Henderbell- the Shadow of Saint Nicholas Read online

  HENDERBELL

  THE SHADOW OF SAINT NICHOLAS

  Henderbell: The Shadow of Saint Nicholas

  © Copyright 2019 by J.D. Netto

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case

  of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,”

  at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design © 2019 by J.D. Netto Designs

  Book design and production by J.D. Netto Designs

  Tree vector: Shutterstock

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER XXV

  CHAPTER XXVI

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To my sister, who taught me to be strong.

  CHAPTER 1

  I always found comfort while staring at the Christmas tree in our living room during the holiday season.

  After a miserable day listening to teachers blabber about subjects I didn’t care for, I got home, tossed my backpack on the floor, sunk in the couch, and hit play on my favorite playlist, ready to split my attention between social media and the Christmas lights.

  Seeing the lit pine tree reminded me of the days when my parents actually enjoyed each other’s company, and my house was somewhat peaceful. My family used to come together on Christmas eve, alternating every year between our place and my grandparents’ house in Dorthcester, Massachusetts.

  But everything changed after some big fight four years ago. Now all I had left were the usual phone calls from my grandparents saying they weren’t going to make it or my parents’ predictable excuses.

  There was always talk of sending my sister and I to Dorthcester for Christmas, but I knew better than to get my hopes up.

  The last four years in my house consisted of watching my parents fight and bicker. Part of me blamed the alcohol, which became my dad’s top priority after the event. The other blamed my mom for being so passive about the whole situation. Then I blamed myself for actually despising their company—even when they weren’t going at it, which was a rare thing to see.

  During this time of the year, if I weren’t hanging out by the tree, I was locked in my room, drawing, writing, and reading. I enjoyed escaping my world. And yes, the intense all-year-round heat in Palmsand, Florida, didn’t inspire me to go out much. I wasn’t a beach person since tanning for me meant turning as red as a bell pepper.

  High school didn’t help either. During classes, my mind would wander, along with my pen. I became a professional at drowning everyone out so I could sketch a dragon, a castle, a mountain, or some form of magical creature on any piece of paper in front of me.

  But my love for art and my apparent inability to grow out of it led me to loneliness.

  While scrolling down my social media feed, I found a throwback photo of Billy holding his sketch of a medieval knight. He actually won an award for that drawing on seventh grade. But the thing that intrigued me the most was the fact he cut me off the picture, leaving himself and Cliff on full display.

  The caption: Friends until the end.

  My friends abandoned me on freshman year. Their reason: Enzo stayed weird. I stayed weird. These were the same people who would come over so we could go on bookstore trips. These were the guys who introduced me to movie scores and writing playlists on the internet.

  I scrolled down to read the comments on the photo.

  CliffUpYours: You cut out Fairy Enzo. You savage.

  BillyVanilly20: Enzo who?

  I hit the block button and laid my phone face-down on my chest, turning up the volume of the music.

  The mockery around the things I liked was the perfect recipe to drain my creativity or desire to do anything. You’re told to ignore the comments, and even though you do, they’re like drips on a rock; the damage imminent.

  My attention returned to the tree, the peaceful sight disturbed by a shadow outside the window. My heart raced as I sat up on the couch and hit pause on my music, my headphones resting on my neck. I knew he was drunk because he walked like a wobbling sausage. I didn’t hear his car park on the driveway, which meant someone dropped him off.

  The wooden steps of the stairs leading to the porch creaked as my mom rushed down. Her presence brought along a strong stench of cigarettes. Her hair was tied into a bun, wisps falling by her ears. Her eyes red, chin quivering.

  “You’re not getting in here!” she shouted, grasping the door handle. “Enzo, go to your room! Make sure your sister stays in hers.”

  I jumped from the couch at the sound of my dad thudding against the door.

  “You’re sleeping on the street today!” Mom screamed.

  Keys rattled on the other side.

  “Let me in, Evelyn,” Dad drawled, unlocking the door.

  “You’ve been gone since last night! It’s almost dinner time!” My mom held one foot out, her knee pressed against the door. “You’re staying out there tonight.” She looked at me, eyes fuming. “Enzo, I told you to go to your room!”

  I couldn’t just leave her. I feared Dad was going to do what he always does whenever he was drunk.

  “Evelyn, quit whining and let me in,” he insisted, pushing the door with a shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” Ava appeared on the stairs, her faithful companion, a brown teddy bear named Mr. Wombington, in her grasp. She wore her favorite pajamas covered in pink and white stripes. Her brown hair was tied back, wisps falling over her eyes.

  “Ava, sweetheart, go—”

  He slammed the door, thrusting Mom back.

  Ava screamed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I marched toward him, body trembling with anger. “You can’t just spend the night out and come back home like everything is okay.”

  “I pay your bills, kid.” He stabbed a finger at my eye level. “And this is my house. You better shut up or I’ll kick you out.” He fell on the couch. I cringed at the smell of alcohol.

  “Enzo.” Mom got on her feet, eyes glistening. “Please go upstairs with your sister.”

  “Are you going to be—”

  “Now, Enzo!” She shouted.

  I ran up the steps, grabbed Ava’s hand, and dragged her to my room.

  “Bane, I can’t fuc— ”

  I shut the door behind me before Ava heard another cuss word.

  “Are you alright?” I asked behind ragged breaths.

  “You don’t have to look at me like that.” She sat on my bed, fixin
g her hair behind her ears. “I’ve heard the F-word a million times already. I’m nine, not stupid. ”

  “What if we listen to some music?” My voice trembled as I approached my vinyl collection. I flipped through them with fumbling hands.

  “Mr. Wombington and I would like that,” she said.

  I found an Elvis Presley Christmas vinyl and played it at a decent volume. I sat at the foot of the bed as my parents’ screams turned to distant muffles.

  “I can always hear them, you know.” She kept her head down, her thumb caressing the teddy bear.

  “I know.” My heart tried to pry my chest open.

  “Then why play the music?” she asked. “We know they’re fighting.”

  “So we can pretend everything is okay,” I replied to the sound of White Christmas.

  When I was a kid, I pretended I was off in some far away land, fighting dragons, riding horses, and meeting all sorts of magical creatures. I’d spend hours in my room drawing the strangest beings, all very real in my head. Pretending used to be a joyous escape. But as I grew older, pretending became a sorrowful excuse to avoid real life. And this was mine.

  Maybe pretending was the thing that hurt me the most. I wouldn’t have to face my reality as long as I could keep on pretending. I glanced at my bookshelf on the opposite side of the room and shuddered.

  I lowered the volume of the record player when I noticed Ava asleep on my bed, holding her teddy bear as if it could keep her alive.

  I got on my feet and pressed my ear on the door, trying to hear any screaming or yelling. It was quiet.

  I opened the door and tip toed my way downstairs.

  The Christmas ornaments were shards scattered in the living room. The tree was on top of the couch, its star still clinging to the pine’s tip. The sight became a blur as tears welled in my eyes. I thought about my sister and what she would think. I thought about how unfair all of this was. I feared the part of me that wished them away.

  “Mom? Dad?” I yelled, dodging the shards. Blood boiled in my veins as I walked out the door.

  I stepped out into the porch, the Florida humidity greeting me—Mom’s car still on the driveway.

  “You can’t keep doing this to those kids.” Someone said in the distance. I followed the voice, spotting my neighbor, Ms. Lumber, sitting on her porch with my parents. “If you keep this up…”

  I hurried back to the house before hearing the rest. With one last look around the living room, I retreated to my bedroom.

  I sat on the floor and reclined my back on the foot of my bed. It was time to stop pretending. I crawled toward my bookshelf and grabbed my sketchpad hidden between a few books.

  “Time to say goodbye,” I whispered.

  Anger erupted as I marched down the stairs, walked into the kitchen, and ripped the notebook apart, tossing it in the trash.

  CHAPTER 2

  “You guys have everything?” Mom asked, a cigarette in hand.

  “You’re smoking this early in the morning?” I scowled while scrolling through a couple of digital drawings on the discovery page of my feed.

  “Are you going to start acting up this early in the morning?” Wrinkles appeared on her forehead.

  “At least I’m not inhaling cancer.” I shuffled on the couch.

  She gave me a nod of disapproval, heading to the stairs, spreading the stench of her cigarette even more. The smell always made my stomach churn.

  “Did you have to throw out the tree?” She halted at my words. “Maybe we could’ve fixed it together.”

  “Why?” She glanced over her shoulder. “You and your sister will be gone. You’re the ones who care about that stuff.”

  “Gotcha,” I mumbled as she disappeared up the stairs. It was as if our absence was a relief to her.

  Our bags were beside me. After last week’s episode, they decided to ship my sister and me to Dorthcester to spend Christmas with our grandparents. I was honestly surprised they were coming through this time. When I questioned the reason, she said she and my father had a few personal things to do during Christmas week. She probably thought I didn’t see the divorce papers on the counter the day before yesterday.

  When younger, I used to think divorce would never knock on my parents’ doors until their marriage cracked in front of my eyes. And as the years went on, life kept showing me how unpredictable it could be.

  Ava and Mom appeared on the stairs.

  “I’m actually excited to see Grandma.” Ava held her teddy bear in one arm and her heavy pink jacket on another. She wore blue leggings and a beige knitted sweater. “I’ll get to show Mr. Wombington their house!”

  “Do you even remember what it looks like?” I tucked my hands inside the pockets of my favorite black sweatshirt. “It’s been, what, four years since we’ve been there?”

  “I was five, Enzo, not dumb.” She scowled.

  “Leave her alone, please.” Mom opened the door to the porch, car keys in hand. “I don’t have the patience to deal with nonsense today. Now come on.”

  “Where’s Dad?” Ava asked.

  “Probably drinking his life away somewhere,” Mom replied. “Enzo, you packed your drawing kit?”

  Rage gripped me like a snake. “Like you didn’t see it in the trash last week.”

  “I really didn’t—mind grabbing the bags?” She reclined on the doorway with a frown.

  “Whatever.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head.

  “It was about time you gave up these childish things. You’ll be going to college in a couple of years. Time to think about the future. Spend time on things that actually matter.”

  I covered my ears with my noise-cancelling headphones, put on my backpack, grabbed the bags, and reeled them past her.

  “You’ll thank me in a couple of years.” Her voice was a muffle.

  ***

  Mom made no effort to talk during the drive. Ava watched some cartoon on her tablet while I listened to a shuffle mix. To my delight, I forgot to charge my headphones. My music died the moment we parked by the terminal doors.

  “Enzo, keep an eye on Ava,” Mom said as I unbuckled my seat belt.

  “Will do.” I was out of the car before I finished speaking.

  “Bye, Mom,” Ava said, standing beside me with Mr. Wombington.

  Mom waved and said, “Close the door.”

  “Think she’ll be okay?” Ava asked, watching the car drive away.

  “To be honest, I’m just relieved we’re going to be away from them for a while.”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say,” she mentioned.

  “They haven’t been the nicest of parents, have they?”

  A shrug was her response.

  A weight was lifted from my shoulders once the car was no longer in view. I wouldn’t have to witness the arguments, the fights, and the smell of alcohol for the next few days. Though I had always pictured us returning to Dorthcester as a family, I was willing to accept whatever life had given at the moment.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What are you most excited about?” Ava asked the moment I grabbed our bags from the carrousel. In her hand was the pink astronaut jacket she had brought on the plane.

  “Right now?” I frowned. “I’m excited to get out of this crowded airport.”

  “I mean, what are you most excited about for this trip?” She puckered her lips.

  “The certainty our parents won’t be going at it on Christmas.” I smirked.

  She clearly expected a different answer. Her gaze turned to a group of people reeling their bags in front of us. She squeezed her teddy bear and took in a deep breath.

  “Hey, sorry.” She looked at me. “I’m excited we’ll get to spend some time together—away from the screaming and the yelling. That’s what I meant to say.”

  “Me too,” she whispered, putting on her jacket.

  I despised carrying anything on the plane besides my backpack. And even if I was aware of the fact my sweatshirt wasn’t enough to shield me from the
cold, I decided to brave the frigid temperature.

  “I hope they’re here already,” I muttered.

  The freezing Massachusetts air greeted me and my sweatshirt. I didn’t remember it ever being this cold.

  “Holy…” My breath was smoke. There was no way I could’ve missed them. My cheeks burned at the sight of them outside of their car, holding a bright green sign that read, ‘We live to embarrass our grandkids.’

  Ava ran toward them with arms spread out.

  I cringed, keeping my head down. A battle raged in me. I was happy to see them again after four years, but they had also been but a memory since.

  “Grandma!” She threw her arms around her.

  “Ava, you’re so big!” Grandma squealed.

  “Enzo.” Grandpa gave me a hug. “It’s been too long.”

  “Hey, Gramps,” I patted him on the back. His salt and pepper hair was combed back, beard perfectly trimmed. He wore a red button-down under his black coat, and dark jeans that matched the black frame of his glasses.

  “You look good, Enzo.” He smiled. “You’re almost as tall as I am.”

  “Well, it has been a while.” I scowled. “But you look good too. And don’t take this the wrong way, but do you guys ever age? Happy to see we have good genes, but…”

  “You’re too kind, sweetheart.” Grandma’s eyes glistened. Her outfits usually made her the center of attention wherever she was. Today was no different. To celebrate our arrival, she had on a bright yellow blouse, orange lipstick, silver pants, blue boots, and a white faux fur coat.

  “My turn.” Ava pushed me aside and hugged Grandpa.

  “Look at you.” Grandma cupped my face with her hands. “So handsome.”

  “Thanks.” I forced a smiled. “I like the glasses.”

  “Oh, these?” The pink frame emphasized her hazel eyes. “They didn’t have anything brighter so I had to settle.”

  Grandpa tossed our bags in the trunk of the car and said, “Alright, we’re ready to go. We have to hurry since we aren’t allowed to park here.”

  “We’re supposed to get a pretty big storm tonight,” Grandma said as we drove away to the sound of some random radio news program. “Glad your flight arrived before the madness.”