A Collection of Short Stories by Yvonne Mason
Christmas Eve (Excerpt)
Christmas Eve
The first time I saw him he took my breath away, actually took my breath away. I literally could not breathe.
Let me just back up and give you the back story as I lie here and ponder how I got here. I was a tourist in the city of Love at Christmas time. You know, Paris. Yeah, that city. I had been there for several days and had wondered the city enjoying all the tourist stuff, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and all the lovely outdoor cafes. I was not there to find romance quite the opposite. I was there to heal a broken heart. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, now not so much.
I was sitting at an outdoor café drinking in the sights and enjoying a light lunch when he walked up. He was tall, dark and at the time drop dead handsome. His eyes were the color of black ink, his hair the color of coal, which showed off the sliver of white that ran from his widow’s peak to the back of his head. His skin was a ghost white. His smile, well it was killer. He oozed charm and charisma almost to the point of nausea. My gut told me to get up and run as far and as fast as I could run. However, my body appeared to be glued to my chair.
He bowed at the waist and asked if he could join me.
“Mademoiselle, you have the look of a goddess. Why are you sitting here all alone on such a beautiful day?”
Taking my right hand he gently kissed it sending chills of what I thought was extreme pleasure down my spine. As he sat down in the chair across from me, a small voice nagged at my brain, “Get up and run.” It said. However, I was helpless. My legs felt like they were paralyzed, my feet like they had been nailed into the concrete. I thought I was in the throes of a massive heart attack as I looked into those eyes. I do not remember what I ate or drank, those memories became fleeting the longer I sat across from him. In fact, I do not even remember his name. It must have been something exotic.
The afternoon sky turned into the night sky complete with thousands of twinkling stars that appeared to burn brighter than I had ever noticed before. The moon was in his glory. He shone full and round with a light that seemed to go on forever. I do not remember how I got from the café to this place wherever this place is. All I remembered was looking into those eyes. Those deep dark eyes.
So now, here I am in the unknown place, in this room filled with remnants of Christmas Past. The tree at one time must have been twelve feet tall, the branches now are bare and the ornaments old and brittle are the only thing, which adorn it. I see strands of tinsel, which at one time must have been silver but now is brown with age. As I looked around, I noticed the furniture was worn. It is not modern but more Victorian. It was then that I noticed I was lying on a fainting couch and my shoes were removed. I was notbound in any way but I found I had to struggle to sit up. There is a fire in the massive fireplace and candles burned in various holders creating strange dancing shadows on the walls. A chill was in the air, a feeling of anticipation and dread fill my soul, but I was not afraid.
I finally was able to struggle into a sitting position thinking, “this is a dream, albeit a bad dream, but a dream nevertheless. I will wake up in my room, on my bed and under my covers.”
As I was contemplating how I managed to dream such a strange dream and how I was going to explain it to myself in the morning, he came into the room. By him, I mean the tall dark and handsome stranger who had invited himself to sit down at my table at the café.
“Ah, my dear, you are awake.” He said as he sat down across from me in a wingback chair that had at one time been upholstered in deep purple, but now was more of a dingy black with what looked like moth eaten holes in various places where the stuffing was showing. On his lap lay what looked like a dress. Not just a dress but one from a different time period.
The look on my face must have spoken volumes because he smiled. The smile was not one of comfort or likability more of a sinister, dark brooding smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. He had changed his attire. He was dressed more Victorian like the painting that my eyes were drawn to on the wall above the fireplace. I did a double take the portrait looked exactly like the man in front of me.
I looked at the painting, looked back at him and looked again at the painting. The voice from the chair said, “Yes, my dear, I am afraid it is me in that painting. It was painted a long time ago at Christmas time. It was a gift for my wife who tragically never got to see it. You see she disappeared on Christmas Eve. She had been out riding and as the hour grew later and night fell she did not return. Her horse did, but she was not found until months later. By then all that remained was her skeleton and the pieces of the clothing she had been wearing the night she disappeared. You look like her.”
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