SWOOSH!
SWOOSH!
SWOOSH!
Blood roars through my ears, adrenaline spikes in my body, overflowing to the brim as I bend to pick up the envelope addressed to me. Opening it, my eyes widen as I read over the golden cursive loops.
Devon Porter—Naughty or Nice?
Quickly, I swing open the door, only to find the halls deserted and void of life. As if the entire day has gone by, and once again, I’ve lost track of time. Lost track of me….
“Mr. Porter, is everything okay?” Emily's voice lulls me back to the present. “You look panicked.”
I want to scream, to shove the envelope in her face and demand an answer, but the words won't come out. All I can do is stare as her face blurs, the room spins, and the bell tolls inside my head.
DING!
DING!
DONG!
2
The Return
The road to Jollytown winds through the forest, creating a painting of pines and white. The storm hasn’t hit yet, but the sky's the color of steel. News plays on the radio, endless talk of holidays, miracles, missing persons, record inches of snow—it has me constantly shuffling through the stations.
When I can’t settle on what to listen to, I turn it off. The silence fills the car, the hum of the tires and the soft howl of the wind raging outside keep the rhythm of my thoughts. I haven’t been back since the funeral, and even then, I hid.
I hate the town as much as I hate Christmas—it’s all a lie. The cheer, the spirit, and the miracles. All of it has lost its meaning to me—all I see are number signs, and stocks. In the distance, a billboard looms out of the fog, the light casting a ghostly shade over it. There was the Hallmark stamp of Christmas town—the home of small vintage stores and majestic white pine trees, and written in red bold letters:
WELCOME TO JOLLYTOWN—HOME OFTHEPORTER TOYS.
There’s a family painted on it, a child, a father, and a mother holding hands, everyone smiling beneath the town’s Christmas tree. A grin spreads across my face when I take in the small horns painted on the father.
“Still subtle,” I mutter, feeling my grip tightening around the wheel. “Some things never change.” The small white flurries blur my view. Turning on the wipers, they squeal against the glass as I press harder against the gas.
When the radio cuts on, static hums from the speaker. My gaze shoots down to the screen as it goes haywire, scanning through the stations before landing on the Christmas station.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping,” the voice sings just before the sound is cut off by tolling bells.
DING!
DING!
DONG!
I go to turn it off, taking my eyes off the road for a moment, when suddenly, the shadow of something brown catches in my peripheral vision. The car spins, tires screeching and skating against the snow as I press down on the brake.
“NAUGHTY,” a static voice cuts through the deafening sound of rushing blood in my ears. “NI—” I turn off the radio, my eyes glued on the buck staring back at me. My heart ricochets inside my chest as I place the car into park, watching as a car moves around me, the couple flipping me off as they pass by.
When I look again, there’s nothing there.
No buck.
Only the empty white roads….
After arriving at the cabin, a good shower and a warm meal later, I decide to head into town, needing the one thing I truly missed. I move through the crowded streets of Jollytown, the irony cutting deeper with every flake of snow. Funny how I ended up back here—the place that taught me to hate the cold, the snow, and Christmas itself.
