More fiction! I'm honestly so happy and grateful for all these generous contributions for our writer-reader friends! It's made this calendar such a special one.

So this morning we have another fiction offering. This giftie comes from Almathea.

Disclaimer and warning  : 

Though it is a Christmas story -kind of- it is a darker onethat way trigger some people. There are heavy mentions of suicide and a lot of grief.So if this is a trigger for you, please do not read further.
This is also a coda I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, because itdirectly follows the ending of one of my very favorite books by Josh. But one Iwas not prepared to write before because of its mix of dark themes and verypersonal use of Dickens. It is a weird headspace to be stuck in.
Please, keep in mind that English is not my native language so any mistake orheavy sentence is due to lacuna of the language on my part.
Still I hope you will like it as I promise you hope and mystery at theend. ^^

 

THE HAUNTED HEART : A DARKERCHRISTMAS CAROL

When I finally climbed into bed I could hear Kirk playing his guitardownstairs.

I turned out the lamp ans stared at thepattern of moonlight on the ceiling. The bed was warm and more comfortable thanI remembered. I thought I would sleep well that night.

After a time, I closed my eyes and listenedto Kirk strumming. Not random chords, not a haphazard scattering of notes,juste a slow, tentative introduction to an unfamiliar melody.

Something new that accompanied me while Idrifted into sleep.

**********

The dream started.

Not a usual one.

Not an unfamiliar one.

Even in my sleep I knew I had already had itand I didn’t want to have it again. Please not that dream.

 

The dream started exactly the same way asit did before. I was strapped on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, mywrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more angerthan blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in mysystem from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My onlythought Let me out ! 
I wanted to die.

Someone grabbed my hand. It was weirdbecause I hadn’t heard the door open, nor the sound of the key in the lock. Butthe weirdest part was that suddenly the ache in my body vanished and I felt solight. Floating like a snowflake in a winter gust. Am I dead ? Am Iasleep ? It didn’t really matter. I was feeling almost good. The handholding mine pulled and my body followed the gentle command, drifting upwards.I opened my eyes and startled. I was facing myself. A distorted version ofmyself, like a face seen through a frosted window. But it was me.  Maybe a slightly older version of myself asthe other me with the sad eyes and the wry smile wore a beard. Before I couldreact or blink, the bearded clone turned around and led us towards the door ofmy hospital room. But it was not the same door anymore. Gone was the blandlight brown of the ward door and its window. In its place was the warmchocolate of an apartment door with the number 13 on a plaque. I knew this doortoo well. It was our apartment door. Alan’s and mine. I couldn’t go inthere ! I couldn’t face his absence ! I tried to free myself from thehand holding me, this hand so gentle and so cruel, but it dragged me though thedoor like it was just mist.

What awaited on the other side was like a rustyblade stuck and twisted into my heart. The dim lights. The illuminated tree.The colorful wrappings like a rainbow sea on the floor. And the laughs. Ohthese laughs ! So full of joy, so full of hope, so full of LOVE. Icouldn’t help bursting into tears. Alan and I lying naked in each other’s armsafter making love, the most radiant raft of this multicolor sea. Kissing,snuggling and giggling as we were exchanging the most ridiculous endearments wecould think of. « Cuddlebug. » « Snugglebunny. »« Love muffin. »

I was watching one of the highlights oflast year’s Christmas Eve like the most heartbreaking movie ever made. All thatdelight was unbearable. I wanted to scream « Stop laughing ! Life isa bitch and this is your last Christmas together !!! » But I couldn’tbreathe, let alone shout. All I could do was watch through a curtain of tears,intruding on my own passed happiness, on that day that would never come backagain.

I tried to step forward to get closer tothe warmth of Alan’s smile, to carress his cheek or maybe to revel in his smellone more time, but the other me, this witsful ghost, stepped in front of me andsadly shook his head. As painful as it was, I got it. « Yeah… This isgone. It’s only a memory of my… Of our past. But please… » The spirit orwhatever didn’t let me finish. With his hands gently put on my shoulders, hesuddenly pushed and I stumbled back through the door that was not there andfound myself lying strapped on the bed, with all my pain and all my loss. Unwanted.  

 

I didn’t want to live in a world where Alan was not.

A thin and delicate hand grabbed mine under the thin cover. No, no, notagain. Like the previous visitation, the new hand grabbed mine and yankedme up floating. But this was not a gentle touch. It was a hard and cold oneforcing me to face a gorgeous woman whose face seemed to be hiding under a veilof backwater. Black hair twisting and hateful gaze, the only features I couldcomprehend. So much rage. Even more than I felt. All my pains were gone again,except for the hand the stranger woman held, crushed and numb with cold.Without a word, she turned around and dragged me like a disobedient puppytowards the door. A door that had changed again. Not a bland light brown nor awarm chocolate. Now the door was a stylish white with trimmings and a bronzelock and handle. A door I had known every day of my childhood. I didn’t want togot there ! Even less than the previous place I was taken to. I didn’twant to witness more bygone memories. But when she towed me through the door,my parents living room was not like any remembrance I had of it.

A fir tree was up but out of place, bare asit was of any kind of ornament. A skeleton of Christmas exumed from a closet.Facing the naked tree, my parents were on the leather couch, where the entitybrought me. My dad, always the stoic man, suddenly appeared… small. Shouldershunched, blank stare, tan turned to ash, he seemed as lost as a bankrupt mogul.Isolated in his own bubble of grief while his wife was curled up on the otherside of the couch, wailing like a banshee. Gone was the collected and sophisticatedwoman I called mom. Her ever perfect hair were now in a mess, her eyes red andpuffy while snot was running out of her nose to end its course with the tearson her once pristine shirt. The cold mantel clock on top of the unlit fireplacewas tick-tocking as ever, a language of time claiming it would always be thewinner. The only answer, a denial from the heart, was in my mom’s brokenmumbles. « My baby. My poor little baby. »

After an eternity of a minute, my dad’shoarse voice finally echoed back. « We will visit him as soon as thedoctor allows it. You know he wants to run a preliminary diagnosis on Flynn’smental state before. To think he cut his wri… if we hadn’t found him in thenick of time… » Dad stopped there with a gulp and resumed his staring intothe green nothingness of the bare branches.

This was no memory. This was now. Myparents devastated by my own choice waiting here to see their son strapped to ahospital bed. The son they had almost lost but hadn’t. Yet. The son who stillwanted to take his leave and who would. Who would force them to live this hellagain. My decision almost wavered while I was floating there, facing theconsequences of my actions on the people I loved, sick with guilt. « Buteverything is in the almost, isn’t it ? » I whispered. Maybe tomyself. Maybe to the unknown scary woman. She seemed to take it for her as shegrabbed my shoulders, pure fury in her eyes -the kind of fury where lightningwas born- and shoved me back trough the door. Alone.

 

Alone and crying on the hospital bed onthat Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, myheart pumping more culpability than blood. More grief. More pain. No place leftfor the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotionschurning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t want to wreck my parents’ life.

Another hand grabbed mine. Pleasestop ! Not again ! I beg you, I can’t take it anymore. This handwas big, warm and firm. A calloused and nice male hand. Again I was taken outof my body and facing another entity. A tall and muscular man wearing a greycamo uniform and a tan beret that eerily succeeded to put all his face inshadows, despite its lack of brim. Still this creature was more comforting thanthe other entities. I knew he would lead me to another door. But to mysurprise, this time there were two doors. No. A double set of heavy doors inopposite condition, one dilapidate and lank, the other renovated and glossy. Impressivelycarved, richly ornate wood beautifully screaming Victorian era doors. The ghostguided me through the dilapidate one…

On the other side was a clutter of an apartment,full of sturdy mismatched furnitures and a mess of books, magazines and knickknacks, and a garage calendar on a wall showing this was taking place one yearlater . The place was colder than a grave. No fir tree of any kind in sight. Onlythe back of a broad man sitting on the floor and playing with something, hislong-ish black hair a shrew’s nest. I wanted to get closer, but my guide keptme where we were floating, staring at the man on the ground. So I stared too.The shabby man was hunched, shivering and his frame was racked by silent sobs.He was also on a mumbling rampage. « I’m sorry Flynn. I tried. I swear Ireally tried. I wanted to save you. I needed to save you ! But in the endI failed. I couldn’t convince you to give up your fucking Agreement ! Butwho was I kidding ? I’m such a failure ! I couldn’t save save Gordyback there. I couldn’t save Maria, Chess or anyone else from my squadron. Noteven this Afghan kid ! I’m no use, I can’t save anyone. Oh Flynn… Flynn,I’m so sorry I couldn’t be better. I couldn’t be more. I couldn’t be enough toground you here. But I wouldn’t want myself either. Such a fucked up uselesspoor excuse of a man ! And still I tried to save you. I swear Flynn !» And it went on. My heart ached for this bereft  stranger who was hurting so deeply. Mostlybecause of me. Again. Suddenly the man straightened up as he shouted « ButI won’t let anyone else down ! Nobody else will die on mywatch ! » and he raised up his left arm. The thing he was playingwith was no toy. It was a gun ! It’s steely grey as devoided of hope as aNovember sky. I sreamed « Don’t do that ! » I tried to reachhim, to stop him. But my guide still kept me at his side and the sound of my voicedidn’t reach the grieving stranger. The gun went to his temple and I closed myeyes at the exact moment it spat its deadly charge. I didn’t want to watchanymore, but I could still hear the heavy thump of a massive body hitting theflooring. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to curl up there on the ground.Another life destroyed because of me. But my guide firmly guided me back to myhospital room and immediatly through the other door, the renovated one.

We found ourselves in the exact same place.But everything was different. It felt warm. The rooms have been renovated too.Every wall, door, window frame, trimming was in perfect condition. Gone was theclutter and most of the sturdy furnitures. In their place was still a mix afurnitures, some I’ve seen in the scene before, some from my place and a fewantique ones that seem to have been chosen with love and taste. The trinketsand books were all well arranged on shelves in the company of other books, baublesand framed pictures. Pictures of a well groomed older man, tall and muscular,handsome with his black neatly trimmed beard and fashionable haircut framingdark smiling eyes looking at me. Because I was with him in these pictures,always with his arm around my shoulders or mine snaking around his waist. Therewere only two different pictures : one of a younger version of the manthat he shared with a stranger, a lovely red haired guy, both wearing greycamos. And another one of Alan and me taken the day we moved in together. Theywere all couple pictures !

Between a set of window panes stood a largeChristmas tree towering over the living room, all bursts of lights, colorfulornaments, garlands and bows. A kind guardian for the cheerfully wrapped giftsand the couple seated at its foot on a thick rug, the true focal point of thishappy scene. Me and the man from the pictures. Me, smiling serenely in the armsof that handsome man, nursing a mug of mulled wine while the stranger with adeep voice was reading me some kind of… Play ? Sometimes I was laughing,sometimes suggesting some change in the text, sometimes he laughed, sometimeshe kissed my head or my temple or asked for a sip of my wine. My laughs werenot the same  ones I had shared withAlan. The youthfulness, the levity, the innocence were lost. But it was stillsuch a joyous sound. Deeper. More trusting. More placid. A laugh coming from a placeof grief and acceptance. An adult laugh... I wanted to see more of me snuggledwith so much content against this man’s torso, my head lying in the curve ofhis neck. I wanted to learn more of this obvious love. But my guide started totake me back towards the misty door.

I resisted as much as I could until myguide turned towards me, head tilted on the side like a question mark.« It is you. The man who killed himself and this man reading to me. Theyhave the same voice. They’re both you » I said. My guide didn’t speak, but theshadows vanished from his face and he was exactly like the man in the picturewith the red haired, smiling like a proud teacher. But I was not done.« Why are you doing this ? Why put the weight of your fate on myshoulders ??? I can’t be responsible of you. I don’t want you to be sadand take your own life but I don’t want to live and love without Alan. » Stillmute and smiling, the stranger put his left hand on my heart. It was clearenough. Alan would always remain there. His right hand let go of mine tocarress my cheek. A snowflake kiss laid there. And his hand still on my torsopushed me back through the fog. Pondering.

Pondering on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so muchunder the thick bandages, my heart pumping more questions than blood. Moregrief. More hope. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plasticpouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let meout ! 
I didn’t know what to do anymore.

The sound of keys in the lock. The bland light brown door opening. And a man aslean as his thin fake smile entered the room, getting close but never touchingmy hand. A man in a white doctor coat I would soon learn to know and loathe asDr. Kirsch. The dream I just had was forgotten the moment he said« Welcome back Flynn. Well, what are we going to do with you ? »

**********

I woke up in uncle Winston’s bed. The sun was shining through the window,melting the last puddles of snow. I felt rested for the first time since… Inmonths. My mind was clear. And I remembered every second of the dream.

Not the usual dream.

Not the unfamiliar dream.

The exact same dream, down to the tiniestdetail, I had only once when I was recovering from my suicide attempt and hadforgotten. Until now.
The impossible dream. Impossible, because I couldn’t have known anything fromit at that time. I couldn’t have known about my mysterious clone from a bygoneera I had seen on a picture for the very first time just before bed the nightbefore and that I had mistaken in the dream for an older version on myself. Icouldn’t have known about the still to come Agreement. I couldn’t have knownabout the second entity though now I knew the ghost of Ines too well. And Icouldn’t have known about the house on Pitch Pine Lane nor about Kirk Murdochand his rooms. It was all impossible. Despite the strong Dickens vibes, I wasno Scrooge and things like that did not happen in reality.
 
First I became a magnet for an angry ghost, then an unknown copy of a man froma different era and now I had glimpses of the future in my dreams ? AndKirk’s fate in my hands ? Yes I was starting to have doubts about theAgreement. Even more now. But this was a new source of concern. Too manyimpossible things were happening to me. Last night’s question came back to mewith urgency.

Who was I ?

 

                                                                                                                                                      Theend (for now…)

Almathea