As if on cue, Fran heard little feet pounding down the stairs behind her. “Paul!” Beth squealed, running past her mother and jumping up and down in front of the elf.
“Beth, how long have you been awake?”
“I just woke up a minute ago when you were closing my bedroom door.”
Fran knelt down so that she and her daughter were eye to eye. “Did you get up sometime last night after Mommy went to bed?”
“No, Mommy.”
“Don’t lie,” Fran said, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders.
“I’m not lying, cross my heart. Will you make me and Paul some breakfast?”
Letting her hands fall away from Beth, Fran sighed. “Sure. Give me just a minute and I’ll go fix some pancakes.”
Beth started toward the kitchen. “Will you put blueberries in them? Blueberry pancakes are Paul’s favorite.”
Another of those ice water chills spread over every inch of Fran’s skin. Blueberry pancakes had been her late husband’s favorite. Beth had named the elf after her father, and was now attributing some of Paul’s traits to it. Did that mean the girl was actually pretending the elf was her father? And did that have something to do with why Beth was moving the thing around at night?
And it had to be Beth, there was no other possible explanation. Although—
Fran walked down the short hallway that led to the laundry room then the garage, stopping at the closet. Opening the door, she stood on her tiptoes and stared at the top shelf. The photo albums were still there, stacked neatly in what appeared to be the same position in which they’d been last night. In fact, nothing seemed disturbed or out of place.
How would Beth have even known where to look? And there was the question of how she could have possibly reached the elf back there? Even if she’d gotten the step ladder, it still wouldn’t have been high enough. She didn’t see how her daughter could have possibly taken the elf from the shelf.
But what alternative did that leave?
She could hear Beth giggling and she made her way slowly back to the living room. Beth had come back from the kitchen, now kneeling in front of the coffee table. Her head was turned and leaned close to the elf, almost as if the thing were whispering in her ear, apparently telling some kind of joke judging by her trilling laughter.
“Beth, honey, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Mommy. Paul was just telling me a story.”
“What kind of a story?”
“It’s about a princess who gets kidnapped by an evil witch, but the two become best friends and go on all kinds of adventures together.”
Fran actually stopped breathing for a few seconds. “Beth, have you been in your Daddy’s office? Tell me the truth now.”
“No, Mommy. I haven’t been in there since Daddy went to be with God.”
Of course she hadn’t. Fran had kept Paul’s office locked up since then, even she hadn’t been in there. So how could Beth know about—
“Mommy,” Beth said. “Paul wants to know when you’re going to make those blueberry pancakes.”
***
“What are you saying?” Carol asked.
Fran was sitting in the living room, her phone pressed against the side of her face. Beth was upstairs in her room, asleep. “I’m saying that there’s no way Beth could have known about the book.”
“I thought you and Paul had read all of his books to her.”
“I’m not talking about one of his published books. This was a new one, the one he was working on when he died. The Princess and the Witch, he had let me read the first few chapters, but no one else had seen it, not even his editor. So Beth couldn’t have known about it. Yet she described the plot to me, said the elf told it to her.”
Silence from the other end of the phone. Then, “I’m still not sure what you’re suggesting.”
“Hell, I don’t know what I’m suggesting either. I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“Well…did it ever occur to you that maybe Paul was telling the story to Beth as he was writing it, sort of like a bedtime story or something?”
“I suppose that’s possible, but why wouldn’t he have mentioned that to me?”
“Why would he?” Carol countered.
Fran paused, considering. “I guess he might not have thought it important enough to mention.”
“And as for Beth somehow getting the elf out of the hall closet, aren’t you always telling me how she manages to get the stuff out of the high cabinets in the kitchen?”
“Yes, but that’s different. She drags over a chair and climbs from there onto the countertops. There was nothing around for her to climb on to get up to that shelf in the closet.”
“Maybe she drug a chair over then put it back.”
“Beth has never been one for putting things back where she found them. And why would she be doing this anyway, moving the elf around?”
“It’s like you said, she’s trying to process the loss of her father. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t acting a little strangely. If you’re really worried about it, though, make an appointment with a child psychologist.”
“Maybe.”
“Might not be a bad idea for yourself, for that matter.”
Fran laughed softly. “What, are you saying I’m crazy?”
“Nutty as a fruitcake.”
“I certainly feel like I’m losing my mind. I mean, with the doll seeming to move around on its own, it’s like I’m in Trilogy of Terror or something.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
Fran thought about it, almost said yes, but finally said, “No, don’t be silly. It’s too late for you to be driving across town.”
“I don’t mind, really. Just say the word, and I’m there.”
“I’m fine. Paul’s death…well, I guess it has messed with my head more than I have wanted to admit.”
“Okay, but if you need anything, anything at all, just call me.”
“Will do. Thanks for everything, Carol. I love you.”
“Love you too, fruitcake.”
Fran laughed and hung up the phone. She got up and started for the stairs, pausing when she spotted the elf sitting on an end table. Snatching it up, she went into the kitchen and used the foot pedal to pop open the lid on the trashcan. She moved aside a milk jug, coffee grounds, a pizza box, then tossed the elf inside, covering it back over as if burying the thing.
“Good riddance,” she said, letting the lid bang shut.
***
The next morning, Fran came awake to the feel of her hair being pulled. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying. “Beth, stop that.”
Another tug and Fran rolled over and opened her eyes—
—and screamed.
The elf was sitting on the pillow next to her head, its painted-on smile looking mocking and cruel this close up. Some old spaghetti was stuck to the side of its face. Fran swatted at the thing, sending it sailing off the bed and onto the floor. She climbed out of the bed on the opposite side, walking cautiously around until she could see the elf lying on the carpet. On its back, arms splayed out crucifixion style, one leg over the other, the head twisted to the right. Something about the elf’s positioning troubled Fran, needling at her, but she couldn’t quite—
Paul. That was the same position his body had been in at the foot of the stairs after his fall. Exactly the same.
Stiffening her resolve, Fran snatched up the doll and hurried to Beth’s bedroom. The girl was in bed with her eyes closed, playing possum Fran was sure. She stood there for a moment and when Beth persisted with the pretense of sleep, Fran said loudly, “Beth!”
The girl started then sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Good morning, Mommy.”
“Beth, this has got to stop.” Fran held up the elf; it was dangling from her hand by the feet.
“Paul!” Beth squealed. “Mommy, you’re not supposed to touch him, it takes his magic away.”
Fran began shaking the doll rather violently. “I don’t kno
w if you think this is funny or what, but I’m not amused, and I’m telling you right now I’m not going to stand for it anymore.”
“Mommy, please stop, you’re hurting him!”
Fran threw the elf onto the floor and stomped on it, hearing a crack! When she lifted her foot, she saw a zigzagging line running across its face like a scar. Beth shrieked as if she’d just been scaled and jumped out of bed, running toward the elf. Fran snatched it back up before the girl could grab it.
“Give him to me!” the girl said.
“Now, you shouldn’t talk to your mother in that tone. Christmas is only two days away; Santa may just not leave you anything.”
“I don’t care. Santa Claus isn’t even real. Paul told me so.”
“Did he now? What else did he tell you?”
“He said you were mean. I told him that wasn’t so, but he was right. You are mean!”
With the hand not holding the elf, Fran smacked Beth in the face. Not with any great force, but it still brought the girl to tears. “This little rebellious phase of yours is over, young lady. Do I make myself clear?”
At first Beth didn’t say anything, just stared up at her mother with a poisonous glare, then she said softly, “You are mean.”
Fran waved the elf around in the air. “Say goodbye to your little friend, because this is the last time you’re ever going to see him.”
And with that, Fran left the room, slamming the door behind her.
***
The next morning, Fran was only mildly surprised when she opened the freezer and found the elf sitting in there. She’d almost been expecting something like this, even though yesterday she’d locked the elf away in Paul’s old office and slept with the key under her pillow.
“It would appear that Paul found his way out again,” Fran said as she walked into the living room.
Beth didn’t look up from the iPad. “Paul says you’re a bad person, and bad people always get what’s coming to them.”
“Paul understands the concept of karma, does he?”
Beth didn’t respond.
With a sigh, Fran sat cross-legged on the floor next to her daughter. “What do you say we call a truce, huh? I’ll stop being mean to you if you stop being mean to me. I mean, I’m not so bad, am I? Daddy left us, but Mommy is still taking care of you, isn’t she?”
“You’re taking care of me with the money from Daddy’s life insurance, so in a way it’s Daddy that’s still taking care of me.”
Fran sat rigidly for a moment. “Did Paul tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what does he know about it?”
Beth looked up and met her mother’s eyes, an unwavering gaze that would have been unnerving in an adult but was especially discombobulating in a six-year-old. “He knows a lot about it.”
Then Beth stood up and left the room, and her posture and gait were so much like her father’s that it gave Fran chills.
***
Fran sat on the sofa with a glass of wine, staring across the room at the elf on the mantel. The only light in the room came from the flames crackling in the fireplace and the blinking lights on the Christmas tree in the corner.
It was after ten, Beth had been in bed for almost two hours. Locked in her room. Fran wasn’t exactly the handiest woman in the world, but she’d managed to install the padlock on the outside of the door. No chance Beth was going to get out tonight. It was just Fran…and Paul.
In the flickering light, the elf’s cracked face looked demonic, as if it were an imp of the devil. Which made sense in a way. Rearrange the letters in Santa, and you get Satan. Had to be more than mere coincidence.
Fran glanced over at the tree. She had yet to retrieve Beth’s gifts from the attic and put them out for the girl to find in the morning. And Fran thought she might not bother. Beth had, after all, been a very naughty girl. Saint Nick might just have to pass her by this year.
Placing the wine glass on the coffee table, Fran stood and walked over to the mantel. She stared at the elf for a few moments, as if daring it to…well, she didn’t know what. Move, speak, stand up and do a little tap dance routine. Laughing at her own foolishness, she reached out and flicked the elf with a finger.
“So Beth seems to think you’re her father,” Fran said. “Not surprising, I suppose. You were her hero. I mean, I’m the one that took care of her, fed her, planned all her birthday parties, helped her with her homework, but still she looked up to you as if you were a god. What did you ever do for her? Read her bedtime stories? Big deal. You could barely even support us, which is why we were about to lose the house. Always writing those stupid children’s books, but you were no J.K. Rowling. You couldn’t accept that you were never going to make it big, wouldn’t just give up the stupid writing dream and get a real job. About all you had to offer was the life insurance, a hell of a policy indeed.”
Fran paused, reached out and picked up the elf, pulling it in close to her face. “I got rid of you once, I can do it again.” And with that she casually tossed the thing into the fire then went upstairs.
***
It was the stinging smell of smoke and charred plastic in her nostrils that roused Fran from sleep. She groped for the bedside lamp and finally found the switch. She barely stifled a yelp when she saw Beth standing at the foot of the bed.
“How did you get out of your room?” Fran asked, her mind still groggy.
“Paul let me out.”
“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“Paul says you shouldn’t have pushed him. It wasn’t very nice. Paul says you’re a bad girl, and bad girls get punished.”
Fran was about to respond when she noticed the smoke leaking into her room from the hallway. “Oh my god, where’s that coming from?”
Beth remained still, her expression blank, her eyes dead. “Paul caught some stuff on fire in the living room before he came up to let me out of my room. It wasn’t his fault though; someone threw him in the fireplace.”
The brain fog finally dissipated and Fran was out of bed in a flash, rushing past her daughter and out into the hallway. Smoke was flowing up the stairs, burning her lungs and sending her into a fit of coughing. Raising the collar of her nightgown to cover her mouth, she headed for the stairs. She spotted the charred elf on the first stair a split second before her foot landed on it. The thing rolled beneath her, causing her foot to fly out from under her. She raised her arms to try to grab the railing, but it was too late. Gravity did its thing and sent her toppling down the stairs, practically somersaulting toward the first floor landing. Her side banged into the edge of a stair and she both felt and heard some of her ribs snap, and she cracked her head against the banister. She threw out an arm to try to stop her fall, but her elbow bent the wrong way and pain exploded up into her shoulder. When she finally crashed to the tiled landing, her head banged into the floor with such force that it made her vision gray around the edges.
Her head was turned to the side so that she was facing into the living room. The curtains and the sofa were on fire, black smoke filling the air like thunderheads. She tried to sit up but found she couldn’t. Panic flared inside her as bright as the fire that was consuming the living room, and she wondered if she’d damaged her spine, rendering her paralyzed. The smoke was filling her lungs, and her body shook with the force of her coughing. She could feel the heat from the flames and she tried to will her arms to move, to drag herself toward the door, but nothing.
Tiny sock-clad feet suddenly stepped into her vision. Her daughter knelt before her and looked down at Fran without any hint of emotion. She carried the burnt elf in her arms. Holding the thing up to her ear, she nodded solemnly then turned her attention back to her mother. “Daddy says Merry Christmas.”
Then Beth stood up and walked out of her line of sight. Fran heard the front door open and close. She tried to call out to her daughter but all she could manage was a hoarse rattling. She still could not move, could only lie there helpless,
choking on smoke while watching the flames get closer.
THE PRICE OF SURVIVAL
“I’m scared,” Gina said, bundled up in her sleeping bag.
Rachel sat by the opening of the tent so that she could feel the heat from the fire outside, eating Vienna sausages from a dented can. They’d finished off the last of the deer earlier in the day, which meant they would need to go hunting again soon. “Try not to worry. We haven’t seen a zombie in the past two days, but the boys are going to continue to take turns keeping watch through the night. We’re as safe as we can possibly be under the circumstances.”
“No, it’s not the zombies I’m scared of. I mean, I am still scared of them, but now that’s not all.”
Rachel turned and stared down at her younger sister. Rachel was only 19, just three years older than Gina, but the gulf of age between them seemed much wider. The trauma of the dead rising and civilization falling apart, the girls having witnessed the death and blood-thirsty resurrection of their own parents, seemed to have prematurely aged Rachel while conversely regressing Gina back to a little girl. “What are you afraid of now?”
“Them,” Gina said, pointing out the opening of the tent.
“Zeke and the boys? Need I remind you that they saved us from that zombie attack two weeks ago, and if it wasn’t for their guns, we would have probably never made it out of the city alive. They’ve kept us fed and safe ever since. What’s to be afraid of?”
“The way they look at me when they don’t think I notice.”
At first Rachel could not think of a response to this. Truth be told, she’d felt their heavy stares as well, their eyes mapping every inch of her body. A group of men, out on their own, fighting for their lives with only other men for companionship, and then two young women enter the mix…it was inevitable.
But maybe she shouldn’t tell her sister this.
“We’ll be fine,” Rachel said, eating the last sausage in a single bite and depositing the can in the trash bag next to the tent’s opening and sealing it tight. That was one of many survival techniques she’d picked up from Zeke in the last couple of weeks. Food odors often attracted wild animal and zombie alike.
Companions in Ruin Page 15
