3. Mel

CHAPTER 3

MEL

T he brake lights ahead glow like demon eyes in the darkness. My hands grip the steering wheel tight enough to leave marks.

"What am I going to do?"

The words escape in a whisper, lost beneath the hum of my ancient Honda's heater. Traffic inches forward another car length. A semi's air brakes hiss to my right.

My boss is an alien. My actual boss is an actual alien. The thought bounces around my skull like a pinball machine gone haywire. Those weird meetings, the strange smells from his office, how he never seems to blink...

"The police. I should call the police."

But the words taste wrong on my tongue. What would I even say? 'Hello officer, my boss is green and scaly under his business suit?' They'd have me committed faster than I could say 'take me to your leader.'

Sam's face flashes through my mind - her gap-toothed smile, those bright eyes that light up whenever I walk through the door. My throat closes up. One wrong move and I'd lose her forever. They'd take her away from the crazy mother who sees aliens.

My hands shake as I edge the car forward another few feet. The Christmas lights strung across the overpass blur through my windshield.

"But I have to do something, right?"

The words hang in the air, unanswered. What can I do? I can't go back to work like nothing happened. Can't pretend I didn't see what I saw. Can't risk losing my baby girl.

A horn blares behind me. I jump, heart racing, and realize the traffic has started moving again.

"Okay, what do I know about aliens?" I ask myself.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. The question bounces around my head like a deranged ping-pong ball.

"Chewbacca? No, he's too fuzzy. The Predator?" A shudder runs through me. "God, I hope not. Robocop? Wait, he wasn't even an alien."

The traffic light ahead turns red. My foot hits the brake too hard, and the car jerks to a stop.

"This is insane. I don't know anything about aliens because they weren't supposed to be real." I groan. "This sucks."

The Christmas music from the radio mocks me with its cheerful tune. I snap it off.

Mr. Gregor knows I was there. He has to. The security cameras must have caught something. My stomach twists into knots.

"But he can't come after me, right?"

The words come out shaky, unconvincing. A car honks behind me - the light's turned green.

"He can't risk exposure. That's why they hide behind those weird image things."

My house comes into view, its Christmas lights twinkling in the darkness. Sam's bedroom window glows warm and safe.

"We'll be fine for tonight. He won't dare come here."

The garage door groans open. I pull in, kill the engine, and sit in the darkness.

"Tomorrow. I'll figure this out tomorrow."

I step out of the car, and my heart stops. Sam stands on the porch in her fuzzy reindeer pajamas, winter coat thrown over top. Her arms cross over her chest in a perfect imitation of my 'mom' pose.

"You're late."

The accusation in her voice makes me smile despite everything. I scoop her up in my arms, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo and cookie dough.

"I know, I'm sorry."

Jenny, our regular sitter, laughs from the doorway. "She insisted on waiting up for you."

I dig through my purse for my wallet, adding an extra twenty to Jenny's usual rate. "Thanks for staying late."

"Any time. She's always a joy."

Sam tugs at my sleeve the moment Jenny's taillights disappear down the street. "Can we watch Rudolph?"

"Again? We just watched it last night."

"Please?" Those big blue eyes could melt Antarctica. "It's tradition."

I bite back a groan. Streaming services are both a blessing and a curse. At least with our old DVD I could have claimed it was "lost" or "scratched." Now there's no escape from watching that clay-mation reindeer prance across the screen for the millionth time.

But Sam settles against me on the couch, warm and soft in her pajamas. Her smile lights up brighter than our Christmas tree when the opening credits roll.

The familiar music starts up, and Sam hums along. For a moment, all thoughts of aliens and Mr. Gregor fade away. My daughter needs this - these precious moments of holiday magic. And if that means watching Rudolph save Christmas yet again, then so be it.

Sam's head droops against my shoulder before the credits roll. I carry her upstairs, her warm weight a comfort against my chest. She barely stirs as I tuck her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed reindeer.

"G'night mommy."

"Sweet dreams, baby."

The shadows in the hallway stretch longer than usual. Every creak of the old house sets my nerves on edge. I triple-check the front door's deadbolt, then the back door. The garage door gets tested twice.

My fingers trail along each window latch. Living room - secured. Kitchen - locked tight. Even the tiny window above the washing machine gets checked.

The security panel by the front door blinks its reassuring green light. I punch in the code anyway, watching the "ARMED" message flash across the screen.

One window left. Just need to check Sam's room and then I can try to sleep. Though how I'll manage that when my brain won't stop replaying the sight of Mr. Gregor's true form...

My feet freeze mid-step on the stairs. A deep voice rumbles from Sam's room, followed by her high-pitched giggle.

"But why is your fur so long?" Sam asks.

"The better to keep warm in winter, little one." comes a terrifying voice.

My heart pounds against my ribs. That voice - it sounds like gravel being crushed beneath tank treads. Nothing human should sound like that.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket. One call to 911 and... what? The creature would vanish before they arrived? Or worse - they'd believe me, and then men in black suits would show up to make us disappear.

Sam giggles again from her room. The sound pierces my heart like an icicle.

"Your horns are funny too!"

"All the better to gore my enemies with," the gravelly voice replies.

The baseball bat from my college softball days leans against the wall in my bedroom. Three steps. That's all it would take. But what good would a bat do against something that tore through Gregor's security like tissue paper?

The knife block sits on the kitchen counter downstairs. Eight steps, plus however long it takes to creep down without making the stairs creak.

"Do you know Santa?" Sam asks.

A low rumble that might be a laugh.

"I am... familiar with the concept."

The umbrella stand by the front door holds my old field hockey stick. Five steps. Closer than the bat, longer reach than a knife.

"Can you help him deliver presents?" Sam asks.

"I prefer to deliver... other things." Krampus says. "I punish the wicked."

"Oh, wicked? You mean bad guys?" Sam says.

"Yes, and there are soooooo many bad guys to be taken care of," Krampus says with a wistful sigh.

My hands curl into fists. That thing is in my baby's room. That monster I freed - what was I thinking? - followed us home and now it's talking to my daughter about delivering things.

Time for him to find out there's no place more dangerous than between a woman and her child.