Secret Santa

by Lance Zarimba

"T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house," glinted on a piece of parchment in perfect Old English script. The letters were embossed in fine gold, while the edges of the paper were carefully cut into an intricate laced pattern.

"I wonder who could be sending me this?" Holly picked up the exquisitely wrapped package, which rested underneath the scripted label. A golden bow, matching the lettering, lay dead center on the present, wrapped in shiny purple foil.

"What do you have there?" George asked, startling Holly from her thoughts.

She spun around and faced him. "It must be the first of my Secret Santa gifts, but I thought we were supposed to start next week. Or did I misread the memo?"

"I haven't purchased anything yet, so I hope it starts next week." George walked next to Holly and looked at the gift.

Holly set it down. She walked around her desk and pulled out a red sheet of paper from the recycling bin. After a few seconds, she pointed to a date. "See. I'm not crazy. It's supposed to start next Monday."

"Consider yourself lucky. You'll receive two weeks of gifts, instead of just one, like the rest of us poor unfortunates."

Holly placed the Secret Santa memo in her recycling bin and picked up her present again.

"Aren't you going to open it?" George asked.

"Maybe I should wait until next week," she said, turning it from side to side in her hands.

"Oh, come on. You want to open it. I can tell," he teased.

" You want me to open it." She eyed him suspiciously. "Maybe you know what's inside, and that's why you want me to open it."

"I didn't give it to you,” he laughed. “Like I said, I haven't purchased anything for my Secret Santa yet. I was just looking for ideas."

"Sure," she said, but quickly unwrapped the present. She lifted the lid off the box and folded back the tissue paper. Inside, a delicately painted Christmas tree ornament of a house rested in the center of the padding. On closer inspection, it looked like Holly's house.

She carefully lifted it from the box by the braided golden string. It was painted in the same color scheme as her home. Icicles hung from the eaves and sparkling snow covered the roof, and the two-story house had windows in the same position, exactly.

"It looks just like your house!" George exclaimed in surprise. He glanced at the photo on her desk. The ornament looked identical.

As Holly turned it over, the ceiling light caught something in one of the upstairs windows. Her bedroom window. She brought it closer. It looked like a pair of eyes were staring out of the pane at her. "That's strange," she said.

"What is?" George asked and peering over her shoulder.

She pointed to the eyes.

"Cool," he said.

"What's cool about that?" Holly asked. "They're kind of creepy, if you ask me."

"I think it's cool that who ever did this got it right."

"Got what right?" she asked. “The color of my house?”

"No. The color of your eyes. They're the same color, right?”

“What?!”

“I've never seen a color so dark, but I'm sure they're red. Aren't you?" George smiled, enjoying his joke.

Holly shivered. George was right. Not about the color of her eyes, but the painted eyes that peered out the window at her did look red. Blood red.

"Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse" greeted Holly the next day. As she walked into her office, the red, wrapped package glowed once she flipped on the office light. She touched the parchment tag and felt the stiff paper between her fingers.

She set it aside and removed her coat. Tucking her gloves into her pockets, she hung it on the hook behind the door. She walked back to her desk. The red message light was blinking at her, just like the eyes on her ornament. A shiver ran down her spine.

"You're being ridiculous," she scolded herself, and she knew that was true. It was probably two drops of paint that fell onto the ornament by mistake.

That's all it was.

Even though, there wasn't any red anywhere else on the ornament. And they were in the exact same shape as a pair of eyes, not two blobs of dropped paint.

"I'm sure it was from someone else's ornament when it was being painted," she told herself.

Mary stood in the doorway, "I know these holidays are stressful, but talking to yourself this early in the morning isn't a good sign."

"Oh. Good morning, Mary. I was just trying to organize my day."

"Looks more like your Secret Santa hit early." Mary pointed to the gift on Holly's desk.

"What did George tell you?" blurted out of her mouth. Then she felt her face begin to flush.

"What?" Confusion played across Mary's face. "He didn't say anything to me.” She motioned to the package. “I saw the lovely gift on your desk, and I was getting worried that I had forgotten to get something for my Secret Santa.” She paused, “We're supposed to start next week, aren't we?"

"You're right. It's supposed to start next week," Holly said, flatly.

"Then why so glum? You should be happy that someone thinks so much about you. You'll end up with twice as many gifts."

Holly eyed the box suspiciously, doubting that she'd be happy with her surprise.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Mary pressed.

"After I get my cup of coffee. I don't want to face the world, let alone a gift without my first fix of caffeine."

"I get the hint," Mary said, smiling, “a secretary‘s job is never done. I'm heading down to the cafeteria as fast as I can. Do you want your usual?"

"Naturally."

"I'll be back in a bit," Mary said, and closed the door to her office.

Holly sat down behind her desk. She tried checking her appointment schedule, but her eyes kept being drawn to the present.

Fifteen minutes later, George opened her door and poked his head in. "You got another one. You must've caught someone's attention."

"Just what I need," Holly sighed.

"Your divorce is final, and you are a free woman. You can get back into the game. I've asked you out…”

"I know, I know. I'm just not ready yet."

Mary pushed past George with a steaming cup of coffee. "Black and hot, just as you like it." Mary placed a napkin on Holly's desk and set the Styrofoam cup on it. “Morning, George,” she nodded and headed back to her desk.

"I gotta run, too," George said. "Don't forget about our meeting at ten," he said and left.

Holly took a long sip from her cup and scalded her tongue. Why was this stupid Secret Santa thing getting to her? It was only a gift. That's all it was. Wasn't it?

It sat on her desk, mocking her.

Finally, realizing that she wasn't going to get anything done until she opened it, she reached across her desk, ripped the paper off, and lifted off the lid.

As her fingers dug through the tissue paper, the faint scent of copper emanated from inside. A small gray shape rested in the center of the packing. She pulled the last layer of tissue back and screamed.

Mary raced into the office to see Holly throw the box into her garbage. She rushed over to see what had scared her. She glanced down into the wastepaper basket just in time to see a dead mouse bounce one last time before coming to rest in the bottom of the gift box.

"Can we go over this one more time?" the security guard asked, glancing up from his notebook. "When did this all start?"

Holly took a deep breath and exhaled. "Just like I told you before, it started yesterday. I came back from lunch and found a present sitting in the middle of my desk. I asked George if our office's Secret Santa had started, but he said it wasn't supposed to start until next Monday."

"What did you do with the first note and gift?" The security officer's badge read, 'Taggert'.

Holly had noticed him around the building. His good looks had drawn her attention, but she had never had the chance to find out his name before. She startled from looking at his nametag and blushed. Would he think that she had been staring at his well-defined chest? Taggert's five o'clock shadow darkened his face, and she mused; it was barely nine in the morning. "I…I have the ornament at home. It's hanging on my tree. The tag is somewhere around here, I think."

"You saved it?" his dark brown eyes burned into hers.

"I don't remember throwing it away, and I know I didn't take it home."

"Why not?" he pressed.

"Is this really necessary? I feel like I'm being cross-examined. I'm the victim here, remember?"

Taggert ran his hand through his thick, black hair, slicking the waves back into place. "Ma'am," he started.

"My name is Holly."

"Sorry. Holly. I just wanted to know why you saved the tag. Is there a special reason? That's all."

"Since I thought this was part of our Secret Santa, I kept it, thinking there was a clue on it somewhere. I didn't think this was going to turn so… sick."
He nodded in understanding. "Have you been getting any crank calls lately? Or have you noticed anyone following you?"

"I haven't received any strange calls, and I haven't noticed anyone lurking around," she said. But thought, “Thanks for putting those terrifying ideas into my head.”

He wrote something in his black notebook and then asked, "Have you fired anyone recently? Upset someone at the office? How about any dissatisfied customers?"

"Not that I can think of," she racked her memory, but no one sprang to mind.

"What about any dates?" his eyes sparkled as he asked this question.

Holly bit her lip. Was he asking her if she was available? She swallowed hard, "I divorced my husband six months ago.” She paused. “I haven't seen him since we signed the papers at the lawyer's office. Other than that, I've avoided the dating scene. I don't need that headache," or the heartache, she thought.

"What is your address and phone number?"

"Is that some kind of pick up line?" Holly demanded.

This time it was Taggert's turn to blush, "If I was asking you out on a date, I'd think of a more creative way than that to get the information.” He smiled, “I'd probably ask your secretary…" he flipped back a few pages in his book, "…Mary. I need that information to file a report with the police department. Maybe they can drive by and keep an eye on your place."

He left the “in case someone is stalking you” out, but Holly heard his unspoken words.

She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a business card and quickly wrote her address, along with her cell and home phone number on it.

He slipped the card into his notebook and closed it. "I have a few more questions for your secretary, and I'll get out of your way." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card, "Here's my card. It has my address and phone numbers, work and home. Please feel free to call me, day or night, if you think of something else." He extended his hand.

Holly took it. The warmth comforted her for the first time. "Thanks," she said and set the card down on her desk.

"It was nice meeting you Ma'am, I mean Holly. I wish it was under different circumstances." He smiled and left.

Holly sat down at her desk and took a deep breath. She reached for his card and noticed how her hand shook. She snatched up the card and glanced at her appointment book. She picked up the phone and pressed the button for Mary's line.

Mary picked up within one ring. "Did you need something Holly?" concern flowed across the phone line.

"Cancel my afternoon meetings and reschedule them for next week. I'm going home early."

"I don't blame you," Mary said. "Call me if you need anything, I should be home tonight."

"Thanks, Mary," Holly said and hung up the phone. She walked to her door and slipped on her coat. She walked back to her desk and opened the bottom drawer to retrieve her purse. As she lifted it up, the first tag was lying underneath.

She picked it up; tingles pricked her fingers when she touched it. As she walked out of her office and past Mary's desk, she handed the label to Taggert and left without another word.

As Holly drove home, she tried to think who could be doing this to her. Was this some kind of sick joke? Or was it…? She didn't finish that thought; she didn't want to spook herself.

She drove up her driveway and waited as the garage door opened slowly. After pulling in, she sat there; staring straight ahead, not ready to go in. Arriving home this early felt so strange, so foreign.

Holly inserted her key into the lock and opened the door. As she stepped inside, she knew something was wrong. Nothing looked out of place, but someone had been in her house. She felt it.

No. She was just spooked. It was all those crazy ideas that Taggert had put into her head. In his miserable attempt to calm her, he only scared her more. She walked into the living room to turn on the stereo. Maybe some soft Christmas music would relax her. Halfway into the room, she stopped and stared at the fireplace.

A hangman's noose dangled from the mantle. Her stocking with 'Holly' written in gold letters swayed slowly, back and forth. A piece of parchment dangled off of the noose. As she neared the tag, she read the words that she knew would be there: "The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there ."

Taggert walked up the stairs as the last police officer left her home. His smile helped calm Holly's nerves. “How's it going?” he asked causally, as if they had bumped into each other on the street.

Holly rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. Her trembling frame threatened to collapse in his arms. Despite the night's chill, his body radiated heat into her frozen form.

“Easy now. I'm here.” He brushed her hair back from her face, “Maybe you should go pack a few things, and we can check you into a hotel. Just for tonight.”

Holly sniffed once and shook her head. Refusing to let him go, she said, “No. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm not going to let whoever's doing this to me think that he can drive me away. This is my house. I won't be scared out of it.”

“Is that what this is all about? Being scared out of your house? Why do you think that?” Taggert pressed against Holly's arms and pushed her back, far enough to look into her eyes.

“Well, no,” uncertainty played across her face.

“Do you think your ex-husband…?”

“No.” But she closed her mouth and her pursed her lips.

“Then what?”

“I don't know. I feel that someone is just trying to scare me, but I don't know why.”

“Just give it time. We'll figure out what's going on. Trust me.”

Holly's tremors had lessened, and she finally stepped back from Taggert's embrace. “I'm sorry. I must be making a complete fool out of myself.”

“Well, that settles it,” Taggert pulled his leather jacket off. “I'm staying the night.”

Holly's mouth opened to protest.

“I'll stay on the couch. That way you may get some sleep.”

“I can't ask you to do that,” she protested.

“You didn't. I volunteered.”

“But…”

“It's either I stay here or you check yourself into a hotel. It's your choice.”

Holly struggled for a while, but finally conceded. “If you're going to stay, I'll go find you a pillow and blanket. Make yourself at home.”

Taggert glanced around the living room. Fingerprint dust covered the mantle. Large boot impressions stamped circles into the thick carpet. Several empty plastic evidence bags lay scattered on the floor. He backed up to the couch, sat down, and kicked off his shoes. “There. I'm home.”

“Why don't you start a fire? It's pretty chilly in here.” Holly rubbed her arms and paused at the foot of the steps. “The remote is on the coffee table.” She motioned towards it, and before he could say anything, she disappeared up the stairs.

Taggert sat forward and retrieved the remote control. Scanning the panel, he pressed the red ignite button. A “whoosh” echoed up the chimney and a flash of light ignited the fake logs. Flames licked along them. Taggert adjusted the height control to a gentle rolling fire. A wave of heat floated around him as he sat back and closed his eyes.

He didn't know how long he had dozed off, but a blood-curdling scream echoed through the house. He sat bolt upright, confused for a second of where he was, and scrambled to his feet. Racing up the stairs, two at a time, his eyes darted from side to side, scanning for any movement. His ears strained to follow the scream's echo through the hallway, and his instinct drew him to the front bedroom.

Holly's body was pressed up against the wall. One hand covered her mouth. Her other held another parchment tag. She extended her arm for him to read: “The children were all nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.”

“What happened?” Taggert asked.

Silently, Holly pointed towards her bed. The bedspread and comforter had been pulled back. Dark red smears covered the white sheets and a sweet sickening scent of plums hung in the air.

Taggert walked to the bed and ripped the sheets off. Rolling them into a ball, “I thought the police searched the house.”

“They did.”

“Didn't they check your bedroom?”

“Yes, but they didn't pull back the covers. I was going to let you use this comforter,” she swallowed hard. “It had just been dry cleaned.”

“So whoever broke in here earlier must have done that then.” He tossed the ball of sheets into a corner of her open closet. “Do you have any clean ones?”

Holly handed him the tag and walked out of the room. She returned with a set of clean sheets.

As she started unfolding them, he reached over and took the pillowcases off the pile. “Here, let me help you.” The bed was quickly changed, and Holly stood looking at it numbly.

“What are you thinking about?” Taggert asked, taking her into his arms. “Do you have any ideas who's doing this to you?”

She looked into his eyes, but before she could answer, an arc of headlights illuminated the bedroom. They suddenly intensified into the high beams, blinding them.

“Now what?” Taggert demanded. He raised one hand to shield his eyes, but wasn't able to see anything. He released Holly and cautiously approached the window.

A car jerked to a stop in her driveway.

Holly followed close behind. Her body pressed against Taggert as her hands tried to stabilize herself on the window's sash. “What's going on?” she asked.

Taggert extended his arm back, pressing her behind him, protecting her from the window's expanse.

A figure so lively and quick threw open the car door and stumbled out into the moonlit night. A cascade of tumbling gifts and bottles followed from the open door. Their sound muffled by the newly fallen snow. The silhouette swayed, threatening to lose its balance, but suddenly found its feet. Through the double-glazed panes, the figure called her by name: “Holly!”

The moon and a streetlight illuminated the shadow as it stepped forward and George's face came into view. Dressed in a Santa suit, he staggered to stay on his feet. He threw back his head and emptied the bottle in his hand. He yelled “Holly” again, while he brought his arm back, behind his pudgy body. He cocked it and sent the square bottle tumbling end over end in a graceful arc to the housetop. A twinkling of glass spread across the roof as glittering shards rained down.

Taggert pushed Holly against the wall, as he pressed his body against her. “Stay here,“ he said, and ran out of the room. His heavy tread sounded down the stairway.

Holly followed and at the top of the stairwell, she heard the deadbolt click and a cold breeze rush in. She quickly descended and stood behind Taggert, trying to poke her head around him. Peering through the opening, she watched George take several staggering steps toward the house.

Taggert stepped across the threshold, “Stay where you are. Don't move!” he commanded.

George's gaze switched directions. Surprise registered on his face when he realized that Holly had moved closer. “I got something for you,” he called. Across his shoulder was slung a huge sack, his eyes twinkled as he reached over and back.

Taggert's hand reached under his arm and removed his handgun from its holster.
“George. Put your hands up. Over your head.”

Holly crouched behind Taggert, trying to watch George over his shoulder.

Taggert's arm extended and pointed the gun at George's chest. “Freeze!”

George's hand opened and grabbed onto a long slender item sticking out of the sack.

“Stop or I'll shoot!” Taggert's voice echoed across the snow.

George's hand found its hold and pulled a long box out of his sack. He slowly drew it over his shoulder and clutched it with both hands. He leveled it waist-high and pointed one end at Taggert. “What…?” he started, but never finished.

A flash of light blinded Holly as an ear-splitting crack shot through her head. She closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands.

When she opened them, George's body lay in an awkward position in the snow. A dark spot rapidly grew across his chest. With a wink of his eye, his head fell back and he was gone.

Holly's body stood there, staring, filled with dread. Taggert turned and ran back into the house. “Call 9-1-1.”

She blinked once and blindly walked to the phone and pressed the buttons.

After the paramedics had loaded George‘s body into the ambulance, Taggert entered Holly‘s house and handed her a piece of parchment. “ When out on the lawn, arose such a clatter, I sprang out of bed to see what was the matter” was written in the same perfect Old English script. The poem's golden words, splattered with blood, took on a chilling meaning.

“George must've become fixated on me when I turned him down at work.”

“It happens more often than you'd like to believe. Believe me, I've seen it.”

“I don't believe in dating in the work environment,” Holly said. “I wrote memos out to every department to that effect.”

“Some people fall in love, and they can't control their feelings.”

They sat next to each other on the couch with the fire blazing at their feet. Taggert placed the parchment card on the coffee table and sat back.

Holly snuggled in closer. Her body still trembled. “So Taggert, am I keeping you from your home? Your wife?” she asked.

“No. I'm divorced. My wife left me.”

Holly nestled in against Taggert's warm body and wondered why anyone would leave a man like this. Her body relaxed and formed to his. So this is what she had been missing for so long. She felt his lips brush her cheek. She turned her head. Her mouth sought his in the firelight. Flames licked up the chimney and shadows danced across the room.

The couple parted. Looking into each other's eyes, Taggert whispered, “Let's go upstairs.”

Holly stood, pulling away from him. She stretched out her hand and pulled him to his feet. Slowly, they made their way to the stairs in each others embrace. Taggert stopped at the bottom. “I should turn off the fireplace.”

“Let it burn,” Holly waved in its direction.

“It'll only take a second.” Taggert released her hand and went in search of the fireplace's remote. He pressed the ‘Off' button, and the flames died. As he bent over to place the remote on the coffee table, an unseen piece of paper slipped out of his pocket and floated to the floor.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and took his hand.

In the dying embers, golden words glowed: “But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"