Secret Santa

Bill Turner woke to his alarm and quickly shot a hand out to silence it. This was not the time to wake his boy. Not when the sun was away and the snow outside fluttered down in barley illuminated spirals. Bill Turner had one thought as he heaved himself onto the edge of his bed, and it was not of the fatigue he felt waking at an ungodly hour like this.

“Make this one special.” He muttered to himself.

Christmas was a lonely time. Not for one or the other but for both, which Bill felt was worse than if it were just the one of them feeling it. Tina - His wife. Juniors mom- had been gone since before last Christmas, but there still remained that lingering feeling of suffocation in the man and the boys interactions. Bill rubbed at his eyes, shooks his head, and stood up. Stood up slowly, mind you. The damn creaking springs were loud enough to be heard from outside of their house. As was the sound of something moving outside of his door.

The sleep in his eyes was gone, and he had paused mid stride so he could stare at his bedroom door. He could have thought I was the wind, but that would have been a lie and he knew it.

Junior.

Has to be Junior, jumping the gun as he was wont to do at his age. Thank the lord the gifts weren’t under the tree yet. Bill could feel a tightness in his chest release as he continued moving to the closet door. He’d stashed where the kid was damn sure not to look, not since his little run in with one of Tina’s old ‘helpers.’

Bill chuckled quietly to himself as he opened the closet door and saw no gifts. The chuckling stopped fast after that. The anger came when he listened, again, to the noises muffled by his bedroom door. The distinct sound of wrapping paper crinkling around a cardboard box.

Goddamnit. God Fucking Damnit. Bill’s steaming now. He put together all this cuz he wanted to bond with that kid, wanted to do something nice, and what happens after? The kid spits on his face and jumps the gun like a little…

Bill feels the constriction of his lungs, and of that familiar angry fist around his heart. It’s the one prone to clouding his mind, ruining his judgement, sending that poor boy to his room in tears. He fills his tight lungs with air, and that air pools in enough to send that fist around his heart well away.

That won’t be it tonight, he won’t be that kind of father. Not anymore. “Gonna make this one special.” He mutters to himself as he’s walking to his bedroom door. Beyond it he finds a glowing light slithering like fingers over the wall and floor. At least the kid isn’t fumbling around in the dark. When Bill steps out into the hallway, he finds it lit up like it’s day, and the Christmas tree obscured behind a corner near the stairs. The sounds become clearer as he approaches. The wrapping paper. The cardboard. The shuffling footsteps. The grown man’s whispering voice.

“Make this one special…” It says.

Bill again finds himself frozen mid stride. That was sure as hell not the voice of his son. His son of twelve years. There is a goddamn man in his goddamn house. Another thought forces Bill to tremble.

The bastard was in his room. He saw him while he was sleeping.

A newer, much worse thought pushed its way past that one and blinked like a neon sign at the front of Bills mind. Horrible enough that Bill turned and started running to his sons room. Whatever noise he made Bill didn’t concern himself with. He was tough. He was a fighter. He had the notch on his eyebrow to prove it. Junior was not a fighter. Junior loved his arts and his dance and his books and oh dear god what if this creep touched him what would he do oh god please don’t let him be hurt.

Bill grabbed the doorknob to his sons room and pulled it wide open with force enough to crack against the wall. The room was silhouetted by the light behind him, and he could see a lump in the bed. He could hear soft snoring coming from it.

Bills heart thumped hard against his bones. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Was this heavy breathing normal for a man his age? What about the guy in the living room. Bill turned to check and saw that the man in the living room no longer was.

He saw that the man was standing in the centre of the hallway, a shaking, naked man with his arms spread and his hands placed on the edges of the walls on either side. The mans features were clear under the amber lighting. Bill saw the mans sagging chest and protruding gut and the thickness of his neck. He saw how his arms were covered with black hairs, how his head was covered in a mop of the same, and he saw the notch on the mans eyebrow.

He saw that the man was himself, staring himself down with a wild eyed look. Neither one moved. Neither spoke. The wind outside howled against the shingles on the roof and the man with Bill Turners face suddenly doubled back and ran toward the front door. Bill couldn’t move, could hardly breath again as he heard the mans footsteps pound first on the shag carpet, then on the hard floor by the front door, and then the front door itself being swung open wide and left there. Bill did not move for a very long time before a voice beside him snapped him out of his stupor.

“Dad?” Asked Junior, sitting up in bed and worried beyond measure. “Are you alright ?”

Bill looked over at his son and swallowed down the dryness that had accumulated in his throat. “Yes Junior. Sorry for waking you. M-merry Christmas son.”

“Merry Christmas Dad. Love you.”

Bill felt like he just might cry. “Love you too son.” He shut the door after that. Bill found himself by the living room on his way to shut the front door. The presents for Junior were under the tree. There was nothing else to report so Bill just went to the front door and closed it, sealing himself and his son back into their house. When he got done checking every single nook and cranny for a way someone might sneak in -finding nothing- he trudged back to bed.

He did not sleep for the rest of the night.