More fiction! I'm honestly so happy and grateful for all these generous contributions for our writer-reader friends! It's made this calendar such a special one.
So this morning we have another fiction offering. This giftie comes from Almathea.
Disclaimer and warning :
Though it is a Christmas story -kind of- it is a darker one
that way trigger some people. There are heavy mentions of suicide and a lot of grief.
So if this is a trigger for you, please do not read further.
This is also a coda I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, because it
directly follows the ending of one of my very favorite books by Josh. But one I
was not prepared to write before because of its mix of dark themes and very
personal use of Dickens. It is a weird headspace to be stuck in.
Please, keep in mind that English is not my native language so any mistake or
heavy sentence is due to lacuna of the language on my part.
Still I hope you will like it as I promise you hope and mystery at the
end. ^^
THE HAUNTED HEART : A DARKER
CHRISTMAS CAROL
When I finally climbed into bed I could hear Kirk playing his guitar
downstairs.
I turned out the lamp ans stared at the
pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. The bed was warm and more comfortable than
I remembered. I thought I would sleep well that night.
After a time, I closed my eyes and listened
to Kirk strumming. Not random chords, not a haphazard scattering of notes,
juste a slow, tentative introduction to an unfamiliar melody.
Something new that accompanied me while I
drifted into sleep.
**********
The dream started.
Not a usual one.
Not an unfamiliar one.
Even in my sleep I knew I had already had it
and I didn’t want to have it again. Please not that dream.
The dream started exactly the same way as
it did before. I was strapped on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my
wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more anger
than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my
system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only
thought Let me out !
I wanted to die.
Someone grabbed my hand. It was weird
because I hadn’t heard the door open, nor the sound of the key in the lock. But
the weirdest part was that suddenly the ache in my body vanished and I felt so
light. Floating like a snowflake in a winter gust. Am I dead ? Am I
asleep ? It didn’t really matter. I was feeling almost good. The hand
holding mine pulled and my body followed the gentle command, drifting upwards.
I opened my eyes and startled. I was facing myself. A distorted version of
myself, like a face seen through a frosted window. But it was me. Maybe a slightly older version of myself as
the other me with the sad eyes and the wry smile wore a beard. Before I could
react or blink, the bearded clone turned around and led us towards the door of
my hospital room. But it was not the same door anymore. Gone was the bland
light brown of the ward door and its window. In its place was the warm
chocolate of an apartment door with the number 13 on a plaque. I knew this door
too well. It was our apartment door. Alan’s and mine. I couldn’t go in
there ! I couldn’t face his absence ! I tried to free myself from the
hand holding me, this hand so gentle and so cruel, but it dragged me though the
door like it was just mist.
What awaited on the other side was like a rusty
blade stuck and twisted into my heart. The dim lights. The illuminated tree.
The colorful wrappings like a rainbow sea on the floor. And the laughs. Oh
these laughs ! So full of joy, so full of hope, so full of LOVE. I
couldn’t help bursting into tears. Alan and I lying naked in each other’s arms
after making love, the most radiant raft of this multicolor sea. Kissing,
snuggling and giggling as we were exchanging the most ridiculous endearments we
could think of. « Cuddlebug. » « Snugglebunny. »
« Love muffin. »
I was watching one of the highlights of
last year’s Christmas Eve like the most heartbreaking movie ever made. All that
delight was unbearable. I wanted to scream « Stop laughing ! Life is
a bitch and this is your last Christmas together !!! » But I couldn’t
breathe, let alone shout. All I could do was watch through a curtain of tears,
intruding on my own passed happiness, on that day that would never come back
again.
I tried to step forward to get closer to the warmth of Alan’s smile, to carress his cheek or maybe to revel in his smell one more time, but the other me, this witsful ghost, stepped in front of me and sadly shook his head. As painful as it was, I got it. « Yeah… This is gone. It’s only a memory of my… Of our past. But please… » The spirit or whatever didn’t let me finish. With his hands gently put on my shoulders, he suddenly pushed and I stumbled back through the door that was not there and found myself lying strapped on the bed, with all my pain and all my loss. Unwanted.
Unwanted and crying
on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the
thick bandages, my heart pumping more despair than blood. More grief. More
pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too
much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out !
I didn’t want to live in a world where Alan was not.
A thin and delicate hand grabbed mine under the thin cover. No, no, not
again. Like the previous visitation, the new hand grabbed mine and yanked
me up floating. But this was not a gentle touch. It was a hard and cold one
forcing me to face a gorgeous woman whose face seemed to be hiding under a veil
of backwater. Black hair twisting and hateful gaze, the only features I could
comprehend. So much rage. Even more than I felt. All my pains were gone again,
except for the hand the stranger woman held, crushed and numb with cold.
Without a word, she turned around and dragged me like a disobedient puppy
towards the door. A door that had changed again. Not a bland light brown nor a
warm chocolate. Now the door was a stylish white with trimmings and a bronze
lock and handle. A door I had known every day of my childhood. I didn’t want to
got there ! Even less than the previous place I was taken to. I didn’t
want to witness more bygone memories. But when she towed me through the door,
my parents living room was not like any remembrance I had of it.
A fir tree was up but out of place, bare as
it was of any kind of ornament. A skeleton of Christmas exumed from a closet.
Facing the naked tree, my parents were on the leather couch, where the entity
brought me. My dad, always the stoic man, suddenly appeared… small. Shoulders
hunched, blank stare, tan turned to ash, he seemed as lost as a bankrupt mogul.
Isolated in his own bubble of grief while his wife was curled up on the other
side of the couch, wailing like a banshee. Gone was the collected and sophisticated
woman I called mom. Her ever perfect hair were now in a mess, her eyes red and
puffy while snot was running out of her nose to end its course with the tears
on her once pristine shirt. The cold mantel clock on top of the unlit fireplace
was tick-tocking as ever, a language of time claiming it would always be the
winner. The only answer, a denial from the heart, was in my mom’s broken
mumbles. « My baby. My poor little baby. »
After an eternity of a minute, my dad’s
hoarse voice finally echoed back. « We will visit him as soon as the
doctor allows it. You know he wants to run a preliminary diagnosis on Flynn’s
mental state before. To think he cut his wri… if we hadn’t found him in the
nick of time… » Dad stopped there with a gulp and resumed his staring into
the green nothingness of the bare branches.
This was no memory. This was now. My
parents devastated by my own choice waiting here to see their son strapped to a
hospital bed. The son they had almost lost but hadn’t. Yet. The son who still
wanted to take his leave and who would. Who would force them to live this hell
again. My decision almost wavered while I was floating there, facing the
consequences of my actions on the people I loved, sick with guilt. « But
everything is in the almost, isn’t it ? » I whispered. Maybe to
myself. Maybe to the unknown scary woman. She seemed to take it for her as she
grabbed my shoulders, pure fury in her eyes -the kind of fury where lightning
was born- and shoved me back trough the door. Alone.
Alone and crying on the hospital bed on
that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my
heart pumping more culpability than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left
for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions
churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out !
I didn’t want to wreck my parents’ life.
Another hand grabbed mine. Please
stop ! Not again ! I beg you, I can’t take it anymore. This hand
was big, warm and firm. A calloused and nice male hand. Again I was taken out
of my body and facing another entity. A tall and muscular man wearing a grey
camo uniform and a tan beret that eerily succeeded to put all his face in
shadows, despite its lack of brim. Still this creature was more comforting than
the other entities. I knew he would lead me to another door. But to my
surprise, this time there were two doors. No. A double set of heavy doors in
opposite condition, one dilapidate and lank, the other renovated and glossy. Impressively
carved, richly ornate wood beautifully screaming Victorian era doors. The ghost
guided me through the dilapidate one…
On the other side was a clutter of an apartment,
full of sturdy mismatched furnitures and a mess of books, magazines and knick
knacks, and a garage calendar on a wall showing this was taking place one year
later . The place was colder than a grave. No fir tree of any kind in sight. Only
the back of a broad man sitting on the floor and playing with something, his
long-ish black hair a shrew’s nest. I wanted to get closer, but my guide kept
me where we were floating, staring at the man on the ground. So I stared too.
The shabby man was hunched, shivering and his frame was racked by silent sobs.
He was also on a mumbling rampage. « I’m sorry Flynn. I tried. I swear I
really tried. I wanted to save you. I needed to save you ! But in the end
I failed. I couldn’t convince you to give up your fucking Agreement ! But
who was I kidding ? I’m such a failure ! I couldn’t save save Gordy
back there. I couldn’t save Maria, Chess or anyone else from my squadron. Not
even this Afghan kid ! I’m no use, I can’t save anyone. Oh Flynn… Flynn,
I’m so sorry I couldn’t be better. I couldn’t be more. I couldn’t be enough to
ground you here. But I wouldn’t want myself either. Such a fucked up useless
poor excuse of a man ! And still I tried to save you. I swear Flynn !
» And it went on. My heart ached for this bereft stranger who was hurting so deeply. Mostly
because of me. Again. Suddenly the man straightened up as he shouted « But
I won’t let anyone else down ! Nobody else will die on my
watch ! » and he raised up his left arm. The thing he was playing
with was no toy. It was a gun ! It’s steely grey as devoided of hope as a
November sky. I sreamed « Don’t do that ! » I tried to reach
him, to stop him. But my guide still kept me at his side and the sound of my voice
didn’t reach the grieving stranger. The gun went to his temple and I closed my
eyes at the exact moment it spat its deadly charge. I didn’t want to watch
anymore, but I could still hear the heavy thump of a massive body hitting the
flooring. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to curl up there on the ground.
Another life destroyed because of me. But my guide firmly guided me back to my
hospital room and immediatly through the other door, the renovated one.
We found ourselves in the exact same place. But everything was different. It felt warm. The rooms have been renovated too. Every wall, door, window frame, trimming was in perfect condition. Gone was the clutter and most of the sturdy furnitures. In their place was still a mix a furnitures, some I’ve seen in the scene before, some from my place and a few antique ones that seem to have been chosen with love and taste. The trinkets and books were all well arranged on shelves in the company of other books, baubles and framed pictures. Pictures of a well groomed older man, tall and muscular, handsome with his black neatly trimmed beard and fashionable haircut framing dark smiling eyes looking at me. Because I was with him in these pictures, always with his arm around my shoulders or mine snaking around his waist. There were only two different pictures : one of a younger version of the man that he shared with a stranger, a lovely red haired guy, both wearing grey camos. And another one of Alan and me taken the day we moved in together. They were all couple pictures !
Between a set of window panes stood a large
Christmas tree towering over the living room, all bursts of lights, colorful
ornaments, garlands and bows. A kind guardian for the cheerfully wrapped gifts
and the couple seated at its foot on a thick rug, the true focal point of this
happy scene. Me and the man from the pictures. Me, smiling serenely in the arms
of that handsome man, nursing a mug of mulled wine while the stranger with a
deep voice was reading me some kind of… Play ? Sometimes I was laughing,
sometimes suggesting some change in the text, sometimes he laughed, sometimes
he kissed my head or my temple or asked for a sip of my wine. My laughs were
not the same ones I had shared with
Alan. The youthfulness, the levity, the innocence were lost. But it was still
such a joyous sound. Deeper. More trusting. More placid. A laugh coming from a place
of grief and acceptance. An adult laugh... I wanted to see more of me snuggled
with so much content against this man’s torso, my head lying in the curve of
his neck. I wanted to learn more of this obvious love. But my guide started to
take me back towards the misty door.
I resisted as much as I could until my
guide turned towards me, head tilted on the side like a question mark.
« It is you. The man who killed himself and this man reading to me. They
have the same voice. They’re both you » I said. My guide didn’t speak, but the
shadows vanished from his face and he was exactly like the man in the picture
with the red haired, smiling like a proud teacher. But I was not done.
« Why are you doing this ? Why put the weight of your fate on my
shoulders ??? I can’t be responsible of you. I don’t want you to be sad
and take your own life but I don’t want to live and love without Alan. » Still
mute and smiling, the stranger put his left hand on my heart. It was clear
enough. Alan would always remain there. His right hand let go of mine to
carress my cheek. A snowflake kiss laid there. And his hand still on my torso
pushed me back through the fog. Pondering.
Pondering on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much
under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more questions than blood. More
grief. More hope. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic
pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me
out !
I didn’t know what to do anymore.
The sound of keys in the lock. The bland light brown door opening. And a man as
lean as his thin fake smile entered the room, getting close but never touching
my hand. A man in a white doctor coat I would soon learn to know and loathe as
Dr. Kirsch. The dream I just had was forgotten the moment he said
« Welcome back Flynn. Well, what are we going to do with you ? »
**********
I woke up in uncle Winston’s bed. The sun was shining through the window,
melting the last puddles of snow. I felt rested for the first time since… In
months. My mind was clear. And I remembered every second of the dream.
Not the usual dream.
Not the unfamiliar dream.
The exact same dream, down to the tiniest
detail, I had only once when I was recovering from my suicide attempt and had
forgotten. Until now.
The impossible dream. Impossible, because I couldn’t have known anything from
it at that time. I couldn’t have known about my mysterious clone from a bygone
era I had seen on a picture for the very first time just before bed the night
before and that I had mistaken in the dream for an older version on myself. I
couldn’t have known about the still to come Agreement. I couldn’t have known
about the second entity though now I knew the ghost of Ines too well. And I
couldn’t have known about the house on Pitch Pine Lane nor about Kirk Murdoch
and his rooms. It was all impossible. Despite the strong Dickens vibes, I was
no Scrooge and things like that did not happen in reality.
First I became a magnet for an angry ghost, then an unknown copy of a man from
a different era and now I had glimpses of the future in my dreams ? And
Kirk’s fate in my hands ? Yes I was starting to have doubts about the
Agreement. Even more now. But this was a new source of concern. Too many
impossible things were happening to me. Last night’s question came back to me
with urgency.
Who was I ?
The
end (for now…)
Almathea
