Silent Night

It’s hard to know where to start when all I can think about is how it ended. 

She was here. She was alive. Flushed, warm, and by my side. 

All was calm and all was bright. 

Until he arrived. 

***

I stared out the kitchen window of my cabin, watching the late afternoon snow fall with a fury. The sky was fading from grey to black and soon it would be dark. 

I walked into the garage and shoved the fat, orange plug into the side outlet. Suddenly, tiny blue, red, green, and yellow lights blinked on, igniting the rim of the roof in a twinkle of colors. 

I hated them. But Eric insisted we decorate this year, at the very least for my younger sister Megan. 

Megan should have arrived an hour ago; it’s not like her to be late. I went back inside and was about to dial Megan’s number, when Eric snatched the phone from my hand. 

He told me not to worry and handed me a glass of my favorite red blend. I remember he looked so handsome, even in that god-awful ugly Christmas sweater; the pink one with the elephant on it.

Eric smiled at me, a warm smile, and reassured me that Megan would be here soon. 

I smiled back, wanting to believe him. Wanting to believe that everything really was alright. But that was so difficult for me to do. 

And it was all because of Tyler.

I hadn’t thought of his name in a long while because his name came with a choice. And with that choice, came great pain and shame.

But Tyler was just that; a name.

And so I pushed him out of my mind and took a long pull from my glass, then stared back out the window. And then, through the snowfall, I saw them. Bright high beams shined through the dark, and I ran out the front door and into the driveway. 

I’d almost made it to their car when Megan took one step out of the passenger door, and I froze. I froze, because it was only then that I saw her swollen, bulging belly. 

I stared at my sister not knowing what to say. 

Megan must have seen the pain and confusion on my face, because she heaved herself out of the car and closed the distance between us. 

I stood there, letting her hold me. She whispered something sweet, but I couldn’t hear it because a sour, rancid thought brushed the back of my mind: Maybe she knew. 

I wasn’t sure how, but maybe she knew what happened that Christmas day, eight years ago. I pulled back from Megan and locked eyes with her. I searched for a realization, an explanation, anything at all. But then, her husband James walked over. 

We exchanged pleasantries, but they were forced on my part. My sister was, at the very most, a few weeks from popping. And I couldn't, for the life of me, wrap my head around that. 

But as the snowy wind whipped and roared all around us, I smiled. 

And then, I invited my sister and her husband inside my home.

For what would be their last time. 

***

Drinks. Drinks by the dozen. And laughter. So much laughter. 

We gathered around the dinner table and talked for hours about all the big and little things in our lives, and although some things were never said, they were felt. 

I’d missed my sister. And she’d missed me. 

Before we knew it, Eric was rounding the corner carrying a tray piled high with roasted, buttered vegetables and a plump, shiny turkey. 

Eric placed the tray in the center of the table then pulled out his carving knife. He was about to make the first cut when— 

THUD.

Something loud slammed against the front door. 

We paused, the smiles wiped from our faces, and looked at one another. It sounded almost like a knock, but, more than that. Heavier, somehow. Several seconds went by, and I started to think we’d imagined it when we heard the sound again, louder this time.

THUD. 

We all turned and looked towards the front door. 

I had no idea who would be knocking at this hour. It was late for one thing, our nearest neighbor was more than a mile away, and the snow made it impossible for anyone to drive up the mountain. If Megan and James had arrived just an hour later, the roads would have been closed. 

Eric and James exchanged a look then pushed back from the table, heading for the front door. Megan and I followed close behind. 

When Eric reached the front door, he leaned forward, peered through the peephole, and— 

THUD. 

The sound, louder still, pounded against the frame. 

Eric jumped back and cursed under his breath. I asked him what he saw and begged him to not open the door. But he only shook his head and reached for the handle. Then, he pulled it open.  

My eyes fell on them immediately. 

Lying there on the front porch, in a bloody pile of crumpled feathers, were three dead birds.

Doves. Turtle doves.  

One of the birds was still twitching, its beak bent open at an odd angle, as if stuck in a silent scream. 

Megan cupped a hand over her mouth and I wrapped my arms around her. I was pulling her closer to me, and about to tell Eric to go get a trash bag, when I saw the silhouette of something at the edge of the treeline. 

At first, I thought it was just distorted shadows. 

But then, it moved. 

And with careful, even steps, I watched the figure approach the driveway, getting closer to the house. Closer to us. 

The short, slim figure now stood just a few feet from the edge of the driveway, each step silent against the snow. When it reached our driveway, it paused, watching us. 

And then, under the glow of twinkling Christmas lights, I saw what it was. What he was.

A boy. A small, dark haired boy, no older than ten, and I could tell, even from this far away, he wasn’t dressed for the weather. Wearing just a pair of shorts, the boy stood shivering.

I was starting to wonder how he made it here barefoot when Megan gasped. Then, she rushed forward out the door before any of us could stop her. 

I’m sure you can guess what happened next. Just know, I didn’t want to let the boy inside. I knew he was wrong from the moment I saw him. 

But they said we couldn't close our door on a child. 

A child. That’s what they called him. That’s what they thought he was. 

In the beginning. 

***

The boy wouldn’t talk. 

He sat on our couch, bolt upright, and stared straight ahead with a blank expression on his face. Up close, I noticed his shorts were torn, and his face had several cuts on it. He looked as if he had run away from something. 

Or chased something. 

I shook the thought from my head as Megan sat beside the boy on the couch. Then, she started asking him questions in a soft, soothing voice. Questions like, Where are your parents? What’s your name? Why are you here? 

At the last question, the boy turned, looked right at me, and smiled. The smile reached his eyes, which were as dark as the bottom of a well. Megan asked the boy if he knew me. 

He nodded. 

I pulled Megan into the kitchen, along with Eric, and told them I didn’t know this boy. That I’d never seen him in my life. Eric nodded, reassuringly, but I could tell Megan didn’t believe me. She was giving me this look, like she was disgusted with me. Then she went upstairs, telling us she needed a minute alone. 

I wanted to chase after my sister; I wanted her to believe me. But instead, I called the police. I was sure someone had reported the boy missing, so I asked Eric for my phone back, then dialed their number. 

But nothing happened.

The phone went silent for a few seconds, then it made those three terrible beeps, signifying the call wouldn't go through.  

I tried again, but still, I couldn’t make the call. 

I ran to a window and pulled back the curtains; the snow outside was blowing harder and faster. The storm must have interfered with our reception. 

I shoved my phone into my pocket and told Eric. He immediately went to check our router in the bedroom. 

And so there I was, alone in the kitchen, when I heard it.

CRUNCH. 

The harsh, gnawing sound was paired with the smacking of lips, and it sounded just like someone was chewing something tough. I waited a few seconds, but on and on the chewing went, and I could tell it was coming from the living room. 

The room the boy was in. 

I tiptoed forward until the couch came into view, and it took a while to register what I was seeing. Or rather, who I was seeing, sitting there together on the couch. 

Because at first, I didn’t notice what lay in James’ or the boy’s laps. I didn’t notice what stuck between their teeth as their lips smacked. And I certainly didn’t notice what was smeared along their mouths, chins, and hands. 

I couldn’t see anything, because all I could hear, over and over again, was that terrible, awful, mashing of mouths, the

CRUNCH.

I asked James to put the dove down. At least, I think I did. But he was grinning, grinning at the boy, and tearing off great, big chunks of flesh, feathers and all. 

I begged him to stop and screamed at him. But it was like he couldn’t hear me. He continued to devour the dove fast, so fast, I thought he might—

And then he really was; James was choking right there in front of me. 

James began clawing at his throat and struggling to take a breath, any breath. He started to turn blue, and made these awful, croaked sounds. 

I wanted to run to his side, or call for help. I wanted to do something, anything, but I couldn’t move. 

I couldn’t move because in the midst of this madness, the boy was staring at me, watching me, with those big, black eyes as deep and dark as pits, and I couldn’t…

With a final CRUNCH, James hit the floor.

And I knew he was gone. 

***

Megan was hysterical when she found James’ body. She asked me what happened, but I couldn’t get a word out. I was stuttering, still in complete shock.  

I tried telling her it was the boy that had done this to James, but the boy was nowhere to be found. Megan wasn’t listening to me, anyway. She had draped herself across James and was crying. She cried and cried, and each guttural sob broke my heart more than the last. 

It was all too much. I needed Eric; his kindness, his good sense. Eric would know what to do, but, where was he? I hadn’t seen him in a while and thought for sure he would have heard us by now. 

So, I went looking for him. 

I entered the kitchen, which was empty and quiet. I walked into our bedroom. The router wasn’t blinking, which meant it wasn’t working, but other than that, the room was how we left it this morning. 

I was just about to check upstairs when I felt a cold rush of winter wind, spilling in from my left. I turned and saw the front door slightly ajar. And as if in a trance, I walked towards it. 

As I approached the front door, the breeze blew it open just a crack more. I was close now, so close I could see one of the turtle doves was still lying there in a pool of blood. 

And, leading out directly from the house, was a set of bloody footprints in the snow. The footprints curved left, out of sight, and into the woods. 

The footprints were too big to be the boy’s, and that only meant one thing: they were Eric’s. So for some, unthinkable reason, Eric fled the house.

I didn’t want to follow the footprints, but I was out of service, James was dead, and Eric… Eric was out there, somewhere. Somewhere in the dark.

So I stepped over the bloody bird and into the night. 

I pulled out my phone, switched on the light, then let it shine the way forward. My hands were shaking and my teeth were chattering as small bits of snow swirled around me. I walked against the wind, for quite some time, and was swallowed by towering trees with branches that curled like claws. 

After what felt like hours, the path eventually narrowed to a slit, then disappeared all together. And with it, so did the footprints. 

I turned in a circle, staring at the ground, willing another footprint to emerge. 

It never did. 

I called out to Eric, over and over again, but I was met with nothing except the roar of the wind. 

And then, I saw it. 

Just a few feet to the right and tangled in a tree branch, was a strip of pink fabric. I ran over, grabbed it, then fell to my knees. Before I unbunched the torn material, I already knew what it was. 

I knew, because I had felt this sweater just this morning, when Eric put it on. It was part of his ugly Christmas sweater. The pink one with the elephant on it. 

Then, it was my turn to be hysterical. 

***

I never found Eric. 

I called for Eric once, twice, a dozen times. I shouted his name until my voice went raw, and I would have gone on shouting, too, had it not been for Megan. 

Because just then, I heard my sister screaming, far in the distance. And her screams were different than earlier; there was pain, real pain, in her voice.

My sister needed me. So I ran. 

I sprinted as fast as I could, following my footprints back. Eventually, the tip of my roof came into view and I broke through the trees. I was at the edge of the woods, exactly where the boy stood hours earlier, when I stopped in my tracks. 

I stopped because all the lights inside my house were turned off, and my beloved cabin on the lake that glowed with warmth just hours earlier, was drenched in darkness. 

A second of stillness went by, then two, three, and then out of nowhere blinking blue, red, green, and yellow lights twinkled. It was the Christmas lights that ran along my roof. 

Someone just turned them on.

Chills ran down my spine, and I wanted, more than anything, to turn around and run far away. But my sister was inside that dark house, alone, and hurting. 

So I steeled myself and entered the house. 

Megan was still in the living room, right where I left her, only now she was lying next to James (whose corpse was starting to discolor and harden), with her legs spread wide. She was panting hard, her back arched off the ground, and gripping the rug beneath her.

Oh god. She was having the baby. Right here. Right now. 

But something was really, really wrong because there was blood. So much blood. 

I rushed to her side and Megan turned to me, smiling for a half a second. Then, a terrible ripping sound filled the room, and Megan screamed louder than ever before. She was panting so hard and— 

And then there was a release. 

A release of pain, a release of promise. 

A release of life. 

Suddenly, new screams fill the air, the kind of blood-curdling cries that only an infant acquainted with cruelty could make.

Megan looked down between her legs and smiled. Tears pooled in her eyes, and then she laid her head back down to rest. Her eyelids fluttered and her breath became shallow. 

I began yelling her name, trying to keep her awake. I shook her, and begged her to hold on to my voice. 

To not let go. 

Megan gave my hand a squeeze and whispered, “Take care of her.” 

Then her eyes glossed over, and she wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was looking past me. Far past me. 

I never heard him enter the room. I only heard the baby crying, crying for her mama. I was about to pick her up when it happened.

A pair of hands snatched up the infant, then cut the umbilical cord in a flash. I looked over and saw those hands belonged to the boy.  

Yes, there was the boy cradling my sister’s baby. 

And I said, through gritted teeth, “Give me the child.”

The boy just stared at me with those blank, black eyes. And then, they crinkled into crescents as his lips curled, and for the first and last time that night, the boy spoke:

“You’re not fit to raise this child, Laura. Not after what you did to me.”

His words slammed me into stunned silence and I could only think of one thing to say. 

A name. His name. 

“Tyler?”

The boy looked at me then, and there was something in his eyes, a flicker of… I don’t know what. But I knew it then, just as I know it now:

That was my boy, the one who’s life I ended, before it could even begin. 

I didn’t reach for him, or tell him I was sorry. I simply sat there, next to my sister’s remains, and watched Tyler carry the infant, so tender and mild, away. 

Away from this room, away from this house, and away into the night.  

And I wished, for both of them, heavenly peace.