4 The Ghost of Christmas

by K. J. Emrick

  “I understand,” she said to him, so grateful to hear those words that she could barely stand to breathe. “As long as you can understand that these abilities are a part of who I am and I can’t change that.”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she melted against him. They stayed like that for a long time just watching as the snowflakes fell.

  ***

  Darcy expertly flipped the pancake she was cooking and then shrieked as Jon grabbed her around the waist from behind. He pulled her in close to his body, her back to his front, and kissed her neck. Darcy giggled and nearly knocked the frying pan to the floor. Still, that didn’t stop her from bending her neck further to allow him easier access to kiss her more.

  “I’m starved,” he whispered in a sultry way, making her shiver as she thought of things other than food. “How long until we eat.”

  Darcy grinned at him over her shoulder. “Not long.” She was so happy that things between them seemed to be back to normal. Or even better than normal.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes as they dug into their pancakes. Darcy remembered her conversation with Helen. Quickly chewing and swallowing her mouthful of food she said, “Oh by the way they need us to play Santa and Mrs. Claus in the Christmas Pageant.”

  Jon almost choked on the mouthful of pancake he was eating. “We’re what now?”

  She grinned at him and said, “You heard me.”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, I’ll do it for you but I don’t want this to become a yearly thing. I’m too young to be Santa Claus.”

  Darcy grinned at him before she jumped up and ran into the living room where she picked up the Santa suit she had been mending. She raced back into the kitchen with it and handed it to him. He ran his hands over it. The suit was soft and worn and probably had been used for generations.

  Jon held the suit out in front of him and frowned. “Whoa, I am going to need to eat a boatload more of those pancakes if I’m going to have a belly like Santa to fit into this.”

  Darcy laughed as she took the hint and went to make another batch.

  ***

  After breakfast Jon drove them into town in his police car with Darcy’s bike stowed in the trunk. On the short trip he asked her about Roger August and the vision she had. She told him all that she knew so far. It seemed like now that they had made up he was ready to help her solve this. Her heart felt light.

  “I need to talk to Roger’s daughter, but I don’t know where she lives exactly,” Darcy said as they pulled into a parking space outside of the police station.

  “Okay I can find out her address for you. Let’s get inside where it’s warm.” He rubbed his hands together as he blew his hot breath onto them. Darcy grinned and followed him into the police station.

  As they settled down at Jon’s desk, he turned his computer on while Darcy waved to a few of the other officers still at their desk. They were getting used to her being in the building with Jon by now. Moments later Jon had Katrina’s address. He wrote it down on a post-it note and handed it to Darcy. She read it to herself. It wasn’t that far away from the center of town here.

  “Do you want me to come with you when you visit her?” Jon asked her.

  “No thanks, I can handle it on my own.” She smiled at him. He looked at her skeptically, more of that overly protective nature that kept him harping on her abilities. She had to insist, though. Katrina might be more open to talking about what had happened to her father if Darcy was alone. A police officer, even Jon, might be intimidating for her. She reached out to hold his hand in hers. “I’ll be fine, Jon. I promise.”

  “Made up so soon?” Darcy jumped when she heard her sister’s voice behind her. She turned to find her sister standing there with arms folded across her chest, smiling smugly at the two of them.

  Darcy glared at her before turning back to Jon. “Ignore my sister,” she said as she stood up and moved around to his side of the desk to kiss him goodbye. “I’ll see you later.”

  ***

  Darcy was standing behind the counter of the Sweet Read Bookstore when Sue entered in a rush, cold air flowing in behind her. Her blonde hair had escaped from her knitted cap and she pushed the strands back as she plucked the hat off along with her mittens. She smiled mischievously at Darcy.

  “I have some gossip for you about Mister Baskin, our resident grump,” she said. She was obviously eager to spill whatever it was. Darcy rolled her eyes. Misty Hollow was always rife with some sort of gossip. “Have you heard about this petition he’s spreading around to stop the pageant? He’s already gotten a few signatures on it. Now he’s going to take it to Helen. Can you believe it?”

  “He can’t possibly have enough to keep Christmas from coming.” Darcy giggled as she said it, imagining that scene from the Grinch where the green-furred meanie was staring down at Whoville and scheming to take their Christmas away. “Let’s just hope no one else signs it.”

  Sue nodded and blew hot air onto her hands to warm them. “On another note I have something good to share.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a present wrapped in brightly colored Christmas paper. She shyly handed it to Darcy. “Merry Christmas boss.”

  Darcy smiled as she took the gift from her. She placed it on the counter in front of her and said, “Thanks, Sue. I have something for you, too.” She bent down and picked up a gift bag from under the counter and handed it to Sue.

  The younger girl’s face beamed. “Thanks so much.”

  They both ripped into their gifts. Darcy peeled back the paper from hers to find a copy of ‘Forgotten Bookmarks: A Bookseller's Collection of Odd Things Lost Between the Pages’. Her eyes grew wide. “Oh Sue, thank you so much. This is incredible.” Darcy was very touched by her friend’s thoughtfulness. She had wanted to find a copy of this book for a long while now. Now here it was, in her hands.

  “Oh wow, thanks Darcy,” Sue said as she held up a huge, warm looking scarf, all fuzzy and red. Then she realized what she had and could not sit still. Bouncing up onto her feet she danced in a little circle. “Darcy! Oh, wow, Darcy! This is a Nordstrom solid woven cashmere scarf! Oh my God! You are the best! I love it!” Sue wrapped it around her neck and moved over to the mirror on the side wall of the bookstore. She modelled for herself, smiling widely.

  “I take it you like it?” Darcy asked jokingly.

  “This is so warm! I’m going to wear it all the time. Thank you!”

  The two women shared a quick hug before Sue got to work behind the counter, still wearing the scarf. Darcy smiled, thinking to herself how this was one of the reasons why she loved the holidays so much. The good feeling of giving a friend a gift that you knew they would enjoy. It reminded her of how thankful she was to have good friends in her life.

  Jon’s present was carefully hidden away in her house. She hoped he liked it as much.

  ***

  Darcy left work right after lunch, leaving the store in Sue’s capable hands. She wanted to visit with Katrina Samson. She headed out of town on her bike, knowing she could have called for a taxi or borrowed someone’s car, but she had wanted to enjoy the feeling of the fresh air on her face. She didn’t really mind the cold. Not when it was wrapped up in the feeling of the holidays like this.

  Jon’s directions said that Katrina’s house was by Bottleneck Lake and would be fairly easy to find. She hoped that he was right. She rode on towards the lake along the deserted road. There used to be five or six houses built up around the lake back in the nineteen-fifties, from what she understood, but the ones that still stood were abandoned now. Except, apparently, for Katrina Samson’s house.

  An uneasy feeling started to settle in her stomach as the house came into view. It was surrounded by tall trees and it was in desperate need of repair. A couple of the shutters out front were hanging off to an angle, and she could see where the shingles were starting to rot in several spots. There were curtains drawn over every window. Darcy couldn’t tell if anyone was home or not.

 
As she pulled up to the front of the house she could feel her cheeks and hands stinging from the cold. She chastised herself for not wearing gloves so her hands were at least protected. She imagined that her face must be glowing red by now from the brisk cold air. She hopped off her bike and wheeled it up to the porch steps. It occurred to Darcy then that perhaps she should have let Jon come with her after all. She had no idea what Katrina would be like or what the whole story was.

  Then her mind took a horrifying twist. What if Katrina had killed her father? Darcy was halfway up the steps and almost onto the porch when she thought of that scary notion. She had faced a few murderers thanks to her special gifts, and she wasn’t looking forward to meeting another. Especially in an out of the way and secluded place like this. She decided that she was going to leave and come back later with Jon. Yes. That sounded right.

  She turned around to go back down the steps when she heard someone open the front door. She froze in place.

  “Who’s there?” The woman’s voice sounded quiet and sweet. Not able to hide, Darcy turned back to the middle aged woman peering through the screen door at her. The woman’s blonde hair was done up in a bun and she was wiping her hands on an apron worn over a simple flower-print dress. She certainly didn’t look very dangerous. Darcy climbed back up the steps and gathered her courage.

  “Hello, Mrs. Samson. My name is Darcy Sweet. I own the Sweet Read bookstore in town.” The woman nodded, her face curious, so Darcy continued. “I know this will sound strange, and I know we’ve never met, but I was hoping that I could speak to you about your father.”

  The woman’s face puckered into a frown. “My father? Goodness, why on Earth would you want to talk to me about my father?”

  Darcy smiled, thinking reassuring thoughts, hoping to persuade Katrina that she wasn’t some crazy person come knocking on the door. “I’ve heard about your father’s murder. I was hoping that maybe you could answer some questions for me.”

  Katrina’s expression never relaxed, but she did nod and open the door for Darcy. “I don’t mind, I suppose. Please come in.”

  She held the door open for Darcy. It was dark inside the house with very few lights on. Katrina shut the door behind them and shuffled ahead of Darcy into the kitchen. “I was just finishing up some baking before I tried to take a nap. My husband is away this week and I’ve been sleeping none too well without him.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t keep you long, I promise.” Darcy took a seat at the little kitchen table when Katrina waved a hand at one of the chairs for her.

  “It’s no bother, Darcy. I will say this is odd, though. No one has asked about dad’s death for years. Can I get you something to drink to warm you up? You must be frozen coming all the way out here on a bicycle. I have coffee or tea, or I could maybe rustle up some cocoa, if I’ve got any.”

  “Some tea would be great, thank you.” Darcy rubbed her hands together, just getting the circulation back in them now.

  Katrina shuffled around the kitchen in worn slippers that looked too big for her feet, grabbing cups from a cupboard over the sink and taking tea bags out of a metal canister. Putting the kettle on the stove to boil, she sat down with Darcy and folded her hands on the table. Frowning she said, “Now why did you come out here and bring all this ancient history up?”

  Darcy felt sorry for the woman. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your grief.”

  To Darcy’s surprise, Katrina waved her hand as if she were swatting away the thought. “Don’t worry over that. I came to terms with dad’s death a long time ago. No suspects, no arrests.”

  “But your father’s case is still open, isn’t it?”

  Katrina smiled sadly. “For the police, maybe. Not for me. I know exactly what killed my father,” she said, pausing for that to sink in for Darcy. “Everyone thinks that it was a gunshot, but the real culprit is the Santa suit.”

  Darcy thought that she must have misheard. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “My father played Santa in the Christmas pageant and that’s the reason he died. The suit is haunted.”

  Chapter Six

  Darcy was sure she looked as shocked as she felt. Katrina thought that the Santa suit was haunted. Darcy’s first reaction was to say that wasn’t possible. But she lived in a world where specters showed up on her doorstep and children in graveyards followed her every step.

  Haunted clothing? It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever heard of or seen.

  The kettle whistled and Katrina got up to pour water over the bags. “Can you explain that to me?” Darcy asked her.

  “I can, but you wouldn’t be the first one to just write me off as insane.” She said it with a smile, but Darcy could hear the hurt behind those words. She herself knew what it was like to have to keep secrets from people because no one would ever believe you, and to be ridiculed even when you knew you were right.

  Maybe she and Katrina had more in common than she realized.

  Putting the cups of tea down on the table, Katrina looked thoughtfully into the distance. “My dad was very involved with the town. He always helped out with the festivals and pageants. Everyone in town liked him. So you see, no one had a reason to kill him. The night he died was the night after the Christmas pageant. It was the first year that he’d played Santa.” Katrina paused to take a breath. “When I saw him that night in the suit he looked really nervous, almost sick. I had never seen him look that way before. The very next day he was killed.”

  Katrina focused back on Darcy and took a sip of her tea. “So you see, I know what killed my dad. That suit is haunted. By what, I don’t know. But whatever it is killed my dad. As sure as you and I are sitting here, that’s what got him killed.”

  ***

  That night Darcy lay awake in bed once again. Her visit with Katrina was running through her mind on a continuous loop. Could the suit be haunted? Could a ghost be responsible for Roger’s death? Why? Why would a spirit do something so drastic? There were documented cases of poltergeists destroying property, even hurting people. As far as she knew, however, there had never been a ghost that actually killed someone.

  That didn’t put it beyond the realm of possibility. Especially if the ghost haunting the Santa suit—if there was one—had a grudge against Roger August. There were too many questions and absolutely no answers. She needed to speak to Roger once again.

  Communicating with the other side was meant to be done in specific steps. She didn’t like to use them because of the drain on her physical and mental energy, but in situations where she had no other choice, they were her measure of last resort.

  Smudge followed her around the house as she got together the thick white candles, sticks of incense in a ceramic holder and the old bed sheet that she used when she performed the ritual here in the house. Setting the sheet out in the living room, she put the candles around the edges in an exact pattern and lit each one in order. After lighting the incense sticks she sat in the middle of the circle of candles, cross-legged, and cleared her mind.

  Nearby her, within the circle of candles, mist formed in slithering tendrils. She let it happen, let the bridge between this world and the next solidify as she poured her own self into that connection, reaching out for Roger August.

  She waited. Nothing happened.

  “Roger?” she asked. “Are you there?” No one answered her. She couldn’t get any feel for him at all, which was very unusual. The last time that had happened, it had meant the supposedly dead person she was trying to contact was still alive. She didn’t get the feeling that was the case here, though. There was something else going on. It was like something was blocking her. Keeping her from communicating with Roger’s spirit.

  Standing up, stretching, she checked the clock and only then realized that three hours had passed. When she put herself into that state time had no meaning. She could have sat there for a day or more without realizing it, and in truth she had done that once. It was dangerous, to sit there for that long. There was a real risk that her b
ody could die from inattention even as her spirit continued to search for a connection.

  A wave of dizziness swept over her and she caught herself against a nearby wall. Smudge looked up at her, his head cocked. “I’m all right, boy. Just need some water.” She collected the candles, snuffing them out in proper order, and then put them away again for next time.

  It was when she was heading to the sink for a glass of water that the thought hit her. What if the Santa suit that Katrina had told her about was the same one she had now, the same one that the pageant had used for years now?

  She raced back into the living room and picked up the suit. Tentatively she held it out at arm’s length and inspected it closely. It looked old, but there was really no way of knowing for sure if it was the same suit or not.

  She closed her eyes and tried to feel for any strange, haunted powers that the suit might be holding. A snap against her fingers startled her into dropping it to the floor. She flexed her hand, feeling foolish. Just a static electric shock. That’s all.

  Still, she went and got the candles back out, and formed the circle around the suit with the candles lit. Lighting the candles wasn’t really the smartest thing to do but she didn’t feel like she had any other choice right now. The circle would contain any spirit for the night. Smudge looked up at her and blinked.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s foolish and dangerous. But I’m not sleeping in the same house with a possessed Santa suit without some precautions.”

  Darcy and her cat stared at each other and then she laughed out loud. This was ridiculous. Feeling silly, she took herself back up to bed.

  But, even though it was dangerous, she didn’t blow out the candles. Just in case.

  ***

  The next morning Darcy was at work when Jon stopped by. Nothing had happened overnight, and the suit was right where she had left it when she woke up. She’d stuffed it back into the pack with her Mrs. Claus suit, and tried to put her energy into thinking up a good way to solve this mystery. A way that didn’t involve theories about possessed clothing.