A Christmas Horror Story. Sebastian Gregory
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gently down their backs, Jake’s hair was always big and wild, not too long, but it hung over his ears and was a mass of mess. He resembled his father so much it made Katie stare sometimes, and it hurt her heart to look. It was as if when Dad had died, he had passed his spirit into Jake, making a much younger copy.
‘Are you there?’ asked Mum, bringing Katie back to the conversation.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ apologised Katie softly. ‘I’m here. And, yes, they’re OK—they’re both tucked up in bed, nice and tight.’
‘Good,’ said Mum. ‘OK, I have got to go, more drunks to see to. As if they’ll ever stop coming! You get yourself to bed. I love you. See you in the morning.’
‘OK, Mum. Have fun,’ Katie replied.
‘Oh and Katie…’
‘Yes?’
‘Nearly Christmas. This one’s going to be the best yet, I promise.’
‘I know, Mum. I know.’
There was a click from the other end of the phone as Mum went back to work. Katie put her phone in her jeans pocket and gave her siblings a gentle shake. They murmured before opening their eyes, confused and dazed.
‘What time is it?’ Emily was the first to ask, yawning as she did so.
‘Eleven. Time for bed. We fell asleep watching the shopping channel again’,’ Katie replied.
‘I thought we were watching The Singing Factor’,’ Jake added.
‘Still sulking about that, are you?’ Emily swiped.
Previously in the evening, after a meal of beans and cheese on toast (Katie’s signature dish), Emily and Jake had bickered over what to watch. The Singing Factor for Emily, or a programme on alien abduction for Jake. Katie had intervened as the two were firing insults at each other, each word more inventive than the last. Katie, seeing no better solution, had decided to toss a coin, and Emily had won.
Katie turned the lamp on, and the room lit up with a warm, yellow glow. The family living room was as cosy as could be expected for a cottage in the middle of nowhere. The floor was polished wood, with a large red rug taking up most of the floor space. The walls were a cream-painted brick, and wooden beams lined the ceiling. Four square wood-framed windows looked out to utter darkness but, if it was daylight, that would be replaced by snow-covered hills and a grey, cloud-burdened sky. In the corner of the room by a large bookcase full of dusty paperbacks stood a Christmas tree, turned brown by the light and, in truth, turning brown anyway. It held on to a meagre assortment of silver baubles. The Christmas decorations were a token effort and had an air of sadness, as if something was missing from the celebrations. In fact, it was more of a question of who was missing that made their hearts sink and Christmas feel less meaningful.
‘Let’s not argue,’ Katie said. ‘I’ve just heard from Mum. She will be back tomorrow, so it would be nice if you two hadn’t killed one another by then.’ She walked over to the television and sent the orange man into oblivion.
Emily stood up and stretched. ‘Well, I’m going to bed. You can see to him.’
‘Hey,’ Jake protested, and Emily sauntered over to her brother and landed a kiss on his head. She made her way to her bed, waving at Katie as she left the room.
Jake stood and opened his book. This was the ritual they’d had every night for the last year. Ever since Dad had…well, you know. It had started when Mum had taken Jake to a second-hand bookshop in town one afternoon. He’d come home with the Tome of the Dark and Mysterious, which he’d proceeded to read from cover to cover. The next thing anyone knew, Jake believed that Dad had died from supernatural means and was insisting that, before they went to bed, there were certain precautions he had to take to protect the family. Mum wasn’t worried; she said he would grow out of it. And ever since then, they’d all taken turns supervising Jake’s nightly obsession.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘First: shutters.’
Katie nodded. Sometime before World War Two, the owner, a Farmer Partridge, had installed metal shutters on the windows to help prevent damage from bombs. The bombs never landed anywhere near Moorside, where the cottage was, but by means of a crank handle the shutters still worked after all these years. Katie stood by one of the windows where the green handle jutted from a box attached to the wall. A chain ran from it and into the ceiling. Katie took hold with two hands and began to turn the crank. It spun slowly and noisily, and the green shutters squeaked closed, encasing the windows in metal.
‘Done,’ Katie said when she finished, rubbing her arms.
‘Good,’ Jake remarked seriously. ‘So if zombies ever attack we’ll be safe.’
‘Indeed, although not from Emily.’
He smiled. It was good to see him smile.
‘OK, has there been a full moon tonight?’
‘Not that I know of. It’s pretty cloudy out there—the weather man said we’re in for snow.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Have you invited any strangers into the house recently?’
‘Recently no and also never.’
Jake thought for a moment. ‘OK, I’m ready for bed.’
They walked hand in hand down the hallway with its cold wood floor and up the creaking cold wood stairs. Katie flicked an old light switch and two dull bare bulbs lit the hallway, stairs and landing in a buzzing neon. Katie had to duck under another beam as she reached the top. In the bathroom another bulb flicked into life. The bathroom smelt damp and mould had conquered the sickly yellow-green paint. They cleaned their teeth, smiling behind the mint foam. Then Katie tucked her brother into bed. He lay there in the glow of his night light, his ever-present book by his side. Katie always thought there was a sadness to her brother, despite his smiles. It was there behind his blue eyes. Nothing seemed to faze Emily. She was the toughest person Katie knew, but Jake…Jake was always hiding sadness.
‘Can you check my bed?’ he asked.
Katie smiled and nodded. She crawled on the floor, which was a minefield of action figures and dirty clothes.
‘Nothing under the bed a hoover wouldn’t cure,’ she remarked before standing up and checking the wardrobe. ‘Nor here’,’ she added.
‘OK then, goodnight,’ he said, turning onto his side and closing his eyes.
‘Goodnight,’ Katie replied, but he was already asleep.
And while he was asleep he dreamt. But more than a dream…it was a warning.
London, Christmas Eve 1940, during the Blitz
The London sky was a deep black canvas covered by a million, billion pinpricks of light. Floating amongst the stars like gigantic whales in the sky, air balloons tethered by ropes bobbed in the night-time breeze. The balloons and sky were occasionally lit with huge beams of light, arcing and criss-crossing in circles like streaking moons.
In contrast, London itself was in shadow. Not one sliver of light escaped its dark grasp. Curtains drawn and street lamps murdered, the city huddled together, terrified that in the dark, this very Christmas Eve, enemy bombers would sooner or later come to destroy them. But there were two children who were not scared at all.
They sat in the rubble of a house that had been bombed two weeks previously. Nothing was left of the house except for the ghost of four walls and a ceiling and the mountain of bricks, wood and broken glass. The girl and the boy had made small stools of some of the bricks and sat upon them. They wore duffel coats tied with toggles in an attempt to keep warm, but they both still shivered as they wore their short school uniforms underneath.