by Tom Becker
A low growl rumbled down the chimney. Holly’s blood froze.
She turned to flee as something came down the chimney with frightening speed, like a worm emerging from a black burrow. A clawed hand shot out from the hearth and snatched hold of Holly’s leg. She screamed.
25 December
26 December
27 December
28 December
29 December
30 December
Mart walked up the path to Holly’s cottage and pressed the bell. It took an age for the door to open – Gran let him in without a word, shuffling back to the kitchen and sitting down at the table facing the window. White fields glistened beneath a clear sky. Mart hung awkwardly in the doorway, fidgeting with the zip on his coat. Silence enveloped the kitchen.
“You don’t have to keep coming round, you know,” Gran said finally. “There won’t be any news.”
Mart looked down at the floor. “I warned her not to do anything,” he said quietly.
She nodded.
“Do you think she’s still there?” he asked. “Inside … that place?”
Gran didn’t answer. She took a sip of her tea. Her skin looked grey in the sunlight.
“You can go up to her room, if you like,” she said.
Mart hesitated.
“It’s safe,” she said. “Christmas is over.”
He left the old lady staring out of the window and went upstairs, his trainers squeaking on the attic steps. An icy draught greeted him as he opened the door. Mart swallowed. Christingles were hanging down from the ceiling on their red ribbons, a dangling orchard of oranges with barbed fish hooks. He tentatively pushed through them, sending them swinging back and forth. The room felt impossibly cold.
Shivering, Mart retreated from the attic and closed the door. Behind him Christingles swayed slowly in the draughts – in time to the sound of a very faint but persistent scratching, as though made by someone very far away.
Christmas, Take Two
–
Katy Cannon
I stared out of the car window at the end cottage, lit up with Christmas decorations, and clocked the ‘Santa Stop Here!’ sign sticking out of the front lawn.
I wasn’t Santa. I wasn’t compelled to stop here. Right?
“I’m just saying, we could totally turn the car round and drive back home now. Claim we got stuck in the snow.”
Mum responded to my perfectly valid and sensible suggestion with a snort that drowned out the Christmas music playing on the car radio. “Snow? Heather, it’s barely drizzling.”
“There’s ice in it though, look.” I pointed at a melting drop of sleet on the windscreen.
“I hardly think your dad would believe this miserable excuse for winter weather stopped us driving twenty-five miles to his new house.”
“Tamsin’s house,” I corrected her. Dad’s house was still technically our house. Our warm, cosy, familiar house in the city. Tamsin’s cottage in the middle of nowhere was an unknown quantity. I mean, I’d only met Dad’s new girlfriend twice.
Fiancée, my brain corrected me. She wasn’t just his girlfriend now. They were engaged. Never mind that Mum and Dad’s divorce was barely final. Dad had moved on. There was flashy jewellery to prove it.
“We’ve been spotted, anyway.” Mum nodded towards the cluster of trees at the end of the row of three joined cottages, where a boy about my age held an axe over his shoulder as he watched our car. He had dark hair, curling too long over his ears, and an angry frown creased his forehead, like he didn’t want me there either. Which was weird, because I had no idea who he was.
As I stared back, he turned away, slamming the axe down on to the log waiting below. Chopping firewood. Was that really a thing out here in the country?
“Is he one of your new step-siblings-to-be?” Mum asked.
More people I’d only met once or twice who were now apparently part of my family. I shook my head. “I think he belongs to one of the other cottages.”
The boy disappeared into the middle cottage, firewood in his arms. His house looked bare and dark compared to Tamsin’s, which was lit up like, well, a Christmas tree, with icicle lights hung from the windows. The middle cottage, on the other hand, had only a tattered green wreath on the door the boy had slammed behind him. The third cottage had a SOLD sign outside and looked empty.
Tamsin’s front door opened, the bright light from inside illuminating the grey afternoon. Dad appeared on the doorstep, complete with comedy Santa hat, beaming at me as he waved.
“We could claim there was an emergency and we had to leave,” I suggested. “Quick, get your phone out. Make it look like someone’s calling with tragic news.”
Mum sighed. “Heather. Come on. We talked about this. I know it’s going to be a little strange—”
“Properly weird,” I corrected.
“Spending Christmas with your dad and Tamsin. It’s going to be strange for me, too, not having you there at Granny and Granddad’s tomorrow.”
“So let’s make a run for it! I’d rather be with you anyway.”
Mum pulled a guilty face at that, but it was true.
I didn’t hate my dad – not like Lily hated her dad after he ran off with our maths teacher, Mrs Fletcher, and her mum had a mini-breakdown – I just didn’t want a new family. I wanted my old one back.
Mum and I had done presents and turkey and stupid paper hats the day before, but it hadn’t felt real. How could it? It was a fake Christmas so I could pretend I didn’t have to spend the real one with my fake family.
“I’ll see you in a few days, love.” Mum gave me a quick hug and a kiss, and tried to smile. I didn’t bother.
“See you, then,” I said, pulling the door handle.
“I love you,” Mum called after me, and I paused, swallowing hard as I nodded to show her I’d heard. I couldn’t say it back. My throat felt too tight.
“My Heather-bear! You’re here!” Dad stepped forward, the bobble of his Santa hat swaying in the breeze, his arms open wide.
Behind me, I heard Mum’s car pull away. I was officially stranded.
“I’m here,” I said, smiling weakly.
“Come on in, come in.” Dad waved excitedly towards the front door. “Everyone is so pleased to have you here!”
I wondered if that was true. Dad was, obviously. But what about the family I was invading? I knew Tamsin’s sons wished I wasn’t going to be there – I’d heard them whining about it when Dad had called to arrange my visit. He’d hurried into another room pretty quickly, but it hadn’t been fast enough.
I hadn’t been able to make out Tamsin’s response to their whining, but I could imagine it. I had to be there to keep Dad happy. That was it. No one else wanted me there – it was all a show for Dad. So he could be their dad now.
Tamsin’s house smelled of freshly baked cookies, cinnamon and pine needles – quintessential Christmas – but it still didn’t smell quite right to me. Like it was a smell from a bottle, sprayed around to convince me everything was perfect. Except there were actual homemade cookies on the plate in Tamsin’s hand as she walked out of the kitchen, beaming. And the huge tree in the hallway looked real, too.
“Heather!” She put the plate down on the hall table, in between a bowl of cinnamon sticks and pine cones and a festive silver stag decoration, then wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I returned it half-heartedly. “We’re all so happy you’re here!”
She stepped back again. Her smile reached her eyes and everything, but I knew it was only because it made Dad happy to have me there.
I’d heard her, too, the first time we’d met, when she thought I wasn’t listening. She’d asked my dad if I was OK, if I was always so miserable. As if life as I knew it falling apart wasn’t reason enough to be a little unhappy. Besides, not everyone had a permanent smile as their default expression, like her. Both times I’d met her she’d smiled constantly. It was exhausting.
“Thank you for having me,” I mumbled, because I knew Mum would want
me to. What I really wanted to say would probably get me thrown out.
“Would you like a cookie?” Tamsin asked, and I struggled to muster up a smile of my own.
“That would be lovely,” I said, choosing the one with the most chocolate chips.
At least if my mouth was full I couldn’t say anything bad.
Dad took my bag to the spare room, which was all the way up in the attic. At least the cinnamon fug probably wouldn’t reach that far. It was giving me a headache.
I watched him head up the stairs and, as he went, a thunder of feet came in the opposite direction. Swallowing my cookie, I braced myself for the step-sibling invasion.
Millie, Tom and Rob. Aged five, nine and sixteen respectively, if I’d memorized that right. Rob was the same age as me, for definite. Our first and only meeting was an awkward pub lunch where Tamsin tried to make cheerful small talk, Rob went on and on about some computer game, Millie said she didn’t like my hair, which I’d worn in plaits, and Tom kicked me under the table. Repeatedly.
All three of them had the same dad, despite the age gaps. I thought that Millie was probably some last-ditch attempt to save Tamsin’s first marriage. It hadn’t worked, evidently, as she’d got divorced when Millie was a baby. I wondered how it felt to know you weren’t enough to make your parents stay together. And then I realized I already knew.
Maybe Millie wasn’t old enough to feel it yet, but I was. I knew that my parents had planned to stay together until I got through my A levels, because they’d told me so. But obviously, something had changed.
Was Tamsin the reason? Maybe that was why she was so damn happy all the time – she’d got what she wanted.
“Heather’s here, everyone,” Tamsin said, her voice as bright as the lights on the outside of the house. “Christmas can start!”
Tom, Rob and Millie all stopped at the bottom of the stairs to eyeball me, the interloper in their midst.
“Hi, Heather,” Millie said, giving me a quick wave.
“Yeah, hi,” Rob added, quieter than I remembered.
Tom mumbled something similar, before adding, “Cool, cookies!” and diving for the plate.
Tamsin whipped it out of the way before he reached it. “After dinner,” she said sternly. “You know the rules.”
“But she had one.” Tom glared at me, and I tried to brush away any incriminating crumbs without drawing too much attention to it.
“She’s our guest,” Tamsin said.
Millie frowned and replied, “But I thought you said she was family now?”
Rob rolled his eyes at her. I got the feeling he wasn’t so keen on the idea of a new sister either, he was just better at hiding it. Or maybe it was the thought of a new dad he didn’t like.
I could sympathize with that. I already had a mum, I didn’t need an extra one. But at least I didn’t have to live with Tamsin and her constant perkiness. These guys would have my dad around all the time, being their dad.
Instead of him living at home with us, being my dad.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter because dinner is ready,” Tamsin said. “Why don’t you all go and put your stuff away in the lounge, then sit down at the table?”
“We’re having dinner? Now?” Rob asked. “But Owen’s coming round.”
Tamsin’s perma-smile froze for a moment. “Again? Rob, this is supposed to be a family dinner for Heather…”
“Owen practically is family.” Rob gave her a look I didn’t quite understand and she sighed. “OK, set another place at the table, then.” Rob vanished into the dining room and Tamsin turned back to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hallway with the Christmas tree, wondering who Owen was.
While I waited for someone, anyone, to come and tell me where I was supposed to go next, there was a knock on the door. That would be Owen, I assumed. I waited a moment, but no one appeared. Maybe they hadn’t heard it. Maybe they were expecting me to answer it.
I headed to the front door and yanked it open.
There, on the other side, was the guy with the axe from next door. Well, he didn’t have the axe with him any more, but still. It was him.
“Owen, I’m guessing?” I said, stepping aside to let him in.
He nodded, eyeing me curiously. “Yeah. And you must be the new sister.”
“Heather.” I had a feeling that wasn’t what Rob referred to me as, but Owen just accepted the information with another nod, moving past me into the hallway. I closed the door behind him, resisting the urge to make a run for it. “I understand you’re joining us for dinner?”
He paused, just for a moment. “Am I? That’ll be nice. You sound thrilled.”
“Why would I care?” I said with a shrug. “The more the merrier, as far as I’m concerned.” Especially if it took attention away from me and my interloper status.
“OK, then.” He picked up a cookie from the plate Tamsin had left on the table and took a bite. I wondered if Tamsin would have stopped him, too, if she’d been there. Whether Owen was family enough to be scolded or outsider enough to get cookies. Maybe I’d find out over dinner.
Dad reappeared down the stairs, looking red-faced and puffed. “Right, that’s your room ready,” he said. “I thought the boys had got it sorted already, but… Anyway, it’s sorted now.” Which I translated as meaning that Tamsin had asked Rob and Tom to get my room ready and they hadn’t because they hated me. Fine. “Hello, Owen. Here for dinner?”
“Apparently,” Owen said, around his mouthful of cookie. But his eyes were still on me. What did he see?
“Dinner’s ready!” Tamsin sang out as she came into the hallway, carrying a large dish.
Rob stuck his head out of the dining room and motioned for Owen to head through, which he did, just as Tom and Millie emerged from the lounge and raced in after them. Tamsin smiled at me, then followed. Dad ushered me in, but I hung back a bit, letting everyone else sit first to be sure I wasn’t stealing anyone’s place.
I knew I didn’t belong here just as well as the rest of them. The only one who didn’t seem to believe it was Dad. I’d make it through this holiday for his sake. He was happy and, despite everything, I wanted that for him. But I also wanted to see what this family I’d inherited was really like – beyond Tamsin’s constant smiling. As I eyed Owen across the candlelit table and the chicken and leek pie Tamsin was serving, I realized I might have a way to find out. He was closer to the family than I ever expected to be, but not part of it.
Owen, I suspected, saw a lot more than people intended him to – I could tell from the way he watched everyone as they moved around the room, serving food and pulling crackers even though it wasn’t Christmas Day yet. The expression on his face, it was more than just watchful. It was like he was absorbing the whole scene, taking in every tiny detail.
What was his story? I really wanted to know. If only because it was far more interesting than wondering how my new family really felt about me.
Tamsin sat down at one end of the table, opposite Dad, and smiled around at us all. “Oh, it’s so lovely to have us all together for Christmas Eve!”
I glanced across at Owen, who’d sunk a little further into his chair, as if they might forget he was there if he was very quiet. He was bigger than Rob – taller and broader – but right then he was almost invisible. He’d managed to make himself disappear at the dining table.
As we ate I tried to keep up with the flying conversation, the in-jokes and the constant clamour around the table. Rob was back up to full volume, talking loudly about some film he wanted to see. As an only child, I wasn’t used to so much noise at dinner. Dad seemed to be in his element, though, joining in without missing a beat.
“So, what shall we play after dinner?” Dad asked as we finished eating. He turned to me. “We always play a board game after a big family meal. Usually it’s Sunday Games Night, but I think tonight counts, don’t you?” I smiled weakly. Great. Board games. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played an actual game – and never with Dad. It
wasn’t our style. We were more movie-watching types. We used to shout warnings at the really stupid characters in horror movies.
But apparently Dad had changed. It was all about the board games now.
“Scrabble!” Tom yelled over Millie’s suggestion of Snakes and Ladders.
“That’s only for four players,” Tamsin pointed out, shaking her head. “We need something we can all play.”
“Does she have to play?” Tom asked his mother in a whisper we all heard.
I felt my cheeks flaming red, even as Tamsin shushed him.
“Cards?” Rob suggested. “You did say you’d teach me and Owen to play poker…” He flashed Dad a grin and Tamsin frowned, even though her smile didn’t shift.
“Maybe not tonight, hey?” Dad said. “What about charades? I know it’s not a board game, but it is a Christmas classic.”
A Christmas classic was mince pies in front of The Muppet Christmas Carol or Elf. Not this forced family fun, this ridiculous attempt at the most Christmassy Christmas ever. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all an act – a way to show me that Dad was better off now he had them as his family.
Was this really what Dad wanted? Was this really why we weren’t enough for him? Because we didn’t play Scrabble?
Suddenly I couldn’t take it any more. My face felt too hot in the candlelight, my head pounding from the scent of cinnamon permeating every inch of the house.
Without even thinking about it, I pushed my chair back from the table. The chair legs scraped against the wooden floor and everyone turned to look at me. Even Owen, his eyebrows ever so slightly raised over pale blue eyes, had all his attention on little old me.
Great. Just what I didn’t want.
They were all waiting for me to say something, to chip in, and all I could think was, I don’t want to be here.
“I should … clear the table.” I picked up my plate and reached to take Millie’s from beside me, too.
“I’ll help,” Owen said, grabbing his and Rob’s plates.