Long Silent Night Read online

  THE LONG SILENT NIGHT

  By Shane Berryhill

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Copyright 2012 / Shane Berryhill

  Copy-edited by: Darren Pulsford

  LICENSE NOTES

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Meet the Author

  Shane Berryhill is one of Mashable.com's 100+ Best Authors on Twitter. He is the author of CHANCE FORTUNE AND THE OUTLAWS (an official selection of the NY Public Library’s Books for the Teen Age and the Texas Lone Star Reading List) and CHANCE FORTUNE IN THE SHADOW ZONE. Look for the third book in the series, CHANCE FORTUNE OUT OF TIME, as well as his fantasy thriller, THE LONG SILENT NIGHT, to release soon from Crossroad Press. Shane loves to interact with friends and fans through social media.

  Book List

  Chance Fortune and the Outlaws

  Chance Fortune in the Shadow Zone

  Chance Fortune Out of Time

  Dragon Island

  The Long Silent Night

  Learn more about Shane and his work at:

  http://www.shaneberryhill.com/

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  Open this book and you will find the tale,

  Of the long silent night, oft called the first noir-el.

  It’s a story of Jack Frost, the North Pole’s private eye,

  And the case of the missing jolly fat guy.

  But it’s not just about Christmas, you will soon see.

  This book reads of all holidays throughout eternity.

  Jack will visit the Emerald Isle and go Halloween side,

  In search of his father and it will be one bumpy ride!

  There will be action, adventure and a mystery for the ages,

  For those brave enough to keep turning pages.

  So turn off the tube and switch on your lamp light,

  It’s time to start reading THE LONG SILENT NIGHT.

  Chapter 1

  My eyes pop open and, despite the darkness and the eggnog pounding away in my head, it’s clear as ice crystal that someone’s in the igloo with me. I sit up in bed too quickly and the room spins. Got to lay off the ‘nog.

  I slip out of bed and make my way across the room, my bare blue feet gliding soundlessly over the frozen floor. I lean my back against the ice block wall and peek through the open doorway. Open because I don’t have a bedroom door. This is the North Pole, after all. Land of candy canes and good will toward men. Who needs locked doors?

  In truth, the Pole has its bad seeds just like everywhere else. Trust me. I know. And not just because I’m Jack Frost, private investigator—the Pole’s one and only P.I., in fact.

  I look into the pitch, but see nothing. If this little wake-up call is courtesy of the Old Man, by Great Ak’s beard, I’m about to have a new ice sculpture in my living room!

  I jerk as I hear the intruder knocking around in the living room. He’s making enough noise to awaken spring. Obviously, I’m not dealing with the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree here.

  I skate into the living room at full speed, flicking on strands of lights as I go. I yell, hoping to take him by surprise.

  “Get ready for a tall glass of justice—on the rocks!”

  I put on the brakes as I see that my oh-so-dangerous intruder is a polar bear cub—one that’s probably wandered in looking for food. But it’s too late. I spread my legs just in time to dodge Chilly Willy and I go crashing into the only greenery in the entire ‘gloo—a Christmas tree.

  The next thing I know, I’m lying on the floor with pine needles in places they have no business being and the cub licking my face.

  I sigh and pet the little guy. He barks happily in response. It’s then the bells on the snow globe begin to jingle. I get to my feet, grimacing with pain as I yank pine needles out of my blue skin, and answer the globe.

  “Frost, here.”

  “Oh, Jack!” Mom’s image materializes in the globe’s swirling snow. Not my real mom. I’ve never met her. But the mom that counts—the one who raised me like I was her own. She’s upset. No, worse still, she’s scared.

  “What is it, mom? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s gone, Jack. Someone took him!”

  “Who, mom? Someone took who?”

  There’s a pause as mom gathers herself.

  “Santa, Jack. Santa Claus has been kidnapped!”

  Twas the night before Christmas, when at the North Pole,

  Bad things were stirring as a storm began to blow.

  All was not right in this snow-covered land.

  Evil was afoot, working its diabolical plan!

  Private Eye Jack Frost was asleep in his bed,

  Last night’s eggnog pounding in his head.

  But despite Jack having a final nightcap,

  His brain was razor sharp, just like a steel trap.

  So when in his kitchen there arose such a clatter,

  Jack sprang awake to see what was the matter.

  He skated through his igloo, his feet sliding on ice,

  To catch his home’s invader and make him pay the price!

  Jack slid into his kitchen and saw with his own eyes,

  The intruder was a polar bear cub, much to his surprise!

  Jack lost his balance and crashed to the floor,

  His pride wounded, his ego bruised to the core.

  The bear barked and gave Jack a lick.

  Then the snow globe rang. It was the wife of St. Nick.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?” Jack said, then paused.

  “Oh, Jack!” she replied. “They’ve kidnapped Santa Claus!”

  Chapter 2

  It’s snowing hard when I arrive at the Bavarian fortress that is Christmas Castle. The blue-capped police elves have already zoned off the place with yellow tape. The trench-cloak and stocking-fedora I’m wearing allow me to go dim and slip by the blue caps guarding the front. Inside, there’s more of the blue caps sweeping Holly-decked halls for evidence and questioning their better known cousins, the green-capped toy-makers.

  I pass the den and see Alfie giving Mrs. Claus the third degree. Seeing the red-bearded little manic grill my elderly, gray-haired mother gets my bells jingling big time! I start to intervene but catch a warning glance from Mom. Once upon a time, I baffled Pop with games of hide and seek, and he can see you sleeping, awake, whatever! But Mom, well, I could never hide from her.

  I protest silently for a moment, but Mom casts an upward glance. That old broad—and I say that with only the greatest love and affection—doesn’t miss a trick. I nod. She can handle Alfie. She’s as smart and tough as they come. I know where she wants me—where I can do some good. I turn back down the hall and make my way up candy-cane-spindled stairs to the crime scene.

  I enter Pop’s bedroom and the expression “tarred and feathered” comes to mind. The large window that constitutes the eastern wall is shattered. Blustery, snow-laden winds rush inside, swirling the hundreds of dark feathers that blanket the room. Two blue caps jump around in front of me trying to gather the feathers into evidence bags.

  I go visible so that I can snatch a feather from the air and examine it. Not that I couldn’t do it while dim,
if I had too. But being dim makes even the simplest of things seem like ice skating uphill backwards. Not that that would be hard for me, but you get the picture.

  I snag one of the feathers and look it over. “Meleagris gallopavo,” I whisper “Turkey.”

  The blue caps immediately whirl on me, candy canes drawn and aimed at my chest. That’s as high as they’re able to point them. These are Christmas elves, after all, and Legolas, they ain’t.

  “Put your hands on your head and get down on the floor!” they say in unison.

  “So you finally noticed I was in the room. Congratulations.”

  “Put your hands on your head and get down on the floor!” Blue Cap One says.

  “Relax, boys. I’m one of the good guys. You know that.”

  “This is your last warning!”

  “Oh, for Cringle’s sake, Opie, I was a candle-bearer at your first Season’s Greetings.”

  “We mean it, Frost!” Blue Cap Two says.

  I give him a bit of the Eye.

  “Don’t give unless you’re prepared to receive, Jangle!”

  The Eye, or Frosty Gaze as it’s normally called, is something I get from the Old Man—my real one. I’ve seen him literally freeze a person in their tracks with it, but the best I can do is send cold chills down someone’s spine. It doesn’t work on those with strong wills, but this time proves effective enough. Jangle gulps and takes a backward step.

  “Frost!” Alfie’s voice booms from behind me and suddenly my headache gets worse.

  “Alfie, tell your boys to lose the sweets or it’s about to get a lot colder in here!”

  “Don’t threaten me, Frost!” Alfie barks as he enters the room. He gestures for Opie and Jangle to holster their weapons. He’s smarter than I thought. “I’ll have you on ice so...that is...I mean...uh...how dare you waltz in here and contaminate my crime scene!”

  “This ‘crime scene’ happens to be the castle I grew up in.”

  “So cry me an ice-flow! We all grew up here!”

  “Boys,” Mom says as she enters the room, another blue cap following at her considerably plump elbow.

  “I’m sorry, Cap’,” Blue Cap Three says, “I couldn’t—”

  “Oh holy night, Jingle!” Alfie yells. “This place is a circus! Bad enough we got this second generation thug in here, but—!”

  “Now, Alfie, you hush that up!” Mom scolds. “Jack is my son, and his heart is as good as yours or mine! You know better than to use that kind of language. You are supposed to be setting a good example for these fine young elflings!”

  Alfie slumps his shoulders, defeated. “Yes, Mrs. Claus.”

  “That’s better. Now, for your information, Jack’s here because I asked him to come.”

  “You asked him?”

  “That’s right. And now I want the two of you to work together and figure out who’s got my Santa!”

  Mom’s armor finally cracks and tears swell in her eyes and run down the rosy hills of her cheeks. I feel like I should be crying tears, too. But they’d only freeze before they left my eyes, so I don’t.

  “We will, Mom,” I say as I pat her arm. The least I can do is fake sympathy, even if my heart is as cold as ice. “Now, why don’t you go rest while Alfie and I talk?”

  She nods and Alfie motions for the blue caps to escort her to her room so that we’re left alone. I decide to overlook his earlier remarks about my being a thug and get down to business. It’s Pop that’s at stake here, after all. No point in wasting any more time fighting.

  “Your boys find out anything from the green caps?” I ask.

  “No one was seen entering or leaving the castle. But with the blizzard going on outside, you can’t see two feet in front of your face.”

  “Any tracks?”

  “The snow took care of that, too.

  “So what do you think?”

  “This is an obvious open and shut case. This is the Gobbler’s work.”

  He gets frustrated when I don’t answer. “Don’t you think so?”

  “Frankie certainly has motive,” I say. “The Gobbler and his crew have always been jealous of Pop. They’ve made no bones about being angry at people passing them over for Christmas the way they pass over the socks their great aunt puts under the tree for them.”

  “So you agree, then?”

  “I think somebody certainly wants us to believe it’s Frankie. But his entire flock would have had to waddle in here to leave behind this many feathers.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying this is a frame up. This crime scene has been staged.”

  “Nonsense! You said it yourself—Frankie’s tired of getting the short end of the candy cane. Case closed!

  “I agree you should have him picked up.”

  “Rudy and Yukon are already questioning him down at the station. They’ll have Santa’s whereabouts out of him in no time, not that there’s any hurry.”

  “What do you mean there’s no hurry? It’s Christmas Eve. The kids are waiting.”

  Alfie shakes his head. “Santa had already conjured the night spell before he was hijacked.”

  “Night spell?”

  “The spell of eternal night. It makes Christmas Eve last until every boy and girl in the world has received their Christmas presents.”

  “Call the spell off. Christmas can wait. It will have to.”

  “Ha! I hear what you’re caroling, Frost, but Santa’s the only one who can deck that hall. Without him, it’s the long, silent night forever.”

  “Well, Merry Ho! Ho! Ho! And here I thought finding Santa and saving Christmas was all we had to worry about. Just holly jolly!”

  My head feels like there’s icebergs dancing inside it rather than sugar plums. I take off my stocking-fedora and massage my forehead.

  “What does H-Town have to say about all this?” I ask.

  “I didn’t see any reason to involve the feds. The Pole is perfectly capable—”

  “You’ve got to be twisting my tinsel, right?”

  “Look, Frost,” Alfie says, “despite what Mrs. Claus thinks, we blue caps are perfectly capable of finding Cringle without H-Town or some freezer burnt gangster reject skating around, sticking his pointy, icicled noise where it doesn’t belong. You get me?”

  “Wrapped with a bow and under the tree, Alfie.”

  “Good. I don’t want to hear even a carol out of you until the Big C’s back stuffing his jolly, fat face with cookies!”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too, Alfie.”

  What an unholy night filled with fear.

  No Santa, no sleigh, no tiny reindeer.

  But do not worry; put on a happy face.

  Private Eye Jack Frost is on the case!

  With his concealing trench-cloak and stocking-hat,

  Jack slipped past the Blue Caps in no time flat.

  He made his way inside Santa’s castle

  Where he found his first clue, though it was a hassle.

  Two blue capped elves ordered Jack to freeze,

  Or his frosty person they would quickly seize.

  Before they could, in came Captain Alfie.

  He wasn’t happy to see Jack, or listen to his mouthie!

  “What do you want, Frost?” Alfie angrily asked,

  For you see, he and Jack shared a troubled past.

  “I’m here to help,” Jack said, “in solving this crime.

  “Whoever took Santa must have been paid quite a dime!”

  “Frankie the Gobbler stole your Pop,” Alfie claimed,

  “So Thanksgiving could have all of Christmas’ fame!”

  “No, no, no. Aren’t we on the same page?

  “Alfie, my friend, this crime scene has been staged!”

  Chapter 3

  Find him, Jack. Find your father. That’s what mom said to me before I left the castle. Oh, the irony.

  The question here is, who benefits? That’s what you’ve always got to ask yourself when working a case. Who benefi
ts from Santa being out of the picture?

  With the Awgwa monsters long vanquished, the question narrows down the list to, oh, about every holiday character in the known worlds, including the other versions of Cringle who’d like to raise their stock. With Santa out of the way, Christmas as we know it is a no-go and the icy tundra is wide open for any one of them to become the star at the top of the tree.

  If I’m going to find Santa and fix this mess, then that list has to shrink. That’s why I’m taking Mom’s advice. I’m going to find my old man—my real one. Snow can’t hit the fan like this on his turf without him knowing something about it. And something tells me it’s no accident the snow’s blowing like it is tonight.

  It doesn’t take long. I’m barely in the Outlands when I hear snow wolves barking in the distance. Soon, I spy a wolf-sled cresting the horizon with a dark figure at the reins, cracking a whip. Only one possibility there—Bominable. As in the abominable snowman.

  In no time, he pulls alongside me. Half-man and half-polar bear, Bominable looks like a monster from your worst nightmare. He lifts a gigantic paw and cracks the whip over the heads of the sled-wolves. In truth, the wolves would’ve only slowed him down. He drove the sled for effect—to try to scare me. It works better than I care to admit.

  “Jack,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice as his smile reveals rows of yellow fangs.

  I try to play it cool.

  “All this for me, Bominable? I didn’t know you were such a sweetheart. Next you’ll be wearing plaid sweaters and sipping hot cocoa.”

  That throws him. His furry face curls into a snarl and a low growl issues from his gullet. I don’t know whether I should be happy or jingling in my boots.

  “Your father wants to see you.”