“Grandfather! I would be most honored if you would attend Christmas dinner with me along with the rest of the family!” Darren Harris announced to his grandfather, James. James R. Harris looks up from his work and studies his grandson’s eager face.
“Why on earth would I do that? I’m far too busy – especially this time of year. Besides, I’m not sure anyone wants to see my discouraged face,” James says with a look of disgust.
“Oh, but grandfather! You must come! I’m sure everyone would love to see you! It’s Christmas time! A time for peace, joy, and celebrating!” Darren answers. Harris just leans back in his brown leather chair and stares long and hard at Darren.
Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Must you always come to me so cheerful? It bothers me. It’s like no one in this dreadful town understands what reality is!” Darren shoves his hands into his pockets, glances at the blackened, un-swept floor, then back at Harris.
He speaks,“Maybe we don’t want to know what reality is. I think you’re trapped in it. I know you didn’t always use to be that way. What happened?” James’s glassy, blue eyes narrow as he ponders over his thoughts of what to say. He opens his mouth slightly, but decides not to talk. Darren is looking at Harris with a smirk. “Maybe you shouldn’t bottle up your emotions,” Darren states and turns his eyes up to the ceiling. James gets up from his chair and puts his hands on his polished wooden desk.
Then he straightens up and says to Darren, “I’m not going. I think this holiday is just a waste of time. It’s only an excuse for beggars to take your money.” He passes by Darren to the staircase.
Just before he walks up the first step, Darren says,“You’ll never get it, will you?” Harris pauses, his hand on the side of the door, then continues up the steps. Darren gazes down at his grandfather’s paper-cluttered desk and says to himself, “I pray that someone will save him.”
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Upstairs, Harris mumbles to himself as he walks through the darkened hallway. The dust-covered windows provide only a dim, gray, light. He opens the chipped wooden door to his large study and collapses in his faded fabric arm chair. Deep in thought, he places his head on his hand, strumming his scruffy, gray whiskers. As if a crowd were in the room, he hears his thoughts echoing around him, people from his past playing memories in the present.Out of thin air, a flashback plunges into him.
“James, I’m busy.”
“But father, I have nothing to do in this desolate place. Why can’t you tell me a story? Why do you have to work so much? Why does . . .”
“JAMES! ENOUGH!”
Eight year old James shrinks back in fear and sorrow as his father glares at him. He apologizes and leaves, wondering why his dad never has time for him. He wonders why his mother left . . .
“Now I know why,” James says to himself. He gets up from the arm chair and stands near the cold window. He wipes a peering on the glass and looks out over the cobble-stone streets below. People of all ages strut through the snow and pass gifts among each other.“Fools,” Harris mutters. His voice echoes through the emptiness.
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Meanwhile,Mr. Stanley takes the key from his pocket and unlocks the heavy door to his small house. Warm air that smells of baking bread surrounds him as he steps inside.
“Hello, beloved family! I found a wreath at Burette’s store. Charley? Would you mind helping me put it up?” Stanley says.
“Yes father. It looks wonderful!” Stanley’s son Charley exclaims.
“I’m sure it will look lovely hanging on the door.” Mrs. Stanley says. She rolls up her sleeves and begins flattening out cookie dough.
Mr. Stanley removes his coat and places it on one of the kitchen chairs. He stops a moment and admires how ready his home is to celebrate Christmas. The children’s stockingsare hung above the fire place, and the hand-cut Christmas tree stands between two wooden sofas in the family room. The orange fire crackles on the hearth.
“How’s Sarah?” Stanley asks his wife.
A small, weak voice from the bedroom squeaks out, “I’m alright.”
“I think you should be resting instead of using all your energy to chatter,” Mrs. Stanley turns to Mr. Stanley, “She’s been sick all day, and she’s been asking to help with chores. I’ve given her water and I’ve fed her. I think I should go to Martha’s tomorrow and pick up some medicine.” Her face turns back to the pale little girl lying in a bed full of quilts.“What if her fever doesn’t break?” Mrs. Stanley asks.
“Have faith, dear. I’m sure she’ll be alright,” Mr. Stanly tries to comfort his wife.
“I sure hope so,” Mrs. Stanley says and looks back at Sarah. Outside it begins to snow.
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Later that night,James sits on a thickly-furnished chair inside his house. The living room he’s in is lit by only a few candles, with the fire to accompany them. It is now almost midnight, one hour to Christmas. Harris skims over the newspaper in his hands, sipping a glass of wine. His reading glasses shine with the fire light. Creeeeaaaak. James’s eyes look up from the paper, but his head doesn’t move. His eyes turn to the side. A feeling of cold air rushes into the room. His eyes stare forward at the window across the room. The red velvet curtain sways slightly. Heavy footsteps sound outside the door behind James. He slowly sets the newspaper on the round side table and takes a dagger out of the drawer. The doors handle shakes, then silence. Suddenly, the door bursts open. Harris springs up from his chair, spins around, and points the dagger at who just entered.
“Is this how you greet your brother? With a knife?”
“John?” Harris says, surprised.
“Well of course it’s me! Who’d you expect? Santa Clause? He’s not visiting your house this year, and if you don’t wise up, you’ll end up in a grave!” John shouts at James. John looks like an almost exact copy of James except his hair is brown and his eyes are green. James gets struck by another flashback.
“Hey, John? May I see that fine switch blade of yours?” James asks his younger step-brother Johnathan Peters. At this time, James has come home for Thanksgiving dinner and is 30 years of age. John is 16. They’re inside their father’s house, standing at the bottom of the hardwood staircase in the foyer.
“Alright, but only for a minute.” John replies firmly.
“Certainly, brother from another mother.” James says and laughs. John looks at him with disgust and hands him the switch blade. James twirls it in his hand and brags at the same time. “I bet you can’t twirl it as good as this. I bet -” The blade slips from his hand and falls into John’s chest. John looks directly at James, his mouth wide open, and then collapses. James stares down at John, with his mouth open as well. He questions himself softly, “What have I done?” James’s father rushes in and sees John, lifeless on the floor. He turns quickly to James and strikes him across the face.
“YOU KILLED MY SON!!” James’s father screams.
In his mind, James was thinking,“I didn’t do it on purpose. And, I’m your son too, aren’t I?”
“James!” John shouts. Harris zips out the flashback. He looks at John in bewilderment.
James starts to speak, “I . . . thought you were. . .”
“- Dead?” John finishes. “Yes. But luckily, I’ve been granted the request to help you out of your poor state.” James gazes at John, confused. John continues, “Tonight, you will be visited bythree good friends of mine. They are also dead, but I’m sure they can get you to be less of a disgrace to the world.” John gives Harris a crooked smile. “Enjoy the haunting,” he says, and then disappears into thin air. James falls back against the chair, trying to interpret what he just saw. He stands upright again and gives his focus to the floor.
“What on earth did he mean by that?” Harris speaks to himself.
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. James turns his head to it, unsure of what to do. He says, “Come in.” The door opens ever so slightly and a young girl peeks through the opening. Then, looking a little uneasy, she opens the door to its full extent. James turns and faces her directly. She closes the door behind her and keeps her distance from him. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair cascades down her shoulders. Her pale skin is almost as white as her dress. Her deep brown eyes tear into Harris’s soul, and make him feel pity for her. She appears to be fifteen.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in?” James asks, his voice keeping to a low tone.
The girl remains firm and says, “My name is Sheila. I am here to help you to become a better person, but I cannot do that of you don’t agree to see your past. You may think it’s strange,but believe me, it’s for your own good.” She speaks firmly and stares directly at Harris.
“You’re a ghost?” James says, still somewhat bewildered. “How did you die?”
Sheila looks down at the floor, then back up at Harris. All she tells him is, “Illness.” She holds out her hand to him. Not completely thinking but still curious, James takes her hand. She doesn’t take her focus from his face; it shows no emotion. Then, white light fills the entire room and engulfs them.
------
In a short moment, they reappear, unnoticed, inside James’s father’s house. They’re in the party room, on Christmas Eve. Long tables with linen table clothes line the walls and are filled with all sorts of holiday foods.The floor shines and couples dance all over it. Three crystal chandeliers hang from the crown-molded ceiling.Lively yet classical music is being played by a well-dressed band on the balcony. James and Sheila stand in a corner next to a table with desserts on it.
“I remember this.” James says and looks at Sheila with a pained expression. Quickly, a couple runs over to the dessert table and stop with an enormous halt.
“Elizabeth! You could’ve run right into the cake!” A young man with black hair says to a blonde-haired young lady.
“Please don’t make me watch this.”James pleads to Sheila. The blonde girl is wearing a flowing blue dress with a long, sleeveless white sweater. The black-haired guy is wearing a black tux with a tie that matches the color of the girl’s dress.
“Well, I think I’d rather have vanilla cake and frosting all over my dress instead of an apple pie.” The girl says and laughs with the boy. She picks up a chocolate cupcake with white frosting and takes a big lick out of it and almost shoves the whole thing in her mouth. After she swallows, she and the boy start laughing again. She says, “I’m so rude. How do you put up with me?”
“You’re adorable.” The boy looks at her and says. A tear rolls down James’s cheek as he watches them. The girl and the boy look at each other for a moment, then soft music starts to play. They grasp each other’s hands and walk to the middle of the floor. James cries a little harder as the couple begins to dance.
Sheila turns her gaze to Harris and says, “This is the Christmas that changed your life. You have to let it go. Trust me when I tell you that she’s happy. I know who she is. She watches overyou and wishes that you would be nicer to people. She wants you to be happy as well, but you keep blocking out your chance.” James looks up from his lap, tears still running down his face.
“Really? Can I see her?” James begs Sheila.
“Change your attitude first.” She answers to him.
Suddenly, there’s a groan that comes from the middle of the dance floor. The girl, Elizabeth, collapses in front of the boy, James’s younger self. The younger James struggles to help her and calls out, “Someone, please! Go get help!” He tries to keep her up. Her eyelids slowlyflutter. “Elizabeth? Elizabeth, please, can you hear me? Elizabeth?” She doesn’t answer him and starts to fall backward, her eyes closing. A few people have left to get help, but it’s too late. “Please, no. Elizabeth?” The younger James starts to cry and his voice rises. “Elizabeth! Please, no.Don’t leave me! No!” Elizabeth lays in his arms, unmoving. The real James puts his head in his hands and slides to the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. The white light surrounds him and he looks up, seeing that he’s returned to his home. Sheila is looking at him in sorrow.
“Change, and you can see her again. I promise,” Sheila tells James and then disappears into thin air.
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Harris sits back in his fabricated chair. His face is still moist from his tears, but his mind is more focused on what happened only a moment ago. His face is full of worry, pain, and disbelief, and his short, finely trimmed gray hair seems even grayer then it was. The fire still softly crackles on the hearth, with two of the candles no longer ablaze.
Lost in thought, he snaps out of his past and back into the present when he hears a British accent behind him, “I’m sorry you had to lose someone like that.” Harris takes his head out of his hands and slowly turns around.
“Who are you?” he asks the 17 year old boy behind him.
“I’m Noland. I’m here to give you a glimpse of what’s going on around you at this very moment. You won’t really have a choice whether you want to go or not,” says the boy. His skin is almost yellow and his hair is long and the color of cinnamon. His eyes are emerald green. His coat and pants are the same color as his hair. His shoes are black and polished with a gold buckle. One striped stocking is green and white, and the other is red and white. Around his neck is a deep red bow tie.
Noland floats down and lands next to the chair as James stands up.
“You’re another ghost. What happened to you?” James asks.
“Well . . . I was thrown out on the streets when I was a small boy. I managed to survive off of anything the townspeople offered me and what was thrown away. But one day, I stumbledupon the wealthy side of the town. A woman saw me and called the police. They beat me to death, although I did nothing wrong,” Noland answers.
“Then why are you dressed like that?” James wonders aloud.
“After you die, you don’t have to dress like a bum anymore,” Noland says and glances down at his outfit, then brings his focus back to James with a look of satisfaction.
“Ready to go?” Noland holds out his hand to Harris. Harris takes it and instantly becomes transparent. They fly out of Harris’s house and into the cold night air. Immediately, James’s suit looses it feel of warmth. They enter through the roof of a grand mansion as if it were not even there, then land next to a wall in the living room. Many young adults sit on two large red sofas with golden seams. They are separated by an oak wood coffee table, with the stone fire place aglow in the center of the east wall. The huge Christmas tree is displayed in the corner. Everyone is sipping drinks and laughing. Then James realizes something; they’re talking about him.
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A dark-haired girl laughs and says, “I bet old Harris is sitting in his house all alone feeling sorry for himself. He probably doesn’t even know that he’s the one causing the problem!” Everyone bursts out laughing.
A blonde boy sitting near the fireplace says, “I think every person in town is too afraid of him to offer any hospitality!” One again, everyone starts laughing.
Darren, James’s grandson, sits closest to where James and Noland are. He says, “He bottles up his emotions and refuses to let anyone in. He won’t tell anyone what he’s stressed about.” As Darren speaks, the group becomes quiet and looks around at each other. James walks over to Darren, even though he knows that no one can see him.
He puts his hand on Darren’s shoulder and says, “I’m sorry for being so cruel. I’ll tell you everything. Just come and see me. I promise I’ll tell you.” Everyone in the room is still glancing around at each other.
Noland is silent, but then walks up behind Harris and says, “There’s still one place I need to take you.”