A Christmas Miracle

In the spirit of Halloween, I decided to write a short little horror story for your entertainment. I had an idea inspired by the previous discussion on body-modification and plastic surgery on our boards but when I started writing, an old memory was dredged up. Instead, I will be sharing the following. Enjoy. 

-Carol 

-----------------------------

I had always been an imaginative child, precocious in nature and with a strong intuition. I remember pitching the biggest fit I could one Christmas Even when I was about five or six demanding that my sister, her boyfriend and my mother not go out for a drive that night. They were just going to the store; they said, out to get more drinks for the party. It will only be a few minutes and they’d make sure to bring me some candy. I was hysterical. I could not be dissuaded that they not go and my behavior was so off putting that for the first and ONLY time in my life, Father laid a hand on me. He spanked me twice and told me to go to my room and not leave until I was done throwing a tantrum.

“But I don’t want Sis and Mommy to die!” I yelled between sobs. The adults just stared at themselves in shock before my outburst was just chalked up to my imagination. After all, what other toddler stood up past midnight watching horror flicks like I did?  Mom told me I wasn’t being cute, shoved me in my bedroom, closed the door and with a sigh of resignation stated she wasn’t going to get me candy.

I hollered that I didn’t care.

Minutes turned to hours. A few folk thought that maybe my family had chosen to buy more than drinks, perhaps took a detour or simply had a flat. This was the early nineties, cell phones were not a quite a thing yet.  Guests left, others passed out and my father was not exactly sober enough to go looking for anybody anyway. I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep. I simply couldn’t.

Therefore, I was the only one awake at three am when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“This is so-and-so with St Mary’s Conception Hospital, is there any adult I can speak to sweetheart?”

I looked around at the passed out people. I shook my head.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yah. “ I traced a finger on the wood stains of the little telephone bench my mom had polished meticulously hours earlier.

“Can I speak to someone, an adult perhaps?”

Again, I looked around, my large eyes flicking from one dark shadow to the other, to the pile of unopened gifts, to the sleeping dog and eventually to the flickering Christmas lights on our tree. “Mommy’s busy. Call back later.”  I couldn’t help but regurgitate the well-rehearsed line mom had me say whenever she didn’t want to speak to the Avon lady. I bit my lip and began to hang up the phone.

“Don’t hang up, sweetie. Listen to me—“

Click.

I slid down from the little bench and ran back to my room to cling to my favorite stuffed toy when the phone rang again. I stared at her, a white and black beagle dressed in a red dress and matching bow. If Daddy got woke up, he’d get mad. I didn’t want him getting mad again. I didn’t want to get spanked. I covered my ears and fought back the urge to cry. I had this horrible pain in my tummy that I couldn’t quite describe. My heart was racing and it was hard to breathe.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I rolled over in my bed and clung to my silent friend.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I felt a tap at my shoulder and the soft hushed tones against my ear: answer it, it’s important. You won’t get in trouble, ok?

I didn’t dare look over my shoulder but I knew better than to ignore the words.  Slowly, I climbed out of the bed and held onto my toy for dear life. I made my way down the corridor, past my sister’s bedroom and stopped in front of my parent’s bedroom door. Behind me was the bathroom door, just a few more feet away and the hallway ended into the living room and to the ringing phone. It wasn’t ringing anymore and I could hear the shower running. I frowned. How long had the water been running? I turned to knock on the door when I dropped Snoopy (I knew Snoopy was a boy but this beagle had a dress and she looked like Snoopy so that was her name).  I looked down to pick her up, but she wasn’t there. I looked around and I could see the hem of her dress and one of her legs peeking from around the corner of the hallway.

I couldn’t breathe.

The hallway seemed miles long and the sound of the water a rush against my ears.  Somewhere in the distance, the phone was ringing. Behind the closed door of the bathroom I could hear my father cursing.

You must answer the phone.

 I jumped at the voice again.

This time I ran down the hallway and almost tripped on my feet as I stumbled a few steps around the corner. Quickly I picked up Snoopy with a death grip before snatching the phone off its cradle.

“Hello.”

“Sweetheart, don’t hang up. It’s very important that you don’t. Is there someone else I can talk to? A friend, auntie, your daddy perhaps?” The voice at the other end of the line sounded desperate. It made my hands sweat.

“yes.”

“Can you get them for me?”

“Daddy’s in the shower.”

“Tell him it’s VERY, very important, okay honey? He needs to get on the phone.  Tell him so-and-so is calling from St. Mary’s.”

“Ok,” I said, staring at the dark hallway. I didn’t want to go back there.  If Daddy didn’t yell at me… I shook my head, holding on to Snoopy even tighter.

Hurry, hurry! Call your Daddy! Get his attention or I will!

I did not need any more incentive. I dropped the phone with a clang on the telephone bench and ran to the bathroom door. I pounded with everything I had until I heard the shower stop.

“Daddy! There’s a lady from St. Mary’s that wants to talk to you!” I could hear grumbling and cursing; something about being too old for a hangover and kids being too loud for them.  “What’s a hang over?”  I looked down at my friend’s unblinking gaze.

That’s not important, damn it, GET HIM TO ANSWER THE PHONE!!!

Again I pounded on the door. “Daddy, Please! She says it’s important! You must answer the phone.”

At long last the door to the bathroom burst open and I was greeted by the towering form of my father, soaking wet and holding a towel around his waist. Steam curled around his figure and toward the ceiling. He looked angrier than the night before. “Tell your mother to answer the phone, can’t you see I’m busy here?!”

The world began to blur as hot tears burned my eyes. I glanced down at my feet as I pulled Snoopy tighter under my chin. “But, Daddy, Mommy hasn’t come home yet.”

He stared at me silence and I could only cower. “What did you say?”

“There’s a lady from St. Mary’s on the phone.”

“No, what did you just say?” He loomed over me, his face red, a vein popping on his forehead.

I took a step back and stopped short as I felt a chill run down my spine. “Mommy’s not home.”

Tell him!

“And phone. There’s a lady on the phone from St. Mary’s.”

His face contorted in rage, agony and despair all at once. The color vanished from his face as he quickly turned to his right and hurried toward the living room. He slipped and slid a few feet and I could hear him crash onto the wooden telephone bench.

It wasn’t long before the neighbor came over to keep me company as my father sped off in the lemon-yellow pickup up truck to St. Mary’s.  There had been an accident. My sister’s boyfriend had been drunker than anybody had realized and t-boned his car onto a cement pole around the corner from the store they had gone to.

“Is mommy and them going to be okay?” I asked, my gaze staring at Snoopy’s unwavering black eyes as coolness enveloped my hand.  I looked up and out the window and bit my lip.

I did all I could.

“Sweetheart, let us pray for a Christmas Miracle.” I heard Mrs. Wong, the next door neighbor say as she walked through the door and locked it behind her.  She walked to where Baby Jesus lay in his manger by the Christmas tree.

I stepped away from the window and finally looked at her in the eyes: a young girl similar to me in appearance and perhaps a year older dressed in a white nightgown.  I whispered a word of thanks to my ghostly frenemy before running to where Mrs. Wong was kneeling.

 My mother had been sitting in the middle rear seat so she could talk to both my sister and her boyfriend during the ride. Seconds before the car spun out of control, my mother had looked down and noticed one of my McDonald’s happy meal toys on the rear passenger floor. Confused to see it there, she bent down to pick it up, an action that had saved her life. She had wound up with a broken elbow, a sprained knee and had to get a few stitches on her head.  My sister’s boyfriend had survived with a dislocated shoulder and my sister had to be pried out from underneath the dashboard from where she had slipped into during the collision. She had suffered the greatest injuries and was in a coma for over 13 hours.