“Mommy, can you still read?” The boy holds up a copy of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

“Oh dear…just because Mommy doesn’t have any hair doesn’t mean she can’y read to her favorite boy…” She smiles down on her child as she tucks his blankets around him in bed.

“But you’re sad…If I was sad, I wouldn’t want to read…” She laughs.

“You don’t even know how to read, silly.” She pokes him on the nose and he wrinkles it, making a face. There is a pause and finally, she asks. “What makes you think that I’m sad?”

“I hear you crying every night.” His eyes are wide. She smiles again.

“I’m sad because your Daddy doesn’t believe in Santa anymore.” She sticks her bottom lip out, pouting.

“Oh…well…I don’t either.” He crosses his arms.

She gives a soft gasp “But…Cole!” She looks around, fearfully, her eyes darting to the ceiling. Her voice drops to a secretive whisper. “Santa will hear you! Christmas is only a day away!”

“I’m too old to believe in Santa.” He humphs defiantly. I’m not a baby anymore.”

She smiles fondly, her fingers reaching for him. Her hands find his sides and she tickles the serious expression off of her boy’s face. He giggles helplessly until she stops to let him breathe.

“You know baby…” He makes a face and she corrects herself, “I mean, my big strong man… Santa isn’t always the jolly, old fat man in the red suit. Santa can be the dad that makes sure he’s got time off of work to spend Christmas with his family. Santa is the mom who spends all Christmas Eve making cooking with his children. Santa is in the little boy who tries to bring Christmas to people who aren’t fortunate enough to have their own. You can be Santa. I can be Santa.”

The boy is quiet. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too. Never forget that I’ll always be here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” She kisses his forehead then stands and starts toward his bedroom door. He watches his mother with a warm feeling in his heart.

Suddenly, his mother starts to cry. She doubles over in pain. The boy, suddenly the age of 10, sits up in bed, hands gripping his bed sheet. He tries to call for his mother, but his voice is gone. He claws at his throat, becoming more and more panicked as his mother drags herself to the door. She turns to look at her son and wants to scream again when he sees her face.

She had paled grossly, her bald head freckled and freakish. He doesn’t want to look, but he can’t look away. His mother opens his bedroom door, only to see an ominous, swirling darkness behind it. For once, his mother didn’t smile. She simply mouthed “Goodbye” and fell backwards, letting the darkness engulf her.

The boy’s once warm heart was now like a block of ice in his chest and when heis voice returned, he screamed.

Cole Waters woke in a cold sweat, panting. He took a second to readjust to his surroundings. He sat up in bed and clutched the front of his t-shirt. Cole could feel sthe rapid beating of his heart.

As his thoughts drifted to his dream he scowled and pushed it from his mind. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a second before he stood. As Cole walked to his dresser, he glanced at his clock. It read 10:32am.

Before he could look away, the framed picture next to the clock caught his eye. He just stared.

His mother’s glowing eyes stared back. She wore a wig, but her lack of eyebrows gave her lack of hair away. The chemo did that. Col stared at the last picture of his mother alive. She died December 25, 7 years past.

Cole hated Christmas.