What Came Down the Chimney this Christmas

Bones, Ornaments, and Other Broken Things

Their house stood on the side of an incredibly steep hill. The hill was so steep that even the boys wouldn't lean over its edge. Though they were troublesome and mischievous, this was the one rule of Gran's they never broke.

The boys looked down towards the bottom of the hill, wondering just how many feet they would roll on the rocks before finally coming to a stop. Sometimes, especially on bad days, Gran would threaten to throw them down the hill. Both of the boys had occasional nightmares about this, waking in the depths of the night to the morbid idea of their heads cracking open on the rocks. Their heads would crack open as though they were chicken eggs being tossed down the hill, that was Gran's analogy which stuck with them most vividly.

"John! William!" Gran called from the back doorstep.

John and William trotted back to the house, their old dog galloping behind them.

"Have you finished feeding the chickens?" Gran asked skeptically.

"We have," John said, panting a little from the jog.

"Good. See to it that the chickens are put back in the coop, and be quick about it, it'll be getting dark soon."

The boys nodded competently, and John turned around, leading his younger brother to round up the chickens. "Come on Jack!" William called joyfully to the dog, instructing it to come with them. Their black hound followed them as it always had, although it was not likely he would be any help with the chickens. Though the dog was truly a faithful companion, he was by no means of considerable assistance with virtually any of the boys assigned chores.

It didn't take long to round up the chickens, they too seemed to have the desire to turn in for the evening. Afterwards, the boys returned to the house, leaving Jack to guard the porch. Gran didn't permit the dog to enter the house. It would not be correct to say Gran cared for the boy's dog, although it also wouldn't be correct to say she disliked him. The best way to put it would be to say that Gran tolerated Jack, and nothing more than that.

Closing the back door, John and William entered into the dimly lit house to find Gran rocking silently in her chair. She stared at them scornfully. "Do you boys have something you would like to tell me. Perhaps something you might have done earlier today?" In unison, both of the boys looked at the broken glass under the Christmas tree. Their reflections looked back at them, amongst the green, red, and blue shards strewn about the floor.

"Was it the dog?" Gran posed the question, despite knowing that Jack had no part in this.

"We were just playing around, tossing the ornaments back and forth," John said reluctantly.

"And then?" Gran leaned forward in her chair, causing it to squeak with displeasure.

"One of them fell. It made a funny sound ... so we dropped some more on the floor," William added, continuing with their explanation.

Gran raised her brow, wanting him to continue.

"I know it was wrong. We both know it was wrong, but it was fun. And they are just bulbs after all. Besides, we can clean up the glass," John swallowed nervously.

Gran sucked her teeth, making an unpleasant sound that bothered both of the boys.

"You know, I can imagine a lot of funny sounds. Sometimes I like to. Sometimes, especially on days like today, I imagine what it would sound like if you boys were to roll down that hill," as she said this, she glanced out the window to the formidable drop off. "I imagine your bones would snap on the rocks like twigs. When I'm preparing kindling for the fire and I snap the twigs, I often pretend that's the sound I'm hearing-"

"Gran please! We will clean it up," John injected, not wanting her to continue.

Gran took a moment to consider his offer. She intentionally sucked her teeth again, knowing perfectly well that the sound made the boys anxious. "I'll help you," Gran said finally, "It's almost Christmas after all."

Gran and the boys cleaned the broken glass for quite some time. There was a lot of glass broken haphazardly scattered about the wood floor. Not a single bulb was spared from the boys destruction, leaving the evergreen tree naked in the corner of the room.

"Will this Christmas still be special?" William asked, sweeping up shards of blue glass.

Gran took a step towards him, and under her weight there was a painful crunch. Blood began to seep out from below her foot across the floor. Gran didn't cry out, and looking down at the puddle of blood, it seemed as though she didn't feel any pain at all.

"Yes William. I think this Christmas will be special," Gran said kneeling down, tapping her fingers in the blood, turning their tips red. "This Christmas will be different than all the rest, it will be very special indeed," she said with a menacing grin, not looking up at the boys, totally focused on the crimson blood.