A Witchmas Carol

by Amanda M. Lee

  That should’ve made me feel better, yet I didn’t rein in my scolding. “Landon, she’s a teenager. All teenagers are dramatic.”

  “Why is the hot blonde calling you my name?” teenage Landon asked, confused.

  Landon waved a finger in the boy’s face. “She’s not hot! Don’t even think about looking at her.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from being insulted. “Hey!”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” Landon whined, lobbing a pleading look in my direction. “Of course I think you’re hot. You’re mine. I think you’re the hottest woman in the world.”

  That should’ve made me feel marginally better, but it didn’t.

  “It’s just … he’s a walking hormone,” Landon argued. “He’ll try to put the moves on you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I would’ve tried to put the moves on you.”

  “What is going on here?” Shelly asked, raising her chin. “Is this some sort of prank? Is that what’s going on? That would explain so much.”

  “It’s not a prank,” Landon snapped. “You need to go home and get over yourself. By the way, when I say ‘get over yourself,’ I don’t mean come up with a ridiculous plan to shave Deanna bald. That’s going to get you suspended.”

  Shelly narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”

  “I think something weird is going on here,” younger Landon said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure this guy is crazy. I think you should give the blonde to me – just for safe keeping and all – and I’ll have my father call the police so they can make sure you get back on your meds.”

  Aunt Tillie slapped Landon’s arm as she chuckled. “You were a sarcastic pain in the butt even then, weren’t you?”

  Landon murdered her with a glare. “You’ve made your point. I don’t want to be here any longer. Get us out of here.”

  Aunt Tillie squinted one eye as she regarded him. “Are you sure? There’s plenty more fun where this came from.”

  “I’m unbelievably sure,” Landon barked, grabbing my arm and pressing my body against his chest as he shot his teenage self a warning look. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Younger Landon adopted an innocent expression. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “I know exactly what you’re going to try to do.”

  “How?”

  “Because … I just do.” Landon wrapped his arms tightly around my back. “Get us out of here.”

  Aunt Tillie sighed. “Okay, but things were just starting to get fun.”

  I couldn’t help being relieved when the swirling returned. Whatever memory we hopped to next had to be better than this.

  Right?

  Other people don’t get the Grinch, but I do. I think the Grinch had the right idea. He stole the gifts, and all the people of Whoville sang anyway. What he should’ve done is steal all the gifts and punch them each in the throat before leaving town. That would’ve handled that singing problem.

  – Thistle getting into the Christmas spirit

  Eight

  I woke with a start, bolting upright in my own bed and staring into the gloominess of my bedroom. Landon slept next to me, the rhythmic sound of his breathing serving as comfort despite the extremely odd dream I’d just ripped myself from.

  Was it really a dream, though?

  I considered waking Landon to compare notes, but he looked so comfortable it seemed unnecessary. Surely if he dreamed the same thing I did he would’ve woken at the same time.

  I scratched my shoulder, my eyes drifting to my pajamas. It was the middle of winter so I usually opted for fuzzy sleep pants and a T-shirt, something Landon never complained about or commented on. I shifted my eyes to the window closest to the bed. I could see snow falling and expected a heavy blanket of powdery white wonder to greet me with the dawn in a few hours. The sun was hours from rising and the moon was obliterated by clouds and snow, the view through the window hazy and dreamy.

  I spared another glance for Landon. He hadn’t as much as shifted to signify discomfort let alone wakefulness. I knew I wouldn’t immediately be able to fall back to sleep, so I left Landon alone in the bedroom – quietly securing the door to make sure he wasn’t roused when I turned on a light – and settled in the living room to think about the dream.

  In truth, I wasn’t sure it was a dream. Aunt Tillie was prone to messing with our minds – even dreams – when it suited her. This could surely be a case of that. I’d been feeling guilty about blowing off my family’s Christmas Day traditions right before bed, so the dream might’ve been a manifestation of guilt.

  It might’ve been real, too.

  A soft knock at the door caused me to stare in that direction, my heart racing. It was well after midnight. Who would possibly come calling at this hour? The answer slammed into me almost instantly. If the dream was real, then perhaps Clove and Thistle were forced into some dark story, too. One of them might be coming to check on us.

  I didn’t bother to grab a robe before walking to the door, and given how dark it was outside there was no sense looking through the peephole. For one brief moment I thought that might possibly be the worst mistake I ever made when I saw the tall figure standing on the other side of the threshold.

  Something terrible was about to happen, and Landon wouldn’t be able to stop it because he was asleep.

  I opened my mouth to yell, to at least alert him so he could save himself from attack. The man standing on the porch didn’t allow me the option, though.

  “Are you going to invite me in, Bay?”

  I recognized the voice. Not from my life, of course, but from a different sort of memory. Dumbfounded, I pushed opened the door and stepped away to grant Uncle Calvin access.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It was an absolutely moronic question. However, I couldn’t think of what else to say.

  Uncle Calvin merely chuckled as he closed the door, giving the guesthouse a quick study before focusing on me. “Merry Christmas to you, too!”

  “Merry Christmas,” I corrected hurriedly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Is this a dream?” I was understandably suspicious. Perhaps Landon didn’t wake up because Aunt Tillie intended to separate us for the second leg of our punishment. It was the only thing that made sense.

  “I’m dead,” Uncle Calvin reminded me, walking to the chair at the end of the room so he could settle his lanky frame. “The dead don’t dream.”

  “Really?” I found the tidbit intriguing. “What do you do?”

  “Watch those we love. If they happen to be with us, then we hang out and watch television and listen to music.”

  “Really?”

  Uncle Calvin chuckled. “No, but if the people we love are with us we can enjoy a variety of different outings. I just happen to be waiting for the person I love most.”

  Even though it was a surreal situation, I relished the chance to talk to the man who whispered in my ear on occasion. My witchy gift is talking to the dead, so when things got tough or Aunt Tillie threatened to go off the rails, her late husband’s spirit occasionally showed up to help me fix things. I never saw him – other than the trip through Aunt Tillie’s memories – but we’d chatted a time or two.

  “Does that make you sad?”

  “What?”

  “Having to stay there – wherever you are – without Aunt Tillie?”

  “I miss her, but I understand it’s not her time yet. Why? Do you want me to take her with me?”

  That was an interesting question. “Before tonight I would’ve said no. Right now? I’m not so sure. This is all part of that demented mind of hers, right?”

  “Yes and no,” Uncle Calvin hedged. “She definitely thought this up, but you’re not trapped in her mind.”

  “Does that mean I’m really here?”

  “Safe in your home? Yes.”
r />   “Are you really here?”

  “As opposed to what?”

  “A dream. A figment of my imagination. A delusion brought on by all of the sugar I ate for dessert.”

  Uncle Calvin chuckled, a bright smile lighting up his handsome features. While Aunt Tillie was short – barely clearing the five-foot mark – Uncle Calvin was tall. I estimated he was about six-foot-five, with a long and rangy frame. He wore a colorful flannel shirt – red and green, of course – and his dark hair was shot through with silver and gray.

  “I’m mostly real,” Uncle Calvin clarified. “If someone outside of this reality were to walk into the guesthouse, though, he or she wouldn’t see me.”

  “Is that what this is? Am I in an alternate reality?”

  “You’re in a reality of your making,” Uncle Calvin said. “Have you figured out why yet?”

  “No, and Aunt Tillie is really ticking me off on this one,” I said. “I thought we were trapped in memories – both good and bad – like before. Of course, you don’t remember that, do you?”

  “I remember.”

  “How?”

  “Your great-aunt remembers and sometimes – mostly when she’s sound asleep – she drops her defenses enough to allow me entrance. I like to share dreams with her. It’s the closest I’ll get to my version of Heaven for a bit.”

  He was clearly a romantic soul, which baffled me. “Why did you choose Aunt Tillie?”

  Uncle Calvin’s chuckle was warm and rich. “Oh, you make me laugh. You remind me of her.”

  “There’s no need to be insulting.”

  “That wasn’t an insult,” Uncle Calvin clarified. “You happen to be talking about the woman I love. Watch yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.” I said the words but wasn’t sure if I meant them. “It’s just … by all accounts, you were a saint. How did a saint get saddled with the ultimate sinner?”

  “I was never a saint, and Tillie is no sinner. Don’t get me wrong, she sins with impunity. That doesn’t mean she’s bad.”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand that’s hard for me to swallow given my current circumstances,” I pointed out. “You said she borrowed you. Why?”

  “I believe she’s going to be caught up with Clove for a bit. Something didn’t go according to plan over there.”

  “Is Clove in trouble?”

  “Not the kind you’re worried about,” Uncle Calvin answered. “She’s simply eating up more of Tillie’s time than expected. Everything will be fine, Bay. You must know that Tillie would never truly risk your lives.”

  “Just our mental health.”

  “That’s another thing entirely,” Uncle Calvin agreed. “I was reticent when she tapped me for this one. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I wasn’t convinced your sin was one worth punishing. Tillie thought otherwise and, in the end, I couldn’t give up the chance to spend time with you.”

  “And what did she tap you for?”

  “To be your guide.”

  I tugged on my bottom lip as I considered his words. “Our guide?”

  “If you think about it, really give it some hard thought, you’ll understand what’s happening.”

  I’d done nothing but think about it for what felt like hours. “Can you give me a hint?”

  Uncle Calvin smiled. “I’m not sure that’s allowed.”

  “You’re in charge for right now,” I reminded him. “That means you get to make the decisions.”

  “I guess that’s fair.” Uncle Calvin leaned back in the chair, reclining so he could stretch out his long legs. “Okay, well, here’s the thing: Your journey will not be complete until you visit the past, present and future. How’s that for a hint?”

  It sounded like he was playing something of a game, but things clicked into place. “The past, present and future, huh?”

  Uncle Calvin nodded. “Do you understand now?”

  “I’m not sure, but I have an idea,” I replied. “A Christmas Carol. That’s my story, right? She plopped us in A Christmas Carol, and you’re the ghost of Christmas present.”

  “Very good.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, though,” I muttered. “You’re dead, so you should be the ghost of Christmas past. She should be the ghost of Christmas present.”

  “Tillie has never been one for conventions,” Uncle Calvin volunteered. “I believe she wanted to be your guide for every leg, but running three stories at once tasked her energy. She needs help, so here I am.”

  That was interesting. “Are Clove and Thistle in the same kind of story I am?”

  “No. I believe Thistle is in a horror story and Clove is … doing something else entirely.”

  “Did Aunt Tillie really put Thistle in Black X-Mas?”

  “I believe Tillie puts her own personal touch on everything she dreams up,” Uncle Calvin said. “I’m supposed to send you on your way, but it’s nice to get a chance to talk to you. One of the things I hate most about my demise – other than the obvious, of course – is that I never got to meet you girls.

  “I loved your mothers as if they were my own, you see,” he continued. “For a time they were. When I left, the thing I worried about most was Tillie falling apart. I should’ve known better. She’s too strong to fall apart. That doesn’t mean she’s oblivious to being hurt.”

  “Is this your roundabout way of telling me I hurt her feelings when I decided to spend Christmas alone with Landon?”

  “I wasn’t trying to take a long route to the obvious destination. Christmas has always been important to Tillie. Do you know why?”

  I shook my head. I’d never considered asking the question.

  “Because Tillie has always believed that Christmas is a time of miracles,” Uncle Calvin explained. “Her mother was born on Christmas Day. That made it special from the start.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s true. Christmas was always a double celebration in the Winchester house when Tillie and Ginger were young. Then, later, your mother and Marnie were both born in the month of December. It wasn’t quite Christmas, but it added to the festivities.

  “All through our marriage, even after Ginger died and left everyone bereft, Tillie went out of her way to make Christmas a big deal,” he continued. “Even though I wasn’t around to see it, I’m going to guess she did the same for you girls when you were young.”

  “She did,” I confirmed, my mind drifting. “When we wanted snow, she made it snow. When we wanted a specific gift, somehow she always managed to make it happen, even when we were low on money. More than that, though, she made the house come alive with decorations and music.”

  “And despite all of that, you still wanted to have Christmas away from her?”

  I balked. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t running away from her when I decided to have a quiet Christmas with Landon. I was trying to start a new tradition with him.”

  “But it wasn’t a tradition we should’ve considered,” Landon called out from the open doorway that led to the bedroom. His eyes were alert, even though his hair was tousled from sleep. I had no idea how long he’d been listening.

  “Did we wake you?”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” Landon answered, moving to the couch so he could sit with me. He kept his gaze on Uncle Calvin as he maneuvered, his expression unreadable. “I heard you wake up and thought there was a chance it was all a dream. When you got up to look around, I think I knew it wasn’t really a dream, but I held on to the hope anyway.

  “Then I heard the knock at the door and knew we were in for another mountain of crap and thought maybe we could get out of it if I pretended to be asleep,” he continued. “I tried to ignore you guys talking, but it didn’t really work.”

  “So here you are,” Uncle Calvin noted.

  “Here I am,” Landon confirmed. “Checking in for another dose of flogging.”

  Uncle Calvin barked out a laugh, genuinely amused. “You made a good choice, Bay. He’s a proper match for you.”

 
“I wasn’t so sure after seeing his teenage self,” I admitted. “Of course, I wasn’t exactly a dream as a teenager either. I can’t really judge him.”

  “You can judge,” Landon countered. “I was a little jerk. I admit it. I didn’t recognize it in myself until I was in college. I couldn’t go back, so I made a vow to be a better man moving forward. I don’t think I became a real man until I met you, though.”

  “Aw.” I rested my cheek on his shoulder. “That could be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I mean it.” Landon rested his hand on my knee and focused on Uncle Calvin. “So what are we in for next?”

  “You seem rather resigned to your fate.”

  “I’m aware that we can’t get out of this mess until Aunt Tillie decides we’ve earned it,” Landon countered. “We can’t earn it until we jump through all the hoops. I know the drill. If we really are in A Christmas Carol – which boggles the mind, right? – then that means we have to get through Christmas present and Christmas future.”

  “Ooh, do you think we’ll be riding around on hoverboards in the future?”

  Landon slid me a sidelong look. “I think that Aunt Tillie is looking forward to that one most because she can really mess with us there. We know what happened in the past, so she can’t go too far off the rails. But the future isn’t set in stone. That means she can come up with some wickedly terrible things.”

  That hadn’t even occurred to me. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  Landon made an exasperated face. “I love you, sweetie, but you’re naïve at times. That’s exactly what she has planned for us.”

  I shifted my probing gaze to Uncle Calvin. “Is that true?”

  “I don’t know what she has planned. I do know what kind of woman she is. She’s loyal … and strong … and she has an amazing imagination.”

  “But?” I prodded.

  “But she’ll mess with you as soon as she gets a chance,” Uncle Calvin replied.

  “Oh, geez.” I covered my eyes with my hand. “I should’ve seen that coming.”

  “We both should’ve seen it coming,” Landon said. “Getting out of the last memory was far too easy. It was painful and I’ll never be able to live down that car, but the escape was easy.”