The Advent Calendar

by Steven Croft

  It took, Alice thought later, about half an hour. During that time there was absolute silence in the valley. What had been a field of white bones was now a multicoloured field of human beings from many different lands. Men and women, children, old and young, rich and poor. Still, nothing moved.

  ‘Go down,’ said Col. ‘Go and look at them.’

  Carefully they climbed down the ladder and walked a little way through the immense valley full of bodies. There were no wounds or signs of death. The flesh was perfectly restored. Alice put out a hand to touch the cheek of a girl her own age. It was as cold and rigid as a stone.

  ‘Speak to the Spirit,’ called Col, his eyes bright with anticipation. ‘Tell the Spirit to come and breathe on them and they will live.” So Alice and Sam climbed again into the tower and faced to each point of the compass, calling the words at the top of their voices as Col commanded: ‘Come, Spirit. Breathe, Spirit. Come, Spirit. Breathe, Spirit.’

  Instantly, Alice felt a sudden soft breath of wind on her cheek and the whole air felt as if it was alive. Next they heard a great roaring, rushing sound, a mighty wind coming from the four corners of the valley, skimming the floor, billowing this way and that, filling every place. Alice and Sam gripped the rails of the tower, holding on in what became a fierce gale, sweeping, rushing, tumbling through the valley floor. Col stood right in the centre of the tower, arms spread wide, bracing himself against the wind. Sam turned and saw that he was transfixed with joy, singing in his deep bass voice, pouring himself into the music. The words of the song were snatched away instantly by the wind.

  Then, just as quickly as they had come, the great winds retreated, each leaving behind a breeze to play and tumble across the valley. In a single instant, as the wind drew back, each heart began to beat, each chest began to swell with air, limbs began to stretch and move, eyes opened. All across that wide plain, children, women and men climbed to their feet, embraced like old friends, flexed their muscles and looked with wonder at hands and feet and at each other. Families clung together; many laughed out loud, many wept with joy. As far as they could see, people were walking and running, leaping and dancing.

  Alice and Sam moved around the platform together, pointing, waving, amazed at what they were witnessing. At Col’s signal, they climbed down again onto the plain, moving from group to group, touching them, hugging them, feeling the warmth and life and catching the wonder of the moment.

  A great bell rang out across the valley. With one movement, the vast crowd turned together and faced the west, bowing low. Alice gasped. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the trees on the horizon, silhouetted against the setting sun. Without a shadow of a doubt, the central tree had burst into leaf again and was covered in new life.

  For a few seconds, Alice held the moment then closed her eyes. Instantly, as it seemed, she and Sam were standing together, hand in hand again, in front of the calendar.

  ‘We’re home,’ Megs called as she and Josie came back from their walk.

  The church door stood open. In the doorway, silhouetted against the setting sun, a man, a woman and a child leapt for joy, dancing into the sunset.

  10 December

  Sam stopped at the cash point on his way into work. There was a queue. ‘No problem,’ he thought to himself, full of goodwill. ‘I can wait in line even on a cold December morning.’ It had been an excellent weekend. Fortified by a good Sunday lunch, Sam felt kind of rekindled inside and, for once, wide awake on a Monday morning.

  There were four people in the queue. Everyone had headphones on. Sam’s iPod was tuned to his mellow Monday jazz mix. The first person in line was very quick: twenty pounds for the week at work. The second and third took longer. Each one checked their balance. Shoulders sagged and faces fell. Number three even looked right and left, questions on her face. Each then withdrew what looked like a lot of money, stuffed it in their wallet and went on their way.

  Number four was an attractive young woman in her early twenties. Sam could see over her shoulder. She checked behind her before punching in the PIN and looked fiercely at Sam. He studied the back of her rather nice knee-length boots. Then she checked her balance: £250 overdrawn. ‘Shit,’ Sam heard her say, even through the iPod. ‘It’s only 10 December.’ Instead of money, the machine spat out one of those annoying white slips.

  ‘Maxed out?’ said Sam. ‘Know the feeling.’ He removed one earphone as a friendly gesture.

  ‘Bog off!’ said the woman. ‘Wotsit to you? Stupid prat!’

  Chastened Sam turned round to the watching queue behind him and smiled weakly as he replaced his earpiece. They were all suddenly looking in different directions. Two of them were checking their watches.

  Without knowing exactly why, Sam took ten pounds less out of the machine than he intended and escaped. He switched off the iPod to give himself space to think. At first the silence was extraordinary. He tried to see the High Street for the first time, like one of the worlds in the calendar.

  Most of the shops were not open yet but each window was already a blaze of light in the cold morning mist. There were a hundred special Christmas offers in as many yards. Many advertised low prices and free credit. ‘Unmissable deal!’ ‘Buy now, pay later!’ ‘Give your family the Christmas they deserve!’ ‘The experience of a lifetime.’ ‘Pamper yourself this Christmas. You know you want to.’

  The banks, Sam noticed, were the same as the shops: brightly lit and covered in trees and tinsel. ‘Interest free credit, sir? No problem. New cards. Suits you, sir. A loan for the turkey? Let me gift-wrap it for you.’ Sam’s mind went back to the pile of junk mail by the front door. Every other day, it seemed, there was a letter inviting him to borrow more.

  ‘Strange, really,’ Sam thought, turning into the office. ‘Never noticed it much before. Must be getting worse.’

  He waved a cheery good morning to Richard through the open door of his office. He growled something back. Sam hung up his jacket and booted up his computer. The first email was a circular from Richard. Something about punctuality, working hard and no frivolous talk in the office. Apparently he intended to stroll round the floor between the cubicles at irregular intervals: ‘Stamping out the culture of time wasting’ was a phrase from the memo. ‘He’s been on another management course,’ sighed Sam wearily. Tizzy came in looking stunning and breathless, as usual. She waved, very cautiously, through the partition. ‘How was the weekend?’ she mouthed.

  Sam’s eyes signalled that Richard was on patrol. He gave her the thumbs up. ‘Good,’ he mouthed back. ‘Yours?’ he pointed. Tizzy’s thumb turned down and she pulled a face. ‘Disaster!’

  Sam made what he thought was a sympathetic face. Actually it looked more like he’d swallowed a hairball. ‘Coffee at eleven?’ he mouthed, pointing to an empty cup and holding up two fingers.

  ‘You’re on.’ Tizzy looked a bit more cheerful as she hung up her coat and hat.

  The routine was well rehearsed. Tizzy and Sam left the office separately at two-minute intervals, clutching a file of papers. Sam had already checked Richard’s online diary and discovered he was upstairs in a meeting from half past ten until lunchtime. Perfect. The rendezvous was the Starbucks across the street. By the time Sam arrived, Tizzy had the coffees and had grabbed a table well away from the window.

  ‘Oh, I needed this,’ she said. ‘What a weekend!’

  Sam didn’t need to ask. He knew she was spending it with her parents in the country and taking the latest in a long line of boyfriends.

  ‘How did they like Sim – er Gary?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely loved him. That was the problem, darling. Mum dropped all kinds of hints – you know the kind of thing. Big sister’s wedding photos left all over the house. Drove past the local church on the way to the pub for lunch. Lots of hints about not getting any younger.’

  ‘Did he get the message?’

  �
�Rather too well. He was absolutely silent all the way home. We had a furious row when we got back to my place. He dumped me without ceremony, collected his things and left. That’s it.’

  ‘How many is that this year?’

  ‘Thirteen. Catching them is not a problem. Keeping them is a disaster. How about you? You were as grumpy as hell on Friday. What happened with Josie?’

  ‘It was good, I think,’ Sam said. ‘Sorry about the bad mood. It was all getting a bit much last week. I hate December.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Tizzy, leaning across the table. ‘But there’s always the Christmas party to look forward to!’

  Sam smiled weakly for the second time that morning. He was searching for the right reply when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Germaine from the office, looking for a seat.

  ‘Germaine! Hi! Over here!’

  For once, Tizzy didn’t look too pleased but she moved over to make some space for a huge mocha with whipped cream, an enormous slice of chocolate cake and Germaine, who just managed to squeeze himself in between the table and the chair.

  ‘Don’t normally see you in here, mate,’ said Sam. ‘I thought you were working for that promotion.’

  To Sam’s utter and lasting discomfort, Germaine sniffed and looked as though he might burst into tears.

  ‘S’not going to happen,’ he said. ‘They’ll give it to someone whose face fits better.’ He took a slurp of his mocha and left a long white moustache along his upper lip.

  Tizzy offered him a tissue. Germaine blew his nose. Heads turned. The moustache was largely untouched. ‘S’not the problem anyway.’

  ‘What’s up then, old man?’ said Sam. ‘Wife and kids OK?’ He knew there were at least three little Germaines at home – maybe more.

  Tizzy offered another tissue. Germaine blew again and this time he wiped his eyes. ‘It’s Christmas,’ he said. ‘We just can’t afford it.’

  ‘Can’t afford it?’ said Sam. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re still paying for the last one,’ Germaine said. ‘Things were really hard last year. The kids all wanted such expensive stuff. We just bought it on credit – seemed really easy at the time. Then Lisa gave up work for number four. The washing machine broke down. They all want dear stuff again this year. They nag me every time we go shopping or watch TV. Weekends are hell. These letters come from the bank most days about the overdraft and repayments. What am I supposed to do? I’m not sure I can even go on.’

  Sam absentmindedly took a bite of chocolate cake and wondered what to say. Tizzy put a hand on his shoulder. Just then Germaine’s phone rang. He listened for a moment, protecting the chocolate cake with his enormous hand.

  ‘It’s Maureen in reception,’ he said. ‘Top floor meeting has just finished. Richard’s on his way downstairs. Scramble.’

  Sam was back at his desk just as Richard came back into the office. Tizzy arrived a moment later, papers under her arm, looking as though she had just visited the photocopier. She flashed Richard her most winning smile. His eyes turned to follow her down the corridor. While he was distracted, Germaine crept behind him clutching the remains of the mocha and squeezed back into his cubicle.

  ‘Thanks for listening, guys,’ he emailed later.

  Sam thought hard about Germaine’s situation all the rest of the day and all the way back home. What was the point of Christmas if it was just a time for people like Germaine to get deeper into debt? Sam found it hard enough to balance the books just for himself. Germaine had to provide for six on a similar wage. The bright lights and the advertising for credit took on a more sinister tinge in the evening light.

  The text message arrived just as Sam got home. Megs was on her way out. She’d agreed to meet Josie for a step class once a week. Alice was waiting impatiently by the calendar.

  ‘Just got it,’ said Sam. ‘Honest.’

  ‘I know,’ said Alice. ‘The door has only just appeared.’

  Sam looked hard in the top-right section of the calendar, following Alice’s finger. The new door, like the others, was just a couple of centimetres square. He ran his finger over the surface, checking what he thought he saw.

  ‘It’s bars,’ said Alice, ‘like in a prison. Come on, what’s the code?’

  ‘Six, one, colon, one,’ called Sam. Alice punched them in.

  Instantly, a kind of drum roll filled the air followed by a fanfare of trumpets. Sam took Alice’s hand and they faced the calendar. The bars swung open slowly from the centre. Thick grey smoke began to fill the room. But ten seconds later nothing else had happened.

  ‘This is strange,’ cried Alice. ‘We’re not going any…aaaaaaaayeeeeee.’

  At that very moment, the floor disappeared. Sam and Alice plummeted through the grey smoke, down, down, down, at first through what seemed to be a large, black plastic pipe. Then, suddenly, the angle began to change and the pipe ‘caught’ them on huge doormats as it changed from a vertical drop to 80 degrees, then 70, then 60. Holding hands was impossible – Sam was now somewhere ahead of Alice as they plunged downwards, riding the slippery surface of the inside of the pipe. Alice’s hair streamed back in the warm wind. Both of them screamed at the top of their voices.

  Alice saw a sign saying ‘50 degrees’, as the descent slowed again slightly. She found she could grip the mat, sit up and look ahead. ‘Sam,’ she called, ‘it’s like a water chute at the pool.’ Sam was going down feet first on his stomach. He looked up at Alice, stretched out his arms wide and stopped screaming. By the time they passed the sign which said ‘40 degrees’, he’d managed to sit up.

  The inside of the pipe was polished like a giant slide. Alice found she could swing from side to side. As they hit 40 degrees, there were some sharp bends to the right, then the left, slowing them down a little. Sam found that by gripping the mat and leaning into the bend, he could ride up the side of the pipe, then back down again. The next neon sign said ‘30 degrees’. Alice’s hair still streamed back. There was no grey smoke now, just a warm breeze coming from the pipe. Then the pace began to slow until it was 20 degrees. More bends and sharper ones. Before long it was 10 degrees and a very gentle pace. Finally, at the end of the pipe, it was 0 degrees and out they shot onto a bed of sand. Both of them tumbled off the mats at Col’s feet.

  They were in a dank cave lit only by the burning torch in Col’s right hand. He motioned to them to speak softly..

  ‘How was it?’ he whispered. ‘You’re the first to use it.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Alice, softly. ‘Best yet.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ hissed Sam, ‘once I’d got the hang of it. Can we have another go, Col?’

  Col glowed with pride. ‘I told them it would work,’ he said, punching one hand in the air. ‘Follow me. No time to lose.’

  ‘Where are we?’ said Alice, falling in behind Col as he made his way down a dark passage.

  ‘The dungeons,’ said Col, ‘Keep up!’

  They were in a narrow stone corridor about two metres wide. The walls were running with water. The ceiling was low and Sam had to stoop in places. The floor sloped gently upwards.

  ‘Whose dungeons, Col?’ called Sam, trying to keep up. ‘Ouch! Blistering barnacles.’ Alice couldn’t help grinning as Sam bashed his head for the third time.

  Col turned round and signalled again for them to be absolutely silent. He stopped at a sharp bend in the passageway and put out the torch. ‘We’ll stay here for just a moment,’ he said, very softly. ‘Let your eyes adjust to the dark.’

  Alice could see nothing at first but sure enough, after two or three minutes, she could make out the dark shapes of Col and Sam and the droplets of water running down the wall nearest her. She shivered, partly with cold and partly with excitement. There was a soft silver light coming from further up the passageway.

  ‘Follow me now,’ Col whisp
ered. ‘It’s almost time. Stay close.’

  They moved round the bend and down the passage. Alice could see now that just ahead of them the way was blocked by a grid of metal bars. The silver light was coming from the other side. Col put his hand into the depths of his robes and pulled out the most enormous bunch of keys. He held them close to his face and selected a small grey key, set it in the lock and turned it anticlockwise three times. He held the keys in his right hand and turned the iron handle with his left. The heavy door swung open without a sound and Col led them inside.

  Alice and Sam gasped. The dungeon looked like the deepest foundation of a great stone castle. A maze of thick walls and pillars stretched away on three sides as far as they could see. The floor was just earth with pools of water here and there. Chained to the walls and pillars by their hands and feet were the prisoners, each out of reach of the others. Each one had a few scraps of dry bread and some stale water, a chamber pot and a rough grey blanket. All looked thin and sick in some way. Most had long hair, some down to their waist. The only way to tell the men from the women were the long beards and moustaches. They were all dressed in rags. Some were held by stocks around their feet. Others wore steel manacles. Still others were tethered to rings driven into the dungeon walls.

  Some were sleeping. One or two pulled at their chains in a half-hearted way trying to get free. The majority just sat and stared into space. They looked at the three visitors and one or two stretched out their hands to beg but with no real hope in their eyes. Alice and Sam had nothing to say, nothing to offer them.