Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream (15 page)

Johnny dropped the medicine bag and raised his other arm. The single-bladed axe flew through the air to strike something that shattered into a million shards. The singing stopped and an ear-splitting crack ripped through the river like a living thing.

"Run!" I screamed as we spun and made for the home bank. The river ice separated into huge sheets as the concussion vibrated through the ice and into our legs. The surface in front of us broke, splashing freezing water all over. We jumped at the end, making the ground of the river bank. A last greedy wave pawed at us, trying to pull us back into the river, but we had made the willows by then, and hung on for dear life.

Johnny and I both ran for the cabin with the same thought. We had seconds to get inside and out of those clothes before they froze stiff, making it impossible to run. Every second counted. The longer we were cold, the more likely we were to get sick.

We piled in through the cabin door and began stripping instantly. Freezing cold water stings like fire burning your skin. Your fingers get numb and the buttons and strings become impossible. Stoking the fire up, we huddled naked around the stove, slapping our limbs to get the blood flowing.

Our guest rolled over, but said nothing.

Johnny crawled into his bed, leaving his clothes to dry by the stove. His bed folds into the wall, so he took it down and crawled into his thick blankets.

I had someone in my bed, but I didn't care. I was too cold. Llwewellyn complained when I jumped in. "You're freezing and wet!"

"Perhaps you'd be happier in the loft?" I barked, losing my civility at last.

"Maybe I would," he said. I pointed at the ladder that takes you up to the fur loft. Of all our cabins, only Cabin Number two had a loft. It's where we stored the hides and furs we caught during the winter. The ceiling is low so a man has to walk bent over but there is no bed more comfortable than that made of beaver and coyote pelts.

Llwewellyn disappeared up the ladder. The unspoken rules of hospitality said if a man needs a meal, feed him. If he needs to sleep, give him a bed. I had been a guest in many homes by the kindness of these rules but I have never made a nuisance of myself.

I forgot about our guest. It was Christmas eve after all, so Johnny got up and put on his second best pair of long johns and set the kettle to boiling. I followed his example, dressed, adding a pair of moccasins to my feet. Soon we were singing Christmas songs, eating a cake given me by my ma, and drinking scolding hot coffee. We hadn't finished the first cup when we heard Llwewellyn scream.

Johnny went first, a long blade in his hand. I followed with the kerosene lamp. If I hadn't seen the lady on the river, I'm sure I'd have run screaming from that loft. Everything was in motion. In the midst of it, Llwewellyn fought and cried. For a second I thought two wolves had snuck up into our loft until I realized that these attackers lacked substance.

The furs, on all sides, from the smallest squirrel to the largest grizzly bear, were biting and clawing with absent fangs and talons. Like furry snakes the plews came at the Welshman with evil purpose. Some of the pelts were still on stretchers and unable to join in the fight. These mouthed grotesquely, "Green grow'th the holly, so doth the ivy…"

Johnny didn't wait like I did. He grabbed the lantern from me and swung it in a wide arc. The loft ceiling is low, so he did this on his knees, repelling the shadowy pelts with his light. The Indian swore at them in Cree, then in English to me, "Get him out, Ara."

I hobbled forward, bent over like an old man. Pelts scratched at me, flew in my face, trying to smother me. I pushed and clawed until I had Llwewellyn by the shoulder, then shoved him towards the ladder. Johnny covered our escape with the lamp.

Once downstairs I had to restrain Llwewellyn. He would have run out the door without his coat. I yelled at him, "Stop! You're safe here," trying to believe it myself.

We stopped and listened. All was quiet in the loft. The smell of singed fur was thick on the nostrils. We waited five minutes before I left Llwewellyn and climbed up the stairs.

Johnny lay on the floor under a mountain of burnt fur. He was clutching his medicine bag. He was dead. The boy who had come back to life was dead.

"Is it safe?" Llwewellyn called up.

I came back down, a black smoldering hatred burning inside me. "Tell me," was all I said.

"Tell you what?"

"Johnny's dead. Why did he die? Tell me." The look in my eyes told him what I'd do if he didn't.

The Welshman looked at the door, then me. It was as if he was wondering what his chances were of getting away. He made the right decision and sat down on the bed.

"I'm not a prospector," he said first. "I make candy, ice creams. Or at least I did. That was one of the reasons Glynis married me. She didn't want a laborer for a husband. She loved the nice, clean little shop. She loved riding in the cart when I sold ice cream on hot summer days. Only, the business failed. We had to move to Canada.

"I tried to make a go of it as a farmer. The Government was selling cheap land. Only I never had much luck."

I sized up the little Welshman there. Some people work hard and people call it luck. Lazy, greedy schemers like Llwewellyn. I had thought his eyes sad, but now I knew them for what they really were.

"Glynis wanted to leave me. This was Christmas eve, three years ago, you see? A cousin in Winnipeg had offered her a job. And I had bought her nothing for Christmas. She told me she was leaving." He stopped, staring at his small, soft hands.

"I wouldn't let her. I grabbed her from behind. Got her around the throat with my watch chain, and -"

I looked at his hands. Uncalloused but possessing a kind of reptilian strength.

"I put her body in a hole in the ice of the creek by our house. Then I packed up and left the farm. I went to the States. I found a job in a candy factory, did well for myself.

"Only, come next Christmas eve, I found I had this feeling, like I was being watched. First it was little things: a slip on the stairs, a candle burning my sleeve. But on the next Christmas eve, I knew for sure. On that one day of the year, Glynis could get at me. For twenty-four hours, she could take her revenge. And her strength was growing-"

Llwewellyn dug in his pocket, brought out the watch with no chain.

"I studied up on these things. Curses, spooks and such. And I realized my mistake. I had taken the watch chain with me. If I put it in the creek with her, then she'd be powerless. So I came back. And tonight I put that chain in the ice."

"But she still comes. Are you sure?"

"Yes, she's been trying to get me all night. She pushed me down that beaver dam. And the furs- But once it reaches midnight, it'll be Christmas and I'll be free." He held up his watch. It said 11:59.

"Merry Christmas," he said with a wide, wicked grin. The watch played its pretty tune and I recognized it at last. "Green grow'th the holly…"

Llwewellyn got up off the bed and began to dance in a disgusting manner, giggling like a child. "Green grow'th the holly, so doth the ivy," he sang. "It was her song. She could sing it in Gaelic and English. Glynis loved Christmas. She always said I never kept Christmas in my heart."

I felt sick. I wanted to get up and beat the little Welshman like a dog. Instead I just watched him dance like a man who had won the lottery. He patted the turkey on the sideboard, saying to it, "Well, this is a Christmas that'll warm my heart for many a year." He laughed at his own joke, picking up a cranberry and popping it into his mouth.

I could take no more. I had no intention of sleeping in a cabin with a murderer. Llwewellyn would have to leave now.

"Green grow'th the holly-" Llwewellyn stopped singing and clutched his throat. He choked once, then began thrashing like a man in a seizure. All I could do was hold him down until he stopped. He only stopped because he was dead.

I let go of him then. He felt wrong. His skin had a prickly feeling to it. His mouth was wide open. I looked down and saw something green poking out, deep in his throat. It was also in his nose and ears. Blood began to leak out of him onto the floor.

I went to the sideboard. I picked up the bowl of cranberries. Only the reddish berries were blood red. They were holly berries.

I noticed something shiny on the floor next to Llwewellyn. It was his watch. I opened it. The time said 11:59 then the minute hand clicked to 12:00. The music stopped when I threw the watch against the wall with all my strength.

I couldn't bury Johnny or the Welshman until Spring thaw. I wrapped them in blankets and hoisted their bodies high into a tree. When the ground softened I buried Johnny on the hill overlooking Cabin Number Two. I buried the picture of Holy Mary with him.

Llwewellyn, I buried in a dark patch of fir, a good distance from the cabin. That spot to this day bears holly bushes. The trees there about are twined with ivy. I don't go there anymore.

G.W. THOMAS

has been writing Christmas ghost stories since 1991. His influences include Dickens, M. R. James and Robertson Davies. His previous Christmas stories are available in
GHOULTIDE GREETINGS
from Double Dragon.

His Christmas site is http://ghoultidegreetings.tripod.com

By Megan Powell

"Open the pod bay doors, Hal."

"I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that."

Dave smiled. The computer's response had "Marianne" written all over it. She'd been the one to suggest the computer's nickname in the first place. She'd also been the one to program its plain English capabilities, and it seemed that every other week someone found a new Easter egg.

"Computer, open Bay Three doors."

"Unable to comply."

That was not an Easter egg. Dave frowned. There was probably nothing serious, just a mechanical glitch. He maneuvered over to Bay Two. "Computer, open Bay Two doors." After the normal pause, the doors began to slide open. Dave piloted his one-man craft inside and performed the shutdown procedure.

His schedule was light and he was naturally nosy, so he proceeded down the corridor to Bay Three's inner door. There was no sign of a maintenance technician, though that didn't mean much. A glitched docking bay, when they had more than enough space in alternate bays, wasn't likely to be a high priority.

"Computer, open Bay Three doors."

"Unable to comply."

Dave frowned. "Computer, what is the location of David Lebrowski?"

"David Lebrowski is in the main corridor outside of Docking Bay Three."

So the computer didn't think he was outside the station. Dave was relieved, because that sort of sensor problem would be a bitch to fix. Not to mention potentially dangerous. "Computer, why are you unable to open Bay Three doors?"

"The external door is open."

Shit. So much for a minor glitch. "Computer, I requested that you open the exterior doors-" he checked his watch "-fifteen minutes ago, and you were unable to comply. Why?"

"The internal door was open."

Well, that would explain it. There was a glitch, and one of the technicians had been working on it. The computer was doing exactly what it was supposed to do; an accident of timing just made things seem suspicious.

All the same... "Computer, display Camera Three-E on screen."

The viewscreen beside Bay Three's door was small, but it clearly showed the exterior of the station. Equally clear was the fact that the doors of Bay Three were closed.

Closed to the naked eye, Dave reminded himself. Maybe they hadn't mated properly. Maybe...

"Computer, what is the location of Marianne McHugh?"

"Marianne McHugh is in the cafeteria."

Dave headed in that direction. He was hungry anyway, he reasoned. And not at all panicked. Or superstitious. Marianne had named the station computer after a fictional computer that turned into a homicidal psychopath, but so what? Life didn't have to imitate art.

Marianne wasn't in the cafeteria. Brad Jacobs was sitting in a corner hunched over a reader. It was even odds whether it currently displayed technical schematics or pornography.

"Hey, Brad, have you seen Marianne?"

Brad shook his head. "Not since breakfast. Why?"

"Nothing." Appetite gone, Dave left the cafeteria. Brad tended toward obliviousness. Marianne could have been in the cafeteria up until a minute ago. "Computer, what is Marianne McHugh's location?"

"Marianne McHugh is in the gymnasium."

The gym was clear on the other side of the station. Dave frowned and headed in that direction. She might have been in the cafeteria, unnoticed by Brad, until after he'd last asked the computer for her location. She could easily have made it from the cafeteria to the gym... "Computer, what is Marianne McHugh's location?"

"Marianne McHugh is in the gymnasium."

He was about halfway there. If she left the gym, it was even odds she'd turn left down the corridor, in which case he'd run into her. If she turned right, he'd still be able to catch up with her. It wasn't as though she had any reason to avoid him. Ten meters from the gym, he asked for her location again.

"Marianne McHugh is in hydroponics."

Hydroponics was near the gym, though he couldn't think why she'd go there. Marianne claimed to be suspicious of carbon based life forms. The gym was empty. "Computer, what is Marianne McHugh's location?" he asked outside the gym.

"Marianne McHugh is in the cafeteria."

Dave swore. It was physically possible. But it didn't make any sense for her to run from the cafeteria to the gym to hydroponics and then back to the cafeteria.

He almost hit the intercom in the hallway. But then he remembered the damn movie.
That
Hal had even been able to read lips.

He continued down the corridor. Hydroponics was empty, which under normal circumstances wouldn't have seemed especially sinister. Dave picked up his pace. A circuit of the main ring, he decided, was perfectly reasonable. If he couldn't find anyone, then he could check personal quarters and some of the harder-to-reach parts of the station.

What if everyone was gone? What if Hal had gone as crazy as its namesake? Were there even now vented bodies drifting alongside the station? And what might the computer have planned for him?