Free Home for the Holidays: A Short Story by James A. Moore Page B

at Thanksgiving, and for a week after that, but then he started changing. He went from open and friendly and loving to quiet and angry. He wouldn’t answer my calls, and his new wife, Holly, she stopped by three days before Christmas in tears. He was screaming all the time, losing his temper and finally he told her to get out of the house before things got worse. So we took her in, we kept her over the holidays and did what we could to make everything okay. And then three days after Christmas, Turner came around apologizing and said he’d just succumbed to the pressure from work. That he’d basically lost it but he was better.”  
    The light changed and Crowley started driving again. 
    “He was fine.” Her tone said it all. She couldn’t understand how her uncle could go crazy and get better so fast, but she believed he had done just that. “It took almost four months before Holly forgave him, really forgave him, I mean. The baby’s what made the difference. And Turner loves that little boy, you can see it, you know? Even if he’d had any sort of problems with Holly or her children, he loves that little baby.” 
    He could see the house now; there was a tree in the front yard with glowing lights and decorations, an illuminated tribute to the birth of a demigod to some, and to others merely a sign of the time of year when most people seemed a little more tolerant of their neighbors. He looked her way and asked with his eyes if he had the right place and she nodded her answer. A moment later he was pulling over in front of the place and killing the engine. 
    Inside the house there were lights and decorations as well, but even knowing that a family lived there, the house felt empty, cored out and abandoned.  
    “Finish it. Tell me.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stared hard at her. 
    “The baby, he started crying all the time about two weeks ago. I mean all the time. He wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t eat. He just screamed and cried like he was being tortured. And around the same time Turner started acting like he was acting last year.” 
    Crowley nodded. “You think he’s being haunted.” 
    “Well, yes, I suppose I do.” 
    “When did his family die?” 
    “It was right around Christmas time.” 
    “His family, are they staying with you again?” he remembered the suitcases, and there had been a hint of baby powder in the air. 
    “Yes.” She sounded just a little puzzled by his knowing. 
    “The baby. Did the baby stop crying when he got to your house?” 
    “How did you know that?” She didn’t just sound surprised. She sounded suspicious. 
    “You called me, remember?” He stared hard at her, unflinching, until she looked down and nodded her head. “It’s a good sign. It means whatever is affecting your uncle isn’t following the rest of his family, it’s just dealing with him.” That was true enough, but if there had been anything in her house when he came to see her he’d have noticed it.  
    “Of course. I’m sorry.” Her voice was a whisper. He looked away from her and opened his door.  
    “Well, there it is and here we are. Let’s see what we can do for your Uncle Turner, shall we?” 
    Laura nodded and they stepped out of the warmth of the car and into the harsh cold wind. She was bundled into a thick fur coat that probably cost as much as her maid earned in a year. The wealth was something she took for granted, which meant she had changed a great deal from when she was a teenager. She was happy, deep inside where it counted, she was pleased with her world. Crowley envied her that.  
    He’d spent fifteen minutes inside her home and taken in all of the details he needed. In addition to the signs of visitors, he’d seen pictures of the woman and her husband, her kids. Three children, two daughters and a son, and didn’t that put an ache in his heart? Didn’t that bring back a special twist of pain when he remembered his past and the family