Seasons Greetings A Carol Christmas

Christmas Past

by Tigger

Reading the letters had only become more difficult for Jane's
junior student. *I wouldn't put it past that Thompson woman to
have forged the lot of them from a sample of my mother's
handwriting,* Carl thought as he reached for the last letter in
the pile. * but somehow, I think these letters are the real
McCoy.*

Already in bed, he opened the simple white envelope, extracted
the single page and began to read.

December 24, 1986

Dear Me,

Well, he found and destroyed the presents I
bought for Carl, just like he promised he'd
do. Except this time, I have evidence of his
cruel little games. Hopefully, my brother
will be able to use his new influence as
staffer to that congressman to help us
escape.

I'm going to drive to Washington tonight and
give John the pictures I took of him
destroying Carl's presents. Surely some
honest judge would consider that an act of
abuse. Maybe my boy and I can be free before
Christmas is over.

God, I wish I dared bring Carl with me, but
the bastard would be suspicious and might
stop me from leaving, or get his good buddies
in the local police department to have me
stopped and arrested. Detained, he'd call
it.

I have to do something, though. Every day, I
see my happy, outgoing little boy becoming
more unhappy, more guarded. I just hope John
has the power he says he does.

Maybe, just maybe, my son and I will sing
holiday carols yet this year.

Dorothea Madden.

Tears burned at the back of Carl's eyelids. That letter had been
written the day his Mother died. Suddenly, the dam broke and the
tears came became a deluge as harsh, wracking sobs overwhelmed
him. He hadn't cried since his mother's funeral - not since his
father had promised him something to cry for unless he stopped -
and now he couldn't stop.

And he didn't stop until exhausted, he fell into a troubled
slumber.

~---------------~

Carl woke up from his nap and slipped out of bed. He tiptoed
down the hall and found, much to his surprise, his Mother seated
in her old rocking chair, smiling at him.

"Hello, sweetie. Don't you look pretty in that dress."

Carl looked down and was surprised to find himself in a dress -
in Ms. Thompson's little girl, Raggedy Anne punishment dress.
"Why am I dressed like a girl?" he asked himself.

"Because you are," the image of his Mother said in complete
seriousness as she reached down to stroke a blonde curl back into
place. "Maybe because here in this special place of dreams, on
this most magical night of the year, you need to be a girl more
than you need to be a boy. I must say, though, that you do look
nice as a blonde, and the pigtails are very cute, too," A sad
yet sweet smile warmed the almost forgotten face of Dorathea
Madden. "You know? I used to wish you'd been born a girl
because then your father wouldn't have taken any interest in your
upbringing."

"But I was. . am a boy," Carl countered.

"So you were . . .are," his Mother agreed. "But since you're
dressed as a girl right now, you'll have to sing soprano when we
do our carols tonight."

Still confused, Carl was further surprised when his Mother stood
up, and literally towered over him. Smiling, she reached down to
take his child-sized, white-gloved hand in her adult-sized one.
"Come along, dear. Your father will be home soon and you know we
have to be finished with our secret church service before he
arrives."

"I must be dreaming," Carl murmured to himself.

"Maybe, dear, and maybe you're remembering things you haven't let
yourself remember since the night I. . . had to leave you."

"Since the night you DIED!" the very little-girlish boy accused.
"Why couldn't you take me with you? It's been hell here with
him."

"You have a great deal to do in the world that is good, my love,"
his Mother assured him as she led him down into the basement of
their old house to a door Carl suddenly recognized. "Things that
will, in part, make up for the bad things your father did in the
world."

"Me?" he demanded, his voice breaking as it had not done in over
four years.

"You. If you get your act together and listen to Ms. Thompson,
that is." A single, unshielded incandescent light flared in the
hidden little room, revealing a small Christmas tree and a little
china Nativity scene on a low table. Carl examined the little
scene and rubbed his eyes vigorously. *Why does Mary look like
she's wearing surgical greens, and why is the Child wearing
bandages instead of swaddling clothes?*

Carl turned to ask his Mother only to see her putting an old
fashioned LP record on a cheap little stereo turntable.
Immediately, a familiar holiday carol began to sound through the
attached speakers. His Mother began to sing along, and from some
deeply buried, long-forgotten memory, the words came to Carol,
and she too began to sing.

Said the night wind to the little lamb,
"Do you see what I see?
Way up in the sky, little lamb,
Do you see what I see?
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite,
With a tail as big as a kite."

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,
"Do you hear what I hear?
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea,
With a voice as big as the sea."

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king,
"Do you know what I know?
In your palace warm, mighty king,
Do you know what I know?
A Child, a Child shivers in the cold--
Let us bring him silver and gold,
Let us bring him silver and gold."

Said the king to the people everywhere,
"Listen to what I say!
Pray for peace, people, everywhere,
Listen to what I say!
The Child, the Child sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light,
He will bring us goodness and light."

Carl found himself eagerly waiting for the next song when a huge
shadow fell across the two carolers. "I told you what would
happen if you disobeyed me again on this, Dorothea," his father's
voice boomed. "I don't want the boy being fed this "Peace on
Earth, Good Will Toward Men" drivel. He needs to learn how to be
tough, hard and ruthless, and you need to learn to stop defying
me," Both mother and child watched as the dark shadow unbuckled
his belt and slid it from his torso with an evil hiss. "He's
going to be like me if I have to beat the steel into his weakling
spine."

The belt licked out and his Mother screamed in pain. Raw fury
boiled up inside Carl and he seemed to grow instantly back to his
normal height. With surprising ease, he caught his father's arm
in one hand while his other took his throat. For just a moment,
his hand flexed about the throat it held. It would be so easy,
he mused, so easy, but then his Mother's words came back to him,
and the words of the carol they had just sung together. ". .
.make up for the evil your father did. . " and the promise of
"goodness and light."

"I am NOT going to be you, old man, or even anything LIKE you!"
he hissed into the dark, still-featureless face, his grip still
firm on the throat. "I REFUSE to be you! Everything you were, I
will be the opposite; everything you did, I will undo and by far
most importantly, everything you destroyed, I will recreate."

~-----------~

". . . I will recreate. . .recreate. . . recreate. . WHAT?!?!"

Carl came awake with a jerk, his eyes wide and the muscles of his
hands rigidly gripping. . . . nothing. Breath came in deep,
heaving gasps as his head swivelled about, taking in the now
familiar features of his room. . . or rather of Carol's room at
Seasons House. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him it
was a little after three A.M.

Shivering from more than the room's nighttime chill, Carl made
his way to the private bath off the main bedroom. Two glasses of
water later, the shaking at last began to subside. "Lord, what a
dream, and yet, it was so bloody real."

Quickly, he padded back to the bed and slipped beneath the heavy
comforter. *I don't believe in messages from beyond,* he told
himself. *Things like that don't happen to real people. Only in
movies or novels. But, darnit, I remember that room beneath the
house and although our Mary didn't really look like Jane
Thompson, I remember that Nativity Scene, too.*

"Oh god, this is really, really crazy. I have to think this all
through, but I think I just promised . . . well, certainly myself
that I'd . . that I'd. . . oh man, *I* am going crazy."

Sleep eluded the beautifully gowned young man for the remainder
of the long, lonely night.