by J. D. Douwes
June pulls me out of Harry’s hands. “She’s got a point, Harry.”
Cindy sputters and rubs her neck, scooting to a sitting position.
“Khalie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He puts his hands behind his back and looks at his feet. “I am not yours. I’m single. I don’t know where you got that idea.”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe a year of sleeping with you?” That’s when that string bean guy jogs up.
“Time to start, everyone.” He claps his hands, a broad smile on his face.
“Great, thanks.” June turns and glares at everyone before looking back at him.
We watch him lope off to the next group.
June clammers to get the old-fashioned boom box positioned so Fred can hit the on/off buttons. “Okay, everyone, in your places.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “Except for you. I want you to go take a breather. It’s not healthy for you here.”
A storm is whistling and banging around in my chest, tearing down all the hopes, dreams and lies I’d carefully constructed. “Okay,” I say in a small voice.
June hands me a bottle of water. “Drink some water. Find a bathroom and get cleaned up.” She rubs my shoulder.
I want to cry and yell and scream that it’s not fair. I’ve waited all year for this, and now my asshole ex-boyfriend and his hussy are taking it away from me?
Harry is helping Cindy stand, a protective arm around her waist. My chest expands in grief with each heartbeat.
Cindy catches my eye and waves at me, triumph making her eyes twinkle, her mouth curve into…is that a smile? The first one I’ve ever seen on her. I take one step in her direction, white noise filling my ears—another step. And then I remember plan A.
“Here’s the monster the cops are looking for!” I yell out, bouncing in excitement. “Someone get the cops!”
June shakes her head and turns her back to me. She points down the street. “Just go.”
All around us, people break into song. At least three Christmas carols are simultaneously being sung, so June queues Fred to turn on the boom box. “And one, two, three,” she instructs, and my group erupts into “We Wish You a Scary Christmas.”
Off in the distance, footsteps thud toward us. I stay put, refusing to miss the moment Harry is hauled away for his misdeeds.
A woman cop jogs up. “Did you say there’s been a monster sighting?”
I turn around and point at Harry in his Krampus costume.
“I’m sorry, where?” She looks past Harry.
“That’s him, right there.” Then I register what was bugging me about Harry’s costume.
“No, that’s a man in a bad costume. We’re looking for him.” She holds up her phone. A picture of the tall, muscular man I’d spent an hour looking for Fred with is displayed there.
“Oh,” is all I can think to say. It’s obvious they’re not the same person. Why didn’t I see it sooner?
The cop puts her hand to her ear; her finger held up in a wait gesture as she listens to something. “Gotta run,” she says, and she’s gone, blonde ponytail bouncing.
My heart sinks. Tingles that have nothing to do with the temperature flood my chest. On the one hand, that means I met someone who loves the monster I’ve been reading about all these years as much as I do. He has to for all the attention he put into getting the costume just right. And he’s sexy as hell. On the other, my ghost hunting group just gave me the cold shoulder, taking away my dream of singing in a choir.
Can I just die now?
So much for plan A.
Chapter 7
June scowls at me and points again, and I get the message. With my backpack and bag in hand, I stalk off.
I wander through the festive streets, sliding between people who don’t even seem to notice I’m there. I’m invisible here, just like I am to stupid Harry. I walk until my feet ache from the cold, not looking at anyone or anything. A bench appears in my line of sight, and miracle of all miracles, it’s empty.
Tentatively I open the bottle of water June gave me. My head isn’t any better, and my mouth and throat are so dry. I’m flat out of headache medicine, but everyone might be right. Water could help. I’m not seated five minutes before someone plops down next to me. The scent of piss and alcohol finds me before I even look up: Yup, it’s the bum again, his trousers hanging so low on his skinny hips I can see his grimy once-white underwear.
“Down on your luck?” His hands are gripping a giant sized coffee cup.
“You could say that.”
He holds the cup of coffee out to me in an unsteady hand, steam rising from the sipping hole on top. “Here, you can have this.”
I know he’s reading my expression by his next words. “Don’t worry. I haven’t had any yet.” He pauses, tilts his head, and then changes his tune. “Well, I opened it and dumped out some coffee. Some guy gave me a brand-new bottle of cognac, so I filled half of the cup up with that.” His hand trembles as he holds it out to me, the most earnest look on his face.
I lean down and sniff, the vapors making my nose tingle. On second thought, “Yes, thank you. I’d love some.”
Here is this man so much worse off than me, offering me an expensive cup of free brandy coffee. It would be worse than rude to say no.
“Want to talk about it?” He shoves his hands under his thighs.
“It’s complicated.” I take a sip, the warmth from the brandy shooting fire down my throat, the coffee itself cooled by the alcohol. And yet still, it helps. “This is good.”
He smiles and sits back. His shoulders are slumped forward, his knees pressed together. “It’s good to try something new once in a while.”
My whole night has been insane. From the moment Dina and Fred got in the car, all the way to now. “It seems today is the day for that.” I hold out the coffee to him. “Want to share?”
He looks relieved, smiles, and takes the cup back, removing the lid to take a long swallow. The shaking in his hands lessens by the time he hands back the cup. “Thank you.” Even his voice is stronger.
“Welcome.” And then I launch into the story of Harry and Khalie. How I was so in love with him, all the way up to him breaking up with me in front of everyone. I don’t leave out a single thing. I have to hand it to the man: he nods and takes back the cup every time I pass it to him, always returning it to me.
I’d never dreamed I’d spend my night with the homeless folks of downtown Seattle. “Maybe the Universe is trying to tell me something.”
“It has a way of doing that,” he says. “That man––Harry, was it? You were just comfortable with him. He’s not good for you. You know that, right?”
I’m lost in thought, letting his words sink in. “I mean, I think I do? But he’s so sexy.” I’m remembering our quickies in my bedroom, in the backseat of my car, even in an alley one time. These memories are mixed up with images of the man I’d searched for the kid with this afternoon; his kindness, the addictive smell of his cologne.
The picture the cop had shown me comes to mind. “Or maybe I’m insane.” I’m mourning the loss of a relationship with a man who was never good to me. What am I thinking?
“Eh, happens to the best of us.” The homeless guy bumps elbows with me.
“And now I’m missing the caroling because I let myself get out of control.”
“Why don’t you go find Krampus? I bet he’ll make you feel better.”
I groan. “I know this is confusing, but Harry is Krampus. And he’s the one who broke up with me.” Even as I say the words, I know I need to let that myth go.
The bum guy shakes his head. “No, not the cheater. I’m talking about the real Krampus.”
The alcohol must have gone straight to his head. Because even though they are two different people, the Krampus I’d spent time with today isn’t a real monster. Person? Yes. Anyhow, that picture proved that Fred wasn’t lying. There really are two men dressed as Krampus tonight.
“Well, it’s time for me to go.
I need to charge my phone.”
He nods and points to the burrito place down the street. “If you sit by the window, they have USB charging stations. Got a cable?”
I fish in my bag, and thankfully I’d remembered to bring that at least. I hold it up. “I’m good. Thank you so much for,” I gesture to the cup he’s holding, taking in our conversation, “everything.”
“No problem. It’s good to get outside of your comfort zone once in a while. Thanks for the conversation.”
I smile and walk past him toward the restaurant he talked about, calling out “Merry Christmas” to him as I go.
“Merry Christmas.” He salutes me.
****
There’s one space left at the window next to a charging station. I dump my stuff and shuffle through my bag for the cable that I’d just found. Once I’ve got it plugged in and my phone is charging, I feel a whole lot better about the situation. Or maybe that’s the brandy talking. Whatever. I’m warm now, inside and out. My heart might be broken, but I’m not the one standing outside in the snow, singing with ungrateful people.
That and the kind homeless man from earlier this evening is still out there. Sounds like I’m on the winning end of this story.
“Excuse me, Miss? Our seats are for paying customers only.” A sinking sensation trickles from my breastbone and travels down to my legs.
I turn to the pimply teenager and try to smile. “Look, I’m having a horrible day. I just got dumped. My phone needs a charge. I have to wait for my group to finish caroling, and I’m low on cash. Can’t you help a girl out by letting her stay warm and charge her phone for a half-hour or so?”
He points to the sticker on the window, two seats down, shaking his head. “Sorry, our seats are for paying customers.”
Santa strolls past the window we’re in front of, a content smile on his jovial face.
I’m hungry anyway. “Fine.” I sigh. “Keep an eye on my stuff?”
“Sorry, I have to get back to work.” He walks away pushing a mop in a rolling bucket.
“I’ll watch your stuff for you,” someone says. I turn to see a blond man with a silver puffer coat on.
“Are you sure?” I look around to see if I have another option. Everyone is avoiding eye contact with me. My reflection in the window is that of a woman in terrible makeup and a trashed thrift store costume. I wouldn’t help me either.
“Yeah, sure, it’s fine,” he says.
I smile. It’s good to try new things, I tell myself. Like trusting strangers. “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right back.”
He nods, and I head to the counter. I order, dumping my last crumpled bill and some loose change on the counter in exchange for an empty cup and a burrito. I get eleven cents back, which I pocket, and then head back to my stuff.
Only, nothing is there. The silver guy is gone. My bags are gone. My phone is gone.
A keen wailing fills the air, getting louder by the minute. I know it’s coming out of my mouth, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Are you okay, Miss?” A tiny old lady looks up at me with giant brown eyes, her hand on my elbow.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can’t have you bothering our customers,” some guy says to me.
I whip around and look at him, pulling myself together. It’s the same pimply little jerk who got my shit stolen. “It’s you.” I stab my finger into his chest. “You’re the one who got my stuff stolen. This is all your fault.”
His hands go up in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. We have signs up that say you are responsible for your own valuables. This is on you.”
“You’re the mother fucker who told me I had to buy a damned burrito if I wanted to not freeze to death outside in the snow. And then you wouldn’t watch my stuff while I did what you told me to do. That’s on you.” I’m hyperventilating, hands to knees, the room growing smaller as I stand here.
Someone wearing too long black chinos and cheap-looking black tennis shoes walks toward us, hitching up his pants. “Arnold, what’s going on here?”
“Don’t you start with me too.” I straighten up and try to get my breathing under control. The room spins.
“Sir, this woman is disturbing our customers.”
I check the new guy’s name tag and note that Steve-the-Manager is now in front of me. “Your employee seems to be in cahoots with the local street life. Made me leave my stuff to order a burrito if I wanted to be in here. My stuff got stolen while I was at the counter because of your incompetent Arnold there.”
Arnold’s cheeks are bright red, his eyes wide in fear.
Steve-the-Manager looks slowly from Arnold to where I’m pointing. “The charging cable is still there, though. M’kay? That’s something.”
There’s that wind again, riling up in my chest. I tilt my head back and scream at the top of my lungs. What did I do to deserve such a shitty day?
All around me, people watch with various expressions on their faces, from outright ambivalence to terror and every shade in between. The terrified ones cling to their belongings as if I’m the one who stole my stuff instead of that shitty silver guy.
“Miss.” The manager-guy puts his hand on my shoulder. I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m this close to— “Excuse me, Miss. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave. You’re upsetting the customers.”
My vision closes off to a tiny dot, and there’s a chance someone has turned up the heat because sweat drips down my ribcage. I try to stop the sounds coming out of my mouth, but…
The next thing I know, I’m looking up into a jolly face with red cheeks and fluffy white beard and hair. My head pounds as I struggle to sit. There he is, crouched with his hands on his belly, the smile gone from his face. “Ho ho ho. Khalie, what’s going on here?”
Our surrounding fades away as I dump out my woes for the second time tonight to a stranger. From the Krampus costume to Harry cheating on me and not singing in the competition. At some point, I notice that the crowd is gathered around us, nodding and getting into my story. Shocked sighs and gasps highlight just what a crappy day I’m having.
“So I tried something new, just like everyone keeps telling me, and look where it got me.” I lean into Santa’s chest.
Santa helps me stand, takes the burrito I’d purchased from the manager, and guides me out of the store, his arm holding me up.
Snow and clouds of our breath dance around us as we make our way into the night. He guides me to a bench. “Let’s sit.”
When we’re both settled, he says, “It’s important to try new things, but sometimes things don’t work out the way we want. They turn out the way we need.” He pulls a flask out of his waistband, unscrews the lid, and holds it out to me. “Here, have some of this.”
First, a homeless guy tries to get me drunk, now Santa. What’s going on with this world? But I reach out for it anyway. “What is it?”
“Peppermint hot-cocoa.”
How on-theme of him. “Thank you.”
I take the flask, wipe the rim and take a sip. It’s got a kick to it, but not necessarily alcoholic. “What’s that…taste?”
“A little bit of magic goes a long way.” He accepts the flask back, secures the lid, and tucks it into his waistband.
“Define magic.”
“Industry secret.” He smiles. “It’s time for you to find Krampus and get everything cleared up.”
“You too?” I lean away to look at him. “The homeless guy said the same thing.”
Santa takes my hand and waits for me to look him in the eye. “You need to find the real Krampus.”
“Why are you pushing him on me so hard? What’s it to you?”
He lets go of my hand, his gaze wandering off into the distance.
“Krampus is my best friend. We’ve worked together since time before time, and tonight is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He hates his job. Hates having to enforce the naughty list. So it’s understandable he’s grumpy all the time. But not tonight. To
night, he told me he met the most amazing woman with the face of a goddess.”
Me? A goddess? I can’t help but laugh. “You tell a good story. Thanks for trying to get my mind off things.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “Go find Krampus.”
And he gets up and walks away, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
Chapter 8
The snow is coming down heavy, and the trees and planting beds around me bend under the weight of the white fluff. Snow covers some of the Christmas lights; others appear artfully displayed. Despite the magical scenery, tears try to roll down my face. I’ve calmed down since my episode at the burrito place. Still, there’s a burning down deep in my stomach that has nothing to do with the cognac or the magical potion Santa gave me. I need to do something to make my evening better.
As if I summoned it, a familiar voice shouts, “Hey, put me down.” Stifled words that I can’t quite hear, and then, “Mom. Mom. They’re touching me! Strangers are touching me!”
Fred is nearby? I jump up and stalk toward the angry pleas coming from the little shit that saw right through Krampus/Harry. I almost feel like I owe him something. I’m running now, pretty sure the kid’s at the cookie booth with my apricot kolaches. I need to pick them up anyway. When I get there, a man restrains Fred with one arm, trying to keep him from running away. He is stabbing numbers into his phone with his other hand. A burnt, plasticky smell laces the air, and the steam from a little portable heater fills the space around them.
“Khalie, help. This man is hurting me.”
Ignoring the child, I turn to the man. “Excuse me, what’s going on here?” I push my shoulders back, trying to look responsible.
“This kid stole cookies.” Fred bats at the man’s phone, but his captor just gives him a good squeeze putting an end to that. “At first, we didn’t care, but when he started hiding under the table and—”
“Well, you know, kids will be kids.” I reach for Fred.
“Are you his mother?”
I freeze. “Um, no, but we drove here together. And I know where his mother is.”