Red Hot Valentine

Bess sat at her desk and sighed. “Cynthia, do you know what I miss about elementary school?” She pushed her large glasses up a little on the bridge of her nose.

“I can’t imagine,” Cynthia answered. “I am so glad to be graduating this year and getting out of here I can barely stand it.”

“There is that,” Bess said. “It’s Valentine’s day in a couple days. In elementary school everyone got a card, several actually. It was forced, but so what? No one was left out. Once you get to the upper grades nothing. Not one.”

Cynthia started laughing. “Do you want me to give you one?” 

“Asks the girl who gets one from nearly every guy in the class. No, I do not want a pity Valentine from my best friend. I want a genuine Valentine from a guy who is interested in me. But since I am not a knock out beauty, or a cheerleader, or any of that other popular girl stuff, it isn’t going to happen.”

“Bess, you are not ugly. We have an unusual ratio of girls to boys here. When a new one shows up, girls act like sharks to blood. The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance,” Cynthia pointed out with a chuckle. 

“I noticed. That’s why I stand back out of the way. I don’t stand a chance.”

“Stop being so negative! You’re actually quite pretty under those glasses. I know you can’t wear contacts, but you might try a little makeup once in a while. They won’t even notice those giant frames,” Cynthia told her.

“You can hardly miss them. Anyway, maybe college will be different.” She tried to look hopeful and smiled.

“You just wait. I’ll bet someone will see you for who you are. Prom is coming up in a couple months,” Cynthia reminded her. 

“Tell me about it. I’ll probably just sit it out like last year. I will not go stag!”

The bell rang and the girls gathered their books and moved out into the throng of students making their way to their next classes, stopping at their lockers to exchange books and greeting friends along the hallway. 

One boy watched from behind his locker door at Bess and Cynthia as they disappeared behind a classroom door. He slammed his door shut and leaned his head against the cold metal. “Just a couple days left,” he muttered and jumped as one of his friends cupped his shoulder on the way by. He looked up at the other boy who had turned and grinned at him motioning him to get to class. He did that a lot. 

“So, did you ask her yet?” Jerry asked Sam as he pulled his text book out of his backpack.

“She is way out of my league,” Sam said. 

“Why don’t you let her be the judge of that?” Jerry said, giving him a slug in the arm. “The prom is coming up. If you don’t ask her someone else might beat you to it.”

Sam grinned a lopsided grin. “Maybe I’ll give her one of those goofy valentines. I think my mom kept some of my leftovers.”

Jerry snorted. “Dude, no!” He lowered his voice when his classmates turned to stare at him. “No Ninja Turtles. We are way too old for that.”

Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess we are. I’ll come up with something.”

Valentine’s Day arrived and girls were finding cards stuffed in their lockers and placed on their desks. A few had flowers and some had red velvet heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Bess and Cynthia walked into their history class chatting about all the cards Cynthia had accumulated.

“Oh, look, someone put it on the wrong desk,” Bess said, lifting a handcrafted envelope off her desk and handing it to Bess.

“Thanks,” Cynthia said taking the envelope. She read the front and handed it back. “Actually, this one is for you.”

“What?” Bess grabbed it, a shocked look on her face. She read the front and stared at it with her eyes wide.

“Don’t just stare it. Open it! It’s kind of heavy for a card,” she added.

Bess nodded. She turned it over and carefully lifted the edge. “I think it’s edible,” she said. She pulled it out slowly. It was made of heavy white paper with a red paper lace doily in the shape of a heart. The center had cinnamon heart-shaped red hots attached with a small amount of icing. She opened it up.

Cynthia read it out loud over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “To a girl who is as hot as the candy! Be my Valentine. Sincerely, Sam Johnston.” 

Bess turned red and then she smiled. “He’s in trig with us. He sits two seats down. I like him.”

Bess hugged her friend. “Prom date!” she exclaimed.

The Basement

“I’m so glad you decided to rent the room,” Mr. Cheever told Ellen, his new tenant. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone in there and I really needed it rented out.”

“I’m just glad it was still available,” Ellen replied. “Apartments in the city are way higher than I expected. An entire three bedroom house was cheaper where I come from.” She smiled. “What amenities are included?”

“Amenities?” Mr. Cheever asked. 

“May I use the washer and dryer or do I need to go to the laundromat? Am I allowed to use the kitchen?” she clarified.

“Oh! Sorry, senior moment,” he said. “The washer and dryer are on the main floor and you may use them, just make sure to empty the lint trap and never leave your laundry unattended. If you start it, finish it. There is space in the cupboard for you and a shelf in the fridge. If you make a mess, clean it up. I don’t have a dishwasher.”

“That’s fine. I know how to clean up after myself. Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes. Stay out of the basement. Under no circumstances are you to go in the basement.”

“Sure. No problem,” she said. “May I move in today? I keep my things in my car.”

“That would be fine. Welcome home. Payment is the first of the month, no exceptions,” he added.

She handed him a check and he folded it and placed it in his wallet. 

Ellen was startled by a knock at her door as she was getting ready for bed. Mr. Cheever called out from the other side. “Ellen? Are you decent? I brought you a cup of tea.”

She opened the door. “Why thank you. I would love a cup.” She took a sip. “Wow! That is good. What kind is it?”

“It’s just a special blend from the natural foods store. It’s supposed to help you relax for a better night’s sleep,” he told her. “I’ve used it for years. I figure with you being from the country the night sounds of the city might keep you up.”

“That was so thoughtful. You’re right. I haven’t been sleeping well since I left home, but you know how it is. If there aren’t any jobs where you live, you go where the jobs are.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know what you mean. Don’t worry about the cup tonight. You can take care of it in the morning. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Ellen woke up refreshed. She had indeed slept very soundly through the night. Man, I’m glad I found this place, she thought. 

It became a ritual. Every evening around nine Mr. Cheever brought her a cup of tea and she slept soundly, whereas she had never been one to sleep that hard before, hearing every creak of a floorboard or even the wind blowing gently through the trees – with the windows shut. 

One night she set the tea down on the bedside table and it got cold before she could drink it. It didn’t taste very good cold so she left it until morning. She did indeed hear every little sound. Mr. Cheever was in the basement doing something and he was none too quiet about it. Perhaps that is what the tea is about, she thought. He doesn’t want to keep me up with his midnight projects. “His house,” she muttered, “He can do whatever he wants.”

The next night as she was getting ready for bed one of her earrings rolled off the bedside table behind the headboard. She moved the table so she could reach the jewelry and glanced up behind the headboard. There was a book wedged between the board and the wall. She retrieved her earring and fished the book out. 

“Hmm,” she said reading the title of the book, which merely said ‘Journal’. At first she just opened it to see to whom it belonged hoping Mr. Cheever would be able to get it back to its owner. She saw a name inside the cover but then her peripheral vision caught a few words on the first page. She didn’t touch the tea as she settled into bed to read. 

The journal had been started six months prior to her moving in and ended abruptly after three weeks. Her hand covered her mouth as she fought to stifle a scream. 

The noise in the basement seemed suddenly louder than it had before and she tip-toed to the basement door and soundlessly opened the door. She peered down the concrete stairs and then as quietly as she could descended them far enough to see what exactly he was doing. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the old man. He was building a box that looked a lot like a casket and she clamped her mouth shut tight to keep from gasping. 

She forced her eyes away as she scanned the rest of the area. Hanging over a drain in the floor she saw a large chain attached to a floor joist with a large bolt. The chain had a hook on one end and the floor was stained red around the drain. There was a pegboard off to the left with assorted tools and knives. She turned and crept back up the stairs.

“Oh my god,” she said to herself over and over. “I can’t believe it.” She packed her bags quickly and included the journal. She thought to lock her door and retreated into the closet as she called the police. Whispering, she explained what she had found and that she was now hiding in the closet. The casket Mr. Cheever was building looked to be nearly complete. She was advised to get out of the house if at all possible and that a unit was on the way. 

She suddenly heard a sound like a lock being tripped and peeped through the levers on the closet door. “I can’t get away,” she whispered trying to keep her voice calm while she panicked inside. “He just let himself into the room.”

“Don’t hang up!” the operator said into the phone. “Whatever you do, don’t hang up!”

Ellen screamed as Mr. Cheever pulled the door open and she dropped the phone. 

“I see you have your bags packed,” he said. “Going somewhere?”

“My mom called,” Ellen lied. “She’s been hurt and needs me to come home. I was just making a reservation to fly home.”

“I never heard your phone ring,” he said calmly. “And, why are you in the closet?”

“I, I had it on vibrate so the ringer wouldn’t disturb you and I was in here so I would be quieter.”

Mr. Cheever picked up the phone. “Hello? Who am I talking to?”

The emergency operator quickly played along with Ellen. “This is Karen at the United Airlines reservations desk. I heard a scream. Is Miss Davenport all right?”

“Oh, yes, quite,” he answered, “I just startled the poor dear is all. She’ll have to call you back.” He closed the cover, hanging up the call.

Ellen’s eyes grew wide. “What did you do that for?” she asked him.

“You aren’t going home. I need your help with something,” he said. He grabbed her arm dragging her out of the closet and snapped handcuffs on her wrist before she could snatch it away.

Ellen fought back with her free hand and kicked at him but to no avail. He was surprisingly strong for his build and had her down the stairs and into the basement. He punched her in the face to make her quit fighting. The blow knocked her out. He then hoisted her up to the hook and chain over the drain.

Just as was selecting a knife the police snuck down the stairs and aimed their guns at him. “Halt or we’ll shoot!” one of them commanded.

When Ellen awoke in the hospital there was a detective waiting to speak to her. Ellen told him where to locate the journal in her luggage and he retrieved it.

He read it. “We’ve been looking for her for a while now.” He said. Her parents called in a missing persons report months ago. We’re going to have a forensics team check his place. There is no telling how many lives he’s taken or how many you saved by finding this and calling it in.”

Ellen cried.

The Christmas Tattle Tale

I don't know about you, but when I was a youngster I was devastated to learn there really wasn't a Santa Clause putting those presents under the tree. My sister gave it away. I guess I was lucky in that we actually got Christmas gifts. There are many children (and adults) who for economic or other reasons get no gifts and then when they go to school and hear about all the stuff other kids got it makes them sad and the other children are usually so excited they fail to notice that someone isn't sharing their Christmas experience.

Remember when you are out shopping to pick out a tag on a giving tree and fill the need, or donate to the Toys for Tots program or put something in the Salvation Army red kettles. Donating time at a homeless shelter or soup kitchen is also a good way of giving to those who have little or nothing during the holidays.

For a good historical account of Santa Clause across the globe, I found this site interesting:  http://www.lone-star.net/mall/main-areas/xmas-santa-origin2.htm 

THE CHRISTMAS TATTLE TALE

Pauley stared out the window of the bedroom he shared with his older brother Ted. The snow was falling lightly and the full moon peeked out from behind the clouds as they passed by. 

“Do you think Santa will be able to come through the snow?” Pauley asked Ted.

“Don’t be such a dork, Pauley.” Ted patted his back. “You’re seven now, it’s time you knew.”

Pauley turned to face his brother. “It’s Christmas Eve. Don’t call me names or you won’t get anything.”

“Pauley, there is no Santa Claus,” Ted told him.

“Is too!” Pauley said raising his little voice. “If there is no Santa, then where do the presents come from?”

“Mom and Dad,” Ted answered. I saw them putting them out last year. They didn’t know I was up.”

Pauley stuck his lower lip out and started to cry. “It’s not so. You take it back.”

“Little brother, you had to find out sometime. I can prove it. I know you won’t stay awake, but I can and I’ll wake you up when they put them under the tree.”

Pauley shook his head. “It’ll be Santa,” he said defiantly. He crawled into bed and rolled over towards the wall as his brother turned off the overhead light and did the same.

Ted woke Pauley as promised a little while later. “They’re putting out the presents,” he whispered.”

Pauley reluctantly climbed out of his bed and padded across the room in his slippers. They slowly opened the door and went to the stair railing that overlooked their living room and Christmas tree. 

“Now look carefully at the wrapping paper,” Ted whispered. “In the morning they’ll have tags from Santa on them.”

Pauley scowled at his brother and went back to bed. He slept fitfully and got up early. He sat quietly in his bed until Ted woke up too. “Can we go down now?”

Ted checked the Mickey Mouse clock next to the bed. “It’s six-thirty. I guess so. We usually do get up early on Christmas.”

“Why doesn’t it bother you that the presents are not from Santa?”

“Why should it? I got them anyway,” Ted answered.

The boys went to their parents’ room and tapped on the door and waited patiently for them to answer with a, ‘Come in,” or “Just a minute.” 

Their mom was smiling as she opened the door. “Are you boys ready to see what Santa brought you?” 

The boys went as fast as they could without getting scolded to be careful down the stairs and to the tree. Pauley started to cry as he picked up the first one he remembered from the night before and it was from Santa Claus.

“What’s wrong, Pauley?” his mother asked him. She looked at their father and shrugged.

“Ted is right,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “There is no Santa Claus. We watched you put these under here last night.”

Their mother looked sternly at Ted. “Does someone need coal in his stocking?”

Ted looked down. “He needed to know,” he explained.

Their mom sat down next to them on the floor. She patted the floor for Ted to sit down, then she pulled Pauley into her lap. “Pauley, once upon a time there really was a Saint Nicolas. We call him Santa Claus. There is a long history of the story of Santa’s origins from different countries and their traditions are different, but here it is the giving spirit that endures. The story goes back to giving good children presents of toys and sweets, maybe some articles of clothing, or something useful to them, and the naughty children get switches or coal. Parents carry on that tradition to their children.”

She gave the boy a hug and dried his tears. Reaching behind her on the coffee table, she grabbed a tissue and handed it to him to wipe his nose. 

“Do you boys remember the reason we taught you for Christmas gifts? Santa is just a fun part of it,” their father asked.

Ted spoke up. “We give the gifts as a reminder of the gifts the three kings, or wisemen, gave Christ.”

“Good,” their father replied. “Now, no more peeking on Christmas Eve,” he directed. “And Ted, tattling is not nice, especially at Christmas,” he emphasized. “Now, I expect to see paper flying!”

The boys grinned and tore into their packages.