The Christmas Without Frank~Part 1

Part one of perhaps 2 or 3

The wind howled, a cold, lonely sound.  Old lady Grace Lanstry, sitting in her recliner, sipping hot coco beside the fire, felt she could relate to the wind.  Old lady Grace was seventy-six years old, and she is going to spend Christmas day alone, like she had ever since her husband died.  Sipping her coco, Grace looked up at the clock over the fire place.  Eleven forty-five, she thought, almost time for Santa to bring his toys, to all the good girls and boys.  She chuckled at that, remembering the times she and her husband had played Santa for their only son, Frank.  She sighed, thinking about how they were in Heaven, celebrating Christmas with baby Jesus.  “At least they have each other, I will be with them soon”  she says aloud to herself.  Frank was a wild young man, never listened to either of them.  Grace warned him nearly a hundred times not to buy that motorcycle, but what did he do? 

 

 “It’s okay, don’t worry so much mom, I’ll be alright”  he told her with a grin. 

 

 He never came home.  That was forty years ago, or was it forty-two?  She didn’t remember.  What she did remember was how handsome he looked, her big, strong boy, only 17 years old.  She remembered being pulled away from the casket, overcome with grief.  She remembered growing old, remembered how her husband complained of chest pains. 

 

 Grace told him, she said “Jeff, you need to get looked at, honey.  You shouldn’t be hurting like that.” 

 

“Oh, I’ll be alright”  he said with a grin, giving her a kiss on the cheek.  Then he winced, his hand clutching his chest.  Before she knew it, he was on the floor.  Suddenly she was sitting next to a casket, staring into nothingness.  Then she was at home, crying softly into her pillows, wishing she had her husband back, wishing she had her family back.

 

A tear falls, bringing her back to the present, nearly a minute to midnight.  Grace looks into the fire, wondering why she must spend Christmas alone, then nods off the sleep.

 

Where am I? What is this?  Am I dreaming?  Everything is bright, everything is dark.  Everything is nothing, yet nothing is everything.  There is no pain, there is no pleasure.  It is just Grace. 

 

Grace find herself laying on a white, narrow path.  She stands, putting a hand to her face.  A hand far to young to be hers.  She rubs her face, her skin is smooth.  She looks at her body and finds herself clothed in a silver dress, her body as it was in her youth.  A stray hair falls in front of her eye.  Instead of the white-gray she is used to, it is the color of strawberries.  She falls to her knees, covering her face as tears fall.

 

“Dear Lord, what has happened to me?  Where am I?”

 

Come child, come home.

 

Grace looks up, eyes wide.  “Who said that?”

 

Come child, come home.

 

She stands and follows the path.  She is unsure what is happening, but she somehow knows that she must follow the path.  After a short time, Grace comes to a gigantic golden gate.  Beside the gate is a tall tower.  At the top there is a large loud speaker.  As Grace walks closer to the gate, she notices that, although the gate is made up of bars with large gaps between, she cannot see what is on the other side.

 

“WHO GOES THERE?”  Its the loudest voice Grace has ever heard, coming from the loud speaker at the top of the tower.

 

“What?”  Grace yells.

 

“ YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO SPEAK LOUDER IF YOU EXPECT ME TO HEAR YOU.  WHO GOES THERE?”

 

“Umm...”  Grace hesitates, “My name is Grace!  Who are you, and why am I here?”

 

“FIDDLE STICKS, JUST A MOMENT.”

 

There is a loud click as the loud speaker turns off.  Grace waits for what seems like an eternity (she suspects that it is, time is funny here) at the bottom of the tower when suddenly a small piece at the base opens.  Grace is startled by this, because there were no hinges, nor even lines gave away that there was a door.  She is even more startled by the man who exits the door, if you could call him a man.  

 

He stood around four foot tall, bald everywhere except for rather large eye brows, which took up at least half of his forehead.  He was hearing a white button up shirt with a golden tie, brown shorts, a belt with a large, blue belt buckle, and combat boots at least two times to big for him.  Sprouting out of his back were two very large wings.

 

“Hallo, madam, I am Peatre, guardian of the gates of heaven.”  Peatre gave a low bow.

 

Grace stayed where she was, looking down at the small angle with shock.

 

“Wha-” she coughed, clearing her throat, “what did you say?”

 

Peatre looked up at her, tilting his head slightly and cocked an eye brow.

 

“I said, ‘Hallo, madam, I am Peatre, guardian of the gates of heaven.  Jeeze, lady, can’t you hear?  I mean, you should be able to hear better than you ever did when you were alive.  This is heaven!  Well, the place right next to heaven.”

 

Grace thought she would faint, but she realized that she did not feel the slight bit light headed.

 

“You mean, I, I am dead?”

 

“Exactly.  You died peacefully in your bed at the ripe old age of seventy-six.  You are very blessed, my dear, not many are fortunate enough to die without pain.  Well, not that it matters any more, you will never feel pain again.”

 

The little angel grinned at her, then took her hand before she had time to respond, and started to drag her up the tower.  The door closed behind them, sealing itself up.

 

“Come on, come on, I don’t mean to be rude, but we need to see if you are ready for heaven.”

 

“Re-ready?”

 

“Of course!  You didn’t think we let everyone in there, did you?  We need to review your life to see if you belong in heaven or hell.”

 

Grace stared at the little angel wide-eyed, trying to keep up with him.  After what seemed to be a thousand flight of stairs, they came to a halt in front of a tall door.  Peatre let go of Grace’s hand, flapping his wings to fly up to the door handle.  He opened up the door, leading Grace into a small room.  Inside, the room was window less, and all white.  The walls, roof, floor, all white.  Sitting next to one wall was a large set of what appeared to scales.  Peatre flew over next to the scales, paused for a moment, then made a motion with his hand.  Suddenly a clipboard appeared, and Peatre started to read through the paper clipped to it.

 

For a moment Grace thought she was in some bizzar hospital, getting ready to be weighted by a flying midget.  She watched as he made adjustments to the scales, checking back to the clipboard every now and then.  Grace felt a large lump in her throat as the sheer reality of her situation hit her like a sack of potatoes.  I’m dead, I’m really dead, and this little...creature is the one to judge wether I go to Heaven or Hell.  For some reason, Grace did not feel sad about this.  Try as she might, she could not morn her death, though she could find humor in it.

 

Peatre looked up from his clipboard.  “Now what’s so funny, missy?  I’ve been the keeper of the gates for over a thousand years, and I never had someone laugh right before their soul is weighed...Most of them just whimper.  I figured they’d pee themselves if they could.”

 

Grace looked at him.  “Weigh my soul?  What do you mean?”

 

Peatre sighed, making a final adjustment to the scales.  “I mean we are about to see how much sin you have weighing down your soul.  If the scales go below fifty, I am to through you down the hatch.”  Peatre nodded to a golden hatch over in a corner.

 

“Where did that come from?  It wasn’t here when we came in!”

 

“I called for it, now come here, I need you to step on the scales.”

 

Peatre hovered to the side, giving her enough space to step up.  Grace moved hesitantly at first, unsure wether to be judged or run away.  She stepped on the scales.

 

The machine began to beep, and an arrow began to move back and forth at an astonishing speed.  Grace watched the arrow move, wondering where it would land.  After a moment, it stopped, and Peatre gave her a big grin.

 

“Eighty-nine!  You have lived a very honorable life, Mrs. Lanstry.  You are free to enter through the gates of Heaven.”  Peatre chuckled.  “I believe you have some friends in there waiting on you.”