What Came Down the Chimney this Christmas

Burnt Flesh

Eventually the night ended, and the light of day revealed a charred henhouse, with a distraught old woman kneeling before it. A considerable amount of snow had fallen, and a great amount of time had passed. Gran had gotten her winter gear, she wasn't going to allow herself to freeze to death in the cold. The heat from the henhouse kept her warm for a while, and all of the winters of the past hardened Gran to the point where the cold would never beat her.

The boys stayed in the house, which had become uncomfortably cold. They had neglected the fire in the chimney, and fearing they would suffer another fire of supernatural origins, the boys permitted it to die out. Huddling together, the John and William wrapped themselves in a variety of garments they found, and silently contemplated whether they should attempt to go outside and console Gran. She had been out there for nearly a full day, and night was coming once again.

Their indecision was resolved when Gran returned to the house, closing the wooden door behind her. She carried with her several of the charred hens, and sat them down on the wooden dining table. The boys looked at the dead chickens, unsure why Gran had brought them into the house.

"Are either of you hungry?" Gran asked the two of them, going into the small kitchen to retrieve some cutlery. John and William hesitated, not making the connection that Gran intended to eat the blackened hens. "We may as well make the best of this, it is Christmas Eve after all. I hope you two haven't forgotten?" Gran said, cutting into one of the hens.

"Gran?" William spoke up. "Can I ask you something?" Gran took a bite of burnt flesh, "Of course, William. What is it?" she chewed the dry meat as she spoke.

"Last night, while everything was happening, I heard some weird sounds," William said, speaking to Gran directly, waiting to see if she would respond. Gran kept on eating the chicken. "Who was screaming outside? It wasn't any of us," William said, deciding to continue.

"Ah, first a correction William. Not who was screaming, what was screaming."

William's face scrunched up in confusion.

"Then what was screaming?" John joined the discussion.

"At times when we feel scared it might feel as though someone or something is with us. You can look over your shoulder and find nothing but your own shadow, or you can be walking down a dirt path and swear you hear footsteps behind you. Maybe you find yourself looking at the next room over, perhaps because you just don't feel alone," Gran tore one of the hen's legs off from the body, and began gnawing at the bone, "Most of the time it's simply your imagination. Usually nothing's there. But on some nights, your shadow doesn't walk alone," Gran looked over into her dimly lit bedroom as she said this. John and William looked too, but neither of them saw anything in her room.

"Will Saint Nick be coming tonight? Is that what you're trying to tell us?" William posed his question with sweet innocence. Gran cackled, and sat her chicken bone down in an attempt to regain her composure. "Bill my dear, that is not what I'm getting at."

"Then what are you saying?" John demanded.

"Something will be coming tonight. But it won't be the giver of gifts. The Father of Christmas will not be coming to our home this year," Gran told them, squinting at the boys menacingly.

"Well shouldn't we leave something out for him? Just in case he does come?" William suggested.

"Do you remember what happened to the cookies we made last year for Saint Nick?" Gran asked, raising her voice.

"We ate them," John answered, looking down at the wooden floor, avoiding her gaze.

"You did. Both of you," Gran lowered her voice. "Nevertheless, you're right William. We should leave something out so that you two can be found tonight." Gran picked up her knife from the table. Although her voice was calm, both of the boys were nervously aware of a subtle madness overtaking her.

"Do not come outside. No matter what you hear, you must stay in the house," Gran instructed them coldly. Both John and William remained quiet, and before John could come up with something he believed wouldn't further Gran's rage, she stormed out the door.

The two of them remained at the dining table with unease. The wooden door swung freely in the howling wind, allowing the snow to fall freely into the cabin. John looked out the window at the remains of the henhouse. William didn't want to look at anything, and closed his eyes. Even though his eyes were closed, William was unnerved by what he smelled. The burnt flesh on the table in front of him polluted the air. Regardless of his attempt to disappear from the situation, the foul stench remained.