Festive Frights

by CW Publishing House

  "The men's room?"

  "Yeah, I can't go in there. I need you to check if they're fooling around in there." We headed to the lavatories and she shoved me into the men's room. "Please hurry, and tell me if you see them."

  I slowly walked into the public restroom. This seemed a tad silly to me. If my girls were lost, I wouldn't think twice about bursting into a lady's restroom if I thought there was a chance they were there. I started to think the woman wasn't as upset about this as she should be, but I tried not to judge her. The restroom was clean, white, futuristic, and appeared to be abandoned, but I still had to be sure.

  "Maddox? Kaden? Are you guys in here?" I peered past the corners of all the urinals to see nothing but the porcelain. "Your mother Olivia is looking for you." I opened every stall to find them all empty. "Maddox! Kaden! You need to board the plane now." I checked under all the sinks and neared the door, concluding they probably weren't there. "Maddox, Kaden, if your mother finds out you guys were hiding in here, I'm sure you'll both be in big trouble. Just thought I'd warn you." I then walked out to the worried Olivia, who patiently waited for an answer.

  "Did you find them?"

  "Sorry, no. They're not in there."

  She moaned. "Where could they be?"

  "Maybe the magazine shop?" I suggested.

  Her eyes clung to any possibility and she was prepared to put stock in my assumption. We ran down the long hall back to the magazine shop. Even though the magazines sold at the little shop were not designed for children, the architecture of the shop was pretty cool and it was very colorful. I thought maybe the kids were attracted to it. We checked its aisles with no luck.

  We looked in the cinnamon bun shop, the fast food restaurant, and even the newsstand, but Maddox and Kaden were gone. The fear no longer belonged just to this woman beside me; I also had to find out where her little boys were—for my own peace of mind.

  I then heard the intercom blare, “Rows 0-39 of flight 651, you may begin boarding.”

  "I think it's time we check with security," I said.

  "No, we can't!" she urged. "Only you can help me."

  I dismissed her odd reply and decided to just reason with the worried mother. "Olivia, we need to get more help with this. We need to find them as soon as we can. I'm sure when security is informed, they'll find your boys in no time."

  She didn't seem convinced, just locked in despair as if she'd never see them again. Despite her expression, she mumbled, "Okay."

  "Good," I said, attempting to deal with the crisis in an orderly fashion. "Now, the airport security office is upstairs. We should hurry."

  We headed down the hall to a hidden set of escalators leading up to the security office. The intercom then rang out, “Rows 40-79 of flight 651, you may now begin boarding.” That section included my row, and there was no way I'd make it all the way back in time, but I knew I'd be all right if I made it for the final boarding call. I had to make sure Olivia found her boys.

  We waited in silence as the automated step dragged us higher. I sweat bullets trying to keep my composure in my internal race against time, but Olivia seemed cool as a cucumber.

  Her eyes met mine and her nerves seemed to vanish. "Michael, I'd like to thank you for your help. You didn't need to do this."

  "Well, tis' the season, as they say."

  "Yes, it is.”

  “Rows 80-120 of flight 651, you may now begin boarding,” sounded out of the speakers.

  The escalator placed us in front of the security office, which already overflowed with people. "Can you believe this?" The words just burst out of my mouth.

  "No."

  "Come on." I muscled my way through the crowd. I had no clue why everyone else was there, but it couldn't be as serious as missing children. I had to get Olivia's kids back.

  "Officer! Officer!" I shouted over the others to show the severity of the situation.

  "Michael, it's okay," I heard Olivia say behind me.

  "What do you mean? We're here. Let's just tell them," I argued without turning around. The officer caught wind of my seriousness and seemed as though he listened to my cries.

  "I found them, but I can't go where they are. Merry Christmas," Olivia said softly.

  "You found them!" I cheered. "Where were they?" I turned around to assuredly see Olivia's gleeful face by the doorway, but she wasn't there. I ran to the doorway and peered down the hall, but she was gone. She couldn't have gone that far so quickly.

  One of the officers in the office watching me asked, "Sir, what seems to be the problem?"

  "Uh...hold on," I replied heading back into the hall. I walked toward the escalator and gazed down to see any sign of Olivia and her kids. There wasn't a soul to be seen, like she’d just fallen off the face of the earth.

  I then heard, “Final boarding call for flight 651.”

  My eyes popped open. I almost forgot how close I’d been to missing my flight. I darted down the escalator and down the hall. I blew past the assortment of stores and ran toward the gate. My legs moved in a blur as I neared my gate, flailing my boarding pass at the gate attendant.

  "Wait! Wait!" I yelled, hoping it would somehow delay them momentarily. "Stop the plane! I'm on that plane!" It was too late, though.

  As I approached the closed gate entrance, I heard the plane pull away. I shrugged my shoulders in utter disbelief of missing my flight for the third time in the same evening. I calmly headed to the gate attendants to tell my side of things.

  "Look," I explained, "this was the third flight I missed today. I was trying to help this woman find her kids. I just want to get back home to my family. Is there anything we could do?"

  "Sir, once those doors close, I can’t allow anyone through," the attendant viciously informed me.

  I sighed and pressed my head against the giant pane of glass. I had just missed it by a sliver; it was right there, just gradually rolling away from the gate. The thought crawled across my brain as the plane’s first turbines kicked on. I watched my final chance for a nice Christmas literally roll away. The only next step was to make the dreaded call to Lisa to tell her I would completely miss the party.

  A blinding light flashed from the plane and flames immediately engulfed the wing. The explosion sounded like a mighty thunder clap and sent a shockwave throughout the airport. Everyone stood there in silence for a moment as the horror of the explosion sunk into their heads. Emergency vehicles and fire trucks rode up to the blaze, salvaging what they could from the side of the plane. The plane's emergency door was blown in, completely crushing the unoccupied seat by the wing—the seat I had secured at the last minute.

  As my near-death experience basted in my brain, I heard two flight attendants speaking in low voices behind me.

  "I can't believe this happened again," one of them said.

  "Again?"

  "Yeah. A few years back, one of the engines exploded on a jet after some kind of wiring issues. It was the same model, and also a flight 651. I thought they'd have addressed that issue. Poor girl."

  I wasn’t sure why I decided to do it, but after overhearing their discussion, something told me to check it out. I pulled out my smart phone and brought up the news app. I searched ‘Flight 651 to Boston accident,’ and what came up chilled me to my core.

  The news headline read, ‘Flight 651 to Boston Kills Woman.’ The image of the victim hit me hard; it was Olivia. I read a little more, hoping it would prove this was all a radical coincidence.

  ‘Three people were injured and one killed. Olivia Destauls lost her life when she was caught in an explosion authorities say was due to faulty wiring. Olivia was on her way back to Boston to spend Christmas with her two young sons.’

  I knew then it was no coincidence. I thought I’d been helping her, but the woman had saved me. "Thank you," I whispered.

  I wasn’t going to make it to the party, but at least I'd be able to make it to the next Christmas.

  About Alex Benitez

  Alex Benitez is a thi
rty-year-old author who has been writing seriously for the last five years. Alex considers himself a storyteller and has been developing stories since his infancy. Alex had no actual formal training in writing when he wrote his first novel ‘Rose Star Runners’, and continues to write, picking up tricks of the trade as he goes along. Alex has a day job at a trendy Mexican restaurant and saves what he can for future publications. His future projects include a Horror/Thriller novel called ‘High Tower Black’, four more installments of the ‘Rose Star Runners’ series, and an untitled comic he will submit to Heavy Metal Magazine.

  Julbocken

  By Crystal M M Burton

  Annette slowly stirred a handful of dried spices into the bowl of freshly mashed potatoes. They smelled sweetly reminiscent of the autumn harvest, and she sighed longingly at the memory of fresh pumpkins and apples from the farmer's market. She raised her dark brown eyes to the meager dining table, whereupon sat her largest dinner plate, bare in anticipation of the Yuletide ham that was still smoking in the modest brick box behind the house. Smaller plates surrounded her largest, each one displaying the best dishes she knew how to prepare with the dried and preserved ingredients from her cupboard. The pumpkin pie was her favorite, but the sweet bread with spiced butter was her specialty. As she set the potatoes beside the pie, she wondered if her husband was about finished cooking the ham. The sun would be setting soon, and the time to light the Yule Log was fast approaching.

  As if on cue, a hard knock came to the door, followed by John's voice announcing the completion of the ham. She grabbed her hand towel and dusted the remaining flakes of spices from her fingers before rushing to open the door for him. He entered, his tall, wide frame towering over her smaller, dainty one. In his arms he balanced a large wooden slab, carrying a perfectly smoked ham hock. Steam rose from the hot flesh, and Annette's eyes grew wide as she realized just how large it was.

  "Everything looks fantastic, dearheart," he complimented his wife as he carefully slid the ham from the wooden slab to the prepared plate in the center of the table. Annette moved quickly, adding the finishing touches--a few dashes of salt to the winter radishes and a spoonful of her best wild cranberry chutney atop the aromatic smoky ham. She stood back and clasped her hands together with pride.

  "Thank you, John. You have worked hard this year to provide such a bountiful meal." She offered a loving, grateful smile, then rested her hand gently on his arm. "It's time to fetch the children. I promised J.J. he could help light the Yule Log this year."

  Ten minutes later, John returned from the children's bedroom, waddling into the kitchen with two laughing kids, one wrapped around each leg. On his left was J.J., his seven year old son and spitting image of himself when he was younger. They both had the same dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes, and J.J. was slowly growing into the same wide stature that his father had. On his right was Madeline, his petite, four year old daughter. Just as J.J. bore a striking resemblance to John, so too did Madeline favor Annette. Her black curls bounced joyously with each heavy step her father managed to take. Her small, toothy grin melted Annette's heart, and as her husband stopped before her she reached down and scooped her little girl into her arms, embracing her in a tight squeeze.

  "Oh my goodness, you are filthy!" Annette laughed. "Go wash up in the basin so we can light the log and start eating." She set her daughter down and both children rushed to the other side of the dining table, where a wide wooden basin sat on a stool, holding two bucketfuls of mostly-clean lukewarm water. As the kids scrubbed their hands and faces, Annette set four plates with utensils around the table. John stepped outside to grab something, then came in and stood by the fireplace.

  "Alright, are you ready J.J.?" John asked as the boy jumped up and down behind a chair.

  "Yeah!" he shouted gleefully.

  "John Junior, how do you address your father?" Annette chided. J.J. lowered his face and raised his shoulders, looking up at his mother sheepishly.

  "Yes, sir." His father nodded in approval and motioned for his son to stand beside him by the hearth. Annette and Madeline stood behind them and watched.

  In the small stone fireplace sat an enormous log. It had been shaved of its bark and smoothed down, with intricate carvings that swirled from one end to the other. The artwork depicted the Moon Goddess beckoning Father Sun into the Underworld, while Mother Earth prayed for his rebirth at the foot of a large bonfire. It sat on a small bundle of arranged twigs for kindling, and two narrow logs to lift it off the stone and allow air flow beneath it, which would aid in the fire starting process.

  John was holding a palm-sized wooden box filled with sand. In the center of the sand laid a small chunk of firewood, mostly charred, with large spots of brightly glowing orange embers. He handed the box to J.J. and explained to the young boy exactly what task he was being charged with.

  "The log in front of you is the Yule Log. My father--your grandfather--gave it to us this year. As you both know," he glanced back at Madeline so she knew he was speaking to her as well, "each midwinter, we suffer the three darkest nights of the year. Tonight, on Yuletide, Father Sun ends his year-long cycle of life. The burning of the Yule Log acts as a talisman to guide him into renewal, add strength to his growing light, and help him fight back the long Night."

  John showed J.J. where to place the burning bit of wood to light the kindling, and the child did as his father instructed. After a few minutes, a small fire was burning brightly, and J.J. beamed with pride. Confident that the log was lit properly, the family went to the table and enjoyed their largest meal of the year, the Yule feast.

  ***

  After dinner John stepped outside once more, this time to retrieve a bucket of animal scraps. He brought it into the house, where his wife was sitting with the children in front of the burning log.

  "Here you go. You have an hour or so yet until bed; time to make our scrap dolls."

  "Are you going to make one too, papa?" Madeline asked.

  "I sure will, little one." He smiled down at her, and she clapped excitedly.

  Annette sifted through the various sizes of bones and rough leather bits. Finding two large enough to act as the backbones of the dolls, she handed them to the children and directed them on how to wrap them with skin and twine to form the shape of a person. The kids set to work right away, scrunching up their faces at the smell of the pungent flesh and giggling at their disproportionate dolls.

  "So, who remembers why we make these?" John asked casually as he tied a length of twine around the neck of his doll, securing the pig foot that acted as a head.

  "Umm, because..." J.J. cocked his head to the side and put a blood-stained finger on his chin as he thought. "If the midwinter monster comes, and he goes past the tree and the offering, he'll smell the dolls and eat them instead of us."

  "Very close," John said emphatically. He set his doll down beside him and wiped his hands on his pant leg. "The Julbocken MIGHT eat the dolls instead of you."

  "John, don't scare the children," Annette cautioned her husband, "or they'll be up all night." He tossed her the half-grin that she had fallen in love with all those years ago, and she chuckled and went back to wrapping up her own doll. He told the same frightening story every year. She never liked him scaring the kids, but it was good for them to know the history of the seasonal traditions.

  "The Julbocken is the fearsome demon of midwinter, who rises from Hell on the three darkest nights of the year searching for naughty children to eat," he began. He lifted his hands and curved his fingers to mimic terrible claws, lashing out in front of the children's faces. They laughed, although Madeline shifted nervously. "Children get to eat a great Yule feast, to act as their last meal in case they themselves get eaten." Madeline squeaked and hid her face behind her hands, giggling despite her apparent fear.

  "When the demon comes into the house, he sniffs around for the naughty children. He thinks they smell like his favorite food... rotting meat! Eww!" He laughed along with J.J., while Madeline onl
y spread her fingers and peeked at them through wide eyes.

  "He smells the fir tree, but it doesn't stop him!" He dropped to his hands and knees and moved closer to the children. "He smells the offering and he eats it, but it doesn't stop him!" He moved closer still. "Finally, he reaches your bed. You are on top, asleep and smelling like delicious rotting meat; your scrap doll is underneath, also smelling like rotting meat. But which does he eat?" He pretended to sniff the air around the two kids, who were now both looking visibly frightened, although nervously giggling at their father.

  "If you've been too naughty, you'll smell tastier than the doll, and he'll eat YOU! AAAAH!" With that, John wrapped an arm around each child and tackled them to the floor, tickling them until they couldn't breathe. The whole family laughed in the moment, but pretty soon Annette announced that it was time for little children to get to sleep. She promised to finish setting up the house for the Julbocken, then tucked them in tight, gave them big hugs, and showered them with kisses, then stepped aside so John could do the same.

  Once the kids were asleep, Annette paced around her bedroom restlessly. John tried to calm her down and coerce her into coming to bed, but she was too anxious.

  "You know I'm going to worry every year," she said. "I can't help it; those are my babies."

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Even her husband had to take pause at the thought of losing a child to the demon of midwinter.

  "We've been raising them right, dearheart. They are well-mannered, respectful children. There is nothing to fear."

  ***

  Darkness had long since fallen when a frail, slender hand burst forth out of the dirt, scorching the dead grass around it. The higher it reached, the more solid it became; seared earth and blood congealed together to form muscles, bones, and flesh. Another arm rose beside the first, steadily gathering strength, until they were strong enough to push down against the ground and raise their master completely from Hell. The soil tore apart as two massive, rocky horns pierced through, giving way for a large goat's head. His thick brown snout snarled into the freezing air, welcoming his first draw of icy breath and revealing an abundance of sharp, dagger-like teeth. He snorted loudly, steam pouring from his nostrils as a low, guttural growl escaped his lips.