A Slice of Christmas Magic

by A. G. Mayes

  I smiled at him, but felt knots in my stomach.

  “I can help you with this,” Henry said, pointing to the giant mess.

  “No, this is all mine. I want all the glory when it’s all done,” I said. I had finally found an end and began to unwind it through the mess. “I do, however, want to be here when the Christmas lights are put away this year. I will carefully wind them up,” I said.

  “I was careful when I put them away last year,” Claire Sprinkles spoke up indignantly.

  “You weren’t careful,” Bernie said. “You drank a gallon of spiked eggnog and then wound them around your body and sang about being the light of our lives.”

  She paused for a second, not looking the slightest bit sheepish. “Oh yeah, that’s right.” Then she burst into laughter. “Maybe you’d better come back and put them away. I still really love eggnog.”

  I tried to focus on the project in front of me, but it was wonderfully distracting to be among this much positive energy. People were hanging Christmas decorations on the tree, pulling them out of boxes and laughing with stories about who bought them and what they represented.

  Claire Sprinkles told a wildly inappropriate story about the “special fella” who bought her the ornament shaped like a bottle of champagne. I hummed along to the Christmas music playing in the background, and every now and then Henry would stop by to see how it was going. I was making headway, but it was a slow process. He was generally too busy trying to keep Frank from climbing up on a chair to put the ornaments on top of the tree.

  “No, Frank,” he would call. “You can reach the top of the tree from the ground.” He would rush over and grab him just as he was about to make the step up onto the chair. Apparently Frank had fallen off a chair last year and broken a hip. Climbing chairs was the least of his daring adventures though. Henry said sometimes he went out at night, found a sled, and tried to get up on the roof to slide off it.

  “He used to be a bobsledder. He made it to some big international competitions too,” Henry said, and told me he was arranging a special bobsled experience for Frank this winter. He’d bought a used bobsled and had made plans to build a track out of snow on the hill at the edge of town.

  “I just hope he makes it until that day,” Henry said, rushing off to stop him from using the sofa as a trampoline to jump to the tree with an ornament in his hand.

  I texted Aunt Erma to make sure she was okay. She responded, “Everything’s peachy here, including the pie,” and sent a picture of a peach pie. She told me she wanted to use some of the peaches she had canned last summer to bring a bit of warmth to this freezing weather. A minute later, another text came in. “Now stop bothering me and drink some eggnog.” I smiled.

  Two hours later, and I had successfully untangled the mess of lights. The whole room applauded and then helped me hang them. They filled the room with a colorful warm glow, and for the first time this year I felt giddy for the upcoming holidays. I briefly wondered what I could get Henry. Clearly Henry was a very thoughtful gift-giver. Just look at what he was going to do for Mr. Labelle. I was generally the “buy him a sweater” type, but clearly I was going to have to step up my game now.

  “I should probably get back to Aunt Erma now,” I said after we’d all enjoyed mugs of hot chocolate and a few more Christmas songs had been sung.

  “I’ll walk you out in just a second,” Henry said. Then he began singing, “Silent Night”.The whole room chimed in, and Henry used the opportunity to follow me out to the front of the nursing home.

  “Aren’t you worried about leaving them alone right now? Frank keeps eyeing that sofa,” I said.

  “They’ll go to sleep as soon as they sing this song,” he said. “It works every time.” Then he yawned. “I might go to sleep after this song too.”

  We got to the front door and Henry leaned down to give me a kiss. I felt the tingling in my fingertips as I always did.

  Giant snowflakes were falling gently from the sky as I jogged back to the pie shop – just because it was cold, I told my ego, not because I was afraid anymore. I ran down the alley and let myself in the back door because I didn’t want to see a reflection in the windows at the front of the shop. I had myself so worked up by the time I got there that I was pretty sure I would see Brenda’s face even if she wasn’t there.

  I flew through the door and slammed it behind me, locking it quickly as though that could keep the bad magic out. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the warmth at the back of the kitchen wash over me.

  My eyes flew open when I heard a clatter right in front of me. Aunt Erma was in the kitchen pulling things out of the cupboard and throwing them on the kitchen island. She didn’t even look over at me.

  “Hi, Aunt Erma,” I said. She pulled out a handful of mixing spoons from a drawer and set them on the counter. “Did everything go okay while I was gone?” She walked around the island, grabbed a pie tin, and wandered back to the cupboard to put it away. “Aunt Erma,” I said again. She still didn’t even look my way. She just walked over to the handful of spoons and put them back in the drawer.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked louder, even though she wasn’t that far away from me. She took the bottle of soap that was by the sink and set it on her desk at the back of the kitchen. As she turned and headed for the pantry, I grabbed her arm. Something was definitely off about the way she squinted at me.

  “I’m going to call 911,” I said.

  “Sometimes I hide the last slice of blueberry pie and tell customers we’re sold out, so I can eat it,” she announced, and then wrenched her arm out of my grip as she headed back towards the pantry. This didn’t seem like a medical emergency anymore. This seemed like magic.

  Chapter 9

  Dear Elodie,

  I married a woman who claimed to be a perpetual truth-teller. I admired her for that, and it was even one of the qualities that attracted me to her. She didn’t pull any punches, and I always knew what she was thinking. In the last couple years, it’s gotten out of control. She’ll tell strangers on the street that their baby is ugly. She told my mother her family famous vegetable stew was inedible. She’s told countless friends that we don’t want to get together with them because they are too boring. I’m losing friends and family and becoming increasingly resentful toward my wife. I’ve tried to show my disapproval, but nothing seems to work. What can I do?

  Sincerely,

  Truthfully Terrible

  Dear Truthfully Terrible,

  It sounds like she’s hiding behind a mask of honesty as she slings insults. You say that you’ve tried to show your disapproval. Does that include having a serious conversation with your wife? Sometimes people like to say shocking things just to see a reaction. Find out what your wife’s reasons are for saying these things when you talk to her. Just be prepared for her “honest” response.

  Ask and I’ll Answer,

  Elodie

  “Was anyone here?” I asked Aunt Erma. She began to hum, “Let it Snow”.

  I pulled out my phone and called Flora first, because she was the closest. Then I called Violet and my mother. Flora was at the door before I even finished the conversation with my mother. Aunt Erma was still wandering around the kitchen moving things in and out of cupboards and drawers. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be able to find anything by the time she was done undoing her very carefully organized system.

  Flora stood and observed for a minute. Then she slowly approached Aunt Erma as though she was afraid she would spook her. She spoke some words I couldn’t understand. I assumed she was trying a spell. Aunt Erma paused for a minute and then kept puttering around. Flora hurried around the island so that she was standing in front of her again and murmured some more words. I stood in the corner of the kitchen feeling helpless and guilty. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I grabbed a scrub brush from the sink and pushed it down on the counter until all the bristles bowed out.

  “I don’t care for that new haircut,” Aunt Erma said before bru
shing past Flora to open the drawer with all the measuring cups. She grabbed one pile of red measuring cups and one pile of green and mixed them up, stacking them so they alternated colors.

  My mom rushed in a few minutes later. She was wearing her sleek black coat over her yellow floral nightgown. Behind her, the snow fell off her in a trail of flakes.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Erma, what’s wrong?”

  Aunt Erma handed my mom a handful of forks and said, “You have bony elbows.” My mother looked at me wide-eyed, and I shrugged.

  “She was like this when I came home,” I said. I wanted to cry, but instead I focused on a screw that was coming loose on the side of the desk. I should really fix that.

  “Do you have any idea what it is?” my mother asked Flora.

  “It looks like a truth spell gone wrong,” Flora said. “I think we can guess who the culprits are.”

  My mother and Flora were talking at the other end of the kitchen, and I went over to Aunt Erma where she was crouched down pulling everything out from under the sink. I bent down next to her and took out a bottle of cleaner.

  “Aunt Erma, did you tell them anything?” I asked in a low voice, thinking of the magic tree.

  “Yes.” Aunt Erma nodded solemnly. Her earnest eyes stared into mine for a moment. “I told them that I love pickles.” I let out the breath I was holding. I stood up and took a few steps back to lean against the kitchen island.

  Violet arrived. Despite the late hour, she was still in a navy business suit with her hair slicked back into a bun.

  It felt as if we were all getting together far too often to do things other than celebrate Christmas. She went straight to Aunt Erma without saying a word. She murmured some words, but they didn’t seem to have any more effect than Flora’s did.

  “Why is she rearranging the kitchen?” I asked. We all watched Aunt Erma cross the kitchen with a stack of plates.

  “She’s very strong,” Violet said. “Most people on the receiving end of this spell would spill every secret they ever had. She’s fighting the magic.”

  “Why didn’t they take her with them?” I asked.

  “They probably couldn’t. Not with the protection spells she has on this place,” Violet said. “I honestly don’t know how they got to her at all. I can’t seem to undo whatever spell they used.”

  “Fairy dust,” my mother cried out, making me jump so high I knocked the handful of forks off the counter.

  Everyone turned towards her, except Aunt Erma, who pulled a handful of flour out of a bag. My mother was digging in her purse without further explanation. She produced a bottle of sparkling dust. It was a small bottle very similar to the one I had used a few weeks ago to turn Aunt Erma back into a human after being a cat. I couldn’t believe she had fairy dust. I thought she was against most of the magic stuff.

  “Here.” She waved it around wildly.

  “That might work,” Flora said cautiously.

  “Do you know the right spell,” Violet asked.

  My mother glared at her, and Violet held her hands up in mock surrender. I was just glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of that look.

  My mother walked closer to Aunt Erma. “Erma,” she said. “Erma?”

  Aunt Erma tilted her head to the side. “I put Susie’s Christmas present under my bed,” she said.

  My mother poured a bit of the fairy dust onto the palm of her hand. Just as she was about to sprinkle it over Aunt Erma’s head, Aunt Erma backed away and headed for the pantry.

  “I’m going to need some help here,” my mother said. We all moved in to help keep Aunt Erma still. She looked at me. I tried to smile, but it felt shaky.

  “Keep the dog from the tree,” she said to me.

  Everyone turned towards me. “What does that mean?” Violet asked.

  I shrugged because I really didn’t know. I assumed she was talking about her super-secret magic tree, but I didn’t know what the dog stuff was about. Mitzy was upstairs. Maybe she was trying to tell me she needed the magic from the tree.

  My mother was saying the spell and sprinkling the dust. After she was done, Aunt Erma looked at her for a minute. We all stood back and held our breath.

  “I took your Sally Sparkles doll when we were kids,” Aunt Erma said to my mom. Then she scooted past Violet and to the pantry.

  “I knew it was you,” my mother muttered.

  “What about the spices?” I asked.

  “We could try them,” Flora said, “but I’m not sure how much they would do since all the other magic isn’t working.”

  I went to the fridge and pulled out every kind of pie we had in there. I didn’t bother with slicing, I just stuck a fork in each one and scooped out a bite. The first one was apple. I held the bite in front of Aunt Erma’s mouth, but she sidestepped it. I swirled it through the air like an airplane. I didn’t realize how crazy I looked until I saw the expressions on everyone’s face around me.

  “Aunt Erma, please take a bite,” I tried instead.

  “Okay,” she said, and took the bite in her mouth. I did that with the remaining pies. At the end, she didn’t seem any better.

  “What do we do now?” I asked. I assumed someone else had another plan, but everyone exchanged hopeless glances.

  “I’ll go do some more research. If I can figure out exactly what spell was used and how it went wrong, then maybe we can undo it,” Violet said.

  “Maybe it will wear off soon too,” I suggested. All of Aunt Erma’s spices only worked for short periods of time. I assumed this would be temporary too.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Flora said in a voice that adults used when they told children that, “yeah, maybe,” Santa would show up for dinner.

  Violet and Flora left, and my mother and I brought Aunt Erma upstairs. Mitzy was waiting by the door as usual. She ran towards Aunt Erma then stopped in her tracks and backed away.

  “It’s okay, Mitzy,” I said, but she just whined.

  “Come on, Erma. Let’s watch some television,” my mom said. We led Aunt Erma over to the sofa, which doubled as my bed. She sat down and stared at the blank screen. I turned it on and flipped through the channels until I found a mindless sitcom. I didn’t think we needed a crime drama or something as horrific as the news on a night like tonight.

  Mitzy walked in circles around the room, whining. Her tail was tucked between her legs.

  “You should take Mitzy on a walk,” my mother said. “I’ll stay here with Erma.”

  I agreed, grabbing my coat and Mitzy’s leash. Usually that was enough to initiate an enthusiastic response, but Mitzy just kept circling.

  “Do you want to go on a walk?” I used my high-pitched dog voice, but even that didn’t make her dance around my feet like she usually did. Finally, I went over to her and clipped the leash to her collar and led her out the door. She followed slowly with her head down. It’s okay, Mitz,” I told her softly on our way down the stairs.

  The snow was still falling in fluffy flakes as we walked through the streets of the town. I wished I could enjoy the beautiful snow and sparkling Christmas lights, but thoughts swirled around in my mind and my head felt as if it were going to explode from the building panic. What if we never broke the spell? What if the IMPs discovered the magic tree? Had Aunt Erma given them any clues? Could the tree break the spell? How could I find the tree again? If Aunt Erma thought that I could just go out and find it again after seeing it once, she vastly overestimated my memory, but I vowed to try anyway.

  Mitzy walked slowly alongside me. She didn’t stop to sniff every light pole and tree as she usually did, which made me feel more unsettled. Of all the times I had wanted her to behave, now I wanted her to act like her normal nutty self. I took her all the way around the square. I was hoping she would perk up, and I wanted to survey the scene of the earlier insanity. Someone had cleaned up quite well. All of the props were gone and the snow had been smoothed out so no one could tell it had been the site of a major snowman massacre. The Christmas ligh
ts twinkled brightly, happy to keep the secret. The only evidence left from the contest was a carrot stuck way up in a pine tree. We turned the last corner of the square and were going to head back to the pie shop, when Mitzy made an abrupt turn down a side street.

  “No, Mitzy, this way,” I said. I gently tugged at her leash, but she stood at attention and pointed her paw down the road. That was another new behavior. I weighed my options and followed her. It occurred to me that she was under some sort of spell too and that I was being led into a trap. “Mitzy, where are you taking me?” I asked. I decided a couple weeks ago that talking to dogs was, in fact, acceptable behavior. Especially when the dog seemed to understand every word that you said.

  She pulled at the leash again and I followed. We approached Mr. Barnes’s yoga studio, and I heard a loud clatter come from inside. I hurried towards the front door. I hesitated when I heard the sound of breaking glass but Mitzy pulled harder at her leash. She began to growl, and I tried to shush her. What should I do? Call Violet? Go inside and see what was happening? I debated.

  “You thieving son of a …” I heard Mr. Barnes’s voice inside. The time for debating was over. Mitzy and I rushed through the front door of the yoga studio. There were only a few candles lit, providing a flickering light. I felt the walls, trying to find a light switch, but I couldn’t find one.

  “Mr. Barnes, are you okay?” I called. There was another crash. Mitzy tugged at her leash, growling and barking with the ferocity of a much bigger dog. “Mr. Barnes?” I called again. I felt something brush past me, and I tried to grab it. My fingers caught a corner of cloth, and I held on tightly, but the cloth quickly went limp. Light filled the shop, and I had to squint against the brightness to see. Mr. Barnes stood at the corner of the room by a light switch. He had his hands on his knees, and he was breathing hard. I looked down at my hands. I was clutching a gray jacket. Mitzy had her teeth sunk into the other corner of the fabric. She had a look of determination in her eyes, but when she saw there was no one wearing it anymore, she let it go. I recognized the jacket. It was Stan’s. I let it slide out of my fingers and into a pile on the ground.