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Hey, welcome to Scary Stories in Rain. Do you want to listen ad free? Just subscribe on Spotify for $2.99 a month. Now turn out the lights, enjoy the stories, and enjoy the rain. The four of us walked down the deserted street. Wallace, Kim, Roger, and I. It was 4am and we had finally grown tired of the bars. We had been celebrating Kim and Roger's marriage. The reception was long over, but the four of us were still going strong. We were walking to nowhere in particular, still wearing our wedding attire and reveling in drunken intimacy. The balmy Louisiana air felt delicious against my skin. Even in mid December. The blackness of the sky was comforting, draping around us like a velvet blanket. The yellow globes of the street lamps held it up, keeping it from falling and suffocating us. It reminded me of when I used to read under the covers as a child, my knees acting as tent poles while I held my flashlight between my shoulder and my jawbone, a mystery novel engrossing me so much I didn't register the discomfort. Even now, 60 years after that night, I feel the pain in my jaw. Not the pain of a full life, the pain of my decaying body. Arthritis creeps through my bones like frozen tendrils, leather whips that wrap tight around each joint, squeezing and squeezing, leaving me stiff, a prisoner in my own body. I'm sorry. I seem to have gotten a bit flowery with age, as if these similes and metaphors could keep death at bay, distract the guy long enough for me to have a few more agonizing moments of life. There I go again. We walked down the deserted street. I think it's snowing, kim whispered, awestruck. The four of us stopped our trek. I looked up to see small white flakes drifting lazily around us. That's impossible. My voice was quiet, meeting the soft reverence of Kim's tone. We rarely got snow this far south. I tilted my head back and stuck out my tongue. A small flake danced down from the heavens to land on it, dissolving at the gentle touch. I looked in shock at Kim, who was mimicking my behavior. It's salt. Wallace raised an eyebrow at me before cupping his hand out in front of him. White flakes began to collect in his palm, but they did not melt at his touch. What on earth? Roger asked. The sky guys, wallace said, and I looked towards where he gestured in front of us. The salt was beginning to collect. Within seconds, thousands of particles had gathered into the form of two feet, then two legs, a torso, arms and neck followed and then, before us stood a man, a large man made entirely of salt. His salt eyes stared at nothing, yet I could feel his gaze on my skin, and my arms prickled with goosebumps. He beckoned to us. I turned to Wallace, who stood motionless, his eyes wide with shock and incomprehension. He swallowed and stepped backward, shaking his head, and I looked back to the salt man. He was upon us, mere inches from me. I opened my mouth to scream. He grabbed my wrist, and everything immediately went black. I awoke to a dull whiteness. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, before realizing that there was nothing to clear. I was in a large white room, dimly lit with white light. The walls arched high above our heads. I looked down and saw that I was lying in the loose white powder. My nostrils stung and I sat up, brushing the loose salt from my bare arms. My green bridesmaid dress looked stained in the faint light. I looked back up, and realization hit me with horror. The old salt mines. They ran under the rural part of town like a maze. Our family owned large shares of the mining company, so our fathers brought us down on tours a few times to see our heritage. I reached and touched the earthy white wall beside me, the hard substance beneath my hand rough. The air inside the mines was heavy and dry, sucking at the moisture inside my skin, my body draining me slowly. The room was lit by an unnatural white glow. The salt man stood in front of us, emanating the supernatural luminescence. A hand grasped mine, and I looked down to see Kim's thin hand, our grandmother's emerald wedding band, washed out in the white light. I squeezed and she squeezed back, just like when we were little cousins in blood, but sisters in spirit. The salt man turned and began to walk deeper into the mine. As he left, his light followed him, and the room around us grew dark, a darkness so complete, so black, that it threatened to suffocate me. I stood frantically, dropping Kim's hand, and stumbled forward, following the man and his light in desperation. I could hear heavy, unsure movement as Kim, Wallace, and Roger stood and followed. We followed the man in silence through several white tunnels. The ground was at a slight decline, and we went deeper and deeper into the earth. The ceilings grew lower, and I had to crouch. After what felt like hours, we stopped outside a small cavern. I held my heels in one hand, having taken them off miles before. My expensive stockings were torn and soiled from sweat and salt. My throat stung, and I was in desperate need of water. My tongue large, tacky, and stiff. I tried to swallow but felt no relief. Inside the cavern was a chest, the wood warped and rotten. A heavy black lock hung at the front, long, rusted. I was pushed aside and Wallace stepped forward into the room, Roger behind him. I looked at Kim, who looked as bad as I felt. The bottom of her wedding dress was tattered, the delicate lace falling from the skirt. Her once sparkling white dress now dark and tarnished like the walls of salt around us. She reached a hand out towards me and I grabbed it. Wallace knelt in front of the chest. The salt man stood to the side, watching. It looks old, said Wallace, who always had a knack for stating the obvious. He pulled at the lock once, testing its strength, then again, harder. It came apart with a rusty crunch. Wallace twisted the once heavy lock and tossed it on the ground beside him. The lid of the chest opened with a dry crack. I expected the insides to glow, but instead the gold bars appeared dull and red in spots. Roger pushed Wallace aside and reached into the chest. Grabbing one of the bars, he examined it. These are stamped with a royal seal. They're from Britain. How did they end up here? Pirates, Kim whispered, her eyes wide, staring at the salt man Wallace and Rogers seemed to have forgotten about. I shook my head at her. There was a rumor in our family that part of our great grandfather's wealth had been stolen by pirates, but it was just that, a rumor. The salt man opened his mouth in a wide, toothless grin before grabbing Wallace by the back of the neck. Wallace cried out in surprise, his voice close and hollow in the small chamber. The small man pushed his head into the rotten chest, the wood cracking under the force. He brought his head up and looked with horror at Wallace's face, broken and bloodied. His right eye was closed and his other eye looked at me, begging for help. The salt man brought his head down again and again, the cracks turning wet as Wallace's blood exploded against the dole white walls. The salt man himself was stained pink, and soon Wallace's cries died out to nothing. Roger, mouth agape, still holding the gold bar, stared at the salt man. I turned and began to run, trying to lead Kim by the hand down the salt tunnels behind us. She dug her feet and resisted. Roger. She cried. He turned to look at her, then down at the gold bar. He nodded absentmindedly before reaching toward the chest for another. Come on, Roger. His new wife screamed, her voice wet with phlegm and fear. His hand reached around another bar as the salt man dropped Wallace's lifeless body to the ground. I pulled harder on Kim, forcing her further down the tunnel. As she reached for Roger, he turned and started to leap from the room when the salt man's hand grabbed him. Kim's scream filled the mines, and I tripped with the sudden force of her stop. Her hand slid from mine as I fell, the hard salt grinding against my face like sandpaper. I sucked in air sharply as the salt seeped into the fresh wound, stinging like wasps. I turned back to see Kim banging at the salt man's chest as he held Roger up by the neck with one hand. The other hand came up and grabbed Kim's left wrist, holding it up so that even I could see the emerald wedding band shine in the supernatural light of the ghostly pirate. He howled the sound of sand through a rain stick, thunder and anger. He squeezed, and I heard the crack of Roger's neck as he went limp. He fell to the floor like Wallace had his friend's blood, which covered the room, pooling around him as if it were his own. Kim, face red and wet, reached for his body, screaming. The salt man lifted her wrist higher, keeping her close to him. He brought his now free hand over her ring finger. I inhaled the thick, cloying air around me, tinged with the coppery smell of blood, and I got to my knees. I dragged myself forward and then hesitated. I looked from Kim, my cousin, by blood, my sister by choice, and then to the salt man who held her in his grasp, wrestling her wedding ring from her finger. Kim's wedding dress was ripped and stained with salt, sweat, tears, and blood. She pulled feebly against the salt man, but it was obvious she was no match. I hesitated, debating what to do as I watched them struggle. Then I turned and fled. Kim's cries of pain and fear followed me for several turns before fading to nothing. I would stop from time to time, listening for any sounds, but never heard anything but my own heavy breathing. I was in the mines for many hours before I found an active tunnel. By the time I was above ground again, it was late evening and I spent the night in the hospital as the doctors treated my severe dehydration and shock. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. They assumed we got drunk and snuck down into the mines for fun. We got lost, and I was the only one who was able to find my way again. No one ever found Kim or the bodies of Wallace and Roger. Eventually, the memories of that night became distant and faded till one day years ago, I went into my en suite restroom to freshen up before breakfast, and as I turned the faucet handle, all I heard was a dull Roar, like sand falling before white salt poured into the basin. It fell for several seconds before it stopped. Resting on the pile was my grandmother's emerald wedding ring. And with that, my brief story has ended. I wish there was more to tell. Unfortunate, really. Despite the arthritis and the pain, I want to live. But he has finally come for me. He still does not speak, but yet I understand. He is giving me time to write my story. And then my time will have to come to an end. My last word will be my last breath. My hands are heavy on the keys. Grandmother's emerald band shines on my right middle finger. I never married, but I kept the ring, a reminder of family, of love, of promises, of blood. I know now why the pirate let me keep my ears. Let me live my life for all this time. I feel the dehydration from that night again, my saliva and blood beginning to run dry. The salt man knows this tale is almost over. And so he has begun to take that which he claimed all those years ago. My fingertips are white. At first I thought it was calluses, but then I recognized that particular natural white, the white of the salt. Deep in the mines. I can feel my blood crystallizing, can feel my cheeks absorb my tears. My life was not a fun one, but it was mine, and he let me live it. I do not wish to lose it, even now, when my body aches and my fingers struggle to type, as my joints stiffen. He bought me with years, sparing me then, so he could fully take me now. But I do not want to go. I do not want to die and join him deep in the mines, his tomb. Even now, as each breath burns and my mouth puckers with the brining of my own flesh, I want to stay. But that is the nature of the world, is it not? To breathe and to die, to consume and to be consumed. Our lives revolve around it, breath and death, both constant and eternal, as ubiquitous as salt. Let me preface this by saying that I am, or was, severely visually impaired. At the time this story takes place, I was considered legally blind. Blind. Over the years, my vision has improved and my vision now sits comfortably at 2080. This is important to the story. When I was roughly 10 and my sister was 7, we moved close enough to school that I made the decision that I wanted to walk home instead of going to my aunt's house after school. My parents allowed this, seeing as we'd be walking down busy roads and we knew the way home. Despite me being the older sibling, my sister would often have to stop me from crossing the road at inopportune times on particularly sunny days when I could barely keep my eyes open. I have an embarrassing story. When my sister was sick and I approached a car who had been stopped and was waiting for me to cross because I thought it was my nanas, my sister was and essentially my eyes. On our walk home one day, we had passed by this flower bush. The bush grew along the sidewalk, not in or on anyone's property. We, being the young kids who liked all things pretty, decided to pick a few and create what we thought was a beautiful trail back home. I remember thinking we would sprinkle the rest of the petals along our long dirt road. So I used my pedals sparingly. About halfway between this bush and our house, my sister starts looking behind her and says that someone is following us. I look, but obviously I don't see anything. At this point in our walk, I was walking slowly as I was feeling exceptionally tired. We were almost completely up the steep hill our house was on, so I hardly thought much of it. Despite the rest of our route being through main roads, the street and the hill our house was on hardly saw traffic, and I could probably count on one hand how many other people walking we had come across during our years living there. After a while, my sister looks behind her and because we were walking closer, this person is way closer to us now. She drops her flowers and tells us that we need to run. I look behind us and I could actually see a figure. They weren't close enough for me to make out any features, but the fact that they were now close enough for me to see had me nervous. So without thinking twice, I dropped my flowers and ran with my sister. Despite how tired I was five seconds ago, it was like all of that was forgotten. As I ran as fast as my little legs could carry me. We turned into our long dirt driveway, grabbed the spare key from the flower pot, and ran inside. That should have been the end, but it wasn't A bit. After our parents came home, there was a knock on the door. I hardly thought anything about it. Maybe it was our landlord. But then me and my sister were called over to the door. I didn't recognize the woman, but my sister did. It was the lady that followed us home. Now, it's important to note that we arrived home way sooner than either of my parents. It would be an hour or more before either of them returned home. From the time we got home, because of us running home, it would be even longer. So this lady actually waited outside of our house until One of our parents came home before knocking on the door and telling them all about what horrible children we were for picking her flowers and whatever. Apparently she was staring at us from our window as we picked the flowers and when we started sprinkling them on the sidewalk home, she started to fall follow us. I remember my sister was crying but all I could do was stand there dumbfounded because even I could see that the bush wasn't on anyone's property and I was practically blinded by the sun that day. After 10 minutes or more we are forced to apologize. The lady leaves and my dad closes the door. He scolds us for going into someone else's property and we tell him that we couldn't imagine known that they were anyone's because of where they were placed. A day later, after driving home and seeing exactly what bush we were talking about, he and my mom both agreed that it was not on her property and apologized. This wasn't the first time I was followed home while living in that house, but I wouldn't be aware of that until nearly seven years later. All of this makes me shudder thinking of how many other times I could have been followed without realizing it because of my poor vision. If it weren't for my sister that day, I probably wouldn't have even noticed that lady until it was too late. Being an overnight visitor at the hospital with my mother at the JCMC Johnson City Medical Center, I was on about day nine. You know how you can't sleep well in the chairs the visitor has to sleep in at the hospital? Well, I was so tired and felt kind of delirious in pain and numb. I wasn't about to leave her there alone and there was no one willing to come relieve me so I could go home and rest. It was about 3am and I thought I saw someone out of my peripheral vision. I shook it off and continued to mindlessly watch Golden Girls. I hear a cabinet door slam and I at that point was used to all the weird and random sounds that staff and the other patients made, so I didn't really think too much about it. For a bit of perspective, we're on the fourth floor and all the way down a hallway of at least 26 or so rooms. Out of the four hallways on that floor there are about 100ish rooms per floor. I'm starting to doze off when the door slams shut and those doors are loud, very heavy wood. I always kept the door cracked a bit so I didn't wake mom every time I wanted to go smoke or go to the cafeteria. I jumped up and went to open it and all the nurses were standing outside the rooms where their substations are. They tell me to shut the door and keep it shut, that there was someone in the building and for safety to stay in the room. I obliged and went to sit back down. But this time I turned off the TV mounted in the corner of the room. I wanted to hear what the nurses were saying. I no longer could sit, as tired as I was. But due to hipaa, they couldn't tell me what was happening. And I'm not only nosy, but bored and really wondering what's going on. The horrific thing that happened next was beyond my expectations of what was happening with an intruder. A psych patient from across the street at Woodridge Mental Hospital had somehow managed to escape. And this wasn't your normal crazy person. This was a lunatic that was smarter than most and very questionable. He was due to be shipped to an asylum like place. Two days later he came into the hospital where my mom was. My skin was crawling as I had the TV off and standing at the door, I looked at the TV and I saw movement. It was the shower curtain through the crack where my bathroom door was ajar. I kid you not. Out of all the rooms, he was in my mom's. I was so tired to the point that he got past me and into the bathroom. I calmly hit the call button on the TV remote and the nurse popped the door open and I pointed toward the bathroom. When she cracked the door to see what we needed, her eyes were as big as golf balls and she left the room door open like a champ, unlocked my mom's bed, unhooked her oxygen and monitoring stuff and rolled her into the hallway. And I at that point was sitting at my mom's feet Indian style and having a panic attack. They had several nurses and staff, staff from Woodridge go in and detain the man. They wheeled him out as they gave him some type of strong sedative. My mom stayed for another four days. The nurses never told me the guy's name, but they did tell me about what he did and how it all happened. And it's not something I really wish to repeat. I'll never forget the Christmas Eve Blizzard of 09. I've gone to town seeking the perfect gift for my wife Lucy. And on my way home the snow had begun to come down hard. Instead of the interstate, I took the dark, lonely two lane through the countryside. The snowflakes whisked past their windshield against a backdrop of a pitch black sky, and the high beams faded to a dull glow below the horizon of the distant gray mountaintops. As I drove through the storm, the night's simple beauty seemed to draw me in until nothing else existed. Suddenly, the steering wheel began to vibrate and the car lurched off course. I snapped out of the trance just in time to veer to the right, doing my best not to overcorrect on the icy road. After a tense moment where I was sure the car would slide into the ditch, the tire shifted from the rumble strip back onto the pavement, regaining traction once again. My heart pounded hard and fast, but my eyes were still tired from the hypnotic snow that seemed to be flying towards me instead of falling. I rolled down the windows, hoping that the wind would restore my senses. It had been a close cold, and I considered stopping until the snow let up, but that road was hazardous even without patches of black ice. Over the decades, too many people had been killed around that section of the pines, and I did not want to be one of them. Not three years passed. My neighbor, Paul Vickers swerved to avoid what was probably a deer and lost control of his truck. One of the deputies had found him the next morning, dead. Of course, it wasn't instant, chief Royce had said to me, shaking his head. Paul had the same terrified expression etched into his face as those dead hikers who had spent a week lost up in the mountain pass. Like them, he knew he wouldn't make it out alive. I didn't tell him this, but I was glad Paul died. His neck had broken during the wreck, and he would have been a quadriplegic if he had lived. Yes, it's a shame he suffered through the night, afraid and alone. But truth be told, maybe his neck wasn't the only reason I never shed a tear over his passing. He wasn't nice guy known for always starting fights down at Carol's Pub, and when Carol would throw him out, he'd go to beat on his old lady more than once. The beating was bad enough to put her in the hospital. Good riddance, if you ask me. But a year after that untimely demise, Jen Harper's little girl, Susie, she died, too. The toddler had woken up in the middle of the night, and she must have seen seeing the fresh blanket of white. Ben decided to go outside to play. People in town still whisper about that tragedy. They say the driver of that rig that crushed her skull must have been snow. Blinded, he never stopped, just kept on trucking. I was at Carroll's when Chief Royce and Jake tracked the driver down. As soon as he had heard that he had killed little Susie Harper, he dropped to his knees and banged his fists into his forehead. I could smell the sour whiskey stinking on his breath. Please, Sheriff, he had cried, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. You gotta believe me. I never saw her. I go God. Jake slapped on the cuffs and Chief Royce led him away. Later, at the arraignment, the driver claimed he remembered hitting a bump of ice in the middle of the road, but not a child, as if her body had been laying on the pavement long before. The tires of the 18 Wheeler did their work. Even though his version didn't add up, Judge Davis had ruled it an accident, and almost everyone in town figured his excuse was some sort of mental block to protect him for what he had done. I was skeptical, but Lucy had believed him. Lucy, I sighed, checking the dashboard clock. It had gotten late and she was probably worried sick. Headlights appeared in my rear view and within a few moments a pickup whipped past, honking at me. I shrugged. He probably thought I was some old man who didn't know how to drive. True, I'm old and a little more cautious than most folks. I wanted to get home quickly but kept the speed well below the limit so that I could get home at all. I switched to the right lane and admired the snow covered pines as I passed them by. The storm seemed to generate a peaceful serenity, an absolutely magical feeling that replaced the anxiety over the near accident. I've driven through a lot of blizzards, but but that night was different somehow. It was like experiencing lucid dream in my bones. I knew that something special was going to happen, a Christmas miracle like in those old black and white films. I took in another deep breath of the crisp night air, smelling the pines, and smiled. Perhaps it was the snow coming in through the window and melting on my face that had made my skin tingle. Sure is going to be a white Christmas, I said, then laughed. Despite the weather forecasts, each year it always snowed on Christmas in our little town. Turning around the bend by the abandoned Diego farm, a halo of white light from town stretched across the horizon. I yawned, exhausted from shopping in the city. All I wanted to do was to climb into bed with Lucy and sleep. A moment later I drove past the old cemetery, approaching Ian Thomas little Shack. Ian had surprised me by putting up decorations. He had never done that before, so I waved at the air filled Frosty the Snowman, thankful that Ian had finally taken an interest in the town celebration. I was sure his wife, Martha would have been happy if she had still been around. Some people thought foul play, but others claimed she had run off with another man. The latter didn't surprise me none. She seemed to be the wandering type. Good old harmless Ian had probably gotten to feeling lonely. I shook my head and decided to ask Lucy if she would bake him a batch of her famous oatmeal raisin cookies. Our little community didn't have much to offer, but we sure did try to come together on the holidays. Passing into town limits, Main street appeared empty and every shop along the three block stretch had been decorated. It was a real treat seeing downtown lit up with all the people distracting from the view. I'd never seen the stretch without at least a few dark buildings. The hardware store belonging to Mr. Roth had shone brighter than every other business front. Like Ian Thomas, he'd never participated, though it had been on account of his religious differences. I wondered what had changed his mind, then remembered that sly Mrs. Roth had put an end to Mr. Roth a few months back after she had found out that he enjoyed the company of the evening ladies. I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, but if the rumors were true, he would drive out to the city and dip his wick once in a while. When Jake had pulled the small.22 pistol out of Mrs. Roth's trembling hand, she claimed it wasn't her who had shot her husband, or at least she hadn't remembered shooting him. In any case, Mrs. Roth had hung herself in jail, Mayor Wayne had purchased purchased the hardware store and a tax auction, and that was that, taking in all of the Christmas cheer added to the strange emotion brought about by the thick white flakes. I remembered being a young boy anxiously awaiting the presents on Christmas morning. It was a memory I didn't know I'd lost, and my eyes were wet from tears. This is what the holidays are about, I said, grinning so much it hurt. This is what it means to be merry. As I made a left on Main, I turned on the radio and began humming along to that old classic, Jingle Bells. It hadn't always been great. During the holidays 20 years ago, the enthusiasm wasn't there. Fact is, the town didn't celebrate the holidays at all. No one could say what changed, but when change came was for the better. Each year more and more took part until practically everyone had become involved. Mr. Everett was the person most responsible for that turnaround. He had taken the town tradition very serious. After moving in, he had done up his whole house in a spectacular fashion, winning the town papers contest that year. Then took home the title the next 21 years in a row When I turned onto west street, it was no surprise that the bright flashing lights were coming from Mr. Everett's place. Only instead of red and green Christmas lights reflecting off the falling snow, the colors alternated between red and blue. I wondered what new scene the white haired, long bearded man had set up in his yard. But it wasn't decorations flashing. No, it was two police cruisers parked alongside the curb. The small gift for Lucy sat on the passenger seat and I imagined her face lighting up when she noticed it tucked under the tree. Frowning, I said, few more minutes won't matter much now, and pulled into Mr. Everett's driveway. A figure standing in the yard yelled, hello Hank. You're out late. I couldn't tell who it was at first. The snow covered black uniform camouflaged his features so I squinted and leaned my head out the window. Oh Hiya Jake. Is Mr. Everett alright? Jake walked over to my car door and knelt down face to face. Don't rightly know he's getting up there in age. No offense of course. I laughed. None taken. Just you and your dad out tonight? Didn't need an ambulance. Jake sighed. Well, we found him wandering around in the Campbell's house down the ways. He triggered the silent alarm when he walked through the back door. I shook my head. Sounds like Alzheimer's. Yeah, sounds like the Campbells aren't pressing charges, are they? The family had been new to town from some metropolis out west. They had moved into the Sanders place after Jack Sanders took his life with a circular saw. Neither Mr. Or Mrs. Campbell or their teenage son had gone out of their way to introduce themselves, let alone make friends. So none of town folk had any idea what kind of people the Campbells really were. They're away for the week, jake said. We'll need to tell them when they get back. But no harm done. So I wouldn't be surprised if they had a weapon, them being from the big city and all. Had they been home, it might have been Mr. Everett's body you'd have come out to collect. Jake nodded. Hey, why don't you head inside, Hank? Pop's in there talking with Mr. Everett now. You know we don't want to send him to the hospital on Christmas. Maybe you could keep an eye on him until his head clears. It's a lot to ask if you can't. I'll stay myself. I glance to the gift on the passenger seat once more and whispered, we come together on the holidays. What's that? Nothing, Jake. Sure I can stay. Don't mind at all. Jake led the way into Mr. Everett's house. Hank's here, Pop. He can stay. Be right out, Chief, roy said. Jake waved me inside. Go on in. They're just finishing up in the kitchen. Thanks, Jake. Take care, jake said and then stepped back out into the snow. Mr. Everett had filled his living room with Christmas ornaments from all over the world. Some appeared to be very old and very valuable. I stacked and unstacked a set of antique Russian nesting dolls while listening to Chief Royce in the other room, explaining to Mr. Everett that someone needed to stay with him for an hour or so just to make sure he wouldn't go wandering off again. A few moments later, he stepped from the kitchen and tipped the brim of his Stetson. Hank Jr. And I need to get back to watching the roads. It's already halfway to nasty out there and I don't want anyone getting stuck. I appreciate your help. Sure thing, Chief. Lucy's already asleep. She won't mind. After giving me a firm pat on the back, he turned towards the kitchen. I'll stop by tomorrow to make sure you're okay, Mr. Everett. You have a merry Christmas. He shook my hand and then slammed the door as he left. I watched out the window as the two police cruisers faded into the snowfall. Mr. Everett walked up behind me, said something under his breath that I couldn't make out, and then walked back into the kitchen. I lingered at the window, admiring the Christmas decorations. On all the houses along the block, only the Campbell's place sat dark, like an ink stain on a fine suit. Ain't going crazy. Mr. Everett yelled. I sighed, then went into the kitchen and sat at the table across from him. I don't think you are. Mr. Everett shook his head. One of my ornaments ran off. Found her snooping around in that Campbell house. Is that so? Yeah. And I'm glad they weren't home. It would have been bad. Very, very bad. I nodded. In a low whisper, Mr. Everett said, they'd have been killed. Yeah, you got luck. Wait, what did you say? Mr. Everett shook his head. Wasn't nothing important. He pushed his chair back from the table. Need to piss. He left the room through the country door leading to the parlor. The door swung closed but didn't latch. The left side slowly creaked open a few inches. A brilliant kaleidoscope of lights twinkled through the crack. I furrowed my brow and stood, pushing the door open. A A rainbow of color lit up the walls, the spectacular lights emanating from a massive pine tree in the center of the room. Gold and silver flashed and sparkled. Shades of red, blue, and yellow twisted, turned, and collided. Purples, greens, and oranges brightened, dimmed, and merged. Though it was the most wonderful sight these old eyes had ever beheld, it took a moment before I could look directly at the tree. My gosh, I said, reaching for a branch. The display was more like a shrine to Christmas than a symbol. The surreal lights radiated from these hanging, translucent orbs. I squinted and tried to see how the bulbs worked, but none seemed to be connected to a power source. Between them, dozens of of ceramic figurines adorned the pine needle. The lifelike sculpture seemed to move in the shimmering colors. I leaned closer. The figurines were moving. A replica of Paul Vickers reached at me, its tiny arms clutching at the air. The little face twisted in agony as it spat silent curses. I stumbled back. A scream caught in my throat, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, I had seen them all. Susie Harper, her head and chest caved in, body twitching. The Diego family, faces blue from carbon monoxide poisoning. Martha Thomas, throat cut, gasping, out of breath. Mr. Roth, blood dripping from several bullet holes in his chest. Mrs. Roth, ruptured, eyes bulging. Jack Sanders, covered in blood, holding his own intestines. There were others, too. So many others. Beautiful, isn't it? Mr. Everett said from somewhere behind me. I spun toward his voice, saw the flash of a baseball bat, and felt searing white pain through the side of my head before everything went black. I don't know how long I was out, but when I awoke my whole body buzzed and I couldn't move my arms. Something thick and wet ran down my right ear. Woah. What in the Mr. Everett and I were back at the kitchen table. My arms and chest had been duct taped to the chair. You can't hurt him. You can't hurt him. My double vision cleared and I focused on a figurine 4 inches tall, standing in the middle of the table, facing Mr. Everett. Green and red felt draped over his rigid shoulders, and a golden Santa hat sat at an angle on its head. Everett. Mr. Everett shook his finger at the figure. Hank's not one of them naughty people, so you won't take him. You've taken enough anyway. Let me go, I mumbled. No. Mr. Everett screamed. I'm not gonna kill him either, you little freak. I heard a small ringing noise as the figure turned around, tiny bells on the tips of its moccasins. The figure, an ugly little creature, cocked its slimy head to the sky side. It narrowed its forest green, slitted eyes until only the black pin sized irises were visible. It grimaced and a mouthful of sharp pointed teeth ground together with a metallic like scraping. Then it hissed and jumped from the edge of the table, landing on my chest. Jeez, Everett, get it off me. Get it off me. I twisted violently, trying to shake off the creature as it scurried upward, lunging and snapping at my face. Hank, stay still and she won't hurt you. I clenched my fist and held my breath as it held onto my beard and leaned in close to my left eye. It laughed and then somersaulted from my face, hit the tabletop and rolled to its feet, bells jingling. Let me go home to Lucy, Everett. I swear I won't say anything to anyone about your pet. Word to God, I won't. She wanted that Campbell boy. That little sneak thief. He's been stealing ever since his family moved to town. Had he been home, she would have lit the house on fire. My jaw dropped. You were going to kill the Campbell boy? No, no, of course not. Everett laughed and pointed at the creature. She was going to kill him. I tried to stop her. Hell, I tried. I always try. But it's no use. If someone in town is a rotten egg, she'll go after him. Boys and girls too. It don't matter. Hey, don't look at me that way. You know as well as I do that Susie Harper was an insufferable, mean brat. She would have grown up to be a terrible person and deserved which she got. They were all bad people. I tugged at my restraints and the arms of the chair creaked. This can't be happening. Argentina, 1954, Mr. Everett said, slouching in his chair. That's when she found me an honest to goodness Christmas elf, Hank. That's what she is. It's a monster. The creature lunged at me again, teeth bared. Mr. Everett slammed his fist on the table. No. Leave him alone. The creature pointed at me, then at the tree in the parlor, bright lights still gleaming. I don't give a dang, Mr. Everett said, waving his hand dismissively. Go tend to the important business in the other room and leave. Leave us man alone. The creature hissed. Now. The creature raised its fists and shook them above its head. Mr. Everett folded his arms across his chest and stared until the creature climbed down the tablecloth and shuffled into the parlor. He sighed and then said matter of factly, those figurines hanging from the tree are the trapped souls of the bad folk. She used to eat them up quickly, but for the past few years she's been Hoarding. You wouldn't believe me if I told you why. I swallowed hard and tested my restraints again. Please, you gotta let me go, I begged. The chair cracked again. Surely he had heard at that time, but I knew with one more good pull I would be free. Something shattered from in the parlor, quickly followed by another loud crash and another. Mr. Everett raised his wrist and looked at his watch. It's time, Hank. Can't stop it now, even if you wanted to. I've been looking over her for decades and this is the Christmas it's finally happening. He stood slowly, holding a butcher knife in his hand and took a step toward me. His eyes went wide. Light from the ornaments reflected off the blade as Mr. Everett swung it in a downward arc. I leaned back and heaved my body up just as the tip sliced past my arm. The left side of the chair cracked and broke away and I put my hand out in an effort to block the next attack. Mr. Everett chuckled and pointed the knife at me. I looked down, confused that my right arm was free, then realized he hadn't tried to cut me, only the tape. Done being violent with me. Hank, I'm letting you go. Thank you. I nodded but tensed as he came closer. Now, about the elf. You saw what she did for this town. How happy these people have been all these years. Unfortunately, now you know why. Always found it funny myself. As he sliced the tape from my ankles, I said, there isn't anything funny about that monster. He walked around to the back of the chair and began to slice through the last of the tape. Well, elves have been known to spread holiday cheer, but who would have guessed they'd do? By removing the bad hearted and non joyful bumpkins, elves can see who we really are, what we've done, even what we're gonna do. They know us and they judge us. Another series of crashes came from the parlor. It's too late for me, but you can tell him if you want, Mr. Everett said. Make sure they all know to be merry, or else an elf might come. The instant the pressure of the tape gave way from my chest, I kicked the chair backward and took off toward the door. A much louder crash came from in the parlor, sounding like the tree had fallen over, and I turned to see the creature standing in the doorway snapping its jaw. The stench of rotten pine needles hit me as I crashed into the front door. It flung outward, frame shattering. I slipped on the porch stairs and fell into the snow, ice stinging my hands and face. Mr. Everett yelled from inside the house, sorry I hit you, Hank. It was My job to protect him. Can't fault me for that, can you? I ran past my car, digging in my pocket for my cell phone. I dialed 911 and pressed the receiver up to my ear, cringing at the pain. Chief, please come quick. Hank, are you okay? Just hurry. I ended the call and ran the two blocks to my house. Lucy was asleep on the sofa, a thick novel resting on her lap. The cold air blowing in swept over her and she opened her eyes and shivered. She yawned. Hello, dear. You were out late. I slammed the door, locked it in, and looked out the window. Through the white mist, I couldn't tell if Mr. Everett or the creature had followed. Lucy gasped. Goodness, Hank, you're bleeding. I ran throughout the house, checking each window for signs of forced entry. No signs of a break in, but I wished Chief Royce would hurry. You're scaring me. Lucy grabbed my arm and pressed her warm hands against my cheeks. Tell me what's going on. I realized how crazy I must have seemed, but there wasn't time for me to explain everything. It's Everett. I gasped, still out of breath. Something happened. Chief Royce is on the way. What can I do to help? Nothing, I said gently taking her wrist. I led her back to the sofa. Wait here and don't let anyone in or anything. I saw the question forming on her lips and held up a hand. Please, Lucy, don't open the door, no matter what you see or hear out there. She nodded and I ran off to check the rest of the the house. The small creature could have gotten inside a million different ways, so after a quick sweep, I grabbed the Remington from the closet and sat in the recliner next to Lucy, the weapon lying across my lap. Despite my protests, Lucy went into the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit. She bandaged up my ear while I kept eyes glued to the door and my finger firmly on the trigger. By the time she finished, a series of flashing red and blue lights had appeared outside. A figure walked past the porch window and knocked on the door. I leveled the weapon and nodded for Lucy to open the door. Good evening, Lu Chase. Royce's eyes widened and he reached for his weapon on his hip while pushing Lucy to the side. I had lowered the weapon before he had even finished speaking. Chief? Are you alone? Chief Royce looked to Lucy and then back to me. What in the blazes happened to your ear, Hank? And why were you pointing a weapon at me? I'm sorry. I didn't know who else was out there. You been back to Everett's, right? Yeah. We found him. I'm sorry, Hank. We should have called the hospital after all. I shook my head. What? Jake's guessing a heart attack. Everett's dead. Chief Royce gave me an odd look. You didn't know, but you're the one who I dropped my weapon next to the recliner and pushed my way past Chief Royce and Lucy. The snowfall had let up enough to see down the street outside of Mr. Everett's house. An ambulance had parked next to Jake's cruiser. I ran toward the house, Lucy and Chief Royce chasing after me, yelling for me to stop. When I came to a halt behind the ambulance, the paramedics were loading Mr. Everett's body. I noticed the smug grin etched onto his dead face. Before the doors closed, Jake walked up next to me. At least he made it to Christmas. I checked my watch. 12:30am where's that little monster? Did you see it? Jake narrowed his eyes. Does he have a cat or something? I shook my head. Or something. Walking into the house, I listened carefully and scanned the room for any movement. The foul odor of dick dead pines still lingered, but seemed to be fading. I stepped into the dimly lit kitchen, expecting the creature to attack, then noticed that the chair I had been duct taped to was no longer there. Also, the parlor door had been closed. I placed my hand on the wooden handle and hesitated. Chief Royce, Jake, and Lucy had all caught up and stood behind me, sharing worried whispers. I swallowed hard and pushed the door open. The large pine had been overturned, and every one of those brilliantly glowing orbs had been shattered into tiny glass shards. All the figurines had been smashed beyond recognition, most crushed to nothing more than powder. Underneath the tree lay the bridge. Broken kitchen chair. Jake put a hand on my shoulder. That's where we found him. Looked like he tried to hang an ornament and his heart gave out. Must have pulled the tree down on top of himself. Poor guy. I choked back a scream. Looking around the room, thoughts racing, I felt the answer clawing at the back of my mind. The crashing, the shattering, the smell of dead pines, and Mr. Everett's final words. All of it rang over and over in my head. Hmm, jake said, kneeling. Wonder what this sludge is. Lucy smiled. Looks like pine SAP to me. Mr. Everett died doing what he loved. Chief Roy said. Hank. Thanks for being with him in his final moments. He pointed at my bandaged ear. Looks like that tree got a piece of you as it fell, huh? I guess it rung your bell pretty good bells, I said. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear a faint ringing. Lucy hugged me. Why don't we get you to the hospital? You might have a concussion. Bells, I said again. You don't hear them. I stared at the puddle of SAP that seemed to have spread toward the back door. I walked across the parlor to the window and scanned the pristine snow, listening for the faint ringing. The world outside was white, still, and quiet. The world was wrong. Movement caught my eye. The creature stood at the treeline, watching me from amidst a huge mass of bright green pine needles. It waved, and my blood ran cold. The tree came down hard, I whispered absentmindedly. Caught me in the side of the head, and I think I got a little confused. I turned away from the window. Come on, Lucy. Let's go home. I nodded to Chief Royce and Jake, then Lucy and I left them to their work. She didn't ask any questions as we treaded through the snow, and we never talked about that night ever again. Some people in town say it's best to let the past stay in the past. I tend to agree, though. Every December I'm reminded of that snow and what I saw at the edge of those woods. Each year when the decorations start to go up, I wonder if I should finally tell someone the true secret of Mr. Everett's Christmas ornaments. Now that I'm old, and now that Lucy's gone, I think it's finally time. As I stood next to the fallen pine, my eyes followed a SAP trail of cat countless tiny footprints leading into the forest. You see, those figurines weren't the only decorations that should have frightened me. The beautiful glowing ornaments were something special, too. Those orbs were eggs, and thousands of pine needle baby elves had hatched and fed in the first hour of Christmas morning. Merry Christmas. Henry Van Ways December 2014.