A CRIMSON CHRISTMAS

DEBBY GRAHL

 

 

Outside the large picture window, snow fell gently blanketing the quaint New England town in pristine white. A fire burned low in the brick fireplace while Christmas carols played softly from the stereo. A freshly cut Frasier fir stood in the corner, decorated with twinkling lights, colored glass balls, and an array of ornaments his children had collected throughout the years.

Nicholas Klaus, an nondescript man of average height, stared at the boxes containing the Christmas village his wife had purchased from an estate sale. He scowled. That was just what they needed, more Christmas crap. There wasn’t an inch in the house that didn’t already hold some kind of snowman or Santa figurine. He despised Christmas and everything associated with it.

For his children’s sake, he’d tried to put the past out of his mind, but how was he to enjoy a time of year that brought back nothing but horrific memories? At the age of ten he had awakened Christmas morning to find his parents’ mutilated bodies lying near the glowing tree, their blood dripping from its branches and coating the packages below. The investigation had gone on for months, but the killer had never been caught. It was as if he’d disappeared into thin air. Nightmare images of bloody bodies still haunted Nicholas’ dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the memory from his mind, but each year it seemed to sear deeper and deeper into his soul.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the here and now. He glanced at the Santa clock’s digital display. It was getting late, and he’d promised to set up the village under the tree. His children had been sent off to bed, and his wife was upstairs wrapping gifts. His mouth formed a thin grim line. It seemed that each year she was spending more and more on presents. As the old cliché says, did she think he was made of money?

Nicholas moved to where a large Cherrywood box sat upon a table. With reverence he opened the lid. Inside, lying on a bed of velvet, were whimsical carved figures, each depicting a member of his family painted in their holiday finest. Woodworking had been a skill passed down through the generations on his father’s side. Each figure had been crafted from the wood of a blackthorn tree. Nicholas couldn’t help but admire his own craftsmanship as he unwrapped the lifelike figure of his daughter and son building a snowman. Setting the figure on the table, he turned to the boxes containing the village.

Soon he had fluffy fake snow spread out beneath the tree. He arranged the tacky Christmas houses, the old-fashioned lamp posts, and the plastic magnetic ice-skating pond. He laid the track for the train, assembled the Santa Claus Express with the flatcar loaded with little Christmas trees, then carefully placed the carved figures along with the ceramic characters his wife had chosen. It looked perfect. And he hated it.

He connected the extension cords, plugged them into the surge protector, hit the switch, and watched as the tiny village seemed to come to life. The lamps blinked on, skaters bumped around in a circle, and the train chugged by.

“Nicholas, it looks wonderful. The children will love it,” Candace Klaus said coming into the living room. She bent down to get a closer look. “I knew as soon as I saw those little village houses, they’d be perfect under the tree. And all the different people, aren’t they cute? The ice-skaters going around the pond remind me so much of the children. Oh, and here comes the train. Nicholas, they’re going to be so excited.”

Nicholas’s reply was a grunt.

Candace stood and clapped her hands. “How I love Christmas. Tomorrow we’ll go cut down a tree for my parents. The children are really looking forward to it. Then later there’s the parade. I told Mayor Balsam you’d be willing to be one of the elves and hand out presents to the children. They’re just small items, mostly candy. We wouldn’t want to outdo Santa, would we?” she concluded with a laugh.

Nicholas gritted his teeth. Was the silly woman so totally oblivious of his internal torment? Be an elf? Not likely. He stared at her Santa night cap, matching sleep shirt, and candy cane-striped socks. A sneer of distaste crossed his face. “Aren’t you a little old to dress like that?”

Confusion and hurt filled her eyes, then she smiled. “Everyone’s a kid at Christmas.” She turned back to the village and reached for one of the carved figures. “Each time I see these I’m amazed at how lifelike they are. I don’t understand why no one in your family ever went into business selling them.”

“They’re not meant to be sold,” Nicholas replied, taking the figure representing himself cutting down a tree from Candace’s hand. “This was given to me as a small child.” Remembering the strange bonding sensation he’d felt the first time he’d held the figure, Nicholas shook his head. It’s only a piece of wood, he thought, as he replaced it in the bed of fake snow.

Suddenly the lights of the village brightened, then there was a popping noise, and a spark, and all went dark.

“The hell with Christmas and all that goes with it!” Nicholas shouted. He angrily tossed the last log on the fire and grabbed his axe.

“Nicholas, where are you going?” Candace called.

“To cut down that damn tree.”

“But it’s eleven o’clock at night.”

The slamming of the door was his only response.