiest nibble of her lips as she did so, and that in and of itself reassured him this was no dream.The Nightmare seemed to like him as much as he liked her. Now there was a change… a spirit who liked him, and who seemed happy to see him. In the two-and-a-half centuries Jack had been a spirit, he’d gotten only apathy or condescension from the few others whose path he’d run across.Snow swirled around them both, seeming to bother the Nightmare not all, but she suddenly pulled her head back and sniffed the air. In one fluid motion she turned and sprang into a run in the opposite direction, away from Jack.It should not have surprised him how much that hurt. But it did…...Until the horse turned again, galloped towards him, and past him, looking over her shoulder coquettishly, for all the world seeming as though she wanted him to play tag with her.Jack knew a child when he saw one. This Nightmare must be VERY young, and all young creatures liked to play. He was back on familiar ground.Letting out a whoop, he launched himself into the air and let Wind take him. An invigorating air-to-ground race took place in the frosted meadows near the sheep barn, until Jack could no longer keep up with his beautiful new friend. She seemed to sense this, and came to a stop in front of him as he drifted downward and his feet touched the snow. She bent a foreleg in an attempt to bow, and Jack swept her a low bow in return.“Thank you for the dance,” he said laughingly, still breathless. “May I know the name of such a charming lady?”A voice as sharp as the snapping of a twig or the crack of ice spoke behind him. “Her name is Ch’elema. Who are you?”
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Jack was so startled at being spoken to that he overbalanced from his bow to the shadow horse and fell flat on his butt.Trying to regain some dignity, he scrambled around quickly to face the newcomer from his awkward sitting position in the snow.Then he looked up... and up... and up some more.A long black robe covered the very tall and very thin person who had come up behind him. It wavered in Jack's vision as though rumpled by the wind, although the night was currently still. If he looked at the robe's hem long enough, it seemed to ripple with a life all its own.Not a human person, then. A spirit who dressed in night and shadows.The newcomer's face was all sharp planes and angles in the wintry moonlight. In repose it probably was a stern, proud face, but at the moment it looked as though he was suppressing a smirk at Jack's lack of grace and poise. He had one long-fingered hand resting casually on the back of a very tall black horse with the same flaming eyes as Jack's playmate, and behind him Jack could see a dozen or more of the... Nightmares? They stamped and snorted, but no trail of breath from their nostrils showed in the cold night air.All spirits, then. Were they friends or foes? Jack wouldn't exactly count on friendliness, considering his track record of previous encounters with other spirits. But it would be nice to not have more foes. "I'm Jack Frost. And Ch'elema is a beautiful name and she's a beautiful horse and you are just so lucky to have so many beautiful horses and she found me first..."To Jack's horror, he realized he was babbling, and he trailed off. Ch'elema moved behind him and laid her head on his shoulder in silent reassurance.The tall spirit's eyes widened at this. Pursing his lips, he said, "Well, well. Jack Frost, indeed.""You know my name? I mean, you've heard of me?" "I make it my business to know many things. I am Pitch Black." The shadow-clad man stroked the mane of the Nightmare by his side and added, "Once everyone knew my name."Jack winced at the bitterness he heard in the other's voice, and rushed yet again into the verbal breach to stave off any awkward silence. Someone talking to him, someone who didn't greet him with a fist or toss him out on his ear... Jack was going to keep this conversation going as long as he could!He stuck out a hand, oblivious to the fact that he was still sitting on frozen ground and that Pitch was standing more than five feet from him. "It's great to meet you! What are you a spirit of? I mean, I seem to be wintery, and I ran into another winter spirit about twenty years ago, but they didn't really have time to hang out, but you... you have all these wonderful horses... you must be some kind of spirit bigwig!"Pitch ignored Jack's hand and snorted at the word "bigwig", a sound not much different than the snorts of his horses, who were milling restlessly in the snow that had started falling again. He looked up at the waning Moon in the sky with an unreadable expression on his face and snarled, "Is this your idea of a joke, old friend? It's not enough to diminish me, you have to send some half-formed SPRITE to mock me?"Jack felt his heart cracking in half at the venomous tone, even though his head knew the words were not really directed at him.It still hurt. He shuddered with the same intensity that he did any time he got walked through. His eyesight blurred with tears for the second time that night. Jack slowly got to his feet, causing Ch'elema to rear backwards and whinny affrontedly. But before he could call Wind to whisk him away from his shame and embarrassment, he felt the Nightmare nudging his side with her nose. That released the floodgates; the sobs burst out of him, and he turned away from Pitch to hug Ch'elema for dear life, burying his face in her flank.It was probably less than five minutes later, but felt to Jack like he had been crying for a hundred years, before he noticed that someone was rubbing his back with clumsy and almost tentative strokes. It was such a novel feeling that he didn't know how to process it. After another few minutes he heard Pitch sigh and say, "I am sorry, Jack. I didn't realize."Jack lifted his head, but didn't turn around. He didn't want the contact to stop. He muttered, "Didn't realize what?""i didn't realize that you were as alone as I am. I didn't realize that the Man in the Moon had let you down just as much as he has let me down." Pitch's hand moved from Jack's back to Jack's shoulder. The warmth of his clasp was much more comfortable than the awkward backrub, and Jack felt himself start to calm down. He finally trusted his voice not to waver and asked Pitch, "Oh? How do you know that?"Another sigh from Pitch, his warm breath tickling Jack's ear and ruffling his hair, preceded his reply. "I am a spirit of fear, Jack. I batten my hunger on fears, I read fears, and I *know* fear. Your fears of being rejected, of making a mess wherever you go... they're as loud to me as a shout from a human throat to another human. I should have listened to your fears before upbraiding you for something that's not your fault, but my anger at HIM got in my way." Jack felt rather than heard Pitch step away from him, and there was no longer a hand on his shoulder. He tensed up again until he heard Pitch say, "Shall we try that introduction again?" He let go of Ch'elema and slowly turned around.The tall and elegant spirit reached out a graceful hand to him and said, "Greetings, Jack Frost, very pleased to meet you. Pitch Black, frequently referred to as the Boogeyman and occasionally referred to as a thoughtless boor."Jack took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Hey there, Pitch Black, pleased and all that stuff. Jack Frost, frequent jumper to conclusions."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Now that he knew what to watch out for, Sandy was ready for the next tiny tug on his dreamsand streams. But it was too faint a tug, and happened too quickly, for him to be able to pinpoint its location, and he was too busy to isolate the specific dreamer.
There were times he envied his Guardian compatriots who had helpers. Of course, at other times, such as during Guardian meetings at the North Pole where small creatures rollicked everywhere and committed shenanigans, he wondered how much “help” the elves actually were.
But perhaps Tooth might be able to lend him some of her fairies for a short time?
Sandy filed the idea in the back of his mind to ask her the next time they were all gathered at Santoff Claussen.
“Now you mightn’t think that anything would frighten a Nightmare, but it’s important that they never get so complacent as to think they’re invincible.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Pitch sat demurely on a wide low-hanging branch of an old oak, swinging one leg and waving an arm to punctuate his speech. Jack lay flat on his back on a branch above, his own hands folded behind his head. He was enjoying listening to the older spirit hold forth on Nightmares and watching him gesticulate for emphasis.
Something Jack had picked up in three months of friendship with Pitch was that once you got Pitch started talking, it was like floodgates bursting. When Jack thought of all the time that he spent talking to himself, and then compared that time to how long Pitch had gone without exchanging a friendly word with anyone… Well, he, Jack Frost, was happy to let his new friend expound to his heart’s content.
Of course, Pitch didn’t do ALL the talking. He seemed perfectly happy to listen to Jack’s tales of his travels on the wind and the games he played with children who couldn’t see him.
And there were times when Pitch surprised Jack with how insightful he could be. Once Jack had been describing how much he enjoyed the noise that immense icicles on roofs and barns made when they cracked and fell to the ground; he went on to ask Pitch, “And I guess you enjoy the fear spikes when people jump and almost have heart attacks when one crashes and nearly hits them, huh?”
He had expected Pitch to smile and laugh at that one. He was taken aback when Pitch replied primly, “I only enjoy it if it remains an ‘almost’ heart attack, not a genuine one. Dead people can’t believe in me.”
Jack was taken aback, but tucked the statement away in the back of his mind to think about later.
Now Jack asked Pitch, “So how is little Smitty doing?” Smitty was a Nightmare filly, the newest of the Nightmare herd. Jack hadn’t seen her arrive; one night she wasn’t there, the next night she was.
He could practically hear Pitch purr in delight at the question.
“Oh, she’s growing like a weed and she is so smart! Getting very independent and feisty. As a matter of fact, I was going to take her out for a solo run with Cauchemar, a few nights from now.”
With an obvious air of pride and love, Pitch looked down from his tree branch seat at the herd of Nightmares meandering in the meadow, now numbering sixteen. Then he stroked his chin and looked back up with an appraising look at Jack.
“Jack, I wouldn’t ask this of just anyone, but you
could
do me a tremendous favour. I suppose I could trust Onyx to guard the others, but I’d feel so much better if I could leave the herd in your hands on nights when I need to give my mares individual training. They’re not a hive mind, you know.”
All pretense of laziness abandoned now, Jack flew off his branch and hovered in the air in front of Pitch. “You mean it?” he asked eagerly.
“Of course I mean it. Look how well Ch’elema behaves for you. And the other girls love you too, even Onyx. Don’t you, Nyxxie?” The tallest and eldest Nightmare heard her name and snorted, whether in approval or disdain Jack couldn’t quite tell. But he was very excited by the prospect of Pitch’s offer.
“And I can take them with me when I’m spreading snow?”
Pitch made a face at that suggestion. “Maybe in time, Jack, not yet. Let’s see how they behave while I’m not here to supervise them.”
“Aw man! C’mon, you just said they love me.”
“We’ll see. Don’t make me regret this.”
"All right. And you won't regret it, I promise! Thanks, Pitch!"
"Hmmm."
"Of course I’ll help you, Sandy. That sounds worrisome. I don’t know what I’d do if someone kidnapped my fairies, so I perfectly understand why you’re concerned with someone stealing your dreams.”
The Tooth Fairy’s saber-sharp wings beat a little faster as she spoke vehemently in support of his request, Sandy noted. He had no doubt that anyone foolish enough to even try to interfere with Tooth’s daughters would be reduced to a wounded sobbing mess.
She was as good as her word. When the Guardian meeting was over, Tooth gestured to six of her minifairies to go with Sandy and follow his instructions for the next month. Sandy bowed over Tooth’s hand gallantly, which made her giggle and blush, before the two old friends parted ways.
The minifairies were a quick study. It seemed there was not much difference in their receiving signals about loose teeth and their ability to follow a trail of dreamsand to its intended dreamer and back again to the dreamweaver at the end of each night. The six did reconnaissance rapidly all over the world under Sandy’s direction, and he felt reassured that somewhere, somehow, the mystery would be solved with the minifairies’ help.
Three weeks went by with nary a tug, however, and Sandy was beginning to wonder whether he’d imagined the whole thing. Prior to his request for Tooth’s help, he’d been feeling a tug every two days.
In the middle of the fourth week, just before he was supposed to return the minifairies to Tooth to resume their regular duties, Sandy was startled to have all six descend upon him at once from different directions, chirping in frightened tones about horses made of sand.
Jack was having the time of his life.
Pitch was off again, training some of the older Nightmares, so there were only ten in the meadow at present, including baby Smitty. Ch’elema refused to leave Jack’s side, so he was currently astride her back, leading the other Nightmares in a prancing circle like some of the circus troupes he’d seen over the years, laughing so hard that his eyes were crinkled shut.
Those eyes sprang open again at the sound and sensation of a whip cracking, mere inches from his nose. Ch’elema reared up in alarm and shrieked; had Jack been human, he would have been tossed off. The other Nightmares shrieked as well and broke formation, backing away in terror from the golden glowing and glowering figure that floated in the air in front of them.
“Uh, hi,” Jack said awkwardly.
Faster than thought, a golden coil of the figure’s whip wrapped itself around Jack’s waist and flung him to the ground.