December 22
Twenty-four Doors: Offering Cold Comfort
“Why do we have to spend Christmas with Grandad?
“C’mon Melissa, we’ve talked about this. He’s on his own since Nanny B died. He’ll be sad and lonely, so perhaps us being there will make him feel better.”
Mum trailed off, maybe she she wasn’t convinced by her last statement. Melissa doubted that anything could fill the hole in her grandfather’s life left by losing his wife of fifty-one years.
She was trying not to sulk, but staying at Grandad’s remote, unmodernized farm over Christmas was not even on the second page of her wish list.
Hedges and five-bar gates blurred past, cows and sheep continued to graze in the fields beyond bare brown, twiggy branches. At this stage in the journey, Mum was frequently required to stop the car and wait in passing places, letting scruffy 4 x 4s hurtle past, flinging mud, like hot chocolate up the side of their smaller vehicle.
When Melissa was younger, this final leg of the journey, consisting of winding, narrow roads, used to make her car sick. Experience had taught her to face forward and crack open a window. So she peered through the windscreen until she saw the church tower which overlooked her grandfather’s farm.
“Here we are,” Mum announced, unnecessarily, as she turned the wheel and the car crunched up the shingle driveway.
Hill Drop Farm nestled just downhill from the churchyard, as its name suggested. Now a smallholding, it had once been a market garden. Melissa’s grandfather preferred to keep chickens and goats and let the rest of the fields grow as hay — Newmarket hay, which he sold to a local stables.
Melissa had been visiting since she was eight, when her grandparents moved out to the country. She’d often stayed for weekends and in school holidays, but less now her friends had parties at weekends and there were exams to work towards. The farm could look beautiful in spring and summer, fields of tall grass swaying like a green ocean, with the sun burning down from a wide open sky. On a winter’s day, with the rain falling from gunmetal clouds, everything was darkened with water or dripping.
The welcoming pots of geraniums Nanny B grew out front were overgrown and turning to slime, making the farm appear neglected. This was Melissa’s first visit since her grandmother’s death four weeks ago. The funeral wake had been held in the village hall, so Melissa hadn’t known what to expect from the farm stripped of Nanny B’s presence.
Was her spirit still lingering? Would it feel creepy or just sad? Suddenly Melissa wished she wasn’t too old to take her mother’s hand.
“Dad, how are you?”
Her mum had swung open the car door, and she was hurrying to embrace Melissa’s grandfather, standing at the open back door to greet them.
From Melissa’s vantage point in the car, she noticed the slump to Grandad’s shoulders, the shadows around his eyes and cheeks that hadn’t been there before. She climbed out and went to greet him, feeling an unfamiliar hint of shyness. The saying ‘intruding on someone’s grief, suddenly struck her with meaning.
”Melissa,” he said her name softly, as he always did.
She caught a slight twinkle of pleasure in his eyes before she propelled herself forward and was buried in his hug. The tang of woodsmoke was caught in his scratchy wool sweater.
It was her same old Grandad, of course it was.
Melissa stared balefully at her phone home screen. She had no bars. This part of the fens was a notorious signal blackspot. Her grandparents didn’t have internet, so she had no clue what her friends were doing or saying. This technology blackout had always been the toughest part about visiting — it felt like stepping away from civilization.
Mum was bustling around the kitchen, making porridge for Grandad and coffee and toast for her. She wasn’t used to the electric hobs, and when she went to use the toaster, the radio blurted into life, because they shared a plug. Her mum was looking rather flustered, but she pasted on a bright smile when Grandad entered the room, dressed in his usual corduroy slacks, a flannel shirt and a ratty cardigan.
“Morning Melissa,” he offered a watery smile, and smoothed his hair. “Ellie, I don’t expect you to make me breakfast.”
“You know I like making a fuss of you when I visit,” Mum tried to make light of it. She set a pot of tea in front of his place setting. “Porridge coming up.”
“What are you planning on doing today?” Grandad asked Melissa.
She’d been asking herself the same question, but Mum jumped in with an answer.
“She’s going to bring down the decorations and make the tree look pretty.”
Grandad seemed a bit perplexed, his brow wrinkling into a frown.
“Oh, I wasn’t going to bother with all that this year …” he trailed off.
When he looked at Melissa, she felt the weight of her mum’s attention.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make an excellent job of it,” he patted his granddaughter’s hand. “Lord knows, the place could do with a touch of cheer.”
Then he stared at the fields beyond the kitchen window, his eyes unfocused.
“But I don’t want to upset him,” Melissa told her mother.
“Don’t worry. It’s just that decorating was my mum’s thing. Nanny B loved readying the house for Christmas. She had several different themes she used in rotation. My dad used to come in from putting the chickens to bed and just admire what she’d created.”
She sniffed, and rubbed at her nose.
“Go to the stairs at the end of the house,” Mum issued Melissa directions.
“In the guest bedroom on the left, there’s a deep cupboard built into the wall. That’s where you’ll find the Christmas tree, in two black bin bags. Also several long flat boxes of decorations. They’ll be marked Xmas on the side in Sharpie pen.”
Melissa walked through the house, which had originally been two thatched cottages, now knocked into one. On the ground floor you could go from one end of the property to the other, but to reach the different bedrooms and the bathrooms, there were still two staircases.
The far end of the house was chilly, its radiators turned low when the rooms weren’t being used. Grandad’s study was here, the desk covered with orderly piles of letters, bills, and brochures relating to the feed and care of livestock.
Climbing the stairs, Melissa studied family photographs hanging on the end wall. The older black and white portraits showed faces she didn’t know, but there were more recent ones: Grandad and Nanny B on their wedding day, Mum’s christening and some of her school photos, alongside one of Mum and Dad’s wedding day.
She was grateful Grandad hadn’t taken that down when her parents got divorced.
The cold was pervasive as Melissa reached the landing. She decided to speed up the task, eager to get back, where the air was warmer. She opened the door and located the oddly shaped cupboard door beyond the twin guest beds. When she opened it, she surmised it must occupy the space between this room and the one in which she and Mum were staying. One of its walls abutted the chimney for the fireplace downstairs.
Melissa groped until she found a light switch, and was impressed by the neat shelves on which the boxes of decorations rested, just as her mum had described. She reached a couple down, setting them on the nearest bed, even stacking them, she could only carry two at once.
When Melissa returned to the room, she was a little baffled. The cupboard door was shut and, when she opened it, the light was off. Odd, but maybe the light worked on a timer. She reached into the space and pulled out the first, then the second section of the Christmas tree in its black plastic wrapping. She turned off the light and closed the cupboard door, taking the artificial tree with her.
Mum was baking festive biscuits, Melissa guessed, as she laid the tree sections down in the entrance hall. Corny Christmas music was playing and there were tempting wafts of ginger and cinnamon. Retracing her steps for the final boxes, the far end of the house felt dismal and remote in comparison.
Melissa stopped, with her foot hovering above the top rise of the stairs. She thought she heard talking — the sound of a girl’s voice, soft and low. It had a sing-song quality, like a nursery rhyme or a playground chant. The fine hairs at the nape of her neck pricked to attention, quite unrelated to the chilly air.
Melissa put her foot down, making the floorboards squeak, and the talking stopped.
She crept forward a pace or two, but it was silent and still. She pushed at the spare room door, holding her breath. Inside, everything looked as before.
What had she expected to see? She didn’t know, but she checked thoroughly under the beds and inside the cupboard. She collected the boxes, then paused to peer at the fields from the window, before she left the room. Melissa saw nothing out of the ordinary, but she’d had quite a scare.
“The tree looks fabulous,” Mum enthused later, “have a biscuit as your reward.”
Melissa nibbled on the sweet, gingery cookie and admired her handiwork, feeling pleased with the result. Mum had brought fairy lights from home, saying that Nanny B never used them. She probably hadn’t stuck to any of her grandmother’s themes, but the mixture of baubles, bows and carved wooden toys she’d used to decorate looked effective.
“Grandad will be very impressed,” Mum nodded. “He’ll be coming in for his cup of tea any minute.”
Indeed, Melissa could make out his outline through the obscured glass of the kitchen door, taking off his outdoor layers in the boot room. When he stepped into the warmth of the house, his cheeks were rosy and he was dabbing at his nose with a printed handkerchief.
“How are my girls?” He asked in his soft voice.
Melissa experience a physical pang imagining how lonely he must feel since her grandmother’s death.
He was keeping going, carrying out his chores because the animals needed him, but coming back into an empty house, where he’d been so used to his wife’s company, must be some kind of torture.
“We’re great Dad,” Mum was cheery, passing him a cuppa. “Come and see the lovely job Melissa has made of the tree.”
Grandad admired it from top to bottom, pointing out several ornaments that he remembered from her mum’s childhood.
“It looks smashing. Thank you Melissa.”
His expression was filled with such sincerity, that Melissa felt hopeful that staying with him, over Christmas, might serve as distraction after all.
Christmas morning could never hold the excitement it had when Melissa was a small child — those rose-tinted days when she still believed that it was Father Christmas who left the gifts in her stocking and something under the tree. But as she drew back the curtains to reveal Grandad’s garden and the fields beyond, set glittering and white by a heavy frost, she thought it looked quite magical.
Mum had put their few presents under the tree. They wouldn’t open them till after Grandad had attended the church service. Melissa helped him by letting out the chickens, while he fed the goats. Then they stood together, watching the animals enjoy their raw vegetables and pellets.
“Everybody has been very kind.” When Grandad spoke, he did not meet her eyes, instead he watched the chickens peck.
“But it’s very hard to carry on without her.” He exhaled slowly, and stared into the middle distance.
Melissa didn’t know what to say, but she leaned into him, considering what might be best. Grandad spoke again.
“They tell me I might see her, imagine that she is there, because I’m so used to your grandmother being around.”
Melissa considered this, then plucking up courage she asked. “Would that be a comfort, Grandad?”
“It would Melissa. To see her one last time.”
He nodded as he spoke, and his throat bobbed. The silence stretched.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Grandad?”
“Well, I think sometimes spirits do hang around. Those ones with unfinished business.”
He turned his watery eyes on Melissa, and she knew he was serious. It wasn’t one of his famous leg pulls.
“This house is very old. Do you think it might be haunted?” She asked.
“Over two hundred years old. And yes it might.”
Melissa was surprised, because she’d been sure Grandad was going to offer a platitude, something reassuring.
“Have you seen any ghosts?” She asked.
“No, but I think I sensed one.” His voice was thoughtful. “At the far end of the house, above my study. A couple of times I’ve felt a presence there, seems like a young woman or girl. I gave her a name, and now I say hello to her whenever I climb the stairs.”
“Did she ever answer you?” Melissa’s eyes had widened with surprise, and goosebumps pebbled her arms.
“No,” Grandad shook his head. “But it seemed to calm her, to know that she was acknowledged.”
“What — what name did you call her?”
“Let me think,” he inspected his mud spattered gum boots for a few beats. “Molly . She seemed like a Molly to me.”
“OK,” Melissa processed this.
“Have you seen her?” He regarded her with steady curiosity.
“I think I heard her. Yesterday, when I was fetching the Christmas decorations.”
“Did it scare you?”
“A little,” Melissa nodded. Grandfather took her hand.
“Next time you’re up there, say Hello Molly. Tell her what you’re doing.
“I think maybe she lost a baby, or died in childbirth. It was quite common back when these cottages were built for estate workers, and that would tie her to the place. If we can make her feel welcome, that’s a kind thing to do.”
They walked back to the house deep in thought, still hand in hand. Then Grandad got cleaned up to attend the church service.
While he was gone, Mum began cooking their Christmas dinner. She’d found a duck in the freezer and was going to roast it using one of Nanny B’s recipes. Melissa sat down and peeled potatoes, parsnips and carrots to help. She laid the table and put out some crackers she’d found among the decorations.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she told Mum.
Slipping into her fleece jacket, Melissa retreated to the far end of the house. She ascended the stairs with quiet caution, taking care to avoid the top step that creaked. The air was just as frigid as yesterday.
“Hello Molly,” she said aloud, pulling the fleece around her.
“My name is Melissa.”
She heard nothing, but decided to continue.
“I’m sorry if I startled you yesterday, when I came to find the tree decorations.”
She trod softly forward, opening the door to the spare room. The space looked empty, untouched except where she’d rumpled the bedcover with the boxes.
“My grandfather thinks you might be lonely.”
Melissa regarded the church from her raised vantage point. People were leaving the service, shaking hands with the vicar, some stopping to exchange seasonal greetings with each other.
“Grandad’s lonely too. Perhaps you can watch over him for me.” She told the restless spirit.
Her grandfather looked older as he walked down the lane, back to the farm, carrying his prayer book pressed to his chest. When he neared the house, Melissa stepped out of the room, closing the door softly.
“Thank you Molly.”
She spoke into the silence, before descending the stairs, ready to join her family for Christmas.
[The End]
Tomorrow’s story: December 23 Norm De Plume
Many excellent short stories have gone ahead of mine, and there are still 2 more to come. Please review the list of ‘doors’ in Nathan’s post and follow the links to enjoy more seasonal shivers!
© Jacinta Palmer 2025, written by a human and not AI
Oh my, - only you Jacinta could have written this beautiful and touching Christmas story. Like so often with your writing I could feel like I was there seeing and experiencing everything you had created with every perfectly placed word.
This was quite nice! Perfect for a Christmas read!