Yuletide Tales A Festive Collective Read online

  “Yes I can, madam Smith,” Martha replied. Her voice had regained its trademark squeak.

  “OK, are you all ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Gerald said and Barbara took it as a yes. She started to swing the sink plug gently to and fro.

  “Keep your eyes on the plug,” she said in low, whispery voice. The two ghosts that she could see followed the sink plug as it swung from side to side, Barbara hoped that Martha was doing the same.

  “You are feeling sleepy.”

  “No I’m not!”

  “Please take this seriously Brian!”

  “But I’m dead, I can’t sleep. If I do I just transcend dimensions, I thought you knew that about us.” Barbara had to admit that he had a point.

  “OK, just shut up and concentrate on the plug then!” Barbara continued to swing the sink plug.

  “Are you concentrating, Martha?”

  “Yes Mummy,” her voice was still squeaky but there was no fear or anxiety in it.

  “Where are you, Martha?” Barbara said.

  “I’m tucked up in bed, I’m waiting for Santa Claus,” Martha said in an excited voice.

  “I think it’s worked on Martha, don’t you Brian?”

  “Be quiet, stop talking. If Santa knows we’re awake he won’t leave any presents!” Brian whispered in the high-pitched , clucky tone of a young boy. “He’s bringing me a bike this year for sure. It’s going to be a bright red one, just like the one in the toy shop window, now be quiet or he’ll never come.” This is working better than I thought it would, Barbara surmised. It’s usually pretty hit and miss when I try this on living folk.

  “Are you alright there, Gerald?”

  “Oh I will be soon enough,” Gerald’s voice sounded lighter, less of a drone, and his whistle wasn’t as prominent. “One hour to go before my shift ends and I rush off home and climb into my Santa suit. The kids will be so excited, it’s been a good year and we’ve managed to get some cracking presents for them. I can’t wait to see little Billy’s face when he unwraps that train set, he’s been ogling it through the toy shop window for months. This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” Gerald was smiling. Barbara couldn’t believe it, an actual smile. She had always thought that his face would crumble like a rockslide if he were ever to curl his mouth in such a way.

  “Right then, the night has passed and it’s now early on Christmas morning,” Barbara said. All three ghosts let out wide yawns and stretched their arms.

  “Where are you, Martha?”

  “He’s been,” Martha cried out. “Santa’s been and look at how full my stocking is, it’s fit to burst!”

  “Oh no!” Brian said, “I must have dosed off and missed him again.” “What have you got there Billy? Wow, that’s a mighty fine train set,” Gerald’s eyes glistened brightly as he spoke. He stretched out his thin, bony arms as if expecting an embrace.

  “A bicycle,” Brian cried, “I’ve got a bicycle. It’s red and it’s bright and it’s so shiny, I bet it’s as fast as a rocket ship as well. This is just the best Christmas ever!”

  “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. Santa’s been and look, he’s even eaten one of those mince pies we made.” Barbara still couldn’t see Martha but there seemed to be a faint glow coming from behind Brian. Gerald closed his arms around something unseen and a single tear escaped his eye. Barbara decided that enough was enough and clicked her fingers.

  “Awake!” She commanded. Brian was the first to react. He took an involuntary step backwards and his wide, unblinking eyes darted around the room. His infectious grin flat lined across his face and he looked like he had just been abruptly awoken from a sleep that he hadn’t realised he was having, which wasn’t so far from the truth. Gerald casually wiped the tear from his eye and then started to clap his hands together. He was still smiling.

  “Was that an enlightening experience?” Gerald said as he tapered off his applause. A small glowing form floated out from behind Brian. About four foot tall and hovering a foot above the floor, Martha shone like a florescent bulb. Her young, innocent face wore a dazzling, confident smile. She moved like a drifting feather and her eyes spoke of a new-born wisdom.

  “How did I lose such golden memories?” Martha said in a silky smooth voice. Her usual air of anxiety had gone, along with her nervous squeak.

  I don’t rightly know,” Brian said as his twitching eyes finally settled, “but I don’t plan on letting it happen again.” Gerald pointed a bony finger in Brian’s direction.

  “How do we do that?” He asked as he tapped the air.

  “We just have to keep reminding ourselves somehow,” Brian replied.

  “That’s not what worries me the most,” Martha said as she floated around to face the other two ghosts. Barbara was beginning to feel unnoticed.

  “No?” Gerald said as he lowered his finger.

  “What worries me is that there might be others who are suffering ignorance as we did, both alive and dead. People who have forgotten the joy they experienced during the Christmases of their past.”

  “Not only that,” Brian added, “there’s bound to be a lot of poor souls out there who are failing to truly appreciate the present festivities.”

  “Are we forgetting the Christmases yet to come?” Gerald pointed out.

  “We need to get out there and remind these people of the true meaning of Christmas,” Martha suggested.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Brian said.

  “Neither could I,” Gerald nodded in agreement.

  “That wasn’t a question Gerald!” Brian observed. “You just spoke and it wasn’t in the form of a question.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Gerald asked.

  “Well that didn’t last long then, did it,” Martha said. Barbara was getting a little tired of being ignored.

  “I’m still here you know!”

  “Sorry Madam Smith,” Martha said as she pirouetted in mid-air to face her.

  “Yes of course, sorry, Madam Smith.” Brian’s smile drew back across his face. It was as infectious as ever, Barbara had to fight against her own facial muscles as they attempted to return the expression.

  “I take it that my plan worked.”

  “It did?” Gerald offered and Barbara heard it as a statement more than a question.

  “Thank you Madam Smith,” Brian said as he clasped his hands in front of him in a big fist which he gently shook. “You have really opened my eyes to all the joy that this festive time of year can bring to the world. I can’t thank you enough in fact, you have given my death more meaning. No longer will I mope around feeling regretful at what little my life really amounted to. I will now devote my ghostly existence to bringing enlightenment and joy to any who may fail in achieving this for themselves.”

  “Will I follow in your footsteps and tell those who prioritise all other things above spreading goodwill through the many years to come?”

  “I’m sure that you will, Gerald,” Barbara replied, even though she knew there was no question of it.

  “I too will join in your crusade to rid the world of bad memories by washing them away with the good,” Martha said as her glow reached an intensity that Barbara had never before seen. What kind of monster have I just created, Barbara thought as a new voice entered the room.

  “What’s going on here then?” All eyes turned to look at the new arrival who had just stepped through the wall. He wore a pinstriped three-piece suit and stood tall and proud, while swinging a pocket watch on a long silver chain in tight circles with his right hand.

  “Hello Jacob,” Brian said. “Madam Smith has just reminded us of the meaning of Christmas and now we’re going to spread the festive spirit with the world.”

  “Is that so?” Jacob said, still swinging his watch. “How do you plan on doing that then?”

  “I think we are going to find miserable, lonely people and teach them to how to celebrate the festive season properly.”

  “That’s right Brian,” Martha agreed.

  �
�Really, do you know who you are going to start with?”

  “No we don’t, do we?” Gerald said.

  “No we don’t,” Brain added, “not yet.”

  “Then in that case, I know just the person,” Jacob announced.

  “Who?” Martha asked.

  “My old business partner,” Jacob replied, “that’s who.”

  “Lead the way, my good man,” Brian said as he headed towards Jacob and the kitchen wall.

  “Wait for me,” Gerald said, “are we all going in together or one at a time?”

  “One at a time would be best, I think,” Brian replied as he and Jacob stepped through the wall.

  “I’ll go first,” Martha cried out as she swooped past Gerald.

  “Do you want me to be last?” Gerald asked as he lumbered through the wall and disappeared from sight. Barbara sighed and switched the kettle back on. She just couldn’t seem to shift the feeling of déjà vu.

  THE END

  © 2013 Peter John

  Christmas Hope

  By

  Jim Murdoch

  John Smith hated his name. It was such an ordinary name. Millions of John Smiths were in the phone books of all the cities he had ever been to. Why couldn't he have a more interesting name, like Bartholomew Goldstein or Winston Williams. Anything would be better than John Smith. At least with a peculiar name he could get some kind of response, even if it were only a raised eyebrow. John Smith was just ordinary, in fact it was less than ordinary. It made him feel invisible. Unknown. Unwanted. Unattractive. Uninteresting.

  Out of work and feeling rejected, John was wandering in the opposite side of town. He had just endured yet another sad interview from some uneducated, know nothing stand in. What on earth are these people looking for. Nothing specific to the job was asked, just pointless chatter. Maybe it was some sort of psychological test. Well if it was, he probably failed immensely. He just wasn't in the mood for psycho tests. He wanted a job and he needed it yesterday. Being out of work just wasn't fun. John had been looking for work for six months now and every time it was the same old story: Sorry, but you are over qualified for this position. Why can't they simply be honest and say: sorry, we don't want to pay someone your age the expected salary, we'd prefer to pay a dirt cheap salary to some young college graduate who has no experience and will probably cost our company thousands in dumb mistakes.

  Where to now? John Smith hated his name even more after a rejection like that. He wanted a new name. It must be his name which caused so many rejections. They just don't want such an ordinary person. The plain name was enough to put any firm off from hiring him. Hands in his pockets, he kicks a pebble along the pavement. He slumbered up to it and kicked again. The pebble bounced off a rain spout and danced into a narrow alleyway. Not wanting to pursue a pebble, John glanced down the alleyway. A few meters away lay an old battered cardboard box. As John Smith stepped forward to continue on and turned his head away from the alley something caught his eye. Did something move in that box. Maybe it's a cat or an abandoned puppy. Hmm, A little companion would be uplifting right now. Besides, it would soon Christmas and a little puppy would be just perfect to give him some Christmas Cheer.

  Stopping, John turned on his heel and returned to the alleyway. He walked the few paces down to the box which was turned on its side. Something moved again. John looked inside but all he could see were some rags. Maybe rats, he thought. He prodded the rags gently with his foot. More movement and a slight groan. A tiny hand appeared and pulled down some of the rags. A tattered and dirty little girl looked up into John's eyes.

  My word, thought John, a little girl. What is she doing here? The tired eyes looked up at John and the little girl offered up a weak smile.

  "Hello," she said with barely an utterance.

  John knelt to get a closer look at the girl.

  "Hello," he answered, returning the smile. Suddenly his own trauma was forgotten. That will have to wait now. "What are you doing here?" The girl looked too weak even to speak. He placed his hand on her forehead. "Wow, you have a high fever. Where do you live? Where is your mummy?" The little girl could only look and smile and said nothing. Her eyes rolled upward and almost closed. John stood, pacing, wondering what to do. Call an ambulance. Knock on a nearby door. He remembered passing a hospital a few streets back. Stooping low John gathered the tiny bundle into his arms. "I'll get you some care. We're going to make you well again." The girl gives another weak smile.

  She looked about seven years old, yet felt so light and tiny. John's heart began to thump at the thought of the girl dying. He hurried the few blocks back to the hospital. Not knowing how else to do it, he signed in the little girl with him as her guardian. He didn't know the girls name. Feeling the urgency John persuaded the staff to look at the girl first and check her name later. They took her into an emergency room. A lady doctor looked at the child and then at John. Her face carried a huge sign of concern. This didn't look good.

  John was pacing again, this time in the waiting area down the hall from the emergency theater, when a nurse rushed out.

  "Mr. Smith, please come." John, startled out of his thoughts of concern about the child, looked up and hurried towards the nurse. Her eyes said it all. With a shake of her head she opened the door to allow him to enter.

  John hurried to the girl's side and took her cold little hand. The girl opened her eyes, still managed a smile and opened her mouth to speak. He moved closer to hear; very faint sounds emerged.

  "I love you," he heard the girl say. With that she breathed her last and slipped away as quietly as she had appeared. Gone, before John could even grasp the reality of the little girl's existence. He felt a strange emotion rising from within. Gasping he held his hand over his mouth and began to sob uncontrollably. With both hands over his face, John cried out between gasps, "I don't even know who she was." The nurse was doing her best to comfort this strange man who brought the dying unknown child into the hospital.

  "You did the right thing," she said not able to hold back her tears.

  "There's a note in her hand," announced the doctor as she cared for the tiny corpse. John, wiping his face looked to see what the doctor had found. Crumpled in the little girl's hand was a dirty piece of paper. It was a photo of a smaller girl. On the back was written in a child's hand, "Dear John Smith, thank you for taking care of me. I love you forever. Please look after my little sister, Jen." The note was signed, "Gaby."

  Puzzled, John looked at the doctor and the nurse.

  "How did she know my name? I don't know any Gaby." John looked at the note, the photo, and the dead little girl. When did she write this? This isn't possible. Of course, it must be some other John Smith. After all there are millions of them. John offered to take the photo and try to find the girl's parents. He walked back to the area where he had found her lying, dying in the cardboard box. He started by asking some other children if they knew the little girl in the photo. He then asked some passersby. He walked into a couple of small stores and asked the shopkeepers. No one knew the girl in the photo or had heard of a little girl living in a box.

  John walked up and down the entire area, street after street, sometimes knocking on doors, but no one recognized the photo. Exhausted he returned to the alleyway where he found the dying girl. The box was still there. John stepped up to the box in the darkness. Not really knowing why he stooped down to look into the box. He used his mobile phone to shine a little light. It was just a cardboard box, nothing special, no cushions, no blankets, no food scraps. Just a dirty cardboard box. For a strange reason he felt compelled to know what it was like for the girl to sleep here. Crouching lower he pushed himself into the box as much as he could fit. Chest, shoulders and head fitted in and he rested against the side touching the wall.

  It was dark, a strange smell came from the damp cardboard and the garbage in the alleyway. A black cat strolled by. It paused in mid step to look at the strange human half stuck into a box and then moved on, showing total disintere
st. Distant traffic could be heard, a shout streets away. Silence. Darkness. Stillness. Loneliness. That was it. That is what the girl felt the most and perhaps that is why John felt so much in harmony with the little girl. It was loneliness. She had been lonely. He was lonely. He was her only friend and he didn't even know her name, yet she somehow knew his. It was almost as if she knew he was coming.

  But there were millions of John Smiths.

  ***

  With a jump John woke. He was still in the box, but the darkness had given way to the light of a new day. A new day, new hopes. At least that is what he tried to tell himself every morning for the past few months. It kept him going and, even though he could no longer pay his rent, he loathed to go to the social. Maybe that's what he needed to do, or live in a box like his little girl. His little girl, he thought. He stood up, stretched and dusted down his suit with his hands. Not very interview ready now I'm afraid, John thought to himself as he looked at his wrinkled trousers. His stomach rumbled. There's got to be somewhere to get breakfast; at least he still had some money for food.

  Leaving the alley, John turned towards the hospital. There was a cafe of sorts on the way which he had seen the night before. He found it, entered, ordered coffee and scones and sat down at a table. His phone rang. It was the hospital, they wanted to know what they should do with the body. John tried to explain that he was still looking for the girl's family. Maybe they should inform the police to help. When the call ended, the proprietor came over to John.

  "Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing. You looking for a girl's family?" John looked at the enquirer.

  "Yes. It's the family of a little girl who died last night. I found her lying in a box in the alleyway."

  "That's sad. Is that a photo of the girl's family?" John had been flipping the photo between his fingers.

  "Yes. This was found in the little girl's hand. This must be her sister."

  "Hmm. Looks kind of familiar." Reaching out his hand he said, "I'm Bob. I'm the owner here." John took his hand and exchanged names. "I'll ask the customers if they know who she is."

  "Oh, that would be great," thanked John. Just then a hustle of people started streaming into the cafe.

  "Well, got to go. My busy time of day," Bob said as he attended to his customers. John watched as he finished his breakfast. Bob was alone and almost run off his feet. He was a little overweight and he struggled to keep up with the influx of orders.