by Tonya Hurley
“What is happening to me?”
Charlotte turned off the light and made her way back to her bed from memory. She lay down and spread herself out over the pictures, sprinkled some over herself to form a semigloss comforter, and tried to rest her body if not her mind. In the darkness, she heard a voice, echoing all around her, call her name.
“Charlotte.”
She got up to check her window, hoping to block out the voice with the draft, but it was shut tight. She heard it again.
“Charlotte.”
It was a sweet voice, one she recognized but couldn’t quite place. Small, faint, and soft, it surely wasn’t Gladys. In all the time Charlotte had lived there, Gladys had never gotten closer to her room than the bottom of the staircase. She heard the call a third time, this time closer, almost in her ear.
“Charlotte.”
Charlotte looked over at her desk and a bright glimmer of light appeared, shattering the darkness.
Right there in front of her a flurry of glistening snow swirled from the floor to the ceiling. Like a supernatural snow globe. And as it settled, nothing was left but a beautiful, delicate figure. A tiny spectral form with the voice of an angel.
“Yes, Virginia?”
Virginia stood there in a floor-length, simple, pure white dress. Her flowing blond locks reached almost to her ankles. Crowning her head was a wreath of white roses and deep greens peppered with tiny lit candles.
“We’ve been worried about you,” Virginia whispered, her angelic face basking in the warm glow radiating from her head. She was so close but seemed so far away.
“What is going on?” Charlotte asked.
“Don’t be afraid, Charlotte. It’s only me,” Virginia said, reaching her hands out to her.
“Who has been worried about me?”
“All your friends.”
“Well, I’m fine. I’m home; there is no need to worry.”
“This isn’t home, Charlotte. Hawthorne isn’t your home. Not anymore.”
“Is this a dream?”
“No,” Virginia said. “Well, I don’t know. Not unless we’re all having the same one.”
“How did I get here?”
“You made a wish. Sometimes wishes come true. Especially at Christmas.”
“Did Pam send you?”
“Nobody sent me. I wanted to talk to you. To show you. Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“Downstairs,” Virginia said, pointing her finger toward the staircase. She led Charlotte down the set of rickety steps and stopped at the bottom, facing the living room.
“No offense, but I could’ve walked down the steps on my own.”
“Not these you couldn’t,” Virginia replied. “What do you see?”
Charlotte tried to focus her eyes. She was both tired and out of practice.
“I see a little girl staring at a Christmas tree,” Charlotte said quietly, eyeing the child waiting expectantly and alone for Santa to arrive. “Me.”
“What’s under the tree?”
“Take me back upstairs!” Charlotte demanded.
“Not yet,” Virginia insisted. “What’s under the tree?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing for you, that is.”
Sadness welled up in Charlotte just as it had on every Christmas past, and just as she had on every Christmas past, she sought to put the best face on it. To ignore it, to excuse it away.
“Gladys is always so busy,” Charlotte explained. “She barely has time to shop for her real family.”
“Is that right?”
Virginia pointed at the kitchen and there was Gladys, whistling a merry tune, wrapping gift after gift. Charlotte stared at the cheerful scene and felt she was looking at a total stranger, a woman with whom she shared a roof and a refrigerator but hardly knew.
“It wasn’t always like that,” Charlotte said unconvincingly. “She cared—I mean, cares about me.”
“Really?” the little spirit queried. “How was dinner tonight?”
Charlotte turned her back to Virginia and hung her head ever so slightly, wrestling with her tear ducts, keeping the tears pinned down, like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dike. It hurt Virginia to treat her friend this way; she wanted to hold her, to comfort her as Charlotte had done for her so many times before, but Virginia stayed focused. There was too much at stake for her, and for Charlotte, to soften.
“Don’t blame me for the way things were,” Virginia said stoically. “Come, see for yourself.”
“Where to now?” Charlotte said, a note of panic in her voice.
Before Charlotte got a more detailed answer, they’d already arrived.
“The Kensingtons’,” Virginia said.
“This place sure could use some remodeling,” Charlotte said, thrown by the outdated look of the space. “You sure that’s where we are?”
“I’m sure,” Virginia answered, calling Charlotte’s attention to the scene before them.
Two little girls, sisters, were getting their coats on to go somewhere, while their mother stayed behind to wrap gifts.
“Is that . . .” Charlotte began, wide-eyed.
“Petula and Scarlet,” Virginia said, helping her along.
Petula wore a white fur coat with matching hat, containing her blond locks, and a muff to tuck her delicate hands into. Scarlet, her younger sister, was wearing a black coat with oversized black buttons. Her hair was long and straight, and her bangs got caught in her eyes with almost every blink.
“What’s going on?”
“Listen,” Virginia whispered.
A negotiation was apparently under way.
“I paid for mom’s present last year, and now it’s your turn to pay this year.”
“But I don’t have any money,” the young Scarlet said.
“Well, what do you have?” Petula asked knowingly.
Scarlet shrugged her shoulders, clinging desperately to the stuffed black cat in her arms, the same cat that Petula was eyeing like a homeless person would a steak.
“You have Poe?” Petula asked.
Scarlet clenched her beloved cat even tighter in her arms.
“That is what you have, and so that is what you can contribute,” Petula said. “Don’t be a baby, Scarlet.”
“But she is a baby,” Charlotte said to Virginia.
“Shhh,” Virginia said.
Meanwhile, Virginia pointed to the room where their mother, KiKi, was busy wrapping presents for the girls, more gifts for just two people than she’d ever seen.
“Wow,” Charlotte said. “Now that’s Christmas!”
“Look,” Virginia said. “What do you see?”
“Lots of pink. Lots of dolls. Frilly outfits,” Charlotte said. “Petula stuff.”
“That’s right. It’s all Petula stuff.”
“Looks like Petula will get everything she wants this year, and so will Scarlet.”
“Why is Scarlet getting what Petula wants?” Charlotte observed.
“Because that’s the way it is. KiKi doesn’t understand Scarlet or what she wants, so she just makes it easy for herself. You can’t blame her. It happens all the time.”
Charlotte was overtaken by anger. “Well, it shouldn’t!”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Are we going back?” Charlotte asked desperately.
“We’re going shopping,” Virginia said.
With another swirl of snow and light, they materialized in a gritty, Grinchy pawnshop. Degenerates with half-empty liquor bottles begging for change out front, shady teenagers looking to make a deal for merchandise that clearly had just fallen off the truck. Somebody else’s truck. It was an environment not fit for even a mouse and certainly not for two little girls. Yet there they were at the counter, Petula and Scarlet. Scarlet was gripping her stuffed cat as if her life depended on it.
“So, what can you give us for the cat?”
“That thing?” the pawnbroker asked.
“Do
n’t play with us. That cat is an original piece of folk art,” Petula said, hustling like a pro.
“I can give you twenty bucks,” the guy said, looking at Scarlet’s sad face. “Only because I like cats. But that one, it’s a dime a dozen. Very little value.”
“Not to me,” Scarlet whimpered.
“Twenty-five bucks and you got yourself a deal,” Petula said.
“Don’t do it,” Charlotte moaned, empathizing with her friend. “Can’t you do something?”
“It was what it was,” Virginia said.
“You really know how to get what you want, don’t you?” the pawnbroker remarked, mulling her offer. “Okay, done!”
Petula pried the black cat out of Scarlet’s hands.
“Hey, kid,” the guy whispered to Scarlet as Petula walked to a display counter to look for something for her mother and herself. “You can come back for it when you get the money. Or better yet, wouldn’t it be something if someone knew you so well that they bought it for you and surprised you? Now that would be fate, or some crap like that, right?”
Scarlet just looked at him, wide-eyed, before collapsing into a heap of tears.
“Get up,” Virginia said to Charlotte, who collapsed right along with her.
“I am cold and tired . . .” Charlotte began.
“And heartbroken?” Virginia added.
“And I want to go home,” Charlotte finished. “Now!”
“Not yet,” Virginia said, just as adamantly.
It was a familiar place. Charlotte recognized the hallways, the lockers, the kids, and the numbers on the doors. Her mood brightened considerably.
“Grade school!” she yelped.
Virginia nodded and pushed open a classroom door, revealing a room full of boisterous kids tugging at a sack full of presents.
“Secret Santa!” Charlotte squealed. “The only Christmas gifts I ever got.”
Virginia remained silent and let Charlotte’s own words sink in, but she was undaunted, buoyed by the joyful celebration unfolding before her.
“There’s Petula and The Wendys,” she chirped. “And they still have braces.”
Charlotte ran her fingers along the ridge of her own teeth, recalling how desperately she wanted braces too then, not just to straighten her smile but to be like them. The memory of not having braces hurt Charlotte more than actually having them ever would have.
“Is that all you notice?” Virginia asked. “See yourself, Charlotte Usher?”
Charlotte looked up and see herself she did, hanging from the ceiling, spinning around, suspended from a wire clenched between her teeth, in an elf costume, Christmas gifts in each hand, and tucked into her winter coat, surrounded by Petula, Wendy Anderson, and Wendy Thomas, wielding broomsticks.
“Witches,” Virginia cracked.
Charlotte was more forgiving.
“The Wendys bribed the janitor for keys to the utility closet, took the brooms, and accidentally locked the teacher in it,” Charlotte recalled with a shrug. “They wanted to play piñata.”
“Their idea of a party, I assume,” Virginia said, to Charlotte’s chagrin.
Charlotte watched, unable to turn her eyes away.
One at a time, the girls took a whack at her. Petula first, of course.
“Batter up!” she yelled, thwacking Charlotte until she dropped a gift like an overripe apple tree.
Charlotte winced and complied. Each Wendy did the same, with the same result of laughter and cheers from her classmates.
“Why can’t it be Christmas every day?” Wendy A. screamed for joy, ripping the wrapping off her present like a ravenous wolf.
“Looks like fun,” Virginia commented.
“I volunteered,” Charlotte said defensively. “You can’t say they didn’t include me.”
“Sad to see that people don’t change,” Virginia noted.
Charlotte knew she was talking not just about Petula and The Wendys but about her as well.
“That’s not true. They are good. Deep down.”
Virginia said nothing as the two watched Charlotte’s younger self drop into a pile of wrapping paper on the floor in the now-empty room, all her classmates having received their gifts and split for vacation. Charlotte rummaged through the torn paper and bows searching for a leftover. Anything would do, but nothing would have to. She came up empty, except for a beautiful piece of ribbon that had fastened the bow to Petula’s gift, the FROM:/TO: tag still attached. The Secret Santa gift Charlotte had gotten for her. She folded it neatly and wiped a tear from her eye with it before placing it in her pocket.
“Not much for Christmas that year,” Virginia said bluntly. “Except tears and bruises.”
“So what’s your point, Virginia?” Charlotte whispered. “That I was a punching bag? Unloved? That’s not exactly breaking news.”
“No, I was hoping you’d be reminded that there is a place where you are loved.”
“Yeah, and dead,” Charlotte snapped. “Is that what you are trying to tell me, that I’m better off dead?”
Virginia let the question hang in the air, unanswered.
Charlotte stared back at the child apparition, a pained expression on her face. Virginia was hoping for an epiphany, given the season.
“Petula and The Wendys. They were happy to see you, I guess?”
“We, ah, ran into each other in the hallway, but we didn’t really get a chance to . . .”
“To what? Speak?”
“No, but I did speak to Damen. He offered me a ride in his car.”
“Before or after he almost hit you?”
Charlotte dismissed the sarcasm.
“And best of all, I saw Scarlet. She looked amazing!”
“Cheerful and welcoming as ever, I’m sure.”
“You’re cherry picking!” Charlotte erupted. “Only showing me the worst stuff.”
“You are suffering from a bad case of selective memory,” Virginia said, frustrated. “You need to removed the rose-colored glasses. That’s your problem.”
“No, it’s your problem . . . ah . . .” Charlotte fumbled unexpectedly for Virginia’s name.
“Virginia,” the ghost informed.
“Well, Virginia,” Charlotte inquired, “why did you come here? Did you come to rain on my Christmas parade, or are you just jealous that I’m alive and you’re not? What do you want?”
“I came to get you.”
“Well, then you came for nothing. I’m not leaving.”
“Everyone misses you terribly, Charlotte.”
“Don’t you see? This is my second chance. I know who I am, and I know the good that’s inside these people. We can be close now, but on equal terms. Petula might accept me now. Scarlet and I can be real friends. It’s the greatest Christmas present I could have ever imagined.”
“Nothing has changed, Charlotte. And nothing will now. You were the one who brought the good out in Petula, brought Damen and Scarlet together. Now none of that will ever happen. They will be as cruel and selfish and unhappy as ever, and you will be as invisible to them as ever.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. You can leave now, ah, what did you say your name was again?”
“Virginia,” the child reminded her. “We all want you back, Charlotte.”
“I’m sure, um, my boyfriend, um . . .”
“Eric?”
Charlotte’s poor recollection of him really took Virginia aback.
“Yes, that’s it, Eric. He obviously doesn’t want me back. Not enough to come get me himself.”
“He’s just being stubborn, Charlotte, moping around, missing you.”
“Well, he’ll get used to it eventually. Same as I will.”
“Your being here is affecting all of us, Charlotte. Don’t you care?”
“I do care. I’m always the one who cares. Working overtime, taking people under my wing, or did you forget that? That place wouldn’t exist without me!”
Without even realizing it, Charlotte had herself made the
exact point that Virginia had come to make.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Okay, then you understand. I’ve done my part. So please take me home.”
“To the Great Beyond?” Virginia said hopefully.
“To my bedroom,” Charlotte answered, looking away.
Virginia held out her hand one last time, and Charlotte grasped it. The pair were instantly transported once again back to where they began. The disappointment in the little ghost’s face was obvious. Virginia was reluctant to say any more about the situation at the compound since it would only fall on deaf ears anyway. Charlotte crawled into bed.
“I just came to say I need you. We all need you.”
“And I need to be here.”
“What will I tell the others?”
“Tell them what you told me: Sometimes wishes come true.”
As the light and snow swirled around Virginia once again, she left her friend and her mentor with these parting words.
“Be careful what you wish for, Charlotte.”
6
Jingle Hell
Gift Receipt
Christmas is a season for generosity, not only of wallet but of spirit. A time when even the smallest gesture—a card, an invitation, even just a smile—speaks volumes. When a heartfelt “Merry Christmas,” sincerely said, can mean more than the most precious offering. We may spend all year searching for the ideal present, but it is often the case that the greatest gift, the one inside us, is the hardest to find.
“What are we going to do?” Wendy Thomas asked as she walked down Hawthorne’s main drag, eyeing the shop windows for an expensive gift and desperately trying to figure out a way to pay for it.
“I don’t know. I am totally broke,” Wendy Anderson complained.
“What about that Christmas club money you saved?” Wendy T. asked.
“Don’t you remember? I spent that on dermal fillers for my toes so I can wear those superslutty high heels my parents are getting me for Christmas.”