A Witchmas Carol Read online

  “I’m sorry about … everything.”

  “We’ve talked about this. You don’t have to apologize for stuff like this, especially when you didn’t cause it.”

  “My family caused it.”

  “And I agreed to take them on, too, when I decided I couldn’t live without you.” Landon pressed a kiss to my neck, his stubble tickling and causing me to giggle. “It’s fine. This one isn’t nearly as bad as the others. It’s almost boring at times.”

  “Yeah, I can’t help but think that’s on purpose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she made the memories fairly easy – even the one when you were a teenage reject from The Outsiders – and then the present stuff was so boring it was almost mundane,” I replied. “All of the stuff from the present was supposed to make us feel like selfish jerkwads.”

  “I don’t want to give that woman more power than she already has, but I do feel like a selfish jerkwad after realizing all the work they put into a party we didn’t even know about. When you add to that the fact that it was a party for lonely and needy people, I feel like a tool.”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” I protested. “How were we supposed to know that they were planning this? They didn’t tell us.”

  “I hope that’s true, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that someone did tell me and I simply didn’t want to hear it,” Landon said. “I couldn’t see past you. I wanted to make sure we had the best Christmas ever. It was important to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’ve been through a lot the past year and – while I know that perfection isn’t possible – I wanted to make sure you had a great Christmas.”

  “Really? That’s all I wanted for you, too,” I admitted. “I wanted to make sure you got everything you wanted.”

  “I already have what I want. All I care about is spending Christmas with you. If we add the rest of the Winchesters to that mix, it will still be the best Christmas ever.”

  “Because we’re together?”

  “That – and I’m sure there will be bacon.”

  I didn’t bother hiding my smile as I hugged him. Hard. Then I remembered what I was going to do before he pulled me back into bed. “I need to go into the other room.”

  “Why?”

  “I need the Christmas book.”

  “What Christmas book?” Landon’s voice was loose, as if he was close to slipping into sleep.

  “The one Aunt Tillie wrote,” I replied. “It’s just like the fairy tale book, but Christmas stories. I think we’re stuck in A Witchmas Carol. I want to read the story again to see what comes next.”

  Landon forced his eyes open. “A Witchmas Carol?”

  I shrugged. “She has a way with titles, huh?”

  “Are you saying she wrote her own Christmas book?”

  “She likes messing with the written word. She never thinks the original is a good enough story,” I explained. “She always figures out a way to enhance it.”

  “So she did it with Christmas stories and fairy tales. Did she do it with anything else?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Landon sighed. “Probably not. Where is the book?”

  “I saw it on the shelf when I was organizing last week,” I replied. “Thistle packed her books, and I thought I was making room for yours until you informed me that you don’t own any books.”

  “Oh, don’t say it like that,” Landon groused, following me from the bedroom to the living room. “I like to read. I usually do it with magazines, though.”

  “That makes me a little sad.”

  “Well, I’ll work on that once we’re out of this mess,” Landon offered. “How does that sound?”

  “Divine.” I scanned the shelf and grabbed the Christmas book by the spine.

  Landon flicked on the overhead light before joining me on the couch. “This is it?” He sent a longing look toward the fireplace. “Do you think we have time?”

  “I think it depends on if we’re really awake,” I answered, flipping open the book. “I’m not convinced we’re not sleeping in that bedroom. Aunt Tillie could’ve easily planted dreams in our heads.”

  “I thought you told me dream magic was something that witches weren’t supposed to dabble in.”

  “They aren’t, but Aunt Tillie fancies herself above the rules. She always has.”

  “I guess that’s true.” Landon slipped his arm around my shoulders as he snuggled close and focused on the book. “How much time do you think we have?”

  “Not long. Whoever she plans on springing on us for the future show is bound to have meaning … and probably a sadistic sense of humor.”

  “That could be any Winchester, right?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Landon exhaled heavily, his weariness dragging him down. “Okay. What do we have here?”

  “It’s her Christmas book. She took a lot of stories and movies – and even a few very special television episodes – and re-worked them to her liking.”

  “Like Little Witches on the Prairie?” Landon asked dryly.

  I smiled at the page he tapped. “She liked Little House on the Prairie. The Christmas episodes were particular favorites. On the show, Laura gives away her precious horse to get Ma a stove. In the story Aunt Tillie wrote, her great-nieces sell their services as maids to buy her a new plow.”

  “Oh, well, that makes perfect sense.”

  My lips curved as I turned the page. “Home Alone With Witches.”

  “And that is?”

  “Home Alone … but with witches. That was always Clove’s favorite.” Something occurred to me. “Crap! I hope Aunt Tillie didn’t shove Clove in that one. She already has a phobia about robbers trying to break in when she’s home alone.”

  “That scenario sounds better than what we’re dealing with,” Landon argued. “What else?”

  “It’s a Wonderful Witch. Witch, which is really Elf but about a witch. A Witchmas Story, where we all shot each other’s eyes out and Aunt Tillie got a whole turkey to herself.”

  Landon pursed his lips to keep from laughing. “Oh, well … I feel a bit lucky that we didn’t end up in that one. I would hate for you to shoot your eye out.”

  “It’s not funny.”

  Landon shook his head, solemn. “Of course not.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I’m not laughing.” Landon kept his face even. “What else?”

  “Now you’re just getting off on the titles.”

  “Maybe, but … give me more. I need to know.”

  “Fine.” I flipped through the titles to find the one I wanted. What could it hurt, right? “Witched, which is basically Scrooged. That one is technically just like this one, but I never realized it. Maybe we’re in Witched instead of A Witchmas Carol.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Probably not,” I conceded. “We have The Witchmare Before Christmas, which she actually tried to film with her own Claymation but lost interest in five minutes after she started. She totally ruined our Play-Doh that day.

  “How Aunt Tillie Stole Christmas, which really happened, and she added just because she liked telling the story, and Bad Witch. Mom was furious when she read that one. It was a recent addition. She always eats pickles when she reads that one.”

  “Oh, is it any wonder I love this family?” Landon was beside himself with delight. “Tell me more.”

  “We’re running out of time. I need to find A Witchmas Carol.”

  “You can search and talk at the same time.”

  “Fine.” I flipped another page. I’d forgotten some of the titles, so it was nice to be reminded. “Black Witchmas, The Witchcracker, Miracle on Witch Street.”

  “I’m starting to sense a theme here.”

  “When she finds something she likes, she sticks to it,” I acknowledged. “Then there was White Witchmas, Witch Actually, The Witch Clause and Frosty the Snow Witch. Believe it or not, that last one ultim
ately turns out to be about a special wine she invented.

  “Then there was Die Witch, which wasn’t really about witches dying but about Aunt Tillie holding off a group of mercenaries in a high-rise building while delivering one-liners like ‘Yippee-ki-yah, witch scratcher.’”

  “Sounds like a people pleaser.”

  “It was fairly entertaining,” I conceded. “I think It’s a Witchiful Life was one of my favorites, along with Witches in Toyland, which actually turned into a horror movie when Aunt Tillie told us all the dolls looked like clowns and they came alive to stalk the house after everyone went to sleep.”

  “Ah, well, some traditions live on for a reason.”

  “Here it is.” I found the story I was looking for and began reading. It wasn’t that I expected something out of the ordinary – from what I remembered, the story was fairly straightforward – but I wanted to be sure that I didn’t miss anything. It took me only a few minutes to skim through it, and when I was finished I found Landon patiently watching me.

  “Well?”

  “It’s the least objectionable of any of her stories,” I replied. “In Home Alone With Witches, for example, the kid – in this case Clove, because Aunt Tillie was mad at her when she wrote it – is smacked over the head with an empty toy box multiple times before thwarting the robbers. Then, when she manages to do it, she’s arrested by the cops because it turns out the robbers were really collectors for a charity and the kid in the story was nothing more than a little witch hole.”

  Landon couldn’t swallow his laughter. “You guys had such a colorful childhood. Even the bad stuff is so hilarious you can’t help but enjoy it.”

  “That’s because you weren’t around when she read The Witchcracker. Just a hint, the dancing wasn’t optional. It was compulsive and unbelievably frightening because none of us have rhythm.”

  “I don’t care what you say. That is funny.” Landon touched his finger to the tip of my nose. “She picked this story for a reason. There’s nothing funny about it. You said it was the most straightforward one in the book. There has to be a reason she picked that one for us.”

  “She’s punishing us.”

  “That’s the easy answer,” Landon countered. “Think. She wants to show us something. She always wants to show us something. Even when she sent us to the really freaky fairy tale world she wanted to show us something.”

  He wasn’t wrong, but still … . “I don’t know,” I said after a beat. “The stuff from the past is easy. We already did that with her once.”

  “No, we looked at her memories before,” Landon pointed out. “These memories were focused on us. What did they have in common?”

  “Mine dealt with my father,” I replied. “I was unhappy in the first one and happy in the second. I thought I was unhappy in the second at the time, but it turns out that’s one of my favorite Christmas memories.”

  “Because of Terry,” Landon noted. “You were happy because Terry made a fool of himself being Santa and got you the dog you so desperately wanted.”

  “He did dress up like Santa, but Aunt Tillie secured Sugar,” I corrected. “I didn’t find out for a few years, but someone let it slip. I think it was Mom. She called Aunt Tillie ‘soft’ and brought up the dog.”

  “So Aunt Tillie went out of her way to give you a happy Christmas,” Landon mused.

  “It wasn’t just Sugar. She made it snow that Christmas, too. We were convinced it would be a terrible Christmas without snow and … well … she made it snow.”

  “I forgot she can control the weather,” Landon said. “That still terrifies me.”

  “What about you?” I asked, shifting my eyes to his. “What did your memories mean? They were shown in reverse order.”

  “That could’ve simply been chronological.”

  “True.”

  “The first memory, well, I mostly consider that my favorite Christmas even though I was kind of a turd that day,” Landon volunteered. “I didn’t realize I was having fun until the day was almost over. I remember thinking that I was lucky to have my family that day. I don’t know why I remember that part, but I do.”

  “And the second day?”

  “Well … I wasn’t happy that day, but it wasn’t for the reasons you might think,” Landon said. “It wasn’t Shelly. I never felt anything for her, which speaks badly about me because she deserved more, but I didn’t care either way about her.”

  “So why were you unhappy?”

  “You saw me. I was a douche.”

  “Did you have an epiphany that day?”

  “Thank you for not arguing with my assessment that I was a douche,” Landon muttered. “As for an epiphany, I’m not sure that I ever reached that point. My family was always important to me, but I’m not sure when I got over myself enough to realize that.

  “When I was in high school I was kind of a jerk,” he continued. “I only cared about being popular.”

  “With the girls?”

  “With everyone.”

  “Okay, I get that,” I said. “I wanted to be popular in high school, too. Lila ran the ‘in crowd,’ though, so that was never possible for me. I came to accept that at some point.”

  “I wouldn’t have cared if you were popular or not,” Landon said. “You know that, right? Somehow, even if I met you then, I would’ve woken up from my douche dream and become a better man earlier.”

  “Yeah, you can say that, but we both know it’s not true. It’s fine. I think we found each other when we were supposed to. That doesn’t explain why Aunt Tillie showed us that particular Christmas. There had to be something more to it than forcing me to see one of your girlfriends.”

  “I don’t know why, but I do remember feeling sorry for myself that Christmas,” Landon said. “Part of it was Shelly. I thought I was miserable because I was forced to put up with her. In truth, it was because I chose to miss Christmas that day. I didn’t realize it until much later in the day, but then I enjoyed a nice dinner with my family.”

  “So you did kind of have an epiphany,” I noted. “You realized you should’ve been with your family all along. That seems kind of obvious for an Aunt Tillie lesson.”

  “Yeah, when you add that with the boring scenes of Clove, Sam, Thistle and Marcus spending time together and everyone else being selfless, it’s kind of like a slap upside the head.”

  “Which means the big lesson will come when the guide for the future shows up,” I said.

  “I think you’re probably right. When do you think that will be?”

  I held my hands palms up and shrugged. A split second later the doorbell rang.

  “Ask and you shall receive,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “And here we go again.” Landon extended his hand and grabbed mine as we moved to the door. “I’m almost afraid to see who she sent. With our luck, it will be Mrs. Little.”

  “Probably,” I agreed.

  The woman standing on the other side of the door wasn’t who I expected. Heck, she hadn’t even made the list. I was so dumbfounded I could only utter one word.

  “Grandma?”

  You’re supposed to be good to get Christmas gifts – my mom says it constantly – but you’re also supposed to be smart and try new things. I’ve decided to be naughty instead of nice and see how things work out.

  – Thistle, 11, explaining why being nice at Christmas is overrated

  Thirteen

  I should’ve greeted Ginger Winchester with something other than disbelief. I couldn’t wrap my head around the situation, though, and I opened my mouth long before I allowed my brain to click on.

  “I don’t think Aunt Tillie understands how this is supposed to work,” I blurted out. “The ghost of the future should be someone who … well … is around in the future.”

  “Bay!” Landon wrinkled his nose.

  “Not that I’m not glad to see you, Grandma,” I added hurriedly, guilt catching up with me.

  My grandmother chuckled. She seemed amused by my react
ion. “Well, then, do I warrant a hug?”

  “Oh … sure.” I wasn’t much of a hugger unless it involved Landon, but I agreeably allowed Grandma entrance and stoically sat back as a ghost hugged me. When she was done, she took a step back and looked me up and down. Her scrutiny made me nervous. “So … um … do I pass inspection?”

  “You’ll do,” Grandma replied, taking a moment to study the guesthouse. “This didn’t exist when I was still alive. Do you know why they built it?”

  “I’m really not sure.” Truthfully, I never asked. “It’s been here as long as I can remember. In fact, when there was talk of us moving in with Aunt Tillie as kids, I remember Mom, Marnie and Twila arguing about which one of them would get the guesthouse.”

  Grandma snickered. “Who won?”

  “Aunt Tillie. She insisted we all live in the big house, and, as you know, she always wins.”

  “She does indeed,” Grandma confirmed, moving to the fireplace mantel and staring at the photographs there. “This is Clove and Thistle.” It wasn’t really a question, but I nodded anyway. “You all look like your mothers. It’s remarkable.”

  I stilled, the need to argue with my grandmother’s assessment flooding over me. “Oh, well … I don’t think we look that much alike.”

  “Close enough.” Grandma’s eyes, which were an odd gray color, didn’t move from the photograph. “Clove especially is a mini-version of Marnie.”

  That I could agree with. “They’re built exactly alike,” I agreed. “They have the same body types and coloring.”

  “Which means they’re both short and stacked.” Grandma’s grin reminded me of Twila. “Tell me about yourself, Bay. We don’t have much time, but I’ve always wondered how you girls would turn out.”

  “Did you ever meet any of them?” Landon took me by surprise when he asked the question.

  Grandma shook her head. “I was long gone before any of them came along. That’s one of my greatest regrets. I think I would’ve been a good grandmother. Of course, Tillie was a good grandmother, too.”

  “I think that’s all in how you look at it,” I countered. “She was questioned by the police several times while taking care of us. She even went to jail once … but Chief Terry swooped in and got her out of trouble. Of course, he was the one threatening to lock her up half the time.”