Down the Chimney

**This story contains alcohol consumption and suggested gore**

           Tomorrow would be the day. The worst day of the year. For others, it was a time of giving, a time of joy and celebration. The time to be merry and bright. But not for Anna Lee. No, for her it was a reminder of a time when the most precious thing to her was taken. A time of misery and isolation. Her friends called her a Grinch. An Ebenezer. Well, bah humbug to them. If they knew, if they experienced what she had. Well, they wouldn’t be in the holiday spirit either.

           That Christmas, she did the same thing she had done for every Christmas since she left home. She would hold up in her apartment, alone, with a bottle of Lagavulin 8-year. The bottle wasn’t rare, nor was it necessarily expensive. But it had been his favorite. The events of the night were always the same, but of course, the apartment had changed over the years. First, it had been that little studio on North Avenue, then it had been the one-bedroom in the Garment District, and now it was the two-story loft with the downtown view. The scenery had changed, but the night was always the same. Anna Lee would shut herself in her apartment, phone turned off, then she would sit on the floor of her bedroom with the bottle of scotch and drink it ‘til it was gone, or she had passed out. Whichever one came first. On this particular Christmas Eve, the scotch was winning.

She sat slumped against the side of her bed, staring out at the twinkling city lights. In just a few short hours, all those people would be waking up to Christmas morning. Those with kids would be awoken bright and early to squeals of delight, or impatient whining and tugging. They would be eager to see what Santa had left for them in the night. They would come together in a frenzy of colored paper and laughter, the parents clinging to strong cups of coffee. But not Anna Lee. No, she would be passed out against her bed. And when she did finally wake up, it would be in the throes of a hangover, her neck screaming at her until she popped a few Tylenol and immersed herself in a hot shower.

           But the hangover did not come. Perhaps the scotch hadn’t won after all. As she began to stir, her nose picked up the sweet spicy scent of gingerbread. Not just gingerbread, but gingerbread with a hint of chai spice. It was her mother’s recipe. But no, that can’t be right. Her mother hadn’t made gingerbread cookies for eighteen years. But there it was, filling her nostrils. Her head swam with painful nostalgia. She wiped her eyes. Vision blurred; she blinked her surroundings into focus. There was no glittering city skyline before her. Instead, her vision was filled with a violently pink wall, covered in an equally appalling mauve stenciling. The two colors did not offer enough of a contrast to be appealing, nor were they close enough to give the impression of texture. All they were, was garish. She knew this room. She had stared at that wall countless times. This was the room she grew up in.

           Anna Lee bolted upright, the down duvet and matching white sheet falling off her chest. Looking down, she saw that the last eighteen years, not to mention puberty, had not happened. Gangly legs poked out from beneath a red plaid nightshirt. Her hands were small and shaking, her nails were painted red and green. It had been her and her mother’s tradition to get their nails painted in celebration of each holiday. Not only was she back in her childhood room, but she was back in her childhood body.

           Anna Lee scrambled from the twin-size bed, launching herself across the room to the princess vanity. The vanity that had been donated, along with half of the items in the room, when she left home at eighteen. Her child-like hands clutched the edges of the table as she peered into the mirror. Her doe eyes peered out from beneath a fringe that had long gone out of style. The color drained from her face, the red plaid nightshirt, the holiday nails, the scent of gingerbread thick in the air. No. No, it could not be. Not this day.

           Anna Lee lunged for the bedroom door, it bounced against the opposite wall as she flung it open. From the second-floor landing, she launched herself down the stairs two at a time. Walking in a Winter Wonderland drifted up from the old stereo in the kitchen, the scent of gingerbread getting stronger with each step.

           “No, no, no!” She cried out.

           She slid on the first-floor landing, bouncing off the wall.  

           “Geez, Anna Lee. I know you’re excited about opening presents, but you’re going to hurt yourself.”

           She’d know that voice anywhere, even if they hadn’t spoken in several years. Her mother, in a red plaid pajama set that matched her own, knelt before the fireplace, a lit match in her hand. Anna Lee stared in horror as her mother began to light the kindling in the hearth.

           “No!” She screamed, lurching across the living room.

           “Anna Lee! What has gotten into you?” Her mother stood, hands on her hips in her iconic fashion.

           Anna Lee dove for the fireplace. Frantically, she began pulling logs from the hearth.

           “What on Earth!” Her mother exclaimed, grabbing her shoulder.

           Anna Lee wrenched her arm from her mother’s grasp, “He’s in there!”

           “Who is?” Her mother shouted, stomping on a lit log as it came rolling towards the couch.

           “Dad!”

           “What? What are you talking about?” Her mother pulled her away from the fire, “He’s still on his business trip, he called last night to say he wouldn’t be back ‘til later this week.”

           “No! No!” Anna Lee fought to remove herself from her mother’s grasp, watching in horror as the flames grew in the grate, “He’s in there! He wanted it to be a surprise. He came down the chimney.” Anna Lee crumpled to her knees, bringing her mother down with her.

           “What are you talking about?!”

           But then they smelt it. An acrid odor filled the room. Burning rubber comingled with hair. And. And something else, something reminiscent of back yard barbecues. Thick gray-black smoke plummeted from the flue.

           “Oh, God,” her mother fell backward against the couch.

           Anna Lee scrambled forward, yanking fiery logs from the hearth. Hands blistering, tears streamed down her face. Her lungs burnt, eyes stinging as the acrid smoke consumed her. Coughing and choking, her vision faded into blackness.

           Anna Lee awoke, gasping for air. She stared around wildly. She was back. Not in her city apartment, but her childhood bedroom. Tossing the covers from her, she scrambled across the room and threw open the door. Half running, half stumbling, she came down the stairs. Throwing herself across the living room, she fell to her knees before the fireplace. Logs and kindling were stacked neatly in the hearth. She flung the wood from the hearth. As she did so, her mother entered from the kitchen carrying a box of matches.

           “Anna Lee! What are you doing?”

           “I can save him this time!”

           “What are you talking about?”

           Stuffing her arm up the flue, she struggled with something, working her arm back and forth, cutting it against the old bricks. Until finally, something let loose. Anna Lee withdrew her arm, pulling out with it a single sooty boot. Her mother dropped the box of matches, flinging herself onto the floor next to her daughter. Shoving her own arm up the flue, she felt around blindly until her fingers came across something solid. She cringed only for a second, then grabbed the object firmly. It was a foot. A solid, meaty, man’s foot.

           “Oh god!” She recoiled from the fireplace and began pounding on the wall, “Robert?! Robert!” From the pocket of her pajamas, she withdrew her cell phone and flipped it open, dialing as she continued to pound, “Hello?! Yes, I need an ambulance to 254 Baker Street. I think my husband is stuck in the chimney. Oh God! Robert! Please… You need to hurry. I – I don’t know if he’s breathing. Please, just send someone!”

           Anna Lee and her mother pounded tirelessly against the wall. Festive snow globes, a traditional gift from her father from each of his out-of-town business trips, rattled on the mantel. Their different colored snow swirly and sifting with each pound. She knew it was pointless, but she could not stop. Her mother continued to call out, but Anna Lee knew that her father would not respond. She knew that he was already dead. Her mother had to be pulled away from the wall by the fire marshal so that his crew could cut into the wall. Anna Lee was led outside by a kindly young paramedic.

           Outside, she sat on their low garden wall, just as she had the very first time this had happened. The first time she was eight. The first time she had watched the fire crew cut her father from their chimney. The first time she had watched her mother fall to pieces in the fire chief’s arms as the coroner wheeled the black body bag which contained her father. Just as the first time, he had suffocated. There was no way of knowing how long he had been in there, or how long he was dead. They may not have known how long he had been there, but Anna Lee knew why he had been there. She eyed their garden ladder propped against the corner of the house. He had done it for her. He had done it to surprise his only daughter with Santa on a Christmas he didn’t think he’d be home for. She buried her head in her hands still covered in soot, pushing the grime into her eyes so they stung. The cacophony of sirens and people talking over one another faded.

           When she removed her hands from her face, Anna Lee was back in her childhood bedroom. Eyes heavy, she stared at the walls. Pushing the covers from her legs she stood and crossed the room. Slipping the door open, she padded down the stairs, the deep aroma of gingerbread swirling around her. Sitting on the bottom step, she watched as her mother lit a fire in the hearth. She did not yell out. She did not scream. She did not cry. Anna Lee sat and watched as the flames in the grate grew. The acrid smoke began to flow back out of the flue. The sticky spicy scent of gingerbread was soon replaced by the heavy thick odor of singed hair and burnt flesh.

           “What is going on?” Her mother waved the smoke from her face, “What is that smell? Oh…oh God!”

Anna Lee buried her head in her knees. It was never going to end. She let the smoke overtake her, accepting that she would relive this day over and over. Accepting that she could not stop it. Accepting that her father was dead and would suffocate and burn. Over. And over.

When she lifted her head, Anna Lee was back in her childhood bedroom. But. But something was different this time. The room was dark. There was no warm scent of gingerbread. No Christmas carols serenaded her from the first floor. A crescent moon hung low outside her window. Scrambling from the bed, she landed hard on the floor. Lunging to her feet, she threw open her door and thundered down the stairs. She fumbled with the lock to the front door. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hand. The lock clicked back, and she pushed open the door.

The night air was crisp against her bare legs, her nightshirt flapped in the winter breeze. Frosted grass crunched beneath her, stinging her bare feet. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw it. The garden ladder was propped against the side of the house. A tall figure in a red suit was halfway up the ladder, slung over his back was a large sack.

Making to run, her feet slipped in the frosted grass. Falling to her knees, “Dad!” Anna Lee screamed into the night.

On the ladder, the figure’s foot slipped. Turning his head, he saw his daughter fallen on the ground. Tossing the sack on the ground, he leaped from the ladder. Skidding on the grass, he came to his knees next to his daughter.

“Anna, are you okay? What are you doing out here, honey?”

Anna Lee flung her arms around her father’s neck, “Don’t do it, Daddy,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

“What? But – I was going to surprise you,” gently, he lifted her face. Her tears were illuminated against her soft face.

“Please, Daddy. Just come inside.”

“Okay, honey. Let’s go inside.”

Standing, he lifted his daughter to his chest, and in his empty arm he grabbed the bag of presents. He carried them into the house, kicking the front door closed behind him. He sat on the couch with his daughter and let her sob into his chest until she fell asleep.

When Anna Lee awoke, her head was heavy. Vision blurred; she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. As the room came into focus, she realized she didn’t know where she was. The walls were a light gray, the furniture was white and nearly bare. It made her think of a nice room in an unremarkable hotel. The duvet cover was comprised of different shades of gray coming together in a herringbone pattern. She threw the covers off to see long, thin, adult-length legs encased in red plaid pajamas. She flipped her hands around in front of her face. They were the long slender hands of an adult, nails painted with small wreaths.  

The enticing aroma of gingerbread wafted into the room. The subtle melodies of an undistinguished Christmas carol were muffled behind the closed bedroom door. Gingerly, she rose from her bed and crossed the room. Slipping the door open, she peered into the hallway. With a sudden realization, she entered the hallway. She was back in her parents’ home, looking behind her she saw that she had just come from her old childhood bedroom. It had clearly been converted into a guest room. Laughter and early morning conversation rose up the stairs. Trembling, she made her way down the hall. At the top of the stairs, she peered down into the living room. The furniture had been updated and rearranged, yet it was still the same. Her mother was curled up in an armchair with a cup of coffee, laughing at something an older man had just said. She saw that they too wore matching red plaid pajamas. Anna Lee crept down the stairs. The man was familiar, yet a stranger. The steps creaked beneath her bare feet; the man turned to look up at her. It was her father. His hair had grayed, and there were wrinkles around his eyes which she had never seen.

He smiled up at her, “Merry Christmas, Anna!” Her heart skipped a beat, “I got us a little something for later.” He held up a bottle of Lagavulin 8-year.

In a rush of tears, Anna Lee crumpled on the bottom step, “Merry Christmas, Dad.”