A Very Stark Christmas: Chapter 7
By: Tommy Paley
Tags: Stark Mystery, Mystery, Christmas, Fiction, Short Story

A Very Stark Christmas: Chapter 7

A Stark mystery

Photo by Nadine Redlich on Unsplash

I looked around and it was clear I was spending the holiday season with a bunch of weirdos, again.

As I sat in a daze, wondering what had happened to the 12 days of romance that I had planned — or at least whatever could pass for romance on my tight budget — snippets of the lively conversations around me danced in my head.

“For the last time, we are not actual penguins….no, we won’t be providing proof.”

“Yes, I am actually dating that guy who looks like he tried to dress up as a private investigator for Halloween and came off looking like a below average accountant…no I am feeling okay in the head, but thanks for your concern.”

“I am as surprised as you are that a team of plumbers dressed as Santas aren’t the most successful family-owned plumbing business this side of the Mississippi.”

“I don’t care who you are, stop linking my diminutive appearance and the name my parents gave me — possibly as a joke, possibly because they weren’t the most creative people around — I mean who in their right mind names a baby, Ralph?”

“Danny…Danny Bonaduce! I used to pretend to play bass as a kid on a hit television show. You can’t say you haven’t heard of me!”

I couldn’t decide if this felt more like being trapped in a noisy school cafeteria, a dentist’s waiting room or a holding cell with the local sheriff. I had recent experience with all three.

I needed a drink.

Correction, I needed three drinks.

Carl, all of a sudden, took a sharp turn off the main road. Yelling out something that sounded either like an apology or the beginning of a recipe for a killer minestrone.

The crowded bus bumped along the road that was clearly long overdue for paving. I made a mental note to email the local town council. I also made a mental note to call my doctor to have those swollen veins in my lower rectum looked at as the prescribed cream wasn’t doing much.

In an obvious effort to lighten the mood and take our minds off of the bus that may need to stop for service any moment now, Helen asked if others wanted to join her in some Christmas carols. She looked my way with a look that could only be described as a combination of “when in Rome” and “you know how much I hate rear suspension issues on old country roads”.

As the off-key voices sang of sugar plums and reindeers and, oddly, a commentary on the relative busyness of sidewalks in and around cities during the holiday season, I settled in for what looked to be a turning into a wild goose chase. From previous experience, I hated chasing geese and, to a lesser degree, swans, ducks and the other members of the subfamily Anatidae.

I felt like I was trapped in one of those movies where the main character realizes, all too late, that he should have listened to his mother and gone to college and that he shouldn’t have accepted that job to save Christmas when he was vastly underqualified or vastly dehydrated or both.

How did I always find myself on these rambling, unpredictable, sort of randomly nonsensical journeys surrounded by oddballs, I wondered. Probably a New Year’s resolution in there somewhere if I chose to look.

“Stark!” Carl was calling me over the carolers, beckoning me to the front of the vehicle.

Reaching the front, after losing my balance numerous times and remembering my doctor had recommended actually entering a gym rather than solely gazing from the outside and calling it a day, I asked “Yeah?”

“This is our next stop.”

And with that, the door popped open.

I stepped out into what could only be described as a cow field mostly because it was a field populated solely with cows.

I looked back at the bus to see if Helen or Danny or any of the others would be accompanying me, but they were all too busy singing and, from the looks of it, enjoying a risqué holiday version of Truth or Dare.

Taking a deep breath before remembering the location, I spotted the barn and began wandering over, hoping that my next clue would be inside.

“Stark.”

A voice in the mist had said my name.

I scanned the field and saw no one.

“Stark. Over here.”

My eyes met a cow and, yes, it was a cow who spoke with, what I had to admit, was perfect diction and what sounded like a mid-western accent.

A talking cow?

It was clear I’d have to cut way back on expired fruitcake.

It continued.

“A word of advice. This is all going too slowly. You just don’t have time to gather all 12 items from the classic Christmas song, one by one, this isn’t a novel, it isn’t an epic journey and it’s almost January.”

Clearing my throat, I whispered “Sorry if this is a tad rude, but aren’t you a cow?”

“No, not the cow, you idiot, down here!” the exasperated voice replied.

Peering behind the large animal, I saw an older woman, with a pail and a stool.

“The name is Bessie.”

“Your name is Bessie?”

“No, you moron, who names a human female Bessie? That’s the cow’s name. I was raised to introduce livestock first. My name is Greta.”

I reached out to shake her hand and she looked at me with a look that one reserves for someone who has been living under a rock or knowingly ignoring all public health suggestions.

“I’m glad you are here, Stark. We are lucky to get a man of your considerable skills. You don’t have much time.”

It was dark, but I was fairly certain she had waggled air quotes around the words ‘considerable’ and ‘skills’ and possibly ‘man’.

“Wait a second. This is all starting to make sense,” I realized, connecting the dots. “The outfit, the props, the incessant mooing….you are a maid…who milks cows! Like in the song….but aren’t there supposed to be 8 of you?”

“Bravo, smart guy. There isn’t a moment to spare. The others are over in the barn, scared outta their wits. Danny called ahead and told us to be ready, but we have a problem. Someone has got to Kimberly. She had been acting weird for the last few days — shifty, obsessively checking her texts, eating lots of sunflower seeds. Then, this morning she arrived, without her stool — we all have to supply our own stools, company rules — and then about 15 minutes before you got here she got a call — she never gets calls — and then she turned to the rest of us, raised her arms above her head and screamed ‘THE BEST IS YET TO COME’ multiple times with a frenzied smile on her face and then she ran. And she took the milk!”

Perplexed, I stood there, shaking my head both confused about this case and many of my life decisions that had led to this moment.

Danny called from the bus, “Stark, get the maids and their pails of milk. We gotta go!”

Greta and the other 6 maids piled onto the seemingly-never-going-to-reach-capacity vehicle and, Greta pointed in the direction of where Kimberly ran off to.

It was away from the road, away from the town, away from the farm and toward the dark, mysterious hills.

Carl, shook his head, turned the key and took another sharp turn and called out

“Hold on, everyone, this is about to get rough.”