Narnia Winter Writing Challenge

It's That Time Of Year Again

The eerie sound of bare branches screeching against the window sent a chill down Eustace’s spine.

“Blast that old ash…” he grumbled under his breath, “should’ve chopped you down ages ago.”

He shrugged a tattered blanket off his shoulders and yanked the dark drapes shut.

It was bad enough the bitter wind sent the trees into fits, assaulting his windows and disturbing what little peace he had this time of year, but this year was different.

He was different.

So much had changed since his adventure in Narnia and now that his cousins had moved back to Finchley, the holidays seemed even more depressing than usual.

Eustace sighed heavily as he made his way downstairs, strolling silently past the living room, unnoticed by his parents, and into the kitchen.

Putting the kettle on, he began preparing a cup of chamomile tea.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the bright and colorfully lit houses on their street. Discouragement swelled in his soul at the thought of their plain, bleak house. The inside, even sadder than the outside, with not a single fragment of Christmas in sight.

“Wasteful.” his mother’s scoffing tone haunted his thoughts.

Every year the lights and decorations would fill their lane. Every year, mother and father went on and on about how wasteful it was and the “sins of commercialism” or something like that.

The kettle began to whistle, pulling Eustace from his melancholy thinking.

Familiar earthy-sweet fragrance drifted to his nose and calm began creeping back into his mind.

“Going to bed?” Alberta’s cool voice called as he turned toward the stairs.

“Not quite mother. It’s not even 8 yet.”

“I know, but you usually don’t have your tea for another half hour still.”

Eustace opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again.

How? How could he voice the ache in his chest? His longing for more? Even if they cared enough to listen, they’d never understand.

He certainly hadn’t. Recent history knew him to be a very different boy than the one who came back from Narnia.

“It’s a little drafty upstairs is all.” he finally hummed absent-mindedly.

Neither parent seemed particularly interested in conversation, so Eustace continued his trek upstairs.

Pushing the door shut behind the weight of his body, Eustace's shoulders slumped. Even his own room was devoid of any form of festivity, save for the Christmas letter he’d received from Lucy.

Plopping back down on the bed, Eustace snatched his frayed little blanket, a secret source of comfort for as long as he could remember.

That dreadful screeching still sounded at the window, sending a shiver down his spine.

But just as he reached for his book on exotic insects, a new noise was heard at the window.

Tap…tap……tap, tap.

“What in the…” pulling his blanket tightly around his shoulders, Eustace padded over the creaky floorboards to examine this new sound.

He drew back the curtains just enough to peer outside.

In the shadows of the oncoming night, he could make out the figure of a man, but who the unannounced visitor was, he couldn’t tell.

The mysterious figure wound back and pelted his window with a pebble, causing Eustace to jump back.

“Of all the weird nonsense,” he grumbled, “if that’s Percy I am going to throw this tea in his face.”

“Back so soon?” Harold mocked as Eustace stamped down the stairs. “Tea burn your tongue?”

Eustace ignored the cruel commentary and slipped on a pair of shoes and a coat before exiting the front door.

“Percy I swear if you don’t stop throwing rocks at my window this instant!” he rounded the corner bellowing, “I’m going to-”

“To what? Tie me up by the shoelaces?”

A surprised smile broke out over Eustace’s face, at the voice that greeted him.

“And who is Percy?” the rock-throwing visitant chuckled, stepping into the light of the street lamp.

“By jove, what are you doing here Peter?”

A warm laugh filled the howling wind.

“Came to see you of course! What’d you expect? I came all this way to pay a visit to that wretched ally cat you’re always grousing about?”

“Well, no, certainly not but…I didn’t expect you to show up alone and at this hour no less. Do mother and father know you’re here?”

“They do; I phoned them a week ago yesterday.”

“That’s odd, they never said a word.”

“Oh, I know, I asked them not to tell you.” Peter laughed again, throwing an arm around his cousin's shoulders. “You still haven't told me who Percy is."

"Oh just some chap who works with father and has a habit of pressing my buttons."

"I see. Sounds like a bit of a nuisance, but hey, we can talk more inside, stay out here much longer and we’re sure to spend Christmas down with the sniffles!”

“Little difference that would make here.” Eustace muttered solemnly as they reached the front door.

Peter raised an eyebrow but said nothing in response.

“Hello Uncle Harold, Aunt Alberta.”

“Hello Peter.” Alberta responded dismissively.

“Well, did you give the boy a scare?” Harold queried, not setting his paper down.

“Not quite, but I can say the surprise was a success.”

Neither Scubb had a comment to this and finally, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Eustace broke the dead air.

“I assume he’s staying in the north room?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Peter and Eustace wordlessly trudged up the stairs, neither saying a word until they’d reached the guest room.

“Sorry about all that.” Eustace apologized, “they’re not very agreeable right now.”

“Whatever is the matter?” Peter questioned, “Aside from the usual…you know.”

“Oh, it’s that time of year again.” Eustace tossed his arms up in defeat. “Mother always complaining about the wasteful and gaudy neighbors, father and his conspiracies and ‘anti-commercialism’. They are truly unbearable at Christmastime.”

“I don’t remember it bothering you that much before.” Peter murmured, a hint of sympathy in his tone.

“It didn’t.” Eustace confessed. “But after everything that’s happened-”

Eustace’s words stopped short as his eyes darted up to meet Peter’s, searching for any sign of knowing.

Peter gazed down at Eustace with a sparkle in his eyes, saying everything he needed to without words.

“You know?” Eustace breathed, his words barely a whisper.

“Well, I know what Lucy and Edmund have told me…the only person I haven’t had the chance to talk to is…you.”

There was an earnestness in Peter’s voice that sent courage soaring through Eustance’s veins.

“Oh Peter, I’ve been dying to talk about it, to get it out, and oh, all the amazing things that happened and-”

Eustace stopped again, catching his breath as though suddenly unsure what to say or how to say it.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning…” Peter grinned.