Christmas In The Holler

 A short story by David W. Thompson

Story cover by Erika M Szabo

Christmas was coming, and the goose was gettin’ fat—or so the young’uns have been singing for a month of Sundays. But the geese were already headed for greener pastures this late in the season. Our only hope of a decent holiday meal was waiting for me in the thick woods surrounding our cabin. 

I reckon if Ma had her druthers, she’d take a fat roast turkey over an old, dried-out, and chewy goose anyway. I sure would rather sit the river’s edge and wait for one of those geese to come floating by than trudge through the frozen-up hills praying for a stray gobbler to make a fatal mistake. But we play the cards we’re dealt. That’s what my daddy always says, and lately, our family wasn’t dealt no winning hands.

Things been bad for most of the folks in the holler though, so wasn’t no sense in me flapping my jaws over it. Folks just look at ya funny anyways. Still, I prayed extra hard last evening. I asked the Almighty again to make sure Pa was safe. Mining was a dangerous job.  I prayed for him to be home for Christmas. Things weren’t the same since he took that job at the new coal mine over in Mercer County. Ma said he sent home every penny he could, but things were still as tight as a frog’s backside, and that’s waterproof.

Next, I asked about the Neely family, who lived further up the mountain. I figured things had to be hard on them since Mr. Neely rolled his old Farmall tractor last month and broke himself up right smart.  “Love your neighbor as yourself,” the good book says, but what was a body to do if they was hurting just as bad? Quit your whining, Francis. I thought as I pulled on my best pair of socks—the ones Ma darned up for me. I wiggled my toes into Pa’s hunting boots. Ma packed some cotton scraps (left over from the Easter dress she made for Sally Mae) into the toe part so my feet wouldn’t woller around too much. Dressed as warm as I could get (and still walk), I grabbed Pa’s old double barrel 12 gauge and a pocket full of shells. I smiled, remembering the first time I shot that gun. Pa warned me to keep the butt tucked tight against the pocket of my shoulder, but my arms were short and weak, while my determination was long and strong. When Pa pointed out the target, I let the gun stock slip under my arm and yanked the trigger. The blast knocked me over quick as one of the football players I saw on Mr. Myer's television set once. Pa said that as soon as we had the money, it might be best to start me off with a secondhand .22 rifle instead, but money was hard to come by.

A brisk breeze and wet snowflakes slapped my cheek when I opened the door. I stepped out quietly, not wanting to wake the young’uns, but Ma still heard.

“You dressed warm enough, Francis?”

I nodded. “I’m good, Ma. Thanks.”

“You want me to fix you something? Won’t take a minute. Cup of coffee, maybe?”

That one caused me to pause for a minute. Ma always said I wasn’t old enough to drink coffee.   

“Maybe when I get back. I packed some deer jerky and a chunk of the bread you baked yesterday.” I turned back toward the door.

“Do your best, son, but don’t shoot any hens, and be safe out there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I closed the door, leaving the wood stove's warmth behind.

I followed a well-worn trail down to the river. ‘Coon and ‘possum tracks were all over the mud bank, but I was after a fat turkey. I decided to move across the holler to a stand of beechnut trees. The turkeys wouldn’t be too far away if the nuts were dropping.

Water seeped into my right boot when I crossed the river, and I shook my head. That was careless, Francis. You don’t need frozen up toes.

Moving uphill. I found the old log Pa, and I used to sit on when we were squirreling. He only let me watch after the old gun knocked me on my backside. I didn’t care. It was enough being out in Creation with my Pa, loving every minute of it. Truth be told, I wasn’t it no hurry to shoulder that gun again. It was a few years before he trusted me to have another go at it, and it didn’t kick near as bad as I remembered.

I sat on that old log, half-rotted after all the years, remembering Pa, our time together, and worse—our time apart. My eyes got wet, and I wiped at ‘em, saying a silent prayer that he’d be home soon. Then, a follow-up request that the turkeys would be moving soon. It was cold. Sure, my fingers and toes was gettin’ numb, but I swear to Goshen, my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders either. My head was nodding, and I almost forgot why I was out in the Creator’s frozen paradise.

When the sun was straight up in the sky, it offered a bit of warmth. At least the crust of snow and ice on my coat and hat thawed out. I hoped the layers of wool would keep me dry as the water dripped off my hat and down my neck. A shiver ran down my back.

Nothing but songbirds were moving, and there wasn’t enough meat on them to feed Sally Mae more or less the whole family. Mr. Roosevelt said we was in a depression, and there wasn’t nothing great about it. “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without,” he said. Doing without was hard on the young’uns, though. Money was tight, and game was hard to come by, with everyone looking to the woods to feed their families.

I was taking a notion to move further up the mountain when I heard something moving through the brush to my right. Hard to get an aim on any critter coming in that way, at least for a right-hander like me. I scooted around on the log seat and pulled back the hammers on the shotgun.

Pa said never point your gun at something you didn’t want to shoot and to keep your finger off the trigger until ready to fire. So, I had the gun pointed in the right general direction so old Mr. Turkey wouldn’t see my movement, and my finger rested outside the trigger on the trigger guard.  Something else Pa said was a good hunter never took more than he needed, but there wasn’t much chance of that.  And all I needed right now was for the majestic bird to take a couple more steps. My mouth watered at the thought of a slice of juicy turkey breast. I swallowed it down and held my breath.

One more step, two, and…

A small hand pulled aside a branch, and Silas Neely poked his head out. Sweat broke out on my forehead as I let down the hammers on the shotgun. Silas was young to be out on his own, but with his Daddy laid up, I reckon that made him the man of the family—for a while, anyway. I waved, hoping he wouldn’t mistake me for a critter. He nodded and walked toward me. The shotgun resting on his shoulders was as long as he was tall. A piece of baling twine served as a sling to help him carry it, and a thick wrapping of tape held the stock together.

“Guess we’re after the same thing, Francis. You have a hankering for a Christmas turkey, too?” Silas asked. His eyes were deep and sunken, his cheeks hollow. I wondered if he’d been sickly.

“I sure am,” I whispered. “You must've put on a growth spurt, Silas. You’re as skinny as a ribbon snake and look like an old mule off its feed.”

Silas looked down at the ground and scuffed his boots in the leaves. When he raised his head and looked at me, his eyes were deep-set and shadowy. His pant leg only reached to his shins, about the same length as his oversized coat. A worn hat, two sizes too big, was pulled down low on his forehead, and a turkey wing bone call hung around his neck. I guess I stared at the double patches on his britches a bit too long. His face turned all red, and he kicked at the leaves again.

“Ma’s been right busy with Pa and the babies. Little Sarah’s sewing ain’t too good, but she does her best,” he said.

“That’s all right. Turkeys don’t care none, and I hear tell you’re a fine hunter.”

Silas looked up and smiled. “Pa says I’m near ‘bouts a man now.”

“I was thinking I’d try on up the mountain a ways. No sense in us hunting on top of one another. There’s a decent grove of persimmons up there, and the beechnuts are hitting the ground here. But where would you rather try? Both spots are promising.”

“I’ll head up if it’s all the same to you, Francis. Pa and I took a gobbler up there last spring. It’d mean much to Pa if I took another one there.”

He held out his hand, and I shook it. “Good luck to you, Francis.”

“You too. Hope you get a good ‘un.”

I sat back on my log and watched him walk away, slumped over like he carried a fifty-pound sack of ‘taters on his narrow shoulders. Something must’ve flown into my eye about then. My vision blurred, and I wondered what Christmas would be like at the Neely house.

***

Long after the sound of Silas moving through the woods stopped, the birds started singing again. A pair of squirrels chased each other around a big oak tree, paying no attention to me. Reckon they figured I was just a thick branch poking out of that log and no threat to their play at all.

The hairs sticking out under my hat and those little hairs in my nose were froze up into icicles. Despite the cold, I smiled as I watched the squirrels’ antics, and I realized I best keep an eye on ‘em. I might need them for dinner—if the turkeys didn’t cooperate.

The sun was getting lower and peeking through the trees on the west side. It shouldn’t be long now. The turkeys would be moving and headed to their roost. The thought no more than jumped into my head when I heard a shotgun blast uphill from where I sat. Maybe Silas got lucky. For a moment, I was jealous, then felt ashamed of myself. Pa said you shouldn’t envy a neighbor’s good fortune. I reckon the good book says something about it, too.

The shotgun roared again. I heard Pa’s voice then, clear as day. “Pay attention now, son. Silas must’ve busted up a whole flock of birds!”  

My eyes got watering, and I wiped at ‘em with my coat sleeve. Did hearing Pa’s voice mean something bad happened? Like some omen? As soon as my eyes cleared, sure enough, a big gobbler came busting through. He stopped for a second to look behind, and my gun spoke. The big bird dropped where he stood.

Pa always taught me to respect the life of the game we’ve taken, but I had to restrain myself from hollering and hooting. My family would have a fine Christmas dinner. Now, if only Pa would come home.

I knelt by my prize turkey, admiring his full, sleek feathers and wide tail fan. His spurs were nearabouts two inches long and the biggest bird I’d ever seen by far.

“Thank you for the gift of your life,” I said. “Your sacrifice will feed my family on the holiest of holy days and it will not be forgotten when we sing the Creator’s praises.”

I cleaned the bird, saved the gizzard and liver, tied a piece of twine around his feet to carry him across my shoulder, and sat down to wait for Silas.

***

I couldn’t help but smile all over myself as I waited. Ma and the kids would be tickled pink when I walked in the cabin door with our Christmas turkey slung over my shoulder. I was planning my entrance—wondering if’n I should pretend to have been skunked. I imagined the disappointment on everyone’s faces and decided against that.

I didn’t have long to wait for Silas. I heard him stomping through the underbrush and could tell he carried out more than he carried in. I smiled at his good fortune. When his figure appeared, it wasn’t a turkey I saw, and I stared, trying to make out the furred critter he struggled to carry.  I stood and walked toward him, and the ringed tail identified his prize as a raccoon.

“I see you had some luck, Silas. Congratulations.”

“You too? I heard you shoot.”

I held up my turkey.

“I reckon I messed up, Francis. I was cold and started thinking I wasn’t gonna see nothing. All I could think about was not having any meat to take home for Christmas. Then this ‘coon poked his head out of that hollow sycamore tree and started scrambling down. I figured a big old buck ‘coon was better’n nothing. As soon as I shot, a whole flock of turkeys took off. They was practically on top of me, but I never saw or heard ‘em coming. I took a shot at one but missed him clean. Ma hates ‘coon though. Had too much of it lately, I reckon.”

Silas stared at my dressed turkey and licked his lips. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

Visions of Ma pulling a golden-brown roast turkey out of the wood-fired stove danced in front of my eyes.

“You of a mind to trade that fat ‘coon for this scrawny bird?” I heard myself ask. “Heck, I’d a never had a chance at him if you didn’t run him to me.”

Silas licked his lips again and stared at me to see if I was teasing. He shook his head.  “I appreciate the thought, Francis, but my Pa don’t abide by no charity.”

“Charity? Hellfire, Silas. Baked ‘coon is my family’s favorite meal. You should see the young’uns squabble over a chunk of ‘coon. You’d be doing us a favor, truth be told. But I understand if you don’t want to give it up…”  

“Pa wouldn’t want me to…”

“It’ll be our secret. Like I said, I only got the bird 'cause of you, so I reckon he’s as much yours as mine anyway.”

Silas stared at the turkey like it was the world's salvation, then dropped his head and held that ‘coon all the tighter.

“Mmm Mmm, Ma sure would be happy about that nice ‘coon. Best eating in the woods, Pa always says.” I told him.

Silas gave me a look I couldn’t make out. Then he nodded his head and smiled.

I slipped the bird off my shoulder and hung it on Silas’. I reached for the ‘coon, and he paused only a second before turning it loose.

“Merry Christmas, Francis.”

“Merry Christmas to you and yours, Silas.”

***

We walked a short way together before the trail forked, and we said our goodbyes.

The trail got steeper as I approached home. My boots grew heavy as if they were filled with lead sinkers, and I wondered if it was from the cold or my worry over what Ma would think about me giving away our turkey.

My little brother Billy met me at the door, hope shining in his eyes.

“Whatcha catch, Francis? Did you get us a big ol’ turkey?” he asked. The light in his eyes faded when I held up dinner.

 “Oh, Ma, it’s another stinking raccoon,” he said.

“Since when did you turn your nose up at raccoon meat, Billy Ray? ‘Sides, I know your brother did his best. Now, you apologize right this minute.”

Billy dropped his eyes to the floor. “I'm sorry, Francis. He is a nice fat ‘coon.”

I ruffled his hair and smiled. “It’s fine, Billy.”

Ma laid out a supper of fried squirrel and biscuits. The two squirrels didn’t go far between me and Ma and four young’uns. But I wasn’t much hungry anyway. Besides, Ma made the best biscuits in the whole county.

After dinner, I helped wash the kids up and got ‘em tucked into bed.

“I know it’s kind of late, but I’ll fix us a couple of cups of coffee if you don’t think it will keep you up,” Ma said.

“That would suit me fine,” I said. “I do still have a bit of a chill.”

I busied myself with wiping down the old shotgun while Ma started the coffee. When I was done, she placed a steaming hot cup before me.

“Now, tell me all about your hunt, Francis, ‘cause I reckon you left out a few parts. Sheriff Giles stopped by. He left just before you got back. He said the Neely boy was toting the biggest tom turkey he’d ever seen and the boy seemed bashful about how he came about it. He’d been hunting along the same patch of woods as you. You know anything about his good fortune?”

I looked down at my cup of coffee and thought for a moment.

“I asked Pa about something the preacher said one time, Ma. It was about the right hand not knowing what the left hand was doing. Pa said he wasn’t as smart as the preacher, but the way he figured it, if you did something good for someone, you should keep shut about it. If folks knowed you did good, then you were just pumping yourself up, and then the good didn’t count.”

Ma’s eyes got wet, and a tear slid down her cheek. I’d never seen Ma cry before, and it upset me greatly.

“I’m sorry, Ma. I know we needed it, and you were counting on a turkey.”

“It ain’t that, boy. I couldn’t be prouder of you. You did just right.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I reckon you’re old enough and deserve to know, Francis. That ain't all the sheriff stopped to say. There was a cave-in at the mine, son.”

“A cave-in? Was Pa hurt? What else did the sheriff say?”

“That’s all he knew, or maybe all he would say. I’ll be on pins and needles until I know, but news travels fast in these hills. So, say your prayers extra hard tonight.”

***

That night, sleep was harder to get ahold of than a greased pig at the county fair, and I don’t think the coffee had much to do with it. My gut was twisting and turning—it felt like two tom cats fighting over a can of sardines in there. ‘Course, my brain wouldn’t shut up either. It kept throwing more “what-ifs” at me than the law allows. Leastwise, there ought to be a law about it.

It had been a long day, though; eventually, my body had enough. But I hate even recalling the dark dreams I was tortured with, and I ain’t gonna dwell on ‘em much. Suffice it to say I envisioned my Pa trapped and broken in a pitch-black hell hole of a mine, his funeral after that, my family’s grief… well, I reckon almost every possible horrible outcome.

I remembered hearing his voice in the woods—an omen? Please, God, don’t let it be so!

I dreamt of Pa, but in my dream, a demon took him over and was after me to drag me to perdition. I screamed at the demon and felt him grab my arm.

Pa’s voice said, “It’s all right now, Francis.”

I could smell meat burning. Was I already in hell?

“It’s all right, son. I’m home now.” The voice sounded like Pa, but I was afraid to open my eyes…afraid of what my waking eyes would see. A demon? A ghost?

I remembered what my Pa said the day he taught me to swim. “Even the bravest man gets scared, Francis. They just don’t let that fear whup ‘em.”

I forced my eyes to open.

“Is that you, Pa? Really you?”

“In the flesh, son. Lordy, I’m proud of you, boy. Merry Christmas.” He grabbed me up in a hug so tight it hurt, but I didn’t complain a lick. Pa was home!

***

A week ago, I went home to the mountains. A dear old family friend had passed away, and we went back to pay our respects. My Neely was ninety-nine years old and only missed his hundredth birthday by a few days.

After the service, Silas introduced himself, which was a good thing as I’d never recognized him otherwise. He walks with a cane these days, and his hair is the color of fresh fallen snow. He said he lost his wife last year and was all alone in the world.

“Reminiscing is one of God’s finest gifts to us older folks, don’t you reckon, Francis?” he asked. “I can still close my eyes and recall when our families were poor but richer than we knew. I dread the day my memories fade, old friend. They are all I have left.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

“I haven’t forgotten what you did for me, Francis, For us.”

Sally Mae was the last of us to live in the home place, along with her husband and two teenage boys. She’d found this old notebook I used to scribble my thoughts in long ago, boxed up with some of Ma’s belongings. I hadn’t read what I wrote back then for many years. And there’s been a few—between that Christmas and now. Over the years, a golden-brown turkey or a fine smoked ham always graced our table. And most years, we had more set before us than we could have hoped to eat.

I got home from the mountains just in time for our Christmas. My wife baked a pheasant for our holiday meal. A turkey is too much for just the two of us anymore. That pheasant was something to brag about and left me licking my fingers—or would have if my wife wasn’t watching. But to this day, that baked ‘coon, on the Christmas day my Pa came home? That was the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had.

David W. Thompson

https://www.david-w-thompson.com

David is a multiple award-winning author, Army veteran, and graduate of UMUC. He’s a multi-genre writer and a member of the Horror Writers’ Association, and the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. When not writing, Dave enjoys family, kayaking, fishing, hiking, hunting, winemaking, and woodcarving.

Meet Author Erika M Szabo

 Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative, and educational, and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

Listen to my song in the video

"As an artist, I paint pretty pictures with my brushes. As a writer, I paint vivid pictures in your mind with words." ​~Erika M Szabo

Why do I write? 

Because I dance to my own tunes and follow my dreams.

When everyone said, "You're so smart and compassionate, you should be a doctor."

I said, "I'd rather be an excellent nurse than an average doctor."

When everyone said, "Don't waste your time writing. Stick to what you know best."

I didn't quit because my grandma always said, "You're a great storyteller! The stories you come up with explaining why you shouldn't do the things you don't want to do are amazing!

​I always wanted to create magical worlds, great characters, and many stories for every age group to enjoy. So, on a dreary day, I became a writer.

After learning every step of the publishing process, I started helping authors to publish their books. Today, we provide a full service from editing, book cover art, formatting, and uploading the books to marketing, video, blog, and website design at www.goldenboxbooks.com

Guest Author Alice Marks

 Happy Christmas to All

Two souls in Heaven have a chat. “Do you know what I miss most up here, Holly?”

“I guess, Merry, it’s your family that hasn’t joined us yet?”

“Of course, I miss them, but, Holly, what I miss right now is Christmas.”

“What do you mean, Merry? We always have The Holy Birthday on December 25.”

“Yes, of course, but what I miss is . . .” Merry pauses and looks downward. “I miss secular Christmas, with all the trimmings.”

“Now I understand! I miss all that, too—Christmas trees, decorations, Santa, shopping.”

“Yes! Especially shopping! Three friends and I had red sweatshirts that we wore when we Christmas shopped. On the back Cindy’s had, ‘Shop’, I had ‘Until’, Ruthie had ‘You’ and had. . .”

“Drop it!” interrupts Holly who continues, “I wonder if people still shop in stores? I’ve heard that most people order anything they need using their computers, from a huge store along the Amazon River.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like much fun! I think we should find out for ourselves! What if we ask St. Peter for a pass to visit the earth before Christmas?”

“Hmm. We must catch him in a good mood.”

“A good mood? You mean, when not too many bad people are trying to get in here?”

Holly was quick to correct her. “Nonsense, you’re thinking of earth. All who believe they are welcome here. I am going to ask him now.”

Holly floats away to the Pearly Gates and says, “Hey, Pete. Do you think you could give Merry and me passes to go to earth to view Christmas preparations? Of course, we’ll be back for the real Christmas birthday celebration.”

“Well, I’ll have to get approval from my boss, but first I’ll check my records to see if you two have been ‘Naughty or Nice?’ Ho, ho!”

* * *

Unseen Holly and Merry, arrive below early in the Christmas season. A Santa stands shivering in a corner with a bell in his hand. He rings the bell twice, and both Holly and Merry feel wings sprout at their shoulders. “Just like in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’,” whispers Merry.

“Speaking of movies, I was just thinking,” Holly also whispers, “We aren’t the first ghosts to visit at Christmastime. Remember all the ghosts in ‘A Christmas Carol’?”

Merry replies, “I shudder when I see those poor children the last ghost conceals, but all those ghosts did change Ebenezer Scrooge’s whole life.”

Merry agrees but is thinking, maybe we could change some lives while we are visiting.

Holly says, “My happiest Christmas memory is our Christmas tree.”

Merry comments, “Well, that’s a good place to start. I see a tree lot in the next block, and we can fly right over there to see what’s going on!”

“Look!” Holly says, “There’s Ralphie, the kid who wanted ‘a Red Ryder, 300 shot carbine with a compass in the stock’ and his family picking out a tree!”

Merry complains, “This doesn’t do anything for me. Our family always went to the forest and cut down a tree.”

“That sounds like fun! Let’s see if we can fly around and see someone doing that!”

In no time they find a cold, snowy tree farm in Minnesota. They see a man bundled up a in buffalo plaid coat, chopper mittens, purple knit Vikings hat, and high snow boots. His black lab, Bubba, crisscrosses in front of him, almost tripping the man several times as he trudges upward and pulls a sled occupied by two young children. The tykes sip hot chocolate from recyclable paper cups and spill it all over whenever the sled hits a bump.

The dad has a determined look on his face and an axe over his shoulder. All of a sudden, the little girl howls, “I gonna frow up”, and she does. Dad stops, certain someone else will spot the tree ahead that would look perfect in their living room. He cleans up his child with the red rag he intended to tie on the trunk of the tree so it could poke out of the back of his Nissan.

The little girl begins howling, “I cold, I want Mama.”

“I’m freezing,” says the girl’s slightly big brother, who makes a snowball. He throws and almost hits an elderly lady trailing behind a family looking for their perfect tree. They all yell at the dad for not having control over his son.

Another perfect tree seeker, yells at him, “Hey, buddy. leash your dog. He just lifted his leg on the tree I was gonna cut down.”

Dad has had it. Pointing to the perfect tree he intended to chop down, he says, “There, take mine.”

He pulls the sled downwards as the children, looking behind them scream, “You forgot to cut down our tree.”

Dad explains, “We’re going to some place warm –Target!” The kids chant, “Target! Toys! Target! Toys”. The two angels fly alongside the Nissan. Reaching Target, Dad puts the kids back on the sled and the axe over his shoulder. To the look of consternation on faces of other shoppers, he enters the store.

He heads towards the display of pre-lighted, in three colors, faux trees. He unplugs one and pretends to chop it down for the benefit of his children. He pulls out his phone and asks one of the assembled dropped-jaw crowd of shoppers to take a photo to show his wife the perfect tree she wanted him to chop down.

Someone summoned a very tall, red-vested Target employee wearing an elf hat festooned with jingle bells. The towering elf says gently, “Hey, buddy, you can’t take a tree from a display.”

“Just watch me!” Dad throws the tree over his shoulder, which means leaving the axe behind.

As he races to a register, he sings ‘Jingle Bells.’ The children join in and pretty soon everyone in the store sings Jingle Bells in competition with a loudspeaker playing Feliz Navidad. The Dad tosses money at a clerk and is out the door with tree, sled and kids before security arrives.

As Holly and Merry watch the family pile into their car, Merry says, “I don’t remember that movie. Oh, wait wasn’t there one called ‘Elf’?”

“Yes! But this whole saga wasn’t a movie. The author who is writing this story about us wrote it for a contest years ago,” explains Holly.

“Did she win?”

“You would have to ask that.” Changing the subject, Holly suggests, “While we are here, we might as well see all the great stuff Target has for decorating and gift-giving.”

There is no argument from her shop-loving friend. Every place they go in the store, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. They begin oohing over all the enticing home decorations as they grab a copy of the store’s ads flyer: Replace your regular wall pictures only with Christmas paintings! What about a fireproof garland for your electric fireplace? Replace all tree ornaments with new exquisite silver and purple ones! Replace your old Christmas dishes that have been used three times with the latest design! How about a Christmas comforter for your bed with new curtains to match, a Christmas throw for all of your living rooms chairs and sofa and matching drapes, a cutesy Santa Christmas shower curtain, rug, toilet and tank cover. Don’t forget magnetic Christmas scenes to decorate kitchen appliances (and garage doors).

The two angels progress to self-inflating Christmas figures for the yard, the most popular being Santa, snow people, reindeer and the Grinch. Remember to buy the speakers for broadcasting your choice of carols from the outside of your house.

“By the way, who won the election, Merry?”

“How should I know/ There are no politics in Heaven!”

 “Praise the Lord!”

They look at toys. As always there are dolls for girls including an almost life-size Taylor Swift doll that has a microphone. Merry pushes a button on the mike, and Taylor dances as she belts out “Shake It Out”.

There is a new atomic ball that will take three days to return to earth after it’s thrown. The angels resist taking it outside to see if it works.

“Merry,” says Holly. “Do you see what I see?”

“Why it’s Clark Griswold, navigating two carts filled with electric lights. Let’s follow him to his house to watch him put them up.”

The angels fly to the Griswold house and watch him use every extension cord he owns and can borrow to put up lights inside and out.

“Oh, no!” squeals Holly though, of course, only Merry hears. “He doesn’t seem to know much about electricity.”

“We must intervene so that poor cat isn’t electrocuted. As Griswold wonders why the tree doesn’t light up, the cat escapes unscathed.

“I like that movie better now,” says Merry, and Holly agrees

“Holly, let’s fly to a small town to watch a parade. They have the best ones.”

The two angels clap with the crowd assembled along streets in Whoville as the local High School Band leads the parade with their rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock.” The mayor of the town drives a brand-new Red Cadillac trimmed in holly and ivy. Behind him is the Parade Queen and her attendants, in red or green gowns on a dazzling float.

“Aren’t they darling?” says Holly when she sees a troop of tiny kids dressed as stars that twinkle as they toddle down the street.

Next comes a group of carolers on a float, dressed in Victorian costumes singing Olde English Carols. Next comes an Elvis singing “Blue Christmas” on a flatbed truck and bundled up people singing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” as their float leaks fake snow down the street. The junior high band plays a Christmas medley as they try to keep in step.

Finally comes Santa ho-ho-ing as he hangs onto a rung of a hook and ladder fire truck while his elves throw candy to the kids.

“Let’s fly to New York City to watch The Nutcracker Ballet!” suggests Holly. After the delightful performance, Merry says,” If we hurry, we can slip into the Gala Theatre to see ‘A Christmas Carol’.

After that delight, they decide to go to all-night grocery store to view holiday treats.

“Oh, look at all the different Christmas cookies and cakes! I used to bake the entire month of December!” purrs Merry.

“See that beautiful spiral ham wrapped in a red bow. It’s pricey but not as bad as turkeys! I guess people need to roast a chicken.”

“No, Holly, look at the price of chicken. Turkeys are less per pound. How on earth do people afford to eat down here?”

“Merry, look at the ‘Toys for Tots’ box. There are only two little Teddy Bears in it.”

“No surprise there. With grocery prices so high, customers have nothing left for charities.”

“We have to do something about this, Merry!”

Off they fly to Santa’s workshop, where the elves load up two grocery carts filled with Fisher Price toys, dolls and stuffed animals for little ones plus age-appropriate games and puzzles for older kids. The elves tie Toys for Tots signs on the carts. The invisible angels push them through the skies towards the grocery store.

The flying carts soaring through the sky in the US remind folks they haven’t contributed, and soon every Toys for Tots box in the US overflows with dolls, stuffed animals, games, puzzles.

The angels beam. “It must be getting late,” Holly says, noticing, Santa’s eight original reindeer led by legendary Rudolph, even though it isn’t even foggy.”

Merry saw this, too, and shared a memory. “My kids must have watched the TV show a million times!”

“Merry, do you hear what I hear?”

“Yes! Christmas carols are floating from churches having midnight services.”

“And look! A star, a star shining in the night.”

“That means we better fly back to Heaven,” says Merry. “With wings both of us will be able to join the Hark the Herald Angels Choir to begin the Holy Birthday as we sing ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’.”

As Santa notices two angels ascend into Heaven, he shouts from his sleigh, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Alice-Marks/author/B07BB1NZ2D

Author Alice Marks has moved around as much as Sandra Lewis, heroine of her suspense novels Missing and Breaks. Born in Wyoming, she grew up there and received her undergraduate degree at the University of Wyoming. In 1967 She and her husband, Sam, and two babies moved to Minnesota where both had careers in education and reared four children. In 2005 Sam and Alice moved to Port Aransas, Texas, an island town on the Gulf of Mexico. Corpus Christi is by accessible by ferry and highway or by highway, JFK bridge and Causeway. After soaking up the sun for eight years and enjoying life in a much different culture, including the energy of Spring Break, the couple returned to Minnesota in 2013 to spend their retirement years. They live in Duluth, where both are involved in music (Sam directs the Duluth Civic Orchestra, and Alice plays flute) and where Alice is involved in many aspects of writing including activities of Lake Superior Writers, leading a writers group, Ink Slingers, and teaching writing workshops and classes. Alice has been published in several anthologies for short stories and poetry. One of her poems will be featured in a dance-poetry collaboration.

Eye of the Jaguar

 A story from the What If? Anthology

Martina Crestada focused her binoculars and looked down into the cenote, one of the sinkholes riddling the karst landscape of the Yucatan peninsula. The building storm clouds scuttled across the face of the moon making it flicker like a guttering candle.

“Philip, hold the flashlight still, this one isn’t filled with water and there’s a carved altar stone in the center.”

He balanced his flashlight on the cenote’s rim to steady it. Philip lived to make Martina happy. While he’d become fascinated with Mesoamerican history and lore, his love of Martina was the primary reason he’d majored in Mayan culture and the only reason he’d joined this archeological expedition.

“Martina, we’d best hurry, the clouds are building. I smell rain and we’re an hour from camp. It’s dangerous at night. Ocelots, jaguars, and wolves, oh my!”

Martina pointed her flashlight upward from under her chin ensuring Philip could see her look of disgust. “Don’t be a crybaby. I see an altar stone on the bottom. There’s writing, but I can’t read it. Red veins. Could be iron oxide. Maybe blood. How exciting! Philip, I hope they’re bloodstains!”

“I’ll record the GPS reading and tell the guide we’re ready to leave. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

 The guide screamed. He pointed at a jaguar skulking quietly as a gentle breeze and shouted “B’alam! B’alam!” The beast moved nearer the explorers and pinned them against the pit’s edge. Philip was unarmed, he had a flashlight, a pocketknife, and a pith helmet like the explorers wear in a Tarzan movie.  

The jaguar's eyes glowed like red coals. Philip froze in place. The cat charged without warning and Philip threw his helmet like a flying disk and hit the jaguar in the shoulder. He shoved Martina to one side and stepped backward away from the leaping cat. He struggled futilely for purchase on the crumbling pit edge. He fell into the cenote and the jaguar flew over his head and into the pit with him. They both screamed all the way down.

Philip woke up on the decayed leaves that dotted the altar stone. He felt his left arm. Shit, broken. Dark down here. Where’s my damn flashlight?”

Martina shouted, “Philip!”

“I’m alive. Broken, but alive.”

“I’ll send the guide for help.”

“Have them bring a harness. Pretty sure my arm is broken. I can’t climb out. The air is stale, and it stinks of rotten fruit.”

“Is the jaguar, or should I say, the B’alam, dead? We can practice speaking Mayan until help comes.”

Philip found his flashlight. The jaguar draped the altar stone like a praying supplicant. Chiseled images of cats, snakes, and wolves appeared and vanished with the sweeping of the flashlight’s beam. Philip crept slowly to the jaguar and gently touched its throat seeking a pulse.

The creature opened its eyes, snarled, and bit Philip’s arm. He tried to jerk away and cursed. “Christ, damn thing bit me. Probably has rabies!” He searched the altar with his free hand, the one attached to a broken arm. He caught a brief vision of an obsidian knife stored in a cubbyhole. He gritted his teeth against the pain, stretched for the knife, and stabbed the jaguar in the neck. The creature released his arm. He wiggled the knife until the glow in the beast’s eyes faded to darkness. Their blood mingled and flowed into the red-stained cracks atop the limestone altar. The stench of rotted fruit grew overpowering. Philip couldn’t breathe, he gasped, staggered back from the altar, his head spun, and he passed out.

The pain from the jaguar bite or his broken arm woke him. Flickering torchlight and rancid smoke filled the cenote. Several men, costumed in ancient Mayan ceremonial regalia, filled the cavern. He shouted for Martina. She didn’t answer, but above him, the pit’s edge was lined with women and children.

The quiet was frightening. It was like the silent moment in a horror film before all hell breaks loose. Philip remembered from a class on negotiation that the person who speaks first, loses. He couldn’t stand it. The people just stared at him.

Read the full story in the book: 

https://books2read.com/u/m27NQd

What if you think the known world isn’t strange enough? Embark on a journey that pushes the boundaries, challenges your perception, and questions reason, logic, and established beliefs. 

Book Sunday

 Today's choice is an epic fantasy, magical realism series

Ilona resigns to live the simple life of a small-town doctor, but her life goes into a tailspin on her birthday. She finds out she was born into a secretive, ancient clan still hidden among us. She starts to develop unusual powers which she finds exciting as well as frightening. She can slow time and heal with her touch, but how and why?

BOOK ONE       BOOK TWO

A chapter from Book One

“Are we there yet?” Ilona asked teasingly, trying to conceal her anxiety. She knew the answer because the air smelled clean and fresh. Even the stars were brighter. It was dark, but enough light shone from the full moon. She looked around and saw a group of round, tented-looking buildings covered with leather, where small fires burned between them. Ilona remembered seeing pictures like that in a history book; they called those tents Jurtas. The river must have been very close as a light breeze carried the smell of fresh water.

“Yes, we are there. Actually, we are here in the year four hundred and five,” he explained to Ilona.

The lightheadedness was gone, and Ilona’s mind was clear. “Was it any different when you transported Ema?” she asked, feeling better.

“Well, it was as if we fused together for a second, and then we separated. With you, it seemed a little different, though.”

“How was it different?” Ilona asked, feeling the heat rise to her face.

“I had an experience that you might call… kind of... arousing.” He hesitated.

“Oh… I see.” Ilona searched her mind for the right reply. She felt embarrassed and blushed deeply. “For a second, the dizziness was the only sensation, and then it seemed as if we moved through something thick and sticky.” She had to tell a fib; she was too shy to mention that her experience traveling with him was something more personal.

He looked aside and reached for Ilona’s hand as he led her toward a Jurta standing apart from the others. “That’s because you’re not a Traveler, but a passenger, so to speak.” He laughed softly.

The Jurtas were lined up in a semicircle, leaving a wide plaza in the middle. Luckily, no one was in sight. They walked up to a tall and wide wooden pole in the middle of the circle. Ilona fingered the intricate designs carved into it. It was painted with brilliant colors. On top of was a giant carved falcon, standing with wings open wide, as if it was getting ready to take flight.

Ilona tugged at Zoltan’s shirt excitedly and whispered, “I’ve seen this place before! Every time I play my tune, I see this village in my mind or some other place pretty much like this.”

“Really? I always see this kind of place in my mind when I play my birth tune too! And I always see the Turul bird. I think everyone pictures a different place when they play. Mom says she feels like she sits by the Blue Danube in medieval times. Dad’s vision takes him back much further. It is curious that we both see a similar place and time,” Zoltan marveled, following Ilona’s gaze.

“Yes, it is,” Ilona agreed, wondering about the coincidence.

They reached the Jurta that stood a short distance outside of the circle. Zoltan grabbed the small wooden stick hanging on the side of the thick leather door cover, and lightly tapped the round drum hanging next to it.

“Doorbell,” he explained.

“Who art thou?” a pleasant voice sounded from the inside, in ancient Hunor language.

“The Traveler and the Healer are asking permission to enter,” Zoltan answered, in the same melodious mother tongue.

“Come hither.”

Zoltan pulled the thick leather covering aside and urged Ilona forward. Inside, the light was dim and flickering, emanating from oil lamps hanging on the walls of the wide, round room. Zoltan motioned for Ilona to take her shoes off at the entrance. They walked forward on the thick carpet covering the floor. A beautiful, statuesque, dark-haired woman slowly rose from a curved sofa-like piece of furniture. She wore a soft green, delicately decorated calf-length tunic, with loose black trousers. Her hair was braided with soft leather thongs. Ema was standing in the alcove. She shrieked when she saw Ilona and Zoltan and started running towards them but was stopped dead in her tracks by a simple hand gesture from the statuesque woman.

The young woman took a step toward them, “Elana, the Healer, I am called, ready to do thy bidding,” she said, and then looking at Ilona, she used an ancient ritual of submission by getting down on her right knee. That gesture was reserved only in the presence of Royalty. She exposed the left side of her neck by bending her head to the right. With one swift movement, she smoothed her long braids aside and placed her right hand over her heart.

Ilona was stunned and confused, “Why are you greeting me this way?” she asked and looked at Zoltan who appeared as puzzled as she was. He shrugged his shoulders, silently motioning that he had no idea.

“Thus, thine birthright.” Elana uttered.

“But I am not of Royalty, and I am not even sure what being one means,” Ilona replied.

“Are thee not? I say thou art, and if thee chooseth, thee couldst be more. Thy sign speaketh. On thee, the surest sign. Find thee heritage in time, thou will.” She began to stand.

Ilona was stunned. Royal? She thought. How could I be? My parents were regular people, and I only heard about the just and powerful Royals from Rua’s legends. I always thought they were mere fairy tales to entertain children in which the Royals were brave and protected good people. Elza said my birthright was to be a Healer. Why is Elana greeting me like I’m more than that? Frantic thoughts chased each other in her mind. “Please tell me. What is this sign?” Ilona asked, bursting with confused emotions.

“On thy face, thou shall beareth the sign, and thou hast the aura around thee. Accept thou the sign that shall appear when thou knowest thy destiny, as our Seer foretold thee coming.”

 Zoltan stared at Ilona. Elana noticed his confused look, smiled and turned to him. “Thou hast the aura of other sort. May hap someday the sign couldst appear, but not by right of birth. Such fate is for but the Choseth.”

Zoltan was obviously startled but didn’t ask anything.

Ema looked briefly at Elana, “Am I a Royal too, Elana? I have my Hunor mark as well, but mine is blood red, as is customary for everyone else. Ilona’s mark turned maroon on her wrist, and Zoltan’s is the same.” She smiled as she glanced at Zoltan’s arm.

Elana smiled back at her, “Your mark will appear when the time is right, and I will greet you a little differently if the time comes, and when it comes. We will find out in due time. Your future depends on many things yet been decided.”

Ema sighed in annoyance, “Whatever! Everybody tells me to wait until the time is right!”

Ilona noted with surprise how quickly her mind adapted to hearing and interpreting the old language. At first she had to concentrate, but after Elana’s few sentences she understood what she said without paying close attention.

“Ilona!” Ema shouted, jumping toward Ilona like a panther, but keeping an eye on Elana. She nodded approval, and a small smile played in the corner of her lips. Ema hugged Ilona close, laughing and sobbing in the same breath. She looked fantastic, dressed in a cream-colored tunic. She wore leather trousers and a delicately woven headdress. Her hair was braided with leather thongs flowing down to her shoulders. “You came so soon! I have so much to tell you.”

“There will be time later, Ema. I assume they have a more urgent reason for their visit. Please, be seated.” Elana motioned.

Ilona looked around, amazed. In the middle of the room, she saw a group of light, foldable, stools with leather seats. They were placed in a circle around a delicately carved table. The inside walls were covered with brightly colored tapestries. On the floor was a thick woven carpet. Oil lamps hung on the walls, and to the left, there were fur-covered beds. The other side of the room contained pots and pans on shelves and delicately carved wooden plates. Cooking utensils were suspended on bone hooks. There was a small alcove pointing to the outside. A large pot was steaming on a stone fireplace. Pillows and brightly painted wooden trunks were strategically placed around the room. Ilona walked in and sat down, finding the chairs to be extremely comfortable.

Elana’s soothing voice got her attention. “Welcome to my humble home. Your visit honors me.”

“Thank you for your warm welcome,” Ilona replied, still not believing she was sitting across from Elana, 1600 years apart, yet so close.

Elana reached toward a wooden trunk, opened the lid and pulled out delicately carved cups that she filled with a sweet and sour smelling white liquid from a leather pouch. Ilona sniffed it; the liquid smelled strong, aromatic, yet spicy and sweet.

Seeing the puzzled look on Ilona’s face, Zoltan explained, “It’s fermented horse milk and some spices.” He took a sip, clearly enjoying the taste, closing his eyes in delight.

Ilona touched the cup to her lips and took a careful sip. As it hit her tongue and the roof of her mouth, the taste was cold, sweet and spicy. It created a wonderful combination. Ilona took a bigger sip and savored it. She sipped again, and this time it was closer to a gulp.

Zoltan touched her hand and laughed, “Easy there, young lady! If you’re not careful, you’ll be tipsy within minutes!”

“Oh, thanks for the warning.” Ilona glanced at him, already feeling a little buzz. She didn’t want to appear impolite to jump into asking Elana questions right away, so she placed the cup back on the small round table and turned to Ema. “What have you been doing this past week? I can’t wait to hear.”

“Ilona, this place, and time are so exciting! We got here so quickly, and I didn’t even know we were here. The ceremony in the cave was beautiful and mysterious, and then we rode horses to come here to the village. Elana explained a lot of things. I just love it here!” she took a hurried breath and continued, “I met lots of people who were very polite and welcoming. Life here is so pure and simple; I can’t even explain it. No rush, no cell phones or TV. There is a lot of togetherness, storytelling, working together and laughing together. People care for each other, Ilona; it’s not like back home. There everybody is in a big hurry to get nowhere. They use and discard each other. In this place and time, they really care! They enjoy nature and live with nature in harmony. Wow, I want to tell you everything at once.”

Ilona smiled, stroking Ema’s hand, “I’m so happy you like it here.”

“I love it here, and Elana is wonderful to me.” She beamed and blushed. “I met someone two days ago. He was on a hunt. We met at the dance they held for the hunters.”

“He is our best hunter and fiercest warrior,” Elana said, proudly.

“His name is Mundzuk, and he’s really wonderful. We talk about things. He knows so much about nature and animals.” Ema was running out of breath. She drew a deep sigh and looked at Ilona expectantly.

Ilona was stunned and happy at the same time. This was a different Ema. She was so vibrant, innocent and she seemed truly happy. “I’m so happy for you and so much has happened to you. We’ll talk more about it a little later, but first, we need to talk to Elana.”

Ema nodded, and Ilona turned to Elana. “Elana, I believe Zoltan told you about the reason why Ema is here?” she asked, trying to rein in her emotions.

“Yes, he did. He informed me about what is happening in your time. My Seer tells me that the order of things is still similar in your time, and the Law of our people didn’t change. The Elder’s Council guides and protects the people and their right hands are Kund and Csenge, the Leaders for all time.”

“What do you mean for all time? You don’t mean that the Leaders are the same people in our time that they are in the fifth century, do you?”

“Yes, the Seer tells us they are indeed the very same. Only two Leaders were chosen back in the beginning, to carry our traditions and laws to... well, indefinitely if they decided so. Until the Leaders name their successors to continue their work, they will remain Leaders.”

“How’s that possible?” Zoltan asked, in amazement.

“There are mysterious things even I don’t understand; my mind is not equipped for it. I know they have the power to stay alive for hundreds of years. Their job is to keep the law and order as well as keep the tradition alive. They were chosen a long time ago for their fairness, and because they’re able to rule in unison. They are the ultimate equal partners in life. In their relationship, there is no superiority. Mother and Father, who chose them, knew that they would be able to represent males and females equally, for all times to come,” she explained.

It startled Ilona. “Wait! I don’t understand. Who were they? Are they still alive, or are they Gods? There are so many contradicting stories and legends about them. In our time, we pray to Mother and Father, but we also pray to the Creator.” Ilona hoped Elana could clear up some of these mysteries.

“Well,” Elana went on, “The Legend says that the Gods, with the help of the Creator, came from the stars. On their long journey, they were sleeping inside the fire-blowing Falcon that we call Turul, and they woke up when they arrived. They had shiny white skin-like clothes on their bodies, and their heads were protected by a clear bubble. Blue eyes and snow-white hair marked their appearance. Our people, the tribe which the Gods chose to visit, lived here in the Carpathian basin and were primitive people, but they had a close-knit society.”

Ilona had so many more questions but decided to stay quiet and listen. Elana continued, “They never left their birthplace to mix with other clans; they were pure and healthy. The God and Goddess decided to choose mates from this tribe. They lived amongst them and taught them many things. The Goddess bore a son, and they named him Father. The mate of the God bore a daughter, and they named her Mother. When they were grown, they chose mates from different tribes and had many sons and daughters, for three generations, at which time the Gods decided to go back to the stars.”

Zoltan and Ilona looked at each other in amazement, and then Ilona motioned Elana to continue.

“They took Mother and Father with them and chose thirty-nine of the worthiest of their children. Twelve of them were chosen as the Original Royals. Their descendants had been given a gift to bring forth powers according to their needs and to help others, but only if they prove to be worthy. The Original Royals went with the Gods, and it was foretold that when the people will need them most, they would return to us. Csenge and Kund were given the gift of life as well; they became the Leaders of the People. In every generation, two potential leaders are born, a male and a female. If they are chosen, they become leaders and Csenge, and Kund live out the rest of their lives as Elders. Also, it was foretold that a King would be born. The legend doesn’t say when, but he will be the first True King of all the Hunors. He will unite the clans, and his Royal descendants will be born with the potential to become King and Queen if they’re proven to be worthy. The rest of the twenty-four became Elder Council members, and when they died, their descendants took over the role. The Leaders, however, will not die until they choose to, but first, they must appoint their successors. We pray to the Creator and ask help from Mother and Father equally because they were the closest to the people and promised they will come back to help when we will need them most. According to the legend, the people worshiped the Gods, but we pray to Mother and Father.”

“You said thirty-nine…” Ilona did the math.

“Yes, there is one more…” she sighed. “Joland was not chosen, he was not of the original noble blood, but he’s very clever and conniving. He stole knowledge from the Gods and learned how to live forever. It took smart planning, conniving and ability to solve riddles to find the well-guarded secret. Therefore, the Gods appointed him to become the Law Keeper. When he united with Mora, they came close to overpowering the Elders and ruling the people, but they were caught, separated and punished. That’s all the legend says.”

“You can’t even imagine how much more I want to learn. Everyone seems to know more than I do, and it makes me feel like I’m stumbling in the dark.”

“It is as it is supposed to be. You are of the royal bloodline; you have to learn everything on your own and prove that you are worthy of your destiny.”

“What is my destiny?”

“It will be revealed to you later when you find out everything that you need to know.”

Although Ilona wanted to ask more questions, Ema’s safety was more pressing, “Well, I can’t worry about that right now. We need your assistance with an urgent matter. In our time, we couldn’t let them find Ema; otherwise, they will destroy her. There are only the three of us who know where she is. They can’t read Zoltan’s mind—only mine, and some of Elza’s, but we can’t take a chance. Do you know how we can prevent them finding out where Ema is?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I can give you an herb. When you take it, your mind will be protected,” Elana informed.

“What? That’s it? This is unbelievable!” Ilona shouted in excitement, she couldn’t believe her ears and looked at Zoltan for confirmation. He had the same disbelief on his face.

Elana continued, happy for their excitement. “The knowledge of this herb has been passed down from Healer to daughter for generations.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ilona exclaimed. “We don’t really use herbs in my time for healing.”

“How do you heal people then?”

“We use manmade medicine and we can heal a lot of diseases.”

“Hunors are not treated by Healers anymore?”

“Oh, yes, they are. As I found out recently, the methods are a little different.”

“What about preventing pregnancies? A woman’s body can’t handle giving birth every year like barbarians.”

“We have contraceptives and different methods. The couple decides how many children they will raise. Do you use herbs to prevent unwanted pregnancies?

“Yes, it was discovered by my great-great-grandmother a long time ago. Women were dying very young because as soon as they gave birth and became fertile again, they got pregnant. There were too many mouths to feed and children became malnourished when food was scarce. I heard from my mother that, although the Healer had risked punishment, they used the herb too.”

“Why not? They’re women too.”

“You see, the punishment for ‘getting out of line’ is a short life. We could never reach the age to become Elders if we give up celibacy.”

“What exactly does ‘getting out of line’ mean?”

“Well, when a Healer chooses to fall in love and have a relationship with her First Rite mate... that is considered breaking the Law. We’re not supposed to live in a relationship. We are supposed to dedicate our lives and all of our energy to healing,” she answered.

“I’m afraid that the punishment still exists in our time. I’m sure that my parents were killed because of it.” Ilona informed her, sadly.

“I guess the law is strong enough to last,” Elana sighed, and then continued, “We cannot fall in love or marry like others.  We get pregnant and have one daughter. That’s how it has been for all times. My grandmother, after she had my mother, was secretly pursued by my grandfather who was chosen by her. He fell in love with her. They met in secret, and they loved each other. As a precaution, she took herbs to prevent further pregnancies. If she had become pregnant again, the Elders would have found out for sure that she broke the celibacy law of the Healer.”

Her statement shocked Ilona, and she listened to Elana’s words with increased intensity. “What about the herb that shields the mind?”

“One day my grandmother was informed of Csenge’s visit by the Seer. She was frantic. She knew that with the hand touch, Csenge would be able to read her mind, and she could discover about their love affair. She said her goodbyes to my grandfather. They cried and spent their last night together. In the morning, they waited for their fate. They knew it would be no use hiding. If she were not there when Csenge arrived, it would raise suspicion. The Law Keeper would hunt her down. In her despair, she remembered the herb her mother had told her about. The name of the herb was the White Shield. The knowledge of this herb was passed down from generation to generation, but it was rarely used and only by Healers who ‘got out of line’. The only ones who could read minds were the Leaders and the Elders, and most of the previous Healers had nothing to hide from them, until my grandmother, and although I’m not sure, maybe my mother as well.”

Ilona’s mind tried to absorb what she had heard, what she was saying. Could that be really true that the Healer can’t have a relationship until her First Rite? Is that the reason for my unsuccessful attempts at relationships? Oh, rats. This is way too much coincidence for me!

Elana continued, “My grandmother quickly rummaged through her store of herbs until she found the White Shield in a clay jar. The herb was crushed and mixed with crystallized honey. She remembered how to take it; she had to put a piece under her tongue before she met the person who wanted to read her mind. She thought there was nothing to lose. She tried and to her surprise when Csenge touched her hand, nothing happened. Csenge was not able to entirely read her mind. She couldn’t read the memories and thoughts my grandmother wanted to conceal.” Elana smiled.

“This is incredible! So I can go back, and when the Leaders touch me, I don’t have to be afraid that they will read my mind.” She looked toward Zoltan, who was smiling at her with relief.

“Yes, that’s correct. As long as you take the herb when you meet them, your mind will be safe from prying thoughts. They can read only what you let them or want them to know.”

“How does it work?”

“I’m not sure, but my grandmother told me that it reacts with something in the body that makes you anxious to hide certain memories. It creates a barrier around those memories and enables you not to think about them. For a probing mind, those memories are in the dark, as if they don’t even exist,” she explained.

“This is great. We got what we came for, but I don’t want to leave yet.”

“We can stay as long as you like,” Zoltan assured her. “You remember when I got back after dropping off Ema? For you, not even a split of a second went by, but I had two days’ worth of whiskers and beard. I like the electric shaver and didn’t want to use a sword or something to smooth my face.” He laughed.

“Okay, we’ll stay until tomorrow, and we can return to visit at other times too.”

Ema clapped, “Yay, I can tell and show you everything.”

Ilona laughed. “Yes, tell me everything. I want to know all about your fierce warrior too.”

Elana sniffed the air and stood up, “I think dinner is ready. We should eat first.”

Ema winked at Ilona playfully, “I’ll tell you everything after dinner. I’m starving.” She stood up and reached for her hand.

“I would like to use the bathroom to wash up first,” Ilona announced.

Elana looked at her and then turned to Ema questioningly. “Bathroom?”

“I’ll show you!” Ema jumped up, grabbing Ilona’s hand and pulling her up. “She means the private,” she explained to Elana, who nodded with a smile on her face.

They stepped back into their shoes and walked beneath a flap in the door. Ema led Ilona behind the Jurta toward the trees, lighting their way with an oil lamp. There was a small, rectangular wooden building separated from the rest. They entered, and Ilona looked around in amazement. She saw four stalls separated by leather sheets. She peeked into one of them and saw a wooden seat with a round hole cut out in the middle. On the side was a bag filled with white fluff. Ilona heard water trickling beneath. She shined the lamplight into the hole and saw a running creek.

“What an ingenious idea!” Ilona shouted.

“Oh, we have a shower and everything. I’ll show you later,” Ema beamed. Ilona noticed she said we and was surprised. Ema viewed herself as one of them already.

“You don’t happen to have tampons, do you?” Ilona asked teasingly.

“No, but the white fluff in the bag is wool. You can use it to clean yourself and use it as a pad also. It’s very comfortable.” she smiled.

Ilona chuckled, “And I was anxious about sending you to live with primitive people.”

“We’re far from primitive. You’ll see!”

“I can see it already. I’m quite impressed.”

“I bet you didn’t know that the Hunors were the first people to use underwear,” Ema added proudly. “Cleanliness and personal care are very important to them. It’s a very strict rule to wash and change underwear every day. The people here never eat or touch their faces without washing their hands first, because their belief is that being dirty and unkempt could open the gate for the invisible demons, which make people sick.”

Ilona was indeed amazed. How could they have known about germs? She always thought about the ancient Hunors as being primitive and savage people, sleeping and eating on horseback. Although she recalled the stories and rhymes, she’d heard, but she always thought they were just beautiful stories about long gone people.

By the time they got back to the house, Elana was busy serving dinner. She placed the steaming pot on the table and ladled the thick, aromatic stew into wooden bowls. “It is venison stew. I hope you like it.” She was proud of her creation.

Zoltan looked up at her and complimented, “It smells delicious.”

Ilona tasted the stew and soon forgot everything around her. She enjoyed the soft meat and vegetables cooked into the tasty meal. “Elza would kill for your recipe,” she told Elana after she wiped the bowl clean with a piece of flatbread.

“Kill?” Elana asked, alarmed.

“Oh, no, I meant it as a compliment. She would love to have your recipe.”

“I see, but she probably doesn’t have the herbs and spices I use,” Elana mentioned, and then looked at Ilona and asked, “I wonder why Healers stopped using herbs in your time.”

“We know about the healing properties of herbs, but we rarely use them. See, I recently turned twenty-nine years old and only then did I find out some of what I can do as a Hunor Healer. I see images in my mind, and I know what is wrong in the body. When I touch the sick body part, my fingers warm and light up, and some ways, I can heal the disease. I don’t know how it works yet. For now, I just accept that it does.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you about the herbs and incantations?”

“Unfortunately, she died ten years ago. She promised she would teach me, but she didn’t have a chance,” Ilona sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Elana sympathized. “The healing process must have been evolved; otherwise you couldn’t do it without training. My mother began teaching me when I was just a baby.”

“How do you heal?” I asked.

“When I look at people, I know what’s wrong in their bodies. I boil the appropriate herbs to make into tea and the sick person drinks it while I say the incantations to drive out the bad spirits, and then I ask the help of the spirits of our ancestors. When I feel their presence, I touch the inflicted person and the healing takes place.”

“The way I heal seems simpler. My hand becomes hot and glows while I ask permission from an unknown force to heal, and then I hear voices and see misty faces in my mind…”

“You can hear and see the Ancestors?!” Elana asked, excitedly.

“I don’t know who I’m seeing. It scared me at first, and I thought I was losing my mind. Now I’m getting used to seeing them.”

Elana’s face took on a dreamy expression. “They are the ancestors who passed on and are willing to help the living. I wish I could see them too. I feel their presence, though,” she sighed. So, nobody is using the healing herbs in your time?”

“Elza, the Seer, utilizes a lot of herbs. She uses them to see the future too, and she knows which herbs to use to prevent diseases in cooking and to drink as tea or take as extracts.”

“It’s very fascinating,” Elana added. “In my time the Seers are not allowed to know about the healing power of herbs, only the Healers can use them. Our Seer smokes herbs and mushrooms, which sends her into a trance. Well, 1600 years is a long time… our Seer talks about dark times around the 1000’s. Is it true?”

“I’m afraid so. According to our history, those were dark times and a lot of knowledge was lost because of it.”

Everyone sighed, turned quiet, and got lost in their thoughts.

Ema used the silence to get Ilona’s attention, “Can I talk now?” She asked, impatiently, looking at Elana apologizing with her eyes. Elana nodded, smiling. “I want to tell you everything,” Ema said, snuggling up to Ilona’s side.

“Okay, tell me about your mysterious warrior.” Ilona settled with her on fluffy pillows by the beds. They heard Zoltan explaining to Elana the concept of time travel.

Ema grabbed Ilona’s hand and began talking excitedly. “Well, he’s strong, and he is a fair leader. He has about a hundred men under his command for now and is in charge of the hunt and defense. Everybody likes him. His father is the King of this tribe, and Mundzuk is his heir. He will be a leader someday.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yes, I really do. He’s so easy to talk to. He always makes time to see me. We take long walks, and we talk. Ilona, I want to enjoy this. I don’t want to think about the past or the future. I know I could lose him when I go back home, but I never had a chance to talk to anyone like him. It might be a budding romance; I don’t know yet. Do you think it’s okay?”

“I don’t see why not. We don’t know what the future holds for us, so I think that you should enjoy the present, even though your present is in the past for the time being. There are very few written documents about this time. Some legends survived, according to Rua, and I remember he told me about Prince Mundzuk. His childhood was very vague, but there are a few written and spoken legends about the time when he was a young man and when he became his tribe’s King. Rua used to tell me stories about how brave and just he was.” Ilona encouraged Ema with a smile.

“You might be right. I worry too much,” Ema replied. “Oh, it’s just too serious for me. I only want to be a young girl who enjoys her first love.”

Ilona didn’t want to spoil her excitement with speculations.

Ema continued, “Okay, tell me about you. I always knew that you loved Bela. How does Zoltan fit into the picture?” she asked, switching to a more comfortable position on the pillows.

“I really don’t know yet,” Ilona confessed. “I’ve loved Bela in secret for so long that I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Ema giggled, “What a pair we are. Neither of us has any idea about love and relationships.”

“You can say that—seriously! I think we just have to follow our feelings and instincts. We’ll see what happens,” Ilona said, stifling a yawn.

“Okay… you can tell me about it some other time; I see that your eyes are getting droopy.” Ema stood up, “Let’s clean up and go to sleep.”

They walked to the alcove where the fireplace was, and Ema started washing the dishes in a basin by letting water trickle down from a large leather bag hanging from a beam. “See, we have a sink with running water. That’s how the shower works too.” Ilona offered to help, but Ema just laughed and pushed her away. “No, thanks, I enjoy this. Elza never let me do any domestic chores back home.”

Ilona, watched Ema, and thought of Bela and her love for him flared up with such force that it made her dizzy and confused. She looked at Zoltan, and she felt like he was a stranger to her. The strong feeling disappeared before she could grasp it. Sensing her stare, Zoltan turned to her with a distant and emotionless expression, but a moment later a warm smile spread on his face. They both looked away deeply in thoughts.

“It’s time to retire,” Elana reported, getting their attention. She stood up and turned to Ema asking her help to make the beds.

“I’ll take the floor; I’ll be fine.” Zoltan offered.

Elana nodded, “Then Ilona can sleep with Ema in her bed.”

Ema and Elana were getting the beds ready, and Ilona sat down close to Zoltan. She wanted to find out if that moment of cold feeling was for real or just caused by being in a different time. Zoltan leaned close to her and reached for her hand. His face glowed in the soft light. He kissed Ilona lightly but pulled back the second she pulled away. Ilona felt the connection between them as if the feeling of indifference never happened. She lifted her face and their lips met in a soft, warm kiss.

Elana pulled thick, heavy curtains between the beds for privacy and laid bedclothes out for them. They were thin, soft shirts. “Peaceful sleep, everyone,” she said, blowing out the lamps one by one. She left one burning, which gave a soft and comfortable light to the room.

Ilona changed and climbed under the butter soft animal skin cover. She felt cozy and warm. Ema snuggled up to her and soon began taking slower breaths.

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative, and educational, and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.

Hope for a Better Christmas

 When nothing else is left but hope

The gentle glow of the morning sun filtered through the moth-eaten curtains, dancing across Anna’s face and causing her to sneeze. She reached out lazily, pulling the covers up to her chin savoring the warmth that enveloped her. For a blissful moment, she allowed herself to let go of all worries and simply bask in the comfort of her bed. But as the outside world began to creep in, reality nudged at her perfect moment, threatening to shatter it with its demands.

***

Before the war, they lived in a comfortable two-story house in bustling Budapest. Michael, with his strong build, worked as a railroad engineer while Anna, petite yet fierce, was employed as a skilled seamstress. Together they raised two bright and lively children - Sammy, a curious six-year-old with sandy blonde hair, and Barbara, a sweet four-year-old with big blue eyes. But then, their idyllic life shattered. Michael was called to serve, and Anna spent her days hiding in the musty basement with their children, never knowing if each passing moment could be their last. The once vibrant city was now a shadow of its former self, fear and uncertainty filling every corner.

The grueling months of trying to stay alive took a toll on everyone. Looters quickly emptied the stores, offering food for jewelry and other valuables. The once friendly and helpful neighbors didn’t care for others anymore; they fought for every bite.

As the sun slowly rose on the desolate streets, Anna ventured out in search of anything edible to feed her starving children. The air was thick with the stench of decay and despair, and she felt a constant pang of fear gnawing at her insides.

Suddenly, she noticed her old neighbor across the street, sitting on the steps of his house, shoulders shaking as he sobbed uncontrollably. "They threw me out," he whimpered between gasping breaths. "My son said there's not enough food for us all, and I should just be on the street waiting to be hit by a bomb or jump under one of the tanks patrolling the streets. I have nowhere to go, maybe I should just…"

Hearing his words, Anna's heart ached with empathy. This man had always been kind to them, often surprising her children with small toys that brought joy to their difficult lives.

"There, there..." she consoled him gently, offering a comforting hug. "We don't have much ourselves, but you can stay with us."

While Anna went out in search of sustenance, John kept the children entertained with his animated storytelling. But when she returned with only a small sack of potatoes - exchanged for her last remaining possession, a simple ring - their future became even more uncertain.

"I don't have anything left," Anna cried tearfully. "What are we going to do now?"

John's voice was heavy with concern as he asked, "Have you heard anything from Michael?"

The woman shook her head, her eyes downcast. "Not since he left," she replied, her voice trembling. "I'm not even sure he's still alive."

Determination flickered across John's face as he made a decision. "I'll go over to my house tonight," he announced with conviction. "I was weak when I let him throw me out because I thought he was right. I lived a long life, and it was time for me to step out of the way. But you took me in and showed more kindness than my own flesh and blood. I'm going to beg him. If there is some of the gold I gave him, still left, he can't be so stone hearted to refuse to help your children."

But John's son had a heart of stone. His words reverberated in John’s mind like a sharp slap in the face. “Why are you still alive?” he shouted from behind the closed door, his voice laced with bitterness and resentment.

John could feel his heart clenched at the sound, knowing that their once close family had been torn apart.

“How could you be so cruel to your own father?” John's voice broke as he cried out in disbelief. His eyes were red and swollen from tears, his chest heaving with emotion. “I raised you and did everything I could for you. All I’m asking now is some of the gold I saved for hard times like this,” he begged, his voice cracking with desperation.

“That gold is mine! You’re old, you lived long enough. I have to feed my wife and kids.” His son’s voice was cold, unfeeling. “Why can’t you just do the right thing?”

John's heart ached as he shuffled across the deserted street, his sobs echoing through the empty buildings. He had never imagined that his own son would turn him away in his time of need. “My own son! My flesh and blood,” he whispered, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.

Anna let the old man in through the back door and tried to console him. “We’ll get by, somehow,” she whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

That night, they huddled close to each other in the dark basement, the air thick with fear and tension. They could hear explosions and gunfire outside, the sounds getting closer with each passing minute.

“That was very close,” Anna cried out in terror, hugging her children tightly to her chest.

“Momma, I’m scared!” Little Barbara screamed in fright as the building above them shook violently.

But despite their fear, they held onto each other tightly amidst the chaos of war raging outside.

“Shh…don’t be scared, munchkin, I’m here. We’ll be alright,” Anna cooed choking back her tears.

The bombing stopped around midnight, and the children fell into a restless sleep. Sammy trashed and whimpered in his sleep and Barbara clung to her mother.

John crept to the small, cloudy basement window at the first sign of dawn and looked out. “Anna!” he cried out. “My house…”

“What is it, John?” Anna asked, frightened.

“It’s gone! My house…the bomb that hit close last night,” the old man wept.

The streets were quiet when John went looking for his son and his family. He couldn’t find any sign of life, only rubble strewn around and a deep crater where the bomb hit the house. He searched for a long time, falling over broken bricks, and calling their names to no avail.

“They’re all dead,” he sobbed when giving up returned to Anna and her children. “The house he wanted so badly killed him.”

Just when all hope seemed lost, Anna's heart skipped a beat at the sound of a weak voice coming from the street and saw a crouched figure desperately trying to look inside. “Anna!” They heard a man’s voice. “Dear God, let them be alive.”

“Michael?” Anna jumped up and ran to the window. “Michael, is that you?”

“Yes, thank you, Lord! The children?”

“We’re all fine,” Anna sobbed, her heart bursting with joy. “I’ll open the back door,” she shouted and ran up the stairs.

As she hugged her husband tightly, Anna's breath caught in her throat when she noticed Michael's missing left arm. His uniform's sleeve hung empty, a painful reminder of the horrors of war. But in that moment of reunion and gratitude for their survival, it didn't matter - they were alive and together, and that was all that truly mattered.

“We were under attack and the medic couldn’t get there on time. He couldn’t save my arm…he had to cut it off and they discharged me,” he whispered.

“It doesn’t matter!” Anna cried out, smiling at him through tears. “You’re alive and you’re here. Come, the children will be so happy to see you.”

After they filled their stomachs with the food Michael had in his bag, they discussed the possibilities.

“The war is not going to end soon,” Michael said. “We have to leave the city.”

At those words, John's shoulders slumped, and sobs wracked his body. But deep down, he knew Michael was right - his family needed a place where they could truly be safe. A place where they wouldn't have to constantly fear for their lives.

John bowed his head and broke out in tears. “You’re right, Michael. Your family needs a safe place.”

“You’re coming with us,” Anna's voice wavered, but her determination was clear. “We’re now your family.”

With their meager belongings carefully packed into a hand-pulled wagon, they set out on their journey away from the city. The nights offered a brief respite, as they traveled quietly on foot with their children nestled atop the wagon, exhausted and believing this was all just a bad dream. But as dawn broke each day, reality set in once again.

The path ahead was treacherous - rocky terrain and winding roads leading them through thick forests and abandoned towns. They sought shelter wherever they could find it - under fallen tree branches or in dilapidated buildings, always on guard for any danger that may lurk nearby.

As they journeyed, they faced desperation at every turn - food was scarce and stores were closed, leaving them to scavenge what little sustenance they could find in the countryside. Each day brought new challenges and dangers, but they persevered with hopeful hearts set on finding a safe place for their family. The weight of uncertainty hung heavily in the air, but they held onto each other tightly, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could face whatever came their way.

Tucked away in the remote northeast corner of the country, they finally arrived at the small, mountainous village where Michael had spent his childhood. As they made their way through the quaint streets, curious faces peered out from behind curtains and doorways, watching their arrival with suspicion. When they came to a stop at the weathered gates of Michael's family home, six burly men charged towards them wielding pitchforks and axes.

"What business do you have here?" The man who appeared to be their leader barked, his stance defensive. "We don't need no strangers here. Move on!"

But Michael recognized his old classmate from school. "We're not strangers, Paul!" He called out. "It's me, Michael Varga. We were buddies back in elementary school. This is my parent's house."

There was a brief exchange of hushed whispers among the group of men before their leader spoke again. "We don't want you here, city boy! Especially now that you’re a cripple," He spat out the words with contempt. "You abandoned your hometown so stay out! We have enough mouths to feed as it is."

“What are we going to do?” Anna whispered, holding onto Michael’s arm. “We can’t fight them. They’re going to hurt us.”

“They’re hostile,” he whispered back. “My parents had a haunting lodge up in the mountain. We’ll find it.”

The small family was watched closely as they started moving, their steps heavy and hesitant. Michael took the lead, pulling the wagon with determination, while Anna and John pushed from behind with all their strength. Sammy and Barbara huddled together, whimpering softly as they clung to each other in fear, refusing to look at the group of men tracking their every move.

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, casting an orange glow over the rugged landscape, they finally reached their destination - a decaying building with peeling paint and broken windows. The once vibrant garden that had been Michael's mother's pride and joy was now a tangle of overgrown weeds, a stark reminder of the passing of his beloved parents fifteen years ago. The air was thick with a sense of sadness and loss as they gazed upon the empty shell of what was once a thriving homestead.

They entered the small house in gratitude for the roof over their heads. The walls were weathered and cracked, with patches of peeling paint revealing the faded wood underneath. Outside, wild plants twisted and tangled around each other, a stark contrast to the once neatly cultivated garden.

Despite the wild overgrowth of vegetation surrounding the house, they still managed to find fruits, corn, and some vegetables that reseed themselves year after year.

“People in the village have probably forgotten about this place,” Anna pondered, her voice laced with unease. “Otherwise, they would’ve taken everything.”

Michael’s face grew serious as he replied, “Yes, more than likely...” He gently stroked his wife’s back. “And let’s keep it that way. This house is far enough from the village. They don’t need to know we’re here until we can learn more about the people who still live there. There are bad people everywhere, and I can’t protect you all with only one arm.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of the danger they were in, but he quickly wiped them away and put on a brave face.

Anna wrapped her arms tightly around her husband, children, and the old man she learned to respect and love, tears streaming down her face. “We’ll get by,” she sobbed, holding onto her family.

Despite the harsh winter ahead, they persevered and were able to carefully pack away enough food to sustain them through the long months. Michael found the root cellar stocked with jars of pickled vegetables, bags of dried beans and lentils, and even some canned meats that Michael’s mother had wisely stowed away for emergencies. They also found hidden treasures in the basement. Bags of salt, sugar, and various spices would add flavor to their otherwise plain meals.

The children took part in the hard work and gathered wild berries in the woods with John. One day, they stumbled upon two scrawny hens and excitedly carried them home as if they were prized possessions.

“Mommy, mommy!” Sammy burst into the kitchen, his face beaming with pride. “Look what we found!”

“Oh, perhaps they ran away from the village,” Anna wondered.

“Or maybe they’re the grand chickens of my mom’s hen that escaped from the butcher knife when I was a kid.” Michael laughed.

Barbara eagerly chimed in, “Can we cook chicken soup?”

But Anna’s frown quickly put a halt to the little girl’s plans. “I think we better keep those hens,” she said thoughtfully. “They will lay eggs, and maybe I can use some corn flour to bake a cake for Christmas.” The mere thought of having something special to celebrate lifted everyone’s spirits and made all their hard work worth it.

***

Anna gazed at her husband lovingly. His chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm as he lightly snored beside her. She smiled softly, thinking of all the struggles they had faced together - the rundown house with its leaking roof, the constant struggle to put enough food on the table for their growing children. But none of it could overpower the love she felt for her family. She knew they would get through this, as they always had before. With a sigh, she pushed aside the warm blanket, rose from the bed, and shivered when her bare feet touched the cold floor.

Reaching for her clothes, she quickly dressed, preparing herself for whatever challenges lay ahead. In the quiet of the kitchen, she took a moment to savor the peacefulness that surrounded her before beginning another day of hard work with unwavering determination.

As tears welled up in her eyes, she couldn’t help but think of her young children and husband, out in the forest every day collecting fallen branches in the snow to keep their home warm.

The fire was soon crackling in the wood stove, and Anna wasted no time in getting started on their usual breakfast: creamy grits. The smell of cooking corn filled the air as she stirred the pot with practiced hands. Despite the hardships they faced, she found solace in these small moments and felt grateful for the simple joys in life.

Suddenly, her heart started beating faster when she heard footsteps and stumping feet by the door. “It’s me.” She sighed in relief when she heard John’s voice.

“I didn’t hear you going out,” Anna said watching the old man as he dragged a small pine tree through the door.

“If my calculation is correct, today is Christmas Eve,” John smiled, his eyes misting over.

“Oh, John,” Anna hugged the old man.

John cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “The war destroyed my family, but I still don’t know why, fate let me survive. Let’s make the best of the time I have left. The children need a Christmas tree to restore some normalcy in their lives.”

As the sun rose over the frosty forest, Sammy and Barbara eagerly put on their hats and gloves to venture out into the winter wonderland surrounding their home. They strode through the fresh snow, their breaths creating puffs of white in the crisp air, collecting pinecones along the way.

The children's excitement was contagious as they returned home, bringing their treasures with them to decorate the tree. With each pinecone, small apples, and cutout snowflakes from old paper placed carefully on the branches, they sang Christmas Carols with joy and enthusiasm. Meanwhile, Anna busied herself in the kitchen, the scent of warm spices and freshly baked rabbit, pumpkin, and potatoes filling the cozy house.

Finally, after dinner, the family gathered around to enjoy the long-awaited cake together. Each bite was savored, the sweetness of the treat matched only by the love shared between them.

When Christmas morning arrived, the children's eyes widened with delight at the sight of presents waiting for them under the tree. John had spent hours carving intricate animal figurines from softwood, while Michael had crafted snowshoes for them. And Anna, always resourceful, had discovered a bundle of wool yarn hidden away by her mother-in-law long ago, using it to knit cozy scarves and hats for her beloved children.

Although fate had thrown many life-altering challenges at them, they never lost hope for peace and a better future. 

Erika M Szabo

https://authorerikamszabo.com

Erika loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introducing her story-writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination with themes such as magical realism, alternate history, urban fantasy, cozy mystery, sweet romance, and supernatural stories. Her children’s stories are informative, and educational, and deliver moral values in a non-preachy way.