by Various
"I'm not a prospector," he said first. "I make candy, ice creams. Or at least I did. That was one of the reasons Glynis married me. She didn't want a laborer for a husband. She loved the nice, clean little shop. She loved riding in the cart when I sold ice cream on hot summer days. Only, the business failed. We had to move to Canada.
"I tried to make a go of it as a farmer. The Government was selling cheap land. Only I never had much luck."
I sized up the little Welshman there. Some people work hard and people call it luck. Lazy, greedy schemers like Llwewellyn. I had thought his eyes sad, but now I knew them for what they really were.
"Glynis wanted to leave me. This was Christmas eve, three years ago, you see? A cousin in Winnipeg had offered her a job. And I had bought her nothing for Christmas. She told me she was leaving." He stopped, staring at his small, soft hands.
"I wouldn't let her. I grabbed her from behind. Got her around the throat with my watch chain, and -"
I looked at his hands. Uncalloused but possessing a kind of reptilian strength.
"I put her body in a hole in the ice of the creek by our house. Then I packed up and left the farm. I went to the States. I found a job in a candy factory, did well for myself.
"Only, come next Christmas eve, I found I had this feeling, like I was being watched. First it was little things: a slip on the stairs, a candle burning my sleeve. But on the next Christmas eve, I knew for sure. On that one day of the year, Glynis could get at me. For twenty-four hours, she could take her revenge. And her strength was growing-"
Llwewellyn dug in his pocket, brought out the watch with no chain.
"I studied up on these things. Curses, spooks and such. And I realized my mistake. I had taken the watch chain with me. If I put it in the creek with her, then she'd be powerless. So I came back. And tonight I put that chain in the ice."
"But she still comes. Are you sure?"
"Yes, she's been trying to get me all night. She pushed me down that beaver dam. And the furs- But once it reaches midnight, it'll be Christmas and I'll be free." He held up his watch. It said 11:59.
"Merry Christmas," he said with a wide, wicked grin. The watch played its pretty tune and I recognized it at last. "Green grow'th the holly…"
Llwewellyn got up off the bed and began to dance in a disgusting manner, giggling like a child. "Green grow'th the holly, so doth the ivy," he sang. "It was her song. She could sing it in Gaelic and English. Glynis loved Christmas. She always said I never kept Christmas in my heart."
I felt sick. I wanted to get up and beat the little Welshman like a dog. Instead I just watched him dance like a man who had won the lottery. He patted the turkey on the sideboard, saying to it, "Well, this is a Christmas that'll warm my heart for many a year." He laughed at his own joke, picking up a cranberry and popping it into his mouth.
I could take no more. I had no intention of sleeping in a cabin with a murderer. Llwewellyn would have to leave now.
"Green grow'th the holly-" Llwewellyn stopped singing and clutched his throat. He choked once, then began thrashing like a man in a seizure. All I could do was hold him down until he stopped. He only stopped because he was dead.
I let go of him then. He felt wrong. His skin had a prickly feeling to it. His mouth was wide open. I looked down and saw something green poking out, deep in his throat. It was also in his nose and ears. Blood began to leak out of him onto the floor.
I went to the sideboard. I picked up the bowl of cranberries. Only the reddish berries were blood red. They were holly berries.
I noticed something shiny on the floor next to Llwewellyn. It was his watch. I opened it. The time said 11:59 then the minute hand clicked to 12:00. The music stopped when I threw the watch against the wall with all my strength.
I couldn't bury Johnny or the Welshman until Spring thaw. I wrapped them in blankets and hoisted their bodies high into a tree. When the ground softened I buried Johnny on the hill overlooking Cabin Number Two. I buried the picture of Holy Mary with him.
Llwewellyn, I buried in a dark patch of fir, a good distance from the cabin. That spot to this day bears holly bushes. The trees there about are twined with ivy. I don't go there anymore.
G.W. THOMAS
has been writing Christmas ghost stories since 1991. His influences include Dickens, M. R. James and Robertson Davies. His previous Christmas stories are available in GHOULTIDE GREETINGS from Double Dragon.
His Christmas site is http://ghoultidegreetings.tripod.com
Docking Bay Three
By Megan Powell
"Open the pod bay doors, Hal."
"I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that."
Dave smiled. The computer's response had "Marianne" written all over it. She'd been the one to suggest the computer's nickname in the first place. She'd also been the one to program its plain English capabilities, and it seemed that every other week someone found a new Easter egg.
"Computer, open Bay Three doors."
"Unable to comply."
That was not an Easter egg. Dave frowned. There was probably nothing serious, just a mechanical glitch. He maneuvered over to Bay Two. "Computer, open Bay Two doors." After the normal pause, the doors began to slide open. Dave piloted his one-man craft inside and performed the shutdown procedure.
His schedule was light and he was naturally nosy, so he proceeded down the corridor to Bay Three's inner door. There was no sign of a maintenance technician, though that didn't mean much. A glitched docking bay, when they had more than enough space in alternate bays, wasn't likely to be a high priority.
"Computer, open Bay Three doors."
"Unable to comply."
Dave frowned. "Computer, what is the location of David Lebrowski?"
"David Lebrowski is in the main corridor outside of Docking Bay Three."
So the computer didn't think he was outside the station. Dave was relieved, because that sort of sensor problem would be a bitch to fix. Not to mention potentially dangerous. "Computer, why are you unable to open Bay Three doors?"
"The external door is open."
Shit. So much for a minor glitch. "Computer, I requested that you open the exterior doors-" he checked his watch "-fifteen minutes ago, and you were unable to comply. Why?"
"The internal door was open."
Well, that would explain it. There was a glitch, and one of the technicians had been working on it. The computer was doing exactly what it was supposed to do; an accident of timing just made things seem suspicious.
All the same... "Computer, display Camera Three-E on screen."
The viewscreen beside Bay Three's door was small, but it clearly showed the exterior of the station. Equally clear was the fact that the doors of Bay Three were closed.
Closed to the naked eye, Dave reminded himself. Maybe they hadn't mated properly. Maybe...
"Computer, what is the location of Marianne McHugh?"
"Marianne McHugh is in the cafeteria."
Dave headed in that direction. He was hungry anyway, he reasoned. And not at all panicked. Or superstitious. Marianne had named the station computer after a fictional computer that turned into a homicidal psychopath, but so what? Life didn't have to imitate art.
Marianne wasn't in the cafeteria. Brad Jacobs was sitting in a corner hunched over a reader. It was even odds whether it currently displayed technical schematics or pornography.
"Hey, Brad, have you seen Marianne?"
Brad shook his head. "Not since breakfast. Why?"
"Nothing." Appetite gone, Dave left the cafeteria. Brad tended toward obliviousness. Marianne could have been in the cafeteria up until a minute ago. "Computer, what is Marianne McHugh's location?"
"Marianne McHugh is in the gymnasium."
The gym was clear on the other side of the station. Dave frowned and headed in that direction. She might have been in the cafeteria, unnoticed by Brad, until after he'd last asked the computer for her location. She could easily have made it from the cafeteria to the gym... "Computer
, what is Marianne McHugh's location?"
"Marianne McHugh is in the gymnasium."
He was about halfway there. If she left the gym, it was even odds she'd turn left down the corridor, in which case he'd run into her. If she turned right, he'd still be able to catch up with her. It wasn't as though she had any reason to avoid him. Ten meters from the gym, he asked for her location again.
"Marianne McHugh is in hydroponics."
Hydroponics was near the gym, though he couldn't think why she'd go there. Marianne claimed to be suspicious of carbon based life forms. The gym was empty. "Computer, what is Marianne McHugh's location?" he asked outside the gym.
"Marianne McHugh is in the cafeteria."
Dave swore. It was physically possible. But it didn't make any sense for her to run from the cafeteria to the gym to hydroponics and then back to the cafeteria.
He almost hit the intercom in the hallway. But then he remembered the damn movie. That Hal had even been able to read lips.
He continued down the corridor. Hydroponics was empty, which under normal circumstances wouldn't have seemed especially sinister. Dave picked up his pace. A circuit of the main ring, he decided, was perfectly reasonable. If he couldn't find anyone, then he could check personal quarters and some of the harder-to-reach parts of the station.
What if everyone was gone? What if Hal had gone as crazy as its namesake? Were there even now vented bodies drifting alongside the station? And what might the computer have planned for him?
No. Brad had been okay as of a few minutes ago. A homicidal computer would surely have been more thorough. Dave approached the cafeteria again, relieved by the prospect of human contact. "Hey, Brad, have you-"
The cafeteria was empty.
Dave swallowed. It was important not to panic. "Computer, what is the location of Bradley Jacobs?"
"Bradley Jacobs is in the gymnasium."
Hah! Getting Brad to fulfill the required exercise regimen was like pulling teeth; damned if he'd voluntarily go to the gym. "Computer, what is the location of Cassidy Chase?"
"Cassidy Chase is in the gymnasium."
"Computer, what is the location of-" Dave bit off the words. The gym. They were all in the gym. Or hydroponics. Or wherever he wasn't.
He wondered if the people on the Mary Celeste had disappeared all at once, or if they'd been taken one by one.
His watch beeped, and Dave nearly leapt out of his jumpsuit. He glanced down at his wrist and frowned. He didn't have any appointments this afternoon. At least, none he'd made himself. But the computer had access to the data in his watch; the computer ran the nightly synch; the computer...
All crew meeting. Docking Bay Three.
Dave swallowed. "All crew meeting" normally implied a boring time sink. But he'd happily listen to Greta Hanson and Miles Greenberg snipe at each other, just so long as everyone was all right. Just so long as he'd be all right, himself.
The watch beeped again, and Dave acknowledged the reminder. He headed toward the docking bays. The alternative was running in circles, chasing after crew members who'd always be one step ahead of him.
He stood once more before the Bay Three doors and took a deep breath. He didn't know what "the worst" might be, but he should be prepared for it. "Open the pod bay doors, Hal."
Hal complied.
"Dave!" Marianne called, and the greeting was echoed by the rest of the crew. He was so relieved to see them that it took a moment for the contents of the bay to register.
"What's the matter?" Marianne asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"The Ghost of Christmas Past," Miles chortled.
The docking bay had been cleared of all movable equipment. One of the cafeteria tables had been brought in. Assuming that the labels on the bottles were correct, someone had broken a dozen or so regulations about the quantity of alcohol that could be brought on station and served at one time. Christmas lights were strung up around the pod bay doors.
Most surprising of all, what appeared to be a real pine tree stood in the corner. Another strand of lights adorned its boughs, as well as small bits of metal which, on closer inspection, proved to be nuts and bolts from a repair kit.
Somebody had gone to an awful lot of trouble.
"At least now I know why Hal wouldn't open the pod bay doors," he said.
"I'm swearing everybody to secrecy," Marianne said. "It's important that we programmers have backdoors into the computer, but it'd make some of the higher-ups a little nervous if they knew how easily I can subvert Hal."
"Is Hal just stupid, or are you just charming?" Greta asked.
"I'll never tell," Marianne said. "But I've been teaching Hal to sing. He's got a better voice than I do."
"That's not saying much," Miles said.
Marianne threw a waded-up napkin at him. "Hal, sing something for us." After a moment, the computer launched into a fair rendition of "Deck the Halls."
"Just as long as it's not 'Daisy,'" Dave said.
MEGAN POWELL
lives in suburban Philadelphia with one husband, two cats and 5.5 computers. Her fantasy novel Vocation is available from Double Dragon. Her short fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, including The Eternal Night, Ideomancer, Aoife's Kiss, Femmes de la Brume, Bullet Points and The Blackest Death. She is the editor of several anthologies as well as the webzines Fables and Shred of Evidence. She maintains a homepage at www.meganpowell.net.
HALLOWEEN HORROR TALES
The combination of a number of European holidays, Halloween is now celebrated internationally on October 31. The current incarnation of the event draws heavily from the Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced "sow-in"), which was celebrated November 1. The Celts believed that the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead weakened at this time, permitting the dead to unleash all manner of mischief on mankind. In addition, the presence of spirits permitted the Druids (Celtic priests) to more accurately predict the future.
The Roman Empire conquered most of the Celtic territory by AD 43, and soon after the Roman holidays were mixed with Samhain. Two such celebrations were Feralia, a day of the dead celebrated in late October; the second holiday was in honor of Pomona, Roman goddess of fruit and trees. This is where the tradition of bobbing for apples on Halloween originates. Eventually Pope Boniface IV sought to abolish the holiday altogether by replacing it with All Saints' Day in the seventh century. All Saints' Day is still observed November 1; the Greek Orthodox Church observes it the first Sunday following Pentecost. Despite this, the original holiday is still celebrated-although not in its original form.
It is common in the United States to celebrate Halloween with parties and trick-or-treating. Trick-or-treating is said to be derived from the early All Souls' Day festivities during which poor families would "go a-souling": they would beg for food, which came in the form of "soul cakes" given on the promise that the poor family would pray for the donors' deceased relatives. Today children merely get candy with no strings attached. The current practices in the U.S. vary quite a bit from pre-1950's traditions. It used to be a holiday centered around the community at large, with a general celebration in the town center. Pranks and vandalism are cited as the cause for shifting the focus to children trick-or-treating.
In Latin America and Spain All Souls' Day is celebrated November 2 as the third consecutive day of Hallowmas. In these countries All Souls' Day is the most important part of the holiday as it involves honoring the deceased, often featuring alters to loved ones, graveside picnics where family members are remembered, and so on.
In England the holiday is celebrated November 5, although in a much different fashion. The Protestant Reformation put an end to most "pagan" practices in the country, which resulted in Guy Fawkes' Day replacing Halloween. Fawkes was a notorious traitor and supporter of Catholicism and the anniversary of his execution is marked with bonfires (originally "bone fires" in which symbolic bones of the Pope were burned). There are places in England where chil
dren still carry effigies around and ask for "a penny for the guy" on this day. In Canada and Ireland the holiday is celebrated in roughly the same fashion as the U.S.
Halloween trivia: Dan Rather, Michael Landon, Jane Pauley, and John Candy were born on this day while Harry Houdini, Indira Gandhi, and River Phoenix died on Halloween. On Halloween 1517 Martin Luther went public with ninety-five theses, starting the Protestant Reformation; on Halloween 1952 the U.S. began testing atomic bombs on the Marshall Islands. Every year 2.5 billion dollars are spent celebrating Halloween by United States consumers, making it second only to Christmas for commercial holidays in the USA.
-John Edward Lawson
The Gruesome Harvester
By Brutal Dreamer
Michael Davis and his sister Kelly were new to the neighborhood. They had arrived at Willow Ridge Drive a week before Halloween and almost immediately noticed that every house on the street had jack-o-lanterns displayed on front porches. Not ordinary jack-o-lanterns, but strange, weird actually. Most were very large, illuminated by a single candle. The orange flickering brightened the hollow eyes, breathing life into them - almost as if they were watching you, each tease of the wind sputtering the wick and giving the pumpkins a malevolent appearance. The harvesting had begun. Halloween was here.
These doll size orange freaks, as Michael called them, were propped on haystacks, ears of corn surrounding them. Each was displayed in the front window of every single house. Everyone on the block had one - all except for Michael and Kelly's house.
Michael hated Halloween.
He thought the orange faces of fire were ugly, serving no purpose except as a dead tradition. It made no sense - just because they lived in a rural county, the old hicks thought it wise to place the hideous things on their front porch. Kelly snickered at Michael's ambiguity towards such a fun-filled holiday. Fall and Halloween were Kelly's favorite time of the year, although she too didn't understand much about the new neighbors and agreed with Michael's discomfort. They were the strangers in their new hometown.