Outside, snow had begun to fall in light flakes. It had started earlier in the week and had been falling on and off ever since. There was a blanket of white on the ground now. People trampled through the snow as they walked along the sidewalks. They weren't in the usual rush they had been in two years ago, but there was no mistaking it: this was still a special time. There was something infectious in the air. Unlike the weeks before, this week people were smiling as they passed each other. They were holding doors for each other, and sometimes, they would stop and stand looking up at the sky, just taking in the season's first snowfall.
Inside, it was cold. Downright frigid. Dale Turner rubbed his gloved hands together as he sat at the counter. He could see his breath when he let out a sigh. Time was moving so slowly. He wished the day would hurry up and be over, but a glance outside at the midday sun told him otherwise. The townspeople had become irritatingly cheerful this week. At first, he had enjoyed the extra business he was getting, but now he would much rather spend his afternoon napping, wrapped in blankets, then out here bargaining with merry customers.
He had never liked Christmas very much. It was the worst holiday of the year- full of hype, but in the end, disappointing. Now, it seemed completely ridiculous. But even without all the specials on t.v., cheesy office parties, and huge shopping lists, some people still seemed determined to keep up the hype. All week they had been in here- some trying to barter a little extra food to spruce up their dinners on the twenty-fifth, some parents trying to bargain him down on anything that resembled a present they could leave in their children's stockings. They were all using it as an excuse when the talk turned to pricing. “But it's Christmas,” they'd say, making pleading eyes at him. He looked around at his shelves, considerably more bare than they'd been last week. Christmas was a pretty crappy excuse to empty out his store.
Business had been slower today. People were no doubt putting the finishing touches on their make-do celebrations. That was fine with him. It meant he didn't need extra security in the store to keep up with the crowds. Today he only had one of his guys- a refugee named Art- helping in the back. He'd decided that today was a good day for inventory...not that there was much left to list. Art had probably finished an hour ago, and was most likely taking a nap. Dale decided it was his turn for a break. He pulled himself off the stool and walked into the back room. Art was sitting on a crate, looking at the papers in his lap.
“Watch the front,” said Dale. He kept walking, knowing his orders would be followed.
He found a package of instant noodles in the small break room that also served as his own kitchen. He proceeded to heat a pot of water on the ancient stovetop. Ten minutes later, the water was still lukewarm. In frustration, he kicked the stove. It made a clanging noise. He ran his hands through his hair. He realized he was hearing another noise. A noise more annoying than his stove. Carolling.
It's alright. He thought to himself. Maybe, if I just ignore it, they'll go away. He sank into the wooden chair by the stove. It sounded like a bunch of kids singing. They were loud, some of them in different keys, and they were singing one of his least favourite songs. He waited. They kept singing. He waited some more. Finally, they sang the last line of "Santa Claus is coming to Town". There was a moment of golden silence. He sighed with relief.
And then it started again. Even more enthusiastically, they were wishing him “A Merry Christmas”. He stormed back down the hallway.
As he entered the main room of the store, he could see the source of his annoyance. Clustered in front of the store, blocking the door and most of the window, stood a large group of children, all singing tidings of joy. He glanced back at Art. He was watching with a bemused smile. Dale did not want to smile. He opened the door and tried to push through the crowd of children to see who was their leader. She was standing a couple of feet away, and she waved cheerfully when she saw him.
“Merry Christmas Dale!” she shouted over her students, who all turned to look at him and echoed “Merry Christmas Mr. Turner!”
Dale gritted his teeth. He tried to make his way over so he wouldn't have to shout in front of all the kids. “Heather, I don't have anything to give them.”
“That's alright,” she said brightly. “We aren't here to get anything. We decided to do something fun to spread the cheer, so that's all we're here for. To wish you a Merry Christmas!” The kids all cheered and clapped to back her up.
“Okay, thanks,” he said begrudgingly. He hoped they would just take his thanks and move on.
“Do you have any requests?” she asked.
“Don't you guys have somewhere else to sing?” he asked. “There's only two of us here. It's kind of a waste.”
“It's not a waste,” she said, waving her hand. “Seriously, any song you'd like.”
“Seriously, I'd rather not,” he said.
“Come on!” said one of the little girls. Dale glared at her. Pushy kids always got on his nerves.
Heather was giving him a look he didn't quite recognize, but he thought it was disbelief. She must have been surprised that anyone wouldn't want to be serenaded by a bunch of eight-year-olds.
“Okay. We won't stay if it bothers you. Let's go, everyone!” she said to her class in an overly cheerful voice.
A bunch of her students weren't quite as easygoing about it. “It's Christmas!” said one boy, narrowing his eyes.
“Yeah, lighten up,” said another kid. A bunch more were giving him glares and pouts.
“Kids, it's alright. Let’s go over to sing for Mayor Anderson,” said Heather. She started to lead the way and her students reluctantly followed.
Dale tried to make his way back towards his store, through the disgruntled third graders. “Come on, you're blocking the door,” he said. As the hoard of children departed, he heard someone else calling his name.
He could see Gail Green and Jimmy Taylor trampling over the snowy sidewalk, towards him. He imagined they weren't coming to do some last minute shopping.
“Hi Mrs. Green. Deputy Taylor.” He nodded at them.
“Hi Dale. Merry Christmas!” said Gail.
Dale kept himself from rolling his eyes. “What brings you out here Mrs. Green?” He motioned them to follow him into the store, where it was a fraction of a degree warmer.
She gave him a hopeful smile before beginning. “Well, we've been going around collecting extra clothing for the drive. You know how cold it's gotten lately. There are some people who aren't as warmly dressed as others are around town. We've been going around asking anyone who lives here if they've got anything to spare, and we thought maybe you'd have some extra things in the store that you could donate.”
“You don't have to give it to us now. You can drop it off at town hall or at the church. We've just been writing down who said they could give something. So we know how close we are to having enough,” said Jimmy.
Dale cleared his throat. “Didn't we already having a big clothing trade-in day a couple weeks ago?” he asked.
“Well, yes,” said Gail. “We did our best, but there are still many who find themselves without enough warm things for this snowy weather. Now, there's some people in town who came here with nothing, and we're hoping those of us who still have a little more than we need can share.”
“What can we put you down for?” asked Jimmy.
“Nothing,” said Dale.
“Nothing?” Jimmy chuckled nervously. “You want to remain anonymous or something?”
Dale was not in the mood for jokes. “I want you to leave me alone.”
Jimmy seemed to be searching for his next joke, but Gail was fixing him with her thoroughly-disappointed stare. Dale held up his hands in protest. “This is a store I'm trying to run. Not a charity.”
“We know that Dale, but since it's the holidays, couldn't you just-” began Gail.
“The holiday excuse again,” interrupted Dale. “People expect a fair deal the rest of the year, but all of a sudden I'm supposed to start listening to every sob story that comes in here just because of the holidays.”
Jimmy licked his lips. “Dale, it's different with the refugees. They had nothing when they came here, and even now, they get by on so little. You see how it is with your guys. Some of them wear the same threadbare clothes all of the time. It's pretty cold out at the farm. You want to have more people freezing to death this winter?”
“I think they've got it pretty good here,” said Dale. “And if they don't like it, they don't have to stay. There are refugee camps, aren't there? And how about enlisting in the army, I hear they're eager for volunteers. They could try to make it over to the army base couldn't they?”
“Some people would rather die then go back out there,” said Jimmy.
Dale was annoyed. He had refugees working for him. He had given them land, a home, opportunity. He was sick of hearing about helping from other people who did less than he did. “They'd better just go ahead and do it then,” he said quietly.
“What?” asked Gail increduously.
“They can just die and decrease the surplus population. That would even things out, wouldn't it?” he asked defiantly.
He hadn't ever seen Gail Green look this angry. Her nostrils flared, her eyes flashed, and he thought she was about to scream at him. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, but instead of attacking, she started coughing, bending foreword as she did.
Jimmy looked forlorn himself. He put a hand on Gail's arm. “Thanks Dale,” he said, shaking his head. He reminded Dale of a little kid staring at fallen ice cream on the sidewalk. “Let's go,” he whispered to Gail. She stared at Dale a moment longer, but then she seemed to have decided not to shout at him, because she just said “Fine. Let's go,” turning as coldly as she could.
“Merry Christmas Dale,” said Jimmy as sarcastically as he could manage, and they went back outside.
Dale leaned against the checkout counter. He could hear his heart beat pounding in his head. He glanced over and remembered Art suddenly. Art was nervously watching Dale.
“You know I didn't mean you, right?” Dale said a little too forcefully.
Art was silent and the awkwardness between them was intense.
“I'm just so sick of these holiday idiots,” grumbled Dale. As he said it, he heard the sound of the door opening again. He spun around.
“Hi Dale! Merry Christmas!” shouted Bonnie as she barrelled into the store. Her arms were full but she tried to pull him into an awkward hug anyway.
He waited until she had stood back before asking “What's all this?”
She held up a scrawny wreath. “You don't have any decorations.” She put the wreath down on the counter and held up a large jar. “And this is eggnog,” she said proudly.
Dale tried not to grimace. He'd never liked eggnog.
“I know, it's kind of weird. But we have lots of milk and eggs, and Mimi added her own 'special ingredient'. It's good though, I swear.”
“Thanks,” he said without enthusiasm.
“We're making a huge batch for the party tomorrow night. That's also why I'm here. We still didn't know if you're coming.”
“Oh, right, the party,” he said.
“It's going to be fun. Lots of people are coming.”
“Sorry, I don't think I'm going to make it,” he said.
“If you need a way to get there, I'm sure you could get a ride with someone with a truck. There's a rumour Jake Green's got some plan involving horses.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed. “Or, my cousins could drive you.”
“It's not that. I've got to stay here,” he said.
“You're going to stay at the store? On Christmas?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I can't leave it unprotected. All my people wanted the day off.” He noticed Art deliberately looking away.
“But you shouldn't be alone,” she said.
“It's fine. Okay?” he asked.
She didn't look satisfied, but she quickly tried to brighten the mood again. Standing, she grabbed the wreath from the counter. “Now let's hang this up,” she said.
“Uh- Bonnie,” he started, but she had her back to him. She was looking around the front of the store for a place to hang the wreath.
“Bonnie,” he said again, realizing as he said it how useless it was. Instead, he followed her as she paced across the room.
“Do you have anything we can use to stick it to the door?” she asked, turning around.
He tapped her shoulder, so she'd stop and look at him. “Bonnie, I don't want to hang up any decorations.”
“What?” she asked, still a trace of a smile on her face.
“I don't want decorations. I'm not doing Christmas this year.”
Her smile was gone and she raised her eyebrows in dismay. “What's wrong Dale?”
He exhaled quickly. “Nothing's wrong with me, I just don't feel like celebrating.”
She was giving him that look again, the one designed to make him feel guilty. He did, a little, but he felt more indignant. “Look, thank you for the thought, but I don't want anything to do with Christmas. All you people who do want to run around singing and saying “Happy Holidays” can do it as much as you want, but stop coming to me. I'm not feeling festive, and I don't understand why the rest of you are.”
“Dale, I know things are really different, but it's still Christmas,” she said.
Her eyes were pitying, and it made him more irritated. “Not that again. 'It's Christmas.' We're starving, again, freezing, again, still stuck in this hellhole, and everyone keeps saying 'It's Christmas.' We've got the army, taking what we have and taking anyone away who makes a disturbance, we've got New Bern, still threatening to come over here and take what's left, and half of the people who used to live here are dead or gone. And people still say 'It's Christmas' when they want to take whatever hasn't already been taken from my store. Personally, I think everyone who still wants to celebrate is an idiot. Or blind.”
He stopped short of saying anything else, but they both understood what would have followed. He hadn't meant to lash out so venomously, but it had been building in him for days. He expected her to get angry back. The old Bonnie he knew would have. Or she would have been hurt. She just looked weary.
“Okay, Dale. If that's how you want it.” She turned and walked quickly towards the door. She stopped with her hand on the handle. “If you change your mind, you're still invited,” she said. With that, she made her exit. The eggnog still sat on the counter.
Wordlessly, he stormed back to the break room. The boiling water had long since overflowed and the stove was a mess. He swore as he used an old rag to clean up.
The day wore on, but finally, the sun started setting and the winter skies were dark. Dale sent Art home, making him promise to show up even earlier the day after next. He could hear the winds whistling outside, and thought of another long, cold night.
He took a flashlight and some salt and went outside. Inside the store had been cold, but outside, the wind was biting. He walked around the side of the building, checking to make sure everything was secure. The vandalism and break-ins just seemed to increase as the weather got colder. Strangely enough, the Colonel and his soldiers didn't seem too concerned about those things. He went all the way around the store, and it looked alright. At the front door, he stopped to spread some salt on the ground. He wanted people to be able to come into the store after this holiday crap was all over. When he finished, he paused for a moment, leaning on the metal door handle.
Suddenly, he jumped back. He had been drowsy, but he was fully alert now. He looked at the door again. Through it's glass he could see the main room in the store. It was empty. The shadows must have been playing tricks on his mind. For a second, he had thought he had seen a face reflected on the glass. A face other than his own.
Shaking it off, he went back inside and locked the door. He finished tidying up in the front and locked the door to that room too. He went into the break room and set about making himself some dinner.
Bonnie's eggnog was one of the only things in the small fridge. He looked half-heartedly for something else to eat, but in the end settled on making himself a bowl of mushy oatmeal. He sat in silence, eating slowly but barely tasting his food. When he finished, he made his way down the hall to the office he now used as a living quarters. He pulled on sweatpants and an old sweater, leaving his gloves on his hands. He sat on his cot and tried to read a book, but the screaming wind outside was so loud he could barely concentrate. He gave up, climbing into his sleeping bag and staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he must have because he awoke suddenly much later. He glanced quickly around the room. He was sure he had heard something, but it was quiet all around. Come on Dale, he told himself. He lay back in his bed and stared at the ceiling again. He felt his eyelids drooping, but just as he started to fall back asleep, he heard it. This time, he knew he was really hearing something. It sounded like something scraping across the floor. It was coming from the hallway, and it sounded like it was coming closer. He scrambled out of bed quickly and went over to the desk. Just as he heard the doorknob turning, he pulled his gun out of the drawer. As he turned to face the intruder, he froze.
The whole doorway was filled with an otherworldly light, and standing in the midst of it was a woman, whose face glowed with a deathly pallor.
He knew her. He was sure of it, but he couldn't stop himself from crying out. “Who are you? What do you want?”
She chuckled. Her voice had an eerie musical sound. “Honey, don't you recognize me?”
“Mrs.- Mrs. Leigh?” he stammered.
She sighed. “Fine. In life I was known as Gracie Leigh, your business associate. Boss, actually,” she said with a smirk.
He was shaking now and as he looked down, he realized he was still holding the gun in her direction. “How do I know it's you? I'm probably just hallucinating.”
“You're not,” she said.
“I could be,” he said, his speech speeding up. “That oatmeal I ate could've had some kind of parasites in it. For all I know, the seeds could have been irradiated. Maybe I have radiation poisoning and I'm dying.”
She laughed softly again. “Oh, honey, you're not dying. You're getting a wakeup call.”
“About what?” he asked nervously.
She gestured behind her. For the first time, he noticed what had been making the scraping sound. Attached to her by chains and ropes, Gracie had been dragging behind her a strange assortment of objects. He saw jewellery, clocks, fancy items carved out of wood, old books, even some barrels of pesticide.
“What's all that stuff?” he asked.
“The chains I forged in life I am now forced to carry with me in death.”
“Are those things from the store?” he asked.
“These are the results of unfair deals I made when I was still alive. I know we had a hard time those last couple of months, but I made some choices that haunt me now. I don't want you to make the same mistake. That's the lesson, honey,” she said gently.
He was confused, but he asked, “So that's it? That's all I'm supposed to be learning about in this dream?”
She smiled. “Oh no, I'm just the opening act. Tonight you're going to be visited by three spirits. Make sure you listen to them. They won't all be as friendly as me.”
Dale was panicking. This strange dream about Mrs. Leigh wasn't really scary, but the thought of three ghosts was getting to him. “I don't need any more lessons. I'm fine,” he said, trying to appear as brave as possible.
She looked at him a little wistfully. “I don't think you are. That's why I want you to remember what I've said.” She stood staring a moment longer, and then turned towards the door.
“Wait!” he shouted. She turned. “Do you have to go already? I didn't get to-”
“Listen to what they say,” she said.
He felt his eyes growing hot. “I'm sorry,” he said. He wanted to go on, but she held up a hand.
“Good luck, honey.”
She was gone. The room was as cold and dark as it had been before and Dale zipped his sleeping bag up further. He was shivering, but he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the dream he'd just had.
He shifted around on the narrow bed. As the minutes, and then hours passed, he found he couldn't fall back asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Gracie's glowing face.
He listened to the howling wind, and gradually, his breathing calmed. He noticed a stillness in the air. It was unnatural. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing. He was suddenly aware of a presence in the room. Sitting up and clutching the sleeping bag to himself, he forced himself to open his eyes.
He was almost blinded. If he thought his last vision had been bright, this one was positively dazzling. The pale light filled the entire room, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. It was only then that he could see the figure standing in the centre of the room. Her clothes were white and almost dazzling too, and seemed to float on her body. Her red hair fell in wispy curls around her shoulders. She had a gentle smile but he was terrified no less. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he had seen her before. She was so different, though, that he could barely dare to speak to her out loud.
“You're the- the spirit I was told about?” he choked out.
She smiled that eerie, calm smile of hers and said “I am.”
She held out a ghostly white hand, but he didn't feel any more inclined to get out from under his sleeping bag.
“I am the ghost of Christmas past. Come with me, Dale. There is a lot to see.”
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he remembered Gracie's warning. Anything for you, ma'am, he thought as he climbed out of bed.