A Christmas Visit

A Christmas Visit

      It had been nearly forty years since that Christmas, forty long years. She now had a daughter of her own, grown and ready to leave home for the first time. This would be their last Christmas together as a family. Mother, father and daughter. They gathered around the table for one last time.

     The snow was falling gently outside. The fireplace was doing a fine job of stifling the outside cold. After they had finished their meal they stood and went to sit beside the hearth.

“I'm going to miss this,” her mother said to her.

“Oh stop it Mom. It's not like I'm leaving forever, I'll come and visit. Promise.”

“I know you'll always visit but it will never be the same. Once you move away from home it changes. No matter how much you fight it, it's never the same.”

“Well, it won't change for me,” protested the daughter.

“I want you to have something,” said her mother grabbing at the necklace around her neck. 

     It was a simple silver chain, but what hung from it was absolutely magnificent. The crystal suspended from the chain looked as old as time itself but it still managed to hold onto an otherworldly beauty. It seemed to mirror the fire itself.

“But you've had that since I can remember, you've never taken it off.” said the daughter gesturing for the mother to place it back on.

“It's time to pass it on,” said her mother in a serious tone.

“Mom, really, you don't have to.”

“Your grandmother gave it to me when I was your age, it's your turn. It's time I told you.”

“Told me?”

“I was only seven when it happened,” her mother was staring into the fire pit, “I was only a child.

December, 14^th 1955

     Christmas was only a week away, the town was buzzing with excitement. The mall was packed with procrastinating last minute shoppers. The little girl was following closely behind her parents who, as always, were arguing.

“Mommy,” the little girl squealed, “when is Santa coming?”

     The man glared at his wife as she answered their daughter's question. He was not one for allowing his child to believe in the idea of a Santa Clause, if it were up to him he would have told her that he was a lie as soon as she was old enough to comprehend the idea.

“Soon sweetie,” answered the mother.

The man looked at his wife and muttered so his daughter could not hear, “this year is the last of this nonsense so enjoy.”

“Oh stop,” she said while elbowing him gently in the ribs.

     They continued on shopping until the mall had closed for the evening and they were forced to quit. The mother was a festive wreck, the father a miserable humbug. The week passed as the snow began to fall harder and harder. Christmas Eve was upon them. Their daughter ran about frantically in her pajamas.

“Are you sure that Santa got my letter?” she asked nervously.

“I'm positive,” her mother responded.

“Daddy, when will Santa get here?”

He answered from behind the daily paper, “ask your mother.”

“Mommy?” the little girl asked while tugging at her mothers dress.

“Santa will only come when we are all asleep honey, you know that by now.”

“Am I going to sleep in your room with you and Daddy again this year?” the little girl could hardly contain her excitement.

“Of course!” exclaimed the mother, “it's a Christmas tradition, now run along and your father and I will be in shortly!”

     She scampered up the stairs to the bedroom as fast as she could. She was jumping on the bed when she saw her parents enter. They calmed their daughter and tucked her tightly under the sheets. The mother rose and grabbed a copy of “It's a Wonderful Life” and popped it into the player. She joined her daughter on the bed while the father sat on his desk char beside the bed, a miserable expression running across his face.

     Once the movie was fished the mother stood up once again and placed the movie into it's case, where it would wait until next year.

“Well,” started the father, “the bed is looking a little cramped this year. I think I'll go sleep on the couch.”

“But Daddy you have to stay,” pleaded his daughter.

“I will see you first thing in the morning, I promise,” and with that he smiled at them and exited the room.

“Your father is just very tired that's all. He has been working very hard lately,” said the mother trying to justify her husbands actions. She was lying to herself just as much as she was to her child.

“Now,” she said cheerfully, “we had better get to sleep so that Santa can visit.” She forced a smile and rejoined her daughter under the covers. She pulled her daughter tightly to her chest and watched as she drifted off to sleep.

“Please,” she whispered to her daughter, “never grow up.”

     The father plopped down onto the couch, kicked off his fur slippers and began to watch the last of the flames die down. His eyes were, as always, caught by the translucent antique crystal that hung above the hearth. It had been given to him by his mother, long since passed. He had always admired how it seemed to capture the flames and bounced them back to him so beautifully. He reclined back a bit further and shut his eyes. He let the popping and crackling of the dying embers lull him to sleep.

     The house was completely quiet, or so it seemed. A bump in the night had awoken the father from his slumber. He arose from the couch and walked into the kitchen to retrieve a glass a water. He stumbled back into the living room, placed his glass atop the fireplace, and collapsed onto the couch. He was drifting back off to sleep when the noise came again, a bit more distinct this time. He opened his eyes again. What he saw this time made him positive that he must in fact be dreaming, but he wasn't.

     Two red eyes were glaring at him from inside the fire pit. The once dying flames were now dancing as brightly as ever. He sat up and stared into the fire. Then he heard the voice.

“You're not dreaming,” it bellowed in a low rumble.

“What?”

     Something began to emerge from the flames, it was not human of that he was sure. He could not quite decide what it was. It half walked and half crawled toward him, slithering it's long forked tongue about. It had what appeared to be tattoos covering its entire being, but upon further inspection were long jagged cuts penetrating deeply into it's flesh.

“I do not walk of this Earth,” it began, “I am of another time, another dimension.”

The beast stared into the father's eyes, “what are you?” asked the father.

“ I am Lamia, daughter of Poseidon and devourer of souls.”

“Wh-Why are you here?”

“To Feast.”

     The father's face was instantly stricken with fear, but not from the beast. From atop the stairs he could hear the bedroom door begin to creek open.

“Daddy?” his little girl called down the steps, “who are you talking to?”

The father knew he had to think, and quick, if he was going to save his daughter and wife.

“Don't come down here honey,” he called back up, “Daddy is talking with Santa,” it was the only thing he could think to say.

“Mommy!” the little girl enthusiastically exclaimed, “Santa is here!”

She had awoken her mother from a very deep sleep, “what?” she asked groggily.

“Santa's here!” echoed the little girl, “he's really here, Daddy is talking to him right now! He said I can't go down though,” she added with a pout.

Upon hearing the commotion upstairs Lamia smiled wide, “it seems as though the feast shall come to me.”

The footsteps started down the steps.

“Honey I thought I told you to stay upstairs!” He was relieved however to see that it was not his daughter, but his heart still sank at the sight of his wife.

“Dear, I'm being told that Santa is-” she froze.

The mother and father made eye contact briefly before their daughter interrupted again.

“Mommy is it really Santa?”

Her eyes shifted from the father to the beast. Lamia smiled and bared her razor like teeth again.

“Yes, Santa is here but you can't come out, not if you want him to leave you your presents.”

“But Mommy!”

“I said stay in the bedroom!” barked her mother.

“You are only prolonging the inevitable,” Lamia snarled.

“What are you, why are you here?” croaked the mother.

“I've come to feed.”

     The mother began to turn a pale shade of white. The father stood from the couch and approached his wife. He was not sure what was going to happen next but he knew that he had to be between the beast and his wife. The beast let out a low maniacal laugh at the pair of them.

“I am not here for your tainted flesh, I am here for the innocence that is lurking in your bedroom.”

“Our child?” the mother almost fainted at the thought.

“Indeed,” cackled Lamia.

“You can't have her!” her mother shouted; she was a frantic wreck now, any attempt by the father to console her was utterly useless.

“I can do as I please, nothing can stop me, especially not you foolish humans.”

“Everything can be stopped,” said the father angrily.

“No, not everything,” Lamia replied.

     The beast started for the stairs, heading for the child. Instinctively the father gave her a strong push to the chest. The beast was only forced a few feet back. The father's hands had been badly burnt by the demon flesh and began to bleed heavily.

“You dare touch me!”

The father walked towards the hearth and picked up a pointed metal poker.

“You're damn right!”

“You fool!” Lamia shouted, she lunged towards the father.

     Her red eyes were now filled with flames, the fires of hell itself. She raised a mighty claw and tore four large gashes into the father's arm. He had never felt such pain, not ever, but he did not let go of his weapon. In one large angry thrust he forced the poker into Lamia's throat. She began to shriek as the blood began to flow from her neck. She collapsed to her knees and then to the floor where she lay choking.

     “Stay away from my family!” roared the father as he repeatedly extracted and inserted the poker into the beast's neck. He had not noticed how many times he had repeated the action until Lamia's head lay motionless beside her body.

“Mommy, Daddy, what is Santa saying?” the daughter called down the stairs.

The mother answered, “H- he's just leaving, now get back to bed or he will come back and take your gifts with him.”

They heard the door slam shut.

     “What are we going to do, how will we clean this up before she sees? How will we explain this to her?

     As the last of the words exited her mouth the remains began to glow a bright fiery orange. The two watched in amazement as the carcase began to disappear. It was turning from solid flesh into what could only be described as light. The red orange glow began to circle like a mouse chasing it's own tail, faster and faster until it was only a demon colored blur. They began to think that it could spin no faster when suddenly, it burst into flames.

     The flames lasted only a second, maybe two, before it turned into a deep amber smoke. The smoke began to move on it's own, for there was no breeze in the house to be felt. It began to make it's way towards the flames. It hovered in front of them for a moment, then in one quick instant it gusted itself up towards the crystal sitting atop the fireplace. Slowly, inch by inch, the smoke began to make it's way into the crystal. What was once a beautiful clear stone was now a haunting sun burst shade. The beast was no more.