by Rick Hautala
“I was wonderin’ if you folks’d accompany me t’ church this evenin’, it being Christmas Eve ‘n’all.”
Julia didn’t look up, but she let out a deep sigh she hoped he didn’t hear.
“I — uh.”
“Far’s I’m concerned, it’s the only thing you have to do for me for Christmas,” Frank said. He looked past her, his eyes dimming as they focused on one of the lights in the window. “It’d mean a lot.”
His voice was low and earnest, and when she turned to look at him, the expression on his face made her see how ridiculous it was to get so worked up about something as stupid as a set of tree lights.
If the holiday isn’t for doing things to make your family feel good, she thought, then what good is it?
Before she could say anything, though, Frank continued.
“I know John won’t take kindly to the idea. Never has.” He turned and looked at her expectantly. “But even if he doesn’t come along, maybe you ‘n Bri’d join me.”
“We’d be happy to,” Julia said.
Maybe it was the holidays that made her feel so sentimental, but it took an effort not to burst into tears and rush over to hug him.
“Oh, ‘n’ by the way,” Frank said, nodding to the floor by her foot. “You ain’t ever going to get that string of lights to work if you don’t plug it inta the socket.”
Julia looked behind her and saw that, while she had been untangling the lights, her foot must have pulled the cord from the wall socket. As soon as she plugged it into the wall, the string lit up.
“I owe you,” she said, smiling at Frank, who was chuckling so deeply his wheelchair was squeaking. Without another word, he spun around and went to his room, closing the door gently behind him.
Long before John and Bri got home, Julia had everything done except for decorating the tree. The boxes of ornaments were sorted out and waiting on the floor beside the tree, and she had finished wrapping the gifts for the family. The sky was lowering, and it looked as if there might be a bit of snow headed their way, but that was too much to hope for on Christmas Eve.
A little after noon, Bri slammed in through the door and, slinging her backpack to the floor, collapsed at the kitchen table.
“I can’t believe it,” she wailed, leaning back and shaking her fists at the ceiling. “Mrs. Endicott gave us a term-paper assignment due the week after vacation! At least five pages! She’s nuts if she thinks I’m going to ruin my vacation researching Shakespeare. Dad was right — she is a battle-ax.”
“Is that the only homework you have over vacation?” Julia asked.
Bri nodded, her mouth a grim line.
“Yeah … the rest of the teachers apparently are human.”
“Count your blessings,” Julia said. ‘‘I’m sure you’ll find time to do it. Maybe you and Kristen can work together.”
“Maybe, Bri said, shaking her head with disgust. She stood up, grabbed her backpack, and trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, grumbling something about that woman not having a heart.
A few minutes after Bri had left the kitchen, John came home. Julia greeted him at the door with a smile and a kiss, hoping he would drop the frown that wrinkled his forehead.
“Rough day at the office?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound like such a stereotypical housewife on TV.
“You might say that,” John replied as he stamped his feet on the rug and took off his coat. Clumps of snow fell to the floor and started to melt into irregular puddles. “Even tougher getting out of town, what with all the traffic.”
What he didn’t tell Julia … what he couldn’t tell her was that, once he had left work and gotten to his car, he had found another note, exactly like the others. It had been stuck smack-dab on the middle of his car seat, even though all the doors had been locked and all the windows were rolled up.
In the same handwriting, were the words:
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO …
He had torn up the sheet of notebook paper and sprinkled it on the snow-covered ground in the parking lot, grinding it into the slushy snow with his heel. And as he had driven home, he had known and dreaded that when the next message came, the last word —
A name!
— would be added.
And he knew, more than ever, whose name that would be.
Julia busied herself, making a sandwich for him.
“After you have a bit of lunch,” she said, “maybe we could get the tree decorated.”
John cocked an eyebrow as he looked at her.
“After supper won’t be time enough? Christ! I just walked in the frigging door. Gimme a chance to catch my breath.”
“I was thinking …hoping we’d get it done this afternoon so we could go to church tonight with your father. He —”
Turning and glaring at his father’s closed bedroom door, John sucked in a quick breath, held it, and then let it out with a slow hiss.
“He put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Julia could only stammer.
“Don’t pretend. I know he did.”
John scowled as he leaned back on the counter, his arms folded across his chest.
“Com’on. It’s Christmas.” Julia looked at him with pleading in her eyes. “It means a lot to him.”
She walked over to him and, smiling, wound her arms around his waist. With a sudden clenching of her arms, she pulled him so close to her it forced his breath out. Caught by surprise, he had to laugh when she reached down to his crotch and grabbed him firmly but not too tightly.
“I don’t want to have to resort to extreme measures of persuasion,” she said, tightening her grip. “But if you don’t see reason … Can I make myself any clearer?”
Wincing in mock pain, John groaned and said, “All right … all right. I’ll go. I won’t like it, but —”
“No buts,” Julia said.
She released the pressure but didn’t let go. Instead, after a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Bri wasn’t standing in the doorway, she began to rub up and down on his crotch. She smiled with satisfaction when he began to stiffen under her hand.
“And who knows …?” she whispered, her mouth close to his ear as she maintained the steady friction. “Maybe after church, once all the good little children are tucked safely into bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, we can have our own little fun.” She said the last word with a throaty growl.
John ran his hands up and down her back, molding the curve of her hips beneath his fingers. He was still wire-tight from work and the drive, but he relaxed a bit. Bringing his mouth close to hers, he whispered, “We’ll have to wait and see, now, won’t we?”
“You know what I want under the tree …” Julia said before their lips met,
“I always knew you had a dirty little mind,” John said, almost laughing. “And here you are, talking about going to church.”
After John ate his sandwich and washed it down with a beer, they called Bri downstairs. Frank came out of his room and supervised as they strung the lights and then hung ornaments and tinsel from the branches. Julia was glad to see John starting to unwind. He joined in, joking and laughing along with them. Actually, he seemed so relaxed she couldn’t help but remember how much fun he used to be. She was pleased to see him even directly address his father a few times, asking his opinion on how this or that looked on the tree.
Throughout the afternoon and supper, everyone seemed filled with holiday cheer. It was only after supper, while they were getting ready for church, that Julia began to feel guilty. She didn’t know when she had decided, but as they were driving to church, she knew she had made up her mind. She was going to take Ellie’s advice and tonight, if they did make love once Bri and Frank were in bed, she was conveniently going to forget to use her birth control.
John had never liked going to church. He had a host of reasons why, but one of his strongest — especially on Christmas Eve, the night of the candlelight service — was remembering the time he got scared in church. Scared was
n’t the word. Terrified. No other word came close. He could barely admit it to himself, but that was it — he had been terrified during the candlelight service when they darkened the church.
He had been — what? — ten years old, tops, the first time his parents — this was before his mother began drinking — took him to a Christmas Eve candlelight service. The beginning of the service had been typical — boring and long, with the minister and congregation droning responses back and forth, and everyone joining in on the hymns. But after the sermon, someone at the back of the church turned off the lights, plunging the whole church into darkness. A single candle still burned on the altar, and the minister had still been talking, going on and on about the promise of hope and light that the season brought, but it had taken John several terrifying seconds to realize he hadn’t suddenly lost his sight.
His first thought had been, I can’t see … I’m dying!
For an instant, ten-year-old Johnny was spinning … falling backwards … completely out of control … his mind a swirl of blackness except for one tiny sliver of light.
While the minister was going on and on about a light in the time of darkness, a black, nameless dread —
I’m not dead ... but I’m dying!
— had gripped him in its icy clutch.
Before he knew what he was doing or could stop it, he had let out a high-pitched, warbling screech that had echoed throughout the church. Needless to say, the entire service had been disrupted by John’s outcry.
He remembered what happened next only in fragments that filled him with fear and embarrassment. His father had grabbed him by the arm and roughly jerked him down the aisle and down to the church basement. He was in tears, flailing his arms and legs, screaming as loud as he could — partly because of the licking he knew he was going to get, but mostly because that cold, dark terror was still squeezing his heart, making it impossible to breathe. Everyone in the church, he knew, must be wondering what the devil was wrong with him.
Was he sick?
Had he his mind?
He told his father that he’d had an awful jab of pain in his stomach, that he was going to throw up. As it turned out, that had spared him the whipping he had expected. Ever since that day, he had never been able to enter a church without feeling at least an echo of that black, nameless dread —
I’m not dead ... but I’m dying!
— he had first felt on Christmas Eve.
But that was then,. This was now.
Pushing Frank in his wheelchair, he and Julia and Bri walked into the church and sat down … a little too close to the front, John thought, eyeing the doors at the back of the church — his escape route if he needed one. He ground his teeth, trying hard not to let his agitation show. It took effort to remain calm, and he knew it would only get worse when the church went dark for the candle lighting, but he kept telling himself it would only be for an hour … He could make it. He had been ten years old, after all. The church’s sudden plunge into darkness had caught him by surprise. It had scared him. He was an adult now, he kept telling himself … He could handle it.
There were several familiar faces in the congregation, and many people he didn’t recognize came over to Frank and wished him and his family a Merry Christmas. John struggled to put names to faces, and he even got a few, but he kept smiling and looking cheerful all the while thinking, Am I going to scream again when the lights go out? … Will I feel like I’m dying?
The minister — still Pastor Vernon, looking old and tired — came out, and the service began with a rousing “Joy to the World.” John was surprised how much of the service he remembered, and he mouthed responses along with the congregational with only a few glances at his hymnal. He half-heartedly joined in the carol singing, although he did have to admit it was nice having Julia and Bri beside him.
But his mind was rushing ahead, waiting … dreading the moment after the sermon when the church lights would go out, and he would be standing there alone —
Yes … Alone … No matter how close I’m standing to Julia and Bri.
— in the dark, waiting for the ushers to move down the aisles so all could light their candles, wondering if that same cold dread he had experienced so long ago was still there, still waiting for him …
I’m not dead ... But I’m dying, his mind whispered, thoughts from more than twenty-five years ago.
As the sermon was drawing to a close, its words and message were completely lost to John. Same old gobbledygook as far as john was concerned. Gripping the hymnal tightly, his hands slick with sweat, he waited ... waited for the sudden drop into darkness.
Reverend Vernon declared, “A light in the time of darkness.”
That was the cue, and suddenly the church lights winked off.
But John was ready this time.
He focused straight ahead at the single candle still burning on the altar as blackness rushed down around him with an audible whoosh. A cold jab pierced the pit of his stomach as though he’d been skewered by an icicle. He bit down hard on his lower lip, but a tiny whimper was the only sound he made.
In his mind, he was ten years old again, and —
Yes!
— the cold, eternal dread was still there.
It sprang like a tiger out of the darkness at him.
But with his eyes fixed on the single burning candle, he watched as Reverend Vernon reached forward with a large white candle and touched the wick to the flame. With the second candle burning, adding its light to the dark church, John felt a measure of relief. Memories and fears were still rushing in his mind like a whirlwind, but the ushers touched their candles to the one the minister was holding, and soon they were moving down the center aisle as everyone passed the flame and lit the small candle he or she had been given when entering church.
John glanced at Julia. Her face was bathed in the warm glow of the candles. She looked serene and content. Even the rough crags of his father’s face appeared to be smoothed out … softened. The rising tide of dark, oppressive fear inside John crested like a towering wave, and then, ever so gently, it began to recede.
But then, when John looked straight ahead, he saw something … someone who made his heart thump hard in his chest.
Standing only three pews away was a woman … a young girl he was positive hadn’t been there the moment before the church lights went on. She was wearing a rough-looking gray sweater — certainly not fancy Christmas Eve attire — and her long, dark hair swept down her shoulders in a swirl that gleamed like a crow’s wing in the flickering candlelight.
In an instant of panic, John was sure he recognized her.
Her hair, the stoop of her shoulders, her stance — everything about her was so familiar. Around him, the congregation made noises — hushed whispers and muffled shuffling of feet and creaking of floorboards as each person passed the flame to his neighbor. Below the crowd noise, though, he heard something else … a low, rippling giggle that danced at the edge of his hearing.
He wasn’t positive, but it looked as if the girl’s shoulders were shaking … as though she’s laughing, John thought, suddenly desperate to see her face.
The ushers made their way slowly along the aisles. Once Frank had his candle lit, he nudged John, to get his attention so he could light his. John then passed the flame along to Julia and Bri, all the while struggling to keep his hands from trembling.
Who is she? he wondered, unable to pull his eyes away from the young woman’s back as he watched her, concentrating his gaze so intensely he was sure she could feel his eyes boring into her back.
John sensed more than saw a stirring beside him and, looking to his left, realized that his father was watching him, his eyes glistening like wet glass in the candlelight.
Maybe he’s thinking about what happened that Christmas Eve, too … and he’s expecting it to happen again.
Frantic helplessness churned inside him.
When Frank followed John’s gaze, he, too, saw the girl in the gray sweater. A
n expression of confusion swept across his face. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened into a nest of shadows. His lower lip began to tremble, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he gazed blankly for a moment at the ceiling.
“Ain’t that ... ?” Frank whispered, more to the ceiling than to his son.
His father’s hand clenched the hymnal as wave after wave of what looked like — concern? No, worry … or stark fear — swept over Frank.
With a sudden twist, Frank looked wide-eyed at John. He indicated that he wanted John to say something to him. After making sure they wouldn’t disturb anyone, John leaned down to his father.
“That’s what I was going to tell yah,” Frank said, his voice a papery rattle. “I was tryin’ to remember. That ... that’s ...”
Again, blankness swept like a banner across his eyes as he reached deeply into his mind, struggling to find the words that were there but weren’t forming for him. His face reflected the struggle raging inside him.
“What?” John asked, prodding him. His stomach was churning as he kept flicking his gaze back to the girl in the gray sweater.
“I saw her before … at the house,” Frank said.
“Saw who?” John asked.
In answer, Frank jerked his head in the direction of the girl standing three rows in front of them.
John looked at her as his own fear rose, compounded by whatever his father was trying to communicate to him. A dread coldness reached out to him from the darkness of the church where the candlelight didn’t reach. He was convinced the girl hadn’t been there when the service began, and although the logical explanation was that she had arrived late and slipped into place unnoticed with her family, there was something about her … something unnerving, and it obviously bothered his father, too.
John’s first impression had been that — at least from behind — she looked like someone he knew very well … someone who couldn’t possibly be here tonight.
By now, everyone in the church had a candle lit. The church organ began the triumphant strains of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” As the congregation joined in, John found himself dumbly mouthing the words as he looked back and forth between the girl’s back and his father’s confused expression. The girl appeared not to move. She simply stood there, head bowed, apparently not singing.