Fresh Snow

456 Word Holiday Flash Fiction

“Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.”
“Uggh! Not today!” Beth groaned as she rolled over and struggled to turn off the alarm.

She was too late. Bear, her not-so-little puppy, was awake, and knew she was too. He bounced across the bed and rushed to lick the tip of her nose where it peeked out from the duvet, then nipped her fingers and wiggled with energy. It was time to get up.

She threw off the blankets and winced when her feet hit the chill wooden floor. She had forgotten her slippers in the living room again. Wrapping her robe around herself, she shuffled toward the kitchen, scooping up Bear as she passed him.

She set him on the sofa, slid into her slippers, and glanced out the window.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. “Wait. What was that?”

Was someone standing at the foot of her driveway? She straightened, grabbed her glasses, and opened the front door.

A fresh, cold breeze tickled her as it passed. Snow had fallen overnight, thick and clean, blanketing the world in silence. The plows had not touched the road yet, and her driveway was a pristine sheet of white. No footprints. No sign of anyone at all.

Sighing, she turned back inside. The house felt empty, colder in the silence. Suddenly, Bear erupted in frantic barking, high and sharp, the way he sounded when cornering a squirrel.

She hurried toward the living room and froze at the sound of a voice. A voice she should not be hearing.

“Where’s the Christmas tree, Babe?”

Her heart stopped. “What… why… how are you here?”

“What do you mean? It’s Christmas. Where else would I be? Why are you acting so weird this morning?”

Tears filled her eyes. This could not be real. She had been there when the machines stopped. She had watched them lower him into the cold ground. He could not be standing in her living room… their living room.

He walked over and kissed her cheek, his breath an icy brush against her skin. “Maybe you need more sleep,” he teased. “C’mon, Babe. Smile. It’s Christmas and this place looks like you forgot. You head downstairs and grab the decorations. I’ll go out back and get us a tree.”

Whistling, he stepped out the back door.

Beth followed, breath tight, and stopped at the doorway. She could see him heading into the woods behind the house, his figure moving easily between the pines, the soft, familiar notes of Silver Bells drifting across the snow like a memory.

But the yard beyond the threshold lay smooth and untouched.

Not a single step marring its pristine expanse.

On the counter behind her, a single card waited.

“Merry Christmas, Babe.”