Page 2 of Christmas Eve with Krampus

That part sucks, but it happened. My prick of a father stole as much as the hush money pay-out from my accident as he could get his hands on before he traded Mom for Patricia. After being talked into dropping the court case if ‘insurance’—translation: the rich kid’s mommy and daddy—paid me directly, I didn’t have it in me to sue my dad.

Way I see it, the ten grand might have helped me with my hip, but it was a pretty reasonable price to pay to learn just what kind of monster my father was.

And the council seemed to think I’d be scared of whatever lurks in the darkness? Please. Before I became a survivalist living on her own, I was a born survivor first; the accident derailed my life, but it didn’t change me. The orthos on my team tried to say I could never walk right again without the replacement surgery. I showed them. The shrink told me she’d understand if I was hesitant to drive again after getting T-boned. I used the little bit of money I kept to replace my car.

I’ve used every last cent I’ve scrimped and saved and worked toward over the last seven years to petition the council to give me a shot against a different type of monster. Well, almost every cent. I put just enough aside to send my mom on a month-long cruise throughout December so that she’ll be occupied while I chase my destiny.

I called it her Christmas present, knowing she would never be so rude as to refuse a gift.

My Christmas present? Leaving my cashier job behind, flying across the world, and doing whatever I had to to be the chosen one.

It came down to two girls: me and a busty brunette with a sad smile and a glint in her dark brown eyes that said she needed this as much as me. I’m not proud to admit that I took advantage of my story. I’m sure Kaitlin did, too. No one is going to risk being trapped in the dark forest for shits and giggles. There’s an actual monetary prize being offered—my contract said five grand and my return trips to the States covered—but to believe in the concept of earning a wish as badly as us petitioners do… we need it. There’s something about each of us that makes us both desperate and determined to face the monsters, whether they’re real or not.

And based on the whispers from those who walked into those foreboding trees and walked back out again, they’re just as real as the promise of a life-changing wish…

I’d do anything to have it. That’s why, when one of the council members rudely pointed out my slight limp, then asked me if I still enjoyed my favorite pastime of going camping and hiking even after the accident, I quivered my bottom lip and lied.

The pain sucks, but I can deal with it nine times out of then. It’s that tenth time—when I’m down for the count, hurting so bad that I can’t leave bed—that has me eager to get that wish. And if I have to tell them that it’s a struggle, but I won’t let my hip limit what I can do, even if it hurts… I’ll overcome it. I’ll overcome it all.

After conversing with each other, the council members called me brave.

Maybe I am. But I’m also determined, and there isn’t anything I can’t do if I put my mind to it… except maybe keep my parents’ marriage from falling apart, but since my dad’s a dick, my mom’s way better off without him.

I stumbled upon the legend of Blackmoor online.

I researched it.

I saved up the five-thousand dollars it cost for the flight and travel from a big city airport to the hidden village, then sent most of the money to my mom’s account after I saw what Nicklaus gave me.

I made it through their tests, and even if I feel a little bad for coming out on top over Caitlin, that won’t stop me.

Nothing will.

They think I’ll need birth control as though someone—or something—inside of the woods can knock me up? As though I’m going into the woods and one of the monsters I’ve been warned about in whispers… as thought I might have to fuck to survive the next three days?

Like I said.

I’m a survivor, and there isn’t anything I won’t do to fix my leg, fix my lonely life, and finally—finally—move on from the past.

For more than four years, I’ve been a survivalist.

My older co-worker, Ang, used to tease me and say I was a prepper. No. I was caught unaware once, and even if I have a bum hip until I’m as old and wrinkled as she is, I will never, ever let that happen again. A prepper is someone who plans and stockpiles things they might need for the future.

The world’s gone to shit. My life ain’t the greatest, but looking around? There’s no denying it’s gone to shit. Bad stuff happens all the time. Even if some kind of natural disaster does manage to knock me on my ass, what the hell will a closet full of baked beans and toilet paper really do?

No. I’m a survivalist. That means I’ve done everything I could to hone my skills so that I can make it through anything. From camping outdoors and building my own fires to going hunting with my next door neighbors, the Reed boys, I refuse to let my hip slow me down.

But this? This just might.

As soon as I swallowed every last pill they gave me, one of the few female council members went with me back to the hostel I’d been living in since I arrived at the village. There was a dress waiting for me at the front desk, and she insisted that I put it on.

This sucker weighs about ten pounds. Most of it is in the heavily sequined skirt, though the strapless gold bodice is both thick and molded to my chest. There’s no way I can wear a bra with it, but at least the material keeps the girls from escaping out of the top.

A pair of matching shoes come with the dress. I swallow my groan when I realize that the gold-colored heels are a good two inches high. Walking in those things is going to be brutal, but Sandra insists that this is what I have to wear to enter the snow-capped trees.

Only knowing what’s at stake keeps me from pointing out that it’s December in Europe, it’s pretty damn cold out, and though the skirt goes all the way to my calves, my shoulders and arms are on display. I’m going to freeze unless I get a fire going right away.

Too bad I’m not allowed to bring my knapsack with me. No fire starter. No rations. No knife even to strip some bark or cut anything that might try to come after me first. I get the heels, the glittering Cinderella-style dress, and… an orange.

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