Nine-thirty Earth time.
Jolene deserved several more hours of rest. In the meantime, Skywalker and I would scout out the town for any sign of Krampus and his gang of poltergeists. I had a hunch they’d be downtown stirring up trouble or hanging out at the staging area for tomorrow’s Christmas Eve parade.
Outside, Skywalker stood humming with energy and righteous purpose, and I gathered the reins and bolted into the saddle. “You know where they are don’t you, boy?’
The horse tossed his head with the fire of battle and took off for the back chain-link fence at a blinding pace. Unfurling his glorious white wings, we soared over the barrier in one smooth leap and zoomed down the dirt alleyway toward the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town.
The winter morning sky was a dazzling robin’s egg blue with puffs of snowy white clouds dotting the expansive horizon, and we blasted through the marshmallow billows with joyous abandon. On the edge of the grounds, we made several surveillance rounds for any sign of trouble and spotted a gang of poltergeists accompanying a group of teenage boys.
Bingo. Skywalker was living up to his name and reputation as an equine Guardsman.
I made another sweep. No sign of Krampus, but I knew he was lurking in the crowd of float builders. Diving low, we glided in for a smooth landing, and Skywalker’s hooves thudded on the hard Georgia clay.
The fairgrounds bustled with activity, and I spied Annie Mae and Harland Tucker, along with Deena’s new husband, Ryder Matheson laboring on a float with a large Santa sleigh and eight mechanical reindeer. The two men were on top of the float tinkering with a motor.
Harland raised his head. “Try it again, Annie Mae,” he shouted over the background noise of ringing laughter, raised voices, and the gurgle of motor engines.
Annie Mae threw a switch and the motor sputtered and died. “It ain’t workin’, Harland. You must be doin’ somethin’ wrong.”
Harland belted out a snort. “Me and Ryder’s got this, Annie Mae.”
“The parade is tomorrow mornin’, Harland,” she shot back. “We ain’t got all day. I gotta bake Christmas cookies for the church play tonight, and I’m making chicken and dumplings for Jolene’s homecoming supper tonight. And you’ve got presents to wrap.”
Harland bent back over the motor, wrench in hand. “What you think, Ryder?”
Ryder’s blond head popped up. “Give me that wrench, Mr. Tucker, I think the gear wheels need tightening.”
Jolene’s daddy handed over the wrench, and Ryder’s head disappeared under the lead reindeer’s belly.
I approached with caution, my hand resting on the bullwhip’s short handle. A tingle raced up my arm as the whip vibrated a warning. My gaze swept the area and detected a building electrical undercurrent riding the winter breeze. The bullwhip surged with life, and the excitement of battle gripped me in a deadlock.
The mythical holiday beast prowled nearby. I sensed him. Smelled the stink of evil. He was out for trouble, and I cast my weary gaze over the float where Harland and Ryder worked on the hydraulics. A cold wind stirred.
“Try it again, Annie Mae,” Harland hollered over the rising breeze. He shivered, clutching his denim jacket to his chest, and turned to watch a group of rowdy teenager boys plow to a stop alongside the float, whooping and jostling one another. Poltergeists vomited their vile suggestions into the boy’s ears. Nastiness spilled from out of their mouths.
“Hey, old man, need some help?” A tall, greasy-looking boy hoisted himself onto the trailer bed.
“Get off here, young man!” Harland started for the boy. “You could get hurt.”
ZOOM. A flash of black fur and curled horns zipped past me, heading straight for the arrogant teenager hell-bent on trouble. Black plumes of nastiness poured from his mouth as he reached the boy.
Krampus!
“YEE-HAW,” I screamed with Southern enthusiasm and grabbed the saddle horn as Skywalker leaped into the air and charged the float with the speed of a deadly nuclear missile. I took aim and released my weapon.
WHOOSH. The coiled lash struck out with a stinging blow. The tip found its mark and twisted around the demon’s throat. His scream of fury lit the morning air, and in that instant, Annie Mae triggered the switch, and the motor sputtered, then ignited into action. The reindeer jerked upward catching the boy and Harland by surprise. Both tumbled to the hard, cold ground.
The air around me exploded with human activity as volunteers rushed to help the fallen man and boy, while I concentrated on bringing my poisonous prisoner under control. Krampus yanked hard on the whip, almost toppling me from the saddle, but I held on for dear life.
With the kick-ass might of an angry Southern ghost turned wanna-be-guardian-angel, I reeled in my catch and tied him to the saddle horn.
“Give it up, Krampus,” I boosted with extreme pride. “You and your pals are headed home for the holidays.”
He puffed sulfurous breath into my face. “Says who? You don’t have the authority or the power.”
I snickered. “True, but the teenagers who summoned you and your pals here do, and I intend to see that they exercise it to the fullest extent of Heaven’s law.”
“Finn won’t cooperate,” he quipped. “He’s fully in the other camp.”
“Stuff it.” I whipped the rhinestone bandanna from around my neck and tied his jaws shut so I wouldn’t have to listen to his foul chatter. Now to see after Jolene’s parents. I swung down from the saddle and drifted over to the group of volunteers. Harland and the teenager were on their feet and unharmed. With Krampus bound and gagged, his gang of poltergeists had abandoned their leader and scattered to the four winds. The evil hold over Whiskey Creek had been broken. All that remained was to close the spirit board.
With the situation at the fairgrounds under control, I returned to Jolene’s house. As before, I left Skywalker, and my prisoner, in the backyard and wafted inside to find her at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee.
I sank down on one of the chairs across from her. “It’s time to gather Lynette and her friends and close the spirit board.”
“And Krampus?”
“Tied up out back.”
She set her coffee cup on the table. “I’ll call Billie Jo. She can round up the kids and their parents, in case they take a mind not to cooperate. I’ll meet you over there in thirty minutes.”
Eager to complete my mission and return to Heaven, I wafted outside to my trusty steed and prisoner and headed over to Billie Jo’s. On the way, I looped around downtown several times, and then over to Dixieland Salon for one last look-see. After the kids closed the board, I’d be on my way home to Heaven and the virtuous Archangel Hazell.
Christmas Eve promised to be a night of decking the halls with boughs of pleasure. Tis the season to be jolly and Hazell was the one to fill my stocking with good cheer. As friends, of course. The law had been laid down. No fraternizing among the ranks.
Skywalker caught my excitement and shot through the air, not bothered in the least with his extra load. We landed in Billie Jo’s front yard now crowded with cars, Jolene’s rental among them. I untied my prisoner, and we wafted through Lynette’s bedroom window.
The teenagers were spread out on the floor surrounding the spirit board. Lit candles and incense were sprinkled around the bedroom. A group of adults and guardian angels stood behind them. I shackled Krampus to the bedpost and squeezed between Jolene and Billie Jo.
Jolene winked. “It’s almost complete,” she whispered. “Finn is the last. He’s not happy, but Mr. Jorgensen is here to make sure the kid does the right thing. I don’t believe Finn will be invited back.”
Finn’s face twisted with distaste, shot an angry gaze at Mr. Jorgensen, and then placed his fingers on the planchette. “The game is complete,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “All spirits are free to return to the netherworld. I rescind my invitation. Goodbye.”
Krampus and the other summoned spirits disappeared within the board.
“I
t is done,” Lynette echoed with a smile. “The game is over.”
Lynette and Finn pushed the planchette to goodbye. As they dropped their fingers from the device, I pressed Saint Peter’s silver seal into the corner of the board leaving Heaven’s imprint.
The board was sealed and my mission complete.
Chapter Ten
Hark! The Herald Angels Sing
From my lofty position atop the stained-glass window, I witnessed the frantic activity below me with a sense of envy and a touch of disappointment at not being able to join the festivities with my friends and acquaintances. An air of joviality and squeals of laughter and raised voices filled Whiskey Creek First Baptist Church. Parishioners scurried through the double front doors with cries of holiday merriment and boisterous laughter as they filed down the aisles and plunked down on the padded wooden pews. The scent of gingerbread, cinnamon, citrus, and evergreen pine trees hung in the air, and I inhaled the intoxicating scent of Christmas.
At the front of the church, on the elevated platform, a simply-made background scene of the Bethlehem stable stood erected and waiting for the program to start. Painted wood cutouts of camels, sheep, cows, and a donkey dotted the straw-covered floor. A manger filled with straw sat in the middle waiting for Mary to place baby Jesus. Above the manger, two wooden angels with wings unfurled flanked a star cutout outlined with tiny white lights.
The Star of Bethlehem.
A shiver of delight passed through me as I, an agent of Heaven, observed the scene unfolding before me. Down below, Jolene and her family entered the church and walked down the aisle to their places near the front. For a moment, Jolene lifted her head from her grand-daughter, Hannah’s blonde curls, and swept the balcony with her sharp gaze. But before she could spot me, Hannah reclaimed her attention, and she turned back to the child. Not that I blamed her. I would’ve done the same had the situation been reversed.
I continued to view the activities with bittersweet joy. Soon, the church was filled to capacity and the front double wooden doors were closed. As Pastor Inman stepped up on the platform, the audience fell silent. A sweet hush of reverence came over me as children took their places upon the stage. Tears gathered in my eyes with longing as I gazed upon their happy faces.
“Welcome to our annual children’s Christmas play,” Pastor Inman announced. “After the service, please join us in the social hall for refreshments. And now, let us watch the miracle of Christmas through the eyes of a child.” He left the stage as the choir began to sing “Joy to the World.”
The nubs between my shoulder blades tingled with increasing pressure as the melodious voices of the choir overflowed the sanctuary. The uncomfortable sensation continued as the music softened and then stilled when Mary walked on stage with the baby Jesus and placed him in the straw-filled manger. I brushed a tear from my eye.
“I thought I might find you here,” Saint Peter spoke up beside me. “You did a fine job, Scarlett. A fine job.”
My gaze remained on the baby Jesus and the children portraying the three wise men entering the stage. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad I pleased you.”
“The Council of Noble Purposes are delighted with your progress and have approved your promotion into the Order of the Guardsmen. You are now officially a guardian angel.” He snapped his fingers, and a bolt of electricity raced up my spine. The nubs burst into a magnificent pair of glistening golden wings!
Wait. Stop everything. Something’s wrong with this picture.
“Hey, what’s the deal?” I asked Heaven’s gatekeeper and fluttered the tiny butterfly wings attached to my back. “Why are they so tiny? I look like a fairy from the enchanted forest. Give me big ones.”
Saint Peter rolled his eyes. “This is all you get, for now, Scarlett. They will grow with time.”
I fluttered my tiny wings like a debutante fluttering her eyelashes. “I can’t image entering Heaven’s pearly gates with these tiny wings, Boss. Are you sure you can’t give me an injection of growth hormones before we go home?”
He tweaked his upturned mustache. “You’re not going home, Scarlett.”
“Excuse me?” I twanged in my best Southern belle voice. “I didn’t hear you correctly over the children.”
“You’re not going home, Scarlett,” he repeated over the background noise of applause. The choir began to sing “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” The parishioners joined in.
“And where am I going?” I muttered a few choice words under my breath.
Saint Peter raised a bushy eyebrow. “Jackson Hole, Wyoming.”
Well, hells-bells, there goes my Christmas Eve plans with my hunky blue-eyed Archangel.
“But what about Christmas?” I protested. “I made plans in Heaven.”
“Plans change, Scarlett. You must take your place among the guardians.” Saint Peter made to leave. “But I have it on good authority that there’s a big change coming to Whiskey Creek that involves Sam Bradford. The details are sketchy, so I can’t answer any questions at this time. Hang in there, Scarlett. I’ll be in touch soon.” He snapped his fingers, and my western ensemble changed into an exquisite snowy white, form-fitting sheath and matching heels.
“Thanks, Saint Peter,” I said with a grateful smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Scarlett.”
With the blast of a trumpet, Heaven’s gatekeeper shot through the roof on brilliant wings of fire, and once again I was alone in the balcony with my thoughts. I twittered about in my new dress and shiny butterfly wings. As the swell of voices singing praises to God rose, my disappointment melted away. Yes, I may not be spending Christmas with Hazell in the Golden City, but I was spending Christmas in Dixie surrounded by the people I loved, and love is the reason for the season.
I stood at the balcony railing in awe as Guardian warriors circled the church interior, glowing with the golden light of God’s love. Among them stood, Carson, the mighty African. Jade, the lovely Oriental. Cloe, the English chick. And many others I’d glimpsed in the Golden City.
Carson glanced upward and saluted me. One-by-one the aforementioned warriors followed his example and saluted me. Welcoming smiles beamed from every face. Awash with their love and acceptance, I twittered downward with my new wings and took my rightful place among the Guardians.
A word about the author…
Penny Burwell Ewing was born and raised in Fort Pierce, Florida. Growing up in a southern coastal town gave her the best of small town living where the residents look out for one another. Her interest in writing began in the 1970s when she consumed every bodice-ripper published and decided to try her hand at entertaining herself. It worked and she is now working on her sixth novel.
Once a professional cosmetologist, Penny draws on her humorous experiences behind the chair to add spice to her Haunted Salon series. She now resides in Tifton, Georgia. Her favorite pastime is counted cross-stitch and fine needlework.
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