George rumbled slightly and rolled over in his bed. There was something, someone more accurately, moving around downstairs. He paused for a moment slowing his breathing slightly and focused his mind to drown out the steady sound of the air conditioner. It was in the living room with the Christmas Tree. That got him to his feet even though it was his head had only just hit the pillow an hour ago. That was a few thousand dollars worth presents waiting for his children and grandchildren. He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers and crept toward the door opening it without a single sound.
Once he was in the hallway he could smell hot cinnamon and apples wafting from the living room. The scent instantly brought a smile to his face along with a flood of half forgotten memories. He was focused on the task at hand so he couldn't remember what the memory was of only that it brought made him smile. He could tell by the flicker that the living room was lit by candle light, probably the source of the delicious aroma filling the hall. His mind flashed briefly to a fire, that was an authentic pine tree in the room and if it caught it would take the presents and probably the house before George could even dial nine one one.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs he another of his senses was hit by a something familiar, a slow tinkling music like dozens of tiny bells being played. It was the same song that his wife's music box had played. He hadn't heard it since he'd buried her three years ago, a victim of breast cancer. He'd had the box buried with her partially because he thought she'd want it that way and partially be cause he couldn't bear to look at it. Consciously he wanted to be furious that someone would dare play that song but the tears in his eyes weren't angry ones and instead of reaching for any of the sports related bludgeoning tools in the coat closet he continued toward the living room unarmed and found her.
He knew he had to be dreaming because it was his wife who was scuffling around the Christmas Tree as beautiful as the day he first met her. More beautiful actually because in addition to the way she'd looked at twenty she was the woman he loved until she'd been taken away in her sixties. He chuckled slightly to himself because only Christina would have chosen to surprise him like this. Most ghosts would have came out and said hello or at least have been dressed to meet their husband.
Christina wasn't dressed though, she was wrapped like a present with a big red bow that gathered her perky breasts up in front of her and traveled down between her legs just barely concealing her crotch. Like a felt bikini it left just enough to the imagination that George wanted to unwrap her and see just what she was hiding away. It didn't stop there. Christina's mouth and tongue were seductively, sadistically working one of the oversized candy canes. "Hi George don't you want to come get your present?" She cooed curling her finger to call him forward.
George's legs were stuck though. It would have been easy to rush forward and take her into his arms if he'd been certain that this was a dream. He couldn't convince himself that the impossible wasn't happening though. He could feel the cool wood floor beneath his feet and the warmth of the heater. If this was a dream it was by far the most vivid dream he'd ever experienced. The kind of dream where you'd always question what reality was after that moment. "Are you-"
"I'm not a ghost if that's what you're asking. Touch me, I'm flesh and blood and warm. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be warm." She smiled and took a deep breath her chest threatening to unwrap itself for a moment.
"How?" He whispered. He couldn't lift his feet but the floor was smooth and waxed so he didn't have to lift his feet. He could sort of slide his feet forward and glide towards her so did that.
"You wouldn't believe me." She replied musically. "It's just for tonight though. Lets say that someone believes in you and checked his list twice. I get to be naughty because you've been so very very nice." George's chuckle became a genuine laught. She was right. He didn't believe her. If that was the case why had it taken three years? "Because nobody asked before. Your grandson Topher always felt like it was his fault you weren't with me when he died." George started to open his mouth but Christina was speaking again. "Its not your fault, he never told anybody and he tries so hard to be brave for you. But he felt if you hadn't been taking care of him with the chickenpox maybe you could have helped me or at least been there when I died. So when he made his Christmas list this year the first thing and the last thing, and several points other things on his list were wishing you'd get to say good bye to me or see me one last time." She smiled.
"I don't believe it." George said. He sank to his knees and took reached out for her. It was the final test. He'd seen her and smelt her and heard her voice but all of those things had come to him in his dreams even when she was lying inches away but he'd never been able to touch her in a dream. He was never sure why but if he touched her he'd know that she was really there.
George wanted to laugh. He'd done three tours in Vietnam returned to America to be a cop for the next thirty years most of which he'd spent patrolling the worst neighborhoods of New York. He'd been in more gun fights than he could count. He'd even been wounded twice but he'd never been as scared as he was right then. It funny in a sad sort of way that he was afraid to touch his own wife of forty five years. "Touch me." She whispered.
