A Kind of Christmas Magic

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Three nights before Christmas found the house of the family Abbot a beehive of action. The nine-headed pack was preparing to welcome uncles and aunts and cousins and grandparents that would fill the big two-storey wooden building for a traditional family holiday. Mama had declared the kitchen her territory, threatening anyone who dared disturb her with the dreaded task of cleaning all the pots and pans she used in the process of filling the air with delicious scents of buns, pies and gingerbread. The three youngest children, all boys very aware of the reputation a man must keep up and, incidentally, all under the age of ten, repeatedly defied their mother by sneaking up behind her and snatching a pat of dough. The fourth youngest, a little princess the age of thirteen, was building a manger scene into the living room where her eldest sibling, a young man of twenty-five, helped and occasionally poked fun at her. Second in birth order was outside with Dad, hanging the Christmas lights to the front porch. He had insisted he could do it himself, he was already almost eighteen, after all - as he had insisted every year for six years now. But his father ignored the complaints and helped him anyway.

And the third eldest? She was in her room, contemplating whether she ought to help with the preparations while wallowing in the most deep existentialist angst a fifteen-year-old girl could manage to bring upon herself. It had recently been established that she was the black sheep of the family; she didn't know what she wanted from her future, or at least was the only one openly showing it, hung out with people who actually had personalities and weren't just brainless, programmed copies of each other - which was what she thought of her siblings' friends, except perhaps for the three youngest ones - listened to weird music and, the worst of all, openly stood against religion. Ever since she had lost her nerve on her birthday party in June and ranted about how much she hated school and going to church on Sundays and always having to be this sweetly smiling angel who wasn't supposed to show any problems she might have to some aunt or other, who of course told everything to the rest of the family while she was trying to calm herself down in the bathroom.

Needless to say, her life had been noticeably harder ever since. Worse yet, she still had not told anyone of the matter which pressed her most. And with the family she had, she probably wouldn't be telling anyone very soon. Even to her friends she was afraid to open up, too insecure to take the chance they wouldn't want to be associated with her anymore. The life of a teenager surely was hard, and she laughed at the mirror every morning, hoping that even some of the sadness would go away. She sighed, rolling over in her bed and drawing her beloved stuffed toy bunny to her chest.

"Gayle!", the sound of her sister shouting for her from downstairs came to her ears muffled by the blanket she had drawn over her head. "Mama says you should go help Dad get the tree. Stop sulking and get out of there!"

"Yeah, yeah... Coming..." she muttered, dragging herself to her feet and trudging over to the door. With a frown etched on her face, she descended the stairs to the living room where everyone had gathered to take a look at the manger scene. Her father looked up, smiled sheepishly, and waved her to go ahead and wait on the outside - he wanted them to sing a highly religious Christmas carol around the scene by their tradition, and knew better than to force her take part in it.

Sometimes she felt that only her father understood even a little of what was going on inside her head, what she was going through.

Burrowing inside her winter coat, hands freezing even with the thick mittens, Gayle waited for the ten minutes her father took to get outside, then began walking towards the forest just a few hundred metres away from their house without saying a word. She hummed a carol under her breath, nodding in tune to the heavy metal version of Holy Night that was playing in her head. In her honest and most humble opinion, Christmas was pure rubbish, but the covers made for something to smile at.

In silence, the two made their way into the forest. Gayle's nostrils were filled with the scent of snow and pine needles, and she took a deep breath before turning to talk to her father.

"So, where are we taking the tree from this year? I can't keep track of the spots, they're always so far away from each other... Yeah, yeah, I know it was me who asked for us to do that, but you're taking it a bit far."

Her father flashed a smile, apologised cheerily, and proceeded to lead the way to yet another untouched corner of the wood. Gayle followed in his steps, occasionally mumbling about the knee-deep snow, until she became aware that something wasn't quite right. The air in the forest had shifted, the atmosphere had changed... They were somewhere she had never been before, and she could practically feel and hear the air around her crackle with feelings of hostility. Gasping, she grasped the back of her father's jacket.

"Dad... Dad, these trees-- this forest is scary. Let's get out of here, Dad, please, now!"

All she received as a reply was a bemused stare, eyes blinking owlishly behind thick glasses. "Sweetie, what are you talking about? There's nothing---ah!"

This time, her father had felt it, too. Then the needles of the surrounding firs detached from the branches and were launched at her face, blackening her vision.

Gayle woke up in a cave of ice, her father's prone form lying beside her. She rubbed a hand over her face, trying to get rid of the feeling of disorientation and slight nausea. "Where in the name of nine hells am I?" she muttered, sounding quite scared even to her own ears.

"In the forest, my child... in the forest. Rare are the humans who see this place within it," a gentle voice floated from somewhere near. She frantically looked around her, trying to find the source, and was soon rewarded with the sight of something that few dream of and even fewer actually see with their own two eyes; a tree spirit appeared before her, green and shadowy and little more solid than mist. Gayle blinked, not quite believing what her senses told her. Pinching her cheek was painful enough to deduct that she was, in fact, awake. The spirit looked on with an amused expression.

"Wha- what? Why?" was the brilliantly eloquent question finding its way past the girl's cold, numb lips. She watched in growing frustration and anger as the spirit threw its head back and laughed, a soft, soft sound, barely there. "Answer me, damn it!"

The spirit stopped laughing and fixed a bone-chilling gaze on Gayle. "I don't think you have the right to demand anything of me, child. If you think you do, take a look at your current situation and think again."

Snapping her mouth shut, the girl fell silent, retreating further from her ghostly companion. Still, with her eyes she pleaded to know why she had been brought here and what this all was about.

"You're here because you disturbed our song, you idiot child," another voice boomed from beside the first spirit. Soon after, this one took visible form as well, but Gayle couldn't really see any difference between them.

"Your... song? But I didn't hear anything, and I wouldn't have let Dad go to that part of the wood had I known. I.." she was cut short by an angry gesture from the second spirit.

"Does it matter whether you knew or not? This habit of yours, cutting down trees for no reason whatsoever... it's despicable."

Gayle was about to lash out in defence, but noticed she had nothing with which to counter the spirit's words. In a fleeting moment of perfect clarity she realised what should have been obvious; she couldn't care less about the Christmas tree, just as she couldn't care less about the whole holiday that was a mess of mixed traditions of both old and new religion and, despite the church's message of good will, seemed to be dedicated mostly to intolerance and hidden grudges and false pretences. She opened her mouth, closed it, drew a deep breath, opened it again.

"I'm afraid I can't do anything about anyone else. But if it makes any difference, I can try to persuade my family to give up on having a tree in our house. They're prettier in the forest, anyway - they lose their dignity when dragged inside and decorated."

The first spirit looked at her for a long time, seemingly deep in thought, then nodded with a sad expression on its face. In the blink of an eye, Gayle found herself standing in the midst of trees again, her father, looking completely stupefied, beside her. She nudged the man and began making her way out, somehow knowing exactly where they were. While wading her way through the snow, she heard the gentle voice whisper to her.

"You're a good child. Don't fear to tell of your worries; you will be accepted just as you are. Farewell."

This time, she heard the song of the tree spirits clearly. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, something so amazing that she didn't have the words to describe it. Glancing over her shoulder told her that her father couldn't hear it. She smiled a little, and as snow began to slowly float down, she took off the mitten from her right hand, raising it towards the sky and watching as the flakes melted against her ebony skin.

Perhaps she would tell them Gayle Abbot didn't like boys. After all, she already was the black sheep of the family. What harm could revealing another little tidbit about herself really do?

She laughed softly; and for the first time in many weeks it came straight from her heart, honest and devoid of bitterness.

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/ Passages
/ [Linderel]