Henderbell- the Shadow of Saint Nicholas Read online

  “So Enzo,” Grandpa started, his brown eyes reflected on the rear-view mirror. “Still drawing and writing?”

  “Not really,” I replied. Ava turned her head toward me, eyes wide. “Time to focus on other things.”

  “You gave up art forever?” Ava asked, disappointed. “I thought you threw away your notebook because you were angry, not because you were giving up.”

  “Time to grow up, sis,” I said, my mom’s words echoing in my head.

  Grandpa took a sip from his massive coffee cup with great determination.

  “Where’s this coming from?” Grandma nodded in disapproval. “You’re sixteen. You have plenty of time to explore all of your avenues before making a decision like that.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I’m sixteen. And there comes a time when one has to stop pretending. I better start early.”

  “How are your friends doing?” Grandpa tapped on the steering wheel.

  “They’re probably doing something with the other popular kids.” I scratched the side of my head. “At the moment, Enzo here is a loner.”

  “Whatever happens, don’t change yourself to please other people.” Grandpa scowled, probably noticing my vacant stare. “Change yourself for you.”

  Heat flushed through my body. “Are you guys going to start lecturing me this early on the trip?” I let out a long breath. “At least save something for the next couple of days.”

  “No, of course not.” Grandma laced fingers with Grandpa as the car slowed down due to a traffic jam.

  “Looks like we’re going to be stuck here a while. How about some Christmas music?” Grandpa changed stations until finding one playing Sinatra’s rendition of I’ll Be Home for Christmas.

  “Love this song,” Ava squeezed her teddy bear.

  “This one is for you, Enzo!” Grandpa swayed his head to the melody.

  My urge was to tell him of the memories this song sparked in me. Listening to it was like watching a live video of the day he dressed up as Santa and gave me my first sketchbook. But I chose silence. Sharing those memories would be the same as watering a dead seed.

  A wide collection of Christmas classics played on the radio as the four of us remained quiet. Grandpa kept glancing at the mirror, my eyes averting his gaze every time. A mixture of happiness and anger took me. I was happy to be here where many of my happy memories were made, but angry as to how they acted as if it hadn’t been four years since we last saw each other.

  After leaving Boston, trees and hills replaced the concrete buildings and cars. An orange and purple sunset painted the horizon. Social media was flooded by photos of people from school going away on vacation with their families.

  A text notification from my father appeared on the screen.

  Dad: Did you arrive okay?

  Me: All good here.

  Dad: Your sister?

  Me: Beside me.

  Dad: Have a good time. Tell them I said hello.

  Me: Will do.

  This is what I wanted to write instead: No, Dad, I’ll tell them of how drunk you were last week. I’ll also tell them of how you spent an entire day wandering around town and then you came home and threw Mom on the floor, reeking of alcohol.

  Ava’s eyes were glued to her tablet. She still watched the same cartoon series from the plane.

  I put the phone in my pocket. The landscape outside was now a familiar sight. There was an abandoned church that always captured my attention. It was surrounded by trees, its walls covered in cracks, its ceiling gray, full of holes. When younger, I imagined creatures crawling out of its eerie structure, infiltrating the town, searching for kids to devour.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Grandma said, the sign Welcome to Dorthcester in view, its right side partially hidden behind a maple tree.

  Quaint houses emerged, encircled by pine and oak. Christmas lights, Santa inflatables, and Rudolphs were everywhere. The town looked like something out of a Hallmark movie.

  “I absolutely love the Santa inflatables this year.” Grandma pointed at one dressed in beach clothes. “I think they accurately depict him. Especially the gut.”

  “I think these Santas are awfully lonely. Maybe we need to have Mrs. Claus inflatables made as well,” Grandpa said. “Maybe she could wear something that doesn’t make her look like a bag of M&Ms?”

  “At least she’d look delicious.” Grandma puckered her lips.

  “Good one. But why call the guy Santa? He has the most amazing name on the planet,” he continued.

  “Are you saying that because your name is Nicholas?” Ava asked, Mr. Wombington in her arms.

  “Of course. I’d much rather be called Saint Nicholas than Santa.”

  “What a strange conversation.” I facepalmed as they shared a laugh.

  “I wish Santa was real.” Ava squeezed Mr. Wombington

  “I wish many things were real.” I observed the crowds as we drove by the local market. The parking lot was overrun by people with shopping carts stacked with brown plastic bags along with cases of water and bags of salt.

  “See how they get us to spend our money every time there’s a storm?” Grandpa wagged his head. “They exaggerate on their predictions so we can buy things we don’t need.”

  “At least we’ll have a white Christmas tomorrow,” Grandma said.

  “Mr. Wombington, wait until you see the house!” Ava held the teddy bear close to her cheeks, her tablet beside her. “It’s so beautiful in there.”

  A rush of adrenaline jolted through my body as we drove up the hill, the yellow house now in view, surrounded by towering trees. The first thing I spotted was the pine wrapped in Christmas lights with a neon sign that read A Very Griffin Christmas. The words were shaped like an arch, the first and last letters larger than the rest. Under the pine tree were four deer sculptures illuminated by two light strobes.

  From the gable hung falling icicles glimmering in white and gold. The columns and railings of the porch were wrapped in golden tinsels and lights that shifted from gold to red and then silver.

  I fought away a brief smile, my heart tightening as the ghosts of my past appeared around the house. I could see my dad and I playing in the snow, my mom telling us to go inside so we wouldn’t catch a cold, Ava making snow angels.

  My thoughts were disturbed by my phone vibrating. Billy sent me a photo via direct. It was him holding a bottle of beer, sunglasses on his face. On the picture, he wrote: Am I your dad yet?

  The picture was like a punch in my stomach. The phone became a blur as tears welled in my eyes. I took in a deep breath as we parked on the driveway.

  “Be careful, Ava. There might be black ice,” Grandma shouted as soon as Ava hopped out of the car. Mr. Wombington’s long legs dragged on the brick pathway as she ran toward the house, jumping up the steps leading to the front door.

  Grandpa popped the trunk as Grandma followed Ava.

  I put the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, and stepped out, backpack in hand. I shuddered as a cold breeze greeted my cheeks. The trees around me swayed to the wind, spreading the smell of pine in the air.

  “I could really use your help here,” Grandpa said, holding up the door of the trunk.

  “Sorry, got distracted.” I rushed to his side.

  “You alright, buddy?” He grabbed one of the bags.

  “I’m okay.” I grasped the other, my breath steam.

  “Are you sure?” He lifted the handle of the bag.

  “Yes, Grandpa,” I replied with a scoff. “Thought I had spotted a squirrel or something. But I’m alright.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t perhaps see a gnome running through the woods?” He continued as we wheeled the bags to the house. “Or maybe there was a dragon somewhere? How about—”

  “I appreciate the effort.” I halted, brows pulled together. “But you can’t just talk to me like I’m still a child. You’ve been gone a long time. Aside from a few calls and random texts, you’ve been pretty much a memory for the past four years.”
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  He stared as if gazing at a corpse. The corner of his lips dropped down, his mouth now pressed into a line. I waited for him to say something, but he remained quiet, rooted to his spot.

  With a nod of disappointment, I continued on toward the house.

  CHAPTER 4

  The world seemed to slow down once I entered the living room, Grandpa behind me. The Christmas tree was by the fireplace—the same spot from four years ago, decorated in tones of red and gold. Wooden ornaments shaped like an elk’s head clung to the branches wrapped in golden lights, surrounded by birds, stars, and snowflakes.

  “I love this smell,” Ava sniffed the air. “It smells like cinnamon pie.”

  “Your grandma insists on buying candles that smell like food.” Grandpa rested an elbow on the handle of the bag, his eyes averting mine.

  “Don’t listen to him.” Grandma sat beside Ava.

  My phone buzzed.

  Another direct message, but this time, it was from Craig. Seeing his name on my phone screen was like poking a hole on my chest.

  “Everything alright there?” Grandma asked, probably noticing my frown.

  “Yeah.” I held the power button until the phone shut off. “Everything is okay.”

  My eyes shifted to the tree in an attempt to sway my mind away from the message. I observed each ornament, two of them catching my attention more than the others. They were placed at the center of the pine, both shaped like an H with antlers. One was gold and the other silver.

  I approached the objects, my reflection displayed on their surface. “Are they made of glass?”

  “Crystal, actually,” Grandpa replied. “Those are very special. They were given to the family by someone very important.”

  “Really?” I held the silver one between my fingers, the reflection of my dark eyes staring back at me.

  “Yes.” He grabbed both bags. “Now if you all don’t mind, I’m going to bring these bags upstairs.”

  “I can give you a hand, Gramps,” I said, releasing the ornament.

  “I got it,” he replied behind a grunt, walking up the stairs.

  “Neither your mother and father wanted them,” Grandma continued. “So we kept them.”

  “They’re so pretty,” said Ava.

  “I think—” A dry cough interrupted Grandma’s words, her face as red as a shrimp.

  “Are you okay, Grandma?” I asked as she struggled to catch her breath.

  “I’m alright.” Her voice scraped her throat. “It’s just a cold.” She turned to Ava. “Feel like making cookies?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Ava darted to the kitchen, leaving Mr. Wombington on the floor of the living room.

  “Coming, Enzo?” Grandma asked, fixing her pink glasses over her nose.

  “In a few,” I replied.

  The living room suddenly felt like a haunted house. I’m not sure if they kept the tree in the same spot hoping to spark good memories from the past, but the sight was a reminder of the home I once had. I wanted to talk about the divorce letters. I wanted to ask them if they ever tried to make peace with my parents after the fight. I wanted to ask them why they kept their distance. I feared all the answers would trigger a disagreement between us. The last thing Ava needed was to see another fight break out on Christmas.

  I took in a sharp breath at the sound of Grandpa’s steps creaking down the stairs.

  “Bags are in your rooms.” He walked to the fireplace and grabbed a box of matches sitting on the mantel.

  “Cool.”

  “How’s your sister doing with all this divorce talk?” He knelt in front of the hearth and lit a pile of crumbled newspaper and wood in the firebox.

  “Ah, so you know,” I said.

  “Well, since you didn’t want me to treat you like a kid, I thought we could talk about present struggles.” He threw a few more pieces of wood in the fire.

  “And you had to pick this subject,” I added.

  “Your father called this week,” he continued, sitting on the couch, beckoning me closer with a wave. “And I’m not going to pretend like your grandma and I weren’t expecting the news.”

  “Ava’s okay.” I sat beside him. “Sometimes I think she doesn’t get it, but other times I think she pretends she doesn’t,” I said. “We all have to see the world for what it is at some point in our lives, right?”

  “And what is the world to you, Enzo?” There it was, the stare that could pierce my soul like a blade, and it still had the same effect, even if absent for the past few years.

  “I can’t cuss in front of you.” I shrugged.

  “Let me share something I’ve learned. You may take this however you’d like. The world we see in our minds become our reality. Yes, we have to fight against darkness every once in a while, but those who persevere get their reward.”

  “What kind of reward did you get by persevering on staying away?”

  He pressed his lips into a line, face rigid. “I won’t try to apologize or explain. There are things you don’t know—things you shouldn’t know yet.” My posture stiffened once he laid a hand on my shoulder. “I was going to wait a while to bring this up, but this house is open in case you and your sister want to stay here. I know I have no right to offer such a thing, but I thought I’d lay the option on the table.”

  “Are you serious?” My heart beast faster. “But what about Mom and Dad?”

  “I’ll talk to them.” He frowned. “The divorce is their business, and neither you nor Ava need to be caught up in it.”

  Though thankful for his offer, and no matter how much I wanted to escape my life in Palmsand, I couldn’t ignore the fact they weren’t the same people from four years ago—at least not to me. “Can I think it over the weekend?”

  “Of course.” He retrieved his hand away from my shoulder and folded his arms. “But enough with the heavy talk. It’s Christmas Eve and you and your sister are finally spending the holidays with us.” He scrunched his face and smirked as if hiding a secret.

  “What?” I asked with a grin.

  “Surprised you haven’t noticed it. Look up the fireplace.”

  Above it was something I didn’t expect to see—the drawing I gave him for Christmas years ago. When I was six, I used up all of my crayons to draw that picture of Santa riding a dragon. The drawing was inside an ornamental golden frame.

  “It’s pretty clear I couldn’t color within the lines back then.”

  A cold breath brushed the nape of my neck. I looked over my shoulder. My body tensed at the sight of a pair of dull gray eyes on a human-shaped shadow standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “I found them,” said a croaky voice in the air. “The grandchildren are here.”

  Darkness crawled around me, hiding everything but the framed drawing on the wall and the eerie eyes.

  “I know you can hear me, prince,” the voice continued as the pair of eyes disappeared.

  Words became a whistled melody, followed by the chiming of bells. Screams, grunts, and the sound of clanging metal invaded my ears. They were joined by the neighing of horses and a bestial roar. The darkness was sucked up into the air as a voice whispered, “You are cursed.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The frame still hung above the fireplace. There was no one on the stairs. My heart pounded so fast, I thought it was going to burst out of my body.

  “Enzo.” Grandpa was still on the couch, a puzzled look on his face. “Are you alright? You’ve been standing there, staring into nothing.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I cleared my throat, my attention shifting between his face and the stairs, my pulse beating in my ears. “Sorry, my mind wandered off. I just…didn’t know you kept the drawing.”

  “You look pale.” He stood to his feet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I just think I’m tired from the trip.” I chuckled, my hands curling into fists. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve. I probably need some sugar in my system as well.”

  Grandma and Ava walked into t
he living room. “Are you boys planning on helping bake these cookies?” Grandma asked, a neon pink apron tied around her waist.

  Ava grabbed Mr. Wombington from the floor and said, “Even he’s going to help.”

  “Wow, Mr. Wombington is very dedicated,” Grandpa said with a clap.

  My mind wandered, trying to make sense of the strange sight I witnessed.

  “Enzo, I think you need to eat,” Grandma said. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

  “You’re right, Grams. How long until those cookies are done?”

  “Only helpers get to eat.” Ava put her hands on her waist, Mr Wombinton’s long legs draping on the floor.

  “Fine, fine.” Grandpa stood up.

  “Good,” Grandma said, returning to the kitchen, Ava at her heels.

  “Are you coming?” Grandpa asked.

  “In a minute,” I replied. “I need to get something from my bag in my room.”

  “Sounds good.” He retrieved to the kitchen.

  I rushed up the stairs, determined to find any clues pointing to the creature I’d seen.

  I scanned the wall covered in family portraits, but aside from baby pictures of Ava and I, there was nothing unusual.

  I found my bag next to a bookshelf inside the room. I put my phone on the nightstand and gazed outside the window, the streaks of orange and purple across the sky an invitation for me to forget everything else for a minute and appreciate the view. But the image of the dull gray eyes haunted me.

  “Prince,” I whispered. “It called me prince.”

  I stayed rooted to my spot until the last glimpse of the sun was drowned by the rolling dark clouds.

  ***

  Ava knelt on top of a stool, elbows resting on the marble countertop.

  “There you are,” Grandma said once I walked in the kitchen.

  “We thought you decided to run away.” Grandpa laid a few cookies on a tray. “What did you need to get in your room that took you so long?”

  “I thought I packed this book, but it wasn’t in my bag.” I shrugged. “Guess I left it back home.” I reclined on the countertop next to Ava, watching her carefully organize the cookies on her tray into a line. “These look great. Are they for me?”