Page 3 of Neo

“There,” I say, placing the angel on the strongest branch I can find. “Now Grandma’s watching over this Christmas, too.”

“She certainly is.”

Hours seem to fly by as I find myself in my happy place, cocooned in warmth and joy on another Christmas Eve with my mom. Presently, I’m a sophomore at a local state school ten minutes from our home, but quickly realize that moments like this may become rare once I graduate college and move out on my own.

As the clock nears midnight, both of us yawning and stretching, we finish tidying up the living room. “Bedtime,” mom announces, the fatigue clear in her voice.

I nod in agreement, my eyelids heavy. “Best Christmas Eve ever, Mom. Night.”

Mom kisses my forehead like she has hundreds of times before. “Sweet dreams, hun’.”

The house settles into its nighttime rhythm, the gentle hum of the heater finally kicking on, punctuating the quiet of the night. Upstairs, my room is awash with the soft hues of the fairy lights I’ve had hung up with wall tacks since I was eleven years old.

“We’ll have breakfast at nine. No cheating before then.”

“Ma, I’m twenty-years-old. I will not sneak a peek at my presents.”

“Or smell them or shake them?”

“Agreed,” I giggle.

When mom motions to turn off my lights, I ask her to leave them on.

“It’s Christmas.”

“You don’t pay my electric bill.”

“Ma, please?”

“Fine, see you in the morning.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas.”

It takes me a while to get settled. I’m still just as excited about Christmas morning as I was when I was ten-years-old. Some things, thankfully, never change.

Just as sleep pulls me under my warm comforter, I think I hear something—a soft creak, a whisper of movement. At first I dismiss it, attributing it to our old house’s tendency to groan and moan. But then, more distinctly, comes the sound of a heavy thump.

My heart races.

That definitely wasn’t no damn Santa Claus.

Suddenly, all I can remember are awful news stories I’ve seen lately about local fires and increased home invasions in the area. Taking a deep breath, I slowly place a foot on the floor while simultaneously reaching for the phone on my nightstand.

I call 911 as I tip toe outside my door.

I don’t see any movement, just the flicker of the tree lights downstairs.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I think someone has broken into my house.”

“What is the address of the emergency?”

“4320 Pilgrim Road.”

“Is this a house or apartment?”

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