Barney and His Angel
written by: Waide Riddle
New York City
Christmas Eve
It was early evening around seven o’clock when Barney Biff made his way through the icy parking lot of the grocery store. Snow had fallen all day and the dark clouds that still loomed overhead promised a night of cold and more heavy snow.
Barney was a shy man. He was in his mid-fifties, bald, he had a fat little face with a big fat nose that had a fat mole growing on the end of it and three prickly hairs growing from the tip of that. He had an overgrown mustache that desperately needed trimming and a horribly obese belly that made him look more like a beach ball that you just wanted to kick out of spite than anything else.
This evening Barney was in a rush. Most businesses had already closed, but he was in search of a new Christmas star for his tree. Of all things, his old star fell and shattered to pieces all over the living room floor earlier in the morning, and, no Christmas tree is complete without a star at the top, especially on Christmas Day.
Barney hurried in and went straight to the Christmas decorations.
The left over decorations table was an absolute mess. He reached in his snow-coat pocket and withdrew a pair of black framed, thick, soda-bottle prescription glasses. He used both hands to carefully put them on, and push high over that nose of his.
Why are people such slobs? he thought to himself.
Last minute shoppers were going crazy. He realized there wasn’t much to even choose from.
Oh, no!
There was no Christmas star in sight. All had been sold.
Not one!
“This is awful,” he said to himself. “What am I going to do? I have to have a star…”
That’s when he noticed it.
An interesting site: a box, unlike all the others.
It was mixed in with the garlands, shining tinsel, and colored lights. It was the only one of its kind. He reached for it, holding it firmly, it felt sturdy; it had a weight to it. He slowly opened it.
It was an angel. Packed securely, tightly.
A Christmas Angel. Its hair was a brilliant, bright, golden blonde. Its eyes gently shut in prayer. It was fitted in a flowing white robe and gown. Billowing dove-like wings were attached to its back. Its hands clasped around a heavenly golden sword at its front.
Bold. Elegant. Superior. Holy.
Perhaps, 12 inches tall; a good foot.
It’s beautiful! Why would anyone not want this angel?
Yes, it was perfect and Barney wanted it. The angel would go on his tree. He was thrilled and couldn’t believe his luck!
He smiled.
Bought it.
And, went home.
Barney had always been interested in numbers. He aced math all through grade school and decided to major in accounting in college. When he graduated he easily got a job in an accounting firm just off the beaten path in Brooklyn. It had proven to earn him a modest living for over thirty years.
Barney, in a simple word, was: content.
He lived in a basic apartment just blocks from work. He was to his own definition a minimalist. He needed or wanted for very little. Thirty years of living in the same place had also proven him well. He was a long-termer at the brick complex, and the rent he had negotiated for many years ago was by current real-time, a miracle. He’d never have to move again.
Again, he was content and a minimalist, which also overlapped into his personal tastes with furnishings and decor: Basic chairs, tables, the most minimal of necessities. BUT, he had to have his 1960s cushioned evening chair, office table and record player with his classical and Christmas albums in the center of the living room.
What a collection!
No modern garbage for me!
He was a creature of habit. He always turned his cell phone off immediately once he left the office.
Not to be turned on till he went back to work the next morning. That included weekends.
His bookcase against the wall told his guests everything they needed to know (If he ever had guests): Mathematics and numbers. A collection of math challenges and calculations. He loved his books and one day he’d leave them to the local library.
Entering his apartment, he closed and locked the front door behind him, removed his coat and hung it on the coat rack. He was tired. He walked passed the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and finally into the living room.
The Christmas tree was dark. Barney flicked a switch on the wall and the lights popped on. He stared and smiled at all the bright lights. He was proud of himself. So many beautiful bulbs and multi-colored lights filled the Nordmann Fir. Decorations he’d had since he was a young lad.
The memories flooded his mind and they made him smile.
The tree was 6 ft. The branches full and a healthy green. He was the only person in his life, so there were no gifts to give or receive.
Barney walked over to the record player and chose a Christmas album that had various artists on it. The same album he played over-and-over-and-over every year. It suited him. The vinyl in hand, carefully, he placed it on the turn table, pushed ‘on,’ and set the needle just so…
click… click…
Barney sat in his chair… Waiting… Preparing his mind for his music.
white sound… then
A choir began singing The Holly And The Ivy.
Barney smiled and opened up the box that held his new angel. Carefully, oh so gently, he pulled the body and garment from its safety stand. He admired his new purchase.
Such a beautiful angel!
At the base of his office desk was an opened short mini step ladder. He picked it up and set it directly against the tree.
Perfect!
With the angel in hand, he stepped up on the ladder…
1… 2… 3… steps…
He stretched and reached over to the tree top. Gently and carefully and methodically, Barney placed the angel on top.
YES! It’s the perfect fit!
He stepped off the ladder: 3… 2… 1… and backed away and marveled at how beautiful it all looked together as one.
All of this excitement made Barney hungry.
Eggnog… chocolate brownies… cooked goose… Wow!
It will only take me a few minutes to warm the bird. Yummy!
He went straight to the kitchen.
A piano version of Away In The Manger played next from the various album on the record player.
Life was perfect!
***
The angel seemed to hover… then GROW!
It waited.
Patiently.
Its eyes slowly blinked.
In the kitchen, Barney sipped at a mug of eggnog and munched on chocolate brownies.
He prepped the goose for the microwave, set it in carefully for 3 minutes and pressed ‘start.’
He sat and relaxed munching.
Away In A Manger finished, then, his favorite of favorites of Christmas music play by a sweet symphony:
Angels We Have Heard On High
He smiled and began singing along with the record. He was hitting all the notes when suddenly the music stopped-
CRASH!
NAILS-GRAVEL-GRRRIIIINNNNDDDDIIIINNNNGGG!
The sound was loud.
Fingernails crunching across a chalk border.
It was horribly offensive to his ears and head.
He heard the vinyl CRACK and SHATTER.
What the-
Barney jumped from his kitchen chair and rushed to the living room, leaving the eggnog and brownies on the table scattered.
As he entered the living room, a strong odor of mold and something stagnant hit him. He went straight to the stereo.
The record had been ripped off the spool, the needle crushed and the record in pieces against the wall.
That’s when Barney heard it.
A strange, low, gurgling, creepy giggle.
It gave him the chills and goosebumps.
His eyes darted to the top of the tree.
His angel was gone.
A shadow from behind the tree— something moved.
In the blink of an eye!
It was fast!
Something shifted-floated from behind the Christmas tree, then stepped directly in front of Barney. His eyes wide with confusion and fear.
It was now at least 7 ft. tall.
His Christmas Angel had turned into the Angel of Death.
Barney stood there terrified, frozen, not moving.
The angel held itself in a wicked form, hovering, then floating, over to him.
The angel’s hair was not the beautiful blonde anymore, but rather dark, matted with mud, grime, stringy and long. The eyes were two black empty sockets; something was alive, squirming and wriggling deep in them; burrowing in them. Its skin had turned blue, like death blue. Open lesions gashed across its face, oozing slime-like puss and jelly-like grossness. A thick cluster of wet pock-marks covered its neckline- the smell they secreted made Barney choke and dry-heave.
The angel’s robes were no longer silken and ivory, but torn and filthy. The angel’s wings were no longer pure, but now huge web-like demonic flaps; bat-like.
Then, the gleam of the sword caught Barney’s eye.
An ancient shining steel blade, discolored through time by the blood of its kill. Many, many times over. The blade still razor sharp. The Angel of Death clutched it tightly with charred skeletal hands and fingernails, lifted it over its head.
It smiled.
Hell.
Decay.
Something worm-like snaked between its gums. It spoke and its words froze Barney’s blood.
“Run for your life, you stupid human pig.” It laughed in a low hollow gurgle.
The edge came whistling, blindingly through the air, ripping his shirt across his chest and severing flesh and vein.
BLOOD!
Barney ran, screaming at the top of his lungs.
He headed straight to the bathroom and locked himself in. He breathed hoarsely… blood was gushing from the wound… he backed himself up against the wall between the toilet and sink.
Silence on the other side of the door.
What am I going to do now?
I’m trapped by my own stupidity.
He was feeling faint.
A subtle fluttering sound and motion from behind the shower curtain across from him.
As if an invisible entity had grasped it from behind, the curtain was ripped from its rings and thrown to the floor.
The Angel of Death stood there, hovering. It stared coldly at Barney, who was bleeding profusely.
It drifted towards him. “Can’t you do better than that? You’re no fun. You’re too easy. You fat little runt.”
It raised the sword again.
“Why?” Barney said in fear and pain.
The angel mocked him, “Why?” And it swung again with lightning speed. The blade was a blur through the air, slicing deep across Barney’s shoulder and arm, cutting muscle, tendon and hitting bone.
Barney screamed and started to cry. His survival instincts kicked in and he lunged for the door, nearly yanking the lock off and jacking the door open.
He fled and got to the kitchen sink, burying his face in it. Nausea… he wanted to vomit. He needed to vomit. He tried to vomit. But, nothing came up.
NOTHING!
He knew the intruder-angel was behind him and turned to face it.
Through blood, tears and closed options, Barney begged for his life, and said, “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
Again, The Angel of Death mocked him by repeating his words, “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
Barney said nothing back.
He was terribly weak, faint, and knew the angel could read him. It was waiting for him.
“Then, get on with it,” Barney finally said. “And do what you came here to do to me.”
“Prepare to die, you runt-swine.” The Angel of Death said and raised its sword one final time, and without pausing, swung, one searing stroke, lopping Barney’s head off- it flew in a spin, hitting the kitchen floor with a soggy crunch-thud. Blood sprayed a circular splatter across the ceiling and puddled underneath and around the head. Barney’s lips quivered, death invading last senses, he whispered through blood and gore, “Why?”
With a skeletal hand and jagged serrated nails, the angel picked Barney’s bloody head up, gripping it like a firm large cantaloupe, and glided into the darkness of the apartment.
***
Christmas morning
Outside, gray dark clouds slowly moved in a circular pattern low over New York City. Snow had fallen sporadically all night. Cold, icy winds burnt the tops of trees and buildings. No one ventured out, not even Barney.
Inside, the living room was alive with Christmas ambience, lights and decor. Good cheer and merriment!
Barney’s glass of eggnog had been washed and was placed with other collected Christmas mugs. Brownie crumbs had been cleaned and the kitchen table wiped down. The goose had been removed from the microwave, resealed and was back in the refrigerator.
Only one drop of blood remained on the kitchen floor where Barney’s head had landed with a grotesque thump.
The Christmas tree was bright and beautiful. On top, the Christmas Angel was back in its place. Its hair was a bright, golden mane; like a halo. The eyes gently shut, as if in prayer. A flowing white robe and gown. Billowing,
white-dove wings attached to its back.
The angel held its sword in front.
Gold.
Bold.
Holy.
Approximately a foot in height.
It was beautiful.
Unique.
One of a kind.
A novelty.
Why would anyone not want this angel?
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