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Krampus (Pt. 2)

Part II

By Mattie WoodsidePublished 5 years ago 5 min read
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I thought back to that first memory. The memory I was sure started the slow, but treacherous, path into a dark abyss. A cold wind blew howled inside of me. Swirling through my hollowed legs, up through the gaping hole where my heart used to beat, through my neck, and into the cramped, leaky spaces in my head. No one wanted me. But soon enough that wouldn’t matter. They would come to fear me instead.

Mother laid on the bed. Her illness heavy as stone upon her body, weighing her down, pushing her further and further from the glow of the candles. The Christmas tree stood in the corner of her room, surrounded by small, beautifully wrapped gifts that were spotlighted by the candles that flickered back and forth so delicately on the long, green branches. The warm flames from the fire sparked and cracked. Father sat in a chair stoking the fire, moving the coals, and keeping his face hidden from us whenever we entered the room.

Christmas was a gloomy day, cold and raining. No crisp blanket of snow to offset the grey city. Just grey puddles and grey sky and grey thoughts. Father gently placed a cool cloth on Mother’s forehead as my brother and I carefully pulled ourselves up onto the bed. We sat in silence, feeling the emptiness sink into us. I placed my warm hand onto Mother’s pale, cold hand, so she knew that I was there. Father brought the gifts onto the bed and started whistling as he handed them out. I looked over at Mother who began to form the faintest of smiles as she heard Father’s voice. I could see Father’s struggle to make this a happy Christmas, but we all knew that without Mother’s music it would be a bleak day.

Mother was too weak to open her presents, slipping in and out of sleep as the wrapping paper piled around us. Father opened Mother’s gifts: A delicate gold bracelet and a beautiful new evening gown.

“It is beautiful,” Mother whispered, her eyes barely opening. Father came to her side and held onto her hand, brushing the dampened hair out of her face.

“My darling,” he cried. “Merry Christmas.” He buried his face into her hand and kissed it.

“Merry Christmas my love,” she breathed. “And where do you suppose I will wear that dress?” Mother joked, her voice quite weakened.

“I just thought, when you get better…” his voice trailed off into silence as he gently hid his face in Mother’s neck, breathing out as the tears fell from the corners of his eyes. Mother whispered something to him that I could not make out, but the tears came much faster after her words. Hans and I gathered around Mother so that on every side, wherever she may open her eyes and look, we would be there. As the sun dipped behind the clouds and buildings, the candles filled the room with a hopeful, orange glow.

The doctor had been in while Hans and I ate our Christmas dinner alone in the kitchen. A stark contrast to last Christmas when we sang and danced between courses. Listening to Grandmother scold us for being naughty and not sitting still. Mother looked bright and beautiful, glowing sitting on her shiny new piano bench, plunking away at the black and white keys. Father sat in the large chair by the fire completely mesmerized by the music and by Mother. When we were full, our bellies warm, and outstretched with turkey, potatoes, and bread, dessert was served. We brought out plates of pie and cake and laid on the floor. Mother never took a break from her piano, playing relentlessly, determined to keep the Christmas spirit from ever leaving our home. But now the kitchen was dark. The turkey and potatoes were cold and felt like tasteless lumps as we ate and swallowed. I looked over at Hans, who lightly poked the cold mush on his plate.

I remember the gentle squeeze on my shoulder from the doctor as he soberly walked out of my Mother’s room. My Father sat in a chair by her bedside, holding firmly, but gently, to her weakened hand, as if he were grasping at her soul. As if he were holding to her spirit so it might not fly away into the dark, cold evening. My Father beckoned us to come on the bed and sit by her side.

“We are all together. As it should be, " he whispered to us through tears. He turned to Mother, who seemed to sink lower into a shadow. “How I have loved you my dearest wife," he whispered. “Do not leave us so soon.”

As if Mother answered only to her one true love, she pointed a shaking finger towards the corner of the room under the tree. One gift remained. Wrapped with a bow. A small, square box, sitting lonely amidst the green branches and dimming glow of the lights. I scooted off the bed and grabbed the last gift of that Christmas. I pulled off the bow, carefully unwrapped the delicate paper and slowly removed the lid from the top. Inside the box sat a fragile, glass, snow globe, surrounded by soft tissue paper. I carried it over to the bed, and lifted the snow globe out, feeling a strange knob on the bottom of it. Mother faintly smiled in my direction, knowing the secret to this snow globe. I twisted the knob once, twice, then three times. The clicking noise stopped and was replaced by a familiar melody. I could hear the faint noise of the gears moving the music box inside. Hans, my Father and I all stared at the mesmerizing snow globe and it’s song as we watched the fake snowflakes fall onto our mini home in Frankfurt. It was Mother’s lullaby to us she had played and sung so many times before. Our spirits lifted and the room brightened for just a moment as our ears were filled with the beautiful notes.

I wiped the tears from eyes. The notes slowed and the gears got louder, until it all stopped. We froze as we mourned the silence. We looked over at Mother, who had left us, her face turned up into the faintest of smiles. Her spirit slipped into the winter wind and left us to each other, with dimming candles and a burnt out fire.

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About the Creator

Mattie Woodside

Mattie is 25 year old Christian who trained professionally as a ballet dancer for 17 years then found her love for writing in college. She graduated with a degree in marketing in 2018 and now lives in Utah with her shelter kitty, Daphne.

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