It’s no secret. I don’t do Christmas.
It’s not that I’m anti-religious, although I don’t go to church. It’s not that I hate all the decorations and Christmas music, but I am sick of it already, with still over a week to go. I have no family so I have no need to decorate a tree or wrap gifts. It’s just me and has been, with this upcoming Christmas, for twenty-five years. At forty years old, I’m not a grumpy old man. I just have my reasons.
So when I got the ‘Secret Santa’ email at work asking me to participate, I politely declined, as I do every year. You’d think they’d stop asking me by now. I’ve been with this firm for over ten years and everyone knows how I feel about it. Oh, other holidays are okay. Thanksgiving is great. I usually go to one of those massive Thanksgiving buffets at a restaurant or hotel. They’re never crowded and the food is amazing, huge selections of everything. I don’t even eat turkey; I like to try something new every year. This year was escargot, and it was a lot tastier than I thought it would be. I go alone, as I always do. I’m happy in my solitude and I’m too old to change that now.
Yeah, holidays are generally okay. Just not Christmas. Especially this Christmas.
Anyway, I replied to the email and I was nice about it.
December 20th
I saw a small wrapped present on my desk when I came in this morning.
To Zach from Your Secret Santa
I searched back through my emails and replied again to the Secret Santa request that I really did not want to participate. This time I may have been a little rude. Standing up, I peered over the wall of my cubicle and looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Nothing suspicious up there, so I plopped my ass back down in my chair and stared at the present.
It wasn’t big, less than four by four inches and wrapped in shiny red paper with a black and red bow…odd choice of color for a bow at Christmastime. I poked at the box with my finger as if I expected it to explode. I picked it up and shook it like a small child testing packages under the tree, as if I could figure it out by the sound. Just a light thunk that could be anything.
I pulled the bow off, one of those self-adhesive kinds, and tossed it aside where it stuck to my cubicle wall. It was neatly wrapped, like from those professional gift wrappers at some expensive store in the mall. I carefully pulled it apart at the taped edges. When I was a child I never just ripped into a present, I’ve always tried to take the paper off in one piece. My mother used to joke that she could reuse the paper the next year for presents for other people. Other people, because she didn’t want to give away the Santa myth back then. I removed the paper and carefully folded it up. I opened up the simple white box and took out the item wrapped in tissue paper. As soon as the prize was visible, I dropped it on my desk. It landed on its side and stared at me. I backed up my chair and caught my breath in my throat.
It couldn’t be!
I wheeled closer and picked it up with my thumb and forefinger, its face smiling at me. The half-burned Santa candle even smelled as if it had been recently burned. The Santa hat was gone, melted away as well as the forehead and part of the left eye. But there was still enough of that eye to keep my gaze. My face turned white and my vision blurred, and I quickly boxed it back up, throwing it into the trash. I followed it up with the wrapping paper and bow just to be safe. Again, I stood up and looked to see who might have been watching me open it.
No one.
Personally, I didn’t know anyone here who would do such a thing to me, to be so cruel. But then how would they know anyway?
That night I had the first nightmare in at least five years. Nightmare, memory— for me they’re one and the same— and one for which I wasn’t ready.
School had let out two days earlier for the Christmas holidays. An unpredicted snowstorm had gathered strength and blanketed the city. Conditions were too dangerous for students and staff to get to school, so with only a few school days left, officials started the holiday early. I was enjoying my extra days off, but my mother was upset. She still had a few presents to buy and would be unable to get them. I think at least one was for me judging by the looks I caught her giving me when she thought I wasn’t looking. I wanted to tell her it didn’t bother me. Day of or days after, it made no difference to me. It’s not like I still believed in Santa. I better not have; I was fifteen this year.
Dad and I shoveled off the walk as often as we could, but each time we went outside it was deeper. The walls of snow surrounding the walk were now taller than us both and the snow was still coming down hard. This time we had just cleared about eight feet of the walk when I saw movement from the corner of my eye.
“Dad!” I yelled, grabbing his arm, and pulling him towards me.
He looked up in time to see the snow caving in above him. He dragged the shovel along as we back-pedaled to the front door. As my foot stepped over the threshold, a pile of white covered my dad.
“Mom, help me!” I screamed as I frantically dug, trying to find him. The snow almost filled the doorway.
“Oh my God!” she choked out, reaching us. “Zach, where’s your father?”
“Somewhere in here!” I pointed as I dug faster.
We were throwing the snow inside the house, but didn’t care. How could he just disappear? He’d been standing right there! My hand hit something and, as I reached in further, I felt his hand encircle my arm.
“Here! He’s here!” I yelled.
We both dug more and as I pulled back, my father shakily stood up, his grip on my arm becoming painful. He was covered in snow and looked like a snowman. There was a light poofing sound and I saw that more snow had fallen to cover the rest of the walkway beyond him. Any more and it would start avalanching into the house. Mom and I pulled him inside and shut the door. He shook off the snow like a dog and Mom and I laughed, relieved he was all right.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere soon,” he said, shivering. “Turn the heat up. I’m freezing.”
Once Dad was finally warmed, we sat down to a dinner of Mom’s famous pot roast; the lights blinked once, and then went out completely.
“No, no,” Mom started. “This can’t be happening.”
“It’s okay,” Dad comforted her. “I’m surprised it hasn’t gone out sooner, as bad as it is out there. We have candles and lanterns. And last night I brought in the firewood from the back porch. It’s in the laundry room so we can have a fire. We’ll be fine.”
“We’ll finally get to use my new Santa candle,” Mom said, brightly. She lit the wick at the top of the hat, the red wax quickly melting, marring the chubby face and beard.
December 21st
The next morning, when I came into work, there were two boxes on my desk. The red one was neatly wrapped, exactly as yesterday, but now it was joined by an even smaller, green- wrapped box. It had an identical black and red bow stuck to the top of it. I usually don’t eat breakfast and it was a good thing, because I think I would’ve puked if I had had anything in my stomach. With shaking hands, I aggressively ripped open the red box, and gasped to see the same half-burnt candle. I whirled around to look in my trashcan, but the cleaning crew had emptied it last night. I began to sweat as I opened the green box, back to my careful extraction method.
Inside was a smaller box, this one white. Inside the tissue paper was a small, crudely- made Christmas bell. I dropped it on my desk, hoping it would break, but it didn’t. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t take much of a drop to crack it, as it was made of modeling dough, coated in paint and shellac. A Christmas ornament; the kind kids make in kindergarten or early elementary school.
When it hit the surface, it bounced and flipped over. Carved into the back was Dec 1982. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the image from my mind, but it was still there. With the back of my hand, I swiped it off my desk. It didn’t break when it hit the carpet, but the crunch seemed loud to me as I crushed it with my shoe. The pieces went into my trash, along with the red box and the rest of the green wrappings. I turned my back on my trashcan for a moment, then turned right back to it as I pulled up the plastic bag, tying the opening shut. I took it into the break room and stuffed it into the garbage can there. I ignored the strange looks I was getting from my coworkers gathered in the kitchen, getting their coffee and chatting before the day started. When I got back to my desk, I laid my head down and took several deep breaths to keep from crying.
Who here could have known my past? The ornament brought back the unwelcome memories again.
I tried to push them from my head, but failed, once I fell asleep that night. Unfortunately, I remembered more of that Christmas.
I had lost track of the days. There was nothing to do, but sleep and read, and I was getting headaches despite my love of books. Reading by candlelight is hard on the eyes. Sleeping killed time and was warmer, especially when bundled under two quilts and a comforter. I woke when I got hungry and went into the kitchen. It was so cold in there I didn’t worry about opening the fridge and having the food go bad. There was no temperature difference inside or out. After peeling two hard boiled eggs, that were, luckily enough, boiled the day before the power went out, I walked back into the living room and sat on the sofa, immediately wrapping one of the throw blankets around me. Mom and Dad were at the fireplace. Dad had just brought more wood in from the laundry room and was starting a new fire since it went out during the night.
“Did you soak the bottom ones?” Dad asked Mom.
She nodded, shaking from the cold as well. It was freezing in the room and Dad wanted to make a larger fire than before. After he arranged the top layer, he took the bottle from Mom and soaked them as well. He got up to set the bottle safely away from the fire and turned back at the sound of a match being struck. Mom was kneeling only inches from the fire, thoughts of warmth overshadowing any sense of safety.
“Caroline, no!” Dad yelled, as he tried to run back to her in time.
Whoosh!
The fire flared up the instant the match lit the flammable logs. I watched in horror as the fire jumped from the wood to my mother’s face. Both hard-boiled eggs fell from my hands, rolling under the sofa.
“Mom!” I screamed as I jumped up.
She fell on her back, slapping herself and screaming, as the flames spread to the top half of her body.
Dad and I had the exact same idea. I handed him the throw that had been around my shoulders and he snatched it out of my hands, dropping it over her. He and I patted the blanket, smothering the flames and her screams slowly stopped.
“Quick! Put out the carpet,” Dad told me, pointing to the edge by the fireplace, which had caught fire as well.
I picked up another throw and used it to put out those flames, careful not to let any of the blanket get into the fire. I pulled the fire screen in front of the opening quickly, then turned back to my parents.
Dad had removed the throw from Mom and was crying. She was only moaning now, her pain had to be insufferable. The hair had burnt on her head, a melted lump sat across the top as if she wore a nightcap. Her clothes were partially burned off and I couldn’t stop looking at her body. Blackened from the fire, it didn’t look human. Her face caught the worst of it. Her eyes were swollen and black, like the rest of her face. I wondered if she could see if she opened them, if she could even open them. One of her favorite earrings, a pearl set in gold, was melted to her ear lobe. I had gotten her those earrings last Christmas with my own money. Her other lobe was empty. I began crying as I patted the floor around her, desperate to find her missing earring. It was all I could think to do. I couldn’t touch her for fear of hurting her more.
“What do we do?” I whispered to Dad, still crying.
There was no power, no phones, and we were snowed in. Even our cell phones had already died, as we had no way to charge them.
“Go bring a mattress in here,” Dad told me. “We can put her on it. Then go see what we have in the medicine cabinet that we can use.”
December 22nd
I held my breath as I turned into my cubicle. Just three days, now, until Christmas. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my empty desk, exactly the way I left it last night. The debris from the broken ornament was missing from the carpet and my trash was empty.
It was over!
I started my workday with new vigor and apologized to my confused coworkers about my behavior yesterday. All thoughts of Christmas flew from my mind, even though the start of our holiday would be Christmas Eve, just two days away. For lunch, I treated myself to a gourmet burger with a chocolate shake. I was walking back, digging in the bag for a French fry, when I stepped around my cubicle wall. I dropped the bag and caught myself before dropping the shake. I set it down unsteadily as I stared at the three boxes that now adorned my desk. The bright red one, looking to be the same as the first gift; the smaller green one, identical to the one I threw away yesterday; and now an even smaller one, jewelry- sized, wrapped in silver paper. All three had the trademark black with red bow topping them. Grabbing all three in a panic, I accidently stepped on my burger bag. I violently threw them into my trashcan, adding my ruined lunch. I sat down and tried to concentrate on slowing my breath. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I might have a heart attack. Tears slowly fell from my eyes as I put my face in my hands. Sobbing as quietly as I could, I pushed back the memory that threatened to overwhelm me.
Not here. Not here.
I had a hard time concentrating after that. I made so many mistakes and took twice as long to get anything done. Just before five, I glanced into the trashcan that I had been avoiding for four hours. Gritting my teeth, I pulled them back out and ripped all three open, shiny Christmas paper flying everywhere.
How the hell was this possible?
The candle, still half burned, was there.
The ornament was whole and unblemished. I turned it over to see the same Dec 1982 carved into it.
However, this newest present had me shaking even more once I opened it. It was a single earring, a dangling pearl in a simple gold setting— just the one. I knew where the mate to it was. There was a pink piece of paper folded up inside. I bit my lip as I read it.
I found it! And you thought it was gone forever! Your Secret Santa
I scooped it all up and wrapped it in a light jacket I had hanging behind me. I stormed from my cubicle and went downstairs to the large document shredder that was in the back office. We were required to shred anything that had a customer’s credit card, birthdate, or any other personal item on it. Our computers were secured, but our trash was not. Technically, we weren’t supposed to put anything more solid than a CD into it, but I didn’t care. I just turned it on, shaking out my jacket, and watched the items get caught up briefly before succumbing to the sharp blades. A few pieces of the ornament spit out back into my face but I wiped them off, wiping the memories away with them, I hoped. The candle, being a soft material, didn’t shred or break, but smooshed into a thick ooze, coating the blades until it became thinner and thinner as they turned. The earring was chopped in half immediately before being sucked down into the belly of the beast. After a few more minutes, I turned it off.
If they come back from that, then I’ll know I’m losing my mind!
I drove home in a daze, afraid to come back the next day.
That night, before I went to bed I had a beer—well, I had several beers. These past few days had shaken me up and I needed to sleep deeply… the kind of sleep I could only get from booze or sleeping pills. Just one more day until the holidays, and we would be off from Christmas until January 2nd. Quite drunk, I dropped off to sleep almost immediately. And, unfortunately, I dreamed again.
“She’s getting worse,” I told Dad, as we stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her.
We didn’t know if Mom could hear us, she spent most of her time unconscious. Another three days or so had gone by. The days blurred into one another and we couldn’t even tell when it was day or night. The snow blocked all the windows; it was that high. We’d used up all the gauze and bandages we had and were now using torn up sheets to wrap Mom’s burns. I couldn’t find any more antibiotic ointment, once we ran out of the two tubes we had. I did find three huge jars of petroleum jelly, dated back from when I was little. I’m betting, at some point, this stuff had coated my ass within a diaper. There was no medicinal value to the jelly, but it kept the cloth from sticking to the burns, so we used it.
“I know,” Dad replied. “I’ve thought of a way to get out. I’m going to do it today.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, fearful of what he might try.
“You know that vent up in the attic? It leads straight outside. It’s got to be higher than the snow. I’m going to go and get help. Surely they can come get her in a helicopter or a snowplow, or something.”
I shook my head. “No, Dad. You don’t know how deep the snow is. You’ll sink and die out there.”
“Well, I did worry about sinking since I can’t find my snow shoes. I think your mom sold them in the garage sale a couple of years ago.” Dad answered. “But I did find some tennis rackets. You see people do that on TV all the time. I’ll just tie them to my shoes.”
“Dad, that’s TV. It doesn’t mean it will work.”
“What choice do we have?” His eyes filled with tears as I reluctantly nodded.
I woke and glanced at the clock… 3:00 am. I wondered why I was awake until the nausea forced me to run to the bathroom— just what I deserved for drinking that much beer. Work would be miserable today. I was still sitting on the cool, tiled floor, my head bowing to the porcelain god, when I spied something glittering on the floor near the edge of the tub.
“No, please, no,” I begged, as I reached for it.
I knew what it would be before I picked it up.
It was the same earring that I had run through the shredder at work.
I shook with fear—fear that I really was going insane. I dropped it back on the floor, it really didn’t matter where I left it; it was going to show up on my desk tomorrow, anyway. I got up, and after puking one more time, stumbled to bed.
I lay there; awake, until my alarm went off at 5:30.
December 23rd
I plopped down at my desk, hung over and needing sleep, and then I laid my head on my arms. Since I had tomorrow off, I planned to sleep the whole day. I realized, now, that I really needed a cup of coffee to make it through today, so I got up, and then suddenly looked back down. There were no presents on my desk! I looked under and around, even inside my desk. Nothing. A feeling of relief washed over me. God I hoped it was over.
I walked to the kitchen with a renewed spring in my step and came back with a steaming cup. I stopped just before my cubicle.
What if they were there?
I peered over the wall and was happy to see my desk just the way it should be. Today would be a good day.
They cut us at noon. Happy employees streamed out into the parking lot wishing each other Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Some even forgot and sent me wishes as well. I only nodded thanks to them. I was smiling more than usual as I got in my car.
Out of habit, I checked my mailbox, even though I got home early and didn’t think our mailman had delivered yet. I turned the key and opened the little door. I froze when I saw what was inside. The same three red, green, and silver boxes! Luckily, my keys were still hanging in the lock, or I would’ve dropped them in shock.
How can this be?
I felt a hand land on my shoulder and my neighbor, Kevin, who lives on my floor, greeted me with, “Hey Zach! How’s it going? Off for the holidays?”
I whirled around and grabbed the offending hand. I twisted it around so it was being pulled up his back; I forced him forward and slammed his face into the wall.
“What the hell, Zach?” he croaked. “What are you doing?”
“Did you put these in my mailbox?” I yelled at him hysterically. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” he answered, using his free hand to push off the wall. “What’s in your mailbox?”
I let go of his arm and he turned around. When I saw his face, I knew I’d made a mistake. What the hell did I just do? Running my hand over my face and through my hair, I began crying.
“Oh, shit! I am so sorry, Kevin,” I told him, bending over and putting my hands on my thighs.
I thought I might faint. Tears fell from my face to lightly splatter on the floor below me. I couldn’t believe I almost hurt someone.
I stood up and put my hands out apologetically. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I don’t know what came over me. It’s the holidays; I always get stressed out this time of year. I am really so sorry.”
Kevin rubbed his nose, which was red, but not bleeding. “I’m fine. But what’s bothering you? You act like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I quietly gathered the boxes from my mailbox and locked it back up. As I turned to leave I replied, “Maybe I have.”
I locked my door behind me as soon as I reached my apartment. I stood with my back against the door, breathing heavily. The weight of the three small packages seemed heavy in my arms and I wanted to be rid of them, permanently. I set them on the coffee table; throwing them away wouldn’t work. Then I went straight into the kitchen and got myself a glass of whiskey. Despite what the beer had done to me last night, I really needed something stronger. Stepping out of the kitchen, I dropped the glass, spilling the whiskey all over the carpet and my shoes, before I’d even gotten a sip of it.
There was a small Christmas tree in the corner of the room. The decorations looked old and very familiar. These were some of the same decorations we had on our tree when I was a child. Beneath the lowest branches was a small box, wrapped in bright blue paper with a black and red bow on it. The bow didn’t match the color of the box, but it was identical to the other three bows I already had. I dropped to my knees, right in the whiskey-soaked carpet, not even noticing it seeping through the cloth. I wanted to run away, but I knew it was useless. I crawled to the tree and picked up the present. There was a tag on it.
To Zach Love Mom.
I simply held it in one hand for a few minutes while I covered my face with the other. I was crying again. It seems I’d been crying more in the past couple days than I had in many years… twenty-five years, for sure. I swiped my eyes with the back of my hand and unwrapped the present, taking care not to tear the wrapping paper. Me and my habits.
It was a Nintendo 64 game—Mario Kart 64, to be exact. I’d wanted this game so badly when I was fifteen. Even though I didn’t write to Santa, I’d written out a list of what I wanted and taped it to the fridge so my parents would see it. I set the game on the coffee table with the other three unwrapped gifts and stared at them. I began laughing manically; I didn’t even own a Nintendo 64 system anymore.
Leaving the carpet wet, I went into the kitchen and refilled the glass. I downed it in one gulp and topped it off again to sip. I spent the rest of the evening watching movies in my DVR, sipping my drink, often glancing at the gifts on the table. I fell asleep on the sofa halfway through my third movie.
I stood in the hall, watching my father climb the pull-down attic ladder. He used one hand to steady himself. Under his other arm, he had tucked two tennis rackets and a roll of twine. He’d tossed a thick, hooded coat up to the attic floor before ascending. I really didn’t want him to go; I feared I’d never see him again. He looked down at me, squatting at the top.
“I’d tell you to close this to keep the heat in, but there is none anyway,” his vain attempt at humor was failing. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. It might take a few hours to get to someone, but I will be back.”
He sat down and tied the tennis racquets to his boots. I had serious doubts that they would work. Once he stood, precariously balancing his footing with the ungainly additions, he put on the coat and removed his gloves from the pockets.
“I did forget something,” he called down sheepishly. “I forgot a hammer to break open the vent.”
“I’ll get it,” I offered, wanting to do anything but.
I ran into the kitchen and pulled open our hardware drawer. It didn’t have much but a hammer, several screwdrivers, and some picture hangers. There were a couple small boxes of nails and screws inside as well. I ran back with the hammer in my hand, stopping next to Mom for a moment. I was hoping she might wake and ask what I was doing. Then I could tell her and she could make me stop this foolishness. However, she was still unconscious. Her breathing was even slower than before and worry slammed into me.
She really doesn’t have any more time. Dad really does need to do this. Since I’m younger, maybe he’ll let me do it instead.
I ran back to the hallway and held onto the ladder as I proclaimed my suggestion.
“Sorry, son,” he replied, holding his hand out for the hammer. “I’m already up here and dressed. Besides, what kind of father would that make me if I let you go out in this?”
Reluctantly, I handed up the hammer and waited as he walked out of my view. I could hear hammering and banging as he broke open the vent. Finally, I heard the high- pitched whistling of the wind and could see snowdrifts floating above me after the last loud noise. He’d done it.
“See you soon, Zach!” he called out to me, and then he was gone.
The storm sounded even worse with an opening in the house. And I had just let him go out in that.
So what kind of son did that make me?
December 24th – Christmas Eve
When I woke, I was still on the sofa and my head was killing me. My TV had gone into sleep mode automatically when it was inactive for too long. I glanced at the clock and saw it was ten am.
Oh, shit! I’m late for work!
I jumped up to get ready when it hit me that it was Christmas Eve and we were on holiday until after New Year’s Day. My head pounded and throbbed with each step I took. As if in a bad dream, I turned to look at the coffee table and sighed when I saw it was empty. I changed direction from the bedroom to the kitchen and made myself some scrambled eggs with hot sauce. For some reason this always got rid of my hangovers.
Once I felt better, I steeled myself to go toss the Christmas tree out my patio door. Maybe someone else would want it; surely not me. As I came around the sofa, I could see under the tree and froze.
I should’ve known.
A fifth present was sitting amid the other four. This time it wasn’t a box but a gold envelope with a tiny black and red bow. Of course, the Mario Cart game was wrapped back up as before. I wanted to ignore it but I knew if I did, it would pop up everywhere until I opened it.
With shaking hands, I picked it up and felt it. Whatever was inside the envelope was thick but flexible. I slipped my thumb under the flap and slid it to break the gummed seal, hissing as a paper cut appeared on my knuckle. I turned it over and let the contents fall to the floor.
Confusion was the first emotion, then a nagging, plucking thought, like something forgotten.
It sat on the carpet…a slim piece of plastic, the printing facing up at me.
ZACHARY FRANKLIN DOB 10-06-77
- GAUBERT MIDHAVEN PSYCHIATRIC HOSPTIAL
It was a hospital ID bracelet. My hospital ID bracelet? When did I have one?
I slid to the floor and picked it up. The clasp was open and ready for me to lock it to my wrist.
My mind felt loose, jarred; and then dizziness hit me hard until I passed out.
Several days after Dad left for help, Mom took a turn for the worse. We had run out of firewood and I was now burning the furniture. The lacquered wood burning in the fireplace gave off a chemical scent that I’m sure was bad for us to be breathing, but the alternative was freezing to death. I first broke down the dining room chairs and table. I’d already burned the first end table and was about to ready another for the fire when I heard my name softly called.
I turned and saw my mother looking at me. This was the first time in days she’d been awake. I ran to her and reached to take her hand but pulled back, realizing how much that would hurt her.
“Zach, where’s your father?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the damaged vocal chords.
I shook my head, tears falling from my face. “He went out to get help.”
“When?”
“A couple days ago,” I answered, wiping my face.
She sighed and lifted her hand from the mattress. It hovered in the air before she placed it lightly on my cheek. Her charred hand felt like bark on a tree.
“Mom, I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do,” she whispered. “You just have to find the strength to do it.”
I looked quizzically at her and she smiled. Her blackened face cracked and red, raw flesh peeked out within the crevasses’.
Black and red… her face seemed striped with it.
“I’m in pain,” she whimpered. “… so much pain. I feel like I’m still on fire. I need you to help me end it.”
I backed up quickly, slamming my back into the sofa.
“No!”
“You must. I’m suffering. I’m hurting. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
“I can’t kill you, Mom.” I was full on crying now. I couldn’t believe what she was asking of me.
“We’re still snowed in and your father’s missing,” she whispered. “I’m not going to last until the storm breaks, you know this. Each day, each breath, hurts more than the last. Please.”
She cried as she whispered ‘please, please, please’ repeatedly, until I finally nodded in reluctant agreement.
She suggested that I use the longest and sharpest knife we had. A quick stab into her brain and she would be at peace. I brought the knife in from the kitchen, shocked that I was actually going to do this.
“You know how much I love you, Zach, but I still have to say it again. I love you so much, son. You’ve been my pride and joy since the day you were born.”
“I love you too, Mom,” I managed to get out between the sobs.
“The storm hit so quickly that I didn’t get all your presents in time to wrap them,” she said, “There are a few that were coming in the mail, but no mail was running once the storm got bad. I got you that video game you wanted so badly. The Mario Cart. It’ll show up when the snow clears. There’s also some shirts and something for your dad. I … can’t remember what else I got him. Tell him not to open it until Christmas morning.”
She was becoming incoherent and I didn’t know what to say. I let her babble, watching her wince in pain with every movement. I think she’d forgotten what she’d asked me to do and I wasn’t going to bring it up. Relieved, I knew I wasn’t going to kill her. I couldn’t. She’s my mother. She stared off and whispered more nonsense, so I took that moment to replace the knife in the block in the kitchen. When I came back, the heavy silence coated the room. The only sound I heard was the wind blowing through the hole in the attic above.
“Mom?” I ran to her.
She was still, her eyes open, finally relaxed and without pain. “Mom? Please don’t die. Please.”
I shook the mattress lightly, but it had no effect on her. She was gone.
I howled like an animal! My sorrow enveloped me and I thought I might explode from it. I was angry, scared, and sad.
I was alone.
When I came to, I was face down on the carpet. My head hurt horribly… from the hangover, or from something else? I felt around my head, looking for lumps or cuts. Seemed to be intact. I pushed up to a sitting position and noticed my wrist encased in the hospital ID band. My mouth opened and closed like a fish, not a sound coming from my throat. I didn’t know how much more I could take.
I ran into the kitchen and picked up a knife to cut it off. The blade was between it and my wrist when I realized how much worse it could get if I removed it. I stared at my skin, lightly rubbing the flat of the knife back and forth.
Could I? Should I?
Since that day, I’d never had any suicidal thoughts. Even while I was in the… hospital?
I dropped the knife, barely missing my big toe.
I had been in a hospital! How could I forget that? I looked closer at the wristband.
MIDHAVEN PSYCHIATRIC HOSPTIAL
Now it all came flooding back to me. I was in that hospital. After the storm ended, when the rescuers found me, they took me away to Midhaven. I was there for what— three, five years? I couldn’t remember. How could I forget something like that so completely? I remembered everything that happened to my Mom and Dad, even if I did push the memories to the back of my mind. I did have those memories. Why did I block the memories of the hospital?
I sat back down on the sofa, noticing, of course, the other presents sitting on the table as if they belonged there. In a daze I turned on the TV and saw little Ralphie shooting a BB gun.
That’s right! They played this movie repeatedly for twenty-four hours before Christmas. Even as I watched, his glasses flew off his face. The movie was almost over and I looked at the clock, stunned to see it was almost midnight, almost Christmas.
Had I been lying on the floor the entire day?
The camera zoomed out and the credits began rolling up down the screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the clock hit midnight.
December 25th – Christmas Day
With a low little pop, the power went out. Everything was dark and silent. I couldn’t even hear traffic outside. I groped for my cell phone on the table to get some light, but I couldn’t find it. Actually, I couldn’t even find the coffee table. I started to panic as I dropped to the carpet, which didn’t feel like carpet anymore, holding to the sofa I just left. On my knees, I reached out with one arm, waving frantically, trying to feel something.
Nothing.
I fell forward and used my other arm to help balance myself. When I reached back for the sofa, it was gone, too. I patted the ground with both hands; it felt warm and rough, like a parking lot after a hot day. I couldn’t see my fingers in front of my face, and I wiggled them close enough to flick my eyelashes. The darkness was thick and dense. Instinctively, I sucked in deep, thinking the air was gone, too. A light began coming towards me and enlarging as it got closer. I realized it wasn’t just a light; there was a scene unfolding before me. I choked back a sob at the sight of my fifteen-year old self.
I was sitting on the floor in front of a dead fireplace. I ignored the loud knocking at the door in this cold and freezing house. Finally, the door was broken in, but my younger self didn’t even flinch. Two firefighters and a police officer walked into the room. The officer turned back to the open doorway and waved in someone else. A clattering, metallic sound went unheard by me as a gurney was wheeled in, a paramedic at each end.
“Son, are you all right?” the officer asked, coming closer and putting his hand on my forehead. He was shocked how cold it was and yet I wasn’t frozen or dead. The only movement I made was to blink, involuntarily, not even shivering in the coldness.
“This boy is nearly frozen,” the police officer said. “Let’s get him to the hospital, fast.”
The paramedics picked me up and strapped me in. One moved his finger back and forth in front of my empty eyes. “I think he’s catatonic.”
He nodded to the other and they hurried me into the ambulance. The snow was only a couple of feet deep now. At some point, the storm had abated and it had warmed up enough to melt down the high drifts. I didn’t know when that was, as I wasn’t sure of the day. I didn’t know how long I sat there after my mother died and the fire went out. I didn’t know anything.
I didn’t care.
The paramedics had checked my mother’s vital signs while the officer had been talking to me, so they knew she was dead already. The firefighters and police officer took in the scene. The horribly burned, dead woman. The blackened fireplace bricks and charred carpet; the broken and partially burned furniture.
“They tried to hold out,” one fireman said. “She just didn’t have that much time.”
“How sad,” the other firefighter commented, then added, “and the man we found outside was obviously the boy’s father. It’s a shame he got buried in the snow and had a heart attack. He might have made it out. He died trying to save his family.”
The police officer sighed, “As long and as bad as that storm was, I’m afraid they won’t be the only casualties we find.”
That scene faded and the white light turned to grey.
“Ho Ho Ho!”
A cackling, booming laugh brought my apartment back into view. I looked around and saw the evilest Santa I’d ever seen. Instead of red, his suit was black with red trim—like the bows, like my mother’s face. His skin was dark, but appeared to shift and blur; I couldn’t get a good look at his face.
At this point, nothing shocked me. I mean really nothing, anymore.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked, beginning to anger.
“Ha ha ha!” he laughed back at me in the same tone. ”Why not? It’s Christmas. I thought I’d dress in a familiar outfit. Of course, I don’t buy off the rack, so it’s been altered to fit my unique personality.”
I just sat there dumbly. I didn’t have a clue who he was or what to say to that.
“Come on, Zach!” he barked out, lightly smacking my shoulder with his palm. “You and I are old friends who just missed our connection. You were supposed to come with me back then.”
He waved his hands around and a movie seemed to play, floating in the air in front of me. It was fifteen-year old me again, sitting, unmoving in front of the dead fire. To my left was a black, hooded figure, his skeletal hands just reaching for me when the knocking came at the door. This time I could hear him cursing as he missed his chance. At the time, I had no idea he was even there.
“I’m done with the games and charades,” I said as I stood up. Now I’m pissed.
“Good,” he replied with a wink. “I hate all this holiday shit, too.”
He threw off the Santa costume and it disintegrated in the air with a red poof. He was there in his true self.
Death.
The Grim Reaper.
“You’ve been playing with me and I’m sick of it,” I yelled. “Why now? Why did you wait twenty-five years?”
“Yes, I have,” he laughed. “Why do humans get to have all the fun? Especially at Christmas. You had completely blocked the memory of the hospital; I had to make you remember that. It’s made you whole again. I don’t take anything unless it’s full value. It’s way beneath me.”
Smugly, I turned my back on him. “You’ve lost your power over me, now. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
“Hmm. You’re right about one thing,” he said, tapping his bony fingertips on his chin, making little clicking sounds. “I can tell you’re no longer afraid. However, about the other thing… Your belief in me makes no difference when I come for you. It’s inevitable.”
I turned around in time to feel his hot and bony palm placed on my forehead.
[bctt tweet=”OCTOBER TERROR 2018 Short Story Award – Entry #5 ‘Secret Santa’ by Veronica Smith @Vee_L_Smith – Enjoy all this terrific, disturbing material you have in your hands, lots of horror stories at your disposal for your dark delight and vote!” username=”theboldmom”]
On October 23rd we’ll close submissions and open a poll for the readers to choose their favourite one! You’ll have a week to make your choice and on October 31st we’ll announce the winner!!!
