Penter Painter's Holiday Haunts: Seville by the Sea (Christmas Special)
A sour young man is forced to return to his hometown and encounters something strange while Christmas decorating an elderly care home.
This is a short story entry to a writing/world-building prompt given by . I had a lot of fun trying something new! Hopefully, I managed to remain within the parameters set. Enjoy this special Christmas short story!
-M.E. Beckley
David clung to the rails of a ladder while trying to unravel a large rope of Christmas lights. He was in anĀ awfulĀ mood. āWhat am I doing here?āĀ wheeled through his mind about a hundred times just in the last hour.
Of course, David knew how heād ended up at the top of this ladder, six stories above the ground. It was his doing. Tail between his legs, heād slunk back to his parentsā house a month ago. The city was too much for him. His pockets were scarred by university loans and the cost of living. Now he was twenty-eight years old and living in his parentsā basement without a car or even a girlfriend. It stung. Everywhere David went he felt as though he hadĀ LOSERĀ stamped to his forehead for all in Arnoldās Landing to see.
Well, at least he could pay rent.
David sourly untangled another knot in the Christmas lights.Ā Seville by the Sea, more like Senile by the Sea,Ā he thought.
He was tasked with decorating an old folksā home pro bono instead of racking in cash tips promised by the wealthier clientele. Everyone else enjoyed tasteful and toasty living rooms ripped straight out of Better Homes & Gardens. The group chat was blowing up with pictures of egg nog and bagels set out by one of their regulars.
He shouldnāt complain.
Chuck Penter hired David as a favor to his father, a childhood friend. Although this job didnāt cut him a massive paycheck, it was a hell of a lot more than he was making back in New York as a burgeoning architect. But now David was labeled an intern. It was almost too much to bear.
This was how he found himself balancing on the sleet-slick rooftop of theĀ Seville by the Sea Care Home.
He looked over the spires of the Victorian-style building toward the steep drop and the grey expanse of the Atlantic.
Who the hell puts a care home on sea cliffs?Ā he wondered.Ā That has to be a legal nightmare just waiting to happen.Ā
It used to be a private mansion of the Seville family, now donated by the communityās walking mothballs.Ā Apparently, the patriarch of the family remained inside.
There was a beauty about it, David (begrudgingly) supposed. Yet it was difficult to enjoy the view with the venomous wind. David wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve.
Finally, the lights were detangled. David looked around for an extension cord. Rob was supposed to have already prepped it.
Rob McHenry was also an intern. He was doing this to make money while on Christmas break, however. Their priorities were very different.
āYou have to plug it in inside,ā called Rob.
David looked to see Robās white-blond head poking out from the third-story window.
Rob grinned. āIād do it myself, but one of the ladies is going to introduce me to her granddaughter.ā
Why couldnāt he have been paired with Marco or Chris?
David gritted his teeth. āOkay. Whose room do I go to?ā
āTop floor is Mr. Sevilleās suite.ā
āRight.ā
āHeās a little out there, so try not to pay him too much mind.ā
āGot it.ā
Cautiously, David descended the ladder and entered the building. It was warm and bright. Much of the original furniture of the mansion remained. In Davidās expert opinion, it would be very difficult to make the building look ugly. Rob had done a nice job. Someone had even gone through the trouble of playing Bing Crosbyās Christmas album. It almost lifted his spirits.
Almost.
A woman mumbled to herself as she shuffled past. On her feet was a pair of faded carpet slippers. Her cataract-ridden eyes were vacant.
David suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose. This place was depressing and no amount of fairy lights would change that.
Mary, a manager and resident, peered from around the office door. She was a round woman who often forgot to remove all of the rollers from her grey hair. āAre you already done, sweetheart? Weāve got some cocoa and cookies for you.ā
Shame pricked his conscience. David forced a smile. āNot quite, maāam,ā he said, āIāve got to plug the lights in upstairs.ā
āAlright just let me know when youāre done, honey.ā
David took the elevator to the top floor. It was slow going. Shame forgotten, once more Davidās mood spiralled.
Then the doors slid open.
David paused before stepping out into a grey and white wooden hall. Windows stretched the length of the corridor, filling the space with light. It was quiet save for the sound of the floorboards beneath his weight and the distant crash of the surf. The scent of medicine didnāt reach here. David could only smell the sea.
At the end of the hall was a plain, white wooden door. In its center was a round window made of sea glass. David rapped on the glass.
A white-haired, rosy-cheeked man opened it. In his hand was a cane, styled from what looked like driftwood. He was dressed in a smart tweed suit with a green bowtie. Beneath bushy eyebrows and behind a pair of large spectacles were very bright, very blue eyes. āWell, hello!ā he greeted with a pleasant air.
āGood afternoon,ā said David. āIām David Craddock with Penter Painters and Holiday Decorating. Would you mind if I came inside to plug in the outdoor lights?ā
The man took a step back from the door and beckoned David inside. āCome in, come in. I can feel the cold coming off of you.ā
David carefully wiped his shoes on the mat and entered the apartment.
He didnāt know where to look.
It felt as though heād fallen into a djinnās lair. It was much larger than expected, more like a studio than an apartment. The size, however, was not what drew Davidās attention. Treasure, trinkets, and a dazzling assortment of items presented themselvesāeach object more inviting than the last. Bits of silver mirrors, flickering oil lamps, and art hung on the walls and from above. The ceiling steepled high and its oaken beams were mightily tall. Before him hung tapestries depicting hunting scenes with braying hounds and ancient groves. At the far end of the suite was a massive round window facing the ocean. It was bordered by stained glass. Art nouveau-styled creatures of the seaāfish, gulls, monsters, mermaidsācircled the center. They in turn were surrounded by a sparkling array of whirlpools and kelp.
Despite all, somehow, it didnāt strike David as overcrowded. The air remained fresh and clear with just the right amount of ocean bite.
Mr. Seville hobbled across the room to his kitchenette, footsteps padded by the afghan rug. āCoffee, Mr. Craddock?ā he offered.
āOh, Iāll just plug the light in and be out of your way.ā But David did not want to be on his way. He wanted to explore. Not to mention, he wasnāt exactly in a hurry to climb the ladder or deal with Rob again.
Luckily, Mr. Seville insisted. āNonsense. Waste some time here. You can plug them in on your way out.ā
David swallowed a smile. āOkay, then, Iāll have some coffee.ā
āWonderful!ā Mr. Seville set a mokapot on the burner. āThese are good beans,ā he promised. āAll the way from Ecuador. My granddaughter likes to travel and she brings me little gifts. I used to go with her, but now Iām too old. Do you take milk and sugar? Donāt answer that, actually. I shall make you something special. Itās not everyday that I have guests!ā
As he spoke, David found himself drawn to the fireplace. Its logs merrily crackled and split. On the mantlepiece, iridescent scales, shark teeth, and taxidermied fish posed. There was a black and white portrait of a beautiful, dark haired woman. The classic vintage glow cast a haze about her angelic features.
Then, something caught the light and Davidās eye: a gold coin. The language was weathered and worn but was clear enough to depict what mightāve been an emperor.
Mr. Seville noticed. āAh, thatās my little aureus,ā he said. āYou can hold it.ā
David turned the coin in his hands. It was surprisingly weighty. āDid your granddaughter bring you this?ā he asked.
āNo, no. Thatās something special.ā
Mr. Seville appeared by Davidās side. He had a nostalgic gleam in his eye and a rueful smile on his weathered face. āThatās from the moon of my life,ā he whispered. He pointed with a wizened finger toward the photograph. āMy wife.ā
David supposed Mr. Seville was a widower. He replaced the aureus with reverence. āIām so sorry,ā he said.
Mr. Seville looked up sharply. āMy woman isnāt dead!ā
āOh.ā
With a chuckle, Mr. Seville handed David a mug. āShe is a traveller too, my boy,ā he explained. He hobbled toward the large window and sat in a large green armchair. With his cane, he gestured for David to join him.
David took a seat opposite. He sipped the coffee. It was thick and sweet. The back of his throat tingled with the slight burn of cayenne and cinnamon.
The old man motioned with his saucer to the sea. āOut there is where she is. I like to sit here and wait.ā
Ah, so heĀ wasĀ a little off,Ā thought David.
Mr. Seville smiled, eyes gleaming. āYou think Iām crazy.ā
David flushed bright red. āOh, noāā
āThatās okay. What matters is that what I say is true.ā
Davidās gaze turned toward the window and the spyglass that lay upon its sill. Both men lingered in comfortable silence. The chill in Davidās limbs slowly ebbed. He took another sip of coffee. Perhaps heād ask for the recipe on his way out.
Then, David looked at Mr. Seville. He was leaning forward, poised forĀ something.
David was curious. āWhat do you mean when you say she is out there?ā he asked.
āShe is of the sea,ā said Mr. Seville with a nod. āMy Aefre.ā
Quiet, David waited. After a moment, Mr. Seville turned from the window and addressed David. āIāll recite a poem for you. This is the first Aefre ever sang to me.ā
Aefreās Song
Lilting whispers in twilight hush,
Lovers cradled by Neptuneās rush.
Pelagic passion evermore,
in realm of tides where seagulls soar.
A love untold, in salt-kissed air,
man and a water-woman fair.
With every surge, his longing shared,
benthic intensity declared:
āOh fair lady of salt and foam,
Pray remain, never more to roam.ā
Moonlit trysts when the night is still,
the ocean woos with a tidal thrill.
From depths profound to shallow strand,
Wending waves chase sun-studded land.
Carried away by daybreakās bell,
Everāy moonset, they bid farewell.
Mr. Seville finished.
The wind moaned and the sea thrashed the cliffs. David did not want to break the silence. Instead, he sat with Mr. Seville a while longer, looking out the window.
Shortly after, David plugged in the lights and returned to the first floor. He felt strange, distracted.
He paused by the office. āIām on my way out, Mary.ā
She cast him a look of concern. āIād offer you some cookies I promised, but your colleague ate them all! I knew I shouldāve made more.ā
David shook his head and smiled. āThatās alright. Mr. Seville made me coffee.ā
Mary brightened. āOh, good!ā she said. āPoor Mr. Seville needed some company. He spends too much time on his own. Of course, heās been that way ever sinceā¦Well, you know.ā
āWhat do you mean?ā
Eyes wide, Mary looked around for eavesdroppers. āWell, I donāt like to gossipā¦ but since you asked,ā she began. āHis wife passed away many years ago. She didnāt take too well after her baby was born. It happens. One day, she walked right into the sea. Never to be seen again. A lot of people do that sort of thing, but generally thereās someone to bury after the tide brings them back. Not being able to put his wife to rest didnāt help anyone. Poor Mr. Seville was never the same after that.ā Mary paused to dab tears in her eyes. āHe never remarried, never loved again. Itās quite sad.ā
āOh.ā David deflated, gaze flicking toward the elevator. āThat is sad.ā
āExcuse me,ā sniffled Mary. āI always get emotional talking about these sorts of thingsā¦ I just understand them. You know, losing my Seth was hard. Still feels like yesterday.ā
āIām so sorry.ā
āDonāt be sorry,ā said Mary with a wistful and watery smile. āEvery day I get closer to seeing him again. Thatās enough, now. Itās getting late. You drive safe, okay? The roads are icy.ā
āYes, maāam. Merry Christmas.ā
āMerry Christmas.ā
David opened the front door into the chilly, salty air. The corners of his mouth downturned. Pausing on the porch, he stared down at his boots.Ā Why am I so bothered by Mr. Seville?Ā he wondered.
āYou coming?ā called Rob. He was waiting outside by the van.
David shook himself and joined him on the gravel. Together, they admired the newly lit exterior.
āItās nice,ā said David.
āYeah!ā Rob agreed. āTook you long enough, though.ā
āSorry, I got wrapped up in conversation.ā
āMr. Seville?ā
āYep.ā
āThat sucks, man.ā
āNo, it was fine. Heās actually got an interesting little apartmentā¦ā David trailed off.
Rob was no longer listening, heād returned his attention to his phone. āDo you want to drive or should I?ā Rob distractedly asked.
āYou can drive and just drop me off at the bus in town.ā
āSounds good.ā
David got into the car first and waited for Rob to finish texting. He chewed the inside of his cheek. Mr. Seville was very likely a man who struggled with grief and yet David couldnāt shake the echoes of Aefreās song. It felt real.
Cold air filled the van as Rob threw open the door and entered. āIām so ready to get home and shower the smell of prunes off of me,ā said Rob.
āHuh? What was that?ā
āThe smell of old people,ā clarified Rob. āI canāt stand it.ā
David frowned.
Rob caught his eye. āWhat?ā
Shaking his head, David turned away to look back out to the sea. āYouāre kind of a jerk, Rob.ā
āIām just saying, jeez.ā
David didnāt respond.
The engine turned and the van rumbled to life. As the pair waited in silence for the vehicle to warm up, David looked out the window at the cliffs. Patches of shadow and lights moved in the water. With each waveās crest, David found himself half-hopeful. He leaned forward in his seat, poised forĀ something.
Adrift upon the ocean air,
Hidden within the salted spray,
Lingers the scent of a lady fair
Of which old Seville is well aware.
From hour to year he aged like wine
And counted every passing day
As he watched the churning brine
With faith his love would return in time.
He wore soft smiles, no hint of gloom,
For grief was simply not his way.
Instead he watched and knew that soon,
Emerging from the sea's gray brume
Beneath the light of the pale moon,
Would come his love, his darling true.
This was so lovely! Mr. Seville was delightful, and the story had a magical, wistful Christmas feel to it.