“These aren’t animated. There’s nothing to make them move. The limbs can be moved manually, but otherwise they’re just dolls,” he said.
The Santa took offence at his words and bit his finger. Ashford dropped him with a yell as Sunny raced forward and grabbed another one. As Sunny held him aloft to check him for any electronics, the damn thing reached out and bit Sunny right on his nose.
Shit, it almost killed me not to laugh at the insulted and shocked looks on Ashford and Sunny’s faces. The Santas scurried back to their places and then took up their earnest ministrations again.
“Fun!”
“Hello!” I replied.
“Good fun.”
“Yes. This is. Are you doing it?”
“Several.”
“Several of you are doing this?” I asked.
“Amuses… children.”
I considered that. “Do you mean the kids who are in the spirit world or the living ones?”
“Our children.”
“Why are you here?”
“Died.”
“You died here? What is your name?”
“Ernest Sikes.”
“I’m Callie, Ernest. It’s nice to meet you. You said others were doing this?”
“Yes.”
“Did you die here?”
“Yes, forgotten.”
I frowned. Did he mean the town had been forgotten or himself? The Santas all stopped moving and returned to their normal postures.
“Tired.”A different voice spoke. Several whispers of disgruntlement floated through the air, so I cocked my head. They sounded like children.
“Do you realise we just had a conversation without any equipment helping us? That’s a powerful spirit,” Phil said to me.
I inclined my head in agreement as my mind raced. I’d heard several children, and Ernest had claimed they’d moved the Santas for the ghost children. An idea was forming that was far different from my usual theories.
Slowly, we headed back inside the cabin as Phil positioned himself by the window.
“What are you thinking?” Sunny asked.
“I don’t know. I’m a bit bemused by that scene outside,” I admitted as I sat on the couch. “They said they were tired, so maybe there won’t be much more activity.”
“I’m with them. I’m tired of this place, too,” Sunny grumbled, and I sent him a dark look. God, he was becoming a real misery.
“We get it, Sunny, you hate Christmas,” I snapped, my temper fraying a little. “Stop ruining it for those of us who’re enjoying this.”
Sunny had the grace to look a tiny bit guilty, but his grumpiness overruled it. In sheer defiance, Sunny folded his arms across his chest.
