The Christmas House Read online

  The couple reached the second floor and proceeded down a dimly lit long narrow hallway. They walked in a deliberate fashion as if they knew their way and passed several closed doors on either side of the corridor. As they reached the end of the hallway, they stopped at the very last door on the right. The entrance to this room was complete with a dark wood six-panel door that hosted a tarnished brass doorknob. A Pewter colored plaque affixed to the door at eye level was engraved with the words, “Guest Room”. The young man reached for the doorknob and twisted it to the right as the door opened with a slight creak.

  The room was obviously a guest bedroom but was adorned in regal fashion. The furnishings were antique in style but unlike the rest of the furnishings in the house, this room showed no sign of wear or damage. The bed was a solid, dark wood frame with four tall hand-carved posters, one in each corner. The ceiling of the room was at least 12 feet high and was constructed of inlaid copper tinted foil. The double hung windows boasted beautiful ivory satin window coverings that appeared to be brand new. The top of each treatment had a wide swag in perfect folds and was complemented by extra full pleated draperies below. There was a cherry wood dresser directly across from the bed that was a matching piece to the frame. A large ornate gold-framed looking glass was centered on the chiffonnier. An old fashioned white with blue flowers porcelain wash basin and pitcher set on the far left side as well as a lace doily runner that flowed off each end of the antique bureau.

  The couple entered the room and the young man closed the door behind them. Their tryst was complete. As he walked over to a small two-drawer night stand that sat along the right side of the large queen size bed, the attractive young woman took her place quietly on the opposite side of the bed. The young man lit a long white candle that sat in a polished brass holder with a small finger handle on its base. The candle softly illuminated the room as he turned off the overhead chandelier.

  He climbed into the bed and placed his hands on the shoulders of the young woman. She softly sighed. In the distance they could hear the muffled sounds of rapid conversation overshadowed by Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” as a holiday album played on the phonograph in the dining room below. He kissed her gently and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “I love you with all my heart Alyce. Merry Christmas darling,” he whispered into her ear.

  She turned to him and whispered back, “and I love you my love...Merry Christmas Bill”, as they passionately returned a single tender kiss.

  Bill leaned back from Alyce and removed his tie and started to unbutton his shirt. As she watched him unbutton the last button of his shirt, she crawled across the bed toward the candle sitting on the side dresser and softly blew out the flame.

  Back downstairs, several people were talking in the family room. A magnificently decorated oversized Christmas tree stood 12 feet tall in the far corner of the room. A pine cone stalked fire in the large stone fireplace was blazing nicely as the scent from the logs filled the room and enhanced the evergreen odor that emanated from the freshly cut pine tree. This room was by far the largest room in the house. Several sofas and large formal chairs hardly made a dent to the massive space available.

  As the conversation continued other guests passed through the family room from the kitchen and into the dining room to refill their plates with delicate pastries. The sweet smell of a cigar was ever present as an older gentleman sitting in a large leather recliner near the fireplace began to talk.

  “In my day, we didn’t have these modern conveniences such as phonographs and televisions? Ha, we listened to the radio every night and sang along with Mitch. Those were the good old days.”

  “Oh Grandpa William, you have to stop living in the past, after all this is 1948,” a woman in her late fifties replied.

  “Della, no it’s not. It’s 1944!” another woman said.

  Many others started to shout out years. “It’s 1905.” “It’s 1938.” “It’s 1951.”

  Laughter filled the room as the debate continued. The tip of Grandpa’s cigar brightly glowed orange as he puffed away in earnest.

  As the merriment continued, the grandfather clock chimed 12 times. It was finally Christmas Day. All of the guests gathered into the family room to sing “Silent Night.”

  As Martha slept soundly in the comfortable Queen Anne chair and Bill and Alyce made love in the guestroom directly above, the activity of the house settled into silence. Only the softly sung rendition of the traditional Christmas favorite could be heard as the night air surrounding house became frigid and stagnate.

  Christmas Day 6:00 a.m.

  Six hours later, Martha awoke from a well-deserved and peaceful sleep. As she rose from the chair where she slumbered the night away, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned thunderously. She placed her hands on her lower back and reared her head as if to say, “I should know better than to sleep in that chair all night.”

  As she slowly walked from the living room to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, she made note of her guests still fast asleep. The children were scattered throughout the house. Some were lying on the floor cuddled, with a dog or two. Many guests not fortunate enough to secure one of the bedrooms upstairs, managed to negotiate sections of numerous sofas on the main level. As Martha entered the kitchen a lone yet awake gentleman greeted her.

  “Uncle Morty, are you already up this early on Christmas morning?”

  “I just couldn’t sleep Martha. You know how I am. We only get this opportunity once a year and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it sleeping!” replied Uncle Morty who was an older gentleman in his late sixties. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed his broad face as they perched on his aculeous nose. His bald head reflected the round florescent light mounted to the ceiling directly above.

  “Well, I will start a pot of coffee for you,” Martha said as she smiled.

  “Already done sweetie. Help yourself,” he replied as he raised his cup.

  Martha didn’t seem surprised as she reached into the cupboard and retrieved a small, bone white china coffee cup. As she took the coffeepot off the stove and poured herself a cup, the steam from the pot softly caressed her face that was sparsely wrinkled considering her eighty years of a long and lonely life.

  She motioned to Uncle Morty, “Ready for a refill?” He nodded his head as he extended his cup toward her.

  “So are you going to Christmas services this morning Martha?”, he asked.

  “I always do Uncle, no difference this year,” Martha said as she filled Mortys’ cup with coffee.

  “But it’s very cold out today and you don’t have a car. Maybe you should say a prayer here at home. I think God will forgive you just this once. It’s not like you are the ecclesiastic of the church,” Morty said.

  Martha shook her head and laughed softly.

  “We have this same conversation every year Uncle Morty. I am going to church like I do every year, regardless of the weather.”

  “Well this will be the last time for that now, won’t it Martha?”

  Martha’s smile turned to a solemn frown as she walked toward Uncle Morty and sat in the kitchen chair that was next to him.

  “I have such mixed emotions about next year. On the one hand I am very happy but I am also very scared. I don’t know if I am ready for such a major change so soon,” she said.

  Uncle Morty set his coffee cup on the table and took Martha’s hands into his own.

  “So soon Martha? How old are you now?”

  “I will be 80 in February,” Martha said.

  “Well, 80 years is a long time. You have nothing to fear Martha. Being with your family again will be good for you. This house has become too much of a burden for you to handle by yourself. It’s time to have an easier and simpler existence,” Morty said.

  Martha smiled as she reached over and kissed Morty on the cheek.

  “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite Uncle?” she asked.

  “Yes, Martha but I don’t mind
hearing it again,” Morty replied.

  Martha smiled and rose from her chair. As she walked through the foyer and then up the stairs to the second floor to bath and change for church services, the rest of her guests started to awaken and stir about the house. Many were still asleep but Martha would resolve that problem. She turned back and walked to the phonograph console. She removed the album from the turntable that was last played and reached under the console, and retrieved a new album. The jacket of this album was not as worn and there was a picture of a large gray and white wolf’s head on the cover. She removed the vinyl record from the jacket and placed it on the turntable. Turning the volume control to the highest setting, she picked up the toner arm and placed it on a specific selection.

  “This will get them up and moving,” she said under her breath. The needle hit the 33 1/3 record and a brief, yet loud crackle emitted over the phonograph speakers. A deafening single snare drum beat echoed through the walls of the house to start the song. The habitants of the dwelling were rudely awakened to that old time Christmas Day favorite, “Born to be Wild” by Steppenwolf.

  Christmas Day

  10:30 a.m.

  148 Festive Lane

  Martha slowly strolled back to the house after attending church services, as the wind and cold chilled her body to the bone. This Christmas Day was a blistering 20 degrees but sunny. It was the kind of day when the breath from your mouth fogs up your glasses, as you exhale the frosty air from your lungs. Martha was shivering as she turned the corner of her block. The church was only a few blocks from the house, but on a day like today, that distance was a long walk for a youngster, much less an 80 year old woman with back and leg problems.

  With her glove-covered hands placed deep inside her coat pockets, Martha was within one house of her home on Festive Lane. A red Cardinal sang its' familiar song as it was perched in the snow covered evergreen tree across the street. The cardinal made an appearance at this time every year, for as long as Martha could remember. Suddenly the front door of the house at 152 Festive Lane opened.

  “Merry Christmas Mrs. Kennedy! Lovely day isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Merry Christmas Jack. A little too chilly for my tastes, but our red feathered friend seems to enjoy it,” Martha said.

  As she continued to walk, she thought to herself how she was not a Mrs., but a Miss. Never married, Martha led the life of the old maid and favorite aunt. As she approached her front walkway, she was greeted at the door by a big black Labrador Retriever that wagged it’s tail and held a cream colored bra in it’s mouth.

  “Oh, my Quincy, you are still the little devil! Give me that bra! How embarrassing!” she said.

  She reached out to grab the bra from the dogs’ mouth but he turned and ran happily into the family room where laughter could be heard due to the circumstance.

  “Old Quincy is still driving you crazy after all these years huh Aunt Martha?”

  “Yes Richie, he is the dickens, that dog,” she said as she started to blush.

  Martha made her way into the house and removed her black, slightly worn imitation fur winter coat as well as her gloves, hat and scarf. She hung the articles in the front closet and stopped at the full-length mirror in the foyer. She adjusted her hair and noticed just how blushed she really was.

  This Christmas Day the guests were not quite as joyful as they were the previous evening. It was already nearing afternoon and the time that was allotted for their visit with Martha would soon be coming to a close. For the next few hours, the guests would try to catch up with others that they did not have a chance to converse with the previously. They would exchange ideas and stories for hours until it was time to depart the home and return to their eternal existence. A light dinner of cold cuts and snack foods would be prepared an hour before her guests were required to make their departure.

  Martha spent these last few hours with her immediate family, talking about the course of action to be taken as to the sale of the estate on Festive Lane. As the family sat at the barren dining room table, Stephen told Martha exactly what she would do. Martha wrote his directions down word for word, as he reviewed the strategy to be implemented.

  “First thing after the New Year, contact a local Realtor and list the house for sale. Now, you know that this house is worth a great deal of money Martha. The property alone is worth a substantial amount. The Realtor will get many offers but you have to be strong and sell to the right buyer. It will become very difficult for you to control the situation. The Realtor will become frustrated as to why you won’t accept a generous offer, but you have to remain firm,” he said and then continued.

  “Many prospective buyers will want to purchase the house just to secure the property. They will demolish the house and build a new home on this site. This is not acceptable Martha. The new owners must not only be deserving of this property, but they must also agree to never demolish the structure. They can fix it up and remodel the house in any manner that they may desire, but the foundation of this house must never be destroyed. The foundation is the heart of this house. It gives the house it’s magic. Nearly 100 hundred years ago, your great grandfather Jonathan, carved each and every stone for this foundation from the rubble of the old demolished church that stood just a few blocks away. He believed that the stone from the church was magical and as we have seen he was right.

  “But why was the stone magical Father?” Martha asked.

  “From the time your great grandfather was just a boy, every Christmas Eve at 6:00 p.m. people would flock to the church to witness the miracle of life. Statues that stood dormant and lifeless all year round would suddenly shed human tears. The miracle would last for exactly 24 hours until 6:00 p.m. on Christmas Day, then cease as quickly as it started. The parishioners swore that the solid stone statues of mass and matter were actually alive for the 24 hours of Christmas. The magic of the old church stone still lives in this house some 100 years later. That is why it is so important to find a buyer who will appreciate the magic and never destroy the foundation of this house. Do you understand Martha?”

  “Yes Father, I understand completely,” Martha said.

  As the hours passed, they continued to discuss the other preparations and details that Martha must attend to before she could relocate to be with her family. Before she realized it, the grandfather clock in the dining room chimed.

  “Chime, chime, chime, chime, chime, chime.” It was 6:00 p.m. Exactly 24 hours later from the time her guests first arrived on Christmas Eve.

  All at once the guests made their way to the front foyer area and retrieved their garments from the front hallway where piles of winter clothing laid on the cold tile floor. They searched for their coats and hats to dress for their long journey. They carried their now empty trays and platters that the night before were filled with assorted goodies.

  As they finished dressing, they stopped to bid Martha a final farewell. Standing at the open front door, Martha embraced each guest with a big hug and a kiss good-bye.

  As they exited the house, many guests commented, “See you next year Martha...no wait. We’ll see you in Spring!”

  One by one, couple by couple, the guests left the house on Festive Lane.

  “C’mon Quincy”, Bill and Alyce yelled as the big black Lab ran through Martha’s legs and dropped her bra at her feet and then flew out the front door.

  At last, the only guests remaining at the front door to say good-bye were Stephen, Mary and Rebecca. They each hugged Martha for a very long time. Mary and Rebecca walked out the front door, onto the stoop and started down the front walkway.

  “I love you Mother. See you soon my sister,” Martha shouted after them.

  Stephen lagged behind as he hugged Martha.

  “It will be fine. Trust me,” he said.

  “Yes I know it will be fine,” Martha said, trying to hold back the tears as she did every year at this time. “I do trust you father.”

  As Stephen turned away from Martha and walked down the fro
nt walk, he caught up with Mary and Rebecca. They all waved good-bye to Martha. As she waved back, they turned and walked toward the street. Their images faded into the darkness and Martha could barely see their figures outlined in the light falling snow. Then, in less than a second, they were gone.

  Martha stood at the front door wiping the tears from her cheeks. She finally stepped back and closed the solid oak door. As she turned back into the dining room, she once again heard the eerie silence that echoed throughout these walls 364 days a year. She started to straighten up the house and pondered the thought of not having to perform this chore next year and a smile came upon her face.

  Later that evening Martha retired to bed and said a prayer to bless the house and every guest that would come to visit it in the near future.

  “Please dear God. Send me a buyer for this home who will appreciate its’ magic as much as I have for the last 79 years. A family that is missing loved ones in their lives. A family that will open the door of this home, as well as their hearts to unlikely and unexpected holiday visitors. A family that will accept the magic of this old house and never question why or how this phenomenon is allowed to continue year after year.”

  CHAPTER THREE- MARTHA’S BIRTHDAY

  February 11th

  148 Festive Lane

  Martha’s Birthday