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***efischermann*** · Yesterday, 06:27 PM

Shockingly warm Christmas here in Denver...no snow and blue skies!

S61 Four Star Cup - Game-Winning Goal in the clinching Game 4

ValorX77 · Yesterday, 06:55 PM

I remember when we had a 75 degree Christmas in Maryland. Good times

ValorX77 · Yesterday, 06:57 PM

I’ve always said this. Cold weather will never be my friend.

Thunfish · Yesterday, 07:00 PM

Hope y'all are having a fun Christmas Eve!

Thunfish · Yesterday, 07:01 PM

I'm a bit knackered from working out and... all the other stuff. I mean, I walked 6 km down the beach side on Sunday, I am very knackered.

Gaia Mormont · Yesterday, 07:24 PM

Its Friday!!! And Christmas Eve!!! Can't wait to work tonight and deal with angry drunk people who think they abuse people who have to work! Tis the season

***TomServo*** · Yesterday, 08:14 PM

(Part 3)

I always loved Christmas. The bright lights and the wonderful drinks always warmed me up after a long year. When I was younger, my family would stay up all night and watch the movie marathons of the old classic films. Drinking hot cocoa, and seeing who could stay awake the longest. Even after dad left, the holiday season always managed to keep me happy.

"I'm thinking, we can pick up a few things from the store the day before Christmas eve and we just kind of veg out? How does that sound Ken?"

"That sounds nice," I say, stretching as I finally get out of bed. The morning routine helps shake off the remnants of last night's dreams. Shower, coffee, breakfast – simple things that ground me in the present.

Cheri's already in the kitchen when I finish my shower, the smell of coffee and toast filling our small apartment. She's humming something under her breath – probably one of those Christmas songs she's been obsessed with lately. The decorations have been slowly multiplying around the apartment over the past week, thanks to her enthusiasm.

"I made you breakfast," she says, sliding a plate across the counter. "You seemed pretty out of it this morning."

"Just tired," I reply, focusing on the perfectly done eggs. Cheri always remembers how I like them – just slightly runny in the middle. "Work's been crazy with the holiday rush."

"The bookstore must be packed this time of year."

I nod, grateful for the mundane conversation. "Everyone wants their last-minute Christmas shopping done. You wouldn't believe how many copies of 'The Night Before Christmas' I sold yesterday."

"Speaking of Christmas," Cheri says, sitting down across from me with her own plate, "I was thinking maybe we could start our own tradition this year. You know, make new memories."

Something in her tone makes me look up. She's watching me carefully, the way she does when she thinks I'm having a bad day. But I'm fine. The dreams only come at night, and during the day, I'm just regular Kenny, assistant manager at Morton's Books and Cheri's somewhat functional boyfriend.

"New memories sound good," I tell her, and I mean it. The old ones are... complicated. But Cheri doesn't need to know about that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Great!" She brightens immediately. "I was thinking we could do a movie marathon on Christmas Eve, order Chinese food, make hot chocolate – the works. Just us."

Just us. Something eases in my chest at those words. Just us means no family obligations, no awkward questions about why I never talk about my mother anymore, no well-meaning inquiries about my brother.

"That sounds perfect, Cher. Really perfect."

The bookstore is quieter than usual when I arrive, despite what I told Cheri about the holiday rush. Most of our customers come in during the afternoon, leaving the morning shift peaceful. Just me, the books, and old Mrs. Henderson who works the register on Tuesdays.

"Morning, Kenny," she calls out as I hang up my coat. "Could you help me with these new displays? My arthritis is acting up something fierce today."

I spend the next hour arranging Christmas-themed books in the front window. It's mindless work, which usually I enjoy, but today something about the covers keeps catching my eye. A illustrated family gathered around a fireplace. A mother reading to her children. A brother and sister decorating a tree.

"You're doing that thing again, dear," Mrs. Henderson says, making me jump. I hadn't heard her approach. "Staring off into space. Just like your mother used to do."

I freeze, the book in my hands suddenly heavy. "You knew my mother?"

***TomServo*** · Yesterday, 08:15 PM

part 4

"Oh yes, she used to come in all the time before..." Mrs. Henderson pauses, her wrinkled face scrunching up in thought. "Well, it must have been years ago now. Such a lovely woman. She always wore the prettiest shade of red lipstick."

The rest of my shift passes in a blur. I focus on inventory counts and reorganizing the mystery section, anything to keep my mind occupied. By closing time, I've almost convinced myself that the conversation with Mrs. Henderson never happened. After all, she's getting older – she probably has me confused with someone else.

When I get home, Cheri's left a note on the fridge: 'Working late tonight. Leftover pasta in the fridge. Love you.' The apartment feels different when she's not here. Bigger somehow. Emptier. I heat up the pasta but barely taste it, my eyes drawn to the Christmas lights she's strung around the living room windows. They cast strange shadows on the walls, like reaching fingers.

I should go to bed. I have the early shift again tomorrow. But sleep means dreams, and lately they've been getting worse. More vivid. More... real.

Instead, I pull out my laptop and open up a browser window. I stare at the empty search bar for a long moment before typing: 'Morton's Books history.' The results are mostly reviews and business listings. Nothing about my mother. Nothing about that Christmas.

My finger hovers over the backspace key. I could search for more specific terms. Names. Dates. But something stops me. The same something that's stopped me every time before.

The lights flicker – probably just a power surge – and I close the laptop. That's enough for tonight. I'll just watch some TV until Cheri gets home. Something mindless. Something safe.

As I reach for the remote, I catch a glimpse of movement in the darkened TV screen. For a split second, I think I see a reflection of someone standing behind me.

But when I turn around, the apartment is empty.

Just like it should be.

I must have dozed off on the couch because the next thing I know, Cheri's gently shaking my shoulder.

"Ken? Hey, you're going to hurt your neck sleeping like that."

I blink, disoriented. The TV's still on, playing infomercials with the sound muted. The Christmas lights cast a soft glow across the room.

"What time is it?" My voice sounds rough.

"Just past midnight. You didn't have to wait up for me." She's still in her nurse's scrubs, looking exhausted. "Rough night at the hospital?"

"Had to cover for Sarah," she says, collapsing next to me on the couch. "Triple shift. But at least I'm off tomorrow." She leans her head on my shoulder. "You were talking in your sleep again."

My stomach tightens. "Was I?"

"Mmhmm. Something about your brother? And Christmas lights?" She yawns. "Couldn't really make it out."

I force a laugh. "Probably just stressed about the holidays."

"You know," she says slowly, "you never really talk about your family. I mean, I know about your brother, but..." She trails off, waiting.

I keep my eyes fixed on the TV. An ad for kitchen knives plays silently on the screen. The blade catches the light as the demonstrator shows off its cutting power.

"Not much to talk about," I say finally. "Dad left when I was young. Mom... well, she did her best. And Tommy..." The name feels strange in my mouth, like something foreign. "Tommy was Tommy. You know how brothers are."

"I don't, actually. Only child, remember?" She pokes my ribs gently. "But I get it if you don't want to talk about it."

The thing is, I do want to talk about it. Sometimes the memories feel like they're burning a hole inside me. But which memories are real? The happy ones of Christmas mornings and movie marathons? Or the other ones, the ones that only come in dreams?

"Maybe someday," I say.

Cheri nods against my shoulder, already half asleep. "Come on," she says, standing and pulling me up. "Let's go to bed. For real this time."

In the bedroom, she falls asleep almost immediately. I lie awake, listening to her steady breathing, trying to match my own to it. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 12:47. December 19th now.

Six days until Christmas Eve.

Five days and eleven hours until-

I close my eyes tight, forcing the thought away. Instead, I think about work. About the book displays I need to finish. About the inventory that needs to be counted. About Mrs. Henderson and her arthritis and-

About what she said about my mother.

No. Not that either.

I roll over, careful not to wake Cheri. Maybe if I focus on her breathing, on the familiar weight of her next to me, I can avoid the dreams tonight. Maybe just this once, I can sleep without seeing my mother's face in the mirror. Without hearing Tommy's voice. Without remembering the way the Christmas lights looked that night, reflecting off the bathroom tile, making patterns like-

No.

Just sleep.

Just dream about normal things.

Just forget.

***TomServo*** · Yesterday, 08:17 PM

part 5

December 23rd arrives with a blast of cold air and early darkness. The dreams are getting worse. Last night I woke up three times, each time certain I could hear Tommy calling my name from the bathroom. Cheri says I've been talking in my sleep more, but she won't tell me what I've been saying.

The bookstore is chaos today. Parents desperately searching for last-minute gifts, children running between the aisles, the constant chime of the register. I should be grateful for the distraction, but every time the door opens, letting in a gust of cold air, I remember how cold it was that night.

"Kenny?" Mrs. Henderson's voice makes me jump. I'm standing in the children's section, holding a copy of "The Night Before Christmas." How long have I been here? "The Wilsons are looking for help in Mystery."

"Right. Sorry." I put the book back, but something catches my eye. The illustration on the cover – a family decorating their tree. The mother is wearing red lipstick. Was she wearing that before? No, that's impossible. It's just a children's book. Just a drawing.

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" Mrs. Henderson puts her hand on my arm. "You look just like your mother did that last day she came in. All pale and shaky. The day she asked me about-"

"I need to use the bathroom," I cut her off, pulling away. The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, making everything sharp and harsh.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. Don't look in the mirror. Don't look in the mirror. Don't-

I look up.

For a moment, everything's normal. Just my own reflection, water dripping down my face. Then I see her standing behind me, her lipstick smeared across her face like a wound.

"Kenny... what did you do with the presents?"

I spin around. The bathroom is empty. Of course it's empty. But I can smell her perfume, the same perfume she always wore at Christmas. Channel No. 5, mixed with pine needles and hot chocolate and-

And copper. The metallic smell of-

No.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me gasp. A text from Cheri: "Got off early! Started wrapping presents. Don't come home for an hour Wink

"

Presents. Wrapped in shiny paper with bows and tags. Just like the ones I had wrapped that night, arranged so carefully under the tree. Before Tommy started asking questions. Before Mom found the receipts. Before-

The bathroom door opens and I nearly scream, but it's just a customer. Just a normal person using a normal bathroom on a normal day. Nothing to worry about.

"Excuse me," the man says, giving me an odd look. I realize I'm still standing at the sink, knuckles white where I'm gripping the porcelain.

Back in the store, everything looks different. The Christmas displays seem to pulse with the overhead lights. A child's laughter sounds like screaming. And every book cover, every Christmas card, every holiday advertisement shows the same face.

Mom's face.

"Kenny?" It's Mrs. Henderson again. "Your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

Has it been that long? I check my phone. 6:47 PM. December 23rd.

Twenty-four hours until Christmas Eve.

Twenty-four hours until-

"I have to go," I mumble, grabbing my coat. As I rush past the front window, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the darkened glass. For a second, I swear I see Tommy standing next to me, his face just like it was that night, eyes wide with understanding as he said-

As he said-

What did he say?

I can't remember.

The walk home is a blur of Christmas lights and evening shadows. Every storefront window seems to hold a reflection that shouldn't be there. Every passing stranger wears my mother's face for just a split second before transforming back to normal. The sound of scissors cutting through wrapping paper follows me down the street, though there's no one around me.

*snip*

*snip*

*snip*

The same sound from that night, when Mom was wrapping the last of the presents. The sound that mixed with Tommy's voice as he said... as he said...

I stop walking. I'm standing in front of our apartment building, but I don't remember the last ten minutes of my journey. The Christmas lights in the lobby window blink in a steady rhythm. Red. Green. Red. Green. Red.

Red like lipstick.
Red like-

No.

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Cheri: "Coast is clear! Come up whenever you're ready! Smile

"

The elevator feels smaller than usual. The mirrors on either side show endless reflections of me, and in each one, I look different. Younger. Older. Covered in... No. Just shadows. Just tricks of the light.

Our apartment door is decorated with a wreath now. Cheri must have put it up today. The pine smell hits me as soon as I reach for the handle, and suddenly I'm back there. Back home. Mom's in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Tommy's by the tree, picking up each present, shaking it, trying to guess what's inside.

"This one's heavy," he says, holding up a box. "What'd you get me, Kenny?"

The receipt is crumpled in my pocket. The one from the pawn shop. The one that would tell them everything if they found it. The one that-

"Kenny? Is that you?"

Cheri's voice snaps me back. I'm standing in our apartment doorway, key still in the lock.

"Yeah," I manage to say. "Just... tired."

The apartment is transformed. Cheri's been busy. Garland hangs from every doorway. More Christmas lights wind around the windows. And in the corner, a small artificial tree, already surrounded by wrapped presents.

"Don't look too closely!" she warns, coming out of the bedroom. She's wearing one of my old sweaters, her hair tied up messily. There's a piece of tape stuck to her cheek. "I'm not quite done wrapping everything."

She looks so normal. So real. This has to be real.

But then I see it. On the coffee table. A pair of scissors, their blades catching the light of the Christmas tree.

*snip*

*snip*

*snip*

"Kenny?" Cheri's voice sounds far away. "You're doing it again. That thing where you go somewhere else."

"Sorry," I say automatically. "Just remembering something."

"About your family?"

Yes. No. Maybe. The memories are there, just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue. Like blood under your fingernails that won't quite wash away no matter how hard you scrub-

"Kenny?"

"I'm fine," I say, but my voice sounds wrong. Everything sounds wrong. The Christmas lights are too bright. The scissors are too sharp. The presents are too perfectly wrapped, just like Mom's always were, just like they were that night before everything went-

"Maybe we should call Dr. Matthews," Cheri says softly. "I know you haven't seen her in a while, but with Christmas coming up..."

Dr. Matthews. Of course. The therapist they made me see after... after...

LALLAREN_1 · Yesterday, 08:27 PM

Ducks played good vs Vegas but bad transition and horrible finishing cost us the game

LALLAREN_1 · Yesterday, 08:28 PM

I hope the Ducks can give me the Christmas gift of being able to finish the chances yhey get at an ok rate at least...

***micool132*** · Yesterday, 09:18 PM

Yesterday, 04:16 PMRenomitsu Wrote: I wonder if @micool132 is still paying attention to chirper. I'm going to win the cup

Dear renonitsu, i am indeed thinking about the chirper, season greetings to you and your loved ones

***micool132*** · Yesterday, 09:19 PM

All i want for christmas is winning the cup

Bingo97 · Yesterday, 09:36 PM

Off for the rest of year

Bingo97 · Yesterday, 09:36 PM

But the rangers still suck

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