The Christmas Ornament

by J.E. Bolton

Rhonda finished reading the paper and appeared as shocked as I was, if not more. It was a deed to a house and many acres of land. The worst part was the piece of paper attached to the deed let us know it didn’t belong to our family. The grandfather I adored wasn‘t a successful businessman as we originally thought.

  Instead, Samuel Morgan was a con artist who cheated people out of their properties for many years.

  Then, my breaking point came. I was officially ashamed of every member of my

  family, even my sister Rhonda who began making excuses for our grandfather. I took a long sip of rum from a flask in my pocket and stared at the tree, smiling sarcastically.

  “Well, this has been a rather joyous occasion,” I said sarcastically. “I didn’t want to be here to begin with, and when I get here I find out our family patriarch was nothing more than a damn heartless thief.”

  Rhonda appeared stoically shocked by my reaction, as did the rest of the family. “I’m sure there was some good in him, Marcus,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  I laughed, shook my head and walked to the front door. “It’s fine, Rhonda,” I said. “Perhaps it’s all this family’s built on, secrets and excuses. So, I’m going to leave now. I’m not sure where I’m going but don’t wait up. So, to you and yours, a Merry-freaking-Christmas to all, and to all an I’m done!”

  Still chugging what little run was in my flask, I stormed out the door and left. I probably shouldn’t have driven due to me being incoherently drunk but I didn’t care. At that point, I was tired of living in a world where nothing was as it seemed. I wasn’t sure if I felt betrayed, angry my grandfather cheated all those people, or a little bit of both. Either way, my grandfather was no longer the infallible saint I thought he was. Instead, he was like everyone else.

  A loser who wanted to take the easy way out of everything.

  In my martyr-driven mind, I did the only thing I thought was best. I drove two miles out of town to the cemetery he was buried in and determined to confront him at his grave. Little did I know I wouldn’t be alone. That’s right, not alone. You might be thinking other members of my family would be there with me, am I right?

  Well, not exactly.

  There was still enough daylight when I arrived at the cemetery. I got out of my vehicle, thankful I arrived in one piece, and lightly staggered to his grave. It was located in a little cull-de-sac and among graves with taller headstones. I stood at the foot of his grave, mumbled his name aloud in slurred disgust, and took another swig of rum.

  “You foolish old man,” I said. “I’m glad your dead, because if you wasn’t I’d kill you myself after what you did to all those people. I hope you’re…“

  I was going to say rotting in hell, but I didn’t. The words were there and so was the hurtful rage that burrowed deep inside me. The old man was dead. Yes, that’s right. He was dead, but I wasn’t. God, I was jealous. At least he couldn’t feel anything anymore--not a damn thing.

  I took the last sip of rum from my flask and held it in the air as a toast. “Merry Christmas, you old bastard,” I said between light, beginning sobs. With one swoop of my wrist, I flung the flask against his grave.

  Then, from nowhere came a voice from three graves over.

  “I get so tired of all these people slinging shit at our stones around the holidays,” the voice said evidently aggravated. “Sir, let us rest in peace.”

  They came, every last one of them. All of the cemetery’s inhabitants, one by one, arose from their graves in spirit form and gathered around me in obvious protest. Damn, this rum must have really been loaded with alcohol. I thought I was hallucinating.

  I wiped my eyes. “Am I this drunk?” I asked confused. “You all can’t be real. I mean, you‘re dead, for God‘s sake.”

  “We were sleeping fine until Johnny Numbnuts decided to get mad at his grandpa,” one of the spirits said.

  Disbelief rattled me to the core. There was no way the dead had risen, and there‘s

  no way I woke them. Ghosts weren’t real. Somehow, without any logical reason, I went along with it. I humored them, and was hopeful to find some answers in the process.

  I faced the most evidently irate spirit. “Who are you?” I asked amazed.

  “Sir, I am Thaddeus Montgomery, the Second,” he said. “All my friends call me Tad.”

  “Alright, Tad,” I said.

  “Thaddeus, to you, Sir,” he said direct. “Now, what‘s got you so bothered you have to wake us up?’

  I turned my attention to my grandfather’s grave and let out a deep, cleansing breath. “My family and I discovered he ripped off a bunch of people for many years,” I said. “I wanted some answers and came here hoping to find them.”

  Thaddeus blared his eyes and grinned sarcastically. “Do you hear that, everyone,” he said aloud to the other spirits. “This young man’s grandfather is a crook. Instead of picking his battles, he’s decided to throw a flask at his grave and waste some perfectly-good rum.”

  Deep, coarse laughs echoed through the cemetery like thunder. It was eerie and made my spine shiver. I wanted to leave in fear, but I didn’t. Call it foolish pride, but it was as though I was meant to be there.

  My fear turned into anger, as the spirits continued to not take my plight seriously. “Go back to sleep, and let me do what I’ve got to do,” I said stern.

  Every spirit stopped and stared at me with eyes blaring. “Honestly, young man, you moan more in the last hour than I ever have,” Thaddeus said, “And I’ve haunted these sacred grounds for the last few decades.”

  I shrugged at his response. “You don’t understand,” I said and walked away.

  Thaddeus circled around his grave. “Then, come talk to him,” he said. “Tell him how you feel. Trust me when I say your grandfather’s not going anywhere.”

  It would’ve been easy for me to ignore such a restless, ornery spirit like Thaddeus Montgomery out of sheer spite. But I didn’t, even though it went against every ounce of logic I had. Then again, being in a cemetery full of ghosts made no sense, either. I walked over to his grave and stood with Thaddeus at the foot of where he was buried.

  I was confused. “What do I say?” I asked. “I have nothing to say now.”

  “Say how you feel,” he said.

  I tried forming something, anything to have closure, from my lips but nothing was spoken. “This is so damn pointless,” I said. “None of this makes any sense. Then again, why should I bother saying anything if he‘s not here to listen to me?”

  I began to leave, and Thaddeus stopped me with a statement that was more powerful than the supernatural events that took place that evening. “Maybe it’s not for him to listen,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for you to let it go.”

  And then the healing was about to begin.

  *****

  PART THREE: A CHANGE OF HEART