DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Crossroads • Belit Am

Joan Morris hums as she sets the table. Christmas carols fill the room with a merry buzz. The radio crackles from time to time, like the old vinyl used to do as it spun on her grandfather's gramophone. Joan smiles. Her chest tightens with a sweet melancholy common to holidays.

"Vickie! Dinner!"

"Okay, mama!"

Joan steps back from the table. She eyes the spread of dishes, trying to foresee potential mishaps. Vickie has been doing very well with the grown-up cups and utensils. Joan grabs the box of napkins she keeps by the microwave and places it on the table. Just in case.

"Vickie!"

There is no answer this time. Joan makes sure the oven is off, then heads for the living room. She knows there is nothing to worry about but can't help hurrying. Just wait until you have children, Joan's mother used to mutter. Joan laughs at herself. Years of grumbling about hovering parents, and look at her now.

Joan rounds a corner. The living room glows bright, cluttered with Christmas cheer. Vickie is sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree. She is surrounded by her toys - a family of plush rabbits, a plastic fire truck, and her favorite doll. When Joan had left her, the doll had been teaching the rabbits to count to ten while the fire-truck made wee-oh noises.

Only the TV's low murmur is heard now. The toys lie on the floor. The doll is in Vickie's arms, clutched tight. The girl's wide eyes reflect the TV screen. Joan glances at it herself, expecting to see Rudolph or Barbie or whatever Christmas show Cartoon Network has slotted for eight thirty on December 24th. What she finds is a sour-faced newscaster mouthing a warning about disturbing images.

Joan darts in front of the TV and jabs at the power button. The screen goes dark.

Joan's expression is calm when she turns to her daughter. Vickie smiles up at her.

"I didn't change the channel, mama."

Joan kneels by her daughter. "I know you didn't sweetie." It had been an emergency broadcast. They'd been having them more and more as Christmas neared and the body-count increased, but Joan wouldn't have expected for it to happen on a channel meant for kids. She searches Vickie's face for signs of distress. "Was the man in the suit on for long?"

"Nuh-uh. Just a little."

Vickie doesn't seem upset. Joan pushes her own fear away. She stands and offers Vickie her hand. "Alright. Dinner's all ready. Up you go."

Vickie cheers. She grips her mother's hand and scrambles to her feet.

"Marie coming with?"

Vickie pulls the doll closer. "Uh-huh. She's hungry, too."

Joan smiles. "Well, that's good. There're lots of peas and corn and yummy broccoli!"

Vickie's face scrunches up. "Eeewww," she squeals, then giggles. Marie bounces in her arms. The doll's golden curls shine, as soft and pretty as Vickie's own dark hair.

Dinner is warm and loud with laughter. There are peas, and broccoli, but there's chicken and chocolate cake as well so compromises are made. Vickie holds her grown-up mug of juice carefully. She beams after every sip, proud to no longer need her sippy-cup.

They retire to the living room after. Joan leaves the TV off and reads to Vickie instead. They're barely halfway through the story when the girl's head starts drooping against her mother's shoulder. Joan smiles and puts the book aside.

"Time for bed, I think."

"Can we open the presents now?" Vickie pleads.

Joan shakes her head. "Tomorrow, when you wake up. You'll want to play if you open them now, and it's late already."