Doorknocker

Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write about anything to do with Christmas.
This time, it’s Cathy MacKenzie’s turn. Her writings have been published in over 200 print and online publications. Check out her website (www.writingwicket.wordpress.com) for further information on her works. Also, check out her latest book, 300 pages of crass, crazy, crude, funny, sarcastic, and weird stories about the Grimes’ Christmases, called (what else?): THE GRIMES’ CRAZY CHRISTMASES. Available on Amazon or (cheaper) through the author. https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1990589448

Lately, she’s been continuing with new Grimes tales. Since today is Christmas Day—of course, it’s a Christmas story. And it has to be about the Grimes. Is it a sweet one? Read on to find out...

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Doorknocker

by Cathy MacKenzie

Bob presents Elise with a doorknocker for a Christmas gift that he installs on Christmas Day... Elise thought it was such a lovely gesture from her husband: a beautifully wrapped gift on Christmas morning. That was a first for him. Despite her numerous beautifully wrapped gifts for him—her dear, sweet hubbie—she hadn’t received one gift from him in years. In fact, too many years to count, so she gave up trying to keep track.

She accepted the gift with gratitude. And love, of course. Always love behind a gift.

However, she’d been dumbstruck seeing a doorknocker at the bottom of the too-large box. And not even covered with tissue paper! Just there: bold and gold. Ha, she thought. Fake gold, of course. Did anyone ever have a solid gold doorknocker? Only the rich. And she and Bob weren’t rich—not in gold or love. Well, there was a minutiae of love, but not the earth-shattering lovingness she wished she had. Despite that, she was “reasonably” happy with her life. Not much else she could do, not after reciting: for richer, for poorer; in sickness, in health. Or whatever the correct words were.

Her mother had raised her well, and she remembered her manners. “Thank you, Bob. How sweet.”

“I thought it appropriate, Elise. Especially after last Christmas.”

Appropriate? After that weird kid arrived on their doorstep, claiming to be Bob’s long-lost son, the hopeful half-brother of their legitimate son, Jimmy? And to call himself “James”? What fake kin would name himself after a living kin? She found that to be more than presumptuous. Which brought her back to the more-than-strange doorknocker gift, which would, if installed, be a constant reminder of that Christmas she wanted more than anything to forget. But—it was installed. Bob insisted. And now she had to endure that pain, that constant reminder of that interloper, every time she entered her house. She could enter through the back door, but who wanted to make the long trek around to a backyard, especially at night? No, not her.

“Oh, Bob, do we have to put it up now?” she’d asked, thinking if she put him off for a few hours that he’d forget about it.

“I don’t wanna forget, Elise.” He smiled. “You know how forgetful I can be.” He grinned and added, “Well, only a couple of times, eh?”

“Yes, right, Bob. Don’t want to forget.”

And so that was their Christmas afternoon: installing the gaudy gold doorknocker, which was an unnecessary item since they had a working buzzer on the siding to the left of the door, and who would hear that faint click of metal upon metal inside the house? With Bob’s limited skills, it was, indeed, an afternoon’s work. Three hours and eleven minutes, to be exact. A job, Elise figured, that would’ve taken a “normal” person ten minutes. Heck, she could’ve put it up in half the time that Bob wasted.

At the end of the three hours and eleven minutes, Bob was so pleased with himself that she dared not say a word. She pursed her lips, bit her tongue—anything to keep her lips zipped. That evening, after Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, she managed to get Bob and Jimmy (the Real Jimmy, not the Imposter James) pinned down long enough to begin work on the puzzle that someone—or something—had dropped off on their doorstep late on Christmas Eve or early Christmas morning before the household had awakened.

They’d gone to bed at nine, and no one had heard anything. But there it was on Christmas morning: a wrapped package. When Jimmy discovered it, shortly before breakfast, he insisted upon checking around the yard, hopeful that Santa had tumbled off the roof with his bag of presents that would’ve scattered around the yard. Hopeful, too, that Santa hadn’t suffered any ill effects from a fall, all the while hoping the fat man in red might have missed picking up a few packages. But, no, the only gift had been the one on their doorstep.

Okay, Elise thought, at her son’s silly notion that Santa had toppled off the roof with his deliveries. Let the stupid kid believe what he thought. Within seconds, she reconsidered her words. Her kid wasn’t stupid. Just a tad—hmm, the appropriate word wouldn’t come to her at that moment. But it would later.

When they sat at the dining room table to work on the puzzle, Bob and Jimmy agreed that Santa had had a minor mishap and that the Grimes were the lucky beneficiaries. The three of them dug into the puzzle as if it were a multi-layered chocolate cake with four inches of chocolate icing across the top and sides. And a fine evening they were enjoying. All except Elise, however. She wondered about the doorknocker. Was it a harbinger of events to happen? Would that James yank on the handle and slam it down, gold-covered metal to gold-covered metal, and interfere with their game? She was grateful he hadn’t interrupted their dinner. She should be thankful for small miracles.

But she wished she could’ve enjoyed the puzzle more without that seed of doubt planted in her head. But who’d planted it? She sighed. She did, of course. Bob hadn’t brought up James. Neither had Jimmy. Both had been adamant the previous year that they didn’t want to see that guy ever again. Still... She fretted.

Elise was thankful when nine o’clock rolled around and they could scamper off to bed. Yes, it was still Christmas Day, but it had been a hard day, and she was happy when her head hit the pillow. But then—then she dreamt. And it was bad. All about James, who’d doorknocked at one minute to midnight, awaking them all from deep sleeps, with a joyous shout: MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO THE GRIMES! AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!

She awoke sweating and looked at the clock, happy to see it displayed 12:06 a.m. Just a horrible, bad dream, she thought. Just a horrid dream. Christmas Day was over; no more merry Christmases until next year. She smiled and lay back on the pillow.

And then— What? What was that? The doorknocker?

She glanced over at Bob, who emitted an obnoxiously loud, grating snore. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the linens over her head to drown out unwanted noise.

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The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/