THE CHRISTMAS ORNAMENT
From The Christmas Short Story Series
By
J.E. Bolton
* * * * *
Copyright © 2013 by J.E. Bolton. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
No part of this book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial
purposes by any means, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the
exception of quotes used in reviews. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance
to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
*****
Books by J.E. Bolton:
FOREVER AND A DAY
THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING
FETCH: A TRILOGY OF TERROR
THE CHRISTMAS ORNAMENT
*****
I believe with all my heart Christmas has got to be the most joyous time of the year. Immediately the day after Thanksgiving most homes contains decked halls, and trees trimmed with bright, red packages and golden ornaments. Most of all, everyone’s full of the Christmas spirit and all seems right with the world.
And speaking of everyone being full of the spirit of Christmas, that’s where our story takes place and who our story is about.
Take, for instance, Marcus Morgan. He dresses up as Santa Claus every year, goes to all children’s hospitals and the homes of underprivileged children. He showers them with Christmas presents and food. Anyone would look at Marcus and could safely say he’s the perfect example of yuletide cheer and someone full of the Christmas spirit.
However, in Marcus’ case, it wasn’t always like that.
I know what you’re thinking. “He helps out the poor, gives toys to needy children for Christmas, and anyone within a few feet of his vehicle can easily hear Christmas music blaring loudly. How could anyone with so much yuletide spirit ever look at Christmas as being vile and nothing more than a mere dread?
Well, see, it all started one Christmas when…Oh, then again, I‘m just the storyteller. Even I couldn’t convey the change of heart within a man who always thought of Christmas as the most dreaded day of the year.
Then again, it might be better if I let Marcus tell you himself.
* * * * *
PART ONE: THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST
My name is Marcus Morgan, and I’ll be the first to admit Christmas wasn’t always my favorite holiday. Seeing me now it would be hard for anyone to believe Christmas wasn’t my favorite time of the year. Christmas was always the same at one time.
I’m not referring to receiving toys and presents as a child. My fondest memories of Christmas past were the scents of freshly-baked pies my grandmother used to make, and cinnamon sticks she would mull in a pot of boiling water on the stove.
I also loved watching my grandfather and uncles chopping wood outside, and feeling the brush of cold air when they would come inside and head toward the pot of hot coffee my grandmother had waiting for them. And finally, to feel the arms of my favorite aunt wrapping around me when she walked through the door. She wasn’t just any family member. She was my precious Aunt Caroline, and her presence alone was so addictive and pleasantly intoxicating that you felt like anything good could happen in your life.
But it wasn’t there anymore. Every one of the older generation passed away, and the ones that remained never recaptured any of that same yuletide magic. Going home again for Christmas was pointless and simply put, a waste of my precious time. If I wanted to take it a step further, I could also safely say I hated Christmas altogether.
Even a walk into the mall was a ridiculous production. Dear God, I hated walking in that place, especially around that particular time of the year. Everyone always wanted something, and even though I had a six-figure income I wasn‘t in a generously giving mood.
A young woman whose kiosk was among a cluster of kiosks in the middle of the mall tried to get my attention. “Excuse me, sir,” she said polite, yet eager, “Can you spare me just a minute of your time?”
Then, there was another person, and another, and another, and another.
Damn kiosk people! There’s another thing that got on my nerves about Christmastime. If it wasn’t the poor and orphans, it was those trying to push everyone to buy a product no one needed and can’t afford, as though Christmas wasn‘t commercialized enough.
So, you’re probably asking how Christmas with my family was after all those years since all the magic and yuletide cheer? Well, let’s see. There’s my sister trying to keep the family together by enticing me and my other two siblings with frozen turkey, microwavable pie and boxed wine from a gas station.
Yes, that just screamed Christmas magic. Since then, I decided to keep all my Christmases simple. I didn’t celebrate Christmas for years. That‘s right. I was done with Christmas, and anything that had to do with the supposed most wonderful time of the year.
That is, until one year when everything changed.
A few years ago, my grandfather passed away the week before Christmas. How ironic! Needless to say, I had no choice but to return home. In my sister Rhonda’s infinite wisdom, she felt to honor his memory we should have a huge Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.
And that’s what they did, much to my dismay. However, if it wasn’t for my grandfather I wouldn’t have eaten with them. To me, my grandfather was the greatest man that ever lived, and I would have done anything for him, even if it meant enjoying Christmas again.
Or trying to enjoy it, would have been more like it.
But I went and wore my best phony smile. We drank our boxed wine, ate turkey that wasn’t quite done, and the microwavable pie was far from homemade. Still, my grandfather would have wanted all of us together. Slowly but surely I began to get into the season, and everything was perfect. In my mind, Aunt Caroline was there and so was my grandfather. Grandma was there and so was ever single person who made Christmas special for me.
Then, just as the joy of the season comes it also gets taken away in the blink of an eye and at a moment’s notice. We gathered around the tree and waited for our annual family tradition. The tree itself wasn’t an elegant tree, but it was the family tree with every decoration in tact, especially one particular decoration.
It was an ornament that had been in our family for over a hundred years. It was glass and painted silver. The tradition was everyone in the family gathered together around the tree, and the patriarch always placed the ornament on the tree. I was the eldest but since Rhonda was the glue that held the family together, I let her hang it.
She carefully removed the ornament from the box and gently hung it on one of the main branches. Then, it happened. The semi-rusty hook that held the ornament on the tree broke. It toppled on some of the branches and fell on the hardwood floor. Many tiny silver pieces broke and scattered across the floor. We gaped but stood motionless and in shock.
We should have been more upset than we seemed, because of such an important piece of our family’s Christmas memorabilia was no more. Well, we were going to be sad, but there it was in front of God and everybody. A piece of paper, scrolled tightly and tucked inside the ornament fell on the floor next to my foot. I picked up the scrolled paper, shook off the remaining glass pieces, and unrolled the paper.
My eyes widened, as I looked it over and handed it to Rhonda. “What is it?” She asked.
That’s the moment when everything changed.
*****
PART TWO: FAMILY SECRETS