NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  “I start decorating on Black Friday. It’s my break from crafting. Bright and I know how many orders we have to fulfill by Christmas, and while I’m decorating, she’s putting together our battle plan on how to divvy up the orders.”

  “Bright isn’t a Christmas person?” Grace plopped onto one of the recliners and stretched out. Her eye lids drooped. Driving the RV had been more stressful than she let on. My heart went out to her.

  “She enjoys Christmas. Her husband is a Christmas lights fanatic and has a blueprint of where everything goes. Bright says the task of the front of the house, living and dining room are his domain and she takes care of the other rooms. She’s learned it’s best to wait until he’s done before she decorates elsewhere. She never knows, until his vision is created, what he plans on using.”

  The wind howled outside. Fortunately, I had a house of stone. No worries of the big, bad wolf wind blowing it down, though it rattled the windows.

  “How about some hot chocolate? Or would you rather call it a night?” I asked.

  Grace bolted upright. “No. This is the first girl’s night I’ve had since Abraham was born. No way am I sleeping now.”

  “Our movies and television are in the family room downstairs.”

  Grace hopped up. “I can’t wait to see your holiday movie collection.”

  As the house was built on an incline, the left side of the house wasn’t underground and there was a set of patio doors that let in a lot of natural light. There was also a brick fireplace downstairs. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with the house. I loved having two mantels to decorate with evergreen boughs and lights.

  When Samuel and I married, I had kept my paid for house to convert into a craft studio and shop. A small bedroom downstairs would be turned into my administration office with a small desk, a desktop, and file cabinets with tax records and receipts. I hadn’t wanted to keep my personal and financial information on the laptop as I brought it to shows. The den was the area I planned on doing classes. Samuel and I were still in the process of deciding whose furniture would go into “our” home when I realized the marriage wouldn’t work, and I hadn’t started reinventing my house after I moved back in. It was too hard on my heart. I liked the comfort it brought me having the downstairs exactly the way it was when Scotland and Raleigh lived at home. It was enough at the time that I changed their empty bedrooms into a crafting room and a guest room. I just couldn’t do anymore.

  Maybe it was time.

  I prepared the hot chocolate and took out the air popper, making sure to line up the bowl properly as the last time a quarter of the popcorn landed on the floor. Between the popcorn, butter, and hot chocolate, my kitchen smelled amazing. I couldn’t wait for Sunday. Holiday baking time. Or at least my first round of it. Though, with Scotland having to leave Sunday, I might start a day early. There was no way I’d send a child of mine off at the start of the holiday season without a couple batches of Christmas cookies.

  There was a skittering sound at my feet. Ebenezer settled himself onto the hardwood floors near the popcorn bowl. He remembered the fiasco from Thursday night and was hoping to benefit from my mistake again.

  “Sorry, Ebe. None for you.”

  The phone vibrated on the counter, bouncing a little on the Formica countertop, and pinged. Bright.

  Home safe?

  In my haste to start the sleepover, I forgot to text Bright. It was part of our standard procedures. I texted Bright when I left a show and on my return home.

  Yes. A friend drove the RV home. Having a movie night.

  Male or female?

  Female. Of course.

  You are an adult. And divorced. You can have fun.

  The last thing I wanted to do right now was venture into another relationship. I was divorced, not very long, and my ex-husband was dead. Said ex-husband was recently murdered. Not the best time to start seeing someone new.

  True. I just want you to be happy. You deserve it.

  I am happy. I typed, keeping one eye on the popcorn bowl. It wasn’t overflowing yet. My children are happy and living their dreams. I’m at my full-time crafting season. And it’s Christmastime! I also sent a row of smiling emoticons.

  There’s more to life than Christmas.

  Blasphemy! Popcorn’s done.

  Have fun and keep safe.

  I sent an emoticon rolling their eyes. I was home. I was safe.

  Our snack and drink were done. I walked into the kitchen and took out two of my Christmas mugs, choosing the first day of Christmas and seventh. The seven swans a swimming had been Raleigh’s favorite. Swans to her were romantic and regal creatures. One year, she had placed a swan on her Christmas list. It took weeks for Brett and me to find a largish stuffed swan for Raleigh to sleep with. Her bed was piled high with lovies. The following year, she wrote: Swan–live one. It was a heck of a time explaining to our daughter why she couldn’t have a live swan when her friend had a pet duck.

  I placed the bowl of popcorn and mugs of hot chocolate onto a breakfast tray and carried our treat downstairs. Ebenezer hopped down the stairs, right by my feet.

  “Quit it.” I narrowly missed stepping on the little guy. “You’re going to trip me up or become one with my shoe.”

  “I think he’s hoping to trip you.” Grace ran over and plucked him off the stairs. He screeched before settling into her arms.

  “He has a thing for popcorn.” I placed the tree on the coffee table. “What are we watching tonight?”

  I was hoping for Christmas with the Kranks or the Hallmark movie Naughty or Nice with Krissy Kringle. Those were my go-to movies when I needed a laugh. No matter how many times I saw them, they still cracked me up. Samuel and Cassie hated them, which had the added benefit that there were no memories of them tied to the movies.

  “I couldn’t find one.” Grace sat in the plush love seat, curling her feet under her. I handed her a mug.

  I looked over at my Blu-Ray and DVD storage unit. I had romantic Christmas movies, funny ones, black-and-white classics, more current classics like A Christmas Story. It might be a little overwhelming to have so many choices. “What type of Christmas movie are you in the mood to see? I’m sure I’ll have something that would work.”

  Grace smiled over her mug. “I’m sure you do. You have quite the collection. Abraham would be in heaven.”

  “Maybe one day, you could both visit. I have a guest room.” I blurted out the offer, regretting the words the moment I finished the sentence.

  While I liked people, I was an introvert. It was why crafting was the perfect job for me and my best friend and I communicated through messaging and text. We were in each other’s lives but not up in each other’s lives. I liked that we still had private parts of ourselves and could answer when it was convenient for us rather than right away like talking on the phone. My parents had been homebodies as well. Most of our weekends were spent together in our home.

  “I’m sure my son would love it. For a little while anyway. Maybe an afternoon visit, this way his routine isn’t changed too much.” Grace blew the steam rising from her cup. She looked sad.

  “Missing Abraham?” I asked.

  She smiled sadly and nodded. “Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what will happen to him when I’m no longer here. How will he support himself? Take care of himself? The truth is he’s just not capable of it.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “What will happen to my son? It breaks me thinking about Abraham alone in the world.”

  I moved from the upholstered chair to sit beside Grace. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. A deep, dark feeling welled up in my gut. “Are you sick?”

  She shook her head and patted the tears dry with her fingertips. “No. It’s just a thought that creeps in now and then. I’ve been thinking about it more. Probably because of Samuel dying.”

  My thoughts turned to Cas
sie. She was alone. Who was supporting the teen through her father’s death? I knew Bonnie wasn’t a source of comfort for the girl. For all I knew, the woman locked the girl out of the house. Who would Cassie turn to? Her grandmother was back and forth between her small house and the hospital. When Samuel and I were married, I had nagged him to fix the water heater and the front steps of his mother’s house. The water heater was on its last legs and the steps were crumbling. Shame flickered through me. I should’ve paid to fix those items myself rather than buy the RV.

  It wasn’t Samuel’s mom Helen’s fault her son was a bad husband. Helen had always acted like Samuel was a gift to her. She bragged on him. Told stories of his generosity. At first, I thought Helen hated me because we never dined at her house. We always met at a restaurant or ventured out on shopping trips. Never visited at her home. I stopped by one day as a surprise and learned why she kept me out of her home. It told the truth of Samuel. He didn’t take care of her as he bragged. For Helen it was a source of embarrassment. For Samuel, it was just another layer, a coverup for another deception.

  I hadn’t done my homework well. I trusted what I was told rather than look myself. My motto from now on was actions spoke louder than words. “I should call Cassie. See how she’s doing.”

  “Merry, you know that’s not a good idea.”

  “She’s basically alone. Bonnie won’t take care of her, and Helen can’t.”

  “She’s eighteen.”

  I almost reminded Grace that Abraham was twenty-four, and she worried about him. Instead, I took a sip of my cocoa to settle my ire and stop myself from talking. Those words would hurt Grace. Abraham had a different situation than Cassie. The truth was he’d likely never be able to live alone. His brain worked in such a way that he needed reminders on basic tasks and didn’t process situation as others did.

  “She’s still in high school,” I said. “Samuel doted on her. She’s never had to deal with day-to-day stuff. Paying bills. Buying groceries. Cooking. Laundry.”

  Could Cassie even get money from Samuel’s bank account? Had Samuel taken me off? If not—No. Don’t do it! My brain screamed at me. Bad idea was written all over the plan of pulling money out for Cassie. Taking money from your murdered ex-husband’s checking account fell onto the checklist of “evidence you’re a murderer.”

  Grace leaned over, placing the first day of Christmas mug onto the coffee table. “If I were you, I’d see if someone would contact the high school for you. The teachers will keep an eye out for her.”

  “That’s a good idea, but school is closed until the Monday after Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s right. I forgot about that.” Grace leaned back and heaved out a sigh. “Sorry. I thought I had the answer.”

  My sigh accompanied hers. Don’t we all. The two mugs placed side by side drew my attention. The partridge in the pear tree looked forlorn. The poor bird was always alone. The turtle dove had a buddy. Why couldn’t an inanimate object had been first, the one to stand alone, instead of a living creature. On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, one bright red sled. Or even one golden ring. Who needed five?

  There had to be a way to help Cassie. Make sure she was okay. Rachel. My friend and Cassie’s boss would know something. Right? I slipped my phone from my pocket and texted her, asking about Cassie.

  She responded back immediately. Haven’t seen her since Wednesday. Worried about the girl. Tomorrow, I’ll stop by her house.

  “I’m going to call it a night.” Grace stood, stretched and yawned. “I’m more tired than I thought. I’m sure that’s why I couldn’t pick a movie.”

  “Once you get upstairs, the room is the second one on the right.” I stopped in mid text. That was no way to treat a guest. “I’ll show you.”

  Grace hugged me. “I can manage to find my way upstairs. I know you’re worried about Cassie and need to have someone check on her. See you in the morning,” Grace said, collecting our empty mugs.

  “The upstairs bathroom is at the end of the hall.”

  Keep me updated? I want to see her but not sure it’s a good idea.

  I’m sure it’s not a good idea. I’ll let you know what I found out. Sorry you’re going through this. No matter what others say, I know you’re innocent.

  Fifteen

  I curled onto my side, Ebenezer snuggling against me, and tried to sleep. My mind fretted about Cassie. How was she doing? Should I call? I didn’t want to come across as I was stalking her or considered her a murderer. No, listen to your friend’s advice. Don’t contact Cassie. It would make things worse.

  Reaching out, I snagged my cell from the bedside table and clicked on the Facebook app and brought up Cassie’s page. Her last post was Saturday morning when she accused me of being responsible for her father’s death. Friends posted condolences and asked if she was okay and if she needed to talk to contact them any time day or night. Cassie remained silent. Or at least was quiet on her page, she might be messaging them privately.

  I popped over to Samuel’s page. More rest in peace message. I scrolled down some more and stopped, moving back up. Told you, man, trouble follows. Gary Meadows. The name was unfamiliar. I clicked on the guy’s name and all I saw was his name and no other identifiers. The only way for me to learn more about Gary, and his connection to Samuel, was to friend the guy.

  I hoped Gary Meadows was intrigued enough by the name of Merry Winters he’d accept it. I switched from his page to my main page and changed my icon to something a little less Christmassy so I didn’t frighten the guy. One might not want to friend a grown woman who was wearing light up antlers.

  Exhaustion washed over me. My emotions had been up and down all day, grieving Samuel then angry at him. Feeling sorry for him then wondering what he did to deserve his fate. Some of those thoughts weren’t nice at all. I needed my brain turned off for a few hours. I switched off my phone and placed it on the bedside table. Rolling over, I curled myself into a ball and Ebenezer snuggled into my stomach. The warmth of his tiny body was comforting. Tension drained from my body and my eyes fluttered closed.

  Scritch. Scratch. I bolted upright, clutching the pillow to me. Disorientated. My heart pounded. Ebenezer screeched and scrambled into my lap. Scritch. Scratch. He heard it too. Instinctively, my gaze went to the window. The branches outside the window were bare and nowhere near the pane. Had the wind knocked a branch against the pane? Placing Ebenezer onto the bed, I quietly made my way to the window. Nothing moved outside.

  Scratch. Thump. With wide eyes, I stared at the ceiling. It was coming from above. The roof. What was going on?

  I slipped on my jeans. Something crinkled in the front pocket. The note on my door. I snagged the paper and placed it on the bedside table. First thing tomorrow, reschedule a delivery.

  I shoved my feet into my faux fur lined suede slippers and headed for the door. Another bump. Another scratch. This time it was in the hallway. My hand trembled, pausing, almost frozen above the doorknob. Was someone sneaking around my house?

  How could a person move from the roof to the hallway in a matter of seconds? That was impossible. It was too early for a visit from Saint Nick. Was I mistaken on where the sound originated? I tiptoed my way back to my bed and unplugged my phone from the charger. The screen lit up. The paper I took from the door wasn’t a slip from UPS. It was a sheet of notebook paper with red writing. I unfolded the notebook paper. The lettering looked like slashes of lines. Bright red slashes. In all capital letters. Murderer.

  My legs gave away. I sank to the bed. The noise repeated itself in the hallway. Clutching the phone in my hand, I quietly made my way to the bedroom door, feeling like a thief in my own home. I twisted the knob. Carefully. Inch by inch. It creaked. I held my breath, counting in my head to twenty before I leaned over to peer out the slight gap.

  This is a bad idea. A voice, sounding very similar to my son’s, popped into my head.
Someone threatened you. My gaze drifted to the note on my bedside table. The handwriting had a familiar quality to it. Or was I trying to convince myself of that? Should I call the police?

  There was a shadow near the stairs, coming or going I couldn’t tell. My heart slammed in my chest. Sweat dotted my forehead. I had to call the police. I eased back, so the intruder didn’t see the light from my phone screen. Something brushed against my ankle. I yelped, slapping my hand over my mouth, and the phone slipped from my grasp. Tears filled my eyes. Ebenezer had squeezed through the gap and ran out into hallway.

  “No!” I flung the door open. I had no choice. I had to save Ebenezer.

  “Merry, you okay?” Grace hissed from the hallway.

  I sagged against the doorframe. There was a practical explanation for the noise. My houseguest was going to the bathroom. “Yes, I’m fine. I thought I heard something and scared myself with possible scenarios.”

  “I was downstairs getting a glass of milk and heard something.” Grace wrapped her arms around her waist and moved closer to me. “I also saw lights outside. I was coming back upstairs to get my phone and go out and investigate.”

  I frowned. “The sound I heard was overhead.”

  “Snow falling from the trees?”

  “That makes sense.” What had Grace heard outside? I linked my arm through hers. She was cold. The heater must’ve clunked out in the guest room again. Another item to add to my mounting repair list. “Let’s go see what’s going on outside.”

  “Let me grab my phone. We might need to call the cops.”

  I looked around the hallway. Something felt…off. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. A coldness griped my scalp. Frowning, I cased the room. Where had Ebenezer ran off? I’d have to find him later.

  “Ready?” Grace whispered.

  I nodded, and we crept down the stairs.

  Grace paused in mid-step. I almost tumbled down the stairs. “I’m second guessing this decision. Maybe we should just call the police. Your ex-husband was just murdered. What if whatever he did that angered someone so much was somehow tied to you? It could be dangerous.”