Christmas Hymn
written by: Emile B. LaCerte Jr.
Chapter One: The Morning After
The church bells in the center of town had already rung eleven times by the moment Dana stirred awake. The muffled chimes drifted through the frosted windows of his small New England apartment, a reminder that the world outside was already bustling while he was only just dragging himself out of bed.
His head throbbed faintly from the party the night before—too many snorts of white powder, too many carols sung off-key with friends. He squinted against the pale winter light filtering through the blinds, then reached blindly across the nightstand for his iPhone. It wasn’t there.
Grumbling, Dana pushed himself upright, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as he shuffled toward the kitchen. The apartment smelled faintly of pine from the half-decorated tree in the corner, but the stronger scent was of last night’s pizza box still open on the counter. The kitchen, like most of his place, was cluttered—dirty mugs stacked in the sink, unopened mail spilling across the table, and a thin layer of dust on the shelves. Cleaning was never high on his list, especially not today.
After a few minutes of searching, he spotted his phone wedged between a pile of unopened envelopes and a crumpled grocery receipt. He unlocked it quickly, scanning for messages. A few texts from friends about tonight’s plans—Christmas Eve dinner, drinks at the pub, maybe even midnight skating at the frozen pond. He smiled faintly, then set the phone back down beside the stack of unpaid bills, the red ink warnings glaring at him like silent accusations.
He ignored them.
Instead, Dana padded toward the bathroom, peeling off his wrinkled shirt as he went. The tiles were cold under his feet, and the mirror reflected a face that looked more tired than festive. He turned on the shower, steam rising instantly, and stepped inside, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of last night.
It was Christmas Eve, and he had plans—fun, carefree plans that promised laughter and warmth. But as the water streamed down, Dana couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different this year. Something was waiting for him beyond the ordinary rhythm of parties and traditions.
He didn’t know it yet, but before the day was over, one unexpected encounter would change his life forever.
By the time Dana stepped out of the shower, the apartment was filled with the faint hum of the radiator and the smell of pine from the neglected Christmas tree. He dressed quickly—jeans, a sweater that had seen better days, and a scarf his mother had knitted years ago. It was frayed at the edges, but he wore it every winter out of habit.
Outside, the small New England town was alive with Christmas Eve energy. Snow dusted the sidewalks, and shop windows glowed with twinkling lights. Children tugged at their parents’ hands, pointing at toy displays, while carolers rehearsed on the steps of the old library. Dana pulled his coat tighter and walked down Main Street, his boots crunching against the icy pavement.
He stopped at the corner café, where the smell of cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee spilled into the street. Inside, the warmth was immediate—friends gathered at tables, exchanging gifts wrapped in shiny paper. Dana ordered a black coffee, scrolling through his phone again while waiting. More messages from friends: reminders about dinner, jokes about last night’s party, and one cryptic text from an unknown number.
“Don’t miss the lights tonight. You’ll see more than you expect.”
Dana frowned, rereading the message. No name, no number, he recognized. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, brushing it off as a prank.
Dana sipped his coffee, his thoughts drifting back to the stack of unpaid bills waiting on his counter. The weight of months without steady work pressed on him, and the cheer of the café only seemed to sharpen the contrast between his life and everyone else’s.
At the table beside him, a young mother guided her child toward the bathroom. In her hurry, she left her purse open, a bank envelope peeking out from within. Dana’s eyes lingered on it longer than they should have. His heart thudded with a mix of desperation and shame.
He hesitated, then rose quickly, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket before rushing out into the cold. The winter air hit him like a slap, but he kept moving, his boots crunching against the snow as guilt gnawed at him.
Back at his apartment, Dana tore open the envelope. Cash. Enough to cover more than a few rounds at the bar tonight, maybe even a bottle or two to keep the party going. He stacked the bills on the counter beside the unpaid notices, the red ink warnings glaring at him like silent judges.
He told himself it was just for tonight. Just to forget. Just to feel alive again.
But deep down, Dana knew this choice would follow him. And as the cryptic text replayed in his mind—“Don’t miss the lights tonight. You’ll see more than you expect.”—he couldn’t shake the feeling that the night ahead would bring more than just celebration.
Chapter Two: The Call
Dana was pulling on his boots when his phone buzzed across the counter. He glanced at the screen—Mom.
“Are you coming here?” her voice asked, warm but expectant.
“Yes, Mom. Be right there,” Dana replied, forcing cheer into his tone. He didn’t want her to hear the weariness behind his words.
He grabbed his coat, stuffed his scarf into the collar, and glanced once more at the stack of unpaid bills. The stolen envelope of cash sat on top, a silent reminder of the choice he’d made. He shoved the thought aside, pocketed his keys, and stepped out into the cold.
The air was sharp, filled with the scent of woodsmoke from chimneys and the faint sound of carolers rehearsing in the square. Dana’s breath clouded in front of him as he hurried down the steps of his apartment building.
His car sat under a thin blanket of snow, the windshield frosted over. He brushed it off with his sleeve, unlocked the door, and slid inside. The engine coughed before coming to life, the heater groaning as it struggled against the chill.
As he pulled out of the driveway, Dana felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread. Tonight was supposed to be about family, friends, and celebration. Yet the cryptic text still echoed in his mind: “Don’t miss the lights tonight. You’ll see more than you expect.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Whatever awaited him this Christmas Eve, it was already in motion.
Chapter Three: The Collision
Always in a hurry, Dana scraped just enough frost from the windshield to see the road ahead. Good enough, he thought, sliding into the driver’s seat. He didn’t want to linger—his parents’ house meant lectures about responsibility, about finding a job, about growing up. He wasn’t in the mood.
The car rattled down the icy street, tires crunching against packed snow. He pressed harder on the gas than he should have, impatience guiding his foot.
Then it happened.
A blur darted across the road—a dog, small and scruffy, its fur matted with snow. Dana slammed the brakes, but too late. The thud echoed in his chest.
“No… no, no, no,” he muttered, throwing the car into park and stumbling out. His breath clouded in the cold as he crouched beside the animal. The dog was still breathing, shallow and weak, its eyes half-open.
Dana’s heart pounded. He thought of the vet, of the cost, of the bills stacked on his counter. He thought of the party tonight, the envelope of cash burning in his pocket.
He looked around. The street was empty. No witnesses.
“Good,” he whispered, though the word tasted bitter. He lifted the dog gently, carried it to the side of the road, and laid it down on the snowbank. Its chest rose and fell faintly, a fragile rhythm against the silence.
Dana stood there for a moment, torn between guilt and relief. Then he turned back to his car, climbed in, and drove away toward his parents’ house.
But as the town lights flickered in the distance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—had seen everything.
Chapter Four: Homecoming
Dana pushed open the familiar front door, the scent of roasted meats and spices drifting from the kitchen. His mother was at the stove, apron dusted with flour, her hands busy shaping pierogi for the Wigilia feast. The warmth of home wrapped around him instantly, though he carried the chill of the outside world in his coat.
Before he could speak, a blur of fur bounded toward him—Nikko, a Christmas present long ago, his loyal dog, tail wagging furiously. Dana crouched down, ruffling the dog’s ears, a smile breaking across his face despite the heaviness in his chest.
Then came Janka. His little sister, the light of his life, rushed in from the hallway. She threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly. “You’re my joy,” she whispered, her voice full of affection. Dana hugged her back, feeling a pang of guilt for the secrets he carried.
From the kitchen, his mother called out, “Are you coming tonight for Christmas dinner? You know your father, and I always go to midnight mass—Pasterka is tradition.”
Dana hesitated, leaning against the doorway. “Don’t know, Mom. I’m eighteen now. I want to enjoy my friends.” His words hung in the air, a mix of defiance and uncertainty.
Before his mother could respond, his iPhone buzzed in his pocket. The ringtone cut through the cozy hum of the house. Dana pulled it out, the screen glowing with an incoming call.
Unknown number.
He froze, remembering the cryptic text from earlier: “Don’t miss the lights tonight. You’ll see more than you expect.”
With Janka’s arms still around him and Nikko pawing at his leg, Dana stared at the phone, torn between answering and ignoring it. Something about this call felt different—like the moment he picked up, everything would change.
Dana’s father stepped into the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag after tending to the woodpile outside. His presence filled the room, steady and commanding.
“Love you, Dad,” Dana called out, the words quick, almost automatic. They carried no warmth, no weight—just syllables tossed into the air.
At first, the conversation was light. His father asked about school, about work, about whether Dana had thought of applying to the factory down the road. Dana answered curtly, his voice clipped, his patience thin.
Soon, the tone shifted. His father’s voice rose, sharp and insistent. “You don’t listen, Dana. You don’t plan. You waste your time with parties and friends while your mother worries herself sick.”
Dana’s jaw tightened. “That’s why I don’t like coming here, Mom. Dad just yells—he doesn’t talk.”
The air in the kitchen grew heavy, the warmth of holiday cooking replaced by the chill of unspoken resentment. His mother tried to soothe the tension, but Dana’s phone buzzed again, cutting through the argument.
He glanced at the screen. The same unknown number.
“Mom, I have to go,” he said abruptly, grabbing his coat.
“Are you coming to dinner?” she asked, her voice pleading, her hands still busy at the stove.
Dana hesitated at the doorway. “Don’t know,” he muttered, then rushed out, the door closing behind him with a thud.
Outside, the cold air hit him like a wall. The phone buzzed once more in his pocket, insistent, demanding. Dana’s pulse quickened. Whoever was calling wasn’t going to stop.
Chapter Five: The Escape
With tires screeching against the icy pavement, Dana sped down the road, the town lights blurring past his windshield. His jaw was tight, his thoughts boiling. Just hate to come home—it’s always the same bullshit, he muttered under his breath. The arguments, the lectures, the weight of expectations—it all pressed on him like the snow-laden sky above.
He reached for his phone, balancing it in one hand while the other gripped the wheel. The screen lit up with Sean’s name. Dana tapped quickly.
“Hey Sean, what’s happening?”
Sean’s voice crackled through the speaker, full of energy. “Great, man. Be there in ten minutes.”
Dana smirked, the tension in his chest easing slightly. Tonight promised freedom—friends, music, and the kind of reckless joy that drowned out responsibility. He pressed harder on the gas, the car fishtailing slightly before regaining traction.
But as he raced toward the edge of town, the cryptic text from earlier whispered in the back of his mind: “Don’t miss the lights tonight. You’ll see more than you expect.”
The road stretched ahead, dark and uncertain, and Dana couldn’t shake the feeling that his night was about to veer into something far beyond parties and escape.
Dana pulled up beside Sean, who hopped into the passenger seat with a grin. The car roared back onto the road, tires skidding slightly on the icy pavement.
“It’s Christmas Eve, man,” Sean said, his voice buzzing with excitement. “I’m going to get smashed tonight. Best night of the year.” I know where we can get some good stuff!
Dana smirked, patting his coat pocket. “No problem. I’ve got cash.”
Sean leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Good. I know where we can score something for the party—cheap pills, the kind that’ll keep everyone lit all night.”
He pointed down a narrow alley, the streetlights barely reaching its frozen pavement. The buildings loomed close, their brick walls damp and shadowed.
Dana hesitated, then turned the wheel, the car slipping into the alley. The sound of the engine echoed off the walls, and for a moment, it felt like they were driving into another world—one where choices carried heavier consequences.
Sean grinned, oblivious to the weight pressing on Dana’s chest. “Trust me. Tonight’s going to be unforgettable.”
Dana tightened his grip on the wheel. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the alley held more than just cheap drugs.
The car rattled as Dana turned down the narrow street Sean had pointed out. The alley was dim, the snow untouched, the silence heavy. Dana’s grip on the wheel tightened.
Sean was buzzing with excitement, talking fast about the night ahead—cheap booze, endless laughter, the kind of chaos that made Christmas Eve unforgettable. Dana forced a smile, but his stomach churned.
Every choice he’d made today seemed to echo back at him: the envelope of stolen cash, the dog lying in the snow, his father’s voice raised in anger. The weight of it all pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Man, you’re quiet,” Sean said, nudging him. “This is gonna be epic. Don’t overthink it.”
Dana nodded, but his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. For a moment, he thought he saw a large deer—a shadow slipping across the street behind them. He blinked, but the mirror showed only empty snow.
The phone buzzed again in his pocket. The same unknown number. The same insistent call.
Dana swallowed hard. The night was supposed to be about escape, but instead it felt like every road was leading him deeper into something he couldn’t control.
Chapter Six: The Crash
The night air was sharp, the road slick with ice. Dana’s car tore down the alley, Sean laughing beside him. Sean shouted, stop the car and rolled the window down. From a doorway, a man walks up to the window. Are you a cop he shouts no.” Then what do you need”? He showed him a bottle filled with pills. Sean grabbed the bottle and shouted to Dana. “Go, Go!”
Then flashing lights suddenly filled the rearview mirror.
Police.
“Go, man, go!” Sean shouted, panic rising in his voice. Dana slammed the accelerator, the tires screeching against the frozen pavement. The chase began.
Sirens wailed, echoing through the narrow streets. Dana’s heart pounded as he swerved, the car fishtailing dangerously. He gritted his teeth, gripping the wheel tighter, but the icy road betrayed him.
The car skidded, spun, and slammed into a tree with a deafening crunch. The windshield shattered, the hood crumpled. Dana’s breath caught in his throat.
“Run!” Sean yelled, already scrambling out the passenger side.
Dana stumbled from the wreck, adrenaline surging. Behind them, doors slammed, and voices shouted. Shots cracked through the night, echoing like thunder. Dana bolted into the woods, branches whipping against his face, snow crunching under his boots.
He dove behind a massive fallen tree, chest heaving, heart racing. The forest was dark, silent except for the distant shouts and the pounding of his own pulse. From his leg, blood was dripping. Must been from the crash, he thought.
For the first time all day, Dana felt the weight of everything—his choices, his anger, his desperation. Hiding there in the cold, he realized he couldn’t keep running forever.
And in that moment, the path toward redemption began to flicker faintly before him, like the first light of dawn breaking through the trees.
Chapter Seven: The Edge of Moriah Hallow.
The phone buzzed in Dana’s pocket, its vibration sharp against the silence of the woods. He pulled it out, the screen glowing with that same unknown number. Reaching into his other pocket, he pulled out some pills he got from the guy in the alley. His arm motioned toward his mouth.
Before he could swallow it, a sudden flash of light split the darkness.
Dana shielded his eyes, heart pounding. When he looked up, his breath caught.
Standing before him was a stag—majestic, towering, its antlers branching like silver trees. Its coat shimmered with a glow unlike anything Dana had ever seen, pure white, radiant against the black forest. The White Hart.
Legends whispered of such a creature in New England’s oldest tales, carried across oceans from Celtic and medieval lore. The White Hart was said to appear only to those standing at a crossroads in their lives, a guardian of thresholds, a messenger between worlds. Its presence meant destiny was near, and choices could no longer be ignored.
The stag’s eyes glowed with a steady, ancient light. They were not the eyes of an animal, but of something older—something that had watched countless souls falter and rise again. Its breath misted in the cold air, each exhale carrying a faint shimmer, as though the forest itself bent to its will.
Behind the stag, a smaller figure stepped forward: a rabbit, its ears glowing softly like lanterns in the night. It tilted its head, eyes fixed on Dana.
“I’ve been calling you all day,” the rabbit said, its voice calm yet otherworldly. “This is the edge of Moriah Hallow—a place you cannot enter.”
Dana’s pulse raced. “What… what do you mean?”
Dana remembered the old tale his grandmother (babcia) once whispered, a story carried from Poland across winters and oceans: that on Christmas Eve, the animals were given voices by God Himself, a gift for being the first to kneel at the manger. For one night only, the creatures of the earth could speak, bearing messages from heaven to humankind. In that moment, Dana understood what his babcia had meant: the pink opłatek, a special wafer made for animals, was not only food, but a bridge, a sign that even the humblest creatures shared in the divine mystery. To bless them was to honor the first witnesses of Bethlehem, and to listen was to hear heaven itself echo through the living world.
The stag lowered its head, antlers gleaming like moonlight caught in crystal.
“Your loved ones have asked for our help,” the rabbit continued. “They see the path you’ve taken, the choices that weigh on you. Tonight, you stand at the threshold. Beyond here lies a place of reckoning. But you cannot cross.”
Dana’s chest tightened. Images flashed in his mind—his mother at the stove, Janka’s embrace, Nikko wagging his tail, the dog he left in the snow. The weight of it all pressed down, heavier than ever.
The White Hart’s gaze pierced him, not with judgment, but with possibility. “You must decide, Dana. Run deeper into shadow… or turn toward the light your family still holds for you said the Rabbit.
The forest was silent, waiting.
Chapter Eight: The Vision of Love
The rabbit’s ears glowed brighter, casting a soft halo of light across the snow. Its voice was calm, yet carried a weight that made Dana’s chest tighten.
“Put your hand on the deer,” it said. “He will show you what you have done.”
Dana hesitated, then pressed his trembling hand against the stag’s glowing coat. Warmth surged through him, and the forest dissolved into visions.
He saw the dog he had struck on the road, lying weak in the snow. Its breaths were shallow, but its eyes—gentle, forgiving—looked at him without anger. Beside the dog knelt a child, tears streaming down their face as they whispered, “Please don’t leave me.” The dog’s tail gave one final faint wag, as if to say: I forgive you. Dana’s chest ached with guilt and awe.
The vision shifted. His parents stood in the candlelit church at midnight mass, heads bowed in prayer. His mother’s lips moved silently, asking for mercy and guidance for her son. His father, stern and proud, whispered the same words, though his voice trembled. The prayers rose like smoke, carried upward into the vaulted ceiling, reaching beyond the church walls.
Then the café appeared. The young mother sat at her table, staring at the empty envelope. Her child tugged at her sleeve, asking about Christmas dinner. She smiled faintly, hiding her despair, but her eyes glistened. Dana felt the weight of her loss, the way his selfish act had stolen joy from her family.
Finally, the vision turned to Janka. His little sister knelt beside her bed; Nikko curled at her side, the dog’s ears perked as if listening. Janka’s hands were clasped, her voice soft but steady. “Please, God, help my brother. He’s lost, but he’s, my joy. Don’t let him fall away.” Nikko whined gently, pressing his head against her knee, as if sending her prayer onward. Nikko turning his head as if he had to be somewhere else urgently.
The White Hart’s antlers glowed brighter, and Dana felt the prayers converge—his sister’s love, his parents’ faith, the dog’s forgiveness, the mother’s silent plea—all flowing into Moriah Hallow, carried by the rabbit’s glowing ears.
Dana fell to his knees, tears burning his eyes. For the first time, he understood: love was not just given freely, it was a force that endured even when he failed. And it was reaching for him now, offering a chance to turn back.
Chapter Nine: Saved by Love
The light from Moriah Hallow began to fade, closing like a curtain across the forest. Dana staggered back, overwhelmed by the visions of his past, his failures, and the prayers of those who still loved him. His chest heaved, tears burning his eyes.
Then, suddenly, a blur of fur leapt from the shadows. Nikko—his dog, the Christmas gift from years ago—charged forward and knocked him to the ground, knocking the pill from his hand. Dana gasped, stunned, as the familiar bark rang out, sharp and protective.
The sound carried through the trees. Flashlights cut through the darkness, voices shouted, and the police rushed toward him.
“Son, you have to come with us,” one officer said firmly, kneeling beside him. “But you’re lucky—your dog saved you.”
Dana looked at Nikko, who stood between him and the officers, tail wagging, eyes bright with loyalty. In that moment, Dana understood: the love of his dog, the prayers of his sister, the forgiveness of those he had wronged—all of it had reached him here, at the edge of Moriah Hallow.
The stag was gone, the rabbit’s glow had faded, but their message lingered. Redemption was not a gift handed freely—it was a choice. And Nikko had reminded him that love was still within reach.
Dana wiped his eyes, nodded slowly, and rose to his feet. For the first time, he didn’t feel like running.
Chapter Ten: Homecoming of the Heart
The police car pulled up outside his parents’ house, its headlights cutting across the snow. Dana stepped out slowly, Nikko trotting faithfully at his side. His breath clouded in the cold night air, but for the first time, he felt steady.
Inside, the warmth of home wrapped around him like a blanket. The smell of Wigilia dinner lingered in the kitchen, candles flickered in the windows, and the faint sound of carols drifted from the radio. His mother turned from the stove, her eyes widening as she saw him.
“Dana,” she whispered, rushing forward. She pulled him into her arms, flour still dusting her apron. He held her tightly, the weight of the day pressing out of him in a flood of tears.
His father stood in the doorway, stern as ever, but his eyes softened. “You’re here,” he said simply, his voice low but steady.
Then Janka appeared, her little sister’s face glowing with relief. She ran to him, hugging him fiercely. “You’re my joy,” she said again, her words trembling but full of love. Nikka barked once, wagging his tail, as if sealing the moment.
Dana sank into the embrace of his family, overwhelmed by their prayers, their forgiveness, their unwavering love. He thought of the visions the White Hart had shown him—the dog’s forgiveness, the mother’s despair, his parents at midnight mass, Janka praying at her bedside. All of it had led him here.
“I’m sorry,” Dana whispered, his voice breaking. “For everything. For running. For hurting you. I don’t want to lose this… I don’t want to lose you.”
His mother stroked his hair gently. “Love always finds its way back, Dana. Tonight, you’ve found yours.”
The officers who had escorted him stood quietly near the door, giving the family space. Dana turned to them, his voice trembling but resolute.
“Before anything else,” he said, “I need your help. There’s one stop I have to make. I have to return something that doesn’t belong to me—the money.”
The policemen exchanged glances, then nodded. “We’ll take you,” one said. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Dana exhaled, relief washing over him. For the first time, he wasn’t running from his choices—he was facing them.
Chapter Eleven: Restitution
The café was warm and bustling, the hum of voices and clinking cups filling the air. Dana stepped inside, his heart pounding, the stolen envelope heavy in his pocket. The police waited outside, giving him space but watching closely.
He approached the counter, where the waitress smiled politely. “Excuse me,” Dana said, his voice low but urgent. “Do you know a woman and child who were sitting by the window earlier today?”
The waitress nodded, her expression softening. “Yes, that’s Miss Yu. So sad—she lost her paycheck. Especially on Christmas Eve.” She shook her head, her voice tinged with sorrow. “She was worried about not having money for Christmas dinner with her family.”
Dana swallowed hard, guilt pressing against his chest. “Do you know where I can find her?”
The waitress thought for a moment, tapping her chin. “Let me think… I believe she lives at 25 Hill Avenue.”
Dana’s eyes widened, relief and determination flooding him. “Thank you!” he shouted, already turning toward the door.
The police officers looked at him as he rushed out. “I know where she is,” Dana said breathlessly. “I have to return this. It doesn’t belong to me.”
Nikko barked once, as if urging him forward.
For the first time, Dana wasn’t running away—he was running toward something. Toward forgiveness. Toward love. Toward redemption.
Chapter Twelve: Hill Avenue
The police car rolled slowly through the quiet streets, its headlights sweeping across snowbanks and wreaths hung on doors. Dana sat in the back seat, Nikko curled against his leg, the envelope of money clutched tightly in his hand.
Every house they passed glowed with warmth—families gathered around tables, candles flickering in windows; laughter spilling into the night. Dana thought of his own family, of Janka’s prayer whispered beside her bed, of his parents at midnight mass, of Nikko’s loyalty. He realized that love had been reaching for him all along, even when he turned away.
“Hope and love,” Dana whispered to himself. “That’s what Christmas is supposed to be.”
The car slowed, turning onto Hill Avenue. At the end of the street stood a modest home, its porch light dim, its windows dark. The officers stopped. “This is it,” one said.
Dana stepped out, his boots crunching in the snow. His breath clouded in the cold as he walked up the path, Nikko trotting beside him. He knocked gently on the door.
It opened a crack, and Miss Yu appeared, her eyes tired, her child peeking from behind her.
Dana’s throat tightened. He held out the envelope with trembling hands. “This belongs to you. I… I took it. I was desperate, and I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please, take it back.”
Miss Yu’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth. She looked at her child, then back at Dana. Slowly, she reached out and accepted the envelope. Tears filled her eyes.
“You don’t know what this means,” she whispered. “We thought Christmas was ruined. Now… now we can have dinner together.”
Her child smiled, clutching her sleeve. Nikko barked softly, as if blessing the moment.
Dana felt something shift inside him—guilt giving way to relief, despair turning into hope. For the first time, he understood the true message of Christmas: love given freely, forgiveness offered even when undeserved, and the chance to begin again.
The police stood quietly at the curb, watching. Dana turned back to them; his heart lighter than it had been in years. One of the officers turned to Dana, today’s your lucky day. Those pills you had, they were fentanyl. Dana’s eyes widen with shock: the Message, the Rabbit, Nikko saved his life.
Tonight, redemption had begun not in visions or prayers, but in a simple act of the love that surrounds you.
Chapter Thirteen: Christmas Morning Mass
The bells of the church rang out across the snowy town, their sound clear and solemn in the crisp morning air. Dana walked beside his parents and Janka, the warmth of their presence steadying him. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like an outsider—he felt like he belonged.
Inside, the church glowed with candlelight. Families filled the pews, voices rising together in hymns of hope and joy. Dana sat between his mother and sister, his father at the aisle, and bowed his head as the prayers began.
He thought of the White Hart, the rabbit’s glowing ears, the visions of love and forgiveness. He thought of Miss Yu and her child, of the relief in her eyes when he returned the money. He thought of Janka’s prayer whispered in the quiet of her room, and how it had reached him even in the darkest woods.
As the priest spoke of renewal, Dana felt the words settle deep within him. Christmas was not about escape or indulgence—it was about love, sacrifice, and the chance to begin again.
When the mass ended, the congregation spilled out into the snowy morning. Dana stepped into the cold air, his breath clouding, his heart lighter than it had been in years.
And there, waiting at the steps, was Nikkos. The dog barked joyfully, bounding toward him, tail wagging furiously. Dana knelt, wrapping his arms around his loyal companion. His parents smiled, Janka laughed, and for a moment, everything felt whole.
The bells rang again, echoing across the town. Dana looked at his family, at Nikko, at the church behind them, and realized that redemption wasn’t a distant promise—it was here, now, in the love that had never let him go.
Epilogue: The Light of Moriah Hallow
Snow fell gently over the town, blanketing rooftops and streets in quiet peace. The bells of Christmas morning had faded, but their echo lingered in Dana’s heart.
He walked beside Janka, Nikko trotting faithfully at their heels, while his parents followed close behind. The warmth of family surrounded him, stronger than any lecture or argument, stronger than the shadows he had chased.
In the silence of the woods beyond the town, the White Hart stood unseen, its antlers shimmering faintly in the dawn. Beside it, the rabbit’s ears glowed softly, carrying the prayers of love that had saved Dana.
It was Janka’s prayer, whispered at her bedside, that had first reached Nikko. The loyal dog had listened, his ears twitching, his heart attuned to her love. And in that moment, Nikkos carried her words beyond the walls of their home, sending them into the unseen paths of Moriah Hallow. The rabbit had caught them, the White Hart had answered, and together they had brought Dana to the edge of redemption.
Miss Yu and her child shared dinner that night, laughter filling their home. The dog Dana had struck was remembered with love, its forgiveness carried into the prayers of its young owner. And in every corner of Dana’s world, the love he had once ignored now shone brighter than ever.
Christmas had given him more than a second chance—it had given him the truth: that redemption is born not from perfection, but from love, forgiveness, and the courage to begin again.
As Dana left the church with his family, Nikko barked joyfully, his tail wagging like a banner of hope. Dana smiled, looking up at the sky where the first star of evening glimmered.
He whispered to himself, “Love always finds its way back.”
And somewhere, at the edge of Moriah Hallow, the White Hart bowed its head, its task complete.
- Christmas Hymn - December 17, 2025
