The Christmas-hemoth Spirit
By Theo Winters

Written for hg3300

Stepping out of his house, Phil paused for a moment to admire the freshly fallen snow. It was blanketed over everything, which just added to the still of the night. Taking in a deep breath of the cold air, he let it trail out of his nose and enjoyed the briskness of it. The only sound was the distant rumble of cars on the highway—otherwise it was peaceful.

He paused for a moment to adjust his sweater, and then started down the steps and into the street. He had always enjoyed nights like this, with the snow and the cold air. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, allowing the stars to shine. There were a few streetlights on the road, but they were spaced out far enough to leave near-darkness between them.

With his hands in his pockets, he walked along the street and down towards the local park, enjoying the solitude of the winter night. This was always his favorite time of evening to go out, and the snow made it even prettier.

Crossing the street, he came to the entrance of the local park. The paths had been cleared sometime earlier that day, so there wasn't any ice or snow, making it easy enough to walk on. Soon he found himself walking between the tall pine trees, the close tree trunks blocking out much of the light from the street. For a moment, he felt like he was all alone in the world.

Phil smiled; the wind suddenly gusted past him and tried to blow off the knit cap he was wearing. His quick reflexes managed to catch it before it flew off his head, and he pulled it back down over his brown hair. The green-and-silver hat went perfectly with his sweater and the sweatpants he was wearing, so he didn't want to lose it.

It was a good thing that he did, as a moment later there was a snap from the trees above him, and a pile of snow tumbled down towards him. He nimbly danced away from it, only a little bit of it spattering over his head and shoulders, the rest hitting the ground and covering the trail in a fine layer of powder.

He glanced back up into the trees, unable to spot the broken branch in the dark. Phil was surprised that the snow had been heavy enough to cause anything to break. Maybe it was a weak branch? He made a mental note to take a look at the trees in his backyard before he continued on down the trail.

Phil brushed the snow off his shoulders as he traveled down the path, occasionally hearing creaks from the trees around him as the wind blew, sometimes sending small swirls of snow down over him. It was one of those swirls of snow that caused him to glance down at the trail where he spotted a pinecone that he was just about to step on. He sidestepped it and continued on his way, almost certain that he heard a bird chirp in the distance.

The wind started to pick up as he continued on his walk deeper into the park, even as the creaking grew louder. Now and then, a downdraft would wash over him, bringing another smattering of snow falling over his hat and shoulders.

Then, with a whoosh, something large flew right overhead, the snow spinning and swirling in its wake. That stopped Phil in his tracks, and he turned his head to follow the almost invisible creature, only for a snowball to hit him square in the face.

The snow was loosely packed, so it didn't hurt. Instead it exploded in powder the moment it hit him, causing his skin to sting, but otherwise doing nothing but annoying him. “That's not funny!" he snapped, trying to wipe his face clean on the arm of his sweater, the heat from his body already causing the snow to melt.

The response was a joyful laugh that echoed between the trees.

Phil spun around in place, looking for the person who had thrown the snowball, but didn't see anyone in the darkness of the trail. The moon and stars provided just enough light to see the path and the trees around him, but not to see beyond.

He crouched down and gathered a handful of snow, carefully shaping it into a loosely-packed ball. Whoever his attacker was, they had picked the wrong person to start a snowball fight with! He lightly bounced the snowball in his hand, searching for a target between the trees. He narrowed his eyes, watching for even the slightest movement, and when he saw something darting between the trees, he threw the snowball.

It arced through the air, leaving a trail of snow in its wake, before vanishing into the trees. A moment later, he heard it hit something, followed by a squawk and a thump of something falling to the ground.

Phil laughed and shook his head. “You give up?"

A few moments later, the response came in the form of another snowball flying out from the trees, this one arcing high over his head to land on the path behind him.

Smirking, he bent down to collect another handful of snow, glancing down only for a moment to make sure he was near fresh powder, only to freeze in place. His hands were bright red, except for the very tips of his fingers, which were fading into a tan. Even his fingernails had changed, becoming black and starting to grow longer.

“What in the world…?" he asked softly, staring down at his changing hands. He tried to flex them, finding that his fingers moved, but felt thick and awkward as they did so. There was a strange tension in them, as if he was making a tight fist even though he wasn't, and they were starting to grow. His fingers grew thicker as the palm started to push outwards, engulfing the base of his digits. He could feel the bones changing as well, some stretching and others shrinking. The most startling changes were his thumbs, as they were shrinking, almost pulling backwards along his wrist.

When the tension finally abated, his hands were gone, replaced by a massive pair of paws, each one easily the size of dinner plates. Phil just stared at them, looking at both the front and back of them. He couldn't believe it! Even though he was seeing it himself, even though he could feel it, it was unreal, like something out of a dream.

Of course, that had to be it; he was dreaming. There was no other possible explanation for what was happening. It was a dream, what else could it have been?

Gingerly, he reached up with his left paw, gently placing the massive thing on his arm. He hesitated for a moment, not sure how to pinch himself without any fingers, but after a moment, decided that a jab with one of the inch-long claws would work the same. Thank goodness the tips seemed to be dull. Carefully, he pressed one of the claws against his arm, the point not quite breaking through the sweater.

Phil braced himself and was about to jab the claw into his arm, when the tension returned, this time running though his feet and ankles. He let out a gasp of surprise, his balance suddenly thrown off as he tumbled forward, landing with his paws in the snow, a position that now felt oddly comfortable.

He craned his head around, looking down at his feet as the tension started to turn into pressure across both of them. His boots started to creak as they began to bulge under the laces, pulling them even tighter. With every moment, the pressure grew, as he felt his boots pull tighter around his feet, squeezing them like they were trapped in a vice.

There was a ripping sound as a claw was forced through the material of the right boot, followed by three more in quick succession, each one skewing in different directions. Phil had a moment to be thankful that he wasn't wearing steel-toed boots, when the pressure surged again and the tip of the boot seemed to explode, the material ripping away from the sole as a huge paw burst free. The rest of the boot finally gave way, tearing apart to reveal the paw that had been crammed inside.

The other boot was still holding on, the material creaking in protest as the paw inside fought for the far-too-small of a space. He could feel the toes inside, curled under so the claws were pressing down into the sole instead of the material of the toes, and the pressure was starting to become actual pain.

Without thinking about it, he lifted his right foot and pressed the paw against the intact boot, digging his claws in and just barely cutting it. That was enough to free the paw, as the small cut suddenly ripped out in both directions, enough that he could lift the foot and shake it, throwing off the remains of the footwear.

It felt so good to finally get his boots off that Phil didn't care that he was now standing on all fours. He just shifted his weight on his new hind paws before looking back at them again. They were both a match to the size of his front paws, if not larger, and he could see bits of red across the top of them, but the rest was lost under his socks.

Unlike his boots, Phil's cotton socks had been able to stretch over his new paws, though they were only just holding on. Each of his toes had ripped right through the fabric, but a part of the socks were barely hanging on between his toes, stubbornly trying to cover feet that no longer existed.

For a moment, Phil wondered if whatever was happening to him was over, but the instant he thought that, he felt the tension return, this time starting in his legs, radiating up over his hips and across his rear. He twisted his head and shoulders and tried to see what was happening while staying on all fours, eyes going wide as he felt his legs starting to grow thicker, pulling his pants tight against his skin.

Luckily, the fabric of his pants didn't have the strength of his boots, and they started to tear in moments, ripping up the length of his legs, revealing bright red skin. A moment later, there was a new feeling, as something started to grow on his lower legs, thick green fur appearing between some of the tears. It grew quickly, filling out into a thick coat that covered his lower legs from his knees to his ankles.

Then without any warning, there was a pop, as his hips suddenly moved, his bones reshaping in moments to allow them to sit in the proper location for a quadruped. The sudden change brought with it a sense of relief, the muscles in his legs starting to relax as his stance became more natural to him.

Phil shook his head, trying to clear the feeling. He didn't want those changes to become natural! He wanted whatever was happening to him to stop, but he couldn't do anything other than watch in… not horror, he wasn't scared by what was happening to him. It was more of fascination than anything else.

The shifting of his hips had pulled the seat of his pants tight against his body, and soon pressure was starting to grow at the small of his back, right at the very base of his spine. From how he was twisted, he couldn't quite see what was happening, but he could feel his tailbone stretching, starting to grow. It pushed out against the fabric of his pants, which gave way in moments, the seams ripping open and allowing his new tail to break free.

He stood there, watching as the tail grew outwards, more bright red skin on top with tan on the bottom. The longer it grew, the thicker it became, pushing his hips further apart as it did so, causing him to shift his hind legs to stay standing. The very tip of it started to tingle and burst into green fur, a massive tuft growing in moments.

Below the fur, two spikes started to grow, pushing out from the skin, each one white as snow...except that they weren't—right under the white tip was a strip of red, followed by more white. The spikes on his tail were…candy canes?

“What?" he tried to ask, but only a rough grunt came out of his throat. A second later, a trilling laugh echoed off the trees, coming from somewhere high above him. Phil scanned the area, searching for the source of the sound, but saw nothing.

The tension returned and started flowing up his back, running along his spine until it reached his shoulder blades. But it felt different this time—instead of feeling like his muscles were getting tighter, they were starting to relax. Everything seemed liquid for a moment; his shoulders were rocking as he rolled his neck from side to side. His sweater was starting to grow tighter by the seconds as his torso filled out, more of the red skin showing between the remains of his pants—only held on by its elastic waistband—and the hem of his sweater. He could feel the core of his body pulling out, stretching longer as his ribs began to fill out, pulling the material of the sweater tight between each button as tan skin started to show between the gaps.

This was his favorite sweater! Of all the things that had happened to him, this was the one that bothered him the most. Phil only wore this sweater to relax in when it started getting cold. So when the first button finally snapped and went flying off into the dark, he reacted like he had been slapped.

He looked away, not wanting to see his old friend torn to pieces like this. Instead he focused on his paws, the large paws which seemed far too big to ever compare with the rest of his changes. He tried to focus on that, even as he felt his sweater pull tight across his shoulders and start to tear right across his back. Small bits of silver and green yarn floated down onto the snow around him.

Phil growled in frustration as his shoulders and neck both suddenly popped and moved. That caused his head to lurch upwards as all the pressure on his neck vanished. He shook his head to clear it, realizing that he was now looking forward instead of down, just like a proper quadruped.

He growled again as the tension started washing over his arms, causing them fill out, muscles growing under the skin and pulling at the remains of his sweater. At the same time, he could see more of the green fur growing on his lower arms…or rather forelegs. He could see the fur starting to peek out through the knitting of his sweater. It was just a few small tufts, but they were growing quickly as his arms thickened, small tears starting to form.

Finally, it was his head's turn to change, the tension washing over it as all the skin pulled tight, his brown hair nearly standing on end. His jaw started growing, pushing his chin and upper lips forward. Crossing his eyes, he watched as his nose began to merge into his growing muzzle, the red skin starting to cover everything. His teeth were changing as well, more of them growing in and pushing the others forward, while his canines grew larger.

Soon his face was dominated by a large snout that jutted down into the center of his vision and came to a sharp point. It dominated his view and blocked out anything right under his nose. His eyes went wide and then wider still as they started growing larger, his field of view spreading out in all directions. At the same time the shapes of the trees grew sharper as more of the darkness came into focus.

Phil let out a cry as he felt two jabs on the top of his head, but it only lasted for a few moments. Reaching up with one forepaw, he placed it on the back of his head and felt a pair of large horns starting to grow out. They were perfectly smooth, sliding against his paws they grew, pushing forward until he could see the tips of them in his expanded vision. Just like his tail spikes, they were colored like candy canes.

As the tension faded, he took in a deep breath, the cold air rushing down into his chest as his nose was assaulted with hundreds of new scents. He could smell almost everything: the scent of the snow, the human scent that was on the remains of his clothing, the exhaust from the distant traffic, and the smoke from the chimneys all over town.

He could even smell something high above him in the trees. He tilted his head to look up—a  lock of bright green hair falling across his face—as his fin-like ears fanned out to catch any sound. There was something sitting in the branches of the trees, and it was looking back down at him with glowing eyes.

Then a second later it dropped from the branch, sweeping down to the ground, gray wings fanning back as his tormentor dropped onto her paws, landing on the path next to him. A familiar gryphon walked up to him, her four paws hardly sinking into the snow on path as she gave him a smile.

“Dorathy," Phil said, his voice having returned to him, though the words came out rough, like they had been pulled through a quarry. “What have you done to me?"

She laughed, the same laugh he had heard from before, and then walked up to him. With his changed stature, he was only a little bit taller than her three feet in height. There was a flash of glee in her orange eyes as she suddenly pulled out something from thin air: a small feline angel, like the sort of thing you would put on a tree.

“Getting you ready for Christmas, of course!" she declared. Then with a flap of her wings, she rose up over him and placed the angel right on the top of his head.

The moment she did so, he felt his whole body tense up, then a wash of power crashed down over him. He could feel himself starting to grow, his legs and body filling out to match the size of his paws, and then keep growing. He had to shift his weight, changing where his paws were sitting as he grew, his body stretching out longer as his head rose into the air. He could feel the remains of his clothing—what little had held onto his body—start to give way, even the socks on his hind paws finally tearing apart. Soon only the waistband was left, and a quick swipe of a paw took care of that.

As he grew, he glared at Dorathy, the gryphon hovering in the air in front of his face, growing smaller as he rose up over the path. When the growth finally stopped, he found that he completed filled the path, both of his shoulders brushed up against the trees. He must have been at least twelve feet tall, maybe more. It was hard for him to judge, as he felt massive, while at the same time perfectly normal.

His friend smiled and laughed into her own paw. “You look like a proper Christmas behemoth," she declared.

Phil snorted at her, turning his attention back to the remains of his clothing. “You owe me a new sweater," he said. His voice was deep and low, rumbling out of his lips like an avalanche.

“You'll just have to see what Santa leaves for you under the tree," she said, fluttering around to land on his back.

He craned his head back around—something that he discovered was easy to do—and looked at the gryphon. She had settled down between a pair of spikes that rose up from his shoulders, which provided a perfect place for her to sit and something for her to hold onto.

“And what am I supposed to do now?" Phil asked.

Dorathy laughed and reached out to bat at the small angel still perched on his head. “We're on present delivery duty this year. We need to get them dropped off all over so the big guy can restock during his world tour."

They looked at each other for a few more moments before Phil let out a sigh. “Well, that does sound like fun," he grudgingly admitted.

“That's the spirit!" she declared, tapping against one of the spikes. A moment later he felt himself lifting a few inches into the air. “Let's hit the sky."

He shook his head. A flying Christmas behemoth, why not? Digging his paws into the air, he started running up towards the sky, his new muscles propelling him forward faster than he could have imagined. As he cleared the trees, he let out a roar of joy.

It was going to be an interesting holiday!

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This story was written and copyright 2018 by Theo Winters, reposting and archiving are allowed as long as this copyright notice and the author's name are not removed. This story cannot be published without permission of the author. Violators will be introduced get a behemoth sized load of coal.