The boy stopped and turned to face Bucky. His eyebrows went up and he said, “I
can’t tie my shoe.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too tight. If I tie it my foot will hurt. I already have a blister.”
The woman shook her head and said, “He must have outgrown his shoe. Those
are the same shoes they sent him here with last year.” Bucky shook his head and sighed. He reached for another can of beer and said,
“I’m telling you, this one is going back next month. He’s turning out to be more trouble
and more money than he’s worth. And you can’t just buy one shoe. You have to get two,
so they match.”
Carl lowered his head and glared at Bucky. Carl knew people with foster children
received compensation. He should have been buying the kid shoes instead of buying beer
and cigarettes for himself.
The little boy just stood there staring at Bucky with a blank expression. His lips
were pressed together and his small fists were clenched. The sides of his face were
moving, as if he were grinding his teeth to keep from talking.
Bucky looked at the boy and frowned. “What the fuck are you staring at, you little
shit? Get the fuck out of here and get those cigarettes.” He opened the beer and took a
long swallow. Then he wiped his lips with the side of his hand and said, “And if you
don’t get back here in a half hour, I’m locking you in the closet again.”
The little boy’s eyes opened wide. He squared his small shoulders and lifted his
chin. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Please don’t lock me in the closet again. I’m afraid
of the dark. I’ll do anything. Just don’t lock me up again.”
“They lock him up?” Carl said. “What kind of creatures are these people?”
The woman shook her head and went back into the kitchen. Bucky laughed and
looked at his watch. “Then get moving, you stupid little shit. I’m going to time you. And
if you’re not back in twenty minutes, you’ll spend Christmas in a locked closet.”
Carl’s eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted. “I’ll flatten the fat son-of-a
bitch for this. How dare he treat my child this way?” Then he crossed toward Bucky, lifted his fist, and tried to swing at him. But his fist went right through Bucky’s head, and
Bucky just sat back and took another swallow of beer.
The little boy ran to the door and opened it. On his way out he shouted, “I’ll be
back in less then twenty minutes. I promise.” His eyes were wide with fear and his voice
trembled.
When the boy was gone, Bucky laughed and shouted to his wife, “You see how I
do it? You have to put the fear of God into these little bastards. I’ll break him if it’s the
last thing I ever do.” He rubbed his large stomach and belched again. “The little peg leg
will be back in fifteen minutes, I guarantee it.”
The woman turned toward the kitchen. “Are we still going out to the bar tonight
like we do every year? I have to get my hair ready if we are.” She lifted her right palm
and fluffed the back of her flat head.
“Sure we are,” Bucky said. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m going to tie a good one
on tonight.”
“What about the kid?” she asked. “I can’t get anyone to watch him at this late
notice. Maybe you’d better go alone and I’ll just stay home this year.”
Bucky waved. The flab under his arm swung back and forth. “I’ll put him in the
closet and lock the door. It’s good for him. It’ll make him stronger.”
Carl put his head in his hands and moaned. “Can we go? I can’t listen to this
anymore. I could strangle this man with my bare hands.”
Chapter Eight
When the mantel clock in the living room struck two, Carl rolled over on his
stomach and pulled the bedcovers over his head. He touched the pillow with one hand
and squeezed the sheet with the other. He wanted to feel the surroundings; he wanted to
make sure he was actually in his own home and in his own bed. The last thing he
remembered was standing in that awful apartment while Bucky laughed about locking the
little boy in the closet so he could go out drinking on Christmas Eve.
He stretched his legs and yawned. Every muscle in his body ached. His dream
about the Ghost of Christmas Past had seemed so real he couldn’t get it out of his head.
But Carl wasn’t the type of man who believed in ghosts, so he closed his eyes and
murmured, “It was just a silly dream. I’m over it.”
When his head finally found a comfortable position on the pillow, he heard bells
jingling near the bedroom window. It sounded like someone was down on the street, in
front of his building, shaking those annoying silver Christmas bells he’d been hearing
since Thanksgiving. He assumed that whoever it was would pass by and the sound would
disappear.
But the bells didn’t become gradually softer. They grew louder, until Carl was
forced to curl into a fetal position and cover his ears with his hands.
While the bells jingled, a woman’s voice shouted, “Merry Christmas, Carl Smite.
Get out of that bed and stop wasting time. We have a lot to do.” Her voice was smooth
and easy, as if she’d been trained as an announcer for a late-night radio program. Carl pulled the covers all the way over his head and shouted, “Go away, whoever
you are. I’m not going anywhere. I need my sleep.”
The woman stopped shaking the long strand of bells. She laughed and said, “You
don’t have a choice. Either you get out of bed right now, or I’ll take matters into my own
hands.”
Carl took a deep breath and sighed, then pulled the cover down and leaned
forward on his elbows. When he looked up, he saw an attractive middle-aged woman
standing at the foot of this bed. Her red hair was large and puffy, pulled up like a Gibson
girl with a carefully arranged elaborate cluster of French curls on top of her head. She
wore large diamond earrings like crystal chandeliers. Her eyelashes were long, her lips
bright red, and her eye makeup was stippled with tiny little sparkles that glistened from
the street lights. She was wearing a red velvet coat over her hourglass figure, trimmed
with thick white fur and a wide black belt cinched tightly at the waist.
Carl yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Who are you? Why are you here? And why do
you keep ringing those infernal bells?”
She lifted her arm and shook the bells again, softer this time. “These are the
Christmas Bells of Life, Love, and Hope,” she said. “For people who love life and
believe in hope, there isn’t a sweeter sound in the universe.”
“I’ve never heard of any bells like that,” said Carl.
“You just haven’t been listening, Carl.”
“Well, I’m trying to sleep,” he shouted. “Go ring your stupid bells somewhere
else.” The woman smiled and lifted her right arm. Her fingernails were two inches long
and coated in red lacquer. She shook the bells a few times and said, “I’m the Ghost of
Christmas Present, my dear. My name is Helena. And I’m here to take you for a few
Christmas visits. After all, it’s the holiday season.”
Carl sat up against the headboard. “I’m over it. I don’t celebrate Christmas,
Helena, so I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.” Then he crossed his feet at the ankle and
folded his arms across his chest. The Ghost of Christmas Past had intimidated him. But
this frivolous woman with too much makeup and big hair standing at the foot of his bed
looked harmless.
Helena pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow. She stared at Carl for a moment,
with her tongue pressed to her cheek. She put one hand on her hip, lifted the Christmas
bells with the other and started to shake them above her head.
At first Carl just watched, with his arms still over his chest. But as she continued
to shake the bells, the sound grew more intense. A moment later, the bells were so loud
he had to cover his ears, and his head began to throb and pulse. When a water glass on his
nightstand shattered into a million pieces, he lifted his arms and shouted, “Stop. Please
stop. I’ll go with you. Just stop that racket.” His lips were vibrating, and his legs were
trembling. There was a pain so sharp across his forehead it felt as if his brain were ready
to explode.
Helena lowered the bells and smiled. “Are you ready?”
Carl looked down at his body. “I’m not wearing anything. I’m stark naked. I want
to get dressed first.” Helena smiled. “We don’t have time. Where we are going you won’t need clothes
because no one can see you. And don’t worry about me, my dear. I’ve seen plenty of
naked men before. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” Then she reached out with her
right hand and pulled the covers off his body. “Now get out of bed and take my hand.”
Carl lifted his legs over the side of the bed and stood up fast. He looked down at
his penis and frowned. He felt awkward about standing naked in front of a strange
woman, even if he was gay and she was a ghost. When Carl’s penis was soft, it was
almost as long and thick as it was when it was erect. It was a good thing he never went to
the beach, because it wasn’t easy finding a bathing suit that didn’t make him look
obnoxious.
Helena lifted both eyebrows and said, “I must admit you certainly are a lucky,
lucky young man.”
Carl covered his penis with his right hand and said, “I thought you said you’ve
seen plenty of naked men before.” The way she stared between his legs made him blush.
She laughed. “I have,” she said, “but most men don’t look like
that
unless they are
fully erect.” She shook her head and smiled. She waved her arm and said, “Let’s get
moving. We don’t have time to stand here discussing your ample appendage. Now take
my hand.”
Carl stepped toward her and placed his palm in hers. Now that he could see her in
full length on the other side of the bed, he noticed the red coat was short. It stopped just
below her private parts. And there was more white fur trim along the bottom of the coat.
For a ghost, her shoes were surprisingly outrageous. They were sleek red velvet stilettos,
with a two small puffs of white fur on each instep. He tilted his head to the side and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a ghost who looks like a retired
Playboy
bunny dressed up for Christmas in drag.”
She wrapped her small, warm fingers around his large hand and smiled. “I’ll bet
you’d look cute in these shoes, Carl,” she camped. “Now close your eyes and be a good
boy.” Then she lifted her left arm, pointed her index finger toward the ceiling, and they
disappeared.
When Carl opened his eyes again, he was walking down Seventh Avenue South in
Greenwich Village. There was no one around and there wasn’t much traffic in the street.
The pavement was thick with brown slush and the sidewalks were covered with snow.
Some sections had been shoveled; others hadn’t been touched and looked to be eight
inches deep. The sections that had been shoveled were already covered with three more
inches of fresh snow. Carl was naked; his feet were bare. When an older man wearing a
bulky fur hat passed by, Carl covered his private parts and said, “I do hope people can’t
see me. I don’t want to wind up in jail tonight.”
Helena was next to him. She laughed and said, “Don’t worry, big boy. You can let
it flop around. No one can see you.” While she walked, the deep snow didn’t affect her.
Snowflakes slid off her red velvet stilettos without leaving wet stains, as if they were
made of crystalline dust. She crossed through the snow quietly, without trudging or
breathing too fast.
And just as it had been with the first ghost, Carl wasn’t the least bit cold. The
bottoms of his bare feet were warm, and he didn’t have the urge to shove his hands under
his arms. When a young woman in a long black coat passed by, Carl asked, “Why are we here? I’m not that far from home.” Carl’s shop was only a few blocks away, on Bleecker
Street.
Helena stopped at the corner of Christopher Street and pointed to a store. It was
one of those news shops that sold everything from magazines to over-the-counter cold
medicines. “You’ll see why we’re here soon enough, Carl. Now stop being so impatient
and follow me.”
They crossed Christopher Street and stepped into the news shop. There was an
overweight man with gray hair sitting on a stool behind a tall counter, watching some
kind of a Christmas special on a small television. The sound was low, but Carl could hear
a choir singing
Silent Night
. Carl couldn’t see much behind the counter, because there
