7. Mel

CHAPTER 7

MEL

" S weet dreams, kiddo." I tuck the blanket around Sam's shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Is Mr. Krampus staying with us now?"

The question hits like a punch to the gut. My fingers freeze on the blanket's edge. "Just for tonight. In the morning... we'll see."

"I think he likes you."

My hands fly up to cover my burning face. A groan escapes my lips before I can stop it.

"Don't start, baby."

"But you've been lonely ever since Daddy ran off with his secretary."

Ice spreads through my veins. The bedroom spins. My mouth drops open, but no words come out. All this time, I thought I'd protected Sam from the truth. All those careful lies about secret missions and important work. Gone.

"I'm not a baby anymore, Mom." Sam's small hand finds mine in the dark. "I hear you and grams talk about Daddy. He doesn't sound like he was very nice." A pause, then softer: "Sometimes I'm glad I never got to meet him."

The tears come without warning, hot and sudden. My shoulders shake as everything I've bottled up for years breaks free. The careful walls I built, the brave face I put on - it all crumbles.

Small arms wrap around my neck. Sam's strawberry shampoo fills my nose as she squeezes tight.

"Don't cry, Mommy. I love you."

I clutch her close, breathing in her innocent sweetness. My precious girl. The one pure thing in my mess of a life.

"I love you too, baby. So much."

Sam's words echo in my head. Lonely. Yes, that's exactly what I am. Not just the empty bed or quiet evenings, but the soul-deep ache of having no one to share life's little moments with. No one to laugh with over coffee. No one to hold me when the world feels too heavy.

And then there's Krampus. Seven feet of blue fur and attitude, eating roller skates and calling me "magnificent" while demolishing my living room. The way he looked at me, like I was something precious and fierce all at once. Not some sad single mom struggling to keep it together.

When was the last time anyone saw me that way? The dating app disasters, the awkward setup dinners with Karen from accounting's cousin - they all looked right through me. Or worse, pitied me.

But Krampus...

"Magnificent," he'd said, even as I was trying to bash his skull in with sporting equipment. The memory brings an unexpected warmth to my cheeks.

I tiptoe down the stairs, my heart still raw from Sam's words. The destruction I expect to find makes my steps falter, but when I round the corner into the kitchen, my jaw drops.

Everything sparkles. The granite countertops gleam like new, not a scratch in sight. The walls shine with fresh paint. Even the ancient linoleum floor looks pristine. But my microwave, toaster, and coffee maker are conspicuously absent. In their place sits a sleek silver box with pulsing blue lights.

"I know you said you didn't want a replicator." Krampus's deep voice makes me jump. "But I thought perhaps you might want to see one in action before deciding."

His massive blue form hunches over my kitchen counter as he taps the device's surface. The thing hums to life, its lights dancing across his fur.

"Computer. Earth-style hot cocoa with Alzhon chocolate molecules. Two servings."

A flash of light blinds me for a second. The front panel slides open with a soft hiss, revealing two steaming mugs. My nose catches the rich scent of chocolate, but different somehow - deeper, more complex. The mugs bear our names in elegant script: "Mel" and "Krampus."

He passes me my mug, his claws careful not to scratch the ceramic. The warmth seeps into my palms as I lift it to my lips.

The taste... oh god. Rich and velvety, with notes of caramel and something exotic I can't place. It puts every hot chocolate I've ever had to shame. My eyes flutter closed as I savor another sip.

The chocolate warms my insides, but a chill runs down my spine. Those creatures who attacked us - the Grolgath - they know where we live. My fingers tighten around the mug.

"What if they come back?"

Krampus lets out a rumbling laugh that vibrates through the kitchen.

"Already taken care of, magnificent one."

"What do you mean?" I ask, suddenly suspicious.

"I have Installed a state-of-the-art security system while you were upstairs. Any Grolgath who dare approach will be instantly annihilated by the death ray."

The mug nearly slips from my grip. "

You've been busy while I was upstairs." The words sink in. "Wait, did you say death ray?"

"Yes." His chest puffs out, horns gleaming in the kitchen light. "It will slay any who tread onto your property."

My mouth opens to respond, but distant singing catches my attention. The annual Christmas carolers. Mrs. Peterson always brings her church group around this time of year.

"Joy to the world..." The voices drift closer.

Oh no.

"The Lord has come..."

My heart stops. They're heading straight for our front walk.

I burst through the front door, nearly tripping over my own feet. Mrs. Peterson's group stands at the end of my walkway, their faces lit by battery-operated candles.

"What do you think you're doing?" The words come out as a screech.

Mrs. Peterson's carol cuts off mid-verse.

"Why, Mel dear, it's our annual?—"

"Annual noise pollution? Yeah, I can hear that." My hands ball into fists. "Some of us are trying to sleep. Or work. Or literally anything that doesn't involve listening to your off-key warbling."

Gasps ripple through the group. Mrs. Peterson's hand flutters to her throat.

"But last year... you and Sam made us cookies."

"Well, this year Christmas is cancelled." I stomp down the steps. "And so is your pathetic excuse for entertainment. What's next, interpretive dance? Mime? Just take your dollar store candles and go cry in your egg nog, you tone-deaf losers."

Tears well in Mrs. Peterson's eyes. The group backs away, muttering. Someone whispers "How could she?" Another adds "What happened to her?"

"And stay off my property!" I shout as they hurry away.

Lights flick on in neighboring houses. Curtains twitch. Tomorrow, the whole neighborhood will know what a massive jerk I've become.

But at least they'll be alive to gossip about it.

I slump against the door frame, my heart hammering. Behind me, Krampus's low chuckle fills the air.

"That was quite a performance, magnificent one."

I whirl on Krampus, jabbing a finger into his broad chest.

"You need to fix that death ray right now. No targeting humans. Period."

"But-" Krampus starts.

"No buts! And from now on, you run every single change to my house by me first. I mean everything. If you want to hang a picture, I need to approve it. If you sneeze and dent a wall, tell me before fixing it. Got it?"

His ears droop.

"As you wish, magnificent one."

"And stop calling me that! I'm not magnificent, I'm mortified. Do you know what you just made me do? I had to act like a complete psycho to save Mrs. Peterson and her tone-deaf choir from getting vaporized!"

"The security measures were for your protection." Krampus insists.

"The whole neighborhood thinks I'm a total Karen now, thanks to you." I sink onto the couch, head in my hands. "I have to live here, you know."

A strange gleam enters his yellow eyes. His fangs flash in what might be a smile.

"Then I have a proposal that will solve many of your problems."

My stomach drops. That look can't mean anything good. I've seen it before - on Sam when she's about to suggest something completely unreasonable, like getting a pet T-Rex.

"Tell me what it is." I sigh, already regretting the words. "I just know I'm going to regret hearing this."

"We could simply leave this planet." Krampus spreads his arms wide. "Return to my time, in the future. Then your neighbors won't be a problem because they'll have turned to dust long ago."

My jaw drops. The mug slips from my fingers, but Krampus catches it before it hits the floor.

Leave Earth? The only home I've ever known? Sam's whole life is here - her school, her friends, everything she's ever known. And what about my job? Okay, scratch that last one. After tonight's revelations about Mr. Gregor, I doubt I still have employment.

But still. The future? With a seven-foot-tall blue demon who eats roller skates?

"That's your solution?" My voice cracks. "Just abandon my entire life and zip off to... when exactly are you from?"

"TA millenia from now."

"Right. Perfect. Just hop eleven centuries into the future. No big deal." I cover my face with my hands. "I knew I was going to regret it."