Young Writers Society

This is a short story I've written for the December competition. It's kind of morbid, sorry. Don't take this as any indicator of my festiveness. I adore Christmas, the story just came out really sad...

Anyway, enjoy

A Fall from Grace

One thing you had to understand about the Wilson household is this: Mention the word Christmas and you were out on your arse quicker than the time it took to say it. You didn’t speak of it, you didn’t celebrate it, and if you were going to think about it, you didn’t dare show it. This was the law, and the consequences were grave.

I knew about this law before I knew how to walk. I wasn't told why this was the way it had to be, just that it was. If we went anywhere with Christmas decorations, or music Dad would square off his shoulders, clench his jaw and not say a word for fear of losing it. I don’t blame him now, but back then I loathed him for it. I’m sure you can appreciate a young boy’s despair from being barred the joy of the holidays, as I did. And so, whenever that time of the year came around, I silently cursed him.

When Dad was eighteen, he moved to South Africa, where I was born, and it hardly ever snows. In fact, you’re more likely to die of sunstroke than hypothermia if you spend the day outdoors. You see, staying in England would have hurt him too much. The snow, as well as the strange things that occurred there, were what drove him so far away. But this wasn’t the dilemma at all. The true problem was that his memories never really intended to leave. They were what turned him into a cold, distant and rather dreadful father. He may have held Christmas accountable for his unusual and irrational beliefs - and only because that was the unfortunate day it happened – but, in the end, it was the hatred he had for himself that killed him.

It wasn’t until my twelfth birthday that I understood his motives. My family were over for a birthday braai, and everyone was having a good time. My uncles, Jeff and Blake, were minding the food, and laughing at some rugby joke, beers in hand. Their wives were on the patio, discussing the latest book and mulling over what diet to try this month. As for me, I was by myself, but that was okay.

Suddenly the sun was blocked and I looked up to see Dad’s dark figure hanging over me. “Can I join you?” he asked.

“Okay,” I said quietly, uncomfortable with his unexpected desire to spend time with me.

He shrugged off his shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his jeans and lowered his feet into the pool beside mine. “I want to tell you a story, Charlie. Would you like to know why I feel the way I do about Christmas?”

My eyes widened, and I swallowed hard. “Yes, of course. But why are you telling me now?”

“Because now you’re ready,” was all he said. Now was the time, and ready I was.

***

It was December, 1964, in Surrey, England. Up until now, Grace Wilson had been out in the garden with her big brother Jack, playing with snow. They had snowball fights, screaming and laughing as they pelted each other with ice. Jack hauled Grace around on their sled – as she was too small to pull him – and they shivered as they lay on the white, frosty ground, making snow angels. After a while though, Jack remembered that he was twelve, and that meant he was superior to Grace’s juvenile games.

“Come on Grace!” he yelled, pulling her by the hand back to the house. “This is boring. Let’s go watch some telly.”

“No, no, no!” she squealed, yanking her arm free. “I want to play!”

“Fine, stay here then,” Jack said, and pointed his nose away snootily, “But Mum’s going to have a fit if you wander off.”

“I don’t care,” she replied defiantly, her young age showing in her demeanour. “I’m not a baby.”

Grace, equipped with her four layers of clothing and inherited stubbornness, was convinced she could face the world. Doing exactly what her brother told her not to, she meandered further and further away, first strolling through neighbour’s gardens, then beyond that, under the rickety fence that separated the houses from the woods.

She walked through the dark, barren trees, occasionally wobbling on the thickly blanketed ground. She picked up snow as she went along and flung it into the trees. This was the only sound in the wood, apart from her footsteps.

She was fascinated with the prospect of where this new adventure could take her. Maybe she’d meet a little squirrel, or cute winter bunny. Her small mind was so overwhelmed with excitement that she barely noticed when the trees disappeared into the background and she was completely surrounded by snow.

She spun round and it was white in every direction. This should have frightened her, but being the type of girl she was, it didn’t. She carried on twirling around and around in circles, almost like a dance. Then, laughing out loud, she threw her arms in the air, completely at ease. This is what heaven looks like, I bet.

Just as she thought this, something in the distance caught her eye. It wouldn’t have been noticeable in its pale surroundings, if it weren’t for the unusual shape of it. As she drew nearer, it became clear to her what it was.

“A snowman!” she exclaimed, and broke into a run. Her short legs sank in the deep snow, but she forced herself forward.

She stopped at the base of the snowman, which towered high above her head. “Hello there, snowman sir,” she said.

He didn’t look very original, she decided. His body was made up of three mounds of snow: Biggest on bottom, smallest on top. He had button eyes, a carrot nose and arms made of twig-like sticks. The only clothing he wore was a green and red striped scarf, and a top hat upon his icy head.

“Ouch!” a voice cried, as Grace poked him cautiously in the stomach, “What’d you do that for, girly?”

She jumped back, surprised. A talking snowman, she marveled. She didn't except him to actually answer her. “You can talk.”

“I sure can,” the snowman replied, stretching his scrawny arms in the air and yawning, “What can I do you for, miss?”

She stuck a braid in her mouth, and smiled. “You speak funny. Where’re you from?”

“I’m from Liverpool,” he said.

She gasped. “I’ve been to Liverpool! Didn’t like it very much, though.”

The snowman chuckled. “Between you and me, neither did I.”

“I’m Grace,” she announced suddenly and giggled. She’d decided they were going to be friends. “What’s your name, mister snowman?”

His black button eyes blinked a few times. “Don’t have a name, miss.”

Her jaw dropped dramatically. “You don’t have a name?” she yelled.

“You could give me a name,” the snowman said, “if you’d like.”

“Oh yes!” she cried, jumping in the air. “I’m going to call you Charlie. Yeah, Charlie is good.”

***

“Where have you been?” Grace’s mum inquired when she came in from the garden.

“Playing,” Grace replied as she plopped down on couch, thankful to be in the toasty house. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until the warmth hit her. She had only been outside for an hour for two, and she was reminded by her mum how it was dangerous for a little girl to be in the freezing weather for too long. She decided she’d wear an extra layer tomorrow, then.

“Guess what?” Grace whispered to her brother, who was on the couch too.

Oh, here it goes, Jack thought. “What?”

“I met a snowman today. He let me name him!” She told him.

“That’s nice,” he said, pretending to listen to her story, but really was much more interested in the telly.

“Yeah,” she said, practically vibrating with energy. “He’s from Liverpool, but he doesn’t like it there either. Remember Liverpool? Jack?”

“What? Oh, yeah, right,” he replied, not really remembering the question.

“You must come meet him.” Grace decided, and jumped off the couch. “He’s really nice.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he said, eyes on the screen.

***

Like she promised, Grace returned to Charlie the next day, and the one after that. The first day it had been difficult for her to find her way back, but after the fifth time visiting, she realized it really wasn’t that far away from home at all. The pathway became routine, and she was confident she’d never get lost.

She didn’t dare tell Mum where she was all this time. And Grace knew not to go for long, or she would get suspicious. It was far too cold for that anyway.

Grace and Charlie became the best of friends, and they shared all their stories with each other. Grace described her school friends, and how excited she was to go into year one the next year. She told all there was to tell about her brother, and even though he could be mean, how much she loved him.

Charlie told the best tales. He had been to many places, as he explained to Grace. When the sun melted the snow in spring, he was sure to evaporate. When she asked where he would go, he said the clouds would supply him with a new home. He’d been snow, rain, hail, dew and any other form of water you can think of! And he liked travelling, but this was his favourite place by far. He’d never had a human companion before, and he liked her much better than his vapid precipitation friends.

***

December 25th 1964 was the day it happened. Grace got up with a buzzing mentality, rearing to go. She woke her brother up by jumping on his bed and screaming, “It’s Christmas, Jack! It’s Christmas!”

The living room was decorated top to bottom with red, green and gold decorations. Socks filled with sweets hung from the fireplace, and the floor under their large Christmas tree was overflowing with gifts.

They planned on sneaking into the lounge and opening their presents before Mum or Dad were awake. But, alas, it was too late. Mum knew them too well. She told them they had to save their gifts for when the family arrived that evening for dinner.

“Jack,” Grace said as they sat in front of the TV that morning.

“Oh, what now, Grace?” Jack sighed loudly, trying to block his sister out.

“Charlie would really like to meet you,” she told him hopefully.

At this statement, Jack snapped. “Charlie isn’t real, Grace! I’ve put up with your stories for two flippin’ weeks now, and I’m done. I’m trying to watch the telly. And even if this Charlie does exist, he sure as hell can’t talk.”

“He can too!” she yelled, feeling betrayed, “Come, I’ll show you.”

“Shut it,” he said, eyes on the screen, “Just give it a rest.”

She huffed, frustrated. “I’ll prove it to you. You’ll have to come find me soon.”

***

It was an exceptionally cold Christmas, and blizzards were forecasted in many areas. But, of course, six-year-old Grace Wilson had no way of knowing this until it was far too late. She wandered out to her frosty friend, none the wiser. She did note it seemed icier out than normal, but perseverance and obstinacy were sure to cloud her elementary judgement. She didn’t have a chance.

She told Charlie she was just going to take a nap at his feet and wait for her big brother. She was cold, but Jack would come through for her. He always did.

***

“Jack, where’s your sister? Everyone’s going to be here soon.”

“How should I know?” he snapped back at his mum from the couch, “Probably outside.”

Lily Wilson stepped out into their small, snow covered garden, but her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Only slightly worried, she re-entered the house and called out Grace’s name. When no one answered, she began to panic. She tore across the living room and into her daughter’s bedroom, searching under the bed, in the cupboard, behind the curtains, all while calling her name. When her search gave no results, she returned to the lounge.

“Jack,” Lily said again, trying to conceal the fear in her voice, “where did you say Grace was again?”

“Ugh,” he moaned dramatically, and turned around to face his mother. The look on her face scared him, and immediately he was worried too, “She said she’d gone out to play.”

“And when was this?” Lily asked, barely a whisper.

Jack slowly looked down at his watch, the terror now all his own. 5:43 pm. “Eight-thirty this morning.”

His mother’s hand flew up to her mouth, and an anguished gasp fled her lips, “Oh, my God.”

Lily didn’t have to tell Jack to go get his coat. He had it and was out the door before his mum had even gotten his dad. He had to remember where Grace said Charlie was. He had to. He didn’t have time to tell his parents where he was going either, this was too important.

It was freezing, well below zero. Jack couldn’t imagine how his tiny, baby sister could last out there. But then again, if she had enough clothes on, maybe they could find her in time. Maybe she’d be alright.

Under the fence, straight through the woods. He’s right there Jack, come on. Please come see him. His sister’s high-pitched voice clouded his mind.

Under the fence. Straight through the woods. He’s right there.

Jack soared over his neighbour’s low fences, almost like hurdles, one after another. He didn’t have the luxury of going around. Even after only a few minutes, he was ice cold, and confused. He straddled the fence to the wood, trying to find the place his little sister could have crawled under. He didn’t see it at first because it was so small, and he decided there was no way he could fit.

Quick on his feet, with adrenaline pumping, he hurled himself at the fence, grabbing the top and pushing himself up with his feet. His knees stung as he hit the ground, but he had to keep going. Running straight through the ugly, dead trees, he saw the clearing up ahead. She’s out there, somewhere, he thought.

As he entered the glade, it was like he’d spiralled into a new dimension. White, everywhere. White ground, white sky. There was barely any way of distinguishing the difference between the two. Everything looked exactly the same. Almost.

There was something in the distance. The same colour, just not the same shape. He’d almost missed it, but looked again. He got closer and closer, running his heart out. And right there in front of him, sure enough, was the back of a snowman.

He slowed to a stop, caught his breath for the briefest of moments, and then walked the two steps around the ice creature that would inevitably reveal his sister. She was there, like he thought she’d be. Lying on the ground, also like he thought she’d be. What he wasn’t prepared for was her to be a sickening shade of blue, and all her warm clothes to be resting on the arm of Charlie the Snowman.

He dropped at her feet, all his hope lost. He didn’t bother trying to find a pulse. He knew. For all intensive purposes, she could have been sleeping. She wasn’t, but she could have been. Despite her nauseating new skin colour, she almost looked peaceful, like she was dreaming of a better place, far from here. It hit Jack in that moment that maybe she was in a better place. But this place wasn’t here, and she was dead. His poor, younger sister was dead on Christmas.

He held her lifeless body in his arms, and apologised over and over. She had nothing but a shirt and a pair of pants on. She was almost as cold as the snow.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jack whispered in her ear, “I love you, baby sister.”

He peered up at Charlie, and he could have sworn Charlie looked down at him. “That’s life, init,” the snowman said in his Liverpool accent. Jack’s arms went limp, as he realized this really was happening, “You should have come to visit, mate. You should have come.”