by N. M. Howell
I stepped closer to get a closer look, but Mrs. Brody held out her arm to stop me. “Don't get too close, dear. Don't want to compromise your inner Scrooge.” She winked at me.
“I don't have an inner Scrooge,” I countered. “I like Christmas just as much as the next person.”
Bailey laughed. “Yeah, sure. So, you're not the one who has been hiding all of our Christmas CDs?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn't hiding them, I was simply replacing them with better options.”
Sarah laughed, and I smiled back at her.
“Besides,” I added. “Who uses CDs anymore? Get with the times.”
It was Bailey's turn to roll her eyes. “Whatever, River. But now that it's actually Christmas Eve, you have no choice but to listen to our music selection.”
I grinned mischievously. The CDs were upstairs in my room, carefully hidden in my sock drawer. There was no way Mrs. Brody would allow any of them to leave the safety of the basement. Not that Bailey would be able to find them, anyway.
“Okay, I promise. I'll listen to whatever you want,” I grinned.
Bailey's face lit up. “I was hoping you would say that.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a Celine Dion Christmas album with a red cover and waved it in the air in front of her.
My mouth fell open. “No! Where did you find that?”
I knew for a fact that was one of the CDs I had hidden in my room.
“You honestly think I only have one of these bad boys? I have at least three copies of this album.”
I stepped back to the couch and slumped into the soft cushions. That was it, I was defeated. Christmas and my housemates would defeat me, and there was nothing I would do about it.
Bailey put the CD into Mrs. Brody's boombox. Yes, Mrs. Brody still had a boombox, let's not even go there.
The music started playing, but Bailey skipped ahead a few songs.
Suddenly the words “God Bless Us, Everyone” began booming through the apartment. I rolled my eyes.
“Aren't you atheist?” I called out loudly to Bailey through the loud music. She was already dancing and whipping her hair about.
“Agnostic,” she called back.
The music jolted Mrs. Pots awake, but she seemed thrilled by it. She rubbed her eyes and stood up and began dancing with Bailey in the living room.
I laid back against the squishy cushions and watched. Before long, Jane and Rory were up dancing, too. Mrs. Brody was sitting cross-legged on the floor, but she was doing some mad finger pointing to the beat, as well.
I watched them as if they were some strange alien race, completely detached and mesmerized by their behavior.
Bailey skipped over to me and grabbed my hand and attempted to pull me up.
“Not much of a dancer,” I said.
“Don't care.”
I grudgingly let her pull me up from the couch and into the middle of the living room. Mrs. Brody was carefully guarding the box with both arms on either side as she finger danced.
I finally gave in and began dancing, as well. Despite the highly religious words, I had to admit that the song was catchy. We danced and swayed around the living room, and then we all grabbed hands and formed a ring around Mrs. Brody and the box.
The two spirits watched us with wide eyes and amused expressions. I doubted this matched any sort of traditional Christmas activity they practiced, but you never knew. They could be just as deranged and outrageous as this bunch.
We danced in a ring around the box until the song finished, then we all collapsed in a fit of giggles. Even Mrs. Brody couldn't contain her laughter.
I wasn't sure if it was the eggnog or the sheer exhaustion, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't stop laughing. I couldn't stop smiling, either.
After a few moments of complete yet confusing joy, I eyed that strange little box of Mrs. Brody's again.
I did my best to collect myself and snatched it quickly off the table before she could stop me.
“What's in the box?” I demanded. The box felt warm, and I could feel happiness emanating from it. I paused and squeezed the lid shut. Strange, I'd never felt happiness ooze out of an inanimate object before.
“Mrs. Brody,” I began. I held the box out and placed it carefully back on the table. I stepped back as she looked up at me in amusement. “What's in that thing?”
Mrs. Brody beamed and pushed herself up off the floor. “Well, I'm happy you asked me that, dear.”
I raised my eyebrow expectantly. I had a feeling it was going to be good.
She stepped up to the box and lifted it with one hand, placing it carefully on one open palm. With her other hand, she lifted the lid.
We all watched in awe as swirling colors and lights overflowed from the brim. Music and smells and strange feelings came with it, too. It was as if every happy feeling I had ever felt from the holidays was condensed into one tiny box.
“No,” I said. “Mrs. Brody. What did you do?”
She was beaming. Leave it to her to bottle up things that didn't need bottling up.
“Why, it's holiday spirit, of course.”
“What?” I asked.
“How?” Jane added.
“Cool,” Bailey said.
Rory simply smirked. She had been in the house the longest and must have already made this discovery.
“Holiday spirit,” Mrs. Brody repeated. “Don't ask how or why. It's a long story. But it's simply wonderful, isn't it?”
I was about to ask another question but stopped myself before I got a word out. I simply stared at the small box of shimmery happiness. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Even growing up in a house of overactive and energetic witches as a kid.
I shook my head in awe. “It's amazing.”
“It is!” Mrs. Brody looked out at us in reverence.
“I don't understand,” Sarah said. She and Peter stepped forward, looking down into the small box in Mrs. Brody's hand.
The light from within was so bright, I didn't know how they were looking so closely. It must appear different to spirits, I supposed.
“If there's any time for this, it's now.” Mrs. Brody held the box up for Sarah to get a closer look.
I smiled at her. She really was brilliant. I had no idea how she managed it, but I had a feeling that that might be just the thing to help our guests remember who they were.
“Now then,” Mrs. Brody said. “Shall we get Christmas started?”
5
The caroling started first.
The girls sang their way through nearly every Christmas song they knew. They sang for hours, and we sat around the living room listening to them. Sometimes, when they forgot the words, we would have to play the songs on YouTube instead.
The sun rose and morning came, casting long shimmering shadows across the snowy back yard. Snow fell softly, and any trace of the mess we made by our snowball fight in the backyard was blanketed over. The house was peaceful, and I had to admit the Christmas carols weren't the worst way to ring in Christmas Eve.
It was much better than waking up to ghosts on your bed, that was for sure.
I sipped my coffee on the couch while the girls shuffled through their song selection. They seemed to have an endless amount of energy and barely stopped longer than they needed to eat a few of Mrs. Pots' cookies for breakfast.
I'd give them one thing - the girls knew how to sing. Mrs. Brody even chimed in for a few songs, but her voice rivaled that of a seagull, and she gave up after a time.
They paused again shortly for lunch, but besides the few moments we took to scarf down food, the singing continued. I could tell their voices were starting to get a bit hoarse, but still, they sang. I even joined in for a few songs after a while. Maybe the rum and eggnog I drank with lunch had something to do with it.
All rosy-cheeked and giddy, I sang at least four songs with the group before giving up and settling back in with the cats on the couch. Soot purred on my lap as I scratched him b
ehind the ears. After the whole ordeal with Momma Cat and the new kitten, I figured he was happy for the attention.
It was about five o'clock in the evening when the singing finally triggered a memory.
“They played this song at your retirement party!” Sarah squealed after the girls began singing Mariah Carey's Baby Please Come Home.
Her sudden outburst startled me, and I spilled my eggnog all over my pants.
“You remember?” I asked.
Sarah was smiling at Peter, who looked as if he was regaining the memory as well.
“That's right. We danced to it.” He said.
I did my best to wipe off whatever eggnog hadn't yet soaked into my pants and jumped off the couch. “That's amazing. It’s working!”
The girls stopped singing and Bailey muted the music coming from Jane's laptop. She clapped and squealed in glee. “Oh, I knew it would!”
She was practically bouncing up and down, and I made a mental note to hide the cookies from her after this was all over. Too much sugar made for an overly excited Bailey.
“What can you tell us?” I asked. I watched the pair intently, waiting for them to say something.
Sarah screwed her face up in concentration. “Hmm, well I'm pretty sure it was a big party. I remember meeting lots of your ex-colleagues.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, that's right. The whole squad came out. It was a nice send-off.”
I placed my glass on the table so as to not spill again, and settled back onto the couch. “Did you not know any of his colleagues before?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, we only just started dating a few months ago. I didn't have a chance to meet anyone before Peter retired.”
A loud crash came from the kitchen that made me jump again. Good thing I put my drink down when I did.
“Sorry about that!” Mrs. Pots called from the kitchen pantry. The two older women were getting things ready for dinner. From the look on Mrs. Brody's face, she was not thrilled at all about having someone else fuss about in her kitchen. Whatever Mrs. Pots spilled in the pantry, Mrs. Brody was doing her best to clean up with magic.
“Out of the way, Nancy,” I heard her grumble from the other room. “Move it or lose it.”
Mrs. Pots squealed and jumped back out of the small pantry as a shimmery puff of white dust blew out from the behind the door. “Oh, my!”
I rolled my eyes and did my best to ignore those two. It was always best to stay out of Mrs. Brody's way, especially when she was in one of her moods. And by the way the pots and pans and cutlery and other things were flying around and crashing in the kitchen, I guessed she was in one of those moods just then.
“Wow, so I'm guessing you guys are all witches?” Peter asked.
“What makes you think that?” I grinned as the kettle flew out of Mrs. Pots' hands and onto the counter. “Ignore them. Let's get back to you guys.”
“You look too young to be retired,” Bailey offered. “What made you retire so young?”
Peter scratched his head for a moment and then shrugged. “I think it just got to be too much, you know? I can't remember exactly, but I think after working in the force for a few years, it just started taking its toll.”
Sarah was running her hand up and down Peter's arm, and he smiled down at her. I could tell that they truly had strong feelings for each other. It was a shame they had so little time together alive. By the looks of it, though, they seemed to be getting on just fine together as spirits. I hoped that novelty wouldn't wear off after the holidays, for their sake.
“Peter just wanted a quiet life away from the city,” Sarah beamed. “We were going to start a family. His work was just way too dangerous. I couldn't imagine how horrible it would be if we had kids and something bad happened to him. The stories he would tell me about the things he saw while on shift were enough to give me nightmares, sometimes.”
“I can understand that. My boyfriend was a cop, and he made the same decision.” I paused. “Apart from the whole kid thing,” I added quickly.
Bailey rolled her eyes. She claimed I flaunted the term boyfriend too much, and always made a face whenever I said it. I did my best to ignore her. She was just jealous. Not that I could blame her, really. She had been having the worst luck when it came to relationships, lately.
Peter's memory seemed to have come back quite strongly. We sat in the living room listening to him tell stories of when he was a police officer for at least an hour. They still couldn't remember any further details about their murders, though, so we sat and listened patiently as he told his stories. I hoped that maybe one of his stories would maybe trigger a new memory.
Finally, after a long-winded story about a car chase and a traffic violation, Mrs. Brody came huffing into the kitchen all disheveled and hot tempered. “Dinner's ready. Come eat. Now.”
The girls and I exchanged looks, then quietly obeyed and sat around the kitchen table. Sarah and Peter hung back in the living room, chatting quietly between themselves.
Mrs. Pots carried over a few really amazing-smelling dishes and placed them on the table.
“This is my famous yam casserole dish,” she beamed as she placed a dish of steaming pink mashed yams in front of me.
Rory's eyes went wide, and I remembered her telling me about Mrs. Brody's candied yam dish. I guess Pots has won out over Brody in this round, and I figured that's what had made Mrs. Brody so pissy.
I couldn't help but laugh to myself over how ridiculous it seemed that we were locked in her basement because of the risk of my own murder, but she was preoccupied with being angry over yams. I shook my head and loaded a pile of the yams onto my plate. A small pile, as I didn't want to upset my landlady.
When Mrs. Brody brought out a giant roast turkey from the oven, we all oohed and awed over it. It was massive and golden brown and smelled like Thanksgiving to me. I wasn't used to this kind of meal at Christmas. I remembered staying in and watching Love Actually with a friend in New York last year. We ordered Chinese food and had a lazy day doing nothing. This certainly was a change.
“Oh wow, that looks amazing,” Sarah said. She walked over to the table to inspect the spread. “What a fancy dinner.”
Peter joined her, and both ghosts stood next to the table watching us serve ourselves.
I felt bad for them, as they would never be able to enjoy the taste of food again. Part of me felt too bad to eat in front of them, but another part of me was just so hungry. That part won.
I was halfway through chewing a massive bite of turkey leg when Sarah jumped back in fright.
“Oh my god, I remember,” she said. She clasped her hands over her mouth and her eyes were wide with terror. “I remember something about the murder.”
I nearly choked on the turkey as I tried to swallow the rest of my bite whole.
“What do you remember?” I wiped my hands with a napkin and turned my chair to look at her.
“The awards gala,” she barely whispered.
Peter raised his eyebrow, but not a moment later realization dawned on his face, too. “Oh, yeah. I remember. The invitation.”
Both ghosts stared at each other with fear in their eyes.
“What invitation?” I prompted.
After a long moment of silence, Peter spoke. “I was invited to an awards gala for members of the force. Sarah and I went. I remember getting dressed up for it and everything.”
“What happened at the gala?” I asked.
Peter shook his head. “Nothing. That's all I remember.”
“Well that's not really helpful, is it?” Mrs. Brody snapped.
Rory shushed her and topped up her eggnog with more rum.
“No, you don't understand,” Peter said. We waited for him to finish, but he didn't.
Finally, Sarah spoke. “That's our last memory. The gala. It has something to do with our murder. We went, and then...nothing. Blackness. That's it.”
My mouth fell open. “Did you die at the gala? Or on the way there?”
; Sarah shrugged. “I don't remember.”
I shivered and rubbed my arms for warmth. The room was hot from the fire and the food, but the thought of them nearly remembering their deaths made me feel cold.
The room was silent, and I looked up at the two spirits. They looked sad but didn't seem to be able to remember anything else.
Suddenly the lights went out, and I jumped in my seat.
“What the hell?” Rory asked. The basement was pitch black apart from the sparkling lights on the tree in the next room and the soft glow from the fire.
“Did the power go out?” I asked. I pushed myself out of the chair and walked over toward the front window. “The street lights are on.”
“That doesn't make sense,” Bailey said.
Mrs. Brody got up to find some candles and began lighting them around the room.
I shivered again. “I don't like the feeling of this, guys.” I glanced about nervously, waiting for something to happen.
My body froze as I heard a muted thumping sound. I slowly backed up towards the kitchen table, my eyes darting between each window.
“What's that noise?” Rory asked.
Sarah began whimpering. “Oh no, it's happening. We were too late to warn you. It's happening.”
Not that I would admit it to anyone, but I was scared witless. I glared daggers at Sarah for making the situation worse by her repeated mutterings of “she's going to die.”
The sound turned into a scraping noise, and I listened carefully to try and place where it was coming from. After a moment, I realized it was coming from the door. Someone was trying to get inside.
I pointed to the door, and everyone looked towards where the sound was coming from. We all kept as quiet as we could and began walking together away from the door.
“It's locked, right?” Rory whispered.
Mrs. Brody nodded and stepped forward. She motioned for us to stay back with her hands, and she grabbed the broomstick that she kept leaning against the far wall in the kitchen. I wasn't sure what she thought she would accomplish with it, but I gave her credit for her bravery.
Mrs. Pots had her arms outstretched in front of Bailey and Rory, and Jane was standing with her fists in the air.