Christmas Eve Ghost Story

Hello there

I managed to get it finished.  Actually quite relieved that I did, because I think I'd have been cross if I'd missed out this year.

So the story is by me, and the artwork above is by me.  The only thing I don't have for you is a title.

You might see why a title is difficult when you read it, or you might be able to think of one immediately.  I've drawn a blank myself, but if anything springs to mind between me scheduling this and it going live, then you won't be reading any of these excuses.  If you are reading them, then I didn't think of one.

You may also think that "ghost story" is a slight mis-sell.  I'm not sure this one is a ghost story, but it continues my tradition of writing a disconcerting tale for you on Christmas Eve. It's possibly a horror story, something macabre.  

I've had this knocking about my head for a few weeks now, so goodness knows where my mind is at. It's potentially influenced by the short stories I have been reading that I told you about (the R Chetwynd-Hayes ones).  It's not really like one of those I don't think, but it's...oh, do you know what? Just have a read if you like.

It's a dark one though.  Just fair warning there.  I managed to get myself rather unsettled as I spent my third middle of the night writing it, and that doesn't happen often....I'll say bye and then this year's tale is below...

Have a lovely Christmas Eve please, and hope you manage to get a breather to relax.

Much love to you

xxxxxxxxxx

His parents, at least, were having a nice time.

The Christmas escape for the Ledger family, once pondered as an extreme solution, was – for the moment – appearing to be a successful one. Kyle watched his mum and dad, out there in the snow, the quiet of the white occasionally interrupted with a distant laugh or scream as they bundled and teased each other.  He watched moments of stunned reaction, before one of them would appear to stop in shock, inhale deeply and embark on a chase of revenge. Mists of snow exploded and dissipated into the air, as they hurled their makeshift ammunition at each other.  More laughter.  More screams. It was strange seeing them like this.  He liked it.

Many children exist with a seemingly pathological drive to be centre of attention, but Kyle Ledger felt only relief not to be.  He had been the unwitting fulcrum of Christmas for most of his life, and despite the underlying confidence of his parents that this year would break the chain, he felt no security that this would be the case. He wouldn’t even dare to wish.

He needed to stay apart.

He wanted to give them this break from him.  His mum had earlier interrupted the games to bribe him into inclusion, throwing a snowball his way.  Kyle had just continued to cling to Mickey.  Ragged and worn, the seams barely holding it all together, yet his bear felt as protective as a shield of steel.  There could have been a scene, with him steadfastly refusing to indulge the fun, but the small smile betraying his lips as his mother encouraged him, prevented any drama.  There was no shouting at him.  No frustration.  A setting for the idyllic won’t always provide it in the way one presumes.

They had been there for two days, leading up to this Christmas Eve.  Isolation had been sought and found.  A modern cabin, at great expense.  A desperate measure, not quite into the woodland and opening onto a vast expanse, where his parents now acted Kyle’s age.  A couple of 8-year-old grown-ups, whilst the child looked on as a parent. Kyle had gratefully succumbed to a snotty cold on their first day and continued to milk it for all it was worth with performative humility.  He had secretly been delighted to be visibly ill.  That was enough.  He didn’t need to play it up for conventional sympathy.  Being brave worked to give him space. Time was his only enemy. The sky was already starting to lose its glow, and the darkness would soon be here.

He looked down into the black eyes of his bear, Mickey.  Kyle clutched tighter.

Mickey stared back, helpless.

*

“This was certainly one of your better ideas” Jennifer Ledger laughed, as Mark handed the refilled wine glass to her.  He dropped a bowl of nibbles onto the low table, grabbed a handful, and sank himself into the sofa beside her.

“The wine?” he said, through a too-full mouth.

Jennifer laughed again.

“The wine…is a brilliant idea as well…”

Mark closed his eyes and bowed.

“…but you know…this.  This is certainly one of your better ideas.”

“Let’s hope so.” Mark said.

“Nah…know so.  This is good.  It breaks the…the thing…what do I want to say?”

“Tradition?”

“Oh, please don’t call it a tradition…the routine…the…habit…whatever it is…this takes us all out.  He seems calm here.”

“He might just not have the energy.  He’s sniffing a lot.  I think he’s trying to hide how poorly he is.  He might just be out on his feet.”

Jennifer looked at Mark intently, a stern look on her face.

“We could have saved a fortune.” She deadpanned.

They both cracked and laughed.

“Yep, he might have just been like this at home… if only he got poorly every Christmas.”

Jennifer gave a look of mock outrage, her eyes wide.

“Don’t say that!” she hit her husband with a cushion.  “That’s an awful thing to say!”

“He’s been quieter!” Mark reasoned, his arm held in front of his face to defend further attack.

“He has but…”

Jennifer lay back down into the sofa. She looked over at the window.  Snow at Christmas.  It was real, not sprayed on from a tin.  The steady fall was hypnotic.  She could watch its gentle caressing flow forever.

She looked back at Mark and raised her eyebrows.

“He’s fine.” Mark said quietly with a smile.

“I think so…but…”

“Never mind but.”

“He’s going to be thinking about it…no matter how quiet he is.  Maybe he’s quiet because he’s thinking about it?”

“It…” declared Mark, “…isn’t a thing.  It’s not real.”

“He thinks it’s real.”

“Maybe…we can assume he does, but we don’t even know if that’s true.”

Jennifer had dropped her smile for real now.

“Let’s not go back over that.” She said quickly.

“We don’t know though.  Maybe he’s grown out of it.  Maybe he…”

“He thinks it is real” Jennifer asserted. “If I can’t say but, then you can’t say maybe.  That’s the rule now.”

Mark lifted his wine glass and toasted his wife.

“I agree to your conditions.” He said.

“Good.” Jennifer took another gulp from her own glass.

“As long as we know it’s not real” Mark said under his breath.

*

Kyle had been perched halfway up the stairs with Mickey.

He hadn’t been able to hear what his parents were talking about and knew from experience that this sneaky eavesdropping could backfire.  They didn’t always announce when they were going to leave the room, and he had been caught unawares in the headlights before.  There was also the risk that they would go quiet for a bit and then start canoodling, with those horrible soft growls and wet kissing.  Like tired bears.

He looked down at Mickey and shook his head.  Mickey shook his head back .  Neither of them wanted to be subjected to those noises again.

Kyle took his cue to return to the bedroom when he heard his father mumble something that sounded like “he’ll be asleep now” in a reassuring tone.  Then there was something deeper that was indecipherable, but the inflection sounded as though it was the sort of thing somebody would say before leaving the room for bed. Kyle tossed Mickey onto his own bed, and carefully closed the bedroom door as silently as possible.  He considered putting a chair behind it, but what if his parents had to get in to him?

He left it as it was and sat on the edge of his bed, regathering Mickey and holding him close. There was a night light glowing, that he knew should have been a calm ambience but merely held the room in creepy shadows.

He realised he was waiting.

*

The was a clock in the stairwell that chimed every hour.  A few tones, musical enough to be noticed in the daytime, but far too gentle to disturb any slumber.

Kyle heard them.  Just as he had heard them at one o’clock and two o’clock.  His parents had gone into their room just after midnight, and there was no more muffled chatting.  He knew that all over the world there would be children struggling to sleep.  Some may have successfully nodded off before the big day, some would still be trying.  Others would have awoken already, and perhaps dared to go and see if a delivery had been made.  It had been four years since Kyle had gone to sleep on Christmas Eve with excited anticipation.  He now just hoped there would be nothing.  ‘Nothing’ was the best outcome.

He spoke a soft apology to Mickey as he picked him up from the bed and moved over to the window. The windows were in doors that stood as terrifying potential access, and he hated that they were there.  He had pulled the curtains across in front of them, and now slipped himself between them, cocooned in a cold space.  The curtains were against his back, and he made a mental note to be prepared for them grazing him if he moved. He would assume he had been touched otherwise.  There’d be no calm reaction to that.

Kyle looked out through the windows.

He could see right across the plain. The slow-motion blizzard illuminating it to the point that he felt he could see further now than in daylight.  The disrupted snow from his parents playing had been blanketed again, and the snowman they had made was staring right back at him.  If there was nothing else to fear, this could have done the trick.  The improvised features, made from bits of wood and coal, looked like Mickey though.  The same placid expression, with stick arms held out in a gesture of resignation.  Nothing the snowman could do.  Kyle looked down at Mickey, and Mickey looked back at Kyle.  Nothing Mickey could do either.  Still helpless.

Kyle stared out for a while and felt the silence.  He sometimes saw movement that wasn’t there.  A movement inside the campervan.  Something creeping through the trees in the woodland off to the left.  He even imagined footsteps appearing in the snow, heading his way.  He knew they weren’t there though.  He was bristling already.  All over his back, and up his neck.  His hairline was tingling.  He didn’t have to imagine, or scare himself, or wait any longer.

He turned around quickly and snatched open the curtains.

He was right.

It was already there.

*

The yearlong available threat that "Santa won’t come" had been abandoned by the Ledgers.  It served only to give hope.  Likewise, the accepted image of Father Christmas, that adorned everything from shop windows to cards, held no sway with Kyle.  It was a lie.  He knew it was a lie.  The truth was once again standing before him. The nightlight suddenly his enemy as it silhouetted the twisted form that had haunted him each year.

No fluffy white beard, no bells on velvet.  No black buckled boots nor fleeced trimmings.  A filthy green torn overcoat, mangled around a distorted creature.  Little to suggest humanity.  One shoulder pointed much higher, and the stick legs seemed to have excessive joints. A night hat, also green, hung limply down, as though it were drenched.  It may have been drenched.  The entire creature may have been drenched.  As it tilted its head to the side, buried within the knotted lank hair, there were glistens of terrifying highlight.  The lipless mouth, contorted into a constant grin, baring those rotten sharp teeth.

Kyle closed his eyes for a moment, before realising the futility of his childish response.  He opened them again and squeezed Mickey tight.  He could feel the wetness of his own palms.

The voice, if it could even be described as such, breathed the same words as always.

“Do…you…think…”

The head suddenly snapped to the left with a sickening crack.

“…you… have…been a…good…little…boy?”

Kyle couldn’t speak.  He didn’t even try.  His throat was tight and dry, stricken mute.

The thing took a sharp breath and briefly spoke quicker.

“Iknowifyouhaveornot…but…do…you…think…you…have?”

Kyle gave back the tiniest of nods.

“And…did…you…think…” Another sharp breath. “ Iwouldn’tfindyouhere? All…this…wayyyyy…awayyyyy…”

Kyle was shaking.  He could feel Mickey clinging to him.  They knew it was coming, and they knew this was the final year.  He had been told the choice he had to make.  He couldn’t have made it.  The terror had arrived now though.

“I…will…always…find…youuuu.  No…matter..where…you…go.  I…can…alwayssss…find…you.”

It moved a touch closer to Kyle with threat.

“I…know…when…you…are…sleeping…”

The mouth somehow grinned wider.

“I…know…when…you’rrrre…awake….”

The thing moved closer to the child, leering in.  It was so close that Kyle could feel the stinking breath.

“I…know…if…you’ve…” Sharp Breath. “Beenbadorgood…”

The moonlight from behind Kyle caught the piercing eyes.  Kyle’s chest heaved as his heart pounded.

“So…be…good…” It rasped with guttural clicking. “…for…goodness…sake…”

If the creature had been in possession of a nose, it would be touching Kyle’s.

The pause felt like hours, but Kyle knew it couldn’t have been.  The chimes hadn’t sounded.

It stared at him.  Kyle couldn’t look away, and stared back into those eyes that defied logic.  As though they were stuck on to the gnarled, rotting face.  Their pinhole pupils unresponsive to the occasional waves of moonlight.  Only unrhythmic, clogged breathing, defied the silence.

“This…is…the…year…” it eventually said, quietly.  “Make …your …choice”.

*

Mark Ledger had his back to his wife.  Jennifer had been awake for fifteen minutes and felt like everything was wrong. The soft crackling of falling snow was no longer a comfort.  It made her anxious.  She nudged her husband, who offered a muted grunt.

“Do you think he’s asleep?”

“Yes.” Came the muffled reply.

“He’ll be worrying.” Jennifer said, out loud and to herself.

“Go to sleep.”

“I don’t want him lay there terrified.”

“Of a monster?” There was a hint of impatience that drastically undersold how Mark was truly feeling.

Jennifer sighed and sat up in the bed.

“Wake up, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Mark pulled the covers tighter around himself, but Jennifer pulled them back.

“Seriously, wake up.”

Jennifer switched on the bedside light, and Mark turned to her with punished eyes.

“Mark…This isn’t just a kid being afraid of a shadow, or some monster they’ve invented. All the details to it?”

“I thought we came here to not have this…” he mumbled.

“I’ve never thought of it like this before.”

Mark looked at Jennifer baffled that anybody could be so animated at this time of night.  He wasn’t even sure what time it was.  It wasn’t morning.

“The conditions, the fear…” Jennifer continued. “I don’t think we listen to him.  Not properly.”

Mark began to prop himself up on the pillows.  There was no escape.

“Are you about to reveal you think it’s real?”

“No of course it’s not real, but where is it coming from?”

Mark dared a slight smirk.

“Depends who you listen to, some say the North Pole, some say Gree…”

Jennifer raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t…even… “

Mark sat up properly.

“Jenny…it's abandonment issues.  The whole story.  Being taken to work in the…” Mark felt embarrassed to even say the words. “…toy workshop…That it has to be his decision.  That its him or us…”

“That’s the stuff I mean.” Jennifer plead. “That’s not just a kid’s imagination, that’s creepy stuff. He believes it Mark…can you imagine how that feels?  To believe it?“

“I’m sure lots of children imagine scenarios where their parents are slaughtered by an evil Santa monster.” Mark offered, before narrowing his eyes.  “They maybe don’t, do they.”

“I’m going getting him.” Jennifer said, ignoring the comment.

“No…I’ll go. Textbook only child.” Mark replied, adding his bedside light to the illumination.  “Not to make it about that…”

Jennifer stared back.

“Yes. Let’s not make it about that.  It would be a shame if I changed my mind but had already ripped them off you.”

“Some things we don’t joke about.” Mark said, as he stood up from the bed.

“Wow.”

Mark pulled on his t-shirt and lent over to Jennifer.

“For tonight…If I go and see, and come back and tell you he’s fast asleep, will you shush?”

“Yes.”

“And can we have another baby?”

“No.”

Mark walked slowly out of the door.

“He’s definitely asleep.” He said.

*

“Make…your…decision…” The creature hadn’t moved. “You…can…come…with…me…”

The moonlight finally exposed the whole terrifying visage.  Corpselike skin, torn and barely concealing the inhuman sinew and skull that lay beneath. Isolated strands of greasy black hair, hanging from the chin. A million nightmares shredded together.

It had been rotted four years ago, and the decay was incessant.  Kyle thought he saw pieces of it drop away as it spoke.

“If…you…stay…I’ll…leave…nothing…of…any…of…you…here…”

Kyle felt an unusual calm.  He frowned.  The creature snapped its head again, impatiently.

Slowly, Kyle turned his back on the demon.  He again looked back out over the plain.  The snowman still shrugged.  It was a really good snowman they had built.  All in proportion.  The stick arms worked.  The expression worked.  Just like Mickey.

Kyle smiled, and turned back around, nonchalantly walking past the creature to the bed.

He sat down, and placed Mickey beside him.

There was a slow, grinding cracking, as the creature looked back over its shoulder at him.

*

Mark was lighting the stairs with his phone.  He wasn’t risking switching on lights and waking Kyle.  If he woke him, there really could be drama.

He jumped as the clock on the stairwell chimed 4am.

“Merry Christmas…” he muttered silently, and took the last few steps to the top landing.

The cold hit him like a slap as he carefully opened Kyle’s door.  The room was bathed in moonlight from the bay windows which were inexplicably wide open. He could see Kyle beneath the covers, a wrapped-up mound.

Full of cold and he’s terrified of a zombie Santa that comes every Christmas but leaves the windows wide open… great logic.

He crept silently over to the open windows and guided them back closed.  The snow had stopped now, but the snowman they had built was waving his way.  Stick arms aloft.  Like it was warning a plane not to land.

It really was freezing.  Mark pulled the curtains back over the windows and tiptoed back toward the bed.  Even in sleep Kyle is centre of attention.  Still, he said he would check, and here he was checking.

He leant over and slowly pulled the covers down a touch.  

Then a touch further.  

Further still, past the pillow.  

The panic was fast.  

He quickly pulled the cover right back.

Mickey’s black eyes started back at him.

Helpless.

*