The Tidings - [Ghost Huntress 0.5 - A Christmas Novella]

by Marley Gibson

  Young Kendall dives on Kaitlin and hugs her like crazy. “I’m sorry Kai-Kai. I’d rather play with you. No more pretend friend. I’ll tell her to go away.”

  “Really? Then we can play more?”

  “Sure thing. Let’s pick another name for the doll,” I say to my sister.

  “Esmeralda,” Kaitlin says with a toothless giggle.

  “That’s a silly name,” I say. “Just like you’re silly.” And then I dive on her again to start the Christmas tickle-fest.

  I sigh long and hard as I witness two sisters totally crazy about each other, best friends and playmates.

  “What happened to us?” I say the ghost, to myself, to no one.

  “People change,” Taylor says.

  My heart actually hurts in my chest as I try to figure out how Kaitlin and I grew so far apart. It happened mostly when we moved to Radisson and I started having my whole psychic awakening. I reached out more to Celia, Taylor, and Becca, and focused on our ghost hunting efforts. Kaitlin wasn’t even in the picture. I feel horrible over having ignored her and not including her more in my life after our big move. Leaving Chicago was difficult for all of us, yet I’d never stopped to really talk to Kaitlin about it. Maybe that’s why she became so bratty—she’s just been acting out.

  I feel the spirit gazing at me, reading my thoughts.

  “You can make it right with her,” Taylor says.

  “I know. I don’t want to lose her. I want us to be best friends again like we used to be.”

  “Then do it.”

  The tears are warm on the brim of my eyes. “How?”

  “You’ll figure it out. You’ve already seen how beautiful, special, and memorable Christmas can be,” the ghost says to me. “You’ve got to recapture that essence of the season and what family means. You can’t let—sorry—life’s bullshit get in the way of what’s really important.”

  “Such language,” I say with a giggle.

  “Whatever. I hope the memories of the past have shown you how important family is in our lives. Not just the family we’re born into, but he family that chooses us. You were chosen, Kendall. You’re special. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  She glances at a crystal wristwatch hidden under her flowing sleeve. “Shoot! I don’t have much time left,” she says. “Hmmm, I wonder if when you’re done with me, I’ll have to give back this awesome robe and Miss America crown.”

  I lift a brow. “Is that really what’s important here?”

  She smirks. “Well, it is for me.”

  My head aches from the time travel and the reminiscences of happier times. I don’t know if I can mend the broken fence between my sister and me. Can we ever get back those naïve days of just being little girls who played with dolls and dressed alike? “I can’t take any more of this.”

  “Oh honey, don’t blame me for the things you’re seeing. They’re necessary,” Taylor says.

  “Quit torturing me, Taylor. I want to go back to sleep!”

  “So you’re done with me?” the ghost asks with a pout.

  Hands on hips, I say flatly, “Yeah. I’m all set. I’ve got a shitload to do tomorrow and you’re keeping me awake. I appreciate the memory lane stroll, but it’s not going to change my exhaustion and attitude. Can we go home?”

  Taylor’s bottom lip juts out. “Fine. Be that way.”

  I reach forward and snag the tiara from her head. “You look stupid in that. You can’t keep it.”

  Next thing I know, I’m back in my room and the spirit of Christmas Past in the form of my friend, Taylor, is gone in a burst of white light.

  But the blinding spot flashes one more time and I see a ghostly hand reach through a misted vortex to snag the tiara away from me.

  I bolt up out of the bed with a start, drenched in sweat.

  What just happened? Was that real? Or was it a dream?

  My chest is rising and falling at a just-ran-a-marathon rate and I kick the covers away. The cats growl at me and scatter away as the blankets interrupt their fifteenth nap of the day.

  I run my hands through my damp hair and let out a moan. “What a weird-ass dream. That was messed up.” A tiara-fied, fancy-robed Taylor as the Ghost of Christmas Past. Yeah, right. I can’t wait to tell her.

  Sheer enervation covers me in an intoxicating drowsiness.

  I sink back into the mattress, curl up on my side, and slide into another deep sleep.

  STANZA 5: THE SECOND VISITING SPIRIT

  My own snoring awakens me and I groan.

  The grandfather clock sounds again.

  Bong!

  One bong. One freaking bong. Meaning it’s one in the morning.

  Did I actually sleep for an hour or was it for a few brief moments?

  I swear, the universe is totally mucking with me, not letting me sleep.

  Somnambulism is only going to make me surlier come the morning.

  I let out an impatient sigh and am shocked to see my breath dancing in the air. The temperature in my room hasn’t just dropped, it has plummeted. Either that, or Dad didn’t pay the power bill. Then, my ghost hunting instincts kick in and everything becomes clear. The abrupt and extreme cold can only mean one thing: A spirit is manifesting.

  “Okay, who’s here now?” I ask. This time, I’m not going to be surprised by who’s visiting my bed chamber.

  Nothing.

  Waiting.

  More sighing.

  The reverberation of the clock bong echoes in my brain. I tangle my fingers together under the covers, not only for warmth, but in anticipation of my second visitor of the night, as predicted by Farah.

  The minutes tick away.

  So much that I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here staring at the ceiling.

  “Oh, this is ridonkulous!” I sit up and throw the covers away, this time actually getting up to make that bathroom visit.

  As I reach to grasp the door knob, I hear a rattling in the direction of my closet.

  “Really?”

  Turning, I step over and put my ear to the door.

  “I hear you, Kendall,” the voice says. “Come on in.”

  “Come in the closet.” I put my hands on my hips. “Isn’t it more customary to come out of the closet?”

  “Not in this case,” the voice tells me.

  I huff my frustration and then pull the door open. The minute I step into the walk-in, it transforms right before my very eyes. Holly sprigs are everywhere and red berries hang from the leaves. Snow glistens in bunches on the tips of branches, hanging heavy with the wintry burden. The pungent aroma of mistletoe touches my nose as I move deeper into the Christmas-y scene. Lights sparkle up ahead, beckoning me with twinkling fingers. A saxophone plays a moaning version of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” Suddenly, I smell them, too. Sweet and woodsy. Piquant and fiery. As the sassy reed instrument continues to accompany my dream, I walk through the crowded evergreens, each decorated in white ornaments, silver tinsel, and golden lights shining bright. Ahead, a banquet table is spread out with enough food to serve the entire town of Radisson. A cooked goose with crisp buttered skin, sizzling sausages, a roasted suckling pig, heaps of dressing, mashed potatoes, peas, green bean casserole—my fave!—as well as a spiral ham with pineapples and cherries decorating the top. There are barrels of oysters, a tray of freshly peeled Gulf shrimp, and broiled Maine lobster tails. A fountain of melted butter flows constantly in the middle of the table, surrounded by hundreds of white candles flickering amongst the decorations of pine cones, greenery, and fresh cranberries.

  I had no idea my closet was a veritable cornucopia of gourmet foods. My mouth drools involuntarily and I press forward to grasp one of the fine china plates at the edge of the table so I can help myself to the bounty.

  What? I’m hungry.

  “I didn’t say you could start eating yet,” I hear from behind me.

  I jump a bit, glad that I’m not actually holding a dish because I would have tot
ally dropped it. When I turn, I can’t help but laugh like a crazy person.

  “What?” the ghost asks.

  “You!” I point at the apparition before me.

  “You need to take me seriously. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present,” it says.

  “Then you,” I start, “need a better outfit.”

  The spirit is literally cloaked in an old, white bed sheet with arms spread wide. Thick silver chains crisscross over its chest, clanging and banging together in a ghostly stereotype gone bad.

  “Look, Kendall,” exclaims the ghost. “This is your dream, not mine. You’re the one choosing the costumers here.”

  Taken aback, I snort. “Umm, okay. Didn’t know that. I, err, give you permission to change into something more… appropriate.

  “Thank heavens.”

  The chains fall to the ground and the ghost chucks off the white sheet, tossing it aside. When the spirit flips their head back, I gasp at who I see before me. Dark hair, clear eyes, and that perfect-straight smile that came from expensive dental work a few years back.

  “Celia!”

  “No,” she says. “I’m not Celia. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. I already told you that.”

  She’s now wearing an emerald green robe trimmed in white fur around the neck, wrists, and hemline. A wreath of holly sits in her dark tresses with sparkles of icy diamond-like crystals spread about. She has a long, silver sword around her waist, as though she’s a knight of old.

  I scrunch up my face. “Is that real fur? You know how cruel that is?”

  Celia shakes her head. “Again… your fantasy, K. We’ll call it faux and be done with it, okay?”

  Too stunned at the sight before me, I nod. “Sure.” I clear my throat. “So what are you here to teach me?”

  “Not sure yet, but I have this.” From behind her, she pulls out a large golden torch, much like the one that’s used in the Olympics, and it immediately ignites itself.

  “You’ve never seen anything like this before, have you?” she asks.

  “Not in person.”

  Celia smiles. “I think it’s, like, my magical Ghost of Christmas Present thing.”

  “Whatever works,” I say with a snicker. “Where are we off to?”

  “I thought I’d show you what’s in store tomorrow at the church and all around town. There’s so much more than what you see on the surface.”

  “I’m ready when you are.” The meal beside me forgotten, I cross my arms over my chest and heave an intake of air. “Taylor schooled me on my Christmas past a little while ago. Really got me thinking about a lot of things. I suppose you’re here to do the same?”

  “And how,” Celia says.

  I stand tall, prepared for the next lesson. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

  Celia walks toward me and brushes off the flowing sleeves of her velvety robe. “Touch it.”

  My brow lifts. “I beg your pardon?”

  Celia smirks at me. “My robe, dork. Touch my robe.”

  I slide my hand up her forearm, clutching at her elbow.

  And we’re off!

  The banquet feast, all of the fowl, pork, veg, fruits, and decorations…poof…as if they were never there. The Christmas trees lift into the air and disappear, one by one, in a bubble-popping sound.

  We fly high over Radisson, looking down at the city as it awakens on Christmas Eve morning. The traffic lights flash yellow in the early morning hour. The pace is slow and appreciative; no one rushing to get to work or check their e-mail. Carolers stand on the front steps of the Episcopal and Methodist churches in a bit of a merriment throw-down, trading songs of celebration. I see Kaitlin amongst those at Christ the Redeemer Holy Episcopal Church. She’s in her element, singing her heart out. I do notice that the hem of her dress appears frayed. Did I not do a good sewing job? I totally suck. But Kaitlin doesn’t seem to care. She’s the most brilliantly happy I’ve ever seen her. My chest pounds with pride at her accomplishment of starring in the Christmas pageant tonight. I really shouldn’t have been such a tart about supporting her and helping with her dress.

  Celia and I continue along, peeking in on the merchants on the Square opening for last minute shoppers. The flower shop with its yards and yards of greenery, red bows, and fully bloomed poinsettias. The coffee shop with its freshly brewed pots of caffeine to fuel the townspeople. The grocery store with its last-minute food items, baked goods, and various proteins that will soon be roasted, baked, deep-friend, and served to family and friends.

  Though I mostly despise the crass commercialism of the holiday season, I see a deeper need for it all of a sudden. These merchants provide a service to the families gathering together for their yearly celebration. There’s nothing wrong with a sale here, a special there. It’s all good.

  Time speeds before us as the people of Radisson move about in fast-forward motion like ants in a farm. Children saying their prayers and getting tucked in early in anticipation of Santa’s arrival. Parents with glasses reading instructional manuals on how to put together those bikes, Barbie houses, and set up Xbox systems and other electronics.

  Across town, though, my psychic senses pick up the cry of a family in need. One not so fortunate this holiday season.

  Suzanne Pilfer is sitting down at the dining room table with her daughter, Chandra, and grandson, Max, who’ve come to Radisson from Stone Mountain. Max… the one I had the premonition about. My bottom lip juts out, as I remember the tarot card reading. I should have told Miss Suzanne what I saw. A head’s up on a possibility of what might happen.

  “Let’s go see her, then, shall we?” Celia mentions.

  And like that… we’re instantly in the modest home of Radisson’s most dedicated postal worker, Suzanne Pilfer.

  I stand by and listen as Suzanne and her daughter speak softly, their heads bent together, while Max watches one of those predictable Disney Channel programs in the background.

  “I can’t tell him, Mother,” Chandra says. “It’ll break his heart.”

  Suzanne reaches across the table and pats her daughter’s hand. “Those bastards. Laying you off right before Christmas. They didn’t even give you severance?”

  Chandra shakes her head. “I was counting on that promised Christmas bonus to get Max the dirt bike he wants. I was going to go to Mega-Mart and get it off layaway where it’s been since August.” She plunges her hands into her thick hair and lets out a guttural moan. “How did it come to this? Stephen hasn’t paid child support in eight months and now this.”

  “It’ll be okay, sweetie,” Suzanne tells her. “I don’t have much, but I have some savings. I was going to use it to pay off some medical bills, but it’s more important that my grandson be taken care of. I’ll go down to the bank and get the cash out so we can get Max his present.”

  “I won’t let you do that, Mother.” Chandra heaves a sigh and reaches for a Kleenex. “This is my mess. My responsibility.”

  “But I’m your mother,” Suzanne says.

  “And I’m his,” her daughter responds.

  My heart hurts watching this, remembering the tarot cards showing me that the bike and an injury from it cause Max’s meningitis. I nudge Celia with my shoulder. “He shouldn’t get that bike. Is there something else we can help get them as a present?”

  Celia blinks hard several times. “I’m a ghost, Kendall. I can’t do things like that right now. Besides, this might not even happen. Just listen.”

  “Ugh!” Now I stab my hands into my hair. “What about that torch? Is it magical or anything?”

  She screws up her mouth. “I have no clue.”

  Frustrated, I begin to pace. “Suzanne is the nicest person and works so hard taking care of everyone in town. Can’t we rally people to help them?”

  Celia adjusts her hair wreath. “I thought you didn’t care about the holidays. Didn’t you just want to wake up and have it be the middle of January? Now you’re concerned about the plight of one Radisson family?”

  “Becau
se they don’t deserve to not have a Christmas or to lose Max!” I find that I’m in Celia’s face, so I back down. “I’m sorry. It’s just not fair.”

  “Not much in life is fair, Kendall. You of all people should know that.”

  I bite my bottom lip. “I suppose so. What can I do to help them, though?”

  Celia shrugs and gnaws at a hangnail on her right hand. “Just remember what’s going on here. Remember those around you who aren’t so fortunate, you know? You inherited all this money from your birth father’s estate. I’m not saying you have to spend every penny, but instead of wallowing around in the self-pity of calculus, physics, and other scholarly challenges, coupled with all the attention Kaitlin is getting, along with Loreen and Mass’s wedding… well, it’s simple.”

  Celia stops talking and stuffs her hands in the pocket of her velvet robe.

  “What’s simple?” I need her to completely spell it out for me.

  Her eyes darken and she towers over me, with a booming voice like thunder. “Get the hell over yourself!”

  I recoil in utter dread that soon subsides to hysterical laughter.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” Celia says. “I’m supposed to scare the crap out of you.”

  I shake my head. “You do, sort of… I mean, you don’t really. It’s you, Cel. In a green bathrobe, you know? But I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

  Celia waggles her torch at me. “The point is, there are people here on this earth, right here in Radisson who watch everything. They see you grow, develop, and mature. They know what kind of person you’re going to turn out to be when you get older. They know who hates. Who envies. Who has ill-will, and precious pride. We have to learn from them, take care of them, and let them see that mankind isn’t all about greed and selfishness.

  “I’m volunteering at the church to help feed people,” I note.

  The ghost acknowledges me with a head nod. “That’s a good start. You’re doing it, though, out of duty. Do it because it’s who you are. What you have to do.”

  She’s right. I’m going to be more philanthropic here in town. Not so much tossing around my trust fund money—that’s mostly earmarked for my college education—but I can give back more of myself. I can step up to do more at church, at school, with Loreen… everywhere.