While You Were Creeping - Poppy Rhys Page 0,1

help.”

“Let’s talk about something else. It’s December first. Have you decided if you’ll let your students participate in the elves’ visit next week?”

I think I’d rather talk about flushing toilets.

The annual Elves Day happens every year at the school where I teach. A horde of alien elves flood the school, bringing small stocking gifts for every student and faculty member.

It’s sweet, really. Or I used to think it was sweet. I used to love Christmas. This was my favorite holiday once upon a time, believe it or not.

“They’ll still get their gifts. I’m not holding my students back, I just don’t let the elves in my classroom.”

“Do you think that’s fair, Holly?”

“No.”

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to allow it the past few years. It was just a painful reminder.

“What if you tried it this year? All you have to say is yes.” Dr. Molina leaned forward in her chair, her voice gently coaxing. “You could think of this as another method. What if you said yes this week to things you’d normally say no to?”

“I don’t know...”

The thought made me itch.

“One week. Nothing that can harm you, of course. Just small things. Why don’t we start with the elves?”

We. She always said we like we were both flushing toilets and creeping our exes and hating everything Christmas related.

One week. Only one week of saying yes. Maybe I could do it.

Dr. Molina lifted a brow. “What do you think?”

I took a deep breath. “...Yes?”

TWO

I took off my knitted gloves once I got into my hovering transport pod and stomped my snowy boots on the floorboard. “Home,” I told the built in AI.

“Estimated arrival in twenty minutes.”

The transport navigated through town, the decked-out buildings and streetlamps twinkled with an array of lights, silver and gold bells, and shining ribbons among the profuse amount of pine swag.

I used to think this place was a picture-perfect digital post card. I suppose it still was, but it didn’t fill me with warmth like it used to.

Tinsel hadn’t changed—I had.

The buildings faded into the night, only wreathed streetlamps guiding the way as the transport ventured into the surrounding neighborhoods and their massive estates. So many old bloodlines lived in Tinsel, including mine.

I pulled out my comm and, embarrassingly, opened George’s social threads.

What’s wrong with me?

I’d just left my therapist’s office and here I was, feeding my misery with this nonsense. His holiday photo popped up again. A moving image of them smiling and waving.

I sighed. They looked so happy. His love of Christmas hadn’t changed. Meanwhile, he’d sucked the joy out of this season for me.

Like I said, Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. That was something we shared, a love of the winter solstice. I knew that’s partly why I hated it so much these days. It made me feel better—and simultaneously miserable—to hate something he loved so much.

It wasn’t logical, but my father always told me I was a walking contradiction.

The transport slowed and turned onto the snowy, winding driveway that cut through the frosted pines. The many glowing windows from the Zax residence—my family’s home—flickered through the trees.

The rustic log and stone estate sprawled over a chunk of land that’d been passed generation to generation in my family. Wings had been erected and reconstructed through the years, making room for connected family units—as was custom on Dor Nye—until it was one of the largest beauties in town, rivaled only by the Vance and Pill’o family homes.

Tinsel was so far north, we mostly lived in perpetual winter. It was only green and sunny a couple months out of the year here. I never minded. I still loved snow.

No one could ruin that for me.

This place was my home and made me feel the warmth I was missing. It made me smile...

Until, at that very moment, someone turned the Christmas lights on, lighting up the whole exterior.

“Son of a bitch...”

The transport dropped me off at the front door before moseying to one of the garages tucked under the residence.

I stood there, frosted breath puffing in front of my face as I scowled at the twinkling evergreen boughs and dancing holographic snowman on the front door.

I stomped up the freshly shoveled stone steps and opened the door only to be hit with the overpowering, warm, and caramelly scent of gingerbread.

“Ugh!”

Did I forget to mention my family was huge on Christmas? So huge in fact, they threw the town’s most popular winter festival party every year right in this house.

The thought of cheerful townsfolk dancing and