Festive Frights

by CW Publishing House

  On Boxing Day, I sensed Joey's presence centered within the train box I'd put in the attic. His blood was on the caboose that I’d used to hit him on the nose. His spirit might have focused on it and returned to the house. I was in no hurry to find out, so I stayed out of the attic.

  Mom showed up December 30th, after the case was declared officially closed as a murder/suicide. She had hired a professional crime scene cleaning crew to clean up the mess in the living room so she wouldn't have to deal with it. I hung around her a lot, being careful not to rattle my chains, so to speak. She was with my Aunt Nancy, Uncle Mark, and Jack Howell, the cop. That intrigued me.

  I remembered that he'd been kind to me when Milton broke my leg. He and his partner had been there for Mom when she shot Milton, too. He seemed to be there to do all the heavy lifting. His kindness towards her made her smile, although Joey's death was a tragedy to her, if not to anyone else. I know Aunt Nancy had been scared to death of him, nephew or not. I liked how open and relaxed Mom was with Jack. They seemed to have an easy rapport that never existed between Mom and Milton.

  There was something else about Jack that I liked—he was sensitive to my presence. I knew it right away, because he seemed to always be wherever I was lurking. He went into the bathroom upstairs, for privacy, I guess, and I followed him in.

  Then he spoke quietly to me. “Doug? I hope you remember me. I know you're there. I'm a psychic, and I'd like to talk to you. Your mom doesn't sense you, so I won't say anything unless you want me to. But I sense danger, and I think Joey or Milton might be here. There's anger and hatred in the house, but it's not focused.”

  That blew me over. I finally had someone to talk to without scaring the shit out of him. My plan was to protect Mom in case Joey woke up and came down looking for revenge. Now I had an ally.

  “Joey's up in the attic, but he may not know he's a ghost yet. Please keep Mom from going up there.”

  “If you manifest, Doug, it'll be easier to talk to you,” Jack said.

  “How?”

  “Go look in the full-length mirror over there and remember what you looked like.”

  I did that, and watched myself slowly appear in the mirror. “Holy shit. It worked.” I laughed.

  “Good. I was here yesterday with the cleanup crew, and I sensed your presence watching them from a distance. I also sensed truly bad energy in the top of the house. I brought silver bells and sea salt to get rid of it. You said Joey’s here. I think he's going to be severely pissed off at you for killing him. If there's anything in the house with his blood on it, his spirit is bound to it like I think yours is to an object here. Whatever it is, we've got to destroy it and bury it, preferably beside a bridge over running water.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “It's a process. First we have to get your family to safety. Then you have to get Joey to leave them alone.”

  “He never listened to reason when he was alive. I doubt he'll start now,” I said.

  The door opened so softly we didn't notice. “I heard voices up here. Is Mark—” Mom swayed, and Jack ran to catch her. He eased her to the floor and held her.

  I became invisible, but I didn't leave. Mom had seen me, so it was best now that I talk to her and explain the threat in the attic.

  “Verna,” Jack started, “I told you I’m a psychic, but I didn't explain what I can do. I can communicate with the spirits of the dead. Dougie is here. He can talk to you, if you're up to it.”

  She looked around nervously. “D-dougie? I saw you…before. Can you do that again?”

  I went to the mirror and manifested. She trembled pretty hard, but she smiled. I walked closer and smiled back. “Mom,” I said, “Joey's here too, and he's not happy.”

  “No wonder. His father killed him.”

  I had no time to go into detail about Joey's death. “He’s on the move. I can feel him. You have to get out of the house,” I said.

  “Joey wouldn't hurt me.”

  “I don't think we can count on that now. Please, go get Aunt Nancy and Uncle Mark. This house isn't safe.”

  “O-okay...”

  “Wait. Do you have a big mason jar with a glass lid?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, in the kitchen.”

  “Sulfuric acid?”

  “Drain cleaner. Under the sink.”

  “We need to get those right now. Dougie, go find Joey’s item I mentioned and bring it down to the kitchen,” Jack said.

  I dematerialized and went up to the attic like smoke. The train box was open, and the whole set flew around the attic. I grabbed my steam engine and hid it in the rafters. Joey hadn't noticed me yet; he was still trying to figure out what he could do, and he was damned mad. He couldn't know he had to be near his blood to do anything, so I chased down the caboose. It was solid, so I couldn't go through floors with it. I started down the stairs, and a horrific bellow filled the attic.

  “Dougie!”

  Joey manifested as a fireball of light and came right at me. I soared down the stairs and into the kitchen. My family was in the car parked out on the street, waiting for Jack, who stood in the doorway with an open, one-gallon mason jar. He’d filled it with a white liquid which I assumed was sea salt, water, and sulfuric acid. I dumped the caboose in the jar and Jack quickly screwed the glass lid on it.

  I flew out the door, Joey in hot pursuit. I swerved up into the tallest tree in the neighborhood, but Joey didn't follow this time. His fireball started to dim, and I guessed the caboose was dissolving. I could hear a cacophony of bells ringing in the doorway of the house, encouraging him to stay outside, I guess. Joey's energy swooped in and surrounded the jar. I swooped in and took it away from him.

  “Bury it and don't look back. Take the long way, away from the bridge,” Jack shouted.

  I didn't know how long it would take to dissolve the train, so I had to keep it away from Joey. I headed to the train trestle with it, and Joey followed. This all happened at twilight, so if anybody saw two fast balls of light and some kind of white, florescent vessel zipping back and forth over the rooftops, they probably thought it was a UFO.

  “Do you want the caboose, Joey? Come and get it,” I called.

  “Give it to me. It's mine,” he yelled.

  I carried the jar up and down, through the train trestle, and over a narrow expanse of river. He was slowing down, but so was I. I had never been this far away from the little engine with my blood on it. I didn't know what would happen if I got too far away. I finally settled on the riverbank within the shadow of the trestle, took the lid off the jar, and held it in the general direction of Joey’s ball of light.

  “It's right in here, Joey. Come and take it. It is yours, after all.”

  Joey floated into the jar, hoping to pull the caboose out, but I slammed the lid on and screwed it as tight as I could. I became a solid column of burning energy dove, burrowing at least a hundred feet into the hill that shored the steel girders supporting the train bridge. I deposited the jar and came back out, burying it forever.

  I spent half an hour floating around away from the trestle until I became so weak I had to go home to my steam engine. The closer I got to the house, the stronger I felt. Jack and the rest of my family still sat in the car. They had waited for me. I entered it through the open back window.

  “Is he gone?” Mom asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “That depends on whether you want me to stay near you or not,” I whispered.

  “I do,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I've missed you.”

  “All right. I'm going to tell Jack where my steam engine is.”

  When Jack came out of the house with my little steam engine, we all left that house for good. Jack married Mom, and I hung around until their daughter buried my steam engine with our mother.

  About Sharon Flood

  Sharon was born and raised in the St. Lawrence River Valley in the 1,000 Islands region. She graduated from grade 13 in Thousan
d Islands Secondary School in Brockville and began writing in high school. Her talent lay dormant until many years later she discovered protagonize.com in 2008. Making contacts and collaborating here led to publishing a time travel anthology.

  Sharon is recognized as a Mob Boss at Masquerade Crew, having acquired this title through her many book reviews.

  After working forty years in retail, Sharon is now retired and has more free time to do what she loves most—reading and writing.

  http://www.protagonize.com/author/moonwalker

  http://www.amazon.com/Forevermore-Travel-Anthology-Sharon-Flood-ebook/dp/B00XSBH4UW

  http://www.masqueradecrew.com/p/themasquerade-mob.html

  I'll Make It Next Christmas

  By Alex Benitez

  My phone rang and I retrieved it from my coat's inner pocket. The large flat screen lit up like my world, flashing the words My Lisa back at me. I swiped my finger across the screen to connect the call and pressed the smart phone to my ear.

  "Hello, honey," I answered warmly.

  "Michael! What do you mean you missed your flight? You already missed your original flight. You're supposed to be here in an hour," my aggravated wife said.

  I could hear everybody behind her. My brother Mark and his wife Elaine, my sister-in-law Shannon and her husband Darren; all their kids must've been there too, with all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My whole world was there, and I found myself over a thousand miles away, stuck in an airport.

  "I'm sorry, Lisa," I replied. "It's just that the meeting ran long and I missed the 508. Then I rushed to the airport, but by the time I got here, the 407 was already in the sky. So now, I've been downgraded on flight 651."

  "Downgraded?" she questioned through the noise of a party.

  "Yeah, they had no first class seats left, so I have to settle for coach. They said only one seat was available—right next to the wing."

  "Well then, when are you going to get here?"

  "If all goes well," I explained, "I'll be walking through the front door in about four hours."

  "Michael, the girls will be long passed asleep by then. They wanted to see you before Christmas."

  "I know. I know, Lisa, but this is the best I can do right now. Hey, how is everybody?" I said, trying to change the subject.

  "Everyone seems good," she answered, "It's just not the same without you."

  "Well, tell Mark not to finish off the brandy. I'd like a glass when I get there."

  "Okay."

  "Okay, I love you."

  "I love you, too. Merry Christmas."

  "Merry Christmas.”

  I slowly pulled the phone from my ear and the screen went black. I looked around the terminal as people gradually filled in the seats at the gate. It was Christmas Eve and the airport celebrated it poorly. Multi-colored holiday lights lined every doorway and tiny fake Christmas trees with miniature presents sat on each terminal desk. A lot of the airport employees wore bright red Santa hats, getting into the spirit of the season.

  Through the giant windows, I saw the plane pull up to the gate, and the passengers lined up the hall to the door. It wasn't going to be long now, so I settled back in my seat. Many peaceful, warm faces surrounded me. A woman read a Christmas book to her son as they waited; perhaps they were looking to reunite with the rest of their family like I was. An elderly couple, still in love enough to hold each other’s hands, were lost in conversation and smiles; maybe they were off to visit the happy people they helped create, like a drop of water rippling through generations of time. A pair of youthful newlyweds blissfully flirted; they could have been heading to their new home, fresh from their honeymoon. Everyone had someone with them—everyone except me.

  The cheesy instrumental versions of holiday songs echoed through the speakers and struck a delicate chord inside me. It was Christmas Eve, and I wasn't around any family. That was rarely the case.

  Since I was small, my grandparents had always thrown a huge Christmas Eve party. All our family and friends and their family and friends would show up. We'd just set up the food like a buffet and get lost in a chaotic jumble of loving, warm faces. We'd play Christmas music, argue about movies, and hire a Santa to arrive and pass out presents to the kids every year. It was what my holidays were all about.

  My grandmother’s death was quite a blow to my family. It felt for a little while like we'd all just go our separate ways, but when my mom picked up the torch of hosting the parties, it felt just like old times again. The Christmas Eve celebrations grew so big my mother let in people off the street to enjoy the festivities. When my mother grew too old to maintain her house and moved to a small apartment, I happily hosted the parties—until this year.

  I worked for an advertising company, and we were just about to have the biggest merger in the history of our firm. I had a hand in a lot of the decisions leading to that moment, so I felt it essential I be at the meeting. I thought that if I was there, we could convince our foreign beneficiaries to take the deal early, and then I'd be back before anyone showed up at my house. Boy, was I wrong. Our business dragged on and spilled right over into the departure of my initial flight. The negotiations took so long that I sped to make my back-up flight but still missed it. This was my last hope to make it back during my big family gathering. After this, my only choice was the early red-eye, and the soonest I'd be home in that case was six in the morning on Christmas Day.

  Feeling lonely, I turned my phone back on and scrolled to a picture of my girls. Two young children with long blonde hair wildly smiled at me. Lana had just lost her two front teeth in the photo, so she showed nothing but gums. Lois had on her glasses. There were tons of colorful children’s frames to choose from, but Lois wanted them big and all black, just like her mother’s. They were my two angels, and it pained me to miss my chance to see them before the holidays.

  I then noticed a lady sitting across from me. She was attractive and around my age, and she gazed upon me impatiently. She looked as though she eagerly wanted to say something, so I gave her a courteous smile.

  She returned the smile and asked, "Are they yours?"

  "Excuse me?" I replied.

  "The picture," she clarified.

  I giggled, flashing the picture at her for a second. "Oh, yeah. These are my girls. The older one is Lana and the younger one is my Loopy-Lois."

  "May I see?" she asked softly, reaching for the phone.

  "Yeah.”

  Her eyes soaked in the joyful image of my girls. "Aw, they're so precious."

  "Thank you," I said with a silly, proud grin on my face.

  "How old are they?" She handed back my phone.

  "Six and eight." I took one last, loving glance at the picture.

  "I have kids, too. Two boys, four and five," she claimed with a smile.

  "Really? What are their names?"

  "Maddox and Kaden. Do you wanna see?" She fished for her phone in her purse.

  "Sure."

  She took her phone out and handed it to me with the widest and most inviting smirk I've ever seen. It was an old flip phone with a cracked, foggy screen. It seemed ten years old and she was obviously long past due for an upgrade. I could barely make out the image of her two brown-haired boys, who were actually quite cute.

  I respectfully didn't mention the poor quality of her phone as I said, "They're adorable."

  "Thank you." She took back her phone and held her hand out. "I'm Olivia."

  "Michael.” I shook her hand.

  "So, where you headed?"

  "I gotta get home for a big Christmas Eve party. My entire family will be there. We do it every year."

  For the next ten minutes, we bantered about our families and holiday plans. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to hit on me, but I didn’t think that was the case. I think she was just lonely on Christmas Eve, like I was, finding some comfort in the company of a stranger.

  The holiday jingle covers were interrupted as a muffled voice announced, “Handicapped and assisted passengers fo
r flight 651, you may begin boarding.”

  I stood, holding my briefcase and clutching my boarding pass. "Well, it was nice to meet you Olivia," I said cordially.

  "Nice to meet you, too," she said. As I walked away, I heard her behind me. "Maddox! Kaden! Maddox, Kaden! Where are you? We're about to go. Where are you?"

  I stopped and turned as she continued to call out their names. I hadn’t known she was actually with her children when we’d met. She’d spoken of them like she hadn't seen them in years, and I hadn't seen them around, so I’d assumed she was trying to get back to them for the holidays.

  Worry dominated her face, and I felt obliged to investigate. "Olivia, what's wrong?" I inquired.

  "Maddox and Kaden. I can't find them," she said.

  "They're with you?"

  "Yes, and they were just here. You need to help me find them."

  I knew I quickly needed to devise a way out of this. "Look, I can’t miss my—"

  "Please," Olivia pleaded with a certain desperation in her eyes.

  I knew it wasn't my place or responsibility to hunt down her kids, but I also felt compelled to help. Maybe the fact that I thought she was kind of cute pushed me, or maybe it was the jolly season. Maybe I just couldn't live with myself, knowing she was all worried and I did nothing to help. Regardless the reason, I decided to help her.

  We hurried away from the gate as the first few people started boarding. I quickly scanned the area in the hopes of easily locating her children and making it a speedy affair. They clearly didn't run off to any adjacent gate, because all the other gates were completely empty.

  Wanting to end this as fast as possible, I asked, "Where do we begin?"

  "I need you to check the men's room."