A Rag Doll Christmas

A Rag doll Christmas

         The snow is falling in heavy sheets, blanketing the rugged ground and altering the landscape at five-minute intervals. Ryan Harper leans forward on his steering wheel, the wipers are on maximum speed setting and screeching on the window. He cannot see a thing in front of him, except snow, snow and more snow.
         He has been driving like this for over an hour, the map abandoned, as he hasn’t got the faintest idea where he is. He lost his bearings as soon as he turned off the main road when it was still relatively light and before the snow started tumbling.
         His little blue van is loaded with assorted tools and automotive spares; his trip to Scotland hasn’t earned him a bonus this year and at this moment in time he would be more than content never to see a bleeding spanner or wrench in his entire life.
         Turning up the radio and sipping stone cold coffee from the flask his landlady prepared for him in the morning, he suddenly sees a small beam of cosy light. He stops the car and gets out to have a look. A cottage, out here in the sticks? He thinks, then jumps back into the car and turns down the long driveway towards the cottage.
         As he nears the small house the falling snow appears to ease a little, offering him some respite from his dooming misery. He pulls up the collar of his jacket and runs up the five steps to the front door and gives it a loud knock.
         For several minutes he waits, shivering in the cold, then knocks again. He looks through the window but the house seems thoroughly deserted except for a single light bulb burning in the centre of the room. Perhaps this is a burglar deterrent, he thinks to himself, I do it myself all the time, leaving the lights on to pretend someone one is home. He tries the handle but the door is locked.
         Deciding that the house in fact is deserted, he starts descending the stairs with slow, heavy feet. The front door suddenly gives a loud creak as it opens. He turns on his heels to look up and greet the owner of the house but there is no one at the door.
          “Hello?” he calls, walking up the steps once more. There is no reply. As he reaches the wide open door, he knocks on it before entering the cottage.
         The reception room is bare except for an old red sofa with a green cushion pushed into the corner of it, as if someone has recently sat in that very spot. An unlit fireplace to his right is the only other feature in the room.
          “Hello? Anyone here?” he tries again. He walks towards the door on his right. “Thank you so much for opening the door” he says reluctantly into the dark corridor down which he is now walking. There are three doors off the corridor. He tries opening each, but they are firmly locked. At the bottom of the corridor, he swings to his left and looks up the staircase. It looks dark and just as deserted as the rest of the house.
         He decides to return to the reception room to wait for his host. As he enters the room he realises a fire is now crackling in the fireplace, yet only a few minutes earlier there was no fire, not even any wood to light a fire with. How very odd, he thinks.
         The sofa is more comfortable than it looks, he decides, and removes his heavy boots and jacket. The room is now warm and he rubs his hands in front of the fire. Suddenly he hears footsteps in a room somewhere above him. Thank goodness for that, here comes my host at last. However, he spends several solitary minutes without any further sound from upstairs.
         He pops his head into the corridor to find that two of the doors are now open, with light spilling out. He looks into the first door on his left – someone has run a hot, steaming bath and put out fresh towels. For me? He wonders. Opposite the bathroom is what has turned out to be the kitchen. An old kettle is boiling on the stove and the table has been laid out with a wooden chopping board, a large carving knife, a loaf of bread and salami.
          “I prepared some food for you” he hears a small voice from somewhere in the corridor. He turns around quickly, and sees a small girl at the top of the corridor near the staircase. She has long, brown hair brushed softly around her rosy features. She is wearing a nightgown adorned with small flowers, buttoned up at the front and grey carpet slippers. In her hand she is holding a grubby looking rag doll, swinging it back and forth, knocking her knee and the wall behind her in turn.
          “I thought you might like a bath, too”, she says, then turns and heads up the stairs. In three paces, Ryan, too is at the foot of the stairs but the little girl seems to have vanished into thin air. The upper floor seems just as deserted and cold as before.
         He turns off the stove and removes the whistling kettle from the ring, then heads for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. As he removes his watch he realises he must have been in the house for several hours already, yet it only seems like perhaps half an hour. As he drops his pants, he wonders whether Martha, his wife, is concerned for him. She is bound to be, he decides, I am usually never home this late on Christmas Eve.
         His thoughts then turn to Dylan and Emily, his two children and imagines the looks of disappointment he will receive when he tells them that he didn’t meet his sales targets yet again. Consequently, Christmas will be a sparse affair. No presents not even a turkey. But we have each other and we’re all in good health, he thinks, trying to keep his thoughts positive. Of course, Emily has never known a proper Christmas, being only three years old. But Dylan, at the age of ten, has experienced Christmas from before he was made redundant, when he earned a monthly wage enough to feed and clothe them all, give them a week’s holiday at the seaside each year, and buy them presents and delicious food for the annual celebrations.
         He scrubs his hands using the yellow bar of soap on the edge of the bath. He whistles softly, enjoying the hot soak after a disheartening day. By the looks of things, he wouldn’t even be able to make it home tonight. Oh well, I will set off early in the morning, he decides.
         Using the towel to rub himself dry, he gets dressed and returns to the kitchen. Still no sign of the little girl. He makes a cup of tea, then heads for the stairs once more.
          “Hello?” No reply. “Why don’t you come down? Please, I would like to talk to you.” The little girl doesn’t respond, his calls are still met with an eerie silence.
         He sits down on the wooden chair by the kitchen table and greedily eats the bread and sausage, gulping his tea. He wonders where the girls’ parents might be. Surely she doesn’t live here all on her own? He thinks.
          “Did you enjoy that?” the girl is standing in the doorway, yet he didn’t hear her nearing the kitchen.
          “Yes I did, thank you” he says, smiling. “Are you going to have some, too?”
          “No thank you” she replies in that small voice.
         He looks at her intently and notices the blank, sad expression on her face. Were it not for that, she would be a pretty girl. He turns around briefly to pick up his mug of tea, yet when he turns his head towards the door once more, the girl has once again disappeared.
          “Hey” he says, rising from his seat and heading for the stairs, “why do you keep disappearing like this?” Each single step creaks loudly beneath his weight as he starts his ascent to the first floor. After the relative cosy warmth of the ground floor, the upstairs is decidedly chilly. A draft, perhaps, he wonders.
         Suddenly a light is switched on in what appears to be the only room up there. He walks slowly towards the door.
          “I don’t want to scare you… please come out and talk to me” he says, gently pushing open the door. The little girl is sat on a bed, the only item of furniture, in the corner of the room. Her is hugging her knees, still clutching the rag doll.
          “What is your name?” he asks.
          “Jennifer… Jennifer Grey.”
“Hello, Jennifer. My name is Ryan” he starts, then after a short pause continues, “where are your parents?”
         Her eyes widen with terror and she buries her face in her bony knees, her hair spilling around her shoulders. He hears her crying and feels awkward.
          “I am sorry, Jennifer. Are you all right?”
          “Yes” she replies, wiping her eyes and looking at him. “My parents are dead,” she finally says. He wants to ask her a hundred questions but something stops him in his tracks and he decides to let her set the pace.
          “They were killed six years ago, in this house. I’ve been here on my own ever since.”
          “What happened?” he asks quietly.
          “A salesman, just like you. Mummy felt sorry for him and invited him to stay for the night. He killed her first, with a carving knife, then waited for Daddy to come home.” She gets up and starts pacing the floor, her now bare feet pattering softly on the wooden boards.
          “He was a nasty man. I hid up here, under my bed. But he found me. Eventually, he found me. After he killed Daddy. I heard the screaming.” Her pacing stops as she stands by the window, her back turned to him.
          “Not entirely human, if you ask me. He had evil eyes, almost red. And his teeth, they were like fangs…He put his strong hands around my throat and squeezed so hard… “ she spins around to face him, the expression on her face now hard. “Have you ever been strangled, Mr Harper?” she asks in a fierce voice.
          “No” he replies, looking at his hands, then raising his head to look at her.
          “How did you know I am a salesman? Or that my surname is Harper? I didn’t tell you any of that.”
          “You don’t understand” she replies. “I have been waiting for you.” She walks to the door and leaves the room.
         Ryan sits on the Jennifer’s small steel framed bed for several minutes, stunned by her words. What does she mean, she has been waiting for me? That, however, is only the first in a long line of questions that now queue up inside his mind. Why is she here on her own for starters? Has she no other family that could have taken care of her all this time?
         He rises from the bed and walks down the stairs.

         Jennifer is lying on the sofa, curled up, looking at the fire.
          “I am sorry if I was rude” she says as Ryan enters the room.
          “You weren’t rude. But I don’t understand, what did you mean when you said you’ve been waiting for me?”
“I would like a cuppa now” she says, turning back to the flames. Ryan returns to the kitchen and makes them each a cup of tea.
          “Do you take sugar?” he shouts. Jennifer doesn’t seem to be able to hear him, as he receives no reply, so he walks back to the reception room only to find it empty and the fire extinguished.
          “What the?” he says, scratching his head. He calls her name from the bottom of the stairs, then walks up the creaking steps. The light in Jennifer’s room has been switched off but the moon is now lighting up the entire landing and he heads for her door. It is locked. The front door closes with a loud bang and he runs down the stairs, gripping the banister. He pulls open the door. The snow has stopped falling now and it is a clear, starry night. The full moon is hanging behind the trees, illuminating the whole of the yard and most of the driveway back to the road by which he had arrived earlier in the evening. He looks down the steps and over the ground towards where his van is parked but there are no footsteps in the fresh white snow.
         Closing the door behind him, his forehead creases up in a big frown. Hearing footsteps upstairs, he looks up and heads for the stairs. His socks are saturated by something wet on the floor; snowy footsteps, melting into small puddles.
          “Jennifer?” he shouts. “Jennifer, please come out and talk to me… Where are you? Stop playing games, please!” Receiving no reply, he returns to the reception room where a fire is once more crackling lively. He sits down on the sofa, burying his head in his hands, trying to make sense of the situation.
         He pulls his jacket on top of him and tries to get some rest. As soon as the sun is up, I am out of here, he decides. Home to celebrate Christmas with my family. A haunted bloody house, who would have thought it possible? He soon dozes off, dreaming of death, blood and strangulation. He awakes with a start.
          “It is almost dawn,” Jennifer says. She is standing over him, her nose close to his face.
          “It’s nearly over” she says, turning and heading for the door.
          “What do you mean, it’s nearly over?” he sits up.
          “The curse” she replies, leaving the room.
         He follows her, walking briskly. “What do you mean? Which curse?” She is in the kitchen, holding one arm of the rag doll in her hand, swinging it back and forth.
          “Let me show you” she says and walks past him. She stops outside the third and final door, next to the bathroom. She stands in front of the door for several minutes, staring fixedly ahead of her, then looks up at him. The door swings open, creaking.
         He walks up and stays beside her, staring open mouthed into a small room. It is as if a film is playing before his eyes. A burly, bearded man is approaching a woman, crouched on the floor, with a meat cleaver. He is holding it high above his head, a menacing look on his face. He is also smiling, taking pleasure in the fear he is installing in the woman now holding her arms over her head.
          “Get away from the door” Ryan says to Jennifer, gently pushing her out of view.
          “I’ve seen it lots of time already, all the time I see it” she whispers, almost inaudibly. Ryan tries to step into the room. Blood is now splattered on the walls and the woman is lying dead on the floor. The killer disappears past Ryan and he feels chilled to the core.
          “There’s nothing you can do, Mr Harper. It’s not real. These are my memories you are watching.”
          “Oh you poor thing” Ryan starts, but she interrupts him, placing a finger on her lips.
          “Don’t. Don’t say it. Look.” Ryan turns to look into the room once more. The scene is now that of Jennifer’s bedroom, very different from the room upstairs, save for the steel framed bed. Shelves filled with books line the wall opposite the bed, a small wooden doll’s pram is parked by the window. A breeze from the half-open window is gently moving the cotton curtains in the window.
         The killer enters, looks around the room and gets down on his knees. Ryan watches as Jennifer is pulled by her leg out into the centre of the room. The killer lifts her up and throws her onto the bed. He kneels over her, one knee on either side of the little girl’s slender frame. Ryan watches in horror as the brutal man in front of him places his large hands around Jennifer’s throat, shaking her body until she is lifeless in his hands.
         Jennifer grabs Ryan’s hand and pulls him towards the front room. The door to the horrific scenes shuts behind them and Ryan hears the distinct clicking sound of a key being turned in the door. He looks back over his shoulder. The corridor is empty.
         They sit down, side by side, on the red sofa. For several minutes they sit in silence.
          “What did you mean by the curse?” Ryan finally asks.
          “When Jack – that was his name – was strangling me I begged for someone to help me. I knew I was dying. I knew my parents were dead. I was so scared I couldn’t even cry. But I begged for help and it came. I closed my eyes and… I think it was an angel, it spoke to me. He said he couldn’t save me but he could make sure Jack didn’t survive the night. My body was dead, but my soul was floating around the room, talking to the angel.” She pauses. “Does that sound weird?”
          “Weird? No, I think I know what you mean.” In fact, he thinks, this is getting weirder by the minute.
          “Anyway, the angel told me my soul would be free only when I could spend twelve hours in this house with a stranger, then I would be released.”
          “But why me?”
          “Because you didn’t run. Others have come and gone but they got scared away.”
          “Well, I must admit there were some strange goings on. But I had no choice, I had nowhere else to go tonight. And believe me, I would much rather be with my family.”
          “Have you got any children, Mr Harper?”
          “Call me Ryan, please. Yes I do. A boy and a girl.”
          “So you will all be spending Christmas together? Today?”
          “Yes, when I get on the road. It’s about six and a half hours drive from here, and that’s if the roads have been cleared. Otherwise I might miss Christmas altogether. Not that it will be much of a Christmas anyway.”
          “What do you mean?”
          “No, you’re too young. You wouldn’t…” he stops himself, realising that this young girl in front of him has seen her fair share of things and could probably understand better than he expects.
          “We haven’t got any money. I started this latest job four months ago and I am struggling to meet the targets they set us.” He turns abruptly to look at her. “How did you know I am a sales man, by the way?”
          “Don’t most sales people drive vans?”
          “Some, but not all.”
          “Perhaps “Manning Sales and Distribution” written on the back of the van sort of gave it away” she smiles and for the first time he notices the gap in her front teeth.
         He returns her smile and continues, “there are basically too many bills and not enough cash to go around. Well, I guess I will have to try and find another job in the New Year.”
         She puts her small hand in his, squeezes it and says “you will be fine.”
          “How about you?”
         She gets up and heads for the door. “Ever heard of the expression ‘Rest in Peace’?” and with that she leaves the room. He puts on his jacket he walks to the window. The scenery outside is stunning, a real white Christmas, he thinks. He stands there for a while, contemplating everything that happened, the gruesome images, Jennifer’s sweet smile. He turns around to leave the room and sees the rag doll sitting on the sofa. A note is attached to it and in childish handwriting it says “Thank you. Give this to your daughter, a present from me. Love Jenny”
          “Thank you” he whispers into the room and leaves the house, shutting the door behind him. As he opens the van door to jump in, he runs his hand across the writing on it; “Ryan Harper” it says.

         As he turns the key in the lock of his own front door, he is immediately met by exciting screams by his two children. He hugs them both tightly and watches Martha peeping her head out from the kitchen.
          “Sorry” he mouths, still hugging Emily who doesn’t want to loosen her grip around her father’s neck.
          “We’ve only had ham sandwiches for our Christmas lunch, Daddy. Mummy said we should save the turkey for when you get back.”
          “Turkey?” he asks Martha.
          “I’ve been saving since October,” she explains with a smile.
          “Well, isn’t your Mummy just the best thing in the world?”
          “What happened to you anyway? Couldn’t you have called?”
          “Long story. I will tell you later. But right now,” he says, turning to the children once more, “it is time for presents!” This is met with much noise and cheers from the kids, and a quizzical look from Martha.
          “It’s not much, I am afraid” he says as his family gathers around him. “For you, Dylan” he says as he hands him a dinky toy car.
          “Wow, thanks Daddy!” Dylan says, gracefully accepting the small gift with much joy and immediately starts making screeching noises, driving the car around in circles on the floor.
          “And from one special little girl for my special little girl” he hands the rag doll to Emily who chuckles and jumps up and down.
          “Nothing for you, I am afraid” he says to Martha. “Except all of my love forever.”
          “You are such a softie,” she laughs, returning his embrace. “What’s with the rag doll?”
          “Like I said, long story.”

         The roast turkey dinner couldn’t have been more delicious and Ryan finds himself looking at his wife in admiration. They sit quietly by the kitchen table, holding hands and listening to the children playing next door. Their comfortable silence is interrupted by loud screaming.
          “I’ll take care of it” Martha says, getting up. She returns with one headless rag doll.
          “Seems like Dylan wanted this blasted doll as much as Emily did. Oh well, if you get them to bed I will get my sowing kit out and stitch its head back on.”
         Ryan is tucking in Dylan and reading a story to him when he hears his wife walking slowly up the stairs.
          “Ryan” she calls, stopping halfway up. “You might want to come and have a look at this!”
          “Right, you guys, lights out. Good night. No fighting, all right” he says, stroking Emily’s hair and kissing her nose. “Tomorrow we will feed the ducks in the park.”
          “Yes!” the children say in unison.

          “What’s the matter, darling?” he asks as he returns to the kitchen. Martha is sat with her back turned to him.
          “Look at this” she says, not moving.
         The rag doll is on the kitchen table, still headless. Martha has pulled the stuffing out of it.
          “Money, Ryan. It’s stuffed with money! There must be at least a thousand pounds here!”
          “Blime. Well, I never.”
          “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
          “Like I said, long…”
          “Long story, I know, but it’s a long night and I really want to know!” she says, excited.
          “Let’s just say, an angel saved our Christmas,” he says, planting a huge kiss on the top of his wife’s head.