Page 8 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER FIVE.

H unter’s knuckles throbbed. He had been clutching the worn leather steering wheel for so long that his fingertips had gone numb. In their place was a slow, burning ache, as if the blood had been drained from him. But it wasn’t just the blood that was missing.

What am I doing here? How long have I been sitting here?

It took him a moment to unclench each stiff finger. The joints protested with soft cracks. A hiss slipped through his teeth as he forced his fists open, scowling at the dull pain settling in his hands like an old bruise.

You just got off the bus after the field trip. It was the end of the day.

“Hey, you look like shit,” Sadie yelled, banging on his window. The sudden noise left Hunter wondering if he was on the verge of a heart attack.

Hunter had been sitting alone in the school parking lot, frost covering most of the glass except for a small patch where his head must have rested, warmed by his breath.

Did I not go home?

He made a mental note not to let anyone know he was losing his memory.

“I’d say call for a sub, but it’s the last day before break,” Sadie continued. “Throw on a movie and chug a gallon of that crappy coffee from the lounge. You wouldn’t get your paid vacation break if you missed the day.”

Hunter trembled, pulling his shoulder back to reach for the door handle. A burst of cold air overwhelmed him, the wind whipping the door back so violently that Sadie jumped away before she became a casualty of winter’s wrath.

“You look like you haven’t gone home, unless your new thing is copying those tech CEOs who wear the same thing every day.”

Hunter tried to step out but was yanked back. He clutched his chest while Sadie stared at him like he was a lunatic.

“You gotta take your seatbelt off, chief. You’re not drunk, are you? Dear God, please say no.”

Hunter shook his head. The click of the buckle released him. The seatbelt slid off his shoulder and retracted behind him.

“Maybe you should take the day off. The principal will freak out, but honestly, those administrators need to be kept on their toes.”

“I’m fine, Sadie,” Hunter grumbled, standing and shoving the door closed against the wind.

His gold watch jingled with the movement. He stared at it. The last time he was here, he’d been leaving to look for it. Apparently, he had found it. It had gone missing after the field trip. Hadn’t it?

“Let’s go,” he said to Sadie, who was buried in her jacket and faux fur hood, her glasses fogging with every breath. “I’ll need all the coffee I can get.”

They trudged across the icy parking lot. Cars with music blaring cut too close to buses as they skidded around corners. No matter how many warning letters the PTO sent out, there was always a nanny or older sibling driving like the staff were expendable obstacles.

“That’s Connor’s dad’s new fling,” Sadie huffed. “Met her last week at the conference. She bragged that her sugar daddy bought her that dark blue Mercedes with all the extras. He made sure the seats go all the way back.”

Hunter nearly choked on laughter but masked it as a cough. When he recovered, he smirked at her.

“There’s my guy,” she said, winking as Hunter held the door for her. Their wet boots made new puddles for the janitor to mop once the bell rang. The taupe linoleum floors and dark blue lockers all reeked of bleach. Someone must have thrown up here after school yesterday.

They sauntered down the hall and into the mustard-colored teacher’s lounge. It was buzzing, staff laughing around a big table of small gifts glinting under harsh fluorescent lights.

Sadie shrugged off her coat and stuffed it in her cubby next to his. Hunter did the same, doing his best to look normal.

You are fine. Nothing has happened to you.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had. He’d woken up in his car as if he’d never left, watch back on his wrist.

He tried to push it down as Sadie grabbed an oddly shaped gift wrapped in red paper with gold polka dots.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Sadie’s face fell. “Are you kidding me? You forgot? It’s going to ruin the game.”

Hunter hadn’t forgotten the teacher gift exchange. It was sitting at home on his desk, wrapped and ready.

“I’ll run and grab it at lunch. It’s at home.”

“You better. This is the only day all year I hang around this place when I don’t have to, and you know it.”

Hunter did know it. He looked around the lounge: five small circular tables, a counter with a sink, and the fresh smell of brewing coffee drifting over him.

The warmth grounded him. He let his shoulders drop as Darius Reed, the special projects teacher, strolled over and held up a hand for a high-five, then pulled Hunter in for a hug.

“You have no idea how relieved I am that you’re taking my kids part of today,” Hunter said. His students spent ninety minutes each week in art and then went to Darius for science and STEM projects.

“Rough night?” Darius asked.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Hunter laughed.

“Damn, man. I know it’s the holidays, but maybe save the eggnog until after today.”

“Good advice,” Hunter said.

“I knew it!” Sadie shouted over her shoulder, dropping her gift on the table.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s nuts,” Hunter said.

“We’re all a little nuts,” Darius said before launching into a passionate explanation about the compost worms they’d be using today.

Celia and Elaine were sipping coffee in the corner.

Celia, one of the sixth-grade teachers, wore bold eyeliner.

Her chin-length platinum hair bounced perfectly even on the rainiest days.

Elaine, the music teacher, had sharp gray eyes and dark auburn hair.

She was the one who forced every class to participate in the dreaded holiday pageant.

Hunter had just survived that last weekend.

“I’m so tired of big dick energy,” Celia said.

“I’m with you. Let’s make it big vagina energy. The patriarchy doesn’t get to say smaller is better,” Elaine replied.

“I love this. The bigger the vagina, the more tongues I can fit inside,” Celia said.

“Now that should be the goal,” Elaine agreed.

“Ladies, you’re on school property,” Principal Keanin muttered as he passed, coffee in hand, escaping before they could respond.

Hunter kept his eyes firmly on the floor, but it didn’t save him.

“We need to get you a . . . less sad . . . hobby, Hunter,” Elaine said dryly. “The poor widower vibe is getting old.”

“I like it. It’s gothic, dramatic,” Celia added, sipping her coffee.

“Suggestions?” Hunter asked. Elaine raised an eyebrow.

“Get certified in piercings. Side hustle. Bad economy.”

“Is it a hobby if it makes money?”

“Yes,” Elaine said as Celia said, “No.”

Hunter sighed and grabbed his favorite mug, round and speckled blue. It was a gift from one of his first students back when he still had hope this job wouldn’t eat him alive.

The hot, steaming liquid bounced in and around the interior until it found its smooth collective rhythm.

Hunter followed the pour with two organic brown sugar packets and stirred, looking out at the rest of the staff that was trudging in and out of the lounge.

The warmth and promise of a few weeks of rest put most of their faces at ease.

“Hunter, I know you’re coming to the Christmas market with us!” Nina, the bubbly kindergarten teacher, squealed as she tossed her gift on the table. She winked at him before heading for Malcolm, the stoic kindergarten teacher.

“I’ll be there,” he said, lifting his cup in salute.

The first bell rang. Everyone sighed and shuffled into the hall toward their classrooms.

As the caffeine hit his empty stomach, Hunter’s hands grew clammy. He stepped into Room Eleven. Papers flew through the air, phones flashed, and half his students were eating holiday cookies before lunch.

“Now, now,” Hunter called, quieting the room. “You might think I’d let you slack off today, but state tests are in four months. Might be smart to start early.”

The room froze.

“I’m kidding.” He grinned and set his coffee down. “Now, who’s got cookies? I need one.”

The morning blurred past. When the lunch bell rang, Hunter checked for his keys, heard them jingle, and followed his class out. He didn’t have much time, but if he didn’t get that gift, Sadie would hound him for eternity.

Snow mounded along the streets as he steered home. He parked, crunching through his unshoveled driveway, promising himself he’d salt it tonight. The last shriveled leaf clung to the tree over his roof.

Inside, the wooden floors creaked beneath him. A fireplace sat under a stone facade. Tiny painted yellow flowers dotted the white walls—Sarah’s half-finished project.

People told him to get a hobby. Sarah had had a million. After she died, Hunter spent years finishing her projects, like painting those hundreds of flowers.

They’d bought this place together. He couldn’t really afford it now; the accident payout helped with the mortgage, but it would run out soon. He’d have to sell eventually.

No couch, just a massive desk covered in paint stains and marker scars. His teacher's gift sat on top, wrapped in green paper and way too much tape.

His stomach growled. He stepped into the kitchen, where the fridge still smelled like vinegar and brine from Sarah’s pickling obsession. He kept the jars out of guilt. Now he pickled onions and tomatoes himself. He regretted trying it with eggs.

Hunter grabbed a yogurt hidden behind the jars, flipped on his old radio, and holiday music filled the kitchen. Peeling back the lid, he licked the sweet pink yogurt and moaned at the sugar hit.

“ Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, ” he sang, wiggling his hips as he spooned more yogurt.

A flash of movement in the dark, a tree falling apart, etched its way into his mind, and Hunter stopped moving. His yogurt was now on the floor, the clang of his spoon bouncing twice before it rested on the cheap linoleum tile.

Her.

He knew now. He hadn’t come home because he’d met her.

He stared out the back window at the snow-covered yard.

Was it real?

It felt real.

If it was, he’d left her out there.

Is she still alive?

His fingers hovered over 911. But what if he was losing it? If it were real, doing nothing was worse than being embarrassed.

He dialed.

“Sadie, it’s Hunter. Emergency. Cover for me.”

He didn’t wait for her reply before he hung up. Hunter bolted to his car. His phone buzzed. Sadie’s calls and texts exploded onto his screen.

Sadie 5:23 am:

You better not be dying or I’m calling your mom.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slamming the wheel.

Hunter 5:23 am:

Will explain later. Please cover my class.

He skidded into the estate parking lot. Maybe the security cameras would flag him for showing up so often. He didn’t care. He sprinted, lungs burning, boots thudding in fresh snow.

“I’m coming,” he gasped.

You should really start jogging.

He ran past the brick mansion, deeper onto the grounds. He pictured her lying there, blue lips, empty eyes, finding her too late.

Sarah would never forgive him for that. He wouldn’t forgive himself either.

His watch clinked with each step. His boots left a clear trail in the untouched snow.

You didn’t imagine it. You’re not crazy.

But maybe it would be easier if he were. Then she’d be safe. There’d be no danger.

He pushed into the trees. The snow stopped crunching, replaced by ice crackling under the canopy. Light barely cut through.

“Hello?” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, stepping over bushes and dead leaves. Birds and squirrels scattered. He fought to keep his heartbeat steady.

“Ma’am, are you there?” Louder now, more certain.

I’ll find you. I’m here.

The memory sharpened: a body stepping from inside a tree. Skin like moonlight. He swallowed, terrified of what he’d do if he actually found her.

You were here. You talked to her.

Hunter leaned against a tree, breath clouding in the cold.

Please don’t let this be in my head.

He crossed a stream, calling out. He searched for a sign, a hand, a foot—anything in the snow.

Nothing here. No one here.

Minutes passed. Panic bled into dread, then doubt.

Hunter bent, catching his breath.

What is wrong with you?

His shoulders shook. He sobbed alone. His cries leaked out all the grief he’d bottled up, freezing on his cheeks.

You’ll get fired.

Good.

Something had to change. He couldn’t fake normal anymore. He needed to break before he broke something worse.

His cries died. The forest kept his secrets.

Get up. Get out. Grab the gift.

Might as well face everyone one last time. The students who weirdly liked him. The coworkers who pretended not to notice he was unraveling.

He stood, coughing in the cold, wiping spit and tears away. He pulled out his phone and turned toward the old mansion, toward the garden where he’d married Sarah.

“ Oh, what fun ,” he whispered to calm himself as he trudged back through the dark.

“ It is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh ? — ”

He stopped. A tree cracked apart in the shadows.

“Why did you stop singing?” a woman’s voice asked.

I’m not crazy.