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By Kay Hanifen
“What the hell, Ronnie?” Bethany demanded, breaking the silence after the final storyteller finished his tale.
“How was I supposed to know this would happen? I just thought it was a weird scavenger hunt.” Ronnie’s voice was thick with emotion as tears filled his eyes. “Not until Jude got hurt. Then I had to finish it. To protect her.”
The Innkeeper studied the faces of his guests impassively. He doubted they would take the other news well. Not as well as Carrie did. Though she seemed to have recognized him from the start, making things easier. It was the worst part of his job, revealing the awful truth, but their time together was coming to an end.
“It was necessary work, I’m afraid,” the Innkeeper said. His voice was soft, but it carried through the room, silencing everyone else.
“Why?” Rachel asked, her voice thick.
The Innkeeper glanced at the fire. It was dying down, and midnight was close at hand. “I believe we have time for one more story tonight. Bear with me. I’ve always been fond of the old poem.”
He watched them all sit down, the nine pairs of eyes all trained on him like he held the secrets of the universe. And in a way, he did. Clearing his throat, he began their final story.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when in the mountain,
Ten carolers and their driver rolled off the bend.
The screams, crunching metal, and shattering of glass,
Broke the silent night and made the journey their last.
Their souls found their way to this humble little inn,
Believing themselves to be alive and sanguine.
They feasted and opened their presents, sharing
The dark stories kept hidden in their hearts, baring
Their souls, breaking their tether to this existence,
A last-minute confession to clear their conscience.”
“Rev’rend Carrie Lane was the first of them to go,
Her frail body shattered and thrown through the window.
She left the inn first, readily reunited
With her beloved wife, joyful and excited.
This silly poem was her idea, by the way.
She wanted me to let you all know she’s okay.”
“Erica was unfortunate enough to meet
The Yule Cat’s claws, dragged to hell’s ever-burning heat
Just as her body gave out in the freezing snow.
Now, you nine remain here as your bodies let go.
I am sure you must have guessed by now what I am.
For I come at the end to offer one last hand.”
The crowd was silent for a moment, staring at the Innkeeper with unreadable expressions. He knew the poem was a mistake. He should have just gone with the way he normally gave souls the unfortunate news. But Carrie had been so persuasive, and he really wanted to get into the spirit of things.
“So, you’re saying we’re all dead,” Bethany said, breaking the silence.
“And you told us through a fucking poem?” Maven added, looking equal parts dumbfounded and offended.
Mildred elbowed her. “Hey, maybe don’t piss off the grim reaper.”
“I never liked that name,” the Innkeeper admitted, reaching down to give Nicodemus a scritch behind the ears. “It’s the most popular one for me, but it always felt so—so depressing. I don’t see life as something to be cut down and harvested like grain.”
Maven rolled her eyes. “You think I care? I’m fucking dead at twenty-one. How unfair is that? I only just became legal to drink. If I had known this would happen, I would have spent less time worrying about college and more time getting hammered.”
The Innkeeper raised his eyebrows, allowing the full intensity of his gaze to fall upon her. “Would you really?”
The fire behind her eyes faded in his gaze, and the bravado gave way to tears budding in her eyes as the reality of the situation finally set in. She was the youngest of the group, and the unfairness of this tragedy would surely hit her the hardest. “No, I-I’d tell my parents and Laina how much I love them.” She covered her hand with her mouth. “Oh God, they’re going to have to identify my body. They’re going to have to plan a funeral. My funeral. I-I’ll never graduate college or find love or see Laina grow up or—” She cut herself off with a sob.
Slowly, the Innkeeper approached and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. This part never got any easier. “Truly.”
“Why? Why did it have to be so short? It’s not fair.”
He sighed, wrapping his arms around her. She was stiff for a moment, but then she hugged him back. “It’s not my place to know that,” he said softly. “But you’re right. It isn’t fair. Existence rarely is. It’s not fair for an infant to die of SIDS and it’s not fair for the last white rhinoceros to die alone in a zoo. But your fire burned bright, and you were loved. And that’s what’s truly important.”
Sniffling, Maven stepped away and gave him a tremulous smile, the fire returning to her damp eyes. Straightening, she wiped her tears away, her expression becoming resolute. “Thank you.”
“You said we weren’t hell bound,” Rich said. His hands fidgeted anxiously with his shirt. After so many years of carrying crippling guilt, he was likely terrified to hope for something better than the hell of his own making. “Does that mean we’re going to heaven?”
The Innkeeper shrugged. “Maybe.” They all gaped at him, and he couldn’t help feeling a little bad about it.
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?” Kate demanded. “If there is a hell, it stands to reason that there’s a heaven. Evil cannot exist without good to conquer it.”
Unsure what else to do, he shrugged again. “I’m not in control of what comes after. Truly hellbound souls are rare, so I don’t know what happens to those who are ordinary, not especially good or especially evil.” He sighed, studying their blank faces. They were all confused. That much was to be expected, but it was frustrating constantly explaining the nuances of death to the living. “Think of it this way: I’m just the doorman. I unlock the door for you, but you have to walk through it and see for yourselves what waits on the other side.”
“Why did you have me collect the presents?” Ronnie asked. “And why make us tell our stories?”
The Innkeeper turned to him and laid a hand on Ronnie’s shoulder. “I hope you’ll forgive me for enlisting your help. I’m spread rather thin, and the only way you and your friends would have been able to move on was to confess the secret that had been weighing on your souls.”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Why did you hurt Jude?”
Right. He should have known this would come up. It was a fair question, and he didn’t blame the man for being angry. “Jude’s time won’t be for a while yet. And I didn’t hurt her. The twisted ankle would have happened eventually. The calendar has a unique relationship to time and a mind of its own. When you failed to complete a day, it just moved up the event in her timeline. And if you hadn’t bought it, she still would have been injured, but this time, it would have been after you were gone.”
He shook his head. “Don’t act like you did me any favors.”
“But I did, didn’t I? You and Jude got to spend that last month together going on adventures and enjoying each other’s company.”
Ronnie looked ready to punch the Innkeeper, something that would end poorly for only one of them. But then he thought better of it, deflating slightly. “I see your point. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”
“The only thing that matters is that you’ve forgiven yourself. If that means blaming me, that’s fine.”
“I think I’m ready,” Rich blurted out. That was a surprise. Rich wasn’t hellbound, but usually, souls that have been carrying guilt for as long as he had tended to be reluctant to go. “I want to see Lance and tell him how sorry I am.”
He nodded. “Come with me.” Turning to the others, he announced, “I won’t make you go. This will be your choice. Find me when you’re ready.”
Rich swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he obeyed and followed the Innkeeper to the front door.
“Open it,” the Innkeeper said.
And he did. The hall was bathed in a golden light as Rich smiled, tears welling in his eyes. “It’s so beautiful,” he whispered, and then stepped through the door.
The Innkeeper could never see what his guests could see. Whenever he looked out the door, he saw only the snow banks and bare trees. Sometimes, he wished he could see it too, but it wasn’t his place to see. He simply unlocked the door for others.
He was about to head back to the living room when Maven poked her head in. She was just as much a surprise as Rich. “I’m ready now. I can take anything the afterlife throws at me.”
The Innkeeper smiled. Maven was brave; he’ll give her that. When he opened the door and stepped aside, she marched right up and walked through.
Next was Brenda. She approached slowly, occasionally glancing back as though she wasn’t sure just yet if she was ready. “Is Rich really gone?”
The Innkeeper nodded. “He left with a smile on his face.”
She laughed, though her eyes brimmed with tears. “He’s a lot braver than I am.”
“How so?” he asked, giving her an encouraging smile.
“I got two people killed, and I’ve been living with that for so long that the guilt just feels like a part of me. Even now, the idea of facing them makes me sick.” A single tear tracked down her cheek. “And here he is, going to the afterlife, not knowing if he’ll have to look the man he killed in the eye for the rest of eternity.”
“You couldn’t have known what would happen when you bought that sweater.” He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“But I shouldn’t have been so rude to the woman who made it. I should have just left it where it was. Liz didn’t even want the damn thing. I bought it for her and insisted that she wear it to that stupid party. It was all my fault.”
The Innkeeper shook his head. “You were the catalyst for what happened, yes, but the woman who knitted the sweater chose to curse it, and Scott chose to harass your friend. All you wanted was to encourage your friend to have fun in spite of her awful coworker. You never intended for any of that to happen.”
Sniffling, Brenda gave him a weak smile. “And what’s that saying about the road to hell?”
“Good point.” He chuckled. “And they say the beat of a butterfly’s wing can cause a hurricane on the other side of the world. But do you blame the butterfly for the hurricane it created?”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t blame yourself for what is beyond your control. You’ve learned from the mistakes you made, and are not responsible for the rest.”
Her smile strengthened as she wiped her eyes and handed the handkerchief back to him. “Thank you.” Turning to the door, she took a slow, steadying breath and, squaring her shoulders, glanced back to him. “I think I’m ready now.”
“Then I won’t keep you any longer.” He opened the door and she smiled like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she stepped across the threshold.
There was a pause between the guests, and he almost went back to the living room, but thought better of it. They all knew where to find him.
And sure enough, John was next. He gave the Innkeeper a shy smile. “Hey.”
“Hello.”
John seemed to be waiting for him to ask if he was ready, but the Innkeeper knew it was better to just let the mortals decide for themselves. “I wonder, was all the food technically vegan?” he asked.
The Innkeeper blinked. That was unexpected. No one had ever asked him that before, and the novelty of it brought a smile to his face. “I suppose so. It’s all complicated metaphysical food, nothing real.”
“No animals were harmed in the making of your meal,” John said with a smile.
“I suppose not. Would you like to try anything else? I can whip you up the feast again, now that you know you won’t get sick or compromise your principles.”
He shook his head. “I think I’m good. Thanks.” His brows furrowed. “Did you ever meet my dad?”
“I did, yes.”
“And you remember him?”
“Like I remember everyone who passes through my door.”
John swallowed, stepping forward with the caution of an alley cat. “Did...did he mention me at all?”
Aside from the murder scene done at the hands of St. Nick, the encounter had been rather ordinary. “He was upset that he couldn’t say goodbye to his children, and regretted how he treated you, because you were right in the end. He said he wished he could have spent that last Christmas with you.”
Though the words were cliche, John’s posture relaxed. Finally, he had the closure he needed. “Thank you. I think I’m ready now.”
The Innkeeper opened the door and stepped aside, letting John through. Soon, Bethany approached. She flashed him a wan smile.
“I guess I don’t see much point in sticking around now. I’d like to say I’m sorry to Amber and Joshua.” She pursed her lips. “Does it sound crazy that I want to make up with my cousin after everything he did?”
The Innkeeper shook his head. “Not at all. He hurt you, but you still loved him.”
“He didn’t hurt me nearly as much as he did others.” She studied the floor, not meeting his eyes.
“Hurt is still hurt, Bethany. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel. But also, his choices were his own, and you had no obligation to maintain a relationship after the pain he caused. What happened to him and what happened to Amber was never your fault.”
She closed her eyes, taking stuttering breaths as she seemed to will herself to calm down. Finally, she opened them and nodded. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. I’m ready to go now.”
And she went through that final door. He hoped that she found a way to forgive herself along with forgiving Joshua.
It was only a few minutes’ wait until his next guest entered the hallway. Mildred met his eyes and smiled weakly. “Are you sure I’m not hellbound? I did make a deal with the devil and kill two people, even if I didn’t understand what I was doing at the time.”
“In human law, can you make a contract with a child?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t be legally binding.”
“Neither is the one you made with the devil at the age of eight. The demon should have known that.” He shrugged. “That’s the tricky thing about them. They let you believe that you’re hellbound anyway, so why fight it? But you’ve made an effort not to give in to evil after killing your father and aunt, so it balances the cosmic scale, I suppose.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and then more resolutely, “Okay.” He opened the door and stepped aside. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhaled, opened them, and stepped through.
And then there were three: Rachel, Ronnie, and Kate. Rachel was the next to emerge. “Before I go,” she said, “I need to know. Will Michelle be okay?”
He was used to this question by now, but it was never easy to answer. Not in a way that’s satisfying to the souls moving on. “She’ll grieve,” he replied, settling for honesty. “For a while, it’ll feel like she died with you tonight. But time will march on, and soon, that gaping wound from when you were torn from her will start to heal. She’ll always carry the loss with her, but she’ll learn to smile, to laugh, to love again. Grief is inevitable. It’s the price of loving as a mortal.” He looked up to see Ronnie lingering in the doorway nearby. “But with time, the people you love will be okay.”
Rachel gave him a wan smile. “Hopefully, I’ll find her in the next life, then.”
He smiled as he opened the door for her. “I hope so too.”
With a final glance back at her friend, Rachel squared her shoulders and stepped through the door. Once she was gone, Ronnie approached.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He didn’t meet the Innkeeper’s gaze. “I think I get it, but I still feel used.”
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused,” the Innkeeper replied. “It was never my intention to hurt anyone.”
Ronnie inhaled, straightening and raising his head high. “I forgive you. Not because I think you deserve forgiveness, but because I don’t want to move on with resentment in my heart.”
The Innkeeper smiled, warmth flickering in his chest like embers. People were rarely so forgiving. “Thank you.”
“I’m ready now.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Just, uh, just don’t collect Jude before her time. She deserves to live a long, happy life, with or without me. And please send her my way when it’s time.”
“I’ll do my best, Ronnie.” With that, he stepped aside and opened the door. His guest stepped through with a smile on his face.
And then there was one.
He found Kate sitting alone in the living room, absently scritching Nicodemus behind the ears. The woman he met earlier tonight wouldn’t have been caught dead petting a demon. But her world had been rocked to its core, and she could only pick up the pieces.
“I don’t know why I haven’t gone yet,” she said softly, her eyes still on the purring cat. “I’ve been taught all my life to anticipate my death, to look forward to it with equal parts joy and dread, because if I’m good enough, an eternity of bliss awaits me. So why am I afraid to go?”
He took a seat on the couch, far enough to give her space, but close enough to give her comfort if needed. “It’s human nature to fear the unknown, and all that comes next.”
She shook her head. “I know for a fact that there’s a life after death, and that I won’t end up like poor Erica. It’s not the unknown that frightens me. It’s that—” She cut herself off with a sigh. “It sounds silly, but I’m afraid that I’ve wasted my life.”
The Innkeeper leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. “How so?”
“I’ve spent so much time hating myself for my abilities, willing myself to be holy and god-fearing and good, that I forgot what it meant to enjoy life. I had to be perfect, and I looked down on anyone who I felt wasn’t trying as hard as I was, who didn’t feel as though they had anything to prove. And then, when I finally told my friends about the thing I hated most about myself, they appreciated it. The dissonance made me lash out.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know I wasn’t very liked. And even the people who were patient with me had their limits. I wish I could have properly apologized to Carrie after she shared her story. I truly didn’t mean to come off as judgmental.”
Before taking Carrie to the door, they had a chat. She revealed what she knew, and he shared some of the secrets he knew about the universe. As eager as she was to move on, she had one request. “Tell Kate that I forgive her. She’s not to blame for me leaving early, and I’m sorry I didn’t do enough to make her feel as though she belonged. Tell her that every part of her is loved by God, even the parts that human minds are too narrow to understand.”
So, now, he told Kate everything Carrie had said. Once he was done, Kate burst into tears. “All my life, I’ve hated myself, and for what? A fear of judgment? For a father whose approval I would never win, a church that would never accept me for who I was? It’s all been such a waste.”
“To live is to have regrets,” the Innkeeper said, reaching over and taking her hand, “but there is no such thing as a wasted life. If you felt the sun on your skin or enjoyed a family meal or offered a helping hand to a stranger, if you have loved or been loved, then your life is not a life wasted. It’s simply a life lived.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you. I think I’m ready now.”
“And thank you. I’ll show you the door.” He smiled and helped her to her feet. Giving her hand a squeeze, he added sincerely, “You all have been wonderful company tonight. I truly am glad I could spend my Christmas Eve with each and every one of you. It’s been a pleasure.”
And with that, the Innkeeper sent the last of his guests on their way.
