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A. M. Huff
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I had just come inside from playing with my friends when my mom phoned from the church rectory. She was friends with the priest’s housekeeper. Anyway, mom said she was bringing home a guest for the weekend. I immediately knew what that meant. I would be sleeping on the cold, hard dining room floor while my nice soft bed was occupied by another hard luck case.
“Okay,” I said. Mom must have heard the disappointment in my tone.
“Honey, it’s only for two nights. He’s not like the others. He’s a neat and well-dressed man. I couldn’t let him stay in a shelter, not with it being Christmas. You understand?”
“What about Dad?” I said, hoping it would change her mind. Dad had told her absolutely no more after the last stray she brought home stole his sleeping bag and fishing gear.
“Let me worry about your father. Just change the sheets on your bed.”
I wanted to ask why he couldn’t stay in my sisters’ bedroom. Why did I always have to give up my bed for strangers? But I already heard her answer in my head. There are two of them and one of you. But that’s only because Jon, my older brother, was away at boarding school, I would have protested. Rachel is seven and I need her close. The girls’ bedroom was across the hall from my parents’ room. I wanted to say that Jackie would be with her. She’s fourteen and could look out for Rachel, but I knew it was futile.
“All right,” I said, instead.
“That’s my boy,” mom said, “We’ll be home in an hour or so. Bye.”
I hung up without saying a word. Grabbing a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet in the hall, I went to my bedroom. I pulled the blankets and sheets off my bed and let them pile up on the floor at my feet, all the while muttering angrily to myself. I made the bed using the blankets and pillow mom kept on the shelf in my closet. After folding up my blanket, I took it and my pillow to the dining room and put it on the floor in the corner furthest away from the sliding glass patio door.
More than having to sleep on the hard floor, I think the part I hated the most was the glass door. There were no curtains on it. Someone could walk up to it and look inside. I know I’m supposed to be a big boy, but the thought of that frightened me and rightly so. It started when I was seven. We lived in a different house, a small one next to railroad tracks. On the other side of the tracks was the city park. One night I was awakened by the sound of my dad’s dogs growling and leaves rustling outside my bedroom window. My bed was against the wall beneath the window. I was about to fall back asleep when I heard a voice. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” And then another, “Shut up.” The dogs started barking and it must have scared the two because the next thing I heard was the sound of them running away. I lay still until morning, paralyzed by fear.
The next day, when none of my sisters or brother mentioned the barking dogs, I began to wonder if I had dreamt it all. Then my dad came home from work with his toolbox in his hand. He called us all to the living room. Holding it out, he asked which one of us took his toolbox and how it ended up by the railroad tracks. I felt the warmth of adrenaline spread throughout my body. My arms and legs felt weak but I managed to remain standing. I think that’s the reason I’m afraid of windows, more specifically, of people looking through a window at me.
I returned to my bedroom to make sure everything was neat and clean. I shoved my toys under my bed, hiding my favorite ones in the corner in case our guest got any ideas. Then I returned to the living room. The Christmas tree sat in the corner by the brick fireplace. The mantle was decorated with the ceramic nativity set Mom had painted. I turned on the TV before sitting down on the sofa to watch reruns of Batman and Gilligan’s Island. Batman had barely begun when the front door opened and Mom entered. She looked at me. I jumped up and turned the TV off.
When I turned around, I noticed the tall, thin man behind Mom. He looked nothing like her usual strays. He was too clean and neat. His hair was silver but his eyebrows and mustache were dark brown and neatly trimmed. In fact, his left eyebrow had the same Spock-like arc as mine. He wore a long, black overcoat and in his hands, he held a hat that looked a lot like the one my dad wears.
“Pete, I’d like you to meet Arthur,” Mom said. “He’s new in town and stopped by the rectory to see if he could find a place to stay. I couldn’t send him to the shelter.”
I just stared at the stranger. He smiled at me and I saw his teeth. He had fangs. Well, not really. His canine teeth looked pointy and sharp, like mine.
“It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” he said.
A sudden jolt shot through me. His voice was deep but there was something familiar about it, and he called me Peter. Sure, Pete is short for Peter, blah blah blah, but there was something in the way he said it, as if he knew I prefer my formal name over the casual version. He held out his hand and I noticed his pinky had the same bend in it as mine.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said and gave his hand a shake.
“What are you, about twelve?”
Another jolt. “Uh, yes, sir,” I answered.
“Would you like to take off your coat?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” Arthur said and removed it. Beneath it he was wearing a green, gold, and blue plaid shirt with black slacks. Not only were his clothes nice, his shoes were neat and clean. He was definitely not one of Mom’s usual strays.
“We have beer, cola, coffee or tea, if you’d like something to drink,” Mom offered.
“Oh, coffee would be fine, if it’s not too much trouble,” he added, looking at me as if he knew I would have to make it.
“Coming right up,” Mom said and gave me the nod.
I went to the kitchen and filled the pot with water before adding the filter and coffee grounds to the basket. I put it on the stove and turned on the heat. Returning to the living room, I announced it would be ready in a few minutes.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“You have a lovely home,” Arthur told her. He eyed our Christmas tree as if he were remembering something.
“Back at the rectory, you started to tell me about your family,” Mom said from her chair opposite the sofa.
Arthur squirmed as he looked back at her. I noticed a tear in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “My parents were killed when I was twelve. It’ll be fifty years ago tomorrow night.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said in the same gentle tone she used whenever I hurt myself. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”
“They were invited to a holiday dance but they never made it. A drunk driver crossed the center line and hit their car head on. The police said they both died at the scene.”
“Oh dear, I can’t imagine—Do you have any siblings?” Mom asked.
“I did. I had an older brother and sister, and a younger sister.”
“What happened to them?”
“After our parents died, we were placed in foster care. At first, the three of us stayed together. My older brother was at boarding school, so they let him stay there. My younger sister was the first to be taken away. She was given to a couple, but my sister and I weren’t told their names. A month later, my sister ran away. I never heard from her again. After a year in a foster home, I was adopted by a wealthy old man. He was nice enough, gave me a place to stay and paid for my education, but I always felt like I was one of his employees and not family. He wasn’t a warm man or father. He died when I was twenty-five and I inherited his estate.” Arthur swallowed and looked at the floor. A moment later he looked up. “I guess I meant more to him than I thought.”
“That was very kind of him. It must have been nice for you?” Mom said, this time sounding confused. “What happened to it? Did you lose it?”
“No, it’s still there, waiting for me to return.”
“What brings you here, then?” Mom asked, sounding confused.
“I had to get away. I got lonely staying there surrounded by my own thoughts. So, I figured I would return to where it all began.”
“Oh, so you lived around here?” I asked.
He looked at me and his lips curled slightly. With a nod he said, “Yes, but it was a long time ago.”
“Well, you are welcome here,” Mom said.
I glanced over my shoulder and noticed the coffee was ready. Without excusing myself, I went to turn off the burner. I grabbed one of the good coffee mugs from the top shelf in the cupboard and filled it to the top before I realized he may want cream and sugar. I thought about trying to pour some back but knew it would spill, so instead, I took a sip. It tasted bitter, but not bad. I took another sip and decided there was enough room now. I wiped the edge of the mug clean. Grabbing a cola from the fridge, I took the drinks into the living room and set the mug on the coffee table.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream and sugar,” I said to our guest, handing Mom her bottle of cola.
“I drink it black,” Arthur said. I watched him take a sip. Again, he smiled. “Very good.” He held up the mug as though toasting me.
I felt my cheeks warm and quickly returned to the kitchen. I took one of the regular coffee mugs from the cupboard and filled it. Leaning against the counter, I sipped the bitter brew and listened to the conversation in the other room.
“Are you married?” I heard Mom ask.
“No. I guess I never found the time. My job kept me busy.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“Kind of top secret stuff, I guess you might say.”
“Oh, did you work for the government?”
“Not really, but it’s highly experimental stuff and could be dangerous if it were to get into the wrong hands.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, but didn’t really.
There was a brief lull in the conversation and then I heard the front door open. I walked back to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Jackie and Rachel were home from the park. Jackie had taken Rachel there after lunch. She said it was so Rachel could play on the swings but I knew it was so Jackie could meet up with her boyfriend and make out.
“Girls, I’d like you to meet Arthur. He’ll be staying with us for a couple days,” Mom said.
Jackie looked at him and gave her usual disinterested nod before disappearing to her room.
On the other hand, Rachel walked up to him. She smiled and held out her little hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Arthur,” she said.
Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking her hand. He smiled but his expression looked pained. “Nice to meet you too, Rae,” he said.
I shuddered. That’s what I call my sister. How did he know that?
Rachel eyed Mom’s cola as she coyly walked across the room to her. Mom laughed and said, “All right, a sip but that’s all.” She handed the bottle to Rachel who immediately brought it to her lips. She took more than a sip, but Mom didn’t mind.
“So, Arthur, did you ever try to find your siblings?”
“I did. I searched the internet for them—”
“Internet? What’s that?” Mom interrupted.
“Oh.” Arthur’s eyes widened. He glanced toward his left and I knew he was about to tell a lie. “It’s a new tool at the library where I live. Like the card file but easier.”
“Sounds interesting,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, you were saying.”
“Yeah, well, I was able to locate my older brother. He became a monk at the place where he went to school. He told me that our sister, my older sister, had contacted him after she ran away. They stayed in touch for a few years and then he received a letter that she had died from a drug overdose.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Mom said.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. As for our younger sister, we found out what happened to her after researching together. She died in a house fire at her foster home not even a year after she was taken away from us. The people at the group home never told me but I’m sure they knew.” Arthur shook his head. “It’s like that night fifty years ago killed not only our parents but our whole family. The only one to escape was my brother. He always wanted to be a priest and he made it. He died a year ago from a heart attack, so the Abbot told me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mom said. I could tell she was overwhelmed by Arthur’s sad tale.
“It’s okay. There’s nothing you can say. There is something you can do, if you don’t mind.”
“Like what?” Mom asked. She sounded eager and hesitant at the same time.
“Stay home tomorrow night. You and your husband. Spend it with your kids. Watch the Christmas specials or bake more cookies, just don’t go dancing.”
“What makes you think we’re going dancing?” Mom asked.
Arthur lowered his gaze to the two tickets to the Elks’ Christmas Eve Dance on the coffee table. Mom must have noticed them too.
“Oh,” she said with a note of recognition and relief in her tone. “Arthur, what happened to your parents isn’t going to happen to us. As you said, that was a long time ago.”
“Please, promise me,” Arthur said, almost pleading.
“But we were so looking forward to going and the tickets are non-refundable.”
“I wouldn’t ask it of you if it weren’t important.”
“Why, is there something you’re not telling me?”
Arthur looked to his left again and then back at Mom. “No,” he lied. “It’s just I know how much it would mean to me if I could spend Christmas Eve with parents instead of them going off to a party they would never return from.”
Mom glanced over her shoulder at me. I quickly hid the coffee mug behind my back. She then looked at Rachel, at her sad, puppy dog eyes, and pouting, curled down lips.
“Please, mommy. Stay home and watch for Santa with us.”
I can’t believe she still believes in Santa. By the time I was in kindergarten I knew there was no Santa Claus, that it was just Mom and Dad. Boy, is she in for a big surprise and let down.
“Okay, I’ll talk to your father and see, but I can’t promise anything just yet.”
The front door opened and Dad was home. I retreated into the kitchen and dumped out the rest of my coffee. I quickly rinsed out the mug and dried it off while I listened to Mom tell Dad we had a guest. He greeted Arthur pleasantly enough but I could tell he was not too pleased. Mom had broken her promise to stop bringing home strays. But I was beginning to think, Arthur was no stray.
That night, after making a wall between me and the patio door with the dining room chairs, I stretched out and tried to go to sleep. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree in the living room cast a rainbow across the open beams of the ceiling above me. I fought sleep for a while and then turned to face the wall.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but I was startled awake by the touch of a hand on my shoulder. I turned over sharply and in the dim light from the moon outside, I recognized Arthur. He was on one knee and held a hushing finger to his lips.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “Nice barricade.” He titled his head toward the chairs. “You’ll eventually grow out of that.”
I looked at the chairs and then back at him. How did he know? How does he know?
“I just wanted to tell you I won’t be here when everyone wakes up. I have to get back—home,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t let your parents leave the house tomorrow night.”
“Promise? But how am I supposed to do that? I’m just a kid.”
“It’s important. If they leave—let’s just say, your future depends on it.”
“I’ll do my best,” I told him.
He just looked at me and at that moment I felt strange inside. Like I was looking in a mirror, only my reflection was not my reflection.
“Who are you, really?” I asked him.
He looked to his left and then back at me. “The last gift I received for Christmas from my mom was a watch.” He held out his wrist so I could see it. It was gold with several dials on the black face.
Arthur stood up and walked into the living room. I quickly and quietly climbed to my feet and followed him. He stopped beside the coffee table before proceeding to the front door. I followed him from a distance while he headed away from the house. Hiding behind the neighbor’s shrub, I saw him doing something to his wristwatch. What happened next, I don’t know how to explain. There was a loud crack, like the one my dad’s old whip makes. A small bright light, about the size of a golf ball, appeared in front of Arthur. It grew into a glowing green halo, taller than him. He stepped toward it. There was a flash. I covered my eyes. When I looked back, the light was gone and so was Arthur. I waited in my hiding place, thinking he would return but after a while, it began to snow and I was cold. I went back to my makeshift bed and fell asleep.
The next morning Mom found a note on the coffee table. It was from Arthur. He thanked everyone for their hospitality and asked Mom again to stay home and spend Christmas Eve with us kids. She folded up the letter and looked at the table. Picking up the newspaper and magazines she gave each of them a shake. With a puzzled expression, she looked at me. “Where are the tickets that were here last night?”
“I don’t know,” I answered and walked into the room. I knelt down and looked under the sofa. “Not under here.”
“Well, I suppose we could always get more tonight at the hall.”
“Mom, I know it means a lot for you and Dad to go dancing, but why not stay home tonight? We can turn the music on and have our own party here. You and Dad can show us how to dance. Please?”
Mom didn’t answer right away, but that night they did stay home. We listened to music and watched them dance. We all tried to dance. Dad and Diane, Mom and me. Rachel fell asleep long before Santa arrived.
On the front page of the newspaper Christmas morning, in the lower corner, was a brief article about a drunk driver who crossed the oncoming lane and crashed into a tree on the opposite side of the road. It was down the street from the Elks. I wondered had my parents gone dancing the night before if…no, that’s impossible. He couldn’t… It’s 1977. I put the paper down on the coffee table and joined the family around the Christmas tree as Dad started handing out the presents.
“Here you go, son,” Dad said and handed me a small, wrapped package.
I looked at Mom and she was grinning at me. I tore the wrapping off and opened the box. I felt my entire body tremble as I looked inside at the gold watch with a black face and several dials.
“Okay,” I said. Mom must have heard the disappointment in my tone.
“Honey, it’s only for two nights. He’s not like the others. He’s a neat and well-dressed man. I couldn’t let him stay in a shelter, not with it being Christmas. You understand?”
“What about Dad?” I said, hoping it would change her mind. Dad had told her absolutely no more after the last stray she brought home stole his sleeping bag and fishing gear.
“Let me worry about your father. Just change the sheets on your bed.”
I wanted to ask why he couldn’t stay in my sisters’ bedroom. Why did I always have to give up my bed for strangers? But I already heard her answer in my head. There are two of them and one of you. But that’s only because Jon, my older brother, was away at boarding school, I would have protested. Rachel is seven and I need her close. The girls’ bedroom was across the hall from my parents’ room. I wanted to say that Jackie would be with her. She’s fourteen and could look out for Rachel, but I knew it was futile.
“All right,” I said, instead.
“That’s my boy,” mom said, “We’ll be home in an hour or so. Bye.”
I hung up without saying a word. Grabbing a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet in the hall, I went to my bedroom. I pulled the blankets and sheets off my bed and let them pile up on the floor at my feet, all the while muttering angrily to myself. I made the bed using the blankets and pillow mom kept on the shelf in my closet. After folding up my blanket, I took it and my pillow to the dining room and put it on the floor in the corner furthest away from the sliding glass patio door.
More than having to sleep on the hard floor, I think the part I hated the most was the glass door. There were no curtains on it. Someone could walk up to it and look inside. I know I’m supposed to be a big boy, but the thought of that frightened me and rightly so. It started when I was seven. We lived in a different house, a small one next to railroad tracks. On the other side of the tracks was the city park. One night I was awakened by the sound of my dad’s dogs growling and leaves rustling outside my bedroom window. My bed was against the wall beneath the window. I was about to fall back asleep when I heard a voice. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” And then another, “Shut up.” The dogs started barking and it must have scared the two because the next thing I heard was the sound of them running away. I lay still until morning, paralyzed by fear.
The next day, when none of my sisters or brother mentioned the barking dogs, I began to wonder if I had dreamt it all. Then my dad came home from work with his toolbox in his hand. He called us all to the living room. Holding it out, he asked which one of us took his toolbox and how it ended up by the railroad tracks. I felt the warmth of adrenaline spread throughout my body. My arms and legs felt weak but I managed to remain standing. I think that’s the reason I’m afraid of windows, more specifically, of people looking through a window at me.
I returned to my bedroom to make sure everything was neat and clean. I shoved my toys under my bed, hiding my favorite ones in the corner in case our guest got any ideas. Then I returned to the living room. The Christmas tree sat in the corner by the brick fireplace. The mantle was decorated with the ceramic nativity set Mom had painted. I turned on the TV before sitting down on the sofa to watch reruns of Batman and Gilligan’s Island. Batman had barely begun when the front door opened and Mom entered. She looked at me. I jumped up and turned the TV off.
When I turned around, I noticed the tall, thin man behind Mom. He looked nothing like her usual strays. He was too clean and neat. His hair was silver but his eyebrows and mustache were dark brown and neatly trimmed. In fact, his left eyebrow had the same Spock-like arc as mine. He wore a long, black overcoat and in his hands, he held a hat that looked a lot like the one my dad wears.
“Pete, I’d like you to meet Arthur,” Mom said. “He’s new in town and stopped by the rectory to see if he could find a place to stay. I couldn’t send him to the shelter.”
I just stared at the stranger. He smiled at me and I saw his teeth. He had fangs. Well, not really. His canine teeth looked pointy and sharp, like mine.
“It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” he said.
A sudden jolt shot through me. His voice was deep but there was something familiar about it, and he called me Peter. Sure, Pete is short for Peter, blah blah blah, but there was something in the way he said it, as if he knew I prefer my formal name over the casual version. He held out his hand and I noticed his pinky had the same bend in it as mine.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I said and gave his hand a shake.
“What are you, about twelve?”
Another jolt. “Uh, yes, sir,” I answered.
“Would you like to take off your coat?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” Arthur said and removed it. Beneath it he was wearing a green, gold, and blue plaid shirt with black slacks. Not only were his clothes nice, his shoes were neat and clean. He was definitely not one of Mom’s usual strays.
“We have beer, cola, coffee or tea, if you’d like something to drink,” Mom offered.
“Oh, coffee would be fine, if it’s not too much trouble,” he added, looking at me as if he knew I would have to make it.
“Coming right up,” Mom said and gave me the nod.
I went to the kitchen and filled the pot with water before adding the filter and coffee grounds to the basket. I put it on the stove and turned on the heat. Returning to the living room, I announced it would be ready in a few minutes.
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“You have a lovely home,” Arthur told her. He eyed our Christmas tree as if he were remembering something.
“Back at the rectory, you started to tell me about your family,” Mom said from her chair opposite the sofa.
Arthur squirmed as he looked back at her. I noticed a tear in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath. “My parents were killed when I was twelve. It’ll be fifty years ago tomorrow night.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said in the same gentle tone she used whenever I hurt myself. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”
“They were invited to a holiday dance but they never made it. A drunk driver crossed the center line and hit their car head on. The police said they both died at the scene.”
“Oh dear, I can’t imagine—Do you have any siblings?” Mom asked.
“I did. I had an older brother and sister, and a younger sister.”
“What happened to them?”
“After our parents died, we were placed in foster care. At first, the three of us stayed together. My older brother was at boarding school, so they let him stay there. My younger sister was the first to be taken away. She was given to a couple, but my sister and I weren’t told their names. A month later, my sister ran away. I never heard from her again. After a year in a foster home, I was adopted by a wealthy old man. He was nice enough, gave me a place to stay and paid for my education, but I always felt like I was one of his employees and not family. He wasn’t a warm man or father. He died when I was twenty-five and I inherited his estate.” Arthur swallowed and looked at the floor. A moment later he looked up. “I guess I meant more to him than I thought.”
“That was very kind of him. It must have been nice for you?” Mom said, this time sounding confused. “What happened to it? Did you lose it?”
“No, it’s still there, waiting for me to return.”
“What brings you here, then?” Mom asked, sounding confused.
“I had to get away. I got lonely staying there surrounded by my own thoughts. So, I figured I would return to where it all began.”
“Oh, so you lived around here?” I asked.
He looked at me and his lips curled slightly. With a nod he said, “Yes, but it was a long time ago.”
“Well, you are welcome here,” Mom said.
I glanced over my shoulder and noticed the coffee was ready. Without excusing myself, I went to turn off the burner. I grabbed one of the good coffee mugs from the top shelf in the cupboard and filled it to the top before I realized he may want cream and sugar. I thought about trying to pour some back but knew it would spill, so instead, I took a sip. It tasted bitter, but not bad. I took another sip and decided there was enough room now. I wiped the edge of the mug clean. Grabbing a cola from the fridge, I took the drinks into the living room and set the mug on the coffee table.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream and sugar,” I said to our guest, handing Mom her bottle of cola.
“I drink it black,” Arthur said. I watched him take a sip. Again, he smiled. “Very good.” He held up the mug as though toasting me.
I felt my cheeks warm and quickly returned to the kitchen. I took one of the regular coffee mugs from the cupboard and filled it. Leaning against the counter, I sipped the bitter brew and listened to the conversation in the other room.
“Are you married?” I heard Mom ask.
“No. I guess I never found the time. My job kept me busy.”
“What sort of work did you do?”
“Kind of top secret stuff, I guess you might say.”
“Oh, did you work for the government?”
“Not really, but it’s highly experimental stuff and could be dangerous if it were to get into the wrong hands.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, but didn’t really.
There was a brief lull in the conversation and then I heard the front door open. I walked back to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Jackie and Rachel were home from the park. Jackie had taken Rachel there after lunch. She said it was so Rachel could play on the swings but I knew it was so Jackie could meet up with her boyfriend and make out.
“Girls, I’d like you to meet Arthur. He’ll be staying with us for a couple days,” Mom said.
Jackie looked at him and gave her usual disinterested nod before disappearing to her room.
On the other hand, Rachel walked up to him. She smiled and held out her little hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Arthur,” she said.
Arthur hesitated for a moment before taking her hand. He smiled but his expression looked pained. “Nice to meet you too, Rae,” he said.
I shuddered. That’s what I call my sister. How did he know that?
Rachel eyed Mom’s cola as she coyly walked across the room to her. Mom laughed and said, “All right, a sip but that’s all.” She handed the bottle to Rachel who immediately brought it to her lips. She took more than a sip, but Mom didn’t mind.
“So, Arthur, did you ever try to find your siblings?”
“I did. I searched the internet for them—”
“Internet? What’s that?” Mom interrupted.
“Oh.” Arthur’s eyes widened. He glanced toward his left and I knew he was about to tell a lie. “It’s a new tool at the library where I live. Like the card file but easier.”
“Sounds interesting,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, you were saying.”
“Yeah, well, I was able to locate my older brother. He became a monk at the place where he went to school. He told me that our sister, my older sister, had contacted him after she ran away. They stayed in touch for a few years and then he received a letter that she had died from a drug overdose.”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” Mom said.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. As for our younger sister, we found out what happened to her after researching together. She died in a house fire at her foster home not even a year after she was taken away from us. The people at the group home never told me but I’m sure they knew.” Arthur shook his head. “It’s like that night fifty years ago killed not only our parents but our whole family. The only one to escape was my brother. He always wanted to be a priest and he made it. He died a year ago from a heart attack, so the Abbot told me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mom said. I could tell she was overwhelmed by Arthur’s sad tale.
“It’s okay. There’s nothing you can say. There is something you can do, if you don’t mind.”
“Like what?” Mom asked. She sounded eager and hesitant at the same time.
“Stay home tomorrow night. You and your husband. Spend it with your kids. Watch the Christmas specials or bake more cookies, just don’t go dancing.”
“What makes you think we’re going dancing?” Mom asked.
Arthur lowered his gaze to the two tickets to the Elks’ Christmas Eve Dance on the coffee table. Mom must have noticed them too.
“Oh,” she said with a note of recognition and relief in her tone. “Arthur, what happened to your parents isn’t going to happen to us. As you said, that was a long time ago.”
“Please, promise me,” Arthur said, almost pleading.
“But we were so looking forward to going and the tickets are non-refundable.”
“I wouldn’t ask it of you if it weren’t important.”
“Why, is there something you’re not telling me?”
Arthur looked to his left again and then back at Mom. “No,” he lied. “It’s just I know how much it would mean to me if I could spend Christmas Eve with parents instead of them going off to a party they would never return from.”
Mom glanced over her shoulder at me. I quickly hid the coffee mug behind my back. She then looked at Rachel, at her sad, puppy dog eyes, and pouting, curled down lips.
“Please, mommy. Stay home and watch for Santa with us.”
I can’t believe she still believes in Santa. By the time I was in kindergarten I knew there was no Santa Claus, that it was just Mom and Dad. Boy, is she in for a big surprise and let down.
“Okay, I’ll talk to your father and see, but I can’t promise anything just yet.”
The front door opened and Dad was home. I retreated into the kitchen and dumped out the rest of my coffee. I quickly rinsed out the mug and dried it off while I listened to Mom tell Dad we had a guest. He greeted Arthur pleasantly enough but I could tell he was not too pleased. Mom had broken her promise to stop bringing home strays. But I was beginning to think, Arthur was no stray.
That night, after making a wall between me and the patio door with the dining room chairs, I stretched out and tried to go to sleep. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree in the living room cast a rainbow across the open beams of the ceiling above me. I fought sleep for a while and then turned to face the wall.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but I was startled awake by the touch of a hand on my shoulder. I turned over sharply and in the dim light from the moon outside, I recognized Arthur. He was on one knee and held a hushing finger to his lips.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “Nice barricade.” He titled his head toward the chairs. “You’ll eventually grow out of that.”
I looked at the chairs and then back at him. How did he know? How does he know?
“I just wanted to tell you I won’t be here when everyone wakes up. I have to get back—home,” he whispered. “Promise me you won’t let your parents leave the house tomorrow night.”
“Promise? But how am I supposed to do that? I’m just a kid.”
“It’s important. If they leave—let’s just say, your future depends on it.”
“I’ll do my best,” I told him.
He just looked at me and at that moment I felt strange inside. Like I was looking in a mirror, only my reflection was not my reflection.
“Who are you, really?” I asked him.
He looked to his left and then back at me. “The last gift I received for Christmas from my mom was a watch.” He held out his wrist so I could see it. It was gold with several dials on the black face.
Arthur stood up and walked into the living room. I quickly and quietly climbed to my feet and followed him. He stopped beside the coffee table before proceeding to the front door. I followed him from a distance while he headed away from the house. Hiding behind the neighbor’s shrub, I saw him doing something to his wristwatch. What happened next, I don’t know how to explain. There was a loud crack, like the one my dad’s old whip makes. A small bright light, about the size of a golf ball, appeared in front of Arthur. It grew into a glowing green halo, taller than him. He stepped toward it. There was a flash. I covered my eyes. When I looked back, the light was gone and so was Arthur. I waited in my hiding place, thinking he would return but after a while, it began to snow and I was cold. I went back to my makeshift bed and fell asleep.
The next morning Mom found a note on the coffee table. It was from Arthur. He thanked everyone for their hospitality and asked Mom again to stay home and spend Christmas Eve with us kids. She folded up the letter and looked at the table. Picking up the newspaper and magazines she gave each of them a shake. With a puzzled expression, she looked at me. “Where are the tickets that were here last night?”
“I don’t know,” I answered and walked into the room. I knelt down and looked under the sofa. “Not under here.”
“Well, I suppose we could always get more tonight at the hall.”
“Mom, I know it means a lot for you and Dad to go dancing, but why not stay home tonight? We can turn the music on and have our own party here. You and Dad can show us how to dance. Please?”
Mom didn’t answer right away, but that night they did stay home. We listened to music and watched them dance. We all tried to dance. Dad and Diane, Mom and me. Rachel fell asleep long before Santa arrived.
On the front page of the newspaper Christmas morning, in the lower corner, was a brief article about a drunk driver who crossed the oncoming lane and crashed into a tree on the opposite side of the road. It was down the street from the Elks. I wondered had my parents gone dancing the night before if…no, that’s impossible. He couldn’t… It’s 1977. I put the paper down on the coffee table and joined the family around the Christmas tree as Dad started handing out the presents.
“Here you go, son,” Dad said and handed me a small, wrapped package.
I looked at Mom and she was grinning at me. I tore the wrapping off and opened the box. I felt my entire body tremble as I looked inside at the gold watch with a black face and several dials.
Copyright © 2022 James M. McCracken
JK Press
All rights reserved.
JK Press
All rights reserved.
