Christmas–1989
Ravenna, Ohio
2:13 P.M.
My sister’s boy, seven-year-old Bobby, started screaming when the wind ratcheted up. The ten of us gathered in the cellar as the funnel cloud headed straight for our house. The last thing I saw as I headed down the stairs was Gramps’ old Chrysler Imperial rotating slowly in the driveway, inches off the ground. The train sound made by the wind increased and as I slammed the door behind me, I saw the shiny black sedan lift like a helicopter and disappear.
The noise downstairs was almost as loud and we heard the roof go with an explosion of ripping metal and snapping wood. Floorboards, joists and sub flooring above us were ripped up revealing a clear sky that flickered and darkened, then turned gray with dust. We smelled natural gas from where the kitchen had been. Silence settled over the basement as the wind moved off and shock deepened. Bobby sniffled and sobbed quietly then he too went silent.
The stairs were intact, and as I climbed them to see the damage, a sense of dread like I’d never known rose in my stomach. I heard a distant choir singing We Wish You A Merry Christmas. It was Bobby’s new cassette player sitting on the unscathed coffee table in an otherwise empty space where our living room had been. Our street was empty; the neat little houses and trees that had lined the block were gone, including our house, down to the foundation. I smiled and felt my eyes watering.
It was a miracle we were alive. As my family members, wife and children came out to look, I motioned them to me and we stared at each other, silent. We hugged each other and thanked God for letting us live.
That was a long time ago, but today, as our family is again gathered to celebrate, the street, our house looks much the same. And even though we aren’t much at singing together, before we open the gifts, we always join hands and softly lift our voices together in a heartfelt rendition of We Wish You A Merry Christmas.
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin;
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Mike Whitney writes a weekly column for the Clay County Progress.
A new and interesting story is posted every day.
Subscribe to the RSS Feed! (what is rss)
Don’t miss another story! Subscribe to Every Day Fiction via RSS.
Print This Post
Print this story and take it with you; read it on the bus or over lunch.
9 Responses to “THE STORM • by Mike Whitney”
Comments
« THE ANGEL ON THE TREE • by Avis Hickman-Gibb | Home | GHOST GUN • by Bradley Mason Hamlin »
December 25th, 2007 at 5:44 am
Good story of a scary memory, Mike.
Merry Christmas!!
December 25th, 2007 at 6:05 am
DJ,
You’re up early, or late!
Thanks for reading and commenting, and a Merry Christmas to you, too!
mike
December 25th, 2007 at 6:20 am
Dear Mike,
Great story, Mike. Now try singing it!
Merry Christmas, pal.
-unc.
December 25th, 2007 at 7:46 am
Happy Christmas to all the Christmas Day readers, editors and to you too, Mike.
Oonah
December 25th, 2007 at 1:39 pm
Very good story.
December 25th, 2007 at 11:57 pm
Merry Christmas to everyone!
A perfect Christmas Day story, Mike. The cassette player playing in the now-vanished living room is both eerie and touching.
love, Camille xox
December 26th, 2007 at 5:00 am
Camille,
Thanks very much, and Happy Boxing Day!
And thanks for everyone’s comments on The Storm.
Cheers!
mike
January 4th, 2008 at 6:17 am
test
July 14th, 2008 at 3:04 am
NIcely done. Thanks for this nice story.
Best,
Pamela