The December Awethology - Dark Volume

by The Awethors

"Dear Saint Nicholas, on this Holy night, I want my family to remember who I am. Papa works all the time, Mama never speaks to me. Livia and Florian say I get in the way. I have nobody."

  Saint Nicholas frowned, his hair appearing silver rather than the blazing white as the light about him dimmed.

  "Is this true?" He asked of his hooded companion.

  "It is, my master." The voice was eager, excited. Long teeth Annika had never seen before ended in points.

  Saint Nicholas gave a chortle, a merry bellow, and the lights shone again.

  "Well then, let us not keep you apart from your family." He produced a large burlap sack, from which he produced four dolls, two male, two female, all looking just like her parents and siblings.

  The Saint leaned forward. "Care for them well, little Annika. They are precious."

  "I will sir," Annika promised, gazing at her new family. They looked so real. The music fell away and the parlour darkened to midnight shadow. Annika looked up to find it was just the cloaked man left with her.

  "I can give you more," he offered. "Would you like to be with your family forever?"

  "Oh yes sir, I truly would."

  The cloaked man nodded, pulling his hood back to reveal horns atop his head. Heavy eyebrows topped a face covered in hair. Two red eyes glowed at her. "Look at your friend. Look at Gertrude, into her eyes."

  Annika watched her best friend, staring until her eyes began to droop. She fell into the comforting embrace of her best friend, warm and safe. She remembered being carried by the cloaked man up, up into her skyward room where the stars winked down at her from the endless universe above her, around her, until at long last Annika was placed with her family, to remain with them forever. And the cloaked man smiled, for his job was done. He bid her farewell, never to be seen again.

  And it came to pass that a house in Vienna, known for its owners’ excessive tastes, was sold. The story was passed about that the family disappeared on Christmas Day, taking every object with them except for a small straw star in the uppermost room, and five stuffed dolls. When one held the smallest of the dolls, poorest and raggedy, calm presided and one felt loved. Touch any of the other four and one heard pitiful wails of anguish in the mind. The lament of the four dolls of Vienna.

  Gifts Both Light and Dark

  Michael J Elliott

  Emily first suspected their new next door neighbour was Santa Claus when her father mentioned his name—Mr Santos.

  Santos—sounded very much like Santa.

  To her seven year old mind, it seemed perfectly logical. But why would Santa be here in Australia at the beginning of December? Why because he must be having a little holiday of course!

  Emily thought it must be very hard spending every year at the North Pole with all that snow and ice. No wonder he wanted to come somewhere nice and warm for a change.

  He had probably left Mrs Claus or one of the elves in charge while he had a little rest.

  When Emily saw Mr Santos leave his home dressed in a red tee shirt and matching shorts, she had no doubt that he was Santa in disguise. Emily desperately wanted to speak to Santa. She needed to ask him why he didn’t visit her every year.

  When Emily had asked her father about this he simply told her that Santa had run out of money. She couldn’t understand this, surely Santa didn’t need money—didn’t the elves make everything? It was very confusing to her young mind. Some years Santa did visit her but he must have been nearly out of money because all she received was a colouring book and pencils, not that Emily was greedy. In Emily’s house there was never enough to be greedy about.

  She wanted to see how Santa had decorated his house. It was probably extremely beautiful. Emily always looked on adoringly at the brightly decorated trees in the department stores. She became very envious of the gaily twinkling lights on her friends trees. Emily’s home was rather bereft of Christmas decorations.

  There was a small plastic tree which her mother had won in a Christmas slot machine promotion. Unfortunately, she ran out of money before she could win any tree decorations. Emily had been given some coloured paper and a glue stick from her art teacher, Miss Stanley.

  That night, whilst her father was at the pub and her mother was at the club, she happily sat by herself making paper chains to decorate the tree. The chains only partially worked, the empty, crushed beer cans and pizza boxes that littered the floor muted Emily’s Christmas Spirit.

  ~~~~

  Today, Emily was going to visit Santa. It wasn’t actually a visit, firstly Emily was going to sneak into Santa’s house and just have a look around. It was just to ensure that Mr Santos was in fact, Santa. Emily realised trying to break into Santa’s house would put her on his naughty list but she also hoped she could explain her actions. She planned on checking to make sure Mr Santos went out before she visited the house.

  After searching the cupboards, Emily managed to locate some stale cornflakes with just enough milk to moisten them, she sat eating her breakfast by the lounge room window waiting for any sign of Mr Santos. It wasn’t long before she spotted the rotund gentleman walking down his garden path.

  He looked around furtively, not surprisingly, thought Emily. He must be constantly worried that someone discovers his true identity. Emily decided to wait for a little while before venturing next door just in case Mr Santos returned unexpectedly. Emily couldn’t really tell the time but she knew when the big hand on the lounge room wall clock was on six it meant she had waited a long time. When the big hand was directly above the six she jumped up from the chair excitedly. And headed out the front door.

  Her mother was still asleep and wouldn’t even miss her absence when she awoke. She’d probably head straight to the club without giving Emily a second thought.

  ~~~~

  Mr Santos’ front yard was a riot of daisy and overgrown weeds. When Mrs Beasley lived here someone from the government housing came and mowed her lawns but that was before Mrs Beasley was taken away to a nursing home. The house had remained vacant for over a year.

  The curtains in all the windows were drawn. Emily considered testing to see whether the front door was unlocked and then decided against it. Nobody left their doors unlocked in this neighbourhood. Santa was clever enough to know this. The side gate was wire mesh with a simple catch. It was the same type of gate at Emily’s house. There was no padlock present so she merely lifted the catch and proceeded to walk into the back garden.

  The back garden was just as overgrown as the front. Since the house was exactly the same design as her own, Emily knew the window on the left hand side of the back door was the laundry one. She was delighted to see that it slid halfway open. Her lucky streak continued when she spotted a wooden crate near the back door. Using the crate to stand on, Emily managed to raise the window slightly higher and virtually step into the small laundry trough. Seconds later she was standing in the laundry and had the door opened.

  Walking past the room which she knew to be the toilet, Emily headed straight to the lounge room. She naturally assumed Santa would have his presents in there as well as his Christmas tree but she was puzzled to discover neither. In fact the room contained nothing at all, no television, no furniture-nothing. Perhaps Santa didn’t need furniture. Emily knew this house had three bedrooms so she decided to check each of them.

  The first two were empty and smelt just as musty and stale as the lounge room. Emily’s eyes lit up with delight when she entered the third bedroom. This was the largest bedroom in the house. She knew that because it was the same size as her mother and father’s.

  In the centre of the room was one of the largest Christmas trees Emily had ever seen. Multi-coloured garlands of tinsel festooned its branches. Glittery baubles spun lazily from a breeze which was due to a partially opened window. Surrounding the base of the tree were gift wrapped boxes of all shapes and colours. They glittered and gleamed as the sun shone through the lace curtain and into the room. Cellophane wrapped candy canes were scattered amidst the gifts. Emil
y’s stomach rumbled and her mouth watered. Surely Santa wouldn’t mind if she took just one. Emily sometimes found loose change at the back of the sofa the day after her father had passed out there. There was a very good chance she’d be able to pay Santa for the candy cane.

  She bent down to retrieve one of the canes. She had to shoo some flies away from them. There seemed to be an inordinately large amount of flies in this room. They buzzed around then settled back onto the gifts. Emily was so absorbed in the rare rapture of enjoying a sweet treat she failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps.

  “Hello”

  She spun around and her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and trepidation. Mr Santos was standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. He was wearing a grimy white tee shirt which didn’t cover his large belly.

  “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t stealing the candy cane, I-I can pay for it later.”

  Mr Santos laughed heartily, “Oh, nonsense, I give them to all my guests. Even if they haven’t been officially invited.”

  Emily meant to apologise but that wasn’t what emerged, “I know who you really are.”

  “Do you?” He said scratching his long whitish-grey beard, “Yes, I suppose it was only a matter of time, it always is.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I just wanted to speak to you. I-I really like the presents you’ve made. They must take a long time to get just right.”

  Mr Santos reached behind him and pushed the bedroom door close. His tongue began licking his thick rubbery lips.

  “Yes,” he said moving slightly closer to Emily, “Sometimes they take a long, long time to get just right.”

  Christmas Dreams

  L A Remenicky

  The flames dancing in the fireplace did little to warm her heart. Emotions were a thing of the past, like electricity, the internet, and pizza delivery. Kara Murphy wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and wished for the convenience of central heating. She looked around the room and sighed. Before the invasion, Christmas Eve would have been celebrated with a decorated tree and family and friends gathered together for a party and presents; now it was another evening spent alone. Her brother Kevin, the only one of her family still alive, was off fighting the aliens somewhere south of Indianapolis and Tim, her husband of six months, had been reported missing in action two months ago.

  It had been two years since the aliens invaded and their weapons had disabled anything electronic. She was luckier than most, her brother’s penchant for classic automobiles had saved them that day, his 1956 pickup truck still functioned while all the modern cars with their electronic everything had become useless hunks of metal and rubber. Most of the wood stacked outside the door she had received in payment for use of the truck, along with canned food and jugs of fresh water.

  The heat from the fire and the quilt warmed her, pulling her toward sleep. She jerked awake when the logs in the fireplace settled, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. After tossing another hunk of wood on the fire she turned to the window, glad to see the wind had died down. The world outside had been transformed by the storm into a glittering wonderland. A doe and her fawn tiptoed through the yard, their tracks the only thing marring the pristine cover of snow.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  She turned to discover a man sitting in the chair, his booted feet, crossed at the ankles, rested on the table. Normally Bently would have barked if a stranger walked into the house but he was in his spot near the fireplace sleeping. Her hand wrapped around the fireplace poker after a few steps to the left brought her back to the fireplace. “Who the hell are you and how did you get in here? I know I locked the door.” The fireplace poker in her hand reassured her she could defend herself if need be.

  “I have many names but you would know me as Santa Claus.” He stood and pulled the stocking hat off his head. “It’s finally your turn to get what you want for Christmas. I was disappointed Christmas isn’t important to you anymore.”

  Convinced she was still asleep and this was a dream, she looked him up and down, wondering why her sleeping brain dressed Santa in jeans, a flannel shirt, and work boots. At least he had a beard even if it was black and shaggy instead of the snowy white portrayed in all the storybooks. He was supposed to be short and portly not six feet tall and built like an underwear model. “Okay… What do you mean my turn? I thought you were magic and could visit everyone in one night. And why do you look like a walking ad for Outdoor Living?”

  His laugh filled the room, chasing away the shadows of the past.

  “And why would I want to celebrate Christmas here by myself? What is there to celebrate? The fact I made it through another day without my husband who is probably dead and without my brother, the only family I have. Forgive me for not wanting to be around people.”

  “And the snarky award goes to…”

  “I’m just tired of this life. Everything is so much harder now and the constant fear of alien attack. So, back to my question. What do you mean, it’s my turn.”

  “The list says it’s your turn.” He pulled a book out of his shirt pocket and paged through it until he found the page he wanted. “See, it’s here in black and white: Christmas 2020 – Kara Knight.”

  She marveled at the size of the book, how in the world did it fit in his shirt pocket? Oh yeah, this is just a dream. “What if I said I wanted my life back? My life before the invasion with all its conveniences, I mean. Can you stop the war? Make it as if it never happened?”

  “Is that what you really want? Your life before the war?”

  “Well, who wouldn’t? Life was so much easier then: hot water gushing out of the faucet, radio and television to keep us entertained, and a fridge to keep everything cold. Right now those sound so nice.”

  “What about Tim? If the invasion never happened his car would have taken him on to Kentucky, he wouldn’t have been on the side of the road for you to pick up.”

  She dropped the fireplace poker into its spot. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “And your brother, you hardly knew him. You were so wrapped up in your social media friends and having the latest and greatest gadgets. Did you know he was contemplating suicide in the days before the war?”

  “What? No. Not Kevin.” She brushed a stray tear off her face. “He always seemed so happy when I saw him.”

  “It was an act. He was miserable in New York but he felt he needed to pay for your college tuition and so he stayed at a job he hated.”

  “I know I was selfish back then but surely I could have changed without the world being destroyed.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I get it. I wouldn’t be the person I am now without the war. But I’m so tired of waiting to hear if I still have a husband. Surely there would have been some word by now. I don’t remember what it feels like to be happy.”

  “What is the one thing you want for Christmas? You get only one wish so be sure it is truly what you want.”

  She stared into the fire, pulling out her memories and examining them one by one: chatting with her friends online, spending time with her brother, looking into Tim’s eyes and seeing the love she had for him reflected back at her magnified by ten. Her life had been easier but it had been empty and devoid of love, an existence focused on material gain. The truth was there, buried in those memories. She wanted her husband more than her previous life.

  “If I get only one wish I want my husband to be safe. I don’t want to live in a world without him in it.”

  “And so it shall be.”

  Her head whirled as she stared at his smile.

  Kara awoke to find herself on the sofa wrapped in the quilt. The wind howled and blew the falling snow into swirls of flakes and drifts, severely limiting visibility. “Wow, what a dream.” She reached over to pet Bently, wondering why he had slept through her dream. “Some watchdog you are, even in my dreams.”

  Bently rushed to the window, barking, his hackles raised. “What is it? Surely there isn’t anyone o
ut there in this weather.”

  The doorknob turned back and forth as someone pounded on the door.

  She pulled her gun out from under the couch cushion. “Who’s there?”

  “Kara, open the door. It’s me, Kevin, and I have a surprise for you. Come on, hurry up, I’m freezing out here.”

  It sounded like her brother but she checked the peephole anyway. A brown eyeball stared back at her. Yep, it was her brother.

  She unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open to find not only her brother but her husband. Her hands went to his face, her fingers running through the beard covering his jaw. “Is it really you? How? Where have you been?” She wrapped her arms around him and cried tears of happiness as he held her.

  “Yes, it’s really me.”

  Kevin stepped from around the corner, “Hi, Sis. I told you I had a surprise for you.”

  “How did you get here through the storm? Surely you didn’t walk.”

  Tim sat on the sofa and pulled Kara down with him, his lips finding hers.

  Breathless from the kiss, Kara snuggled into the warmth of Kevin’s arms.

  “Some guy in a sleigh offered us a ride all the way here. I tried to get him to come in and warm up but he said he had another wish to grant and took off,” Tim said as he poked at the fire, sending sparks flying up the chimney.

  None of them noticed the sleigh as it flew through the sky and disappeared, its lone occupant smiling at the reunion.

  To All a Good Night

  William Lloyd

  THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

  The breeze sneaked through the crack in the window as the noises in the house disturbed Adam Ballinger from his slumber. He rustled under his covers, feeling the cold tickle his feet. This was no ordinary Christmas Eve; there was something whispering in the trees. Lifting himself from the bed, the young boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Another thump from downstairs made him thrilled that Santa had finally arrived. He swung his feet from the bed and tiptoed across the oak floor. Not one little peep came from the boy’s mouth.