Ch. 6: A Foreboding Premonition

The bolted door should have made her feel safer. And yet Sally could not help but feel so insecure. Only a wooden door stood between her and the rabble outside. Mutiny ruled the streets and anyone could be targeted. Yet how could things gotten this out of hand? Why hadn't the Doctor responded to the threat? Worry tore at her heart with nothing to alleviate it.

At first she tried sewing the hem on her ball dress, hoping that the mundane task would distract her from the tension. It proved fruitless as she only ended up pricking herself several times and had to redo the mess of stitches again.

Finding a loose thread hanging from the shoulder pad of her dress, she went to her sewing machine to retrieve a pair of scissors when her eyes fell upon a small corsage of white roses by her the side table. A small smile edged its way to her lips, recalling the moment when Jack presented it to her with such shyness that was so contradictory to his outspoken personality.

How different they were and yet the same. Nevertheless, it was because of Jack that she became her own person.

The fact was Sally had been created by the Doctor to serve not only as the mad scientist's obedient and intelligent helper, but to be a companion for the lonely, miserable Igor. But alas, she was a failure in both roles. She was too intelligent, the Doctor would later say, that to expect servitude from her was impossible. Her independent, restless nature made her unsuitable for the crucible of the humble servant. As for being Igor's only friend, Sally could never find anything to talk about. He never could understand her wild nature, her need to leave and see the world. Needless to say, the simple-minded lovable dunce could never comprehend such musings.

And so Sally kept these thoughts to herself, seeking escape in the old romance novels that she found in the old dungeon. Her mind delved into tales of chivalry, faithfulness, and desire. Many times she pictured herself as the young damsel who in the end would find her true love.

And then there was the tower that loomed outside her bedroom window. Her mind filled with fanciful imagination, she would gaze at the pacing silhouette framed by the flickering candlelight, deeply entranced by the slender shadow. And so her passionate heart invented stories as deftly as the Doctor invented his devices. The one in the tower was who she was destined to be with. Cruel fate kept them apart, yet they were so close. But one day her lover would whisk her from her stone prison and set her free.

How the Doctor had tried to suppress such thoughts. Servants were not supposed to dream of the world outside. At first he ignored her questions, then sharply reminded her of her duties, and finally confined her in her own room. But Sally refused to be subdued. She was much more than this. She wanted freedom, adventure, and love, all of which she believed existed outside her all too small room.

So she plotted and schemed, coming up with ideas to plan her escape. Each time they failed and she was caught and punished. It was only by pure chance that she happened upon a old herbology book where she discovered the Deadly Nightshade and its potency to put one into a deep sleep, a "mock death."

This was all well and good, but obtaining the item took effort. Her first batch came from Igor, who she tricked into getting it for her, saying the Doctor needed something to calm his nerves. It worked perfectly and from then on she made sure she restocked her soup cabinet with the herb that she found grew abundantly in the graveyard.

Jack. He was nothing like the romance novels' valiant hero. No he was much more. For all the golden suitors in those fairy tales, she chose him despite his imperfections, his faults, his pride. His determination to set things right even if he was the cause of the problem was nobler than the slaying of a thousand dragons. Disillusioned, Sally loved the dear skeleton as he was, not as how she wished him to be.

Her lips parted, a prayer escaped from them for the safety of her beloved. "Wherever you are Jack, come back to us."

The meeting with the merchants was nothing short of disaster. No one listened, no one cared. Yet Mayor felt he could have done more, maybe knock sense into their cold hearts. Even before he could even utter a word, however, the tension in the room was almost tangible. And yet, he tried pleading with them to lower their prices of various other foods so that the poor would have something to eat.

But alas money was their god and anything that hindered the reaping of profits was blasphemy. Charity had no place in their world.

"Are you mad?" shouted Mr. Venderbilt, the gravestone tycoon. "That's nothing short of giving the scum handouts. They'll only expect more. Nay, we must be cautious; for if one offers his hand to a werewolf, he shall lose his arm."

"B-but what about the poor?" Mayor stammered. "They could only stand so much. There has already been a few blows exchanged and if it weren't for the Vampire Brothers..."

"That's your problem isn't it, Your Honor?" the well-dressed ghoul sneered, delighted as Mayor squirmed under his gaze. "After all, an elected official is responsible for the welfare of the public," he said patronizingly.

It was a politician's worst nightmare. Mayor knew that he had no authority behind his words, nothing to enforce his proposal. Although he had the title, the fact was he was nothing more than a charlatan.

Now here he was once again being nothing more than an unwanted guest among Halloween Town's last hope. Sitting before him about a massive marble moon-shaped table assembled the Civil Defense Board with Doctor Finkelstein as the chairman. At hand were the four adjutant generals of the armed forces the Vampire Brothers who looked thoroughly undead tired.

"Gentlemen, we have to face the facts," the Doctor began. "We have spread our troops across the countryside in an effort to protect those who live outside the town. But according to Fang's report, this is an unwise move on our part."

The eldest brother stood. "Although ve tried patrolling the area to vatch for threats there are still places where the enemy slipped through our lines. The goblins are the most resourceful of all, striking our men and razing a number a mills before fleeing into the safety of the hinterlands. They have taken many prisoners this way."

Placing his gloved hands on the table, the Doctor fixed his gaze on everyone and scowled. "This is unacceptable. They're preying on our vulnerability. We have to withdraw our troops closer to town." He shook his head grimly. "I'm afraid those who live in the outskirts must vacate the area and seek protection within the walls. Now before I continue are there any other issues..."

"We still have the markets to deal with," Mayor piped up.

"Didn't I tell you to deal with that earlier?" the Doctor snapped.

"But they won't listen! They...refuse to obey."

"What kind of official are you?" Finkelstein hissed. "You have to force them, break in their pride. Do you really think that those fat cats would give in if you ask them nicely? Good God!" Disgusted he turned from Mayor and addressed Vladmir, the second eldest brother. "I want you to assemble a detail to seize the goods from the shops and distribute it among the people. Tell the sellers they'll be repaid by the town as soon as this affair is over."

The wheelchair whirled as the wizen old scientist fixed Mayor an irritable look. "I can't BELIEVE you forced me to withdraw some of our troops for this!" In a huff, the Doctor left the room accompanied by the vampires.

As much as Mayor wanted to believe the problem was handled, something down inside gnawed at him. Not since the time of his suspicions of Jack's take-over of Christmas had he had such negative reaction, as if all bells of warning went off in the back of his mind. Yet he did not voice his concern, knowing full well that the Doctor probably knew more than he did. After all, Jack placed Finkelstein in charge and not him. Dejectedly, Mayor watched as they filed out from the room.

Hoping off the ebony leather armchair, Mayor paced about, his hands clasped behind his back. His brow furrowed with anxiety.

Face it, Hizzoner. Jack may not return in time to save the town. The Doctor has already taken action. Why couldn't you?

Pressing his forehead against the cold, unyielding glass window, he scowled at his own cowardly reflection when a clipped voice spoke up.

"You might want to back off. You're fogging up the glass."

He turned to see Old Man Deer still squatting among the heaps of yellowed parchments and tattered scrolls from the Vampire Brother's Archive Vault. For once the old creature had pulled its beady gaze from the papers and stared at Mayor intently.

"You know, you're pretty pathetic," Old Man Deer continued casually. "I've been sitting here listening to every word those fools are saying and you haven't the backbone to speak up."

Mayor shrugged. "What does it matter? The Doctor already has everything under control."
"Really? You didn't seem too pleased with his plan."

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was headed, Mayor shook his head briskly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Setting down his owl quill pen, the old buck peered over the top of his pince-nez glasses. "Don't be an ass. You may know nothing about leading people, but at least your inner compass isn't faulty. Even I had my misgivings about the Doctor's idea. The old codger's sending armed men into a place filled with civilians. And as it occurs often in history, that's never a good mix." He narrowed his tiny eyes. "Trust me, there will be bloodshed."

The powdery snow beneath Jack's feet crunched as he dashed across the frozen countryside, his mind racing with anxiety. As he reached the peak of the last hill, he found Christmas Town just as it should not be. Nothing short of desecration could describe the hellish scene before him.

Flames rippled across the rooftops, devouring the once festive decorations into cinders. The once joyful merry-go-round was reduced to a heap of scrap metal. Everywhere Jack looked there were just remnants of the holiday he cherished three years ago.

It was as if a cold, blade had wounded his soul. A part of him screamed in agony, as if it too was slain and lie lifeless amid the rubble. At first, he could only stare in shock, hardly believing and not wanting to believe what he was seeing. As the numbness subsided, an overwhelming grief seized him. He wept openly and unashamed for his fallen dream.

God, I'm too late. What was to become of Christmas now? Jack pressed his bony fingers against his temples, fighting to control himself. That feeling, that wonderful feeling was gone. Why? What could possess anyone to destroy such joy, such hope?

And yet despite such darkness, a small glimmer of light rose from the depths of his reasoning. All that was before him was only a shadow. The master of Christmas may very well be alive and with him the holiday spirit.

At this realization, Jack felt greatly calmed by the thought, but still gravely concerned of the fate of Sandy. "I have to know," Jack said. "Does he still live?"

Half running, half sliding, he stumbled down the steep icy slope and entered the town. Picking his way among the debris, he tore down every alley, searching for any signs of life. Yet miraculously he could not find even one fallen body. Only tracks were evidence of the conflict.

But as he turned up another street, he could hear voices. Pressing himself against a wall, Jack edged his way to the corner, peering cautiously around it.

"Oy, of all the blasted luck," growled a gruff voice. "The nerve of the commander, stationing us here whilst the rest of them get drunk on ale." The goblin spat angrily.

His shorter companion sneered. "And havin' a good time by the sound of it too," he answered glancing over to Santa's home. Windows lit; Jack could see the distorted shadows framed by the yellow light. A chorus of uproarious laughter filtered onto the street.

"And what's the bother with searching for a stinkin' reindeer anyway? If ye ask me, all they're useful for is venison." At that the two chuckled darkly.

Jack frowned. Reindeer? He edged closer.

"That witch Mombi sure is a few rats short of nest. Chasin' after old papers and whatnot. The worst of it all is trying to find some pathetic old deer that's crazy over ancient history. Ye know what she's up to?"

"Nah, it doesn't matter. As long as we get our fill of plunder, I could care less. How Oogie puts up with such a nasty character like her is anyone's guess."

Jack started. Oogie was back? He scowled. No doubt it was those three pesky kids again. It was no wonder why they hadn't shown up for ball preparations. But this Mombi...Who was she and what was she up to that even Oogie would work with her? And what was Old Man Deer's part in this? He had to get back to Halloween Town quickly.

Slinking away, Jack escaped from the goblin's hearing and kept to the shadows. He had to find anything to give him an idea of Sandy's whereabouts. Turning up the back alley, he moved unto a street lined with red houses. In his mad rush, he almost did not see it. Among the decorate houses sat a shoddy and plain wooden cottage. On closer inspection, Jack saw the gate had been torn off and thrown aside at this particular abode. A mailbox lay in the gnome garden, reading 'Old Man Deer' upon its side. Curious, Jack ducked and entered the home through the open door left ajar by the careless search party.

Yet for all his hopes, the house was dismally furnished. Old furniture was shoved alongside the wall, covered in white sheets. Except for these, there was little else in the house. Only broken chairs littered the rooms, indicating that the searchers had taken out their frustration on finding that their quarry eluded them.

Knowing full well that the presence of Old Man Deer very well endangered his town, Jack shook his head as if he could hardly believe he was wasting time. Just what was he expecting?

As he past the dusty mantel, his bow tie snagged unto a golden candlestick, promptly knocking it over. Picking it up, Jack replaced it when he noticed that the mantel was oddly swept in some places. Indeed one spot was cleaned while the rest remained filthy.

Tracing a bony hand across this odd panel, Jack was surprised to find that one of the tiles moved. Edging it out with his finger, he lifted it to find a dark niche containing only a small green leather-bound notebook. Opening the yellowed pages, Jack found many diagrams of strange symbols and scrawling of comments, all systematically recorded with proper dates and citation. Flipping through it, he stopped when his eye caught sight of a strange illustration of a shapeless black mass covered in hundred of eyes.

The sound of a scrapping chair jarred Jack from his attention to the book and he looked up hastily. Without a word, he slipped the notebook into his breast pocket for later inspection.

Not expecting visitors, Jack had left the bedroom door wide open. Yet he could hear nothing. Whoever below stairs knew he was here...and was coming for him.

Sore and exhausted, Shock stepped out from the old well cage elevator, grateful to be back above ground again. Her two companions, who were every bit weary as she was, did not joke with each other as they usually did.

"Man, I never thought we'd get a break," Lock whined as they took the backstreets. "Oogie's working us like dogs. I like pranks, but this is ridiculous!"

"Well on the bright side, he gave us lots of sweets," Barrel grinned shaking his bulky sack happily.

Lock and Shock exchanged exasperated looks, knowing their youngest cohort was so easily satisfied. The truth was, despite their obsession with candy, even the most mischievous trick-or-treaters had their craving for homemade pumpkin pie and baked spiders. No peanut brittle could ever replace the crunch in crispy bat wings.

Thinking these thoughts their steps became livelier as their mouths watered at the images in their mind. So fast they moved they turned the corner just as Finkelsten whizzed by in his chair followed by a group of armored soldiers. Ignoring them, the party ploughed recklessly on.

"That's weird," Shock said frowning. "What's Finkelstein up to?"

"Ah, who cares," Lock replied. "Come on, my gramps is probably worried about me. And I said I'd make dinner tonight."

But as they pulled out of the alley unto the main road, a scene of utmost chaos greeted them. An angry clamor rose to fever pitch as the surging crowd moved as one, a swarm of hungry mouths and reaching hands. Gathered about the statue of Jack Skellington that had been erected a year ago, they threw ropes up to those who stood on the pedestal. These said persons snatched the lines and began to tie it around the statue's limbs.

"Down with the Pumpkin Tyrant! Down with the Pumpkin Tyrant!" The mob chanted, their fists pummeling the air. With a combined effort, they pulled the ropes taunt until the statue tore away from its base and toppled, shattering unto the cobblestone streets.

"Dang and I thought we're the only ones who hate Jack," Barrel stared. "Why the slum folk are above ground?"

The sound of broken glass was his response as a brawny corpse seized a cart and hurled it at a storefront window. A hearty cheer rose as his comrades pushed forward, some jumping over the debris and taking possession of the good on display.

"Look!" Lock pointed out as a scrawny witch was dragged bodily from the doorway. Her screams only served to embolden the surly mob.

Shock stared in horror. "That's Witch Aspen!" From her spot she could see the shopkeeper being hoisted, bound and gagged, unto a long wooden beam. Her screams muffled, the witch could only watch helplessly, her eyes danced wildly with fright. Next to her, her jeering escorts led her down the road in a mock entourage.

"Man, what do you think she did?" Lock asked. "She can't have pissed off this many people. I mean, she's a witch with a capital 'B' but MAN."

His companions could not answer him. There was no way to explain the madness that had possessed the people of Halloween Town.

But Shock, being the oldest and wisest of the three, had her suspicions that the whole affair involved them. "Guys, listen. Remember how that hag Mombi wanted us to use the Jitters to destroy the Pumpkin Patch and Oogie went along with her on it?"

The two boys exchanged puzzled looks but she continued. "What if this whole mess is our fault? Didn't you see what they took? Food, that's what."

Barrel widened his eyes. "Ya mean, they're doing this because they're hungry?"

"But..but what about the emergency supply?" Lock added hastily, trying to shift the blame somehow. There's no way they brought on this type of trouble. It was suppose to be all fun and good. They couldn't be responsible for all this.

Shock struck him soundly behind the head with her broom. "There's nothing left, idiot. The Jitters made sure of that." But she shared the same sentiment. For the first time in her life, Shock never felt so ashamed as she did now. As much as she loved mischief, even this was too far.

"I'm going to have a talk with Oogie," she said grimly. "There's no way this is part of Oogie's plan. Surely he wants to rule Halloween Town, not destroy it."

On and on she ran, her heart pounding hard against her chest. All about her white-hot flames reached for her, threatening to engulf her in their hellish embrace. With every agonizing step she was losing herself further and further into the burning maze of the Hinterlands.

There was no escape. What little air left to her was gradually consumed by the ravenous fire. She was smothered, her life force ebbing away. And yet she continued to move, hemmed in by the smoke and ash. Only until she fell did she gave in, weary of making any other futile attempt.

But as she lifted her head she noticed that she had sat in a clearing, amid a grove a tress that had strange doors upon them.

'Why, they're the Holiday Doors' she realized, staring in amazement. Renewed in strength, she rose and wobbled unsteadily toward them, straining to catch sight of the Christmas Door. Seeing it, she reached out to grab its ornament handle when suddenly the tree burst into flames.

She could only watch in horror as it was consumed and turning about she could the other Holiday Doors were being devoured as well. Gagging, she backed away from the pillars of fire and fell heavily unto her haunches.

"Someone, please help me!" But there was no one to save her. Only a strange deep-throated laughter echoed through the branches, mocking her plight. Whether her vision blurred from tears or death was fast approaching, she could have sworn the great cloud of smoke looming above had eyes, thousands of them. Hypnotically, they gazed at her, blood-red with black slit-like pupils.

Helplessly, she watched as it descended upon her, taking her into its murky depths. And then she could feel no pain.

Gasping, Sally awoke with a start, panting frantically as if she could not get enough air. The images still burned in her mind, replaying the horrific episode vividly. Stumbling her way to the sink, she doused her face with the cold green water. Her tears mingled with the rushing spray.

'It felt so real.' She dabble her face on a towel. 'What could it mean?'

As her mind came back into focus, she realized the implication of such dreams. It had happened three years before; visions of the future with their foreboding warning. She had seen the disaster that would have befallen Jack and his Christmas takeover.

The clattering of footsteps shattered her musings as Igor barreled into her room, his face wrinkled with fear. "Trouble! Trouble comes! You hear it?"

Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Sally failed to take note of anything around her. But at Igor's beckoning, there was no mistaking it. The deep, long tolling of the bells resounded to every corner of town with its melancholy thunder.

There were only two reasons they would ring at this hour, one was that there was a town meeting. But looking out the window, Sally found to her horror the only other explanation. Illuminated by the moonlight and fast approaching toward the town was a swarm of epic proportions. Eyes widened, Sally watched as hell descended upon her home.

Cornered, Jack glance frantically about for another way out. Yet the windows were barred and the flue in the chimney was shut tight. There was only one way in, one way out, the doorway.

The stairwell creaked and three heavy built olive-green goblin warriors entered, brandishing their steely axes and maces.

One of them bore brightly colored war markings his thin face, indicating his high rank. Sniffing, he scowled and strode in cautiously. "He's somewhere here lads. He couldn't have gotten far."

He could not be any more correct. For from the ashes the Pumpkin King rose from the depths of the fireplace, hissing and snarling. Before they could react, a wave of green light lashed out, knocking one goblin with a force that sent the fiend crashing into a wooden cabinet.

Releasing their fury, the goblins let out their yelping battle cry and charged, weapons swinging menacingly. But Jack pressed his advantage. Seizing an armchair with his Soul Robber, he hurled it at his attackers, who fell at the impact.

Vaulting over a sofa, Jack sped from the room before the two could recover, only to find three more awaited him on the stairwell. They rushed at him, hoping to avenge their comrades. Just as they got within 6 feet of him, Jack's Soul Robber caught hold of a light fixture and he swung away from the fray, narrowly missing the edge of the unyielding sword. Stumbling, he dashed out the front door, his pursuers hot on his trail.

Houses and Christmas trees sped by as Jack sprinted across the hostile landscape. The bellowing of goblin hunting horns resounded in the frosty air, alerting the patrols of Jack's flight.

When one is being hunted, only instinct kept one alive. Jack could not recall how he made it to the Sugar Plum Mountains. But as reason came back to him, he saw his mistake. Backed to the wall, he could only wait till the horde pounced upon him with the ferocity of a pack of wolves. With no drop of mercy in their veins, they would not be satisfied until his bones were grounded to the dust.

But Jack Skellington was one to never back down, regardless of what odds were stacked against him. He scowled, his Soul Robber at the ready. If he was to go down, at least they'll be fewer goblins for his townsfolk to deal with. He regretted that he failed to warn them however. But most of all he regretted breaking the promise not so long ago.

"I'm sorry, Sally," he said softly. "You'll have to go to the ball without me. I only wish I could see how lovely you look in your gown."