The cult leader wore purple velvet, distinguishing his status from the other 11 men and women in red. His place in front of the 12 pointed star was primary, inlaid in silver versus their simple maple ornamentation on the large dark table that dominated the center of the room, though they gathered as equals tonight. He knew of the few records of this space, the envy of most of his neighbors more so for the in-ground swimming pool directly above their heads. Building permit records considered this to be an emergency shelter built under the property’s backyard. That description was more apt than the city clerk would ever really know.
The leader surveyed the acolytes that had assembled on this, the most holy of nights for the modern ritual of timekeeping. Each month, one of the assembled people here was charged with constant vigilance, to safeguard the very time streams they often then chose without hesitation to become apart from. The gift for this month of sacrifice and psychic toil was an opportunity to complete the remainder of the year unburdened, living outside of Time itself. The leader had always prided himself on the longevity of his current calendar, but the price for control over Time itself often became overwhelming. When that happened, another had always stepped forward, for this prize was an enticing one. He frowned at finding five new faces tonight, however. Inauspicious. A sign that the virus had actually remained somewhat of a problem? He should have paid better attention this year, but had stayed in his own solitary bubble for far too long, apparently. His month had been so tiring that mental escape seemed the right course at the time.
January frowned again. He leaned to his right towards one of the new acolytes this season and asked, “December, you say they are still on the Greek alphabet?”
“Yes, my lord. This one dominated quickly. I am afraid you might have your hands full tomorrow.” His face was hidden by his red hood, but unlike his predecessor, his long gray beard certainly looked the part. It bounced as December nodded, chuckling slightly to himself.
Was that a flash of static electricity in his beard? “New Master of December, do tell me what is so amusing.”
April spoke up. “My lord, where is He? We have waited long enough and now only have ten minutes left to perform the ritual.”
January raised a hand. “Very well! You are correct. We know from past experience that our ritual does not require the physical presence of the Old One. Those of you who have joined me before will recall years past when they are not yet ready to let go. No matter. I expect that brevity will likely suit all of us, as it is.” He turned around and took a few steps to the wall. He poured red wine from an ornate glass pitcher into a silver chalice sitting on a shelf, then turned back and raised the chalice to the center of the table. “January, well, January was a shitshow. I don’t want to waste any more of your time on that.” He took a sip and passed the chalice to his left. A spark of light flashed in the center of the table and floated lazily in a clockwise circle.
“February saw a lot of hunkering down, but there was also a bright light at the end of the tunnel. Mass vaccinations again, can you believe it? How long has it been?” She took a sip and passed the chalice to her left. A second spark flashed and began dancing with the first.
“March was fine, I guess. Good company at home and close friends had never been more important.”
“Hey, we actually made plans in April for later in the year, that was pretty fine, too.”
“I can’t agree. May was a blur.”
“No shit, May. I don’t want to speak for July and August per se, but we were chatting earlier. June was supposed to herald some relaxation for everyone’s sake, and it all went to poo.”
“July would have used stronger language, but I agree 100%, don’t you worry.”
“As for August, where was my hot vax summer? April, did you forget that we ended up having every reason to cancel your plans? Complete bullshit.”
September drank and passed to October without speaking. She turned to her right and offered the chalice back. “Wait, hon. Is this your first time? You need to speak for your month, at least in passing, as these eight have just done.”
“Er, sorry, yeah.” The boy threw back his hood and raised the chalice to the swirling maelstrom of lights in front of him. “It was more like September ended kinda nice, and I have no freaking clue what I did, or even if I had a direct effect at all, y’know?” He drank again and passed the chalice, nearly empty, to his left.
“October feels the same, young one. Things looked better, but were they really? Don’t worry, tomorrow is another year.”
November leaned over the table and raised the chalice first to January’s left. “Feb, darling, I remember. It has been over one hundred of their years now since we had to deal with this crap. Boosters gave me enough confidence this past November that I started making new plans: to invite you on that longer vacation together finally, in the new year. I figured we can sleep in 2023.” February blushed and giggled. November drank and handed the chalice to December. “Well, let’s just say I felt that way until you came along, Jack. What the hell?” The ten others, January included, nodded and murmured agreement. September coughed into his left elbow.
December raised the chalice, then placed it down on the table. He began to titter, and was soon hunched over, holding the edge of the table, laughing wildly. January reached over with his right hand. “What is it with you tonight?” December pulled back his hood. The long gray beard sprang from the temples of a very bald and very old man, still grinning madly. His eyes sparkled with the power of his internal joke, brow sweaty from the exertion of his laughing fit. January lowered his hand, uncertain for the first time in nearly a millennium. “You are new, right? Go on, finish the ritual. We are now overdue.”
The old man smacked his own left cheek and giggled again. “I am sorry, really. It’s just that, well, how stupid can you be? All of you?” April doubled over in a coughing fit and looked around with a frightened expression. “I suppose by now you are definitely all infected, but it was bound to just be a matter of time, right?” He hooted and slapped the chalice with the back of his right hand. It tipped over, spilling wine and rolling off the table.
The table collectively gasped and began yelling over each other. January called out, “Quiet!” They slowly calmed down and the leader of this group turned fully to his right to face this stranger standing where December should be. “I demand to know who you are.”
The old man giggled as he pulled a rag from a pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. Stage makeup rubbed off as well, uncovering a four character tattoo in blocky font directly over his nose. “Yes, that’s right! It’s me. And, I did notice it was after midnight already. Time has fewer rules than even you realize, Lord January.” October tried to catch her breath and passed out on the table.
January fumbled behind himself, trying to find a ceremonial weapon. There were swords on the wall, right? “What? No, you exist in service to us! We control the course of your year!”
The old man laughed again. “Don’t you get it? I feel like I didn’t get to do anything all year! Screw that! No, I’m not ready to be done. I say I get another one. As for you and your sorry lot here, time’s up.” He swirled his right hand in a circle and started counting. By the time he had called out “Sixty!” to the quiet room, eleven localized pockets of spacetime had aged to dust. “One thing left to do, I guess.” He cleared his throat and saluted the light show that had continued swirling in the middle of the room. “December. The month I realized, hey, maybe we should just call things even and try this again?”
A twelfth spark lit and joined the others, spinning faster and faster until they joined together as one brighter, flashing star. A pink cherub, with a blocky 2022 tattooed on his forehead, crawled out of the light and hunkered down, learning what wood feels like. The infant squeeked as it raised its arms in his very first stretch. He opened his eyes and dropped his arms quickly, his expression due either to confusion or gas. His head lolled a bit from side to side as he turned first left and then right, before locking eyes with the old man, who had shifted over and now stood in January’s head of the table. A tiny sing-song voice cried out, “What the FU-” before the baby exploded in a burst of soap bubbles. Each bubble slowly fell to the tabletop and popped into nothing.
The old man grabbed his forehead and called out in pain, then grinned in triumph. The nasty sensation of lasers and needles meant that his careful planning had worked. He stumbled over to the nearest mirrored surface. 5505. “Wonderful! Is that it, then?” A lurching in the pit of his stomach gave him his answer. His vision clouded over, and he blinked and found himself sitting on the floor. He looked at both hands, then noticed his change of clothes. A white cloth diaper. Really? He crawled toward the exit door, then flopped onto his rear end, staring up in anger. The door had been shut tight, its large and dramatic spinning wheel lock fully engaged.
“How am I supposed to get out of here, if I can’t open the door?”
His bladder emptied. The new year began to cry.
The close of 2021 involved a lot of reflection of lost opportunities, and hope. Another story for the holidays.