Black Christmas Read online

  “And so to bed.”

  Switching off the light she went to her bedroom and slowly undressed.

  Just above her, Clare Harrison’s body, its head swathed in the clear, plastic bag, was being moved slowly and silently across the attic floor.

  The bag itself was sucked hideously into her mouth and nostrils, testimony of how desperately she had tried to get one more breath of air. Her eyes bulged out, staring vacantly at the grim room.

  The body seemed to be rocking slightly as though it were cradled in someone’s arms and a child’s voice was murmuring softly to it.

  Outside the light snow continued, pristine, white, and gentle, symbolic of the season, of gentleness and purity.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was still snowing the next day. Whitley College, if seen from a distance or the vantage point of the old mansion high on the hill, resembled a Currier and Ives print. It was almost too pretty, too perfect. There was activity on the streets as the denizens of the community went about their respective business while children of all ages and sizes moved about in galoshes, on skis or sleds, frolicking and playing games.

  Near one of the campus buildings a distinguished-looking man in a tight grey coat and a hat paced nervously, stopping from time to time to glance at his watch. He looked up when a bus full of screaming children went by on the street near where he stood. Then he examined his watch again and resumed his pacing. From out of nowhere a snowball hurtled through the air and hit the side of his head, knocking off both his hat and glasses.

  For a few seconds he didn’t move although the impact, in truth, had not really stunned him. Then he leaned forward, stared at the ground and groped for his glasses. A group of children across the street ran towards one of the houses but he didn’t notice them. A young man put his hand down, picked up the glasses and handed them to the gentleman.

  “Thank you very much.” The man adjusted the glasses, then searched out his hat.

  “That’s okay. I’m sorry. It was one of the kids. They were having a snowball fight and their aim isn’t all that good. I’m sorry. I should have been keeping a better watch on them.”

  The man peered through the glasses at the youthful stranger. “Yes, I should think so.”

  “Yeah. Well, I said I was sorry.”

  The young man started back across the street where the last of the children were being shepherded into the house. Recovering himself, the older man called out. “Excuse me. I know it wasn’t your fault. I wonder . . . have you got a second?”

  Coming back the young man asked, “Yes?”

  “I hate to bother you. I can see that you’re busy, but I wonder if you could help me.”

  “Sure, if I can.”

  “You see, I was supposed to meet my daughter here at one o’clock. My name is Harrison, by the way. And it’s half past one now and she’s still not here. I wonder if you know her? Her name’s Clare Harrison.”

  “Clare Harrison? Yeah, I think so. But I haven’t seen her.”

  “Yes. Well, she lives in a sorority house. I think it’s called Kappa Gamma.”

  “Right. Sure. Kappa’s our sister sorority. Some of the girls are over here today. But I haven’t seen Clare. We’re having a party, sort of. But like I said, she isn’t here.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s why I was to meet her here. She was coming right from the party. You’re sure?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m positive. The Kappa house isn’t far from here, though. I can show you how to get there. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well or something. If you just go down this street to the next corner and turn left, there’s a hill and it’s at the top of the hill. The only house. You can’t miss it.”

  On the opposite side of the campus Jessica Bradley sat on a bench in the quadrangle. She had wiped away the snow to clear herself a spot but she had been sitting long enough that she was beginning to feel the cold through her heavy, serviceable coat. She seemed to be listening for something as she sat pensively, quite still, her eyes staring straight ahead. Off in the distance she heard a clock strike two. She got up quickly and hurried into one of the nearby buildings.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Santa was saying, and the little children giggled appreciatively. There were about twenty-five of them but they sounded to the college-age people in the room to be a thousand. They were everywhere at once, noisy, exuberant and extremely wearing. All of the fraternity brothers were attempting to entertain and contain them as Patrick, dressed in his red Santa Claus outfit mingled among them distributing presents. There was a large punch bowl in one corner on a long table that had trays of cookies and on the floor in a bucket beside the table sat an opened champagne bottle.

  Patrick, after handing out the last present, came across the room to where Barbara was standing beside the table, a glass of champagne in one hand, a ladle for pouring punch for the children in the other.

  “I never knew children in groups could be so exhausting.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m glad I didn’t choose a teaching career. Phyl should be here. It might send her into something simple like medicine.”

  “Speaking of Phyl,” he said, lowering his voice, “what the hell do you mean, ‘she’s going away for a few days?’ ”

  Gesturing at the children Barbara said, “Naughty Santa. Mustn’t swear.”

  “She’s supposed to be going away with me.” He filled a cup with champagne. “Damn it to hell!”

  Barbara smiled at a small boy who had come by holding his cup aloft. “Here, honey. Let Barb give you some more of that delicious punch. Won’t make you a bit drunky-poo at all.” When the child had left she said to Patrick, “Some of us decided to go skiing for a few days. Right after merry old X-mas.” She took another drink of champagne and then added, laughingly, “I suspect she knew what you had in mind for her and decided skiing was more restful.”

  Bitterly he replied, “Ho, ho, ho. Look, Barb, she promised me! All term I’ve been looking forward to spending a few days alone with her. Christ, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and study all holiday?” A little girl had come up behind him and he didn’t see her as he added, “What a bitch!”

  The little girl looked wide-eyed and Barbara said to her, “Isn’t Santa naughty. Bad, bad Santa. Here, have some punch. And I’ll give Santa something to wash out his mouth.”

  By the time she had ladled the punch into a glass for the little girl Patrick had stomped across the room leaving her alone. She shrugged and poured herself some more from the champagne bottle.

  At the Kappa Gamma house Mr. Harrison and Mrs. MacHenry were standing in Clare’s room, staring into her empty closet. The suitcase sat on the bed where she had left it and the room showed no signs of anything untoward happening.

  “Well, Mr. Harrison, her clothes are all packed and ready to go, so she couldn’t have gone far.” She closed the closet door and surveyed the room. “I just don’t know. Maybe she went over to Delta Chi. There’s a party there today for underprivileged children.” She was wishing to herself that she had never answered the front door. He was a pompous man, she decided on first seeing him and nothing so far in their tenuous relationship had done anything to change her mind. Besides, she was in a hurry. It was those damned girls. They were forever spending the night where they shouldn’t have been, and the parents acted as if the world had come to an end.

  Mr. Harrison lifted a glass on the night table and sniffed at it as he said, “Yes, I know. I was to meet her near there. A young man who is a member of the fraternity directed me here. He said she had not come to the party. Is there alcohol in this glass?”

  “We had a party last night. The girls did. They made a punch. I daresay it had a small amount of alcohol in it. A little Christmas cheer, you might say.”

  “Mrs. MacHenry, I never was in agreement with Clare’s staying in a sorority house. I was afraid the atmosphere would be too lax. As house mother, isn’t it your responsibility to keep control over the girls’ activities?”

  Obsequiously
she replied, “Well, I try to do my best, Mr. Harrison.” (To herself she added, “you old fraud.”) “But they’re all young women with minds of their own and I don’t like to restrict them too much. I mean times are different than when you and I were growing up.” Good thing he wasn’t around vaudeville. Times aren’t different at all, as far as I can tell.

  “I’m very disappointed in the atmosphere my daughter is living in, Mrs. MacHenry, and I intend to do something about it.” He rummaged through the suitcase and pulled out a photograph of Chris. “And who, may I ask, is this?”

  As she led him out of the room, Mrs. Mac said, “Oh, that’s a friend of Clare, a very nice young man from the town, Chris Hayden. He’s on the hockey team.”

  Mr. Harrison sniffed. “Hockey!” Distressed, he put the picture back in the suitcase and walked past Mrs. MacHenry into the hall. She look disdainfully at his back then started to follow him.

  As they walked to the top of the stairway he said, “I was under the impression that this was a religious college, and I didn’t send my daughter here to be drinking and picking up boys.”

  “Clare is a good girl, Mr. Harrison. You should have no doubt about that. She’s a good girl and wouldn’t do anything wrong. Uh, I’m sure you’ll find her. Probably she got to the fraternity party late. Why don’t you try back there?”

  When he nodded his head in assent she added quickly, “I have to go that way to the store, so if you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift, I could show you.”

  “I know the way, thank you.” Then perhaps realizing that he was being overly rude he added, “but I’d be happy to give you a ride.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll just get my bag. Won’t be a minute.”

  He started down the stairs and she went back down the hall to her room. She closed the door behind her and then deliberately slowed down, stopping at the mirror to fuss with her hair, muttering to herself sarcastically, imitating his flat, sing-song way of speaking: “I thought this was supposed to be a religious college.”

  From the drawer of her vanity she removed still another bottle of sherry and took a long, slow drink. After putting the bottle back she carefully pinned on her hat, although the effect was that of her simply having stuck it there. She continued to mutter to herself. “Am I supposed to be responsible for the morality of every girl in this goddamn house? Fat chance.” She shook her head and went back to the vanity. Spitefully she took another drink and said, “Those broads would hump the Leaning Tower of Pisa if they could get up there. I do my best,” she added, speaking to the door, “I don’t know what the bastards expect.”

  Looking around she found her purse, opened it and dug out her lipstick. She had applied it to half of her mouth when she heard a familiar sound. Moving out into the hallway she called, “Claude! Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Come say goodbye to mommykins.”

  Stopping, she looked around puzzled, trying to discover the source of the sound. Shaking her head she moved farther down the hall. “Here pretty Claude. Come to mommy. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  She stopped and listened for the sound seemed to be coming from below. Bending over to listen she accidentally spilled the contents of her purse onto the floor. Awkwardly she leaned down to pick up the things and did not notice the form that came to the top of the stairs.

  “Dammit, Claude,” she mumbled. “Where are you? You’ve made me spill the whole damn thing over the floor. Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Come on Claude. You little prick!”

  There was a slight cough and she looked up to see Clare’s father standing at the head of the stairs, looking at her. With her lipstick half on and her strange hat perched on top of her head she made a ridiculous picture, he thought.

  She stared at him blankly for a moment then broke into a toothy smile.

  “This is very kind of you, Mr. Harrison.”

  He stared back, slightly numbed by the sight of her. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “Let me help you.”

  “No, I’ve got it all. Thanks just the same.”

  “Very well. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He turned and hurried away. She watched him go and when his back was out of sight she scrambled to her feet and made an obscene gesture with her free hand.

  Claude bounced from the old chest to the attic window and watched her and Mr. Harrison walking down the walk toward the car parked in front. He mewed several times, then turned his attention back to the room as Mrs. Mac was helped into the car and driven away.

  He leaped back down and began to paw at the piece of plastic that was covering a human face.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Romantic, almost Wagnerian music penetrated the entire building, even seeped through the walls to the outside where Jess pushed open a door and hurried down the austere hallway with the pale-blue walls, her shoes clicking on the bare floor, keeping an off-tempo time with the music. As she walked the music grew louder and when she turned the corner to stop just outside of Room 30 it was almost explosive.

  Looking around she saw that there was no one in sight. She took a deep breath and opened the door as Peter finished off the piece with a flourish, his face strained and sweating.

  Spent, as though he had just finished a grueling cross-country race, he looked up and smiled at her, saying breathlessly, “How about that? Did you hear it all? I finally got it right. No, not right. Perfect. How are you?”

  Diffidently she stood at the end of the piano biting her lip.

  “Well, are you going to say something? Was it great or wasn’t it?”

  “Peter, I’m pregnant.” Her voice was flat, tight and contained.

  His reaction was totally unexpected. “Jess! That’s fantastic.” He stood up and went to her, put his arms around her. When she remained stiff and unpliable he added, a little embarrassed, “Well, that’s great.”

  Quietly but firmly she said, “I don’t want it.”

  She turned away so that her back was to him while his arms remained around her.

  “You don’t want it?”

  “No. I’m going to have an . . . I’m going to have it terminated.”

  Fighting to control his rising anger, Peter asked, “How can you make a decision like that? I mean, the responsibility belongs to both of us. You can’t decide alone. You haven’t even asked me.”

  “There’s nothing to ask. It affects me, not you. Truthfully, I wasn’t even going to tell you.”

  He paused, swallowed hard, getting his breathing to slow down and his hands to stop shaking before he said, “Jess, I want you to have that baby.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t.”

  “For God’s sake, Jess! I’m willing to have it. I want it. This is like some absurd futuristic movie where the man wants the baby and the woman doesn’t. We’re the ones who are supposed to suggest abortion while the woman weeps softly in the corner.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Don’t you ever consider anyone but yourself?”

  “I’ve thought this out very carefully and I know what I’m going to do.”

  “Then why the hell tell me!”

  “It was a mistake. I thought I owed it to you. I even thought you might agree.”

  “Well, I don’t. Jess, do you know how important this afternoon is to me?”

  “Yes, I do, which is one reason why I contemplated not telling you.”

  “Oh, damn. Damn! Why don’t you just get out of here.”

  She looked at him for a moment, turned on her heel and crossed the room. Before she could get out the door, across the length of the practice hall he called out to her.

  “I want to talk to you some more about this tonight.”

  “There’s really nothing to discuss, Peter.”

  “I think there is!”

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “We’ll see. Will you be home at nine o’clock?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t . . . don’t do anything until after I talk to you.”

 
; “Don’t worry. Even I’m offended by the idea of doing it on Christmas Eve.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  “All right.” She walked out of the room and closed the door gently behind her. He sat down at the piano thoughtfully. After looking at his watch he began to play a difficult passage from the piece he was studying, a slow, romantic movement in contrast to the wild abandon of the finish. Totally involved in the music he listened to the tone and beauty of the work as he played until his fingers struck a discordant note. It brought him back to life, to the reality of his conversation with the woman he loved.

  He slammed his hands down hard on the piano and the discord reverberated through the hall.

  Mr. Harrison looked and felt uncomfortable and out of place in the small room off the hall of the fraternity house. He was shouting over the telephone in order to be heard over the children who were busy putting on their coats and galoshes and screaming out goodbyes to one another and to their new-found friends.

  Barbara, still with a champagne glass in her hand, stood just inside the door, leaning against the wall, watching him.

  “Yes, dear. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Yes, I’ve just been talking with a friend of hers, and she’s going to call around for me.” As he listened to his wife he eyed Barbara apprehensively as she slumped unsteadily, her eyes glazed over. “Yes, well, I’m not sure. No, I don’t think we’ll be home early this evening. The snow is still coming down and it’s a bit late to head out now.”

  In the next room, Phyl too, was leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed in front of her and Santa Claus was kissing her passionately on the mouth while his hands groped behind her, finding her bottom. Barbara slipped from the small room and began to shepherd some of the children who were lingering toward the door. As she came around the corner she saw Phyl and Patrick and could not fail to note Patrick’s hand placement.

  “Jesus, they ought to call you Santa Crotch, instead of Santa Claus.”