Have a Bloody Christmas
Page 7
Part 7: The next year
Old Man Hubbert sat diligently on his stool and stared out at the empty parking lot. Rows of trees coated the farmland in front of him and dozens of candy apples were stacked neatly under his desk. Hundreds more lay in wait in the house located just behind his booth, hidden by a row of apple trees.
Billy was leaning against the red booth, a tooth pick swirling in his lips as he regarded the empty lot with a scowl. Bobby and the others were inside, playing card games and watching the television. Only Billy had ventured outside to keep the older man company.
“I don’t think anyone’s coming this year Grand-Pop,” Billy mentioned again.
“’Course they will,” the Old man stubbornly insisted.
Billy shook his head and sighed heavily. The entire region had heard about the Taylor’s gruesome ending and so far the farm had remained cold and lonely despite it being only three days before Christmas. When Billy had gone into town for a few things he had noticed that no decorations graced store windows. Even the big evergreen downtown was barren of lights and adornments.
“We should close up Grand-Pop, no one’s coming,” Billy tried again.
“They will, you just sit thar an wait for ‘em,” Old Man Hubbert persisted.
“They won’t. Not after what happened to the Taylor’s,” Billy told him with a frown.
“The Taylor’s will be ‘round too. Probably got stuck working late again an have to rush to get things together. Ya know he bought 16 of yer Grand-maws candy apples last year, he did,” Old Man Hubbert persevered.
“Right,” Billy muttered and lowered his hat over his brow.
Old Man Hubbert had deteriorated swiftly in the past year. On good days, he could carry on a conversation and acted normally. But on bad days, he could barely remember his own name and often thought his grand children were his brothers or friends. Dementia had hit him hard and there were many more bad days than good days.
“Ol’ Jon will be ‘round with Maggie soon, I don’t know why they’re all so late,” Old Man Hubbert complained.
Billy rubbed his cold cheeks and swallowed back the sorrow in his throat. Jon had died en route to the hospital of a heart attack from the shock. Maggie stayed with her husband’s corpse for a few hours before saying she had to make some phone calls. She had driven full speed off a bridge and into the icy water below a mere fifteen minutes after leaving the hospital. Old Man Hubbert had forgotten this fact, just as he forgot that the Taylors were dead. Old Man Hubbert was re-living a Christmas past, one without murder and death.
“Right,” Billy gave up and agreed with the older man.
Agreeing with the Old Man’s dementia was easier than arguing against it. Billy had no hope of convincing his grandfather that this year, Christmas was over before it even began.
“The Johnston’s and their brood will want that great big fir in the back. Hope they bring ‘round their truck this year,” Old Man Hubbert continued on.
The Johnstons had lived across the street from the Taylors. They moved out of their sprawling home in March. Billy did not blame them or the other neighbours that moved away to never be heard from again. The entire street where the Taylors had lived was nothing but a never ending line of ‘For Sale’ signs. There was a rumour going around that once the surviving Taylors settled the estate that dead-end street of Mulberry Lane would be levelled since no one dared buy any of the homes there. Old Man Hubbert neglected this fact and Billy was certain he would not ever remember it.
“Right,” Billy uttered softly.
“The Carsons will buy a box of candy apples. I don’t know where they’s gunna put ‘em all,” Old Man Hubbert maintained.
The Carsons had lived on Mulberry Lane. Billy had been in town one day and saw the moving van in their drive when he passed. He had always brought the tree back for them since the Carsons could never seem to get the tree they picked into their home. Old Man Hubbert allowed him to do this since the Carsons always paid extra for the service.
“The bus it late,” Old Man Hubbert muttered with a frown.
“Yeah,” Billy mumbled gently.
The bus had not made an appearance since last year and Billy was fairly certain it would be another few years before it was needed again. He wondered if the farm could hold out that long or if the family would be forced to sell their land and move on. If no one came for years, they would have no way to pay the bills. Billy loathed that thought as he had grown up in the rambling ranch-style house and loved working on the farm.
Old Man Hubbert was silent. Billy relished in the silence for a few moments before it got too quiet in the booth. He pushed himself off the side he was leaning on and stared inside. Tears froze on his cheeks as he stared at his grandfather.
Old Man Hubbert sat there with a happy smile on his frozen face, his eyes glazed over and his body slumped forward to lean on the desk. He had died in his dementia-induced delusions and Billy was thankful that Death had given the old man those final peaceful thoughts, taking Old Man Hubbert away from the worry of selling the only home he ever knew.
Billy wiped away the frozen chunks of tears on his face and promised himself that he would carve out a life on this farm until he was weathered to the bone like his now lifeless grandfather. He pulled free his walkie-talkie and sighed heavily before powering it on and muttering to the icy winds:
“I fucking hate Christmas,”
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About the Author
Dairenna VonRavenstone hails from the snowy North (Canada) where it’s not all that snowy for six months out of the year. She enjoys reading a good story and boasts a personal library of over 1,000 books. Writing came as a hobby to her when she was 10 and she spent the better part of a decade honing the craft, writing an estimated 1 million words and 40 stories (novel-length and short) in various stages of completion. She is assured that most of those words will never see the light of day and be burned in a ritualistic fashion eventually. Dairenna (Renna to her friends) writes to bring joy, happiness and love into the hearts of her fans...or something like that. Learn more about her here: https://www.vonravenstone.com.
Other works:
Small Slice of the Undead: A Zombie Anthology
Apocalyptic: A Doomsday Anthology
‘Tis Hallows Eve: A Halloween Horror Anthology
Connect with me online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/vonravenstone
Blog: https://dairennav.blogspot.com