“Who are you?” I demand.
“You know me, Kendall,” the voice says, very childlike.
Before me, the image begins to sharpen. The straggly mess of hair suddenly smooths into stylish golden curls pinned back with glittery diamond-like combs that shimmer and shine. The wrinkled and gray complexion becomes ivory and young and vibrant. Blue eyes, like freshly mined sapphires, twinkle beneath gorgeous dark eyelashes. The figure’s hands traverse up its front as if taking note of the flowing white robe with gold brocade trim. Bare feet with a perfect French pedicure show from underneath the garment, toe rings sparkling on each foot. The robe is belted with ropes of what appear to be pure, spun gold from a fairy tale. A knot of white roses, blue orchids, and baby’s breath are bunched in the figure’s right hand. Finally, a gorgeous, glitzy crown of mountain-peaked rhinestones appears on the head of the apparition.
If I weren’t so jealous of the jewels and bling this specter was cloaked in, I might be doing everything in my power to jump out the window to get away from this creature.
“Wh-wh-who are you?”
The faceless spirit says nothing. It only laughs. Not even a laugh, but a giggle.
Then it hits me. Maybe the convo in the cemetery wasn’t in my mind.
“Are you the first visiting spirit Farah told me about earlier tonight?”
“That I am,” the voice says. She says.
She. It’s a she.
My furious heartbeat begins to slow momentarily. This girl doesn’t sound like she wants to hurt me or anything. Still….
“Seriously. Who and/or what are you?” I ask in a demanding tone.
“Come on, Kendall. It’s me,” the spirit says. And just like that, the beautiful face of one of my best friends morphs onto the figure.
“Taylor? Is that you?” I ask incredulously. “What are you doing?”
Taylor Tillson shakes her head, causing the crown on her head to wobble a bit. She catches a glimpse of herself in my dresser mirror and poses. “I don’t have the first clue. But don’t I look fabulous?” She fingers the tiara. “I think our society should institute a fashion law that all women must wear these regularly.”
I blink hard, trying to understand. “Taylor, can we get past the bling for a second? What are you doing here?”
Turning away from the mirror, she sort of snaps into her role. “Oh, right. I’m, like, the Ghost of Christmas Past.”
My mouth hitches to the side. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
Taylor lifts her arms, causing the robe to spread out, and then drops them back to her side. “I’m not really in control here. I’m just supposed to show you the past.”
“My past?”
“Ummm, yeah.”
I rub my eyes again. “Are you for real or is this a dream?”
Taylor shrugs and she twists again to check her headdress in the mirror. “Why don’t you conjure up a tiara for yourself, too?”
A long sigh escapes from me. “I didn’t realize I had invented all of this to begin with.” I crawl to the end of my bed and sit, staring at her. “Why are you here?”
“Like I said, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. I’m supposed to show you how wonderful Christmas was and how much you loved it. You know, to get you out of your funk and give you an attitude adjustment. I’m here for your benefit.” She pouts at me. “You’ve totally been Miss Fickle Puss lately, Kendall. What’s with the ‘bah humbug?’ You have so much to be thankful for, you don’t even realize it.”
I frown back. “How do you know? You’ve barely known me a year. You have no idea what my life was like before I moved to Radisson.” It was normal. Boring. Staid.
Taylor raises her flower-filled hand high. “Then why don’t you show me?”
My brows crease. “What? Like turn on my computer and bring up my Flickr account with all of my old family pictures?”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “No. Like, get up out of bed and come with me.”
I glance down at my pajamas. “I’m not exactly dressed for a field trip.”
She puts her hands on her hip. “Don’t backtalk me, Kendall. Get up!”
I step onto the floor and wiggle my toes inside my socks. “Geez, Taylor. Bitchy much?”
“I’m not Taylor. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. Come on.” She flashes a bright smile and offers me her arm.
“Are we going outside or something?”
“We’re going to fly!”
I place my hand in hers and she tugs me over to the window seat. She steps up in her bare feet and pulls me along with her. The shutters fly open and a frigid night wind captures my attention. Even though I’m only in my pjs, I’m not cold at all.
I turn to Taylor. “So, what? You can fly now?”
She smiles out at me. “We’re about to find out.”
I resist the jerk or her hand. “I’m not exactly thrilled about falling one story and landing in my mother’s hydrangea bushes.”
Taylor says, “I’ve got this covered.”
With that, we are out the window. Walking on air… literally. And then, we are flying. Like Superman, Iron Man, Wonder Woman—wait, she has an invisible plane, right?—and all of those other comic book heroes. My backyard becomes but a speck below me, as does my house. We soar over Celia’s mansion, above the cemetery, and up, up, and away from the twinkling red and green lights of decorated downtown Radisson.
There’s no more mist and it’s not as wretchedly dark. Instead, the world below is a palette of smudged colors, mixing together in a conglomerate of hues, shades, and beauty. I’ve been parasailing before; however, it doesn’t even come close to this. I feel like an angel, as though I’m being called homeward. Before I know it, the bold and brilliant lights of the Windy City, my birth place—my beautiful former residence—come into view. We zoom past airplanes coming in for a landing at O’Hare. We sail over Lake Michigan. We zip down the Miracle Mile filled with shops and stores sporting their Christmas decorations and holiday cheer.
“Oh, my God, Taylor! We’re in Chicago!”
I haven’t been back here since the moving truck pulled away, headed for Georgia filled with all our worldly belongings. The air is tinged with the sweetness from the Brach’s Candy Warehouse. A waft of grilled brats and Chicago red hots from a street vendor makes me drool unconsciously for the culinary delight. And the snow. It’s so fresh, white, and thick. I long to run through Grant Park or go for a spin on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. I wonder if the Bears or Blackhawks or playing right now?
Taylor tugs on my arm and clicks her tongue. “We’re not here for sports, Kendall.” She adjusts our flight slightly north of the city and we touch down on the wet pavement of the sidewalk. To my left is a white sign with blue lettering. An N and M merged together. The symbol for Northwestern Memorial Hospital: the place where I was born.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“You need to see your past, Kendall.”
“I know my past, Taylor. My mother died here after she had me. Thanks for reminding me of that depressing moment. I never knew her except as an imaginary friend when I was little and a ghost when I started having psychic visions.”
Taylor grins and adjusts her shiny tiara. “Be quiet. You have more than one mother, cherie.”
We walk into the hospital. Into a time long past. We blend into the scenery, unseen by the residents of this time. They’re concerned with their own matters. Funny, no one’s sitting around with their noses buried in a Smartphone. People are actually watching TV, talking to each other, and reading. Imagine that. There was life before technology.
We slide into the emergency room where I see a conclave of doctors and nurses standing outside a curtained off area. A young nurse with neat brown hair is pleading to the doctor on call.
“She’s lost so much blood. I don’t think she’s going to make it much longer,” the nurse says. “She’s slipping and it seems as though she has no will to survive.”
“And the chil
d?”
The nurse lowers her eyes. “She’s only four pounds and three ounces, but her vitals are good. We have her in the incubator on a ventilator. She’s so… tiny, frail, and alone.”
When the nurse looks up this time, I recognize her eyes. Those soft hazel orbs that have watched over me since the night of my birth.
“Mom.” I choke on my whisper.
“She’s was a total babe,” Taylor says. “She still is, actually.”
I don’t even realize that I’m crying as I follow Sarah Moorehead into the neonatal care unit. A gasp escapes me when I see her reach her hand toward a miniscule clear box filled with tubes and monitors and hoses and…
“Holy crap! Is that me?”
A squirming little purple-ish human wriggles and cries inside the container. I don’t hear myself, but I know that Baby Me is not happy.
“You’re adorable,” Taylor says. “Look at the love on Miss Sarah’s face. You were hers even then, Kendall.”
I wipe a wayward tear with the back of my hand and continue to observe.
“Shhh, little girl,” my mom says to me. “Don’t you worry about anything. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You just concentrate on getting stronger and breathing on your own. I’m not going anywhere.”
She places her hand inside the incubator and, almost instinctively, my tiny, premature one—not much bigger than any of my baby dolls’—reaches out and wraps around her index finger. Mom bursts into tears and laughter all at the same time.
I do the same, as does Taylor.
“You two are making me ruin my awesome Ghost of Christmas Past makeup.” Taylor pulls me away from the scene before I’m ready to go. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
“But wait, I want to—”
Zap! Bam!
Suddenly, the hospital scene is gone. We’re now in a small apartment… somewhere. A white bassinette sits against the wall to the left in a room painted a light yellow on the walls and midnight blue on the ceiling with white star bursts all overhead.
Total recognition dings me upside the head.
“This was my room,” I say to Taylor. “We lived here until I was five. I used to lie in my bed and count the stars up there.”
She snickers. “I guess that’s why you’re doing so well in our natural science classes.”
“I always have been a sucker for astronomy.”
As we’re standing there, Mom and Dad arrive with a fidgeting bundle of baby. It’s me again. Only, I’m a little bigger and breathing on my own.
“Welcome home, Kendall,” Dad says with great pride.
Mom gently places me in the crib and covers me with a light-pink blanket that has lambs printed all over it. She twists the button on the mobile above the bed, and soon shapes of stars, moons, and planets are spinning around over my head. My eyes seem as though I’m watching the figurines that spin around with the tinkly music playing. Who knows, though? I certainly have no memory of this.
Mom hugs onto Dad and the two of them are so damn happy as they’re looking at me.
“I can’t believe she’s really ours, David.”
“She is, Sarah. We’ll make sure she’s completely taken care of and loved beyond reason.”
A tear falls from Mom’s eye and I want to go to her, to both of them, and get in on the hug-fest. “Poor little soul. I never, ever want her to know the pain and tragedy that brought her into this world. She’s ours, David. No one can take her away from us.”
He kisses her on the top of her head and holds her tight. “I’ll never let it happen. She’s our Christmas miracle.”
Mom laughs. “Honey, it’s March. She’s been in the hospital for three months while we took care of the adoption papers. Are you having a lapse of time?”
Dad withdraws from her, mirth overcoming him. “I know, but I thought we’d celebrate anyway since Kendall didn’t get to have her first Christmas. She was born three days before the twenty-fifth, so she’s definitely our special holiday present.” He steps out of the room and then returns with a one foot silver and pink Christmas tree.
“That’s the tree I have up in my room,” I exclaim. “I had no idea.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” my ghostly Taylor says.
Mom squeals. “Oh, David! It’s so girly and perfect. I love it.”
He places the aluminum tree on the dresser next to my crib and plugs it in. The lights sparkle and twinkle; I see my baby eyes shift to see the pretty colors.
“Look,” Mom says. “She loves it.”
“There’s more.” Dad reaches up underneath the base of the small tree and flips a switch. A music box plays out the tune “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.” I coo along with the sound.
“That’s right, Kendall,” Mom says. “You’re home.”
“Home,” I repeat in a whisper as I watch.
“You okay?” Taylor asks.
All I can do is nod. I had no idea that my parents shared a belated Christmas with me when they brought me home. I also didn’t know the tree in my room was the very one Dad bought to welcome his new baby girl.
“I wish I could hug them,” I say. “I love them so much.”
“I know you do.” Taylor pats me on the arm and tightens the belt on her robe. “Come on, I’ve got another Christmas to show you.”
The fresh tears from my eyes blur the family scene. Before I can protest leaving, I’m whisked away by my spirit guide to another time. Another memory.
“Where are we now?” We’re standing in a rather non-descript hallway.
Then I hear her.
“Oh, my gosh! Kendall! Santa’s been here! Hurry up!”
The screams and shouts of a young girl greet us as we move deeper into the scene. I remember the staircase to the left with the curving bannister and the third step that’s loose and creaks when you cross it. The hall opens into a living room that sports the plaid couch my dad—and no one else—loved so much. A huge leather lounge chair sits nearby, and there’s a large fireplace with logs set up, ready to be burned. Jammed-packed stockings hang from the mantel, threatening to compromise the integrity of the bent tacks holding them up. An empty glass of milk stands next to a plate of cookie crumbs. Nice touch, Mom and Dad.
“Kendall! Hurry!” The shouts are from my little sister, Kaitlin, and I know where I am. She bounds into the living room of our former brownstone in Lincoln Park. She slides across the hardwood floor in her socked feet. Her brown hair is a God-awful mess and her smile is missing three teeth. “A bike!” she yells.
“Wait for me!” I hear from upstairs, followed by the pounding of footsteps.
I land with a thud on the floor and rush over to my little sister. Well, my just-turned nine-year-old self does. Which makes Kaitlin six, going on seven. We’re wearing matching Disney princess nightgowns. Mine is blue for Cinderella and Kaitlin’s is green for Arielle, the little mermaid.
“Do I hear my girls?” Mom asks from the kitchen.
“Mommy! He came! He came!” I scream at her as she makes her way into the room, holding a steaming cup of coffee. My own smile is missing a tooth or two, as well.
Kaitlin rushes over and grabs my hand. We crawl around under the decorated evergreen, pulling out packages and boxes and gifts, not even stopping to see which one is for whom.
Kaitlin squeals. “Look! It’s a Barbie dream house.”
I kneel next to her as we tear away the wrapping paper.
“Girls! Wait for Daddy,” Mom scolds.
“Daddy, don’t make us wait!” I yell at the ceiling.
Before we know it, Dad clomps down the stairs in his robe, his glasses askew on his face. A huge yawn lets me know now that he didn’t sleep very much that night, too busy getting everything in place for his daughters. Back then, I didn’t notice a thing and totally believed in the Santa legend.
“Okay, have at it,” Mom says.
Kaitlin and I exchange a knowing glance and then rip into everything.
; “You two are a powerful force to be reckoned with,” Taylor notes.
I grin at the memory playing out before me. “We used to be.”
I watch as we open boxes of Barbie supplies, a couple of Bratz dolls, a Razor scooter for each of us, a bike for Kaitlin, and ice skates for me. Then we unpack sweaters, jeans, socks, stuffed animals, some collectible Beanie Babies, candy galore, Pokemon trading cards, and a few board games. My heart aches as I see how Kaitlin and I work in tandem, attacking the Christmas gifts, organizing them, and actually sharing with each other.
“I can’t believe how cute she is,” Taylor notes. “What a huge heart she has! And boy, does she idolize her big sister.”
I wave Taylor off. “No, she doesn’t.”
The ghost scoffs at me. “Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?”
I turn back and observe my younger self with my sister. Every move I make, Kaitlin does the same. I pick up my Barbie; she picks up hers. I grab the Bratz doll; Kaitlin does too. She’s watching me, smiling, and… glowing.
Mom steps into the living room with two plates of food that smells heavenly. “I have orange-glazed cinnamon rolls and regular cinnamon rolls.”
“Orange for me,” I say without a doubt.
“Me, too,” Kaitlin agrees.
The scene before me warms my heart and I feel tears might loom again. What I see is nothing short of beautiful and oh, so special. Two little girls—sisters by circumstance—completely into each other as they share pastries and glasses of milk while they sit nestled amongst their Christmas presents and the discarded gift wrap.
My younger self waves the Bratz doll at Kaitlin. “I want you to name her.”
Kaitlin’s smile is overwhelming and her eyes are huge. “You do? Oh, my gosh. Okay, okay… I’m going to name her… Emily.”
“Emily? Why Emily?” I ask.
“She’s your pretend friend, right?” Kaitlin asks. “The one you play with all the time instead of me?”
I reach for Taylor’s hand, listening to this exchange. I remember Emily, my birth mom, being with me. Only, I had no clue who she really was back then. I hadn’t realized Kaitlin knew about her. I didn’t know how my interaction with the ghost affected her. I watch and listen.
The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella] Page 4