To celebrate Christmas Eve, we are sharing ‘Shades of Christmas’ written by Anna Chater from Year 9. Anna was commissioned to write this eerie short story by Head of English, Ms Litterick. Her inspiration was her bookshelf in her bedroom. She wanted to combine the haunting quality of ghost stories that she has been influenced by, particularly Dickens’ nineteenth-century novella, A Christmas Carol.

We hope you enjoy reading it. Happy Christmas!

 

Shades of Christmas

Faint whispers of the grand church bells ringing merrily in the distance crept through the thick, stone walls of Shottery Manor. Each toll reverberated throughout my pallid being, replacing the dull demeanour with that of joy and cheer. Gentle drops of white and silver fluttered from the comforting blackness of the sky, dancing along with the gusts of icy wind until settling on the blanket of snow beneath.

When Mr Flower blew out the final candle, I could feel the safety of solitude flood my soul like a warm bath. In my predictable manner, I advanced from the dusty corner of the living room across the blemished oak floorboards. I slumped down onto the worn armchair placed awkwardly next to the fireplace; embers of fiery red and warm orange were still glowing modestly from where the fire had been brought to life several hours prior.

But something about that night was special – it was Christmas! The one day I looked forward to every year. A day of excitement and change, seeing little children (an abundance of them had inhabited the old manor throughout my time) giggle gleefully out of joy that I had induced…

The great, towering bookcase that resided next to my chair had sat for so long that it had seemingly morphed into part of the manor’s architecture, a library of faded colour and dust. One particular book stood out more than the rest, the cover coated with a film of dust slightly thinner than the others, the spine broken, and yellowed pages dog-eared and stained:  ‘A Christmas Carol’, it read. Charles Dickens.

I read it every year. I had actually read it every year since it was published, so I found myself simply skimming over the smudged text; I had memorised the entire novel from cover-to-cover decades earlier and now only flicked through out of habit. Once I had ran my fingers over each textured and discoloured page, I began frantically working until everything was ready - it had to be perfect.

On the horizon, a faint splash of colour was painting itself onto the dark canvas of the night. The silence that had enveloped the town was beginning to cease, and animated squeals of excitement filled the air. From the great Manor house, two young boys’ eyes sparkled with anticipation as they waited for their parents to open the doors to the living room. When the heavy, wooden doors were pushed open just enough to catch a glimpse of the festivities that lay inside, blinding smiles plastered across the children’s faces and they sprinted inside to admire the ornate Christmas tree that filled the room, and, most importantly, the mountains of presents that lay beneath.

All the while, I observed from above, like an angel watching over the joyous family, and placidly allowed the Man in Red to take credit for all my back-breaking work. My grey dress turned a slight shade of green, but the happiness that radiated from Shottery Manor made me remember why I go to all that business and bother every Christmas.

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Anna Chater, Year 9