For most people, Christmas was a happy time of year, for Claire Stahlbaumns it was one of the worst. Where most families took the time to decorate their own trees, the branches laden with homemade decorations, Claire's mother had professional decorators come in and do all the work for them. The same with cakes and cookies, all of it was ordered and delivered to give the illusion of Christmas without ever having to actually participate.

               One would image that Claire would have gotten used to the 'tradition' by now, but each year she got her hopes up, believing that perhaps this year would be the year when things were different.

               It never changed.

               Which was why, in the late-night hour on Christmas Eve, Claire simply lost herself in the chaotic dance of the flames flickering in the fire place. She had hoped to distract herself from the loneliness of another Christmas spent by herself, but it wasn't working. Nothing seemed capable of drawing her thoughts away from what her parents might be doing at that very moment. Were they thinking of her too? Were they wishing they had decided to stay in New York rather than go to Paris, or Venice, or wherever it was they had decided to go that year in the name of world peace?

               Claire, of course, had to stay behind, she always had to stay behind. When she asked why she was told she was their emissary here in the states, the smiling face at the fundraisers and events. All events they were too busy to attend themselves.

               Of course, they didn't put it that way, but Claire knew the truth.

               Closing her eyes, Claire let out a soft sigh. It was at moments like these that she wondered if the reason her parents were so distant was because she wasn't theirs, because she didn't share their flesh and blood. It was no secret that the Stahlbaums had adopted her when she was just a child. She had been found wandering at a train station with no recollection of how she had gotten there, or who she was. Even her age was speculative and Claire was somewhat convinced that the whole adoption had been little more than a publicity stunt.

              Neglectful parents aside, Claire supposed she wasn't entirely alone. She had Miss Crosby and the rest of the staff. She had her godfather as well, though he was about as present as her parents were. At least when he was around, however, he seemed to want to be there, unlike her parents who were always ready to be gone again.

              Thinking of her uncle reminded her of the gift he had left for her. It lay beneath the tree concealed beneath a thin layer of colorful Christmas paper. He had made her promise not to open it until Christmas, but Claire wasn't certain she could wait that long. She needed some sort of distraction, something to take her mind off her loneliness.

             As though on cue, the booming clang of the grandfather clock in the hall shattered the silence. It startled Claire, and caused her heart to leap in her chest. The deep, resonating chime sounded twelve times before finally going silent once more.

            It was midnight.

            It was Christmas.

             Slipping from the couch, Claire crawled quietly across the plush carpet before coming to stop in front of the tree. Folding her legs beneath her she pulled the gift out and set it across her legs. There were mountains of other presents beneath the tree, most of them were likely from her parents. Claire had no doubt they'd all been picked out and purchased by Miss Crosby. Claire had little interest in any of them at the moment.

             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.

              Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Claire hurried over to close the doors before any more snow could get in. A little shriek of surprise escaped her lips when her bare feet met the cold, damp carpet. She latched the doors closed as quickly as possible and danced away from the spot, her toes curling into the dry warmth of the rug a few feet away.

             She should have been more upset about the carpet, she knew her mother would be, but Claire couldn't bring herself to care – or to do anything to try and salvage the spot. It was petty, yes, but in that moment Claire felt it was no less than either of them deserved for leaving her on Christmas.

              Feeling the tug of sleep, and satisfied that she was alone in the apartment, Claire made her way back down the hall to the living room. She returned the fire poker to its home on the hearth, and gathered up the crumpled wrapping paper once more. After disposing of the paper and ensuring the fire wasn't going to flare up again while she slept, Claire started in the direction of her room.

              "Goodnight, Prince Walnut," she said quietly, turning her eyes to where she had left the nutcracker in his box beneath the tree.

              Only, he wasn't there.

              The box remained, but all it contained was the shredded papers, and no nutcracker.

             "What the hell?" She muttered before moving to pick up the box. She searched the floor beneath the tree. Perhaps it had fallen out somehow, though she couldn't imagine how. It was a more reasonable conclusion than one like, perhaps the nutcracker had learned how to walk, and went into the kitchen for some eggnog.

              The booming sound of the clock striking one startled Claire and she dropped the box. It hit the carpet with a soft thud and Claire made no efforts to pick it up again. The loud clang seemed to carry on forever, and Claire couldn't understand how it was one in the morning when it seemed like only minutes before it had been midnight.

             As the sound faded away, Claire heard a quiet sort of chittering noise coming from the next room. With her heart pounding in her chest, she went to investigate. She was scared, yes, but more determined than ever to figure out just what was going on. Was she imagining things? It was very likely, but the uneasiness in her gut suggested otherwise.

              Chasing the whispers down the hall, she burst into her parents' room again, and what she saw made her eyes grow wide. A dozen little creatures were scurrying towards the doors she had recently closed and latched. They seemed to be having trouble reaching the handles, their indecipherable mutterings sounding angry. Amid them was her nutcracker doll, held off the ground by roughly half of the odd gnome like things.

              Was this a dream? It had to be a dream. Had she fallen asleep on the couch and dreamed that her uncle had sent her such a peculiar gift? Didn't you usually wake up when you realized you were dreaming? As the creatures struggled with the door, Claire struggled with accepting this strange new reality she found herself in.

               There was no way this was real. Odd creatures aside, why would they be trying to steal a nutcracker doll? Gee, Claire, why don't you just ask? This is a dream after all.

              With that thought in mind, Claire moved to step forward only to feel herself being pulled quite forcefully in the opposite direction. As she fell backwards, a hand clamped over her mouth to silence her cry of surprise, but it wasn't soon enough. The little creatures fell silent, and from her vantage point Claire watched as their beady black eyes turned in unison towards the doorway she'd been standing in. A second later, they scattered, scurrying into the darkness, and leaving the nutcracker behind.

             "Great," an irritated voice muttered in her ear. "Just great. Do you have any idea what you've done? No, I imagine you wouldn't."

             Claire tried to speak, but she couldn't talk through the stranger's fingers.

            "So, this is what's going to happen," the voice continued, ignoring her attempts at communication. "I'm going to let you go, you are going to do what I tell you, and maybe we'll both make it out of this without getting clawed to ribbons. Do we have an understanding?"

               Afraid, but intrigued, Claire nodded. The stranger seemed to hesitate before finally lowering his hand from her mouth. He didn't release her entirely, instead he spun her around to face him and she found herself staring up into a pair of startlingly blue eyes.

               "I know what you're thinking," he said, his tone sharp, and humorless. "But you aren't dreaming. The sooner you accept that, the better off we'll be. You see, people who don't accept the gravity of a situation like this, those are the people that end up dead."

                "What?" Claire managed, her mouth feeling dry. Why was her dream telling her it wasn't a dream? Was it some sort of trick?

                 "At least she didn't scream," he muttered to himself. He sighed heavily. "Just stay close to me. I can't promise you won't get hurt, but I can promise keep you alive. We need to get to the roof."