A Christmas Story (part 8)

“Mellissa!” Stacy hissed as her little sister opened the iron gate to the front yard. “She could have an attack dog or something. You want to get us killed?”

Mellissa held her tongue and gazed at the snow shapes in the yard. No threat here. A few feet from the front porch, she stopped. “Someone’s moving around in there. I see a shadow.”

“She’s probably got a shotgun,” Stacy hissed.

As Mellissa looked back at Stacy, an emotion she didn’t understand welled inside her. She kept moving forward, the toes of her boots hitting against the first porch step. The house needed repairs, that was obvious even in the dark, but someone was taking care of this place. She wasn’t sure what had drawn her here, but she felt like giving something to the woman that everyone had scorned. Let her know she wasn’t completely forgotten.

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