Never Fear (51 page)

“
Can we play hockey?” Alex
had one skate on and one off.

“
Anything you want to
do.”

“
Did you play hockey when
you were little?”

My wife looked at me over their heads
and gave the tiniest little shake of her head.

“
No. I never played. But
it will be fun for all of us to learn together.”

We had brought a cold ham and pre-made
stuffing and potatoes with us. My wife opened the front door to
bring in the Christmas dinner.

“
It’s actually a lot
warmer,” she said. “I don’t think Freddy has to worry about
frostbite.”

I followed her to the porch to help
her, but once outside, I took her by the shoulders.

“
I have something for
you,” I said. I pulled the small box from my pocket.

“
Phillip, I thought we
were past this.”

“
Please open it.” I put it
in her hand and closed her fingers over the top. I wanted to kiss
her but I knew she would resist.

She gave me a look before opening the
box. When she saw the pendant I thought she would smile. “What is
this?”

“
It represents our
children. A diamond for each of them.”

She threw the box at me. “You’re just
like your mother,” she said. “Full of Catholic guilt.” She marched
past me with an armload of food. I plucked the box up from the
porch floor and put it back into my pocket. I just couldn’t
win.

We ate Christmas dinner late in the
afternoon, silence yawning over us like a canyon. Even the boys
seemed to notice. They peered from one of us to another. Finally,
Alex picked up his skates.

“
Can we go down to the
lake?”

As much as I didn’t want to, I had put
them off for too long. “Sure. I’ll get my skates and we can go for
a little bit.”

I helped clear the table but my wife
shooed me off. “Go with them.” It was the only thing she had said
to me in hours. I gladly donned my jacket and slung my old skates
over my shoulder. Freddy threw his one glove onto the
porch.

“
I don’t need it anymore.
Look, our friend is on the ice!” he yelled. He and Alex ran the
rest of the way down the hill. I trudged on behind them. By the
time I got to the foot of the path, they had their skates
on.

“
Can we go?” Freddy asked.
In the distance, I could see the other boy skating clear across the
middle of the lake.

“
Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
I sat down on an overturned tree and began to unlace my boots. I
had one boot off and was getting my foot into the skate when I
heard the crack. It sounded like a pistol. My head snapped up and I
looked around, but I didn’t know what that sound could
be.

Boom. It went off again. I fumbled
with my laces. I didn’t like the sound of that, whatever it was. I
tore my other boot off, then stood, one-legged, to look for the
boys.

The lake was separating. A crack the
width of a shoelace was spreading across the ice at the speed of
sound. I had one skate on and one off. I hobbled to the edge of the
lake. The three boys were skating toward me, racing one another.
They hadn’t heard it. They didn’t know about the lake.

“
Get off the ice!” I
yelled at them and began waving furiously. Their heads were down
and they pumped their arms, trying to outdo one another. The boy
with the red hat was gaining on them. He appeared at the front of
the pack and with a sudden burst of speed, he was coming right at
me, right to the edge.

The boys disappeared. First Freddy.
Then Alex. Through the ice and into the lake without a
sound.

I screamed their names as the boy
turned to look at them, then back at me.

I hobbled to the edge and my skate
plunged through the ice. I brought it up and tried to take another
step but the ice broke off in pieces as the lake water flooded into
my skate. I dove onto the ice, but the lake cracked under me, and
there I was, waist deep in the black water, my feet sinking into
the lake mud. I lunged, grasping at the sheets of ice which broke
off in my hands.

The boy turned back to me. He was
still skating. I didn’t understand how he hadn’t fallen through the
ice. He skated up to me, his feet seemingly suspended above the
ice.

“
Hey, Phillip.” He reached
out his hand to me as if to pull me from the lake. Beneath the red
hat I saw the face of my older brother, Alex. My dead brother.
Forever eleven.

“
What are you doing here?”
I screamed. I couldn’t feel my legs; the water was so cold. I
fumbled for my phone, but it was underwater, in my front pants
pocket. This couldn’t be happening. Where were my boys?

“
I was tired of skating
alone,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “So I brought along
some friends.”

He turned around and skated toward the
hole in the ice. And in the cold Christmas evening, he disappeared.
Just as he had, thirty years ago. When I had dared him to go out
onto the ice, alone, and skate.

Here I was, once again, standing in
the cold lake. Helpless. I flailed my arms, but there was no use. I
couldn’t move. Just like then. Thirty years. To the day.

How could I tell my wife that it had
happened again?

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER 16

“
That was a family I’d
never want to be a part of,” Jack said. “Imagine being married to a
woman like that.”

“
I can’t imagine
you
being married to a
woman.” Nick grinned into his turkey.

“
What do you mean by
that?” Jack demanded.

“
Oh I think you know,
twinkle toes,” Nancy added, winking at Jack.

“
Uhh—well, this was about
the best Christmas dinner I can remember—including the ones with
your grandma,” Grandpa said and patted his stomach. “Why don’t we
put the book away and we can all help clean up.”

“
How about one more
story?” Nick said. “I’ll read it.”

“
How about we let our food
settle for a bit, then have some coffee and dessert?” Dan
said.

Duly chastened, Nick nodded. “Or
that.”

Grandpa motioned with his hand to Dan.
“How about we have a glass of that twenty-five-year-old port that I
got you for Christmas?”

“
Well, I don’t know...”
Dan said uncertainly. “Is there more eggnog?”

“
Dan, don’t be selfish,”
Judy said.

“
Could—”

Dan cut Nick off, knowing what the
question would be. “Yes, you can all have some port if you want.”
He moved unsteadily to the liquor cabinet and returned with a
beautifully designed cut-glass bottle. “Let’s go into the family
room and be comfortable.”

When the family was all situated with
their drinks, Dan said, “Now remember, port is meant to be sipped.
You read, Nick, so that you won’t be so tempted to
gulp.”

“
Here you are, brother
dear.” Nancy snarled and handed him the book. She whispered in his
ear, “This
isn’t
over.”

Before Jack sat, he cuffed the back of
Nick’s head a little too roughly. “And don’t spill any port on the
book.”

Nick rubbed the back of
his head. “I won’t. Dick. This one’s called,
Silent Fright.”

SILENT FRIGHT

CRYSTAL PERKINS

The First Noel

I’ve lived without sound my whole
life. I don’t usually feel like I’m missing out on anything. Except
for this time of year. Christmas. My parents love Christmas carols,
and they take every chance they can to listen to them, and see them
performed. They smile indulgently as I just stand next to them
mouthing the words, but I know they wish I could sing with them. I
see the sorrow in their eyes, the disappointment they feel because
I can’t join in on their Christmas “fun.”

I don’t feel their
happiness, or sense of “fun” when it comes to those songs. I can
sense the vibrations of the songs, read the words on the pages of
sheets that invariably get handed out when groups are singing
together, and I see the happiness on the faces of everyone around
me as their mouths move, singing along. It’s not enough to
make
me
happy. At
these times, I wish for the gift of hearing. I want to experience
the sounds and the camaraderie that comes with singing
along.

I’m here at my school’s dress
rehearsal for tonight’s Christmas pageant. I’ll stand where they
tell me, and read lips so I know what everyone else is doing, but
once again, I’ll feel left out. Sure, the other kids and the
teacher will smile at me, and we’ll all pretend that I’m just like
them, but I know they’re wishing I wasn’t there to make things
harder. Just another day in the life of a deaf twelve-year-old
girl.

There’s a new little girl already in
the room when I walk in. She has on a tattered, red velvet
Christmas dress, and she looks like she hasn’t had a shower in
days, if not weeks. The white bow around her waist is falling off,
and I want to tell her, but I also don’t want to embarrass her. She
already looks uncomfortable being here in the room with us. It’s
hard to be new, and different, so I let her be.

Strangely, everyone else ignores her.
I expected at least one of the other kids to point her out, or say
something mean. It’s the nature of the pack. Those who want to lead
seek out the weak and exploit their weakness to make themselves
look strong. Yet the ones I would expect to ridicule the girl for
her dirty dress seem to not realize she is there. That’s another
thing that happens sometimes. Objects—and people—of no importance
get ignored. Ignorance is often better than attention, so I’m
strangely happy for her.

The teacher has us take our places,
and the little girl covers her ears and starts to scream. I see her
mouth open and know that sound has to be coming out. Still, no one
pays attention. I get in place, and feel the vibrations of the
music as it starts. Mouths are open all around me, and I do my
expected part, standing there with a smile on my face.

I keep glancing to the girl, watching
as she rocks back and forth with her hands still over her ears. Do
the other kids sound that bad? They’d have to, for her to be
reacting this way. For once, maybe it’s a good thing that I’m
deaf.

*

I’m still thinking about the girl when
I arrive back at the school with my parents that night. Will she be
here? Will her dress be fixed? Will she have taken a shower? I
suddenly realize that even though she looked so unclean, I didn’t
smell her. Without hearing, my other senses are pretty heightened,
so I would’ve noticed. Just another strange thing to ponder as I
stand on the stage, my fake smile firmly in place.

Right before we start, I see the girl
again. She steps out in front of the first row, in the middle of
the stage. She is crying and shaking. Honestly, she looks
terrified, and I wonder again why no one seems to care. I care, but
I remained glued to my spot as I feel the music begin. And then it
happens.

I see her open her mouth
again, but this time it’s not in a scream. This time, she’s singing
the words to the song that’s being played.
The First Noel
. She starts to glow,
looking like an angel, and people start to die.

I can’t hear the screams of terror,
but I can see it. I can see the adults in the audience start to
stand before they fall. They writhe on the ground as blood pours
from their ears, their noses, theirs mouths. I can’t move, and I
can tell that none of the other children here can either. As the
blood gushing from the adults around me flows across the floor, I
can’t look away. It travels around the chairs, over the feet of the
children, stopping only when it encounters an adult struggling on
the floor.

It doesn’t seep into their clothing,
like you’d think. Oh no, the blood seems to become solid, banding
around the people on the floor, like it’s trying to help them on
their way to the end. It wraps them like a web, taking the last of
the life from those people, like it’s alive and committing
murder.

There is no one who can help as my
parents, my teachers, and every other adult in the room succumbs to
the bloody “monsters.” I finally pull my eyes from the scene in
front of me, and look around to see the kids next to me staring in
horror as everyone we know and love is left in a puddle of blood.
The blood once again goes back to liquid form, once life has been
taken.

When I look to the girl again, she is
still singing. Not the same song, but one I can’t decipher. I can
read lips like nobody’s business, but I can’t understand what she’s
saying. I know without a doubt that she caused this massacre to
happen. She killed every adult in this room. I just don’t know
why.

What I
do
know is that for once, I’m
thankful I couldn’t hear the words, and I never again want to be
anywhere where Christmas carols are. Because as sure as I know that
that little girl killed them, I also know the carols had a part in
it too.