Christmaphobia
Stuart Maitland walked out of the main doors of Puritan Falls High School and crossed the parking lot to his Subaru wagon. As he drove home, the math teacher saw several homeowners stringing sets of lights on the eaves of their houses and in the trees and shrubs on their lawns. It was only the day before Thanksgiving, and many people had already put up their Christmas trees.
Stuart himself didn't bother with decorations. Even as a child, he never hung his stocking on the fireplace mantel, put ornaments on a tree or cut intricate snowflakes out of white paper. Although he enjoyed receiving presents as much as the next kid, Christmas held no magic for him. In fact, his friends and classmates had often teased him by calling him Scrooge and Grinch.
This Christmas, however, things were bound to be different. His wife, Lilianna, was eight months pregnant, due to deliver their first child the second week of December. Although the baby would be unaware of its surroundings, Lilianna insisted they celebrate an old-fashioned, family Christmas.
"We're going to do this right," she announced. "A big tree, presents, stockings, decorations, the never-ending meal ...."
"That's a lot of work. Are you sure you're up to it in your condition?"
"Whatever I can't manage, you can help with."
It was not a question but a statement that was not open for debate. Stuart had no choice but to reluctantly agree.
He was only a mile from his house when he heard his cell phone. From the ring tone, he knew it was his wife.
"Hello, honey," she said. "I called to remind you to stop at the nursery and pick up a tree. I want to decorate it tomorrow after we have Thanksgiving dinner."
Stuart, who had forgotten about the errand, swore under his breath as he made a U-turn and headed back toward town.
"You forgot, didn't you?" his wife laughed.
"It did slip my mind, but no harm done. I'll go pick up the tree now. I'll probably be home in about forty minutes."
As Stuart waited in line to pay for his six-foot-tall spruce, he stared at the children in the playground across the street. Some were riding on swings, some were climbing on monkey bars and others were engaged in a game of kickball. This was a sight that should have warmed his heart, especially since he was about to become a father, yet the scene evoked only loneliness.
What's the matter with me? he wondered.
The woman in line in front of him completed her transaction, and Stuart paid for his tree. He should have gone directly home, but the sight of the children in the playground depressed him. Hoping to improve his spirits, he made a detour to the video store. No doubt a good comedy or fantasy would dispel his melancholy.
He parked his car on Essex Street, across from The Quill and Dagger, and then walked toward the video store. On the corner of Essex and Danvers stood a Salvation Army Santa Claus, ringing a bell beside his collection kettle. The ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting of the bell mesmerized Stuart. Although the sound was soft, it soon blocked out all others. He couldn't hear the cars that drove by or the people that passed him, talking and laughing.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
Up ahead a woman emerged from the alleyway between two buildings. What distinguished her from the other pedestrians was her odd clothing. She was covered from head to toe in black. The skirt she wore brushed the ground as she walked, and on her hat was a black veil that covered her face.
At first glance Stuart assumed she was one of those Gothic creatures that frequented the Bell, Book and Candle, but then he noticed she was dressed in a costume of a bygone era. Even the black baby carriage she pushed was an antique pram that had long since been replaced by strollers that folded up easily to fit in the trunk of a car.
"Perhaps she's an actress dressed in Dickensian clothing for a local production of A Christmas Carol," Stuart surmised.
As he watched her, the mysterious woman walked to the end of the block, turned right and then disappeared behind Fletcher's Pharmacy. With the woman gone, the Salvation Army Santa Claus's bell fell silent and the noises of the small New England town returned.
Stuart promptly forgot about renting a DVD and stopped at Charlie's Bar for a drink instead.
* * *
The following day Lilianna's parents spent Thanksgiving with their daughter and son-in-law. Afterward, Stuart watched football with his father-in-law while the two women decorated the tree. It was a pleasant holiday, one spent in like fashion by millions of families across the country. Thanksgiving was more than just a day for turkey and gridiron, however. It was also the start of the holiday season. December, normally the most hectic month of the year, would be even more chaotic due to the expected arrival of the baby.
"If there's anything I can do to help you, just give me a call," Lilianna's mother offered. "I'm only two towns away."
"Thanks, Mom, but Stuart has agreed to lend a hand."
"The offer stands. I can help with shopping, wrapping gifts and writing Christmas cards."
"I know, but I would like to get my husband more involved in the seasonal festivities. He was raised in a foster home, and he never really enjoyed Christmas. I intend to change that."
During the half-time show, Stuart and his father-in-law left the basement sanctuary—the "man cave" as they refer to it on HGTV—and ventured upstairs to the kitchen for chips and beer.
"While you're taking a break from the football games," Lilianna called, "you can help me with the tree."
Her husband was less than enthusiastic.
"I thought you and your mother were taking care of it."
"We are, but I want you to put the star on top. Neither Mom nor I can reach."
Stuart did as she asked. Then he pressed the switch on the power cord, and his wife and in-laws stood back, admiring the finished product. A chorus of ah's followed. Only Stuart was silent. To him, there was no joy in seeing a blue spruce decked out with garish glass ornaments, blinking lights and silver tinsel. But when he looked at his wife, he was moved by the child-like wonder in her eyes. He wished he could feel the holiday spirit if only for her sake, for he loved her dearly.
* * *
The day after Thanksgiving—ominously referred to as Black Friday—is the busiest shopping day of the year. Stores across the country have huge sales and open their doors hours ahead of schedule to lure shoppers inside. Although just weeks short of her due date, Lilianna pressured her husband to drive her to the Puritan Falls Mall where she hoped to buy most, if not all, of her Christmas presents.
"It's really not necessary to fight the crowds at the mall," Stuart protested. "You can buy most of your gifts online."
"Humbug!" Lilianna remarked with a laugh. "What fun is it to shop on a computer? I like to go out to the stores and see the decorations and hear the carols playing."
Like a dutiful husband, Stuart walked at his wife's side through Penney's and Sears. When Lilianna wanted to go into Bath & Body Works, however, he volunteered to sit on one of the benches in the center court and watch the bags.
"I'll be out in a few minutes," Lilianna promised him. "I only have a couple of things to buy."
As Stuart watched his wife walk away, he was amazed that her feet weren't hurting her, especially since she was walking for two.
My feet are killing me, he thought, and I'm not pregnant.
He closed his eyes, content to relax for even a few minutes.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
He opened his eyes and saw a Salvation Army Santa Claus manning his post near the entrance to the mall's food court.
An army indeed! I wonder just how many of those Santas there really are. Everywhere you go, you run into them.
As Stuart pondered the number of bell-ringing Santas there were in Puritan Falls alone, a woman donned in nineteenth century black apparel, pushing a pram, walked out of Victoria's Secret and headed toward the mall exit.
Maybe she's not in a play, Stuart thought. Maybe she's just one of those eccentric individuals who pop up in small towns like dandelions.
Suddenly, the Christmas carols stopped playing, and the shoppers moved soundlessly through the silent mall. Only the Salvation Army Santa's bell made any sound.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
Stuart began to panic. Why couldn't he hear anything except that damned bell? Sweat broke out on his brow. His breath became ragged, and his legs started to tremble. A moment later he passed out on the floor.
He woke in the emergency room of the Puritan Falls Hospital with a light shining in his eyes.
"Can you hear me, Mr. Maitland?" Doctor Sarah Ryerson asked.
"Yes. What happened?"
"You blacked out. I'd like to keep you here a day or two for observation and run a few tests."
"Is it really necessary? My wife is pregnant. I don't want to leave her alone now."
Lilianna's voice came from her husband's side.
"I'm going to stay with my parents until you're released. You stay here and get those tests."
"The boss has spoken," the patient laughed.
Two days later Stuart was discharged from the hospital with a clean bill of health. There was no medical reason for him to have lost his hearing as he had. He didn't have another such occurrence for close to a week, but when he did, the ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting of the bell and the sight of the woman in black had a devastating effect on him.
Stuart and his wife had gathered on the town common along with most of their neighbors for the annual tree lighting ceremony. Before the switch was thrown, the high school chorus—many of whom were former or current students of Stuart's—performed a medley of traditional holiday favorites. Halfway through "Joy to the World," the math teacher turned to see a Salvation Army Santa Claus ringing a bell beside his collection kettle.
Although Stuart could see the band going through the motions of playing and the mouths of the kids in the chorus open and close in unison as they were singing, he heard no sound but the ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting of the bell. A moment later, the woman in black pushed her baby carriage down Gloucester Street. Before she reached the intersection with East Essex, both the woman and the carriage vanished before his eyes.
With a rush, all sounds returned. Stuart put his hands over his ears at the sudden onslaught of noise. When he felt a frantic tugging on his jacket sleeve, he turned to see his wife's anxious face.
"What's wrong? Are you feeling faint again?"
"I want to get out of here—now!"
On the ride home, Lilianna suggested her husband see a doctor.
"Why? They ran all those tests at the hospital, and they couldn't find anything wrong."
Lilianna chose her words carefully, not wanting to upset her husband any more than he already was.
"Maybe it's not a medical doctor you should see."
"You think I'm crazy?"
"No. But you might be feeling the effects of too much stress—what with the holiday season and the baby coming and all."
His wife's words sounded logical. After all, he hadn't experienced anything out of the ordinary until he went to buy the Christmas tree, and his episodes always involved a woman with a baby carriage. Perhaps he was harboring some deep-rooted fear of parenthood.
"You might be right," he conceded. "I suppose talking to someone couldn't hurt. You remember April Brower, the language arts teacher?"
"Sure. I met her and her husband, Tom, at last year's faculty Christmas party."
"Her brother is a psychiatrist. His name is Penn. Lionel Penn, and he practices right here in Puritan Falls."
"Good. Why don't you give his office a call and set up an appointment?"
* * *
Stuart was surprised when he saw Lionel Penn standing at the bay window in his office, gazing out to sea.
"You're not at all like I'd imagined you'd be," the patient declared.
"Oh? What were you expecting?"
"Honestly? A small, nerdy guy with glasses and a goatee."
Lionel laughed. It was a deep, masculine sound that seemed to fit perfectly with his ruggedly handsome features.
"Funny, I had the same misconception about high school math teachers."
"Touché!"
"Have a seat, Mr. Maitland. I see you teach at the high school. My sister teaches English there."
"I've known April and Tom for several years. They're both nice people."
Lionel normally enjoyed conversation, but since he charged by the hour, he decided to come to the point.
"So, tell me what's bothering you."
Stuart sat on the couch beneath Lionel's Winslow Homer seascape. After accepting a cup of coffee from Judy Stanfield, Dr. Penn's secretary, he began recounting his experiences with the Salvation Army Santa Clauses and the macabre woman with the baby carriage.
Lionel listened patiently to the man's story. When the teacher concluded his tale, he turned to the psychiatrist, hoping for an explanation. What he got was a series of questions about his childhood.
"Were you ever afraid of Santa Claus when you were a young boy?"
"No, but then I was never one of those gullible kids who believed in him. I knew he was nothing more than a myth, so I never sat on his lap at the mall, never wrote him a letter and never expected him to bring me anything on Christmas."
"What about other children? Did you come from a large family?"
Stuart frowned.
"I was an orphan."
Dr. Penn and his patient went on to discuss Stuart's relationships with other children in the foster home and his classmates at school.
"I always got along with my peers. I like kids. That's the reason I became a teacher."
"And you have no misgivings about becoming a father?"
"None at all. I'm looking forward to it. Lilianna and I both want a big family."
"Let's go back to your being an orphan. How old were you when you lost your parents?"
Again, a frown appeared on the teacher's face.
"I don't know. I have only vague memories of my childhood, mere fragments."
"I think the key to your problem might be found in those fragments," Lionel hypothesized. "Memories are often like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Once you put them all together, you'll be able to see the whole picture."
As Dr. Penn suggested, Stuart spent a good deal of his spare time trying to recall his past. He carried a small notebook and pen with him at all times, jotting down random incidents from his early childhood. Even when he was in the labor room with his wife, he kept his notebook in his shirt pocket and took it out from time to time when another submerged memory was brought to the surface. Slowly the pages of the book were being filled. On the day the Maitlands brought their infant daughter home from the hospital, the proud father filled in the last page of his memory book.
"I'm glad you're done writing," his wife joked. "Now you can forget about the past and concentrate on making new memories."
For the first time in his life, Stuart was looking forward to Christmas. He loved spending time with his wife and child, and as a teacher he would have ten days off for the Christmas-New Year break.
"I'll have ten days to spend with my little girl," he declared excitedly when Lionel asked him about his plans for the holidays.
"You haven't been hearing bells lately or seeing the woman with the baby carriage?"
"No," Stuart replied. "I haven't seen or heard anything unusual since the night of the town tree lighting. Maybe it was just a fear of fatherhood after all. Now that the baby is here, I'm perfectly happy with the situation. No, happy isn't the right word. I'm ecstatic."
"And your memories? How's your recall coming along?"
"I filled one notebook and started another. Of course, they're still just pieces. There's no picture yet," he said, borrowing Dr. Penn's jigsaw puzzle analogy.
"Well, I have no doubt that eventually they'll all fit together."
* * *
On Christmas Eve the village of Puritan Falls was blanketed with a three-inch covering of snow. Lilianna was delighted at having a white Christmas, especially one that didn't present too much difficulty to holiday travelers. The new mother rose early, and after feeding and changing her baby, she immediately began cooking. Her relatives were due to arrive by noon, and she had to get the turkey in the oven.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Stuart asked.
"You can keep an eye on the baby for me" she replied.
At 10:30, however, Lilianna realized the milk she bought to make eggnog had gone sour. She asked her husband to make a quick trip to Shop 'n Save to buy another gallon.
Stuart went outside, brushed the snow off his car and headed for the grocery store. The parking lot was packed, as was the store, with last minute shoppers and those who, like Stuart, had run out for only one or two items. He parked his car in the last row, and as he approached the store entrance, he saw another Salvation Army Santa Claus standing beside a collection kettle.
The sounds of Christmas Eve abruptly slipped away, replaced by the ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting of Santa's bell. Stuart looked around, knowing the lady in black was sure to materialize. He was not disappointed. This time, however, she didn't appear across the street or a block away; she walked with her baby carriage directly toward him.
The ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting of the bell grew steadily louder.
Hoping to solve the mystery for once and for all, Stuart reached out his hand and touched the woman's shoulder. As she turned around, her veil parted. He screamed when he saw the naked skull beneath the black veil and the tiny skeleton in the pram the woman pushed.
When the sounds of Puritan Falls returned moments later, he noticed a crowd had gathered around him. A young cashier, a former algebra student of his, was speaking to him.
"Are you all right, Mr. Maitland? Would you like me to call 911?"
"No, thank you, Jennifer," he replied, managing to regain a modicum of composure. "I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. Probably something I ate at breakfast."
The crowd of people soon dispersed since the shoppers were eager to return to their homes and families. Stuart went into the store, bought a gallon of milk and hurried back to his car. When he got home, he put the milk in the refrigerator and called to his wife, who was getting out the good dishes from the china cabinet in the dining room.
"Here's the milk. I'm going to go upstairs now and wrap your present."
Once upstairs, however, Stuart took out his two notebooks and read what he had written in them over the past few weeks. He found a number of startling discrepancies that he hadn't noticed when he wrote down his recollections. He picked up the phone and called Lionel Penn.
"It's like there are two conflicting sets of memories," the math teacher explained. "They can't possibly both be true."
"When you come for your next appointment," Lionel said, "bring those notebooks with you. We may be dealing with false memories your brain has manufactured. Perhaps there is something in your childhood that you're trying to block out, something your conscious mind is beginning to remember and at the same time trying to keep buried."
When Stuart went back downstairs moments later, his wife was in the kitchen making eggnog from an old family recipe. Lilianna noticed her husband's face was devoid of color.
"Did you have another panic attack?"
"Yeah," he confessed, not wanting to go into any detail.
"Why don't you go lie down on the couch and take it easy? The baby's sleeping, and I can handle things by myself."
Stuart didn't protest. He was much too upset to play the gallant, self-sacrificing husband. Instead, he walked into the living room, kicked off his shoes and lay down on the sofa. Around him, the room was decorated as festively as a Macy's department store window.
Do I have a fear of Christmas after all? he wondered. Dr. Penn is well known for his treatment of people's fears. Wouldn't he know if I was suffering from one?
Was there even a scientific name for such a condition? The word Christmaphobia came to mind, but was it a legitimate condition like claustrophobia or agoraphobia?
As Stuart pondered the possible clinical name to describe a fear of Christmas, his eyes flitted around the room. He was completely surrounded by the sights, scents and sounds of the holiday season. It was as though he were in danger of being overpowered by Christmas.
Suddenly his eyes were drawn to the tree, to two ornaments that hung side by side: a bell-ringing Santa Claus and a pink pram with the words Baby's First Christmas written on it. Another so-called panic attack struck with a vengeance.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
"No. Not again," he whimpered, closing his eyes tightly.
The bell stopped ringing, but when Stuart opened his eyes, he was no longer in his living room in Puritan Falls. The dream—if indeed it was a dream—took him far away to another place, another time.
"Merry Christmas," a man called to him.
Stuart found himself in a small general store that offered old-fashioned products he doubted were still on the market.
"Merry Christmas," he replied automatically, as he walked out of the store and stepped into an alien world.
There was no ocean nearby, no picturesque New England village, no quaint shops or colonial homes and no town common. Stuart Maitland found himself in a rural, mountainous area with a temperature much warmer than that of a late December day in Puritan Falls, Massachusetts.
He watched his feet—were they really his feet?—walk along a dirt road, heading toward a place that a part of his brain identified as "home." Time suddenly speeded up as though he were fast-forwarding through a dull segment of a movie to get to a more interesting scene. Stuart saw an old farm up ahead. A feeling of love and comfort enveloped him at the sight of the two-story farmhouse. It was a feeling that was to shatter like glass when he discovered his home had become a slaughterhouse.
Everywhere he looked Stuart saw death. His two young sisters had been killed, and their bodies dragged to the barn. They lay on their backs, as though asleep, with their arms folded across their chests. In the house, he found the bodies of his mother, his oldest sister and his three brothers.
Who could have done such a heartless, brutal thing?
The answer was obvious. For some time now Stuart had feared his abusive father would seriously hurt his mother or one of the children. As the oldest son, he was often called upon to protect his younger siblings. Yet when they needed him most, he had failed them.
When the enormity of the heinous crime hit him, he fell to his knees and wept. His mother, brothers and sisters were all dead. But what had become of his father?
The blood on the victims swirled together with Stuart's tears in a bizarre kaleidoscope of grief and guilt. Just as the weight of his anguish was about to crush him, the high school math teacher woke to the familiar setting of his Puritan Falls living room.
* * *
"Do you believe in reincarnation?" Stuart asked his psychiatrist when he met with him on January second.
"I don't know," Lionel answered honestly. "Why?"
"I believe I've lived before and that the memories I've kept submerged are from a previous life. In that earlier incarnation, my father murdered everyone in the family except me."
Stuart handed the psychiatrist his two notebooks and a manila folder containing printouts of articles he'd found on the Internet.
"On Christmas day of 1929," the patient said, summarizing what was written in the articles, "Calvin Barker, a thirty-seven-year-old North Carolina farmer, shot and bludgeoned his wife and six of his seven children to death. The oldest son, Jake, had gone to the store for supplies. When he came back home, he discovered his family had been murdered. His father's body was later found in a nearby wooded area where he'd committed suicide."
"And you believe you are this Jake Barker reincarnated?" Dr. Penn concluded after Stuart described his dream for him.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Frankly, no. There are a number of reasons for your dream. You might have heard about these murders when you were young. It says here in this article that they have become the basis for a number of local legends, the subject of several popular folk ballads and the source of many ghost stories."
Stuart shook his head, adamantly denying the doctor's theory.
"I think it's more than that."
"Did you research Jake Barker? Find out what happened to him later in life?"
"Yes. He eventually married, and he and his wife had a child. So the Barker bloodline continued. It's possible that I'm a descendent of Jake Barker—and of his father, Calvin."
Lionel detected a note of fear at the mention of Calvin Barker's name.
"And you believe you might be the recipient of that madman's terrible legacy?"
"Yes," Stuart acknowledged in a strained voice. "And that thought terrifies me."
* * *
When Stuart returned to his house, his wife and daughter were gone.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
He followed the sound upstairs and into the baby's room. In the middle of the nursery was the black pram.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
A moment later the woman in the long black skirt seemed to float into the room. She stopped beside the pram, leaned over, picked up the child—his child—and held it in her arms.
Ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting.
Stuart tried to rescue his daughter from the black-clad phantom. When the two struggled, the woman's hat was torn away. The countenance behind the veil was no longer that of a skeleton. The face was Lilianna's.
* * *
Stuart waited alone in the dark living room for his wife to return.
"Where have you been?" he asked when she walked in the front door with the baby.
"The pediatrician's office. Remember? I told you last night that Morgan's one-month check-up was today."
"That's right. I forgot all about it."
"How did things go with Dr. Penn?"
Stuart shrugged his shoulders.
"He thinks that now that the holiday season is past, I won't have any more panic attacks."
"That's good. Want to watch the baby while I make dinner?"
As he held his daughter in his arms, he wondered if the murderous farmer had ever felt the outpouring of love that he, Stuart, felt for his wife and child. The math teacher kissed the infant's head and breathed in the smell of baby oil and talcum powder. He knew in his heart he would never hurt his daughter, that he would die to protect her.
"I will succeed where Calvin Barker failed," he whispered to his baby girl. "I will love and care for you and your mother—and your sisters and brothers, too, when they arrive. This time I won't fail you. You will all live long, happy lives and hopefully marry and have children of your own one day."
As though she understood his vow, the tiny infant grasped her father's finger. It was a sign of trust, and it sealed the pact that would exist between them for all eternity.
In the distance Stuart Maitland heard one last faint ting-da-ting, ting-da-ting before the mournful sound faded forever.
This story was inspired by the actual account of Charlie Lawson who murdered his wife and six of his seven children in Stokes County, North Carolina, on Christmas Day, 1929.
Salem doesn't suffer from Christmaphobia, especially since Santa always brings him a supply of Godiva chocolates for Christmas.
