A Sleigh Ride Through Hell

                             A Sleigh Ride Through Hell
                    (Has been published in the August 2007 edition of Secret Attic)


         Jonathan Bidwell stood on the steps before the town hall with his hands in his pockets, smiling in the fresh morning air. 
         His wife, Elizabeth, stood to his right.  Her arms crossed, she shifted her weight and sighed. 
         A make-up artist knelt on the step above Jonathan quickly fishing out assorted cosmetics from a black bag.  She stood, turned to Jonathan and began wiping his face with a soft brush.  Returning to her bag, she grabbed a pencil and began to work on his eyes.  “You’re never going to make it on time,” she said squinting and wrinkling her nose.  “The speech is supposed to begin in ten minutes.”
         Elizabeth fumbled through the purse dangling from her shoulder.  She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and then cocked her head at the artist.  “Jonathan has always been irresponsible.  One time he was supposed to be the opening speaker for the Exchange Doctors Gala.  Naturally when it was time to leave he was nowhere to be found.  A friend and I began searching for him.  We caught him masturbating in the cornfield.”
          The artist stopped with the pencil, cleared her throat and locked eyes with Elizabeth who raised her eyebrows and blew smoke through her nose.  The artist returned the pencil to the bag and pulled out a black beard and a screwdriver. 
         “Yeah, but I made it on time.  I’ll be late when Hell freezes over.”  Jonathan chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll be on time.”
         The artist held the beard up to his face and began steadily screwing the handles into place.  Jonathan winced as she pressed the threaded metal into his cheek bones. 
         When satisfied the beard adequately hid his swollen, purple cheeks and the few drops of blood that managed to escape.  She stepped back.  “Okay, we’re done.”
         “Thank you,” said Elizabeth.  She stomped out her cigarette, grabbed Jonathan by the hand and led him down the stairs, heels clapping.  They ran across the street to a wax museum. 
                “Come on,” she jerked him along.  “The suit is in here.”
         Jonathan followed Elizabeth through the dimly lit museum, passing figures of history at every turn.  Finally they stopped before a wax figure of Abraham Lincoln.  The figure was incredibly life like. 
         Jonathan slowly stepped to the side examining it.  “So, this is the suit I’m supposed to wear today, huh?”  He smiled and turned to Elizabeth.  “I never much cared for this style.” 
         The figure turned to Jonathan and replied, “Well perhaps you should.” 
         Jonathan’s eyes widened.  His pupils dilated.  He froze.  Elizabeth gasped and startled back.  Abraham stood motionless again. 
         Several moments passed.  Then Elizabeth crept forward slowly reaching out at the figure, fingers trembling.  Taking short quick breaths she went to touch the figure on the arm.  But the expectation of contact was never satisfied as her hand passed through the figure’s arm.  She shrieked and jumped back.  The figure remained still. 
                Elizabeth held her trembling hands before her face.  A tear trickled from the corner of her eye.  She took several deep breaths and scowled at Jonathan.     
                His face wrinkled.  He was still unable to move.
         Elizabeth lunged at Jonathan, knocking him flat-backed on the floor with a thud.  He tried to scramble to his feet, but she was already straddling his chest with her hands securely fastened around his throat.  Jonathan gasped for air. 
                “You bastard!” Elizabeth screamed.  “How could you let this happen to me?”
         Jonathan sat up, gasping in the dark.  A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.  He looked at the alarm clock.  12:47 a.m.  A barking dog echoed in the distance.  He lay back, resting his head on the cool, damp pillow, and wept again.