I can't do this.

How in the hell did she?

My temples ached at the thought of what I had to do. So I threw back another shot of rum to relieve the pain.

A steady drizzle of rain drummed the rooftop of my meager two-bedroom home, while the crackles from the fireplace instilled me with a much-needed sense of calm. Except, the peace was short lived as the scurry of small footsteps rustled from the boy's room. I exhaled, anticipating his voice from beyond the closed bedroom door.

"Daddy?"

I took a deep breath before my lungs burst and dropped the shot glass to the desk. Why couldn't he just call me Mike? "What's up, Buddy?" I shouted in his direction.

"I can't sleep." More pintsized footsteps pitter-pattered the carpet. "I don't like being all by myself."

Reluctantly, I allowed my feet carry me into what I still considered my office, even though his bed occupied a third of the space. The boy sat on the edge of the bed, and for a few awkward seconds, we stared at each other. He didn't want to be here. I read it in his eyes.

Can he read the same in mine?

I rested against the doorframe and studied him as he plucked stray pieces of lent from his favorite blanket. "If you don't go to sleep Santa won't bring you gifts."

He looked up with wonder in his dirty-brown eyes. "Santa? Who's Santa?"

My eyebrow lifted as I gave him a look. "What kid doesn't know who Santa is?"

He shoved his thumb into his chest and eagerly bounced on the mattress. "Me."

"Your mom never told you about Santa Claus?" She really took the not-influencing-my-kid-with-religion stuff seriously. Now here I am, left to do the dirty work.

I looked away so he wouldn't see the panic in my eyes while I fingered the cloth headband in my pocket. The same headband she had often used to wrap her hair into her preferred messy bun. I never understood her style choices, but whenever we'd run into each other on the street, she always looked well put together.

Why'd you have to go and die on us, April? What a messed up way to spend the holidays. I sighed, swallowing a lump of grief that threatened to render me useless.

"Well, Jake." With significant effort, I shook off my emotions and finally entered the room. "Santa brings gifts to all the nice boys and girls who go to sleep early on Christmas eve."

He bounced on the mattress, causing his bowl cut hair to repeatedly rise and fall over his forehead. "Why?"

"Because Santa is ... nice." Was there another way to explain Santa to a five-year-old?

"How does Santa know if I'm nice?" He grinned, exposing his two missing teeth on the top row.

"He knows when you're sleeping." I shrugged, trying to tap into the reservoir in my memory that held all I knew about Christmas. "Uh ... He knows when your awake, and he knows when you've been bad or good. So be good—"

"How does Santa know? Does he watch me?" He glanced toward the closet door and clutched his blanket.

Great. Now I went and scared the kid. "No, he—damn it!"

"No swearing!" His tiny finger aimed at my face while he scolded me like April used to do. "Mommy says, 'no swearing.'"

"Yea, yea. That's right." I rubbed my eyes to keep from pulling my hair out. "Mommy's right. No swearing."

His bottom lip protruded and the atmosphere suddenly took on a somber tone. "I want mommy."

"Yes, I know." My attempt at comforting him by patting his head made me realize I bit off more than I can chew by trying to raise a kid. "Mommy's just—away right now."

"When's she coming?" He rubbed his eyes with his tiny fists. When I couldn't stop his tears I knew I was the same, if not worse, than my old man. We were both oblivious to the needs of our offspring. "I want to go home now."

How damaging would it be to tell the boy that his mom would never come home, never tuck him in, or send him off to his highly anticipated first day of kindergarten?

I looked into his worried round eyes. "I know. I know. But tonight Santa is coming, and you need to go to sleep or he will skip this house and go visit the other little boys and girls in their home."

"I like gifts!" His eyes brightened instantly as he swiped the tears from his cheeks and lay his head on the pillow. He allowed me to pull the blankets over him and pat his head again, just like my father used to do when he couldn't bring himself to show affection or express love. "I'll see you in the morning, buddy."

As soon as I closed the door, I rested back against it to gather my thoughts.

"Daddy?"

I groaned, turning to rest my forehead to the wood. "Go to sleep, buddy. Or Santa won't come."

It was quiet for a minute ... just a minute.

"But Santa's already here."

My brows dipped as I turned the knob and push the door open. When I entered, Jake greeted me by pointing toward the wall behind me. I turned to see a large, misshapen spot half my size in the center of the wall. Moving closer, I examined the discolored blemish. Its pale greyish hue stood out from the surrounding cream colored paint. "What is that?"

With excitement, Jake tossed the blankets aside and stood. "It's Santa!"

"No, buddy, it's just a stain." My fingers glided along the edges of the blotch, expecting to feel an indentation or protrusion, but instead my fingertips swiped over an even surface. "Maybe the rain water is seeping into the drywall somehow." I touched the spot with the back of my hand to feel for dampness.

My knuckles detected a smooth, dry surface.

"Is it Santa?"

I spun to see Jake staring up at the wall with such curiosity and wonder. "It's just a water stain, buddy. Let's get you back in bed and I will take care of it in the morning. OK?"

Without protest, he hopped in bed and I pulled the blankets up to his chin. In no time, the light went off and I exited the room, closing the door behind me.

Finally, I allowed my breaths to steady as the heft of responsibility lifted from my shoulders. Even though the relief would only last until morning, I savored it.

The bottle of rum on the desk called to me while the rain hit the windows in heavy drops. The rhythmic drumming on the roof further relaxed me, and I grabbed the half-empty bottle while making my way to the roaring fireplace. A calmness overcame me while I stood and let it sink in that it was just me and my thoughts. The way it's always been. The way I liked it.

I quenched my thirst by taking a long swig from the bottle and stared unblinkingly into the flickering flames. The heat going down my throat burned hotter than the fire, but I welcomed it. My gaze traveled to the empty corner where a Christmas tree should've been if I had bought one, and for a split second, I worried about the lack of presents I had to give to the kid. Thank goodness the tablet I had gift wrapped for him weeks ago was still in my closet.

The tablet will be enough until we're settled in and able to process the change we're both thrust into. A change we may never completely get used to.

A faint jingling in the distance mixed with the crackles and pops of burning wood, yanking me from my trance-like state. I focused on the sound, trying to determine its origin. The bottle nearly dropped from my hand as I pivoted on my heels to face Jake's bedroom door.

"Jake? Buddy?"

The jingling continued long enough for me to recognize its melody—a sluggish, eerie blend of a Christmas song mixed with a nightmarish nursery rhyme. The warped melody resembled a tune that a damaged music box would spit out right before its gears stopped and its springs snapped. After placing the liquor back onto the desk, I staggered to the closed door and pressed my ear to it. There was no doubt the music came from his room.

Damn it. Does the kid not know what sleep is?

I opened the door, switched on the light, and demanded, "Give me the toy."

Jake sat on the edge of the bed, his feet dangling inches above the floor. "I don't have a toy, Daddy."

Most of his toys were still packed in boxes in the garage, the rest were still at home, but there was no mistaking he had somehow gotten his hands on one. "I heard it, Jake." I lifted the blankets from the bed hoping to find the gadget. "Hand it over."

"But Daddy, I don't have a toy." He sounded as irritated as I felt, but I tried everything not to lose my nerve.

I dropped to my hands and knees to search under the bed. "I heard the music, so don't lie to me." Sitting back on my heels, I met his stare at eye level. "Just tell me where it is and I won't get mad. Promise."

"But Daddy. . ."

An ache near my temples threatened to send me over the edge, so I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my fingers. "Stop calling ... Just call me Mike. Ok?"

On the verge of sobbing, he points behind me. "Santa has the music."

As fast as my body would allow me, I stood and spun to face the grotesque stain on the wall. My chest ached so bad I rested my palm over it to steady my breathing and ease the pain. The spot on the wall had doubled in size. A shudder tore through me as I focused on the four limbs it seemed to grow since the last time I saw it.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my face with my palms, hoping to wash away the tipsy view. I opened my eyes, and there the tarnished form remained. On second examination, the makings of a neck and head were noticeable. "It's just a stain, Jake. Like I said, a water stain." My voice and a lump caught in my throat. "Get back in bed and I will clean it up."

As he tucked himself back in bed, I rushed to the kitchen to fill the mop bucket with water, soap, and a couple of cups of cleaner. Returning with bucket and sponge in hand, I carefully made my way across the room toward the large blot.

What was is called when people see patterns and images in random shapes? Pareidolia. That must be what we're experiencing. Nothing more. And definitely not Santa.

The sponge soaked up the cleaning liquid when I plunged it into the bucket. Water dripped down my arms and the wall as I scrubbed the discolored area, repeating my actions until nothing but a vague, semi-circle splotch was left. Satisfied that I no longer saw what resembled a humanoid silhouette with arms, legs, and a head, I dropped the sponge into the bucket and let out a relieved huff.

"There." I looked to the heavy-lidded kid in bed. "No more Santa business, alright?"

He yawned and nodded. "Alright."

"It's been a long day for both of us, so I want you to try to get some sleep now." My sights moved to the wall before I flipped the light off and left the room.

Finally, alone, I grabbed the bottle of rum by the neck and took my place in front of the fire. A chuckle escaped me as I relived the horrifying moment. I nearly suffered a heart attack upon seeing that ... stain. It wasn't uncommon to see the shape of a pig in the clouds, a smiley face in a spatter of ketchup, but I've never been spooked by the outline of a full-sized human figure so detailed before.

My smile disappeared the more I thought about it. An uneasiness crept in to replace the heat in my throat caused by the rum.

It had to be the overwhelming stress and maybe the alcohol that caused me to imagine things that couldn't really be there. By morning, I would look back at this night and laugh at the ridiculousness of it. I took another swig and chuckled.

"I do like gifts!" Jake's soft voice was just above a whisper behind his door, and his giggle sent a pang of anger down my spine.

I slammed the bottle on the desk and burst into his room. Darkness filled the space, so I flipped the light on. When brightness illuminated the surroundings, I glared at Jake who looked back at me from under the blankets.

Immediately, my sights set on the wall. Interestingly, the spot was no longer there. Only the a clean and polished cream colored wall remained.

So it just needed a good scrubbing.

Thrilled that I didn't have to contend with a case of pareidolia gone wild, I focused on the kid. "Jake, I thought I asked you to go to sleep." Trying my best to keep my frustration under wraps, I kept a straight face.

"But Santa—"

"Didn't we agree, no more Santa business?" I go to the wall where only a clean version of the surface remains. "See? It just needed some good ol' soap and water. It's gone now."

Jake shook his head. "Santa's still here, but now with a gift." He points toward the closet on the other side of the room. "See?"

There, on the surface of the closet door, is the massive stain.

Air caught in my throat as I set eyes on the distorted shadow-like figure, complete with arms, legs, and a head attached to its malformed torso. And just as Jake confirms, at the ends of what resembles its arms is a dark grey silhouette shaped as an uneven square box. Its gangly arms held the box up as if it were an offering.

My gasp ripped through the stilled atmosphere, forcing me to breath and preventing me from screaming. "Jake, let's go." My wide eyes were glued to the wall as I put out my hand for Jake to grab. When he did, we both backed away from the mysterious spot until we were out of the room and the door was closed.

Jake plopped down on the sofa and folded his arms across his chest. "I told you Santa brought a gift."

My heart raced and my eyes wouldn't stop searching the slightly swaying walls around us, expecting to see the figure in every corner and in every shadow. My erratic breathing caused my mouth to dry, but I didn't care. I needed to know what was going on.

"It couldn't have moved." I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles. "It—it can't be real. It's the rain. It's the water seeping into the drywall. Or maybe—" I looked to the nearly emptied rum bottle as I fought to keep my balance. "It's all in my head. I'm just seeing things. The stress and the booze." The more I talked the more my voice cracked. I couldn't get control of my nerves, especially when the realization hit that Jake saw the exact same thing.

"Daddy, I'm sleepy." Jake snuggled against the sofa pillows and yawned, not at all affected by what we both just witnessed.

Get it together, Mike. You're driving yourself insane.

"OK, buddy." I brushed the hairs on his head with my fingertips until a sense of comfort flashed across his face. "Alright. I'm gonna get us a couple of blankets and we're gonna sleep out here tonight. Sounds good?"

He nodded and yawned again. "Sounds good."

My heart continued to race as adrenaline and booze fired through my body. I've never been so frightened in my life and I wasn't sure what to do with my newfound energy. Quickly, I entered my room. After switching on the light, my eyes darted from wall to wall, excepting to see ... it. A crack of thunder rumbled overhead and shook the windows. I jumped back, flattening myself against the open door.

Just get the blankets, tough guy.

I rushed to the bed, grabbed a handful of sheets, and dragged them out into the living room. I pressed my hand to my heart and sighed to calm myself.

"Alright, buddy. I got you a blank—" The sofa was empty. I dropped the blankets and rushed to the kitchen. "Jake?" The bathroom. The garage. Back to the living room. "Jake?!" I gulped and paused at his bedroom door. "Jake, are you in there?" My breaths were so hard and fast the swooshing sound of wind entering and exiting my mouth was louder than the rain and the crackling wood in the fire.

I took a step forward and halted, trying desperately to build the courage I needed to open the door and face whatever was destined to meet me on the other side. I twisted the doorknob and my gut muscles tightened in anticipation. Once fully turned, I creaked the door opened. My eyes quickly scanned the room for Jake, but when I couldn't find him, they immediately landed on the closet door.

The stain had disappeared, not leaving a trace that it had ever been there.

Whatever was going on had my heart of the verge of stopping. It was too much to handle for one night. If Jake wasn't in his room, where would he be? He couldn't have gone out the door, it was dark and wet out there, and the door and the bolt remained locked.

I closed the bedroom door and headed back to the living room. The fire popped, seizing my attention.

When I looked up, I gasped and stumbled back so fast I landed on my ass. Sprawled back on my elbows, my sights set on the corner where a Christmas tree should have been. Instead of a vacant corner there was the stain. This time the figure had more detail than ever, with what looked like a messy bun atop its head. It held the square gift in one hand. The other held the hand of an additional figure half its size that resembled the silhouette of a small boy.

THE END