Christmas Was Never A Holiday At Home.

• Yaashvanthi Murugan, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2018

The darkness consumed my soul as I shrank into the void that ‘It’ saw fit to present me. I struggled to doze off into a slumber but the constant shrill voices echoing through the gloom imprisoned me in a state of never-ending dread. I huddled among the ruined bears ‘It’ presented to me a gift. Not that I appreciated the gesture but, the bears provided a certain closure that I’ve never had. I sigh miserably as I let my thoughts wander away from the terrible reality of this world.

Panic courses through my veins as I register glass shatters and sickening thuds. A cold, foreboding feeling washed over me as I hunch over, breathing hard. I seized the nearby pillow and attempt to muffle the noise, the agonizing, musty smell clogging my senses. The howls are more deafening than before. I recoil in a ball, trying to ease my irregular breathing. I dig my nails into the stuffing of one of the knitted bears, ripping it apart in my trepidation. Clear protests vibrate in the air as undetectable thuds slither across the physical veil of solitude shielded me from the world outside. I crawled hurriedly through the dim room, trailing my fingers across the chapped surface of the wall. My palm brushed the bump that would secure me safety as it did many years ago. I swivelled my head to see a sliver of light flood my jail. I claw the edges of the makeshift door, wrenching it open as I rolled into the cramped space hidden in the wall. I swiftly pulled back the block of wood, leaving a little crack which acted as my window. My heart racked with grief as I watched ‘It’s’ shadowy figure drag an incapacitated, bloody body using their battered leg. Wide-eyed, I placed a hand over my mouth as I felt droplets fall onto my grimy face.
I thought my tears had run dry. I gaped in despair as ‘It’ flinging the body onto what seemed like the cold slab I use as a bed. The body laid limp, their arms and legs hanging from the edges of the bed. The stench of blood wafted in the stuffy room as ‘It’ bent over the broken body, whispering in her usual raspy voice. I shivered from the cold temperature as I could hear faint chimes, I peered at ‘It’ who’s face suddenly split her usual feral Chesire grin. Her yellow dentures gleamed in the crack of light as it slowly turned towards the gateway to the other world. Time slowed as I held my breath in anticipation. Her stagger made raucous noises against the stringy carpet as she slithered into the light, capturing it.

The sound of a faint thud made me rush towards the table, throwing myself on the broken body. I sobbed, despite the numerous voices in my head dissenting against my actions. I didn’t care about looking strong in front of my only saviour. Anguish filled me as I frantically searched for a heartbeat.

“Why must this happen to us? Why is it always on Christmas?” I wailed as I clutched the calloused hand of the barely alive man. I slapped a wrinkled photo onto his rising, shuddering chest.

“WHY MUST THIS HAPPEN ON CHRISTMAS, DAD!? ANSWER ME!”

On the photo, there was a picture of myself and my dad behind a woman sitting on a jade coloured chair. Her face was scribbled out using a pen, making it unrecognisable.

But I knew who it was.

It was Mom.

No.

It was ‘It’.