Fourteen

Behind the door, when she flings it wide under power of wine, are faces. Bodies, really, stiff from cold, but all Sally sees are the faces – a dozen or more, pale, eyes expectantly upwards, mouths slightly open. She sways in the door frame. Her mind fumbles for an explanation. One body stamps its feet; the corpus shifts impatiently. She sees an arm outstretched, green fingers in animal skin.

“Sally,” cries someone. “Give the poor chaps a coin!” And Douglas and Jane push past and press hot pies and cider into the carollers’ gloved hands, and fourteen voices rise in song.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s