12 Deaths of Christmas

by Paul Sating

  “You’re going to be drenched now,” Damien advised.

  “Yeah, well, it was worth it,” Kilo said, still arcing his arms and spreading his legs to carve out the shape. “I’ve never made a snow angel. Plus, I can change when we get to Shelley’s.”

  “Never?”

  Kilo sat up, clapping his hands together to knock off the snow. When he stood, he took a moment to admire his work. “I’m Hawaiian, dumb ass.”

  “Good point,” Damien smirked. “I guess we should—”

  A muted scream cut under the storm. Damien spun.

  “What the fuck was that?” Kilo’s eyes were large ovals. He didn’t blink.

  Damien shook his head. “No idea.”

  They listened for a few more seconds but all he could hear was the wind. The night grew colder. Kilo was shivering.

  It was only going to get worse. They needed to get moving.

  “Let’s see if we can get out of here,” Damien said. “You check that side and I’ll check the side.”

  This time Kilo didn’t argue, going around to the passenger side. He made it all the way to the rear tire before groaning. “Aw, man.”

  “What?”

  Kilo clasped his hands on the top of his head, his face drained of all the humor it held only seconds ago. “The tire, man. It’s bent.”

  Bent? How is that possible?

  Damien circled the rear of the vehicle, shielding his face by cinching down his hood drawstring. He winced. The top of the rear wheel leaned into the wheel well.

  “Shit.” It wasn’t eloquent, but his panic drove the crude comment. “We’re fucked.”

  Two brown men stranded in the middle of nowhere in a driving snowstorm? No cell phones. No map. No winter gear besides the jackets they wore.

  Damien couldn’t fake hopefulness. They had to face the situation as it was. “We’ve got to start walking.”

  “What?” Kilo’s response was as harsh as it was immediate. “Into this? Man, I’m not walking around in a snowstorm at night. We can sit in the car and wait for someone to come by.”

  “It’s not the middle of the night,” Damien reminded him. “It’s the fucking middle of winter; it gets dark by 4 o’clock. We’d be sitting here for twelve hours, at least. We don’t have the gas to run the engine that long, so unless you plan on freezing your ass off waiting to be rescued, you might want to reconsider that.”

  Kilo hesitated. “Someone is going to come along. We don’t need to wait all night. Just until we can catch a ride.”

  The longer they stayed out here in the weather, the more trouble they were in. Damien didn’t want to spend the entire night discussing this. “I’m going to start walking. No one’s coming around. Look around you,” he urged, jabbing a finger at the blinding storm. “Do you see anything out here? It’s a damn blizzard, man. Even the locals are going to stay inside. Plus, it’s Christmas. No one’s going to be out. You can stay here, but I’m not.”

  Damien shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, tucking his chin down into the zipped collar, and started around the car.

  From behind him, Kilo called out, “Wait! Where are you going?”

  Over his shoulder, Damien responded, “There was a light off the road, about a half mile back. That’s where that noise came from too. I’m going there.”

  “Why? It could be dangerous.”

  “Because,” Damien responded with irritation, “it has to be a house or a barn. Something. Anything is going to be warmer than sitting out in the car until we can get help. And if it is a house, they’ll help us.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Kilo said, running up beside him. “And that scream?”

  Damien shrugged. “It could have been anything. It’s the only real option we have. I’m heading toward that light.”

  Kilo didn’t say a word as Damien ducked into the car and turned it off. He didn’t even laugh when Damien made sure that it was locked. The pair started back down the road in silence, following the tire tracks in the direction they came.

  The blistering cold was unforgiving. Damien couldn’t remember ever being this miserable. With each passing moment, he was convinced this was the coldest he’d ever been, only to find himself thinking that very thing in the moment that followed.

  The distance to the light never seemed to shorten. Damien’s feet felt like lead blocks, impossible to lift and set down. It was only a half mile, but it may as well have been a universe away. Damien focused on the tiny point of light. It was the only hope he had. They had to get to it. Focusing on his thick feet wasn’t going to motivate him. Only salvation was.

  Kilo remained quiet throughout the trek. They were struggling to survive, wasting energy on chatter wasn’t helpful.

  Step after torturous step, the world grew colder and more isolated. But the light enlarged as they neared it. Damien stopped questioning his decision and began feeling hope. The light poked out from a structure he couldn’t make out yet. “Little bit further. Almost there.”

  Damien chanced a glance. Kilo’s head was down against the night, not even looking up to see how close they were.

  Damien understood.

  Wind whipped, howling in protest at their defiance. The snow bit, thousands of tiny claws digging at exposed skin. Damien’s feet now burned.

  The light called them.

  Then, flowing in the valleys of the storm when the wind quieted to remind them where they were, Damien heard something. Something melodic. Human.

  Music.

  Christmas music.

  “Do you hear that?” He spun so quickly that Kilo jumped.

  Kilo’s eyes widened, recognizing the sound. “Th—that’s people singing.”

  “Damn right it is! Let’s go.”

  Even the spiking pain in his feet didn’t stop Damien from running toward the light. The volume of that singing meant a group of people were together.

  A group of humans meant warmth and food.

  And help.

  ***

  The music grew louder as they approached the building with the single light hanging above the double entry door. The light’s power radiated in a halo glow as thousands of flakes of snow passed through and around it, casting hope at the pair trudging toward the building. The song drifting out was a classic Christmas song, its upbeat tempo lifting each of Damien’s feet when he could no longer. He looked over at Kilo as they approached the building. Resembling a barn, the building didn’t look like anything that would house a Christmas concert. But this was the country and white people did weird things in the country.

  ”You ready?”

  Kilo shivered uncontrollably. The half-mile hike in wet clothes took a hard toll on his Hawaiian blood. Seattle living hadn’t made Damien an outdoorsman by any measure, but he was handling the storm better than his friend who shielded his chest with his arms. “Yeah, I need to get out of the cold,” his voice quaked. “But —“

  “What?”

  The night sky had stripped itself of all color, making it feel as if a lid covered the world. There was nothing around them except for this single structure. Kilo’s teeth chattered as he examined their surroundings. “Do you … do you think it’s weird that we don’t see any cars?”

  Damien hadn’t even thought of that. His mind had been focused on getting someplace warm, with cover, to protect them until they could get help. He hadn’t expected to walk up on a Christmas party in the middle of nowhere with a hundred of his newest friends. That was dumb luck. The last thing on his mind was the lack of vehicles. It was difficult to see through the storm. These party attendees could have parked fifty yards away and neither one of them would’ve noticed.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said. “I’m sure they’re around here somewhere. Let’s get inside. I’m starving. Maybe they’ll feed us too.”

  “If they let us in,” Kilo tried to smile but his frozen lips resisted forming the new angle. “The white people out here aren’t the white people you hang out with in Seattle.” />
  They’d gone to the university together and Damien was well aware of what Kilo thought about a lot of the people of central and eastern Washington. He couldn’t say he felt differently. So Damien simply nodded; he didn’t want to think about that right now. Plus, Shelley’s family lived out here and she was a progressive person. Even the middle of nowhere had to have good people, right?

  “Do you think they’ll feed us?” Kilo stepped next to him, staring up at the light.

  Damien didn’t know much about what was happening in that building, but he did know it sounded like a holiday party. And holiday parties meant food. He smiled. “Let’s go.”

  They knocked on the door, a dull sound to his burning ears. They waited, Damien was unsure they could be heard over the din. He knocked again, this time harder. The door rattled under the forceful strike.

  “No need to piss them off, man.” Kilo bounced from foot to foot in an attempt to keep himself warm.

  “I’d rather have them be a little upset than freeze to death on the doorstep of salvation,” Damien answered.

  When no one answered the second time, he reached out for the handle, relieved when he heard the bolt unlatch on the other side of the door. The towering door swayed open. With the barrier breached, the music flowed through the opening. Unrestrained joy lifted the festive song into the air. A sliver of warm air hit him in the face and Damien bounced on the balls of his feet, half in excitement and hope, and half to keep himself awake. It was so cold.

  Whoever opened the door wasn’t standing by it. Damien peeked around the door, seeing the group inside the building but not the person who opened it for them. Without checking with Kilo, Damien stepped inside. His stomach applauded him.

  Kilo followed behind.

  The music was so loud inside that no one in the packed cavern turned around when they pulled the door closed against the storm. The two new people stood, taking in the sight before them. The structure appeared larger inside. The ceiling was thirty feet, angling to a sharp peak. The building was barren, exposed beams the only decoration. Hundreds of plastic, white lawn chairs were neatly set up in wide rows on each side of the central path dividing them. The interior was bright, a warm, tanned glow seemed to warm the air. Hundreds of people faced a meager altar at the far end. A man stood on it, one hand raised. As he danced to the song, he clutched a microphone to his heart. The man was a decent dancer, for a white guy, moving with a charisma of unabashed joy. Behind him, a choir, all dressed in the same robes, swayed back and forth, clapping their hands as they sang. To the side of the stage, a small ensemble provided the music.

  These people were happy people. These people were Christians. He and Kilo were going to be safe.

  Kilo said something, Damion could see his lips moving but couldn’t make out any words. Leaning closer, Kilo shouted, “What do we do?”

  Damien shrugged. He had no idea. It wasn’t like they could interrupt the proceedings just because they were cold and hungry. He looked around, hoping to make eye contact that would draw someone over to them. Someone in charge of the food. A small kitchen was tucked in the corner nearest them, but even the women standing near that door were transfixed by the music, seemingly unaware of their new guests. They would have to hang in the back of the room and wait out this festive concert. Though the more he thought about it the less he liked that position. The music had been going nonstop since they’d walked from the car and didn’t show any signs of stopping. These people were probably planning on going all night. His aunt was very religious; she got into her worship music like normal people enjoyed real concerts, just without all the pot. He knew how religious people could be about their worship through song.

  As it turned out, they didn’t need to interrupt anyone. The man on the stage looked at them and held up both hands. The music died in an instant and a hum fell over the crowd. “Brothers and sisters, we have guests in our midst. Let us welcome them.”

  Damien and Kilo glanced at each other. Awkward. The man on the stage stepped to the floor and made his way toward them. He was tall, his full, black hair groomed to perfection. When he smiled, his cheekbones rose, becoming fuller. He was a handsome man who carried confidence with ease. When he shook Damien’s hand it felt like a vice, one applied with caution as if he was aware of his own strength. “Well, brothers,” he radiated. “You look like the devil has shaken your souls.”

  Damien tried to smile but, with hundreds of pairs of eyes locked on them, he froze. For some reason, he didn’t want to misstep. “Thanks. Our car broke down a little way up the road.” It wasn’t the absolute truth, but it wouldn’t hurt.

  The man nodded. “Well, no need for you to be out in the storm. I’m Pastor Richards and this” he said, turning to the congregation, “is the congregation of Heaven’s Light.”

  In trance-like unison, the congregation shouted, “Welcome, brothers!”

  Damien resisted the urge to run. He’d seen shit like this on TV, weird religious people, the unblinking masses. But he kept his opinions to himself. These people had a warm building, a hot building, in fact. Damien was already beginning to sweat. They also had food. A delicious smell hung in the air.

  As if reading his mind, Pastor Richards nodded once and then tilted his head to the side, indicating the direction the smell was coming from. “You’re almost in time for the feast,” he said. “The grace of God, delivering you from the binds of hell, to our doorstep, so that you may serve Him. Glory!”

  Damien wasn’t sure about that, but he did know that he was starving and whatever they were preparing was making him swallow buckets of his own saliva. Plus, the tingling in his toes informed him that his blood was finally beginning to unfreeze. He’d play along with any of their games if it kept him warm until help came.

  The faces of the congregation were a sea of smiles, of gleeful anticipation, as if they were welcoming home family members they hadn’t seen in years. His aunt looked like that once when he went through his own Jesus phase. It was creepy.

  Warmth and food, Damien reminded himself. That’s all I’m here for.

  As soon as someone could give them a ride to Ellensburg or they could call a tow truck, they were out of here.

  Pastor Richards reached out, taking a hand from each of them. His grip was uncomfortably warm. “We’re blessed to have you in our midst,” he said, his voice filling the room. The congregation shouted an amen in response. “God is good, very good. He brought you out of the tumult and into our embrace, witnesses to the rebirth.”

  “Amen!”

  Suddenly Pastor Richards dropped their hands and spun, stalking down the wide aisle. Like all charlatans, he was a performer and this was his stage, the congregation his willful and obedient audience. The microphone was back at the pastor’s mouth.

  Leave it up to a preacher to take anything in life and profess it the work of God as long as it suits their needs, Damien thought.

  Pastor Richards was halfway down the long aisle now. “Man is weak,” he shouted, “for he cannot sustain without the church. Look no further than our two new friends.” The entire congregation turned their gazes to follow him down the aisle, leaving Damien and Kilo standing alone at the back of this strange church.

  Damien contemplated. If he could get into the kitchen and grab some food and someone’s car keys, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d return the car in the morning, he silently promised. If they had a landline, he’d call Shelley. Maybe her family’s truck could get through the road. He was already weighing the benefits of shelter and a hot meal against walking his way to another town.

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Pastor Richards approached the stage, “and we are not to know them, for we are imperfect. Only He determines our fate. Because He knows our path. He knew about us when we were in the womb.”

  Another amen from the congregation.

  “And when He sets the path, He does so with the love of the father,” Pastor Richards boomed. “He does not force us to take the path, f
or then we would be nothing more than slaves to His desire. No! His love for us is much too deep for that.”

  “Too deep!” the congregation sang.

  “We must choose our path,” the pastor was on the stage now, pacing back and forth to engage each side of his flock. “We make the choice to take a right or wrong, eternal life or a life of sin. We choose what type of life to live and lead. Do we set the example for the church and live righteously so that others will follow? Or do we take a path of selfish indulgence, betraying our brothers and sisters in Christ, leading them away from His embrace?”

  “Righteous!” The entirety of the congregation raised fists into the air as one. It looked like a military salute in those old war films Damien’s father used to watch. This shit was getting weird. Maybe he wasn’t as cold and hungry as he thought.

  Pastor Richards was sweating now, even from this distance Damien could make out the glean on his forehead. “There are those who will lead you astray, brothers and sisters.”

  “No!”

  The pastor buried the microphone in his lips. “Yes,” he said, waving a hand in the air before dropping it, his shoulders slumping. The pastor stopped moving, turned to the side of the stage. Damien felt the edge coming, saw congregants lean forward. Spellbound. Then, the pastor’s hoarse voice lowered, barely audible above the thick blanket of quiet. He groaned, “Even amongst us. Even within the family of Heaven’s Light.”

  A woman began to sob from somewhere in the sea of believers.

  Pastor Richards made his way back to the center of the stage. The microphone still attached to his lips, distorting his voice, he extended an arm toward Damien and Kilo. “Brothers,” Damien realized the pastor never asked for their names “come down, join me. The family will make room for you in the front row.”

  That was the last thing in the world Damien wanted to do. But at least the pastor hadn’t called them out as violators of some imagined code of ethics. He didn’t even want to be in this building anymore. He’d take his chances out there, where he understood the risks. But Kilo dawdled toward the stage, passed rows of chairs filled with unblinking congregants. He shot that goofy smile at everyone. Damien knew Kilo was desperate to avoid going back in the storm—so was he—but he wouldn’t do anything to stay away from the world outside. Kilo would. Kilo was weak.