Transcript: Merry Christmas

To anyone reading this note: 

 

It’s that time of year, again. 

Christmas, they called it in the old days. A celebration of light and love, a candle in the darkness. Now, I just call it Winter. 

 

 I talk about it as if it was a lifetime ago but, in reality, it hasn’t even been a decade since -they- came. 

 

If you’re reading this, I’m sure you know about the elusive -they-. 

 

No one knows where they came from. 

What they are. 

What they look like, even. 

 

I’ve heard it said, the only people who have seen their faces are dead before they even know what they’ve seen. 

 

Luckily, for my family we lived out here: in the middle of nowhere. The view was gorgeous in the spring. The sun rising above the hill behind us and shining down into the base of the valley, in full view below. 

 

This is where I grew up. 

 

You are treading the boards on which I had my first steps. 

You climbed over the fence I helped build.

You might even be sleeping in the bed I had my first kiss in. 

 

Remember that, when using this place as your safe haven. 

 

If you can’t remember what a tv is: it’s a box that shows things happening around the world and one day I woke up to it showing littered streets and bloody walls. The man on the tv was panicked, and stumbled over his words. 

The last thing I heard him say was “-they- are here, and the dark is no longer safe.” 

The broadcasts stopped after that. 

 

We lasted a few months, we thought we’d survived, we thought we were safe. Then dad went first. It all happened very first after that. We told him not to leave, but we had no firewood left and sleeping in the dark is dangerous. 

 

Mum and I waited for him, huddled in the light of the dying candle. We heard him cry out for us. We heard him cry out for us. 

 

I tried to shout back. But Mum put a hand over my mouth. I scoured the darkness withered eyes, looking for any sign of him. 

 

But I couldn’t see through the veil of night smattered with snowflakes. Mum and I survived the night. That’s when the mists came. 

 

Mum went shortly after that, thinking the mists would be safe in daylight. I found her body the next morning, along with dad’s. 

I buried them both under the old oak tree. Side by side. As they would have wanted. 

 

It makes me sad to think that, I may never be buried with them. 

If you are staying here a while, here’s a tip: 

 

The window that faces on to the stairs is NOT the place to put your candle. There’s a slight breeze, that, in heavy winds, can turn into a gust that could blow out your only candle and leave you in complete darkness. 

 

That’s where I saw -it-. 

 

They’re not wrong you know. What they say about them. The only people who’ve seen their face are dead before they can even register what they’ve seen. 

 

To anyone reading this note. To anyone still alive. Could I ask of you one small favour. Could you bury me under the old oak tree? 

 

I want to be with my parents again. 

 

And it’s cold by this window, especially at this time of year. 

 

Be careful traveller

 

oh, and Merry Christmas.