Santa’s Village looked like something ripped straight from a holiday postcard—if you ignored the undercurrent of unease that came with knowing a man had been murdered nearby. Candy-cane-striped posts lined the path leading to a cozy log cabin trimmed with twinkling lights, while faux snow dusted the roof and windows. Cheerful music played softly from hidden speakers, and the faint scent of peppermint mingled with the crisp winter air. It was the kind of place meant to warm hearts and make children believe in magic.
But the oversized chair in the middle of the cabin meant for Santa was conspicuously empty. Instead, a young woman dressed as an elf stood nearby, her green velvet costume slightly rumpled, the bells on her hat jingling softly as she fidgeted. Her forced smile wavered when she saw us approach.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping forward, my voice softer than usual. No need to spook her—yet. “We’re looking for some information about Brody Hansen.”
The elf—her name tag read Kara—shifted nervously, glancing between us. “Brody?” she echoed, her voice higher than it needed to be. “Why?”
Victor stepped in, his tone professional. “We need to ask you some questions about him. He’s… well, he’s been murdered.”
Her eyes widened, and genuine shock flashed across her face for a moment. But then, to my surprise, her expression shifted into something resembling resignation. “Murdered?” she repeated, her voice dropping. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
That caught all of us off guard. Aurora tilted her head, her gaze pinning the elf in place. “Why would you say that?”
Kara hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her costume. “He… he wasn’t exactly a nice guy,” she finally admitted. “He gave me the creeps. And I wasn’t the only one.”
I exchanged a glance with Victor before focusing back on her. “What do you mean?”
She bit her lip, clearly debating whether to share. Finally, she sighed. “There was this… incident. A couple of days ago, a mother came storming in here, furious. She said Brody had made her daughter uncomfortable while taking her picture.”
Victor’s brow furrowed. “Uncomfortable how?”
Kara shook her head quickly, her bells jingling. “I don’t know exactly. She didn’t say much—just that her daughter didn’t want to come back to Santa’s Village, and she blamed Brody. I didn’t see what happened, but the way she looked at him…” She shuddered. “It was bad.”
I crossed my arms, my mind racing. “Where’s Brody’s camera?”
Kara perked up at that, her nervousness giving way to a flicker of usefulness. “Oh, um, it’s still here.” She turned and led us toward a small table tucked near the back of the cabin. Brody’s camera sat there, a professional-grade piece of equipment that looked oddly out of place among the festive décor.
Victor leaned in to inspect it, his jaw tightening. “We’ll need to look at the photos,” he said, his voice edged with steel.
Kara nodded quickly, stepping back as if eager to be out of the conversation. “You can take it.”
I picked up the camera, its weight cold and solid in my hands. Whatever was on this camera might explain why Brody Hansen was dead—and whether his murder was random or something far darker.
I turned the camera over in my hands, flipping open the compartment to check the battery. Dead. Of course. I sighed, slipping it back into place and holding the camera up for the others to see. “Battery’s dead. I’ll have to charge it before we can look at anything.”
Victor frowned but nodded. “Alright, let’s check out his workstation. Maybe something there will pop.”
I glanced at Kara, still fidgeting near the doorway, her bells jingling softly with every movement. “Can you give us twenty minutes alone?” I asked.
She hesitated but then shrugged. “Sure. We’ll have to call in the other photographer before we can work again, anyway. Might as well go tell Marty about Brody.”
“Marty?” I asked, tilting my head.
She blinked at me like I’d missed something obvious. “Santa,” she said flatly. “He’s probably at the snack bar. I’ll send him over.”
With that, she jingled her way out the door, leaving us alone in the cabin. The cheerful music from outside filtered in faintly, starkly contrasting the tension in the room.
Victor motioned toward a desk tucked in the corner of the cabin, its surface cluttered with papers, a laptop, and an old-fashioned photo printer. As we began sifting through the mess, Nishi broke the silence. “Alright, let’s talk about the elephant—or demon—in the room. What kind of creature whips a guy to death with birch branches?”
Aurora straightened, glancing at Victor. “Could be ritualistic,” she said thoughtfully. “Some demons use specific symbols or materials to bind their victims or harvest energy.”
Victor nodded, his expression grim. “It’s possible. Thebirch branches could be significant—or just a method of torture.”
“Any guesses?” Nishi pressed, pulling open a drawer and rifling through its contents.
“Not without more evidence,” Aurora replied, her tone clipped. “But it’s not random.”
I noticed the slight shift in Victor’s posture as she spoke, the way his attention lingered on her a beat too long. It wasn’t overt, but it was there—a subtle fascination that even Aurora, with all her sharpness, seemed oblivious to.
