Huddling between the shelves, Claire felt hot, wet breath roll across the back of her neck causing shivers to dance up and down the length of her spine. In that instant she imagined a rabid dog, its yellowing teeth bared, a growl waiting to erupt from the back of its throat, ready to lunge.

The thought caused the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end and goosebumps to prickle up across bare flesh.

Claire knew she should run. The toned muscles in her legs were wound tight, ready to launch her through the darkness to safety, but a paralyzing fear gripped her. It held her in place as though her very bones were made of heavy iron. Claire could no sooner move herself than she could move a mountain.

With growing dread, she became aware of a heavy weight falling to rest against her bare shoulder, and of the sharp, bony points of fingers digging into her skin. As the claw like protrusions squeezed, Claire couldn't help but wonder if this was how she was going to die.

No, she thought. This was not how she was going to die. Gritting her teeth, she managed to get her feet under her just as the grip on her shoulder began to tighten. Without waiting, Claire launched herself forward. She felt the clawed appendage slip away, only to grasp at her again, catching the collar of her shirt. Claire felt and heard fabric tear as she scrambled away. A high pitched hiss erupted from the darkness behind her, and when she glanced back she saw hundreds of angry, glowing red eyes glaring after her.

Around her the shelves began to rock violently and items stored higher up began crashing down around her. Covering her head beneath her arms, she made it to the end of the row and around the corner just as the entire line of shelves came crashing inward. Wasting no time, Claire skidded slightly, readjusted her position and darted towards the door she knew waited for her at the far end of the room.

More shelves came crashing down, the first having triggered a domino effect, but Claire didn't care. Someone else could deal with the mess, she just wanted to make it out of there alive.

Upon reaching the door, Claire hit it with enough force that it swung open wide and sent her tumbling out into the night. She would have landed flat on her face on the pavement had she not fallen into the arms of a stranger.

Looking up towards her unexpected savior, Claire saw the same surprised expression on the young man's face that was no doubt mirroring her own. She couldn't imagine he had come to the door expecting to find her launching herself into his embrace.

Which brought another question to mind -- what was he doing there?

Wordlessly, the young man set her back on her feet and Claire couldn't help but notice his strange attire. From the top hat that rested cockeyed on his head, no doubt disturbed by their encounter, a mess of auburn curls peeking out from beneath its rim, to the fitted tailcoat and polished black shoes, it was as though he had just walked off the set of a Christmas Carol.

Perhaps he was a performer?

When he moved to step around her, Claire suddenly remembered what had driven her out in such a hurry to begin with. That thing was still in there and he was going to encounter it unawares.

"No! Wait!''she cried, grabbing at him once more. She felt him begin to push her away and clung tighter. She couldn't just let him go without warning him first. "There's something in there."

To her surprise, the young man sighed. "Yes, I know," he said at last, his voice clear and quiet.

He did?

"That's my fault I'm afraid. If you'll let me go, I'll see to removing it," he added at which point Claire's cheeks grew flush and she released her hold on him. She stepped back and he took a moment to smooth invisible wrinkles from his coat. "Right then, if you'll excuse me..." he tipped his hat to her and turned to stroll casually into the building.

Claire waited.

She wasn't sure why, it was cold and she had nothing on but thin leggings, a half torn shirt and her ballet slippers, but she didn't think it was right to simply walk away. Besides, she had questions, so many questions. Who was he? Why was he there? How had he known about whatever it was that had been stalking her in the darkness? How did he know how to remove it? It wasn't just curiosity, however, that kept her rooted there. It was concern. She knew, without a doubt, that something was there, and either the stranger was telling the truth, or he was out of his mind. Either way, if he didn't come out soon, Claire felt obligated to call the police and report the incident.

Not that there was much they could do against whatever it was.

Claire wasn't sure how much time had passed, but her fingers and toes, and the tip of her nose, were beginning to feel numb when a bright, white light flared to life in the doorway. It was short lived, the brightness of it causing Claire to see spots for several seconds afterwards even though she had turned away. Not long after the stranger emerged, looking no worse off than when he had entered. There was one difference, however, he had gone in empty handed, and now he was holding something which he had tucked securely beneath his arm. He seemed surprised to see her there, but the expression faded quickly, replaced by a more passive, solemn look.

"That should do it, you'll have no more trouble," he declared when met with Claire's questioning stare. "I apologize again for any inconvenience. Have a good evening."

With that, he strolled past her, offering no further explanation as to what had just transpired or what the thing inside had been. As he passed, Claire caught a glimpse of what he had taken from inside the theatre. It was a small wooden box, about the size of a shoe box, upon which three interlacing snowflakes had been etched into the otherwise smooth, polished surface.

Claire only recognized it because the item in question had once belonged to her mother. Nathalie had always insisted on keeping the box close, never explaining why even when Claire had begged. She had spent many hours attempting to discover its secrets, but as far as she could tell the box couldn't open though when she shook it she could hear something rattling about within.

After her mother died, Claire found it at the theatre, tucked away in the back. Assuming her mother had put it there, Claire left it undisturbed. It felt wrong to get rid of it, but seeing it only served as a reminder to Claire of her loss.

Why in the world had he taken it?

"Hey!" She called after him, but this time he didn't stop, and he didn't look back.

Annoyed, Claire started after him, the snow covering the sidewalk instantly soaking through the canvas of her slippers. She stopped, watching as he moved further down the street. She had half a mind to just let him go, she didn't need the silly box anyway, but a nagging push in the back of her mind wouldn't let her.

As much as she wanted to go after him, however, snow had begun to fall in thick, fat flurries and the cold that had seeped through the thin layers of her clothing had become almost unbearable. She knew it was only going to get colder.

You can't just let him take it her heart seemed to insist. She had dropped the bag holding her shoes inside the building during her wild flight. Despite his reassurance that whatever had been within was now gone, Claire had no great desire to go back inside.

Sighing in frustration, she turned and something caught her eye that made her grin stupidly. Of course. Several yards away, covered in a fresh blanket of snow, was the beat up ghost of a car. Her car. She practically lived out of the thing as she spent much of her time at the theatre, and she was sure to have a pair of sneakers and a sweater in there somewhere.

Hurrying towards the vehicle, she wasn't worried about not having her keys. The locks on the doors had been broken before the car had come into her possession and what had always been a concern for Claire had now proven itself a boon. It took a moment to wrangle the back door open, ice and snow had settled in the cracks making the task tedious. After a few seconds of pulling, the door popped open suddenly and nearly sent Claire sprawling backwards across the wet pavement.

Fortunately, she maintained her footing and dove into the back seat which was piled high with a mixture of clothing, both her own and costumes she had taken home for some minor repairs. There was a variety of shoes, a blanket, paper trash from meals eaten hastily on the go, or during whatever brief lunch break she afforded herself. It took her longer than she had hoped to find two matching sneakers, a pair of mismatched socks, and an over-sized parka the color of mud that belonged to one of the dancers.

Why she had it she couldn't recall, but it didn't matter. Her target was nearing the end of the street and she could barely make out his silhouette through the thickening flurry of snow. Discarding the damp ballet slippers into the backseat of her car, Claire quickly dragged on the dry socks and then the sneakers.

Parka in hand, she slammed the car door closed behind her, causing ice and snow to explode outwards before settling again. Racing in the direction the stranger had gone, Claire hastily pulled the parka on, pleasantly surprised to find a pair of gloves and a knitted hat wedged deep into the pockets.

Tugging them on as well, she was relieved when slowly, but surely, the warmth began to return to her fingers and her toes. Her hurried movements forced the blood to flow quickly in an effort to keep her from freezing as the temperature continued to drop, and the wind sliced through her like tiny knives.

When he reached the end of the street, the stranger turned the corner and disappeared from view. This prompted Claire to quicken her pace from a brisk walk to a full blown run. If she lost him... then what? Nothing she supposed. The box would be gone and she would be left trying to explain just what had happened to the prop room come the morning after Christmas.

Perhaps she could feign ignorance, claim she had left before anything strange had occurred. It was something she would consider later, when the time for explanations came. It was more important for her to catch up with the stranger and get the box back.

As she came around the corner in pursuit of the stranger, Claire was forced to stop short in order to avoid running headlong into a group of carolers who had taken up temporary residence on that particular corner.

They weren't the only ones crowding the street. As far as Claire could see there were people jamming the wide sidewalks as they traveled to and from various destinations. She shouldn't have been surprised, even on Christmas Eve, New York strove to live up to its reputation as the city that never sleeps.

What frustrated and confused her, however, was the ease by which the stranger seemed to move despite the crush of bodies. It was as though they instinctively moved to avoid him, flowing around him like water flowed around a large boulder nestled in the heart of a raging river.

Claire wrapped her arms around herself a bit tighter and dove forward, pushing past families huddled around Christmas displays lighting up store front windows. Every now and then she'd glance over, taking in the sights. One window, for instance, held a beautifully crafted rendition of the nativity, the porcelain faces of Mary and Joseph painted with obvious care and in great detail. Another large window depicted Santa's sleigh as it soared over a city of ceramic houses lit internally by tiny, twinkling bulbs.

She'd linger for just a moment and then she'd be on her way again, afraid of losing the stranger in the crowd. The only reason she hadn't already was because of his hat which made him stand out though didn't seem to draw the attention of anyone else around them.

It was the last display on that particular block that really caught Claire's eye, causing her to pause far longer than any of the others. It depicted a young girl dressed in a pale blue nightgown staring up at the base of an enormous Christmas tree. From within the massive branches, hanging low beneath the heavy burden of large, colorful balls of glass, and twinkling lights, a set of slanted golden eyes peered out at her. Everything in the display was exaggerated in size, from the legs that implied a giant couch, to the base of a grandfather clock that disappeared into the darkness over head, all of it making the girl appear as though she had been shrunken down.

Along the bottom of the display, scrawled in gold, glittering letters was the following:

On Christmas Eve, when the clock chimes midnight - it will be a time of magic, and of dreams.

Recalling the way the clock had chimed so unexpectedly on stage, Claire stepped closer, her breath fogging up the glass in tiny patches. Pressing her hands against the display, she stared long and hard at the words.

It was just a coincidence, right?

Of course, she thought ruefully, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, magic isn't real.

Shoving away from the display, Claire looked around and realized that she had lingered too long, though it had felt like only seconds. As a result she had lost sight of the man in the top hat. An odd and unexpected rush of panic swell up within her prompting her dashed onward in the direction she had last seen him. Claire didn't slow her pace when the people crushed in around her again, and she ignored their angry protests as she pushed them aside to get past.