Day #3 – In the Spirit – Part One by Elizabeth Averay
Sitting in the loungeroom of my best friend Kristie’s house, just relaxing and watching movies. We were meant to go out to a party but as I arrived Kristie’s parents drove off, leaving a petulant Kristie standing at the door glowering after their car.
‘Hi, Gorgeous! Where have your folks gone and did Andy go with them?’
Sneering at the mention of her little brother’s name she said, ‘They went to Dad’s work Christmas party and left Andy here. Telling me not to be selfish was they “never go anywhere”. Like it’s my fault they have no life cause they had Andy when I was ten.’
It’s 11 pm. Andy is fast asleep in bed thanks to me. Kristie refused to even look at him. He’s never been a problem for me. I find him sweet and shy. He hates reading aloud as he is dyslexic but he loves bedtime stories.
I come back from checking on Andy in time for the movie credits to roll over the screen. It’s my turn for a movie so I pick an all-time favourite: Robin Hood, Men in Tights. Kristie raises her eyebrows in query, but I just shrug and put it on.
The movie has only been on a short time. The gaoler is using the ‘tongue looseners’ on Robin when Kristie blurts out, ‘ You will never guess what my dork of a brother did today! He wrote on a piece of paper to tell me that he has become a devil worshipper and that he sold his soul to Santa.’ She laughs hysterically.
‘Why would he do that?’
Regaining her composure she says, ‘Because he thinks he can get rid of me. You know we’ve never gotten on.’
‘Well, Kristie, I hope he sold his soul to the nice Santa. Not the nasty one.’
‘My God, there is no fucking Santa! I think you’re losing it.’
Heaving a sigh I explain to Kristie, ‘I’m talking about the mythology of Santa. It has evolved over the years but there are three distinct Santa types from over the years. There’s the Santa of today – kind of jolly and giving, always with a smile on his face. The one before only gave to the good children and lumps of coal for the bad ones. And finally the oldest version of Santa – he was mean and never gave gifts at all. If you were a perfect child you got nothing. If you were a little naughty you would get a lump of coal. And if you were truly horrid – well, on Christmas Eve night while everyone was asleep he’d sneak into your room and bundle you into his sack and take you away, never to be seen again.’
After a long silence Kristie shakes her head and says, ‘What rubbish. I’m going to bed.’
We say our goodnights and I head home, thankful to be away from Kristie’s venom.
Walking through the front door, Mum looks up, surprised, and says, ‘Hi, honey, you’re home early. Did the party break up already?’
‘No, Mum. Kristie’s parents went to a work Christmas thing and I had to watch Andy. You know – cause Kristie won’t. I think she would shut him in the basement and leave him there if she thought she could get away with it.’
Sorrow comes into Mum’s eyes. ‘That poor boy, he has a hard time. Why does Kristie dislike him so much?’
I roll my eyes. ‘That’s easy – she hates him because before he came along she was an only very spoilt child who had never heard the word “no”.’
Beaming at me, she says, ‘Goodnight, lovely daughter. Have sweet dreams – and I must say I’m glad you see Kristie for what she is.’
Strange. ‘Goodnight, Mum,’ I say, and head upstairs and get ready for bed. Sitting on the edge of my bed I see something on the floor. Picking it up I see it is a picture that Andy drew for me as a thank you for taking care of him. In the drawing I’m standing in a sun-drenched field with lush green grass that is knee-high and I am with three Unicorns. All have rainbow bodies and long horns, and at the top of the picture are the words:
Fank u 4 tacking caer off me.
Smiling at the words, which I believe say ‘thank you for taking care of me’, I place the drawing on the cork board with the others he has given me, then climb into bed and fall asleep immediately.
In my dreams I am a seven-year-old and it is Christmas Eve. I am going to bed, but full of excitement. I eventually go to sleep, only to wake again a short time later. Standing over my bed is a grotty old man in a filthy red suit, straggly beard and hair, with brown chipped teeth. I try to scream, but nothing comes out.
Quick as a flash he has bundled me into his sack. Some time later a door squeals as it opens, heavy footfalls, then I am tumbling down a chute with dirt sides. I land with a thump on the ground as the air whooshes out of me.
A small light from above gives just enough light to see that I am not alone – there are other kids of all ages here. I ask them where we are and the oldest answers, ‘We are in Santa’s pit. We only get out when he wants one of us – and that one is never seen again… I think – I think he eats us. That’s all I can think of. After one of us is taken there is this overwhelming smell of cooking and the bones get thrown down here with us when he is done.’ He points to a corner of the room where there is a large pile of bones. Sorting through them, my young mind reels when I see a skull so small it could not have been more than 2 when he or she was taken.
Choking back a scream so as not to wake up Mum I find I am my seventeen-year-old self again, in my room. With a shaky sigh I roll over and go back to sleep.
At 2 pm Christmas Eve Kristie rings me, yelling, ‘Why did you put a lump of coal in my bedside table with a scrap of paper saying “naughty”?’
With consternation in my voice I break through her tirade. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, and where would I get a lump of coal from?’
A slight giggle, then Kristie says, ‘Maybe the little brat overheard your stories of the three Santas and thought I would be nice to him if I got my so-called warning coal. Fat chance of that happening. I would rather evil Santa come and take me away.’
Then a voice that sounds like it’s echoing down a long tunnel says, ‘As the spirit of Christmas I will grant your wish.’
Then there is silence.
No one has ever seen or heard from Kristie again.
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