The NoSleep Podcast - S18 Ep26: NoSleep Podcast S18E26 Christmas 2022

Episode Date: December 25, 2022

It’s the NoSleep Podcast Christmas 2022 Frightmares episode! “Christmas Isn’t Christmas Anymore” written by Lisel Jones (Story starts around 00:02:20) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Reagen Tacker “Memories Made” written by S.H. Cooper (Story starts around 00:07:05) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Mike – Graham Rowat, Dee – Linsay Rousseau, Store Clerk – David Cummings “Christmas Desert” written by H. H. Duke (Story starts around 00:35:40) TRIGGER WARNING! Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Aleck – Dan Zappulla, Eva – Wafiyyah White, Rourke – Peter Lewis, Chad – Atticus Jackson, Mom – Erin Lillis, Nibling – Danielle McRae, Jan – Sarah Ruth Thomas “The Spirit of Giving” written by Marcus Damanda (Story starts around 01:00:15) Produced by: Phil Michalski Cast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin “The Gift of Gratitude” written by Beth Carpenter (Story starts around 01:07:15) Produced by: Jeff Clement Cast: Alexa – Ash Millman, Mum – Erika Sanderson, Mitchell – James Cleveland, Aunt Dorothy – Penny Scott-Andrews, Anna – Linsay Rousseau “The Christmas Cruise” written by Manen Lyset (Story starts around 01:32:50) Produced by: Jesse Cornett Cast: Max – Kyle Akers, Mom – Kristen DiMercurio, Grandma – Erin Lillis, Uncle Patrick – Jesse Cornett, Captain – Mitch Gerads, Random passenger 1 – Sarah Thomas, Random passenger 2 – James Cleveland, Random passenger 3 – Danielle McRae, Random passenger 4 – David Cummings, Sexy passenger 1 – David Ault This episode is sponsored by: Green Chef - Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every lifestyle. Whether youíre Keto, Paleo, Vegan, Vegetarian, Gluten-Free, or just looking to eat more balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. Go to greenchef.com/nosleep599 and use code nosleep599 to get $5.99 per meal on your 1st boxóand your 1st box ships free! Betterhelp - This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at betterhelp.com/nosleep and get on your way to being your best self. Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Lisel Jones Click here to learn more about S.H. Cooper Click here to learn more about Marcus Damanda Click here to learn more about Manen Lyset Executive Producer & Host: David Cummings Musical score composed by: Brandon Boone “Christmas 2022” illustration courtesy of Alia Synesthesia Audio program ©2022 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The No Sleep Podcast presents its 2022 Christmas festive frightmare. The lights are twinkling and there's plenty of green and red all round. Yes, the red is mostly blood, but let's not overlook the festive green color. And speaking of green, Christmas is a time for delicious food, isn't it? Then why not treat yourself to some green chef? Green Chef is a CCOF certified meal kit company. Green Chef makes eating well easy with plans to fit every. lifestyle. Whether you're keto, paleo, vegan, vegetarian, gluten-free, or just looking to eat more

balanced meals, Green Chef offers a range of recipes to suit your preferences. And you've heard me talk about Hello Fresh in the past. Green Chef is now owned by Hello Fresh, and with a wider array of meal plans to choose from, there's something for everyone. I love switching between the brands, and now you can enjoy both brands at a delicious no-sleep discount. Green Chef is the number one meal kit for eating well, with dinners that work for you, not the other way around. I love all the keto options Green Chef has. It makes sticking to a carb-conscious lifestyle easy. And for the festive season, consider these mouth-watering meals.

Holiday beef tenderloin and cherry sauce with herbed fingerlings and orange-glazed carrots. Or how about holiday keto beef tenderloin and herb juice with white cheddar cauliflower mash and parmesan brussels sprouts? Holy cow, that sounds good. Green Chef's pre-made and pre-measured sauces, dressings and spices get you more, chef-c curated flavor in less time. So listen, go to greenchef.com slash no sleep 599 and use code No Sleep 599 to get $5.99 per meal on your first box.

And your first box? Yes, it ships free. You heard me right. Go to greenchef.com slash no. No Sleep 599 and use code No Sleep 599 to get $599 per meal on your first box with that first box shipping to you for free. Green Chef, the number one meal kit for eating well. And now there's someone coming down the chimney.

Let's hope it's only Santa. They say Christmas isn't Christmas anymore. They're calling it the baron season this year. Kids rarely laugh. Fairy lights glow dimmer. and Carol sound mournful. A dank sense of loss soaks the world and people's hearts. I didn't mean for this to happen.

It was all a joke, that stupid, less burn-sana meme made me do it. Don't ask me why I didn't stop as he squeezed down my chimney, the brandy perhaps, boredom, deep-rooted anger for not always getting everything I want. Whatever, I didn't care. I flung the match into the accelerant and laughed as the flame slurped.

up his boots, virtually pissed myself whilst the trapped old man roared and struggled. Regret not being more generous now, Fatty? Then it hit me like a snowball in the face, what I'd done, what the hell next? I fled the house. When I returned the next morning, there were no human remains. All that plastic crap he'd been carrying had melted into a black, glassy lump, cemented in my hearth. Gloom and rage mounted as the months passed.

Heartbroken kids, confused parents, How was I supposed to know people would miss him so much? I had to keep my terrible secret. Then, in December, fissures began appearing in the molten mass. I skilled myself and peeked inside. He's still in there. Or maybe his replacement is. Glaring, fiery eyes, blackened teeth, gnashing behind blistered, boiling lips.

Every day, more pieces flake off and the cracks widen. He's swelling, making ready to escape. To break out. To give me the gift I asked for. Oh, my. Oh, this walk to the cozy Christmas cottage feels like it's longer every year. Oh, I'm getting too old for this.

My head feels funny. I feel like there's something I'm supposed to say. Oh, oh, wait. Here we are. I'll just go. inside before I brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast

Christmas 2020 The next time someone squeezes down your chimney you should try not to be so naughty to them That's what we learned from author Lacelle Jones from the tale which was this episode's cold open Christmas isn't Christmas

anymore Performed by Regan Tacker It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, or should I say, the No Sleep podcast, Christmas 2022 episode. And with this episode coming out on the Christmas weekend, we can wish everyone a timely Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and all the best of the holiday season. As we know, it's not just the Dickensian ghosts of past, present, and future that can make Christmas scary. We're thrilled to offer up our yearly festive feast of horrific delights.

And so, it's the weekend of Christmas and all through the house. There are creatures there stirring and fires to douse. Look out for old Dasher and Dancer and elves. It's time once again to brace yourselves. In our first tale, we encounter an aspect of Christmas that can make anyone feel terrified. I'm speaking about the arduous task of. of buying people presents. And in this tale,

shared with us by author S.H. Cooper, we meet a couple who find themselves unable to find the perfect gift online. That means, going to the store to shop in person. I join Graham Rowett and Lindsay Rousseau in performing this tale. So hopefully you'll find a very helpful sales clerk

while you're shopping, one who knows all about your, memories made. Christmas comes but once a year. Thank God for that. Don't get me wrong. I loved the holiday, mostly, so long as I didn't think about. I looked forward to family time, the food, the decorations. I didn't even mind Mariah Carey stocking me across radio stations. All of that was fine, fun even. No, it was the true reason for the season that I'd come to detest. The present Everybody wants something, but nobody can put their finger on exactly what. Nothing says Christmas like spending hours scouring the Internet for that obscure, perfect gift,

only to end up with bald patches and an empty cart. It's too bad you can't just wrap up all the hair you tore out and give it to your loved one as a symbol of the time and effort you spent on them. No one, however, was worse to shop for than my father-in-law. Great guy. I won the in-law lotto with that one, except at the holidays. He had an 11-month habit of buying whatever the hell he wanted, then sitting like a kid beside the Christmas tree come Christmas morning,

eyes all aglow as he waited to be handed his presents. In his defense, he never complained about what he got. He was as enthusiastic over a pair of socks as he was Seahawk tickets, and he was extremely generous when it came to giving in return, especially where his kids were concerned. Still, the pressure was on every year to try to get something for the man who had everything. My wife made it her special mission. I'd listen to her stomp around, grumbling and clicking and typing,

and stomping some more before she inevitably stumbled upon some weird kitchen gadget or grill accessory she didn't think he had yet. It was a whole production. Right up till our third year of marriage, and it seemed she'd run the well of dinosaur-shaped rabbit, avioli makers and customizable steak branding tongs dry. Her long, exasperated cry from the bedroom drew me to the door. No luck?

She was curled up on the bed in the middle of our dark room, the light from her laptop screen highlighting her scowl. What does it look like? Like, maybe we should do that no gift rule we keep talking about. We don't give or get anything, just enjoy the holiday. We can't. Dad loves getting his present. Since. Dad also hates waiting for Christmas to roll around to get what he wants. She rolled onto her back with a sigh and sprawled, starfish-like across the bed.

The duality of man. What are we going to do? Dan already got him football tickets and a New Jersey. I always said your brother was a bastard. I grinned, ready to dodge out the door in case a pillow came flying. Michael? Deidra. I'm being serious. This. It's serious. It's Christmas, Dee. Exactly.

With no projectiles coming my way, I crossed the room and sank onto the bed beside her. What if we got him a pony? Even big kids like ponies. Her lips pinched into a line that wavered between frustrated and amused. If you're not going to help me, you can leave. I am helping.

You just don't like any of my ideas. She huffed and flopped away from me to tap irritably on the laptop's Touchpad. All right, all right. What if we went to the mall? It has some of those kitchy niche stores in it, right?

I was rewarded by her rolling back over. Does it? And I haven't been in years. I think so. I don't know. Wouldn't hurt to look, at least. Or you can keep sitting here scrolling through animal butt tissue dispensers.

I got to the weird part of the internet. Yeah. But, you know, I wouldn't be mad if I found a corgi one with my name on it. She snapped her computer shut and nudged me toward the edge of her bed with her feet while I giggled. Let's just go to the mall. In the time it had taken us to swap our sweatpants for something more publicly appropriate, the evening sky had darkened to a slate gray. A flurry of snowflakes drifted past the window on a chill breeze.

I stopped beside it, staring out across the front lawn. already sprinkled with specks of white. I hadn't paid attention to the weather. I hadn't prepared. The low, steady thump of my heart swelled like a slow, growing balloon in my ears. The snow. The dark.

The road. I clutched the windowsill. Screeching tires I'd never heard. A scream, I imagined, cut short. The crunch and groan of metal I only knew from movies. Beads of sweat sprouted along my hairline. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push past the non-memories to my calming techniques. Breathe.

Count. One, two, three. Breathe. Count. Four, five, six. Mike? What is it? Snowing.

Dee had come out of the bathroom to find me at the window and rubbed soothing circles into my back. It's fine. My bobbing throat betrayed me. We don't have to go. It's okay. Let's just... No, really. It's fine. I'm fine. It just caught me off guard. I should know better. The truth was, I'd gotten lax. The panic didn't surface every time now. I'd stopped being so diligent, stopped checking for expected snowfall so often. After six years of therapy and winters and remembrance, I thought I'd really started to get better. But grief is a sneaky beast that likes to lay dormant until we've almost forgotten its bite. D's fingers curled around mine, further grounding me. My heartbeat dulled to a pattering whisper.

You sure? I nodded, forcing a smile that neither of us bought. All right, but I'll drive. I took a few more minutes to ease myself away from the edge of the panic attack before tugging on my jacket, signaling to Dee, I was ready. The mall was 20 minutes away, and I spent most of it with my eyes in the footwell, trying to think about what my father-in-law might like, what Dee herself could want, little porcelain corgis with tissues waiting to be plucked from their raised buttholes, anything other than the snow, the dark, and the road. Dee released the occasional string of curses along the way,

letting me know we weren't the only ones to venture out into the early December evening. She'd apologize after every outburst, but, in a weird way, it helped me feel a little better. She never swore outside the driver's seat, a place that morphed my even-tempered wife into a seething banshee. And there was something about hearing her snap, You turkey-based bitch tit! That I couldn't help but smile at. That situational, colorful temperament was one given. from her generous dad that kept on giving.

She flicked on the blinker. We're here. I lifted my head to a wide and empty expanse of parking lot dusted in a thin layer of light. Are we sure it's open? She pulled into one of the countless vacant spaces and leaned forward to look out the windshield. Lights are on inside?

Could just be security lights or something. Let's go look. We zipped up our jackets against the, cold and scurried as quickly as we dared over the ice-patched pavement to the door. A decorated tree with twinkling lights stood inside the entrance, and glittery candy canes, stars, and mistletoe hung from the high ceilings. The mall was well lit, and the gates to each store raised, so I shrugged, reaching for the door handle.

Non-descript Christmas music drifted faintly from overhead speakers as we shuffled in. The air was thick with the usual mall smells, food court, candle store, perfume kiosk, all tinged with a cinnamon, peppermint spice, holiday twist. It brought back a rush of teenage memories, meeting friends at the bookstore, meandering through Hot Topic, flipping through the bargain bins for cheap movies at the CD store, dodging the other groups all doing the same. D.Slipped her arm through mine, and we strolled past a jolt. jewelry store. It's wear is twinkling like the tree lights in their glass cases. She nodded toward it.

Wow, you'd think they'd be swamped in there, huh? Still too early for all the panicking husbands trying to turn diamonds into another year of marital bliss. You've never gotten me any diamonds. I was smart and set your expectations low early on. She snorted, wrinkling her nose at me, and we turned the corner into the main thoroughfare. Almost immediately, these steps. slowed, falling out of time with mine, and when I looked down at her, she was gazing around, her brow knit into a curious V. You okay? It's not weird to you? What? Her eyes swept back and forth across the wide aisle, divided in the middle with

large potted plants and benches, then fixed on me. No one else is here. I opened my mouth to argue, to point out the guy waiting to swoop in with some perfect fume sample, or the lady who sometimes stood in the entryway of the chocolate shop with a tray of free samples. But they weren't there. And as I glanced over my shoulder and through the glass front of the nearest store, I realized Dee was right. We were alone. Dee's fingers nervously needed my arm. Should we go? It's open, so I think it's okay we're here. Even if it is, it's weird, isn't it? A little. But think of it this way. We managed to miss the Christmas rush.

And all the employees? Breaks. Hiding in back rooms? Avoiding doing their jobs since nobody's here anyway. Finding reasons to justify it helped it seem less odd. I couldn't help but lean on the tissue-thin logic. It's kind of creepy. I couldn't argue with her there. The hallway felt much longer. The glass domed ceiling much higher, without a bunch of people jostling around us. The music had a hollow quality, trying to fill a space much too big for its tinny, generic notes.

I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Let's find something quick and get out of here. The mall is not a place that's meant to be empty. Each store opening gaped at us, inviting us into empty bellies with bright window displays and festive decorations. We hovered in the entrance. to some kind of hippie-looking place, where lava blubs bounced around their lamp enclosures

and tie-dye shirts screamed for attention from their racks. It was all very warm and splashed in rainbow hues. It should have felt welcoming, but I couldn't make myself go inside. Indeed, didn't ask to. I couldn't explain why it felt wrong, only that it did. There should have been people, a clerk at the very least.

I thought about suggesting we leave and go somewhere else, but it was nearing seven o'clock, limiting any other options, and with the snowfall, I didn't really want to be driving around. D shot me another uneasy look, but I draped my arm across her shoulders and assured her there was nothing to worry about. We abandoned that store and continued on. The occasional squeak of our shoes against the polished tiles was the only interruption to the droning, you music. Admittedly, I hadn't been paying very close attention to it, and I certainly didn't want to ask, but it seemed like every time I tuned in, the same song was playing. We tried to ignore the strangeness of wandering the dead corridors by pointing out things that might make funny

gifts or interest us, and it did seem to be helping Dee relax. But a creeping sensation had wriggled beneath my skin and was worming across the back of my neck. I rubbed it, trying to smooth away the goosebumps, but they, and the feeling we were being watched, persisted. Dee snagged the back of my coat as she stopped suddenly. Look, someone's in there, that store on the second floor. I craned my neck following her pointing finger, but didn't see anyone. Where?

He was at the window. He must have gone back in. Let's go up. Maybe he can tell us what the hell is going on in here. She led the way up the stairs, its rail lined with silver tinsel and onto the mall's second floor. The store she headed for was small, one of the kitchie types I'd mentioned back at home, and the elegant, curving lettering over its entrance read, Memories Made. A dark blue curtain hung across the display window, acting as a backdrop to a little lit-up Christmas village.

Probably a knock-off of things remembered, I thought, assuming we'd be walking into shelves of engravable photo frames and mugs you can add pictures to. There were shelves standing neatly against the walls, but they were all as empty as the rest of the mall, and other than a counter with an old-fashioned register, the shop floor was bare. Dee came to another short stop in front of me,

and I bumped into her. She was scanning the nearly, vacant space. Maybe I was wrong. Wrong about what? We jumped in unison as a portly man came bustling out of a back room. I hadn't noticed the door tucked between two of the shelving units. The bells on his Santa's sleigh sweater tinkled as he crossed behind the counter.

Sorry, we weren't sure if the mall was actually open. The clerk removed his glasses, squinted at the entryway, then nodded with a smile that crinkled his blue eyes. It certainly seems to be. No one else is here, so... He sighed, expression drooping into a wistful frown. It gets worse every year. Everybody just likes to use the Googles and the Amazon.

Oh, what can you do? So you are, open? Of course, it's Christmas. Where else would I be? Have to make sure the people get what they need? A little smile tugged at the corner of Dee's lips as she gave the store another lookover. I don't want to be rude, but it doesn't look like you have a whole lot here. You know what they say?

Looks can be deceiving. The clerk scratched the bald spot atop his head with a chuckle and waved us over. After a shared, somewhat reluctant glance, we shuffled to the counter. Don't be shy, come on over. There we are. Aren't you a nice-looking couple? Out doing a bit of Christmas shopping? Yeah, for my dad.

The clerk stroked his white beard, sucking his teeth thoughtfully. Hmm, what kinds of things does he like? I don't know, football, cooking, usual guy stuff. He narrowed his eyes, nodding astutely. Ah, of course. Guy stuff. I couldn't help but snort, earning me a warning jab from Dee's elbow. Big Seahawk fan.

A bird, yes, all right. The clerk nodded and ducked suddenly behind the counter. Dee and I exchanged another look. When he came up again, a little crystal bird dangled on a gold thread from between his pinched fingers. Dee smothered a bemused giggle into her hand, but I saw. stared at that bird, watching it slowly turn on the end of its thread. Something about it triggered an itch at the back of my brain, like an almost remembered word balanced on the tip of my tongue. Before I could give it too much thought, the clerk closed his hand around it with a laugh of

his own. Ha ha, ha, not the seahawk he's after, then? No. He scratched his bald spot again while she giggled, leaving a trail of red lines on his pale scalp. Okay, let's try again, shall we? He disappeared behind the counter once more, and when he straightened, it was with a pair of white-rimmed ski goggles. A crack ran across the lens. D's smile faded slightly. He's not much into sports.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. The clerk's nails dragged across. his scalp in slow, contemplative curls. He stared at Dee, lips pursed. Her hand slid into mine, though my fingers remained slack in her grasp. It hardly registered at all. Not since I'd noticed the purple heart drawn in permanent marker on the goggles strap. My heartbeat throbbed in my skull like a distant drum. The purple heart seemed to thrum in time with mine. Let's see what else we've

Got back here, then. He left the goggles on the counter and crouched out of sight again. I felt Dee's timid tug upon my arm, trying to get me to move toward the door, but I remained rooted in place. Where had the clerk gotten those? How? What else did he have stashed away in that cabinet beneath his cash register? A boot thudded on the counter, dirty white with purple accents.

She'd always liked. white and purple. The thought swam against the snarling tide rising in my head. Where? How? What else? D slid a step back, her grip but tightening vice around my hand. Let's go, Mike.

I want to go. But why? The clerk's nails raked back and forth across his scalp, over a pair of twin thump that had sprouted up in the time he'd been behind the counter, His papery skin split beneath his incessant scratching, sending a trickle of blood down his forehead. The floor felt as if it pitched beneath me. I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Not the things he was showing us.

Not the man himself. Those bumps. The blood. Suddenly I remembered why the bird had seemed so familiar. How it had hung, swinging from her rear-view mirror. Mike! D pulled me, and I stumbled toward her on uncooperative legs. What's wrong, Diedra?

A cell phone. Its face, a spider web of cracks, had appeared in the clerk's hand. The lockscreen illuminated, and my fractured photo grinned at us. My tongue fumbled to form words as the hand not locked in D's reached for the phone. That's... Michael jumped! The clerk let it drop. up to the counter. His chest heaved with low, growling breaths. Only a soppy, wet, tearing sound

pulled my gaze from the phone lying face down between the goggles and boot. The bumps had punched through his flesh as a pair of yearling antlers. His blue eyes glazed over in black. The clerk's voice deepened into a rumble. Deidre, these memories you made? His fingers dug deep into his face, tearing at cheek and jowl. I jerked away, trying to unsee the red flowing down his neck and arms. But the sounds, the snap of muscle, fatty globs smacking against tile, the flapping of shorn skin as he continued to speak, were inescapable.

Even after Dee started to scream. Six years. Six days, six hours. Dee shrieked for me to move, to run, to leave with her, but I just kept hearing his voice repeating. Six years, six days. Dee hauled me by the hand, and I staggered after her, body moving only because she was forcing it to do so.

I jogged mechanically after her, guided solely by her panicked flight out of the store, toward the stairs. Six years. Six days. She'd managed to get me to the first landing before I dug my heels

and yanking us both to a halt. It's the 16th. Dee tried to pull me along again, tears pouring down her face. Six days. That would have been December 10th. The day, Susie. We took her off life support.

Heavy footsteps scraped across tile. At the top of the stairs, a tall figure lurched into view. An emaciated body, chalky flesh stretched over bone, standing on cloven hooves. Eyes, round and black as opal, stared down at us from the deep sockets of a reindeer skull, weighed down by a twisted pair of jagged, pronged atlers. His voice was a terrible roll of thunder. You've been a naughty. Nottie girl, taking a gift that wasn't yours.

Dee shook her head, terrified gaze locked, unblinking on the thing. I didn't. This life was never meant for you. What did you do, Dee? Nothing, it wasn't. I didn't mean for it to happen. The creature's hoof clicked against the stair as it took a measured step toward us. You stole sheath!

I clung to the stair railing to stay upright. The accident. You. We'd worked for the same company. All three of us. Me, D. Susie. I'd only known D as Susie's co-worker.

Different department. Little overlap. They hadn't been closer than colleagues. Colleagues who'd gone on a ski trip organized by their supervisor. It's there yourself! Help! The reindeer-headed creature descended another step. You lie even now.

Nauty! No, I called Dad and... You called your Dad? He knew? He knew I was an accident. He knew I did. I didn't want to believe it. Not the revelation D was careening toward.

Not that my father-in-law. My indulgent, dedicated father-in-law would have been part of it. Not that my entire life had been built upon a grave. Dee! D's shoulders shook, and her nails sank into my forearm, desperately holding on. She was always bragging, talking about how great you were. And when you got engaged, it was all about the wedding, and then at the retreat and her promotion. The boss had told me I was supposed to be...

I saw her on the road. We were going too fast, and... I looked into my wife's face. so even tempered, except when in the driver's seat, and saw a stranger. I was almost unable to speak past the grief and rage that had formed in my throat. You what, Dee? And I talked to you at the few... She'd been a co-worker, a colleague, and when my fiancé died in a tragic car accident,

she'd made herself available as a shoulder to cry on. They said she was in that ditch for hours, that has she been found sooner she might have lived. Her nails had become like knives in my arm. Six years, six days, six hours since you stole the gift of life. Not a single one spent in repentance. Nauty, naughty. Coal is not enough for the likes of you.

The creature had closed the distance between us without either of us noticing. It curled long, skeletal fingers around the back of knee's neck. She screamed, thrashing around and begged me to help her, to save her. Instead, I tore my arm free of her flailing grasp. The creature lifted Dee from the ground, and her screaming turned to strangled silence. Her eyes, so wide and afraid, begged me still to rescue her. But as she was raised toward the spot, liked antlers, pressed upon their sharpened ends, I backed away, teetering on legs that didn't

want to hold me up. The whale that followed would come to live with the one I imagined Susie had made as her car spun off a distant winter road. So often, Christmas is depicted in the, well, dare I say, the Canadian way. That is, lots of fluffy snow, a chill in the air, sleigh rides, snowmen, etc., etc. We don't often think about Christmas in places that remain hot and dry year-round. But in this tale, shared with us by author H.H. Duke, we meet a man delighted to get away from the heat and the sand to experience a white Christmas. Performing this tale are Danza Pula, Wafia White, Peter Lewis, Atticus Jackson,

Aaron Lillis, Danielle McCrae, and Sarah Thomas. So if you find yourself with a Christmas cactus rather than a tree, enjoy the time you have in the snow. It's a bit more festive than the Christmas desert. The snow lay thick on the ground, so cold, so perfectly white. I felt the urge to tear up at the sight of it, but no moisture came from the corners of my eyes. I thought I'd never see snow like this again.

A car door slammed. Alec, you okay, babe? You look disoriented. I blinked and looked at her over the roof of the car. Ava, my girlfriend of three years. I hoped to make her more than that. My hand went to my pocket where there was a familiar bulge, a jeweler's box. I'm fine.

just a lot to take in, you know? No snowback in Phoenix. That's not what I meant. Her smile faded. I know. She walked around the side of the car and stood next to me, and we turned and appraised Grand's house. The two-story colonial was draped in pine boughs, wreaths, and thick crimson ribbon.

It's beautiful. Just wait till it's all lit up tonight. Ava turned to me. She wasn't thinking about the house. You know, Chad's going to ask about it. About the desert. She nodded. He's such an asshole.

What's your sister seeing him? I shrugged, about to make a joke at my brother-in-law's expense, when something cold and wet hit the side of my head. Small voices called to me from the direction that the snowball had come from. I turned to see my nieces and nephews waving at me. A few were bending down to form new snowballs. They were so bundled up against the cold that it was impossible to tell who was who. I fell to my knees in the snowbank girding the driveway and began forming my own ammo. The snow was so cold on my bare hands that it burned.

Seeing I was hopelessly outnumbered, Ava came to my aid, molding snowballs and then tossing them at my nieces and nephews. When the onslaught was too much, we raised our hands, yelling our surrender through giggles. The kids dispersed, now bored, and we collapsed in the snow, spent. I looked over at her, fingering the ring in my pocket. I could ask her now. No audience, no pressure, just us and the snow. But I didn't.

You're soaked. You must be freezing. At least I'm wearing a coat. Aren't you cold? Actually, I felt uncomfortably warm. The impromptu snowball fight had been more of a workout than I'd expected. I'm fine, but we should go inside. Okay.

But first, snow angels. She plopped backwards and arched her arms through the snow. I followed her lead, luxuriating in the coldness on my limbs. I closed my eyes. The snow, Ava, Christmas, there were few perfect moments in life, but this felt like it might be one of them. Alec, snap out of it. The voice, raspy and masculine, was not Ava's. I sat up, blinded by sudden, unrelenting brightness.

I blinked, and Desert came into focus around me. Ava, Grand's house, the snow, all gone. Nothing but sand and rock formations from miles. Sand poured off my arms in waterfall-like streams. Water. My whole body screamed for liquid for anything cool. I had to concentrate to recognize the blistered sunburned face above me. Rourke.

I had sat next to him on that damned. tour bus. It all flooded back to me, the accident, the desert, days of dehydration and death. Grand's house was just a hallucination, already dissipating like a dream. If you don't walk, you die. The syllables ran together as though Rourke were drunk. I can't. The words felt like sandpaper against my vocal cords. Alec, on the bus, you said you were planning to propose to your girlfriend. What's her name? I reached into my pocket reflexively, making sure the box was still there.

Ava. If you don't keep walking, Eva will never get that ring in your pocket. Damn it. He was right. I rose painfully, each motion that of an old man. Once I'd risen, I looked back at the sand where I'd collapsed. Huh, looked like a snow angel. Wasn't there something about snow angels I was forgetting? My thoughts were sluggish thanks to my boiling brain, and I let it go.

It couldn't be bothered to care. We walked for what could have been minutes or hours. Then Rourke stopped and glanced back at me. His eyes troubled. He'd seen something, and it wasn't good. I followed his gaze. A form protruded from the earth a dozen yards ahead. My eyes were so dry I had to blink to bring the object into focus.

I immediately wished I hadn't. Two people were partially buried in the ground. Their faces were covered with their hats as though to shade their eyes from the glare of the sun. One wore a Green Bay Packers' cap. The other, a frilly pink bucket hat. A mother and daughter that I recognized for, the bus. The girl no older than twelve. Did someone bury them? They'd been alone. I couldn't imagine a stranger expending the energy. Rourke shook his head.

See the way the sand is disturbed? The mother buried her daughter, then did the same to herself. But why? To escape the sun. I winced. The sand absorbed the rays from the sun and was even hotter than the air. the air. Rourke bent down by the mother, carefully brushing the sand from her arm. Don't. Nothing good would come from checking the bodies. They could still be alive. But his voice revealed he didn't hold much hope for that. I was too weak to protest further. Not daring to remove the hat from the woman's face, he freed her arm enough to check for a pulse. As he lifted it, the flesh pulled away from the bone, like slow-cooked pork. Rorke let her arm slip out of his grip, humorous

bone now exposed. Neither of us had the energy to react to the gruesome sight. We only stood frozen. Then Rourke rose and we resumed our walk. What could we say? There were no words that could make the situation better. Alec? Alec. I blinked. the sound of my name pulling me out of my thoughts. My vision was dim, as though my eyes hadn't adjusted to the light. The desert had disappeared. In its place was Grand's living room, just like I always remembered it. My aunts, uncles, and cousins sat around the room.

All eyes were fixed on me. I didn't remember coming inside. The desert had just been a memory. Thank God. I looked around for whoever had said my name. I'm sorry, what was that? The room was stuffy thanks to the roaring fireplace. I wished I wasn't sitting so close to it.

The scent of roasting turkey wafted in from the kitchen. Rather than wet my appetite, it turned my stomach. Mom stepped into the room carrying a tray of empty glasses and a two-liter of Coke. She started filling and handing out glasses one by one. I waited impatiently, reminding myself I had waited far longer for a drink. I could stand a few minutes. Chad spoke, and I realized with distaste that he'd been the one calling me. Spacey much.

I was asking about your desert adventure. Care to share the deets? Jan, Chad's wife, and my sister gave him a disapproving look. Alec doesn't want to talk about that. Chad threw up his hands. What's the big deal? Alk was man enough to survive it. Surely he's man enough to rehash it.

You really find out what you're made of when you go through something like that. Jan started to protest again, but I stopped her. It's okay. It wasn't, but I didn't want to cause a scene. That a boy. How'd you get stranded out there anyway? We were visiting Oregon Pipe National Monument. We'd booked an off-road desert tour.

The tour was supposed to be back by brunch before the heat of the day kicked in. I snorted. It seemed like a joke now. There were two of these buses on the tour. They looked like conversion vans with the tops sought off and a shade awning installed. The one ahead of us held 12 people, ours held 11. Ava here decided she didn't want to get up that early, so I went solo. Thank God for that.

Ava twined her fingers through mine. She felt guilty for not being with me, but her absence was the one silver lining of the ordeal. I swallowed, bracing for the next part. I'm still not sure what happened, if the guides lost course or what, but the other bus was in front and we were going pretty fast, and then they were just gone. Nose dived into a ravine. Our guide realized what happened and swerved, but we collided with the... Boulder, he, he was killed instantly. I breathed in and out.

I could do this. The desert was a thousand miles away and couldn't hurt me anymore. Some of the people in the other bus were able to climb out of the ravine. There were children present, so I didn't mention the screams of those too injured to do so. There was no cell service in the desert. We figured the tour company would come looking for us once we didn't return. So we waited. Once we'd waited a day and a night, we started walking. Mom continued to make her way around the room, pouring glasses of coke for everyone, slowly filling each glass so as not to

overfill it. So how long were you out there? The question flummoxed me. Time ran together in the desert. Ava chimed in helpfully when I didn't respond. Three days. Chad leaned in. What was it like? No one stopped the conversation, not even Jan. They were breathless, eager for details. They'd been wondering about this, had discussed it on the drive here. Arranged in a circle with their expectant, hungry eyes, they looked like vultures. I hated vultures, always circling in the sky, just waiting for you to fall.

Well, Chad, it might come as a... complete shock to you that it was absolute hell. You want to know what it's like. It's like being turned into a piece of human jerky. Blinking is like rubbing gravel over your retinas. It hurts to move, to even think, and the worst part is... My shoulders heaved as I thought of the woman and her daughter in the sand. The worst part is that others are dying around you and you don't even can.

not really, because the same is happening to you. I leaned back in my chair, the fervor of rage gone from my body completely, replaced with a weariness that penetrated to my bones. At the end, most of them didn't even know where they were. They were talking to the air, embracing phantoms. One guy dove into the sand and started moving his arms like he was swimming. His nose, got all busted up from the impact, but he was so dehydrated that it didn't even bleed. He was smiling. Around me, everyone remained silent. My outburst had made them uneasy.

Hot embarrassment washed over me. I shouldn't have let Chad rile me up. Mom had finally arrived in front of me. She started to pour the remainder of the soda, but only a swallow's worth filled the bottom of the cup before the bottle ran dry. She hurried off to the kitchen, presumably to find more. I looked down at the glass, annoyed. I picked it up and put it to my lips,

but the liquid, distributed as it was around the ice, barely trickled on to my tongue. How did you get out? I turned towards Chad. What? Ava stood up. That's enough. Why don't we...

I put my hand. in the air and she stopped. Her expression anxious. I turned back to Chad. What did you say? Chad smiled wide and leaned towards me. I asked how you got out of the desert. Were you rescued?

Did you find a ranger station? Why would you ask that? It's a simple question. Chad gestured around the room. We all know how you ended up in the desert. Your tour bus crashed, killing the guides, and draining your resources. He stumbled around organ pipe for three days. That's a beginning and a middle. How's it end? Well, I, I wanted so badly to answer his question to knock the smirk off his face, but I couldn't. I didn't

remember how I'd gotten out of the desert. But obviously I had, because I had. Because I had. was here at Grandma's house in the snow. It was Christmas and I was here exactly where I wanted to be. I... I need some water. I rose from my chair and dashed to the kitchen. Mom was there frowning at the open pantry. I'm afraid we're out of soda, dear. Mom? I felt as though I was seeing her for the first time. You and Dad are divorced. Why are you at Grand's house? Mom looked at me, tilting her head gently to the left. We planned this, silly. So you could have everyone here for Christmas at the same time.

Just like you wanted, remember? It's the least we could do. Oh, this made sense. What had I been thinking? I was still thirsty and since there was no soda left, water would have to do. I pressed my glass to the dispenser on the fridge, but nothing came out. Mom shrugged. It's broken.

We'll get it fixed after the holiday. Tap water then. I approached the sink. I raised the tap and the pipes knocked and creaked. No water came out. Oh, dear. Mom's forehead knit in concern. Maybe the pipes froze?

I was suddenly aware of how the spit in my mouth was terribly, grossly thick. I hadn't been this thirsty since I'd been in the desert, which I didn't remember leaving. At the end, most of them didn't know where they were. Panic rose in my throat. Nothing mattered except water. I opened the fridge, but all that was inside were the ingredients for the holiday meal, not even a pint of milk. I looked across the living room to the tree. I ran to it, ignoring my mother's. There's cries of concern, falling on my knees at its base.

I dipped my hands into the reservoir, the pine needles sharper than I expected them to be, but I didn't care. I paused to examine the palmful of glorious liquid, but it immediately dribbled out between my fingers and onto the floor. I scooped up more, pressing it to my lips as quickly as possible, but it still didn't make it to my tongue. I tried a few more times before breaking into sobs. Why couldn't I drink anything?

And why couldn't I remember how I'd gotten out? A hand gripped my shoulder. Honey? What's wrong? I turned to her. The movement made me aware of a deep pain in my body. I don't think I made it out of the desert. Of course you did. I did?

Of course. She smiled. Did you have another flashback? She lifted my chin so that she was looking directly into my eyes. You've been through so much. I wanted so badly to believe her, but... How did you know Chad was an asshole? Her brow knit together.

What do you mean? Outside, you called Chad an asshole. But you've never met him before. She faltered. Finally, she said, You just talked about him so much, you know? It was a good excuse, but it was delivered too late. The room brightened, and I closed my eyes against the glare.

When I opened them again, I was surrounded by severe, rigid, red bluffs. I sat next to a soirro, noticing that a few of the spines were stuck in my hands. Though the air around me seemed bright, My vision darkened around the edges, like it does when you stand up too fast and your brain is suddenly not getting enough oxygen. Ava still stood above me, and for a moment I panicked, worried that she was here in this terrible place. But then I realized it wasn't Ava. Robert. You can't get water from that cactus.

We have to keep walking, Alec. It's the only way. Once we get over these mountains... I blinked, noticing a ridge of mountains in the distance. It came back to me that we'd been walking towards them, that Rourke thought he recognized one of the peaks and remembered there was a rangers station on the other side of it. I looked up at Rourke.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to experience this. The only way you'll get back home is to keep walking. Then you can give that ring in your pocket to your girl at Christmas just like you planned, but only if you keep walking. He reached out his hand. After a moment I took it, wincing as the cactus spines pierced deeper into my skin. As I stood, the desert dissolved back into Grand's living room.

Ava was helping me up from the floor. I looked around, again disoriented at the sudden shift in location. Were you in the desert word Warwick? How did you know? I looked around for signs that this was a hallucination but found none. In fact, it seemed clearer here. In the desert, static had been eating at the edges of my vision. She smiled sadly.

It's always him. He saved your life out there, kept urging you to come back to me. It's ironic that he steals you from me now. My face screwed up, and I felt like a. child. I don't want to go back there. Sh, you don't have to go back there, not ever again. Stay here with me. I'll protect you. She sounded so sure. She must be right. And even if she wasn't, if she was just some fake version of Ava created by my psyche to shield me from the pain of death, what was wrong with

that? Wasn't it kinder to end my existence here and not in the hot, unforgiving sun? I took her hand, and she led me up the staircase into the balcony that overlooked the front yard. Neither of us put our coats on. The air was deliciously frigid. Snow clung to the banister, and I dragged my hand through it, luxuriating in the icy coldness. I scooped some up and took a bite. Perfectly cold, refreshing.

Look. Ava nodded down to the ground and I followed her gaze. The family was all there. Mom, grand, the kids, hell, even shad. They were bundled up so only their faces were visible. They waved and I waved back. The last dregs of the sun were disappearing from the sky. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better,

the Christmas lights came on, throwing everything into soft, gentle light. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ring. I lowered myself down to one knee. Ava's hands clapped over her mouth in surprise, and I heard cries of joy from down below, as the others realized what was going on. Then, for only the briefest of moments, Rork's face replaced Ava's. Alec, you can't stop here. We must keep going. And then he was gone. And it was only Ava.

My beautiful, lovely Ava. Rorke was just a flash of something that had already happened. Still, he was right. I had to keep moving towards the future. As we've mentioned, buying presents for loved ones can be difficult. It's even worse when you have to buy some gag gift for a co-worker. Office gift exchanges are a real pain. But in this tale, shared with us by author Marcus Demanda,

we meet a woman who is using the opportunity to send a very special message to a very special co-worker. Performing this tale is Nicole Doolin. So remember, it's not about receiving gifts this time of year. It's all about the spirit of giving. There's an annual secret Santa gift exchange. where I work, but I never sign up for it. I've never understood the appeal of reading the wish list of a random co-worker and trying to make that person happy. Nor am I generally one who likes to surreptitiously slip things into the mailbox cubbies of my mostly anonymous colleagues.

But this year, for Harley Monroe, I made an exception, almost. I still didn't sign up for anything. However, at 7 in the morning this last Monday, when no one would have been expecting it, I slipped a triple pack of double-meant gum into his mail cubby. Harley teaches math just two doors down the hall for me. I didn't hang around to see his reaction, though. I wanted to, but I didn't. Harley's so popular with the kids. Everyone loves him. He's funny, kind, just everything you'd want for your kid's teacher. Quite good-looking, too. But he's been having a hard time of it this holiday season, just as I was.

Thought a little gift might cheer him up. And I was prepared. Well, after school was over, more than an hour after he'd left the building, I slipped in my second gift so that it would be the first thing he saw Tuesday morning. It was my hope that this one would go over better than the gum. I hadn't seen him chewing gum all day. but the shiny brass-colored iPhone protector case was pretty snazzy, if you ask me. Took me a while to catch a glimpse of him scrolling around on his phone that day.

He hadn't put the case on even though I knew it would have fit perfectly. No matter. My Wednesday present would arrive through the school's mail tomorrow. Just in time for front office staff to slip the envelope into his cubby for me. He might not get it until midday, but still it would be there. a little key ring pendant in the shape of a heart. None of these things were of much monetary value, of course, but it was Christmas, and he'd been so very sad lately.

It was the thought that counted, the spirit of giving while expecting nothing in return. That's what it's all about, right? Funny, Harley went home early on Wednesday. Oh, but that was frustrating. If he got sick now the week before winter break, he might not see my final two gifts for three. Thursday and Friday until after New Year's.

Ah, nothing I could do about it, except overnight them to his new apartment. I was running short on choices. There were only so many things in the stupid purse I thought he would recognize. Into the Thursday envelope, I slipped his girlfriend's vaccination card and her driver's license. Into the Friday box, a picture of where I'd buried her body. I'm such a fool.

I should have expected this. I'm smarter than this. On Friday afternoon, as I was about to begin my Christmas break, I found an envelope waiting for me in my own cubby. Inside of it were two items. The first was a note, and it was in Harley's handwriting. You forgot something. The second was a still shot from the front office school security camera.

Time stamped 7 a.m. Monday. It showed me in high-res and in car. going through the empty office on my way to the mail room. Right about now, he'd be getting the Friday mail. He likes to get the mail right after it comes, even when he's sick. You do get to know a person after so many years of marriage. You get to where their habits and routine are not only known but predictable. This is especially true if you also work in the same building.

I doubt he's alone. Well, Merry fucking Christmas to me! Guess I know we'll be spending it. That story illustrates what I've always said. Secret Santa exchanges should be avoided. Yes. Oh, hush you. So let's take a quick break and find better ways to make people feel good during the holidays.

Let's be honest, the holidays can be a difficult time for us mentally. And since life doesn't come with an instruction manual, it can be important to look after yourself at a time when everyone is expected to be holly and jolly. There's no need to let those expectations make you feel worse about yourself. That's why I want to make sure you know about Better Help therapy. Therapy for me means having an outlet where I can share my feelings and get a better perspective about life. Christmas time is difficult for me for many reasons. I'm glad I can speak with someone trained to help me cope.

And that's why I love to recommend BetterHelp. As the world's largest therapy service, BetterHelp has matched 3 million people with professionally licensed. and vetted therapists available 100% online. Plus, it's affordable. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to match with a therapist. If things aren't clicking, you can easily switch to a new therapist anytime. It couldn't be simpler. No waiting rooms, no traffic, no endless searches for the right therapist.

Learn more and save 10% off your first month at betterhelp.com slash no sleep. That's betterhelp.com slash no sleep. Thanks to Better Help for sponsoring this episode. Now, let's exchange the gift of horror. And seriously, I really hope you're grateful for this one. When you've spent a lot of time and money finding that perfect Christmas present, the hard part is over, right? What could go wrong to sully the occasion?

Well, as we learn in this tale, shared with us by author Beth Carpenter, if your gift isn't, shall we say, appreciated, it can really put a damper on things. Performing this tale are Ash Millman, Erica Sanderson, James Cleveland, Penny Scott Andrews, and Lindsay Russo. So remember to be thankful when someone gives you a present. That way, you'll be giving the gift of gratitude. I have always been easy to shop for at Christmas.

Sometimes co-workers have been weirded out by my enthusiasm for the gag gifts they've given me in office secret Santas. And it's not that I am genuinely delighted by penis-shaped paraphernalia. It's just that in my family, you never dismiss a present. Not at Christmas. You perform your gratitude like someone's life depends on it. The family has a lot of traditions, and this particular December, the big one is calling everyone home.

I step into my mother's house for the first time in seven years, take a deep breath of Christmas Eve. The air is already fragrant with cooking meats and the stodgy scent of boiling Christmas pudding. I can hear a clamour from the other rooms, which means my cousins are here already. My breath stutters, as if someone siphoned the air out of my lungs between one exhalation and the next. It's all right, it's all right, it is too early for the stranger to have come. All those people in there are real, actual people who are dreading tomorrow just like I am. Well, real people and Mitchell, the sorry son of a bitch. Seven years is a long time to carry a grudge, but it's not that heavy.

I turn back to my mother. Her lips are pursed and she's looking at me with opaque eyes. There are new creases around her mouth, webbed across her forehead. Well, how have you been? She slaps the door shut behind me. When I was growing up, family Christmas was always held at my grandfather's place. He was a big jovial man, broad and white-bearded like Santa's understudy. And he had a big elegant house, which he made less elegant every 7th December

with mismatched profusions of garlands and lights. He passed six springs ago, though, just withered away after Grandma was taken. So we lost both of them, and now my mom has the duty. I can see the stress in the taut angles of her face. Good, yeah. I mean, you know, can't complain. Are you... I hesitate.

I want to ask if she's confident this year, but we don't do present talk, not the day before. How's your year been? She snorts. It's a fair reaction, even if it does make me flinch. I keep track of her. I keep track of all of them. Make sure I know what they like, what they might want,

but I don't visit, and I mostly don't call. We've never been close. Faced with her in the flesh, there's nothing much to say. You get close by accident in this family. Everyone knows that anyone could be taken, and even between parent and child, there's a precautionary distance. I loved grandma, accidentally, and it still hurts like someone lodged a shaft of lightning in among my memories,

charging everything related to that love with 300 million volts of pain. With mom? Well, it's difficult. That's all. You know. She turns away. I have a lot to do. Make yourself comfortable. I nod at her back and get to toting my suitcase up towards my old room. In the email she sent around, talking about this year's organising,

she said that everyone else would have to get hotel rooms overnight, but that she'd cleared out my old room for me to stay in. That is practically an emotional overture, and I'm grateful. I step onto the bottom step of the staircase, just as the living room door bursts open and Mitchell barrels out, looking tense. He sees me and slows down until he hits the tempo of a man walking on eggshells. It's probably too late to turn away without saying anything and not be rude. I'm delighted to have the opportunity to be rude to Mitchell. I jerk my shoulders round and hurry up the next few steps, my suitcase thumping behind me.

What? Hey! He clicks the living room door shut. Really? Come on, Alexa. Screw you, I say, without turning. Are we really doing this? We don't have to. The creaky step squeals under me. I started hopping over that step as soon as my legs were long enough,

but it's been so many years that I've lost the habit. You can stop talking. It wasn't my fault and you know it. His voice is tight and even indignant, the bastard. Nobody blames Rod for Uncle Sterling or Anna for Sydney or... Fine, we're really doing this. I turn around again and stare down at him. Uncle Sterling and Sydney made bad choices.

But Grandma... She made a bad choice for me. Just because you would have liked it doesn't mean I was wrong. It's not like I wanted not to like it. And remember, if it wasn't her... It probably would have been someone else. At least it was someone who'd lived already. Anyway, it's been seven years.

That's a long time to be mad at me for something I couldn't control. I gripped the banister and grit my teeth. Yeah, she's been dead seven years because you couldn't manage a little gratitude for something she handmade, something she spent weeks on, thinking of you all the time. His face relaxes suddenly and he sighs. Giving up on getting through, probably. I don't know what to say.

He shrugs. I'm not really a homemade Christmas sweater sort of person. You're a son of a bitch, I say, picking my suitcase up again. Yeah, maybe. I stomp the rest of the way up to my room. It's changed a bit. The walls are the same electric blue, but mom's added new shelves full of work folders,

and the bed's been moved to a different corner. The curtains still have teddy bears on them. I really wanted new curtains when I was a teenager, but we never got round to shopping for the fabric. I feel like a kid again just looking at them. I sit on the bed and put my head in my hands. I hope no one gets taken tomorrow. I hope I don't get taken tomorrow.

I'm pretty confident I got things everyone will like, and I know everything I've got abides by the rules. A glossy hardback of urban photography for Jennifer, who started posting wistfully about the cities of the world on Facebook. A collection of classic horror bluephrase for Mark, who's a completionist just getting into horror as a genre. Aunt Jeannie is a jigsaw nut, and we have to organise amongst ourselves

so we don't all get a jicksaws every time, which might take the shine off a little. This year I am the assigned jigsaw giver, and I found her a pile of pretty ones with the cottage aesthetic she likes best. Mitchell, designation Bastard, is getting a set of embossed rolling pins for making patterned cookies because he likes baking. Mom, I got a small maple tree in a pot, which was hell to wrap and which just barely counts as a surprise. She'd talked a lot about how she wanted one recently, and in the year before the family Christmas, she wouldn't have bought it for herself. I just had to make sure no one else had got her the same thing, and I had it in the bag.

Then so on, so forth. No money, nothing outrageously expensive. nothing anyone else has also bought. It has to at least technically be a surprise. Those are the rules. The actual evening part of Christmas Eve grays into the scene as the fairy lights go on across the houses around us, and Mom knocks on my door.

She's already in pajamas, her hair loose down around her face. There are grey streaks there that I didn't notice when she had it pulled back. It's going to be a cold night. Here. Before I can open my mouth to say anything, she pushes a hot water bottle towards me.

Put that by your feet. I blink at her and then laugh, a sharp cracking of tension. Okay, okay. Even when I was a child, the rare time she fussed, she did it with a total deadpan. I'm a little touched. She nods once and turns on her heel.

I close my bedroom door again and manage a small smile down at the hot water bottle. Time for bed. I guess. One more sleep before Christmas. Wonderful. I stay awake for a long time, cold despite Mom's best efforts,

staring up at the plaster swirls on my ceiling and thinking in circles. Maybe it'll all be fine. Maybe we'll all have done it all perfectly. Everyone will all love their gifts. Maybe the stranger won't get anything this year. Christmas spirit. I feel it building through dinner.

the way it always does. The food is good. Nobody's ever accused my mom of being a bad cook. But even as I munched through delicious roast potatoes, I know the stranger is here. One of the people sitting around this table, one of the people I think I remember, is really something else.

Something that should terrify me. And yet, there's this buzzing excitement growing underneath the frost. It's almost time, it's almost time. Mom passes out dessert, we all compliment her, it tastes great. I put the fork down, my finger's almost shaking. Now, it's now. I suppose it's time for presents. My breath catches and it hits.

The delight, forgetful, blissful, ploughing through the dread. Most of us don't even fight it anymore, but this time I do. I try and hold on to fear, to clarity. We go through to the living room, we arrange ourselves, we make a start. Mom taking her role as the one to hand things out. First present is from Cousin Rod to me. I like the unwrapping best. Aunt Dorothy beams and rustles her fingers through the wrapping paper

I've peeled off of a new book of a series I follow. Soaring swords, book three of the Hawksblood trilogy. It's about a girl who faces down monsters. She always wins. Look at this, so pretty! And the look of anticipation we all get? I shudder a little. The thrill fills the house like a charge in the air,

a rush of childlike joy, channeling through all of us until the wider world slips away. Everything is this one glowing day of the year, this one special time when we get to indulge and be indulged. My heart is beating a little faster than normal. and my eyes keep being drawn to the enormous stack of presents wedged under the tree.

They wouldn't all fit, of course, but Mama's made a good go of stacking a representative sample under there. It's a riot of colour and pattern, shining with reflected light from the lights on the tree. Mom's standing by the tree, oddly still. When I focus in on her,

I realise she's looking back at me, her eyes locked to my face. I've never seen that expression on her face before. Mom? My voice threads through the quiet murmurings of the family. She actually jumps and jerks her eyes away from me. Her hand shoots out and she plucks a present out apparently at random.

Creamy wrapping with cartoon reindeer on it. An elaborate bow. She reads the tag. From Mitchell. Anna's face lights up and she makes grabby hands. Mom passes the present to Mark, who passes it to Jennifer, who tosses it over to Anna, who's pulling the paper away the moment she catches.

it. Some kind of anime figure drops into her lap. I didn't know she collected them. Mitchell's jaw and clenches slightly. I can see sweat shining on his forehead. A present from Rod to me. A present from Mitchell to Anna. So Rod isn't the stranger. Mitchell isn't. Anna isn't. I look around again. Almost everyone seems happy. Aunt Dorothy is smiling so hard that a dimples and ear breaching the structural integrity of her face. Pick one out for yourself. Mom stiffens, then shakes her head.

But after a moment, she picks up a box and seats herself on the arm of Uncle Clive's chair to unwrap it. It's from Philip. Philip looks eager rather than like his heart is trying to bludgeon through his rib cage, so I guess he's let himself forget. Or maybe he's that confident about his selection. Not Philip, not mom. His selection turns out to be fancy bath soaps.

I consider that a ridiculously risky choice, but Mom actually smiles slightly before going back to the weird, great outlook she's just adopted. She looks old and tired and familiar. I wonder what she knows that I don't. It's warm in here, and it smells a little of wine. There are snacks laid out on a side table, nuts and crisps and biscuits. The light from the tree gleams golden highlights off everyone's faces, and there's a constant low murmur of conversation as the family maker running commentary on the gifts.

If I relaxed for a moment, I would get drawn down into it. The gentle, cozy glitter of it curls around me like an embrace. The next present mom pulls out is from me to Uncle Clive. It's an archery experience for two, which is the sort of thing he's into. He looks thrilled. Mitchell glances over at me, his... expression relieved. I don't know how to feel about him worrying over me. Chocolate, a cheese hamper, fancy wool for knitting. So far so good. The pile under the tree

has shrunk a little, though we're still some distance of having to get more presents down from upstairs. Aunt Jeannie gets her jigsaws and almost cries she's so pleased with them. I find myself grinning at her helplessly, swollen with peace and goodwill. The family hums congratulations. A new present lands on my lap. I lean into the anticipation, letting it flush up inside me from my fingertips to the roots of my hair. Red and green stripes, box-shaped. It doesn't rattle too much when I shifted around.

I can clear everyone's expectant gaze on me. The paper pulls away and I inhale, pleased. It's a pack of spices with a set of recipes from around the world. I'll enjoy experimenting with it when I cook. I look up and smile and everyone ooze and talks about their favorite flavors. There's sweat on the back of my neck. It's warm in here, but not that warm. Why?

And why does my jaw keep locking? And why does my stomach feel like it's full of curdling milk? I'm happy. So why? The cousins are smiling, surrounded by piles of wrapping paper. Uncle Clive looks like he's about to nod off. He had a glass of wine with the meal and piled up on the round. roast potatoes and stuffing. There's nothing wrong. There's no danger. Mitchell catches my eye and I

know I'm angry with him and then I know why. And that brings me back to earth. Right. These feelings aren't real. There's some magic, some psychic compulsion the stranger puts out to make us forget what's really happening. I don't know why they bother. None of us would try to fight them anyway, not anymore. We've had a few generations to find out what happens if we don't play by the rules. Grandma told me some of the stories a long time ago. There are still a few people who haven't been on either the giving or receiving end. It must be one of them.

I clench my jaw until my teeth ache. But the gentle little pulse of happiness inside me persists. I really shouldn't. Aunt Dorothy reaches for the snack table. But if you can't be bad on Christmas, when can you? Every other day, I guess, I say, distracted. Her arm brushes against mine. I've been so caught up in struggling with myself

that the sensation makes me flinch. Her smile turns a little confused for a moment, but then the crease between her eyebrows eases away. I can see the fairy lights reflected in her eyes. It's so good to all be together again, isn't it? I think of Grandma. Not all of us. The wrinkle in her brow returns for a breath, smooths away.

Your mother's done such a good job. I make affirmatory mumbling noises and look over at mom again. She's hit an efficient rhythm. Whatever was bothering her before, it has been pushed back behind her deadpan. Presents arrive at their intended destinations with dispatch. It seems to me that I have never seen such a variety of Christmassy patterns as there are on the paper this year. Scraps blow across the floor every time someone shifts. I'm losing track of my list of who was given and who is received.

Not Rod, not Anna, not Mitchell, not Philip, not Mom, not Uncle Clive, not Aunt Jeannie, not Mark. Is Jennifer? Oh, that's right, photography. She hasn't opened my book to her yet, but Mitchell got her a little drone with a camera attached and her beam was bright enough to cast shadows. Not Jennifer.

Aunt Dorothy is looking at me as she pops half a biscuit in her mouth and bites down. Flex of sugar sprinkle onto her skirt. I swallow. George hasn't featured yet either. It could be him. It could be... I remember Aunt Dorothy. She sends me money every birthday.

She's chatty. She laughs a lot when you speak to her, even if you don't make anything resembling a joke. She kept telling me how big I'd got every time she saw me until I was well into my twenties. What did I get her this year? I'm sure it was something. I can't make myself turn and face her. The vertebra in my neck feel fused. For George, from Mark.

The stranger beside me finishes her biscuit and hums happily. Delicious! I close my eyes and focus on breathing for a few moments. In, tickling over my tongue, out, whooshing over my teeth. Dinner wants to make a reappearance. I can taste acid and brussels sprouts at the back of my throat. Swallow.

Breathe in, breathe out. The room swims when I open my eyes again. Everything's blurry and oversaturated, as if the colours we've brought into the holiday are struggling against each other for a space. For a moment, none of the faces I see seem familiar at all. We don't know what the stranger does with the people it... collects. They just vanish out of the world like they have never been. We've always thought of them

as dead, but maybe it's worse than that. Some part of me wants to turn on Aunt Dorothy, try and fight, not just sit next to her, waiting for the judgment to fall. But I don't do anything. I wait, like all of us, have always waited. I watch Mom hand out more presents, pausing occasionally to open one herself, and I breathe slowly in. And I wince every time a pleasant gets an even slightly muted response. When it comes to the gifts I get, I focus all my energy on gratitude. I will use them. I will enjoy them. They prove my family knows me, that they've taken time to think about me.

What's family for, except to remember once you're dead that you like chocolate and graphic t-shirts and schlocky fantasy novels where there are good guys and they always win? beside me, Aunt Dorothy's breath is fast and excited. I notice, gradually, that as mom scoops out presents from under the tree, she seems to be avoiding one. It was on top, but she's been pulling things out from underneath until it sits alone in a cleared part of the floor. Now we're almost at the end, she's running out of alternatives. It's not quite the last one left when she finally picks it up.

There are a couple of others at the back, out of comfortable arms, She doesn't look at the label. To Alexa. From mum. She walks it over to me, ignoring the outstretched arms of cousins offering to pass it along. She stops just in front of me, her eyes focused on her hands. Anxiety howls through me. There's never this much ceremony to handing a gift over.

It's the opening that everyone hangs on. She won't meet my eyes. The deadpan is firmly on, but it looks a little strained, like she's fighting to hold it in place. The present is rectangular, heavy, no yield to it on the top and bottom, a little space between what's underneath and the wrapping along three sides. A hardback book? I ripped through the paper, throwing scraps of it onto Auntie Dorothy's skirt. Soaring swords, book three of the Hawksblood trilogy.

the same as Rod got me. She must have forgotten to check. I'd been waiting for this one to come out, and she must have just missed Rod claiming it. A stupid accident. First, there's only surprise, then before I can pull back, before I can contextualise a tiny sting of disappointment.

I don't need two of the same book. No. Oh no. I look up again into my mother's grayly resigned face, and I reach for the gratitude, for the love, for all the... It's the thought that counts I can muster. Thank you. The word slide slipshod out of my mouth. I'm so...

I was really looking forward to this one. Now I have two, but I can return one. Get the money. It's fine. Thank you so much. No good. It's useless. The stranger in its familial guise is very still by my side. alert like a hound smelling blood in the air.

Mom looks into my eyes and the granite expression flickers into a tiny, soft smile. Regretful. Sorry. 300 million volts of pain. No. She turns and goes back to the tree to get the remaining presence. Some ugly part of me hopes one of them is a disastrous choice. Booze for Mark the recovering alcoholic. A day of falconry for Aunt Jeannie who's terrible.

terrified of birds. Someone else can get taken. Not my mother, who I haven't figured out to be close to yet. But no, everyone else is pleased with their haul. All the other givers are safe. Mom, inconguous, ridiculous, goes out into the hallway to put her coat on for the journey. Aunt Dorothy leans over, breathes in my ear. Thank you. In our final festive tale, we meet a family spending Christmas in a rather uncommon way, sailing the seas. But being aboard this ship isn't as happy an occasion as it should be. You see, the family is mourning a lost loved one.

And in this tale, shared with us by author Manon Lyset, we learn that their tribute to the departed doesn't quite have the effect they hoped for. Performing this tale are Kyle Acres, Kristen DiMecurio, Aaron Lillis, Jesse Cornett, Sarah Thomas, James Cleveland, Danielle McCray, David Alt, and special guest, Mitch Gerrids. So perhaps you should celebrate the holidays on solid ground. It's probably much better than taking the Christmas cruise. Do it. Mom sounded as impatient as she looked with her lips. purse and hands clenched. I was very cognizant of the fact that the clock was ticking. Every moment I stalled was a second closer to being discovered and stopped by a crew member. I peered over the garland-wrapped railing and saw what had to be at least a hundred foot drop into the sea below. Grandpa never liked

heights. Mom nudged my shoulder, wordlessly urging me on. I couldn't. It wasn't right. The frustration spread to my aunt and uncle, who acted as lookout. on either side of us. Grandma watched silently, leaning against the ship wall. Dad was at the bar, probably. He wanted no part in this. Hurry up! I had to swallow a knot in my throat to reply.

My voice came out in a cracked squeak. Mom, I can't. It was too much. It was all too much. My nerves were already shot from sneaking Grandpa aboard after a request had been explicitly denied by the cruise line. I had gotten the short straw and had done the bagging, carrying, and lying. And now, for some reason, I was supposed to pour his ashes overboard as well.

It didn't make sense. I barely knew the guy. If he acknowledged my existence, it was in non-committal grunts and disapproving shakes of the head. Grandma Ethel shoved past me like. a football player. She ripped the Ziploc bag from my hands, leering at me in that nasty, judgmental way only the elderly can pull off. I'd seen that look before. The first time she'd seen my nails painted black. You'd think I'd spat in her face. I shrugged and stepped aside. As though to punctuate her disappointment, Mom shoved the memorial wreath into my chest and gestured

to hold it up. I mean, I call it. call it a memorial reef, but really it was a life ring wrapped in tinsel and artificial pine leaves with a few plastic pointatas dotted throughout. They were all over the ship to add to the Christmas Cruises holiday fair. Mom had stolen it along the way. She bowed her head, opened the Ziploc bag, and attempted to pour her late husband's ashes into the glistening Mediterranean Sea. I remember when we received the ashes two months prior.

I remember being surprised by how little of him was left after. his cremation. Grandpa had been a tall, built man, seeing him reduced to a single baggy of leftovers, and not even full. It made me feel very small in the cosmic sense. He was once an entire person, now he was wafting through the air like dandelion fluff.

An ill-fated gust of wind blew Grandpa right back into Grandma Ethel's face as though he'd gone in for one last kiss. I would have laughed if it had been anything but criminal. remains. Instead, I winced. Mom rushed into action, putting a hand on her shoulder while dabbing a tissue, she pulled out of seemingly nowhere over Grandma's ash-dusted face. Um, I looked at the wreath in my hands. Should I set it down? I guess I took too long to take action because it was Mom's turn to glare as she ushered Grandma away from the railing. Cool. Love disappointing multiple generations in the same day.

Uncle Patrick gestured to the ocean. Quick, throw it in. To show respect. Throw it in? Throw what in? Huh? He tutted at me, acting as though I was the dumbest person in recorded history. I'd remind him of that the next time he asked me to reprogram his PBR for the millionth time.

Once again, I found the object I was holding snatched from my grasp. He meant the life ring. never mind i'll do it myself uncle patrick stepped to the ledge and that's when my heart really dropped not when the tsa had questioned me about the powder i was carrying which i'd filled out all the paperwork for not when the ship's crew asked me to open my luggage and had somehow missed the baggie tucked into my hoodie not even when mom hoisted the life ring from the wall moments after a crewmate did his rounds and still in eye shot no I finally felt true anxiety at the thought of my uncle throwing valuable property overboard. Everything else we did could be excused as rude but harmless sitcom-esque shenanigans. This fell into the realm of illegal. Don't. Uncle Patrick spun the ring overboard as though throwing a frisbee. The wind made it teeter on its way down.

I found myself dying of secondhand shame and letting out a pathetic, drawn-out little groan like a broken shoe toy. His boast and ire were both directed at me. Enough. I'm fine. Grandma pushed my hovering mom away. She turned the ocean and did the cross gesture, remumbling her earlier prayer for good measure. Mom, meanwhile, bowed her head and then tossed the tissue overboard as well. All of this was a mistake. From start to finish, there were a million things we could have that didn't involve skirting the rules and sneaking human cremains on board.

I'm sure the rest of my family, the dad aside, felt perfectly justified in what they'd done. While I didn't agree with their logic, I could tell they blamed the cruise line for refusing a grieving family's final request. They always were good at justifying their actions, regardless of whether they were harmless or heinous. Let's get going. If we hurry, we can catch the end of the parade. I'd almost forgotten about the Christmas parade. Since most guests and crew were attending, it had given us a window of opportunity to spread Grandpa's ashes without getting caught.

We each gave the sea a last bow of the head, even me, to show respect. And then headed to the main deck where we found carolers and elves handing out candy canes and Santa preceded by eight dudes with reindeer antlers. The coveted role of Rudolph had been given to a child from a random draw at dinner the night prior. She was having a grand old time.

We found a spot near the back in time to hear the carolers passing. Someone in the crowd was coughing up a storm. It was one of those dry, wheezing, hacking coughs that wouldn't let up. And it was loud. It was bad enough that the carolers went quiet to check if someone needed help. As soon as the music stopped, so did the coughing. The choir director swept the area with a gaze, gave a puzzled expression and then motioned for his singers to concede.

continue. The coughing also resumed. They did this a few times before deciding it was probably someone messing with them. The show must go on, as they say. As the procession continued, I noticed a few oddities in the audience. I'd been scanning the crowd to search for the rude coffer, but instead I found pursed lips and tongues sticking out and disgust. These were mainly on the kids in the crowd, the ones who'd unwrapped it and tasted the candy canes. Some wiped their tongues on their arms to get the taste off. They couldn't be that bad, I thought. But then again, we were overseas.

Maybe European candy canes taste different. Maybe they have a bit of spice in them. I was curious, so I accepted one from a passing elf with bright pink cheeks and a green and black outfit. She winked at me. I blushed, probably matching her painted complexion. I unwrapped part of the candy cane down the long end. The only acceptable way to eat a candy cane. Let me be clear, people who eat them arch first are menaces to society.

I stuck the shaft in my mouth and the kids were right. The candy cane was nasty. I'm not sure it warranted making big, dramatic grimaces, but it was definitely off. Probably long expired. It was like someone had sucked out all the flavor leaving, behind a hint of something else. Cardboard? No.

It was more like sand or rock. It was kind of chalky too. I stepped away from my family momentarily and committed mine to the burial at sea I'd failed to give grandpa. Peppermint to peppermint, stripes to stripes. In sure and certain hope that no one will lick you again. It had probably become an unlucky fish's supper. The crowd thin as the celebrations died down. Elves walked around carrying garbage bags,

trying to get kids to throw away their canes in them rather than on the floor. It seemed the crew had been made aware of the problem because they were profusely apologizing to the parents. I followed my family down and threw the confusing labyrinth leading to our state rooms on the lower decks. Grandma was the best at navigating this way, since she and grandpa had spent the better part of the last decade on and off ships just like this one. Dad was already in his and mom's room and gave me a wave good night. My aunt and uncle retired to their room, a room with two beds, a room they were supposed to share with grandma,

up until we got on board and good old Uncle Patrick bullied me into taking my grandma. Apparently, it was very important to me that he and my aunt have their own beds. Ah, look at how small these beds are. There's no way your aunt and I can both fit in one. Why don't you make yourself useful once, and you and your grandma share room? I knew the real reason. I'd done everything I could to avoid bunking with grandma. I don't mean to speak ill of my family, but she turned flatulence into an art.

At night, she would crop dust the room as though she couldn't sleep outside a nest of stink. It's worth noting her sense of smell left her years ago, so she didn't suffer the consequences. Before the trip, I'd paid extra for my own room, a private room, with just one bed, so I'd be guaranteed to be safe from her. Uncle Patrick was well aware I'd back down at the slightest hint of conflict, and so Grandma and I shared a stinky state room. I slept on the armchair in the corner as far as I could get from the source of noxious fumes, which wasn't saying much.

If you've ever been on a cruise, you know how small these rooms are. If I unfolded my leg, I could touch the corner of her bed, but even a little distance helped a lot. As for the chair, it was good enough. I'm right at that age where I can still do that, but I'm starting to feel it in the morning. A few more years, and I'd be complaining that I can't sleep on the floor anymore at parties. If I still go to parties.

I don't know, what do people do in their 30s exactly? Y'all are too old to do the cool stuff, but too young to join knitting clubs. I dread the day the 30s swallow me whole. In any case, it was night, and I was on my laptop watching a horror movie while Grandma farted up a storm. I suppose I could have gone on the tiny balcony, but with the wind and time of year, it could get cold at night. Instead, I opted for headphones and pulled my collar over my nose. I somehow fell asleep like this.

I don't remember seeing the end of the movie, nor do I know how long I'd been sleeping, but an odd sound woke me up, which I mistook for the movie. However, my laptop had gone cold from being dormant for a while, so that couldn't be it. I rubbed my bleary eyes, which were absolutely caked in crust. And it wasn't just on the corners of my eyes, but on my lashes, too. And it stung when I wiped it away. It was like the sandman had accidentally sneezed while dusting me. I was dealing with this when I heard the sound again. There was no mistaking it.

It was someone breathing. It sounded abnormal. pained, almost like the wheezing coughs during the parade. An odd, low gasp on the inhale and a powdery exhale curtailed by a choked cough. The sound elicited a mental image of a thousand-year-old mummy coming back to life, breathing in the stagnant air of its sandy tomb. I genuinely thought it was grandma choking on something. I was at her side in a matter of seconds, gently shaking her awake to make sure she was all right.

She did not appreciate this. Grandma started swatting at me as though protecting her purse from a burglar. Grandma, grandma, it's okay. Damon. Grandma, it's me. It's Max. Calm down. She didn't let up.

Her frail arms batting up and down, striking anything within reach. Her face was a mask of horror. She shrieked like a banshee, and by the force of her scream, I knew for a fact There was no way those were the same lungs I heard breathing so laboriously moments ago. It was only when I backed out of range, arms up, I finally noticed she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the foot of the bed. Satan! I felt my heart lurched like they had when we threw the life ring overboard.

I tried to rationalize it, telling myself she must be suffering from sleep paralysis, even though she was very much not paralyzed, and I'd been the one to wake her up. My head slowly turned, unsure of what I'd find at the foot of the bed. But right as I started to see a silhouette in my peripheral vision, a blinding light poured into the room, illuminating particles of dust hanging in the air. Uncle Patrick stood in the doorframe, looking just as pissed off as when I accidentally scratched his car.

What's going on here? I replied, or rather, tried to. Nothing, she had a nightmare. Grandma sat up in front of her. bed, arms shaking, and features twisted like a melted portrait. She was still looking at the foot of her bed, but there was nothing there. Uncle Patrick was less focused on calming grandma and more on chastising me. Max, what the hell did you do to her?

Nothing. I thought she was choking, so I checked on her. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I could hear doors opening in the hallway and people filtering out. Oh no, we'd made a fuss. I'd never hear the end of this. This would be the latest in a long list of family events I'd somehow ruined simply by existing. Grandma finally quieted and covered herself to hide from the small gathering of people at the door. Uncle Patrick turned to them and closed the door.

I could hear him through the thin walls reassuring everybody. Grandma peaked out from under the covers. Turn on the lights. It's three, Grandma. Go back to sleep, okay? Lights! I flicked the lights on. She turned over and closed her eyes, not saying another word.

I groaned internally. How was I supposed to sleep? I needed darkness and a good bed, but had neither. Sying, I circled Grandma's bed on my way to the armchair, only to walk over something that hadn't been there before. It felt like very coarse sand. I crouched and examined what turned out to be a small pile of something. It was mostly grayish-white, powdery, but with some larger chunks of a porous texture.

They were bone fragments, I realized. They were cremains. Then suddenly, the dots connected. I'd read creepy pastas. I'd watch horror flicks. I'd miss the signs because there wasn't a camera focusing on the shadow lurking behind me or the creepy music building tension to a crescendo. This was Grandpa, whose memorial service had gone awry all because of

me. If I'd only spread his ashes like I was supposed to, the wind wouldn't have blown them back onto the ship. I wouldn't have disturbed his rest. He wouldn't have come to me tonight. I couldn't sleep the rest of the night. I used the spotty, complimentary ship Wi-Fi to look up how to deal with hauntings. It was the usual affair, purify the home with sage, get blessed by a holy man, burn the body. But, well, I didn't have sage. you can't exactly get a priest in the middle of the sea, and Grandpa had already been incinerated, hence the cremains. There wasn't much literature on post-cremation hauntings. Some sources claimed keeping the ashes could invite spirits, but there was nothing on hauntings

after the ashes are spread. The only thing I could do was scoop up the cremains and chuck them over the side of the ship to appease Grandpa. And there was no dustpan in the room, so I used two pieces of paper in my bare hands to pick up the mess, folding the paper to hold the ashes in place. Then I opened the sliding door and stepped onto the cold patio. If you're wondering why we didn't use it earlier for the memorial, it's because it was tiny. It was only big enough for one person to sit comfortably and for two to stand, Max. I flicked my makeshift envelope overboard and muttered a respectful goodbye to Grandpa. Again. Morning finally broke, and the ship came to light. with the pitter-patter of feet heading to the breakfast buffet.

I closed the 20-something open tabs on my laptop and convinced myself my little ritual had done the job. Grandpa was at rest. Christmas was safe. I patted myself on the back because no one else would, that's for sure. Even if I told everyone what I did, they'd never believe me. When the family joined up to do whatever fun-filled activities were on the schedule today, I told them I was tired and would join them later.

No one cared. Uncle Patrick even looked relieved that I wouldn't be bothering them during the big, all-important gingerbread house competition that morning. Once they were out of sight, I fell into bed and passed out. It felt so good to be able to spread out and lie down, even if it smelled like grandma. It was afternoon by the time I rejoined the group, finding them right where I expected them to be, poolside, sipping on holiday drinks. North Pole La Colada, peppermint schnapps, that kind of thing. I never understood people who lounge by the pool. Like, what's the point exactly?

Why do you need to be in the vicinity of the pool? I don't think a single one of them touched the water all trip, but they always insisted on using up a row of the outdoor lounge chairs and glared and rolled their eyes whenever the kids splashed around too much. There were lounge chairs all over the ship, but they wanted these for some reason. I digress. Despite clearly not minding my absence, Mom still managed to make the jab at me.

Look who finally decided to join us. I was sleeping. Wouldn't need to sleep during the day if you hadn't made a scene last night. I shrugged. This was not an argument I would win, and it was a waste of energy to even try. Instead, I dove into the water

and began to swim in the deep end where I wouldn't be in the way of rowdy kids and vice versa. it had the added benefit of being farthest away from the family while still being in eyesight. Through trial and error, I learned that as long as I was in their orbit, it mentally marked me down as participating. We spent all afternoon there, and it was probably the most fun I'd had all trip. I could feel my worries float away, which really makes me sound like some corny ad for the cruise line. That evening was a big turkey banquet in the Great Hall.

The menu would repeat itself in two days on Christmas proper. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, was pizza for some reason. Like the past two evenings, crew members were dressed in various Christmas-themed outfits. One guy went to Scrooge in his nightgown and was being chased around by three crewmates covered in sheets to look like ghosts. They were having a blast. Carolers would stop by every table and let the families decide which song they'd sing next. That's how we wound up listening to jingle bells. three times in a row. At least it was in different languages.

Atina at the next table tried to get them to sing it a fourth time, but his sister smacked him upside the head to stop him. Captain Santa also made an appearance, going table to table and shaking everyone's hands, thanking them for choosing their cruise line for their holidays season, emphasis on sea. Things started to go sideways when he came to our table. He went clockwise, thanking mom, dad, uncle, and aunt. Then when he slipped between grandma and I, he froze momentarily. There was a visible shift in his demeanor to anyone paying attention. He had a fiery look in his eyes underlined with disgust. He let go of her hand and snatched mine with the speed of a viper's strike. He squeezed me so hard I thought my bones would break. I tried to slip out of his grasp,

but he only squeezed harder, grayish nails poking into my skin. And that's when I noticed the liver spots and protruding veins that felt out of place on the hands of a man that couldn't have been more than 50. My gaze traveled upwards to give him a pleading look. Under the Santa hat and behind the fake beard and mustache, I saw yellowed scleras and milky blue cataract eyes. His features were familiar enough to say it was Grandpa, but at the same time it wasn't a one-to-one match. It was like this man was wearing a latex mask of Grandpa. His familiar features were sitting on different topography. on someone else's bone structure.

It was an affront to nature that filled me with dread and made me look away to escape the horror. I saw Grandma, rubbing the hand he'd shaken. Her skin bore red marks the shape of his individual fingers. An unsettling sight for sure, but a welcome reprieve from his face. A face that suddenly came back into view as he bent down to look at me, as though by malice, like he knew it didn't make my skin crawl. His mouth slowly began to open,

and I swear it was like a gaping hole in nothingness. I didn't see teeth or a tongue or pinkish flesh. I saw a chasm of darkness and distantly the faintest embers of fire. I could hear crackling and popping from within. When he exhaled his hot breath, I heard that dry wheeze that had woken me up last night. I felt as though he was trying to pull me into him like a fly in a spider's web. And even though there were five other people at the table, nobody seemed to notice the danger I was in.

Dad and my aunt were talking about stocks. Grandma was looking down at her hand. Uncle Patrick and Mom were laughing about something. And me? I was about to be swallowed into the abyss, a whirlpool that was somehow simultaneously freezing cold and boiling hot. A place where I'd go as numb as my now stark white fingers deprived of blood circulation. Grandma's arm rose towards Captain Santa. A loud noise resonated through the Great Hall,

rather multiple sounds all around us at once. The carolers went quiet, gasps were heard, conversations were interrupted. I hadn't realized Captain Santa let me go until I saw he had his back to me and was scanning the room. His grip had been so tight that I could still feel the constriction. For once it was my mom who proved more observant than me. Look, the reed. She was right.

All the life rings masquerading as wreaths had tumbled from every wall. When Captain Santa turned to check on us, he was himself again, free from Grandpa's age-worn features. Is everyone okay? We're fine. The captain turned back to the room and said, in his loudest and boomyest voice, Must have been a wave. Nothing to worry about, folks. Back to the best sea cities.

I could have bought the wave excuse if the ship had swayed at all, but it hadn't. Hell, if anything else had moved, I would have believed it. If the turkey had flown off the plate, if the egg-nog punch bowl had spilled, if the carolers had stumbled. But none of that happened. All signs pointed to Grandpa's malignant presence. I tried my best to enjoy the rest of the night,

but I was looking over my shoulders and jumping whenever anyone brushed past me. My hand was throbbing in pain, red and bruised. No one noticed or cared that I was struggling to eat without it. Grandma also looked jumpy. I suppose I shouldn't have shown her the same apathy I was receiving. But after years of it, sometimes you'd just check out. After supper, they took away the tables, turned the chairs towards the stage, and rolled down a large screen to play Christmas movies.

It would go on all night, but I left halfway through the second movie. It's hard to really explain why, but the movies didn't feel the same as they had the dozens of times I'd watched them before. It's like the events of the night had tainted them somehow. The same old scenes lost their magical flair. The feeling was similar to rewatching an old comedy special and realizing just how problematic the jokes you used to laugh at are. Like, oh, you're not funny, you're just an asshole. I went to bed expecting another nighttime incident, but if anything happened, it wasn't consequential enough to wake grandma or myself.

The next morning, Christmas Eve, didn't feel like morning. The beam of light normally filtering through the massive gap in the curtain was dimmer than normal. I figured it was cloudy, and I didn't investigate it until later. My family went about our normal morning routine of heading to the breakfast buffet, but as we crossed paths with other cruise attendees, we started hearing excited murmurs. I didn't hear the word snow, but it was heavily implied. we didn't see it for ourselves until we reached a higher deck in an observational hallway lined with windows sure enough a blanket of dirty white coated the outside in a scene that would have been normal back home but was wholly out of place in the middle of the mediterranean the snow was at least an inch thick and flakes were still falling from the sky but their behavior wasn't quite what i was used to rather than making a winding path downwards they seemed to hover and blow back up like dust as though they were lighted than snowflakes.

Was it artificial snow? Had the cruise line rented snow cannons to surprise us? Not this shit again. Anybody bring their shovel? Wouldn't fit my luggage. I came here to get away from the snow. I swear if we do this again next year, we're going down to Mexico. Uncle Patrick sighed and waved dismissively at the snow.

A kid, probably seven. excitedly ran by, dragging her mother in tow. They opened the door and the snow billowed in. She wasn't prepared for the cold that should accompany snow. She was in shorts and flip-flops, but she didn't flinch or shudder. She kicked the snow and tossed her head back, opening her mouth wide and sticking out her tongue to catch snowflakes. I'd be lying if I said I knew what was happening in that moment,

but I felt an undercurrent in my stomach like something was wrong. I couldn't look away. I was vaguely aware my family had moved on without me, leaving me rooted in the spot as everything unfolded. The kid's face twisted after catching a few snowflakes. It showed confusion, not glee. She and her mother dropped to the ground and made snow angels, or they started to, at least. The child was undeterred, but as the mother's hands touched the blanket of white, her expression shifted from amused to upset. She inspected her hand rubbing her thumb against her two forefingers.

I could see her mouthing, what is this, to her. herself. The door opened again. More guests headed outside to play in the snow. Just like the mom, one by one, the smiles dropped. Words were exchanged. More confusion. Some looked towards the coastline, others squinted at the sky. I knelt and ran my fingers over some snow that had snuck into the observation deck. Snow that should have been melted by now. It was room temperature. The texture was unmistakable. It was ash. The crew eventually showed up and ushered everyone back indoors. They claimed it must be volcanic. Air currents must have blown a cloud of ash towards us. I might have been naive enough to believe them had I not found tiny bone fragments among the dust.

While I've never seen volcanic ash, I'd handled Grandpa's cremains. I recognized it for what it was. The only thing I couldn't rationalize was the sheer volume of it. If the ghosts of buried bodies secrete ectoplasm, could those of cremated ones do the same with ash? The mother patted down her now dust-coated daughter. I could see pieces of my grandpa clinging to her scalp like dandruff. I felt sick to my stomach. I did not tell them what they were, for their sakes. But I did politely approach and gesture to her head, at which point her mom plucked the stones out. Christmas Eve was a claustrophobic day. The crew spent most of it outside, wearing masks and sweeping ash from the deck. There were signs on all the doors not to go out.

Volcanic ash isn't safe to breathe in. I'm sure human remains aren't either. My state room in the lower decks felt even more restrictive. When I went to check my emails, I saw what had caused the dimness that morning. The ash had formed a barrier over the patio door and porthole. Ocean spray had cemented a thick layer of it in place, as it had done with all the floors within range of the water. Since it wasn't as much of an issue on the upper decks,

I took my laptop and spent most of my day upstairs, wishing I were in the pool. They played Christmas movies in the Great Hall again, a lot of the same ones that had been playing until the early hours of the morning. That day's scheduled activities, both indoor and outdoor, were cancelled, and movies were the equivalent of using TV to babysit your kids,

except most of us were grown adults. We were pretty much left to our own device, as the crew was short-staffed dealing with the cleanup, which is a damn shame because I would have paid to see my uncle participate in the 10 a.m. Christmas limbo, which is just like regular limbo, but with a candy cane-colored pole. On top of cleaning, another faction of the crew was busy on the upper decks, preparing for the fireworks display scheduled that night.

When you're already limited to the indoors, losing a few floors is not the best, let me tell you. It was uncomfortable. It was cramped. The pizza supper was late. People were growing impatient, snapping at one another. The ship seemed darker, and not just because they hadn't gotten around

to scraping the ash from the portholes. Uncle Patrick rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table. We better get a refund for this mess. The pizza being late? No, for being locked indoors all day. I didn't pay to look at the walls. Mom nodded. At the very least, we should get a discount on our next cruise.

I'd prefer a refund, stingy assholes. They're a backup itinerary for today. Don't they plan for rainy days? They do, but it was all hands-on deck today, literally. That's no excuse. We're paying customers, and I ain't paying for them to sweep the deck. I watched the pizza trolley roll closer and closer. I was sure they'd piped down once they started eating.

Just a few more tables. I agree. This whole thing is unacceptable. I'm going to ask to speak to the captain. I opened my mouth to say something, but grandma beat me to it. Oh, you two shut up! I'm sick and tired of your bad attitude. All day you've been complaining.

Some things can't be helped. If your father and I threw a conniption, every time something went, wrong on a cruise. We'd be banned from every cruise line by now. Isn't that right, I'm... She turned to her left, reaching a hand towards the empty wall,

and the color drained from her face. Her stern cloak fell. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands slowly dropped to her lap. I thought... Mom wrapped an arm around her shoulders. I forget he's gone, too. I felt...

I know. I could... him breathe beside me. Mom, it's okay. I miss him. I forget sometimes that family is human. It's not often I see their vulnerability. Heartbreaking as it was,

it was really nice to see everyone rallying around grandma right then. We wrapped her in a great big hug, devolving into crying messes that probably made nearby tables very uncomfortable. This was why we'd come on this cruise. To be together. to support grandma to spend Christmas in a place full of good memories and to be far from what had to be a painfully empty house

at some point someone noticed that pizza had been delivered we sat back down and spent supper listening to grandma share stories of her and grandpa's lives together from the day they met to the last time they held hands she remembered their lives in remarkable detail and when she was done talking about him the topic turned to my mom and my uncle to what they were like growing up

she wove the tapestry of our family's life which was full of stories I'd never heard before I felt like a historian uncovering a well of information on an ancient dynasty when the sun set and there was nothing left to say grandma smiled kissed each of us on the forehead and said she was going to lie down for a bit

wake me up in time for the fireworks please Grandma loved fireworks. An announcement came over the intercom system. I can't recall the exact wording, but the gist of it was that it was safe to go outside again, and they'd brought out more chairs for the fireworks, which would begin in a few hours. In the meantime, they played jazzy Christmas music

and ushered people to the dance floor. There wasn't much of a rush to get a good seat because we'd be right under the fireworks, no matter where we sat. Mom and I danced. Dad wolfed down another pizza. My aunt and uncle canoodled. It had been a perfect night.

There was another announcement, 20 minutes before the fireworks began. Mom turned to me. Could you go get your grandma? I nodded and headed to the elevators. I did get turned around a bit since I didn't have grandma to help me navigate, but I eventually found my way

to the familiar corridor leading to our stateroom. That's when I heard screaming. It was faint, partially drowned out by the Christmas music on the intercom, but I could tell it was grandma's voice. I ran the rest of the way and could hear loud thumping coming from our shared room. The door was shaking. I reached for the knob. I pulled. Nothing.

It was locked. I knocked on the door with one hand while patting myself down, looking for my key with the other. Grandma, I'm here. Open the door. She was getting frantic. The banging was getting louder. Dust was trickling. out of gaps in the door. I found the key and forced it in the lock, only to find it wasn't

actually locked. It didn't click or unclick or anything. So I tried the door again, more forcefully this time, and it opened an inch before slamming shut again by a force that couldn't have possibly been my frail old grandma. Someone or something was in there with her. Grandma, get away from the door. I didn't know if she could. I didn't even know if she heard me, but I knew one thing. I had to get in there. even if I ran the risk of knocking her to the ground. I took a deep breath and rammed my shoulder into the door, forcing it wide enough to slip inside. The stateroom was in chaos, with no grandma in sight.

Ashy powder coated every surface and obscured my vision. Sheets and pillows were all over the place. The curtains were on the floor. Our belongings were spread out. There were nail marks dug into the wall and the floor, which I think were grandmas, made an attempt to not get pulled towards... Towards what? The dust made me cough, so I covered my mouth with my shirt.

Grandma shrieked, drawing my attention to the patio. That explained why I couldn't see her. The door was still covered in thick ash. I bridged the gap and heard a muffled cry. She was twisted at an odd angle, as though someone unseen was pinning her shoulder to the guardrail. I could hear her struggling to inhale. I didn't know what to do.

None of my research on hauntings could have prepared me for this. I can't even convey just how powerless I felt looking through the doorway. I can't imagine what it must have been like for her. I braced myself against the wall and reached a shaky arm to her. I know I should have joined her on the patio, but it was like my goosebumps that turned to Velcro and clung to the inside of the stateroom with unbreakable force. I feel like a colossal asshole.

There was a whistling overhead, followed by a crackle. Suddenly the night's sky was covered in color. In between the burst, since I could see a swirl of ember and ash in the shape of a person standing over Grandma, holding her down. I'd made a mistake thinking Grandpa had been after me when all signs pointed to her.

She had spread in ashes, not me. I should never have let her out of my sight. Seeing Grandpa's imposing figure eclipsing the fireworks should have scared me, but instead, it somehow staled my resolve. A protective switch was flicked, and I hopped out on the patio and tried to punch him in the face. That might have worked if he'd been corporeal.

My hand passed through blazing hot air As though I'd stuck it in the oven Go for Grandma I grabbed her by the wrist And yanked her towards the door She staggered forward But I could feel resistance And it wasn't coming from her

The ashy silhouette had her by the arm I pulled Harder I threw a leg into the stateroom to anchor myself Max please I'm trying He's got me On the count of three

Push yourself to towards me. I adjusted my grip. This was going to work. It'd be two against one. She'd be sent tumbling forward. I'd grab her by the waist. I'd twist us inside and close the door.

We'd retreat to the hallway, and we'd get off at the next dock. We could fly home. We could be safe. One. Two! With our combined strength and momentum, the first part of my plan came into fruition.

We got her free. She started tumbling towards me. I'll lose my grip for just a second to grab her by their waist like I plan violently, suddenly, and without warning. It rocked down and I could feel grandma slipping through my fingers and towards the railing. It seemed to happen in slow motion, in snippets, like a strobe light in a dark room or a flipbook. And even as I examine my memories now, I'm still not sure whether I saw what I did or if it was a fabrication of my mind to fill in the gaps.

I could have sworn I saw her falling back and going through the railing as though she were a ghost. And right behind her was grandpa, catching her over open waters. I could have sworn that as the fireworks flashed behind them, they lingered in the air for longer than possible. And that her look of horror softened into a smile, as though she accepted her fate. Maybe I think these things because it makes me feel better about what happened. Maybe I imagined her slowly turning towards his ashes. spectral form and placing a hand on his cheek before they both blew away like leaves in the wind. I don't know.

What I do know is as soon as time sped back up to normal, the hanging ash fell to the ground in an instant. I suddenly became keenly aware of Earth's gravity, suddenly heavier, as though I'd gone momentarily weightless. It took a moment for the shock to wear off. As soon as I had my senses about me, I pulled the emergency man overboard lever in the hall, couldn't remember walking to. The alarm blared throughout the ship. The crew jumped into action. Despite searching through the night and well into Christmas morning, neither they nor the various coastal authorities that came on the scene were able to find Grandma's body. They even had divers combed

the waters. If she could have been found, dead or alive, she would have. Ultimately, they said she must have sunk when she hit the water. Perhaps dying on impact. They blamed the rocking of the vessel on the ash. They claimed it built up on the propellers and caused the ship to lurch. The cruise line was deemed not responsible for the accident. They called it an act of God. A freak incident caused by volcanic ash from a source they were unable to trace, and which no other nearby vessel reported seeing. I know better. I'm not sure what the rest of my family thinks. They don't really talk about it. Whenever we talk about the cruise, we talk about the last evening we spent together.

The stories and the laughter and the tears. Mom says Grandma wanted to be with Grandpa for Christmas. I know it's the other way around. I know Grandpa wanted to be with her for Christmas. But in the end, if I choose to believe the events as I remember them, her last moment, that smile on their face. I think they both got what they wanted. Listen now, good folk of the village.

Hasten now, for the darkness comes. Keep the candles lit. The dark will not win this day. But soon a shadow will return to your door. Raising nightmares ever more. The No Sleep podcast is presented. by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone.

Our production team is Phil Micolsky, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our creative content manager is Olivia White. Our editor-in-chief is Jessica McAvoy. Please visit the no-sleeppodcast.com for show notes and more details about the people who bring you this show. On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep Podcast, we thank you for being a supportive season past member and for sharing Christmas Frights with us. And we wish you and yours the very best for the festive holiday season. This program is Copyright 2022 by Creative Reason Media Inc.

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