FREE Christmas Read December 2025 - ‘Christmas Wish.’

Just a gentle little ghost story this time. Enjoy!

Christmas Wish

“I hope you will be comfortable down here. If you need anything, give me a call, okay?”

“Seems ridiculous, calling you on the phone when you’re upstairs!”

“It’s better than you shouting, Mary. We might not hear you, especially if we’re all asleep. You’re sure you know how to use the phone?”

“Of course I’m sure! I’m old, not stupid!”

“Right, well,” Rachel said tactfully, “If you’re certain there’s nothing else you need?”

“A stairlift might be nice, so I can sleep upstairs like a normal person”

Rachel sighed, “We’ve talked about this. A stairlift is a big expense at this time of year. Maybe if you need to stay long term.”

Mary eyed her balefully. “I won’t need to! My flat will be sorted in no time and I will be going home, mark my words. I will be out of your way. I know I am not welcome here, not even with my own son and his wife!”

“That’s not fair, Mary. You are welcome here. It’s just that there are lots of family staying, that’s all. Let’s try to make the best of things. It’s nobody’s fault your flat was flooded out. Let’s just be grateful you got out safely.”

“Part of me wishes they had let me drown!”

“Don’t say things like that!” Rachel snapped,  “It’s not that bad! You have a comfortable bed here. You have the dying warmth from the fireplace. Everything is decorated and Christmassy. I even found you a beautiful, vintage stocking to hang alongside all of ours.”

“Dying warmth. Vintage. Nice choice of words! You mean old, like me.”

Rachel groaned, “It’s been a long day, Mary. I am going to bed. It will be Christmas when you wake up. Let that cheer you up if nothing else will. Goodnight.”

She slipped out, closing the door behind her. Mary heard her muttering something under her breath before treading up the stairs.

She shifted position on the fold out bed, leaning back onto firm pillows. Rachel’s departure made the room feel suddenly empty.

She grunted irritably, tucking her hands under the duvet for warmth. She wanted to be in her own flat, with her own vintage decorations and traditions. In her own bed, eating her own food. Not a big feast, like Rachel had planned, but good food nonetheless. She had been looking forward to it. Alone with her memories and her pleasant dreams, nodding off in front of the television.

It was not fair.

She stared moodily at the embers of the fire. The warm glow together with the soft lamplight did make the room cosy, she grudgingly admitted.

She had lived to see eighty-seven Christmases, she reflected. Ever since Charles died this past February, she dreaded seeing another. She wanted to be alone; to look back at her life in peace. At this moment in time, she could think of nothing worse than being surrounded by a gaggle of family excitedly opening gifts, drinking eggnog and trying to cheer her up. She did not want to cheer up; she wanted to dwell.

Nothing worse. Except maybe getting flooded out two days before Christmas Eve.

She thought of her little flat, under more than a foot of water. Of her lovely carpet, covered in sludge and soil. Of how she had watched, helpless, as the few meagre gifts beneath her tree floated in the dirty water, their once pretty wrappings peeling away like flaky skin.

Charles’s record collection had not been spared either, the water invading the cabinet he stored them in. Fortunately, she had put his favourite Christmas single on top of the Welsh dresser, ready to play on Christmas morning. Nat King Cole, ‘Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.’ In all the fuss, she had forgotten to bring it with her. She did not want to hear it played on some modern technological contraption. She wanted to play the record, listen to it properly.

No chance of that now.

She kept Charles’s shoes under the bed, where he always left them. They would be ruined, too.

With a shudder of embarrassment, she recalled the indignity of being rescued by a neighbour. Picked up and carried out, for Heaven’s sake! She was not sure she would have cared if the water had gone over her head. She wished it had.

“They will soon get fed up of me here, mark my words.” Mary muttered, feeling as if the room was listening.

She eyed the row of hanging stockings. Eleven in all, including hers.

“There should be twelve,” she murmured, suddenly teary.

Her tears must have blurred her vision. She thought she saw her stocking, move. Not as if shifted by a breeze, but as if there was something inside it.

“Spider, I expect. Or a mouse, knowing my luck. A mouse, mark my words, eating whatever is in there!”

She rubbed her eyes dry with the ends of her sleeves, and looked again. The stocking was still.

“Imagining things,” she told herself, wriggling further under the covers as the temperature in the room dropped.

She closed her eyes, willing sleep to take her even though the lamp was still on. Unusual for her, to sleep with the light on. She felt she needed it, tonight.

She lay there, her mind racing. She should be exhausted; she was exhausted, she just could not sleep.

“Blast it!” She spat, her eyes flicking open.

Something drifted in front of the fire.

Mary, ignoring the ripple of fear traversing her spine, considered for a moment.

“Nothing more than a gust of wind down the chimney, blowing smoke into the room,” she said, her voice unconvincing. There was no smell of smoke in the air; the fire sat tame and low in its hearth.

She snuggled deeper under the covers, realising she was staring wide-eyed at the fireplace, unable to take her gaze away.

The tree in the corner shivered, making the baubles clink softly, like Christmas bells. Mary froze, unable to come up with a ready explanation this time.

She lay there, chest inexplicably tight, scared to turn and look directly at the tree. The shivering stopped, the baubles fell silent.

“Do they have a cat?” She asked the empty room, “They probably have a cat, climbing the tree.” Even as she said it, she knew it was not true. Her son was allergic to cats. There was no way he would allow one as a pet.

Once more, her gaze fell upon the beautiful vintage stocking. Rich colours of gold, red and green adorned the velvet fabric. It reminded her of her own childhood, when she would be grateful for an orange and some walnuts at the bottom of a stocking.

At last, her eyes grew heavy, began to close. Her body relaxed as she drifted off. She was at the point between sleep and waking, when the world seems muted and distant, when the first, faint whiff of roasting chestnuts reached her.

She rubbed her nose, turned to her side, obviously dreaming. When the faint crackle of a healthily roaring fire began, she realised she must really be asleep. It was thinking of that old Nat King Cole song that had brought this on.

“Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow,” she murmured, barely audible, unaware she was even speaking.

“Will find it hard to sleep tonight,” came the answering refrain.

May stirred, frowning. Even in the depths of slumber, she knew something was not right. That line of the song had not been sung in her dream, nor in her head. It was here, in this room. She had heard it clearly.

It took forever to open her eyes. Another eternity to realise when she did that the room was both just the same and somehow different.

Stiffly, Mary turned over. She had not imagined the roaring fire, nor the chestnuts roasting on it. The blaze gave the room a warm orange glow.

Confused, she sat up with some effort. Perhaps Rachel had come in, though why on earth she would roast chestnuts at this time of night, she had no idea.

Perhaps it was morning. Perhaps she had slept after all.

Another billow of white smoke drifted across the fireplace. Mary watched, more puzzled than afraid, as it traversed the length of the stocking. It wrapped around the Christmas tree, making it shiver. It hovered at the foot of Mary’s bed, grew tall, appeared to be looking down at her.

As she watched, mesmerised, the amorphous shape took form, until a figure that looked a lot like Charles floated at the end of her bed.

He did not speak, yet somehow Mary heard his words, “All is well Mary love. Turn out the light and go to sleep.”

Unquestioningly, Mary did as she was bade, though she could not help but say, “I’ll be awake all night, mark my words,” as she turned off the lamp.

“Mary? Mary!”

She awoke to Rachel leaning over her, a concerned expression on her face. A cup of steaming hot tea sat on the end table serving as a nightstand, two of her favourite ginger biscuits with it.

Rachel sighed in obvious relief, “Oh thank God! I’ve been trying to wake you for ages! The whole house is awake and waiting for you. I don’t think I’ve ever known you sleep so late!”

“What time is it?” Mary asked, sitting up and looking around,

“Almost eleven o’ clock, on Christmas morning! Oh! Merry Christmas!” Rachel leaned in to give her a quick hug, “I’ve brought you a cuppa. Why not get your dressing gown on and I will bring it through for you. We’re all ready to open our gifts.”

Mary looked up at the mantelpiece, now bare of stockings.

“Tell me Rachel, were you in here roasting chestnuts last night?”

Another flicker of concern crossed Rachel’s face, “No, of course I wasn’t. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Just dreaming I expect. Help me up, would you?”

As Rachel helped her into her dressing gown, Mary checked the fireplace. The embers were cold: long dead, no sign of even a single roasted chestnut.

Just as Rachel said, everyone was up and waiting in the lounge. After a chorus of ‘Merry Christmases,’ Mary was helped into a comfortable wing chair.

“Here mum, you go first. Merry Christmas,” Her son said, planting a small kiss on her cheek and handing her the beautiful stocking.

It was every bit as soft to the touch as it looked. Mary, feeling suddenly like a child again, reached in to pull out two small boxes, prettily wrapped. She put them aside for later, feeling in the toe of the stocking, delighted to find a satsuma and some chocolate coins. She pulled them out, laughing, her face glowing.

“We remembered what you always say about Christmas stockings when you were little,” Rachel provided, “Keep feeling, there’s more.”

Mary dipped her hand back into the stocking. This time she withdrew a handful of walnuts.

“I am going to need my teeth in to eat these!” she joked, making everyone laugh.

Her stocking done, the others fell to opening theirs. As she watched her family, she smoothed the velvety fabric across her knee.

Something hard remained inside. She must have missed a walnut. She reached into the stocking, grasped the hard little object, pulled it free.

A chestnut. Copper-red, shiny and perfect.

“How on earth did that get in there?” Rachel said, looking over at her, “I didn’t even buy chestnuts this year!”

Mary smiled, clutching the small object tightly, “Must have been in with the pack of walnuts by mistake.”

Rachel shrugged, looking away again.

“That’ll be it, mark my words.” Mary said, though no one was listening.

 S P Oldham