Friends and family gathered to honour long held traditions, some dressed in their Sunday best, some in acrylic sweaters with built in flashing lights. A song played in the background, one that brought images of fluffy white snow and presents under an elaborately decorated tree. Most in the room did not pay attention. They spoke loudly over each other, drank, and at least pretended to be merry.
Young Rory stood apart from it all, with his eyes wide and focus above the fireplace mantle, but with his body pointed away, one foot up on his toes, ready to move. He didn’t notice the heavy frame of the painting hanging there, or the words scratched into it. What held a firm grip on his attention were tall, crooked horns, narrow, dark eyes, and a wide mouth full of jagged teeth. As he stared, his hands twisted into each other. “Scary.”
“It’s just a picture, my love.” Rory’s mother patted his head, then drained her half-empty wineglass as she turned to set off and find more. “No need to be scared.”
Rory tried for a brief glance as his mother disappeared into the crowd, but the painting demanded his attention. His foot twitched, and he took one step back. “Scary,” he said again, then darted to find his mother among the forest of legs surrounding him.
In the background, the festive song ended, and another began. A familiar song, but in a minor key. The crowd did not appear to notice, which also meant that they didn’t notice the painting above the mantle, and how the demon’s eyes grew narrower still, and his smile so much wider.
***
Merry Christmas, everyone.
***
Classic Shane! I love how you leave the story hanging (cue the spooky music). Merry Christmas. See you in the spring.
Merry Christmas, Margaret! Thank you!