December 11
Winter - A Story.
Happy to be included with so many other great writers in Nathan’s Advent Calendar of ghost stories. I hope you all enjoy my story. To read the previous tales, check them out here:
Winter
Harlan led the last mare into her stall, her breath foggin’ in the cold air. The barn door needed fixin’ but he hadn’t got around to it yet.
Tucker’s truck pulled up, one headlight cuttin’ through the snow, the other dark like it’d been for months. Engine rattlin’ the same knock-knock-knock that meant the timin’ chain needed replaced.
“Thought you might need help out here,” Tucker said. Snow stuck to his shoulders, his hair.
“Power went out an hour ago.”
“Lines went down. Saw it on Ridge Road. Big tree took ‘em clean out.”
Harlan lifted his arm, wiped sweat off his brow. “Ridge Road, huh.”
They settled into their rhythm without talkin’ about it. Tucker held the flashlight while Harlan mucked out the stalls, the beam followin’ his movements like Tucker could predict where he’d step next. The barn smelled like hay and horse sweat and the cool tang of snow blowin’ through the gaps in the boards.
“Mary Sue had her baby,” Harlan said, liftin’ a forkful of soiled straw.
“When?”
“Last night around suppertime. Girl.”
“She pick a name?”
“Emma Louise. After her grandmother.”
“The one that lived over in Catlettsburg?”
“That’s the one.”
Tucker leaned against the stall door. He watched Harlan work the way he always did when they were alone in the barn.
Harlan moved to the water buckets, broke the thin film of ice already formed. Tucker shifted closer, his hip against Harlan’s when he bent to lift the bucket. Natural, the way they’d done for years.
“Your cousin Beth called the house earlier,” Harlan said. “Wanted to know if I needed anythin’ from town before the storm gets worse.”
Tucker laughed. “You won’t take help from her.”
“You sayin’ I’m too proud?”
“Too stubborn.”
Harlan grinned. “Same thing.”
They moved to the back stalls. The mare there pacin’, tail swishin’, wouldn’t settle even when Harlan held out grain.
“She’s gettin’ colicky,” Tucker said, slid his hand through the slats. The mare shifted away but not hard, just uneasy. “Been buildin’ for days from the look of her.”
“Started couple days ago. Won’t eat her grain.”
“You got the mineral oil?”
“Up at the house.”
“Better get it tonight. She’ll be down by mornin’ otherwise.”
Tucker’s hand settled on Harlan’s lower back as he straightened, fingers spread against his spine through his coat. Harlan turned into it, let Tucker press him back against the rough boards of the stall. Tucker’s weight against him so familiar. His mouth tasted like peppermints when they kissed, peppermints he sucked to try to cover the fact he’s still smokin’ even though he promised Harlan he’d quit.
“Missed you today,” Tucker said against his mouth.
Harlan smiled. “Missed you, too.”
Harlan tucked his face in against his lover’s neck, closed his eyes, breathed him in deep.
“I need to get that cedar tree into Grammy’s,” words muffled against Tucker’s throat.
“The big one by the fence?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s too big for her front room.”
“I told her that. But it’s the one she pointed at.”
Tucker pulled back and Harlan ran his thumb over a scar on Tucker’s jaw from a biking accident when they were kids. “C’mon, I’m cold.”
They finished the stalls, the horses settlin’ now, the sound of ‘em chewin’ a steady rhythm underneath the wind. When they walked to the barn door, the snow already piled knee-deep against the fence posts, still comin’ down hard.
“You headin’ in to Grammy’s?” Tucker asked.
“Yeah. There’s soup on. You comin’?”
“In a bit.”
“Where you goin’?”
“Stop in and check on my mom, make sure she’s good for the storm.”
Harlan shoved his hands in his pockets while Tucker got into his truck. Tucker rolled the window down, grinned at him.
“Love you,” Harlan said.
“Love you, too.” Tucker’s truck started rough, backfired once before catchin’. Harlan stood and watched the single light disappear into the white. The silence settled around him and he tipped his head back, let the snow drift over him, then trudged to the barn’s side where the cedar tree lay. He dragged it through the snow to Grammy’s house, the branches leavin’ a wide trail.
Grammy had the door open before he got there, standin’ in her housecoat and slippers.
“That tree’s too big.”
“It’s the one you pointed at.”
“I pointed at the one beside it.”
“You pointed at this one.”
They wrestled it through the door together, Grammy fussin’ the whole time about needles on her clean floor. They got it propped in the corner by the window where she’d had a tree every Christmas for forty-six years. He moved her rocking chair out of the way. Sat the box of ornaments on her couch, the old glass ones wrapped in tissue paper, the paper angels he’d made in third grade pressed flat in a shoe box.
Grammy studied him while he brushed snow off his shoulders. “You look tired.”
“Long day.”
“Horses all settled?”
“Yeah. That back mare’s gettin’ worse though.”
“The bay?”
“Yeah. Tucker thinks she’ll be down by mornin’ if I don’t get mineral oil in her.”
Grammy nodded, went to her stove. She ladled soup into two bowls, the kitchen smellin’ like soup beans and cornbread. They sat at the table, the oil lamp between them.
Harlan took a few bites then sat back in his chair. Closed his eyes. “I miss him so much.”
“I know you do.”
“It’s my fault he took Devils Ridge in that storm last year. I killed him.”
Grammy reached across, covered his hand with hers. “It wasn’t your fault. He wanted to be here with you on Christmas Eve. You can’t keep blamin’ yourself.”
Harlan opened his eyes, stared at the empty table, one bowl in the dim oil light and listened to the slow creak of her empty rocking chair in the corner, back and forth, back and forth.
“I miss you, too, Grammy.”
In the mornin’ the mare was down with colic.
Harlan found Tucker’s glove in the barn, the leather one with the ripped thumb he’d been meanin’ to mend.
He put it in his pocket, kept it there.
Thanks for reading!
Tomorrow, December 12th, Anne Welborn!
 | A guest post by
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This one got me. Wonderful Andy. Reminded me of all the people I miss.
Now that's a story and a half Andy. It made me stop and think about the ordinary things I did with the people I knew until one day they weren't there anymore.