The Ghosts of GingerBread Castle and the Twelve Days of Christmas

*Chapter 1*

Encased in a dream, I lay, as an angel spoke to me, but nay an uttered word reached my ears. At first, I thought, Heidi Piper, you're really splendid. Imagine encountering an angel in your dream, but then I stirred and heard a noise. An untamed scraping, scratching sound it was. I opened my eyes and let fear paralyze me as the darkness swept my room, avoiding the eerie bluish glow around my bed. Something moved from the shadows and towered before me. A burly black hood shrouded its face, still, I could feel its penetrating stare. The creature glided through the air and leaned into me, its hollow face mere inches from mine. It stank of rotting flesh and rusted iron. In a flash, I recoiled from its long, thin hands with its pointed talons, which waved over me as if performing some peculiar ritual.

When it spoke, I well-nigh jumped out of my skin. "Heidi!" it said, in a deep throaty roar. "Your life is ending. Twenty-four hours henceforth, I'll return to claim your soul, so prepare yourself!" No sooner had the creature said it than it disappeared, and with it, the darkness, too.

Terrified, I sat up and rubbed my crusty eyes as they rummaged around, dreading the revolting creature's reappearance. I waited, too horror-struck, to extend my jittery little feet beside the low bed. After a moment, with amassed courage, I leaned over and peered beneath. Not a soul lingered there. I rolled out of bed, rushed into the cramped washroom, and doused my spiritless face, the cold water extinguishing the last iota of sleep from my somnolent eyes. Perhaps it was all the workings of my overactive imagination, I thought, reconsidering my recent experience.

In a jiffy, the scraping sound revivified itself. I peered into the gold-inlaid oval mirror, as my astonished eyes beheld the hideous being whose gruff voice buzzed into my eardrums. "Nay. No figment of your rampant imagination am I. I am as genuine in existence as you are, little Heidi."

You're not real, I thought, turning and scurrying out of the dingy dormitory, searching for fine old Sister Thelma. Into the refectory, I sprinted, but not a soul lingered there. An unevenly torn page on the dining table drew my attention. I snatched it up to discover a brief note scribbled in fresh, dried blue ink. "Sister Louise and I have gone to see the girls off. You were fast asleep, and we didn't want to rouse you. Sister Joy takes our place until we return. Your taxi arrives at midday, so be ready. We won't be back until after lunchtime, so best wishes for the holidays. Sincerely, Sister Thelma."

I replaced the letter and dashed into the cramped, dismal kitchen, looking for Sister Joy, but she was not there. Where had she gone? Apprehensive, I glanced over my shoulder, afraid the creature might reappear. No sooner had I thought of it, than the scraping sound revivified again, followed by indistinct tapping, like that of one's nimble fingers against a solid wooden surface. The tapping intensified and grew deafening, and without warning, the creature reappeared before me, as its voice thundered its usual proclamation. "Tomorrow I'll claim your wretched soul, little Heidi."

I fled into the dusky refectory as I sensed it gliding through the air pursuing me. Turning, I stumbled, and in a haste regained my balance, as it soon wedged me between the algor wall and itself—before leaning into me, its face inches away. Its foul breath summoned my stomach's bile into my parched mouth, emitting my silent curse of the putrid taste, as tears pricked my eyes and trickled to the sides of my despondent face. No, it couldn't be real. I would not die yet! "No! It can't be true! Are you sure?" I asked, shocked at the vociferous tone of my interrogative voice.

"Yes, as sure as the day you were born! I am the angel of death, and I am never mistaken!"

"No! I'm just a child—only thirteen, and too young to die! You must give me one last chance! Please!" I pleaded, hoping to salvage my budding life.

"I'm sorry, but you must face it! TODAY IS YOUR LAST DAY ALIVE!" With that said, the creature disappeared.

Hopeless, I sank to the cold ceramic-tiled floor as tepid tears cascaded down my flushed face. I remained there crying endlessly. A blue moon might have passed before I stood and drifted into the confined washroom. The tears obscured my face's reflection in the gold-inlaid oval mirror on the dappled tiled wall. I forced self-composure and washed my dopey face. The frigid water masked my tears, and as if by some queer magic, felt soothing. If only I could lull my tormented insides, I thought, as my sobs turned into torrents anew, and I cried a river again. I was so breathless I had to stop crying just so I could breathe. I hiccupped, sobbed, and breathed—hiccupped, sobbed, and breathed. After forever and a day, I mustered the courage, the weight of a mustard seed, to venture outside and face my last day. The truth—death scared me and I wanted to scream.

I packed, showered, and dressed, and was ready to leave. Two weeks ago, at school's closure, I should have left, but remained after volunteering to work with the kind sisters in the community, helping the aged, and society's displaced. It was Christmas Eve, and I was supposed to return home for the festive season—instead, I was going to say farewell. My turbulent thoughts lingered upon the exceptional person who loved me most—my dear, precious mother. I needed to see her—I had to say goodbye.