A/N: So how about that Jungle Movie, huh? That's something.
Hahahah hah aa I started working on this immediately after hearing the big news. Two years ago. It was gonna be a little fluffy crack piece written just to celebrate but it got serious and here we are. A mixture of mystery, psychological horror, magic, and the supernatural. Because I just can't with TJM, okay, I've been way too emotional and I needed to let those feelings out. In the most ridiculous way possible.
Still pretty fluffy, though, thank the Lord.
I hope you enjoy x'''D
Disclaimer: Lucky belongs to NerdilyNi. :O)
Life with the Shortmans
Congratulations!
Part 1/2
Arnold awoke to the sound of chirping birds and kids laughing out his window.
Shadows mingled with sunlight when he blinked his eyes open, half his face buried in his pillow and his body comfortably entangled with the comforter. With a soft, contented groan, he reached an arm back for Helga, only to find that she'd already gotten up. He snuffed and lifted his head to blearily check the clock.
9:47, it blinked.
Christmas. He'd been... allowed to sleep in. That was unusual, but... nice.
Very nice.
He smiled and laid his head back down, a soft pang of joy hitting him as it sank in and a burst of fabric softener enveloped him. Just as he was letting loose a slow, grateful yawn, a piece of folded green paper on the bedside table caught his eye. He blinked at it.
For a while, he stared, long enough for the sun to shift just so, allowing a streak of glittering sunlight to shoot out and strike the paper. In an otherwise shrouded space, it sat bathed in a heavenly glow. He raised an eyebrow.
He propped himself on his elbow and picked it up. In gold curling sharpie, it read, Arnold Shortman, the corners of the paper immaculately accented with gold glitter glue. He chuckled. This should be good.
Smiling indulgently, he unfolded the paper. Then blinked. And frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.
Inside was a cut-out of an old newspaper article, dated in the 80s. It was... the obituary. And there, in faded, black ink, read Stella and Miles Shortman. Below that, there was a picture of him at eleven-years-old with his parents on the couch of the Sunset Arms, grinning at the camera in a cheesy Christmas sweater and the scarf Helga had made for him that year.
On the other side of the paper, it read, in that same gold sharpie overlaid with glitter, Congratulations!
Well. This was... sweet?
He stared for a few moments longer, trying to puzzle it out to himself, before shrugging and kicking out of bed. He had a weird family, bless their hearts.
When he made it to the kitchen, another green piece of paper awaited him on the table. Okay. Maybe this was a game of some kind?
He picked it up and flipped it open, reading quickly. This one he grinned warmly at and sat back down before walking up the microwave. A full plate of pancakes sat inside, ready to be warmed up. Awake not even half an hour and already, what a day. This really was sweet of them. He looked over his shoulder. But where were they?
Laughter rang out again, coming from the window, and he smiled. The microwave was swung shut, set for a minute, and promptly abandoned in favor of throwing open the kitchen curtains.
Sure enough, his wife was sitting on one of the lawn chairs munching on gingerbread, laid back and comfortable with one of his sweaters and a Santa hat pulled over her head. Off on the edge of the forest, Amanda was climbing a tree while Phil shouted at her from its trunk, and by the lake, Ham crouched, a cookie balanced between his teeth as his gloved hands padded another layer of frost into the bottom of his snowman. Arnold watched them all with his head supported in one hand on the sill, his smile wide and dreamy. Even the beep of his pancakes finishing couldn't break him out of his daze.
The footsteps sure did, though.
His head popped up and around to see Zack in the doorway, just zipping up his jacket. His head was down, for once covered in a green knitted hat, the visor of which concealing his face. He looked up just as Arnold was turning.
His face instantly lit up, a beacon of color atop a canvas of blacks and grays. Arnold expected an exuberant greeting, considering the day and his expression, but instead Zack just softly said, "Oh, hey, Dad."
Arnold beamed at him. "Merry Christmas, Zack. You getting ready to go out?"
"I... I was, yeah." Zack shuffled his booted feet and tilted his head, his smile taking a turn for the funny. Arnold raised his eyebrows. Zack threw a thumb over his shoulder as he walked further into the room. "I actually just woke up, too. There was a paper taped to my door instructing me to get the heck out so I wouldn't wake you."
"Ah, so that was Helga's idea?"
"No... Actually, no." Arnold blinked at that, and Zack's smile seemed to flatten.
Arnold waited, but Zack didn't say anything more. Just stood there, staring at him, eyes oddly shiny. Arnold coughed out a laugh at the awkwardness. "What on earth? It's Christmas. Get over here and hug me."
Thankfully, Zack laughed at that and threw himself at him. The hug was tight and warm, the fabric of his dark jacket pleasant against his skin as he squeezed him in as close as possible, lifting him a little off the floor. Zack was taller than him now, having taken after the towering side of the gene pool while Arnold took after Stella's (who never made it past 5'7", at best), so it was a pitiful effort, but Arnold missed the days when he could lift him all the way up and throw him towards the sky, so he was damned if that was going to stop him. Zack just laughed again and obligingly wiggled his legs at the ground before Arnold's arms gave out.
Arnold allowed his hold to loosen, expecting Zack to take his cue and pull back, but he didn't. He tucked his head into his shoulder and breathed, his fingers digging into the dense fibers of his sweater. Arnold blinked, but said nothing.
Not for another minute, anyway. Then he mumbled, "Zack?"
Zack muffled out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I'm just... I'm so happy for you."
Arnold quirked a grin at that, bemused. "Happy for me?"
"Yeah, it's like..." Alarm bells went off in his head at Zack's tone. He sounded a little choked up. "It's just been so long, y'know?"
"Zack?"
"All those years of waiting and wondering and now... they're over. Your family will finally be complete, Dad."
That was it. Arnold took Zack by the shoulders and pushed him back enough to look at his face. Zack looked back at him, blue eyes bright and smile slightly shaky but so—so warm, it was almost gooey. Arnold furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you talking about? My family's right here."
Zack swallowed and pursed his lips tight, his hands coming up to squeeze his shoulders back. "Yeah, Dad," he whispered. "Yeah, they are."
With that, Zack kissed his cheek and marched out the door. Arnold stood there in utter bafflement for a second before Zack popped his head back in with an obnoxious grin that was much more like him. "Don't forget to eat your pancakes," he declared. "There's homemade syrup in the fridge. Merry Christmas, Pop!"
And then he was gone again, the backdoor slamming shut and the expected yelps of distress intermixing with hoots of welcome. Arnold was amused now, and sputtered out a weak chuckle as he shook his head.
Breakfast was scarfed down fast so that Arnold was pulling on a coat and stepping out back just in time to witness a snowball hitting Amanda square in the face.
Phil screamed with laughter and stumbled back into a tree while Ham tried to splutter out an apology past his own meltdown, wheezing something about it being meant for Zack. Zack, who was dashing away in the other direction, throwing himself behind a bush for protection. Amanda spat out a twig and sneezed twice before throwing herself down to crush together a snowball of her own.
Steam billowed from two full travel containers of hot cocoa as Arnold plodded his way over to where Helga was arranged, recording the whole thing with her phone, free hand barely concealing her snickers. The tin of cookies sat in the snow beside her.
"Merry Christmas, Helga," Arnold said brightly as he came up beside her. He watched as suddenly – and yet somehow predictably – Helga jolted and fumbled with her phone as it nearly went sailing across into the snow. She hadn't been this jumpy around him in a long, long time. His eyebrows flew up.
"Arnold!" she exclaimed, snapping her head up to goggle at him. Just as quickly, she soured, because he was standing there with a big, goofball grin and gleaming, emerald eyes. "Criminy, Football Head! Really? On Christmas?"
He barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Of course, Dear." He handed her her cup and was suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to... Without another thought, he leaned down to steal her lips in a fast, feverish kiss, effectively wiping away any trace of a scowl and replacing it with a very different kind of heat. He pulled back with a sigh and perched himself on the chair next to her, sitting his cup down in the holder. She managed a weak huff and took a gulp of the cocoa before settling back with what he was sure she thought was an inconspicuously delighted expression. He studiously didn't notice.
They watched their kids try to kill each other for a while before Arnold asked, eyes still glued to the action, "Did they let you sleep in, too?"
"Yeah," she exclaimed, practically yelped, kind of needing to since Phil was shouting for a time-out. "Or tried to. I woke up just as they were planting the notes in our room, around seven. Manda Faith was pretty upset, but I made her chocolate chip waffles, so it was all right."
Arnold had to look at her for that. "Amanda woke you up?" She was notoriously sneaky.
Helga chuckled at that, adjusting her phone. "Her and Phil. Wasn't their fault, though. You remember I sleep pretty light around the holidays. All Olga's doing, it was a miracle I got any sleep at all in that house when there were halls to be decking and carols to be trolling."
Arnold snorted but he wasn't to be distracted. "They left you a note, too?"
Helga's face twisted a little, and whether unconsciously or not, she leaned closer to him. "Yeah! It was real fishy. Something about 'Congratulations' and us getting married, and then this random picture of one of my family's Thanksgivings when I was a teen? I asked them about it, but they just got all shifty-eyed and adorable. I think they've got big plans for us."
"Yeah, me too," Arnold was saying when Ham shouted, "Dad!"
He didn't even have time to turn his head before Phil plowed him over into the chair, head at his chest and arms circling his waist. Amanda came after, dogpiling atop him with her arms locking around Arnold's neck. Ham was bounding over, Arnold just catching a glimpse of dark blond hair flopping in the wind before the pom of Amanda's hat forced him cross-eyed.
"Dad," Ham yelled again, coming to a sliding halt at the side of the lawn chair. Phil was attempting to push Amanda off of him one-armed while she giggled and snuggled her head ecstatically into Arnold's cheek.
"Kids," Arnold croaked.
"For cripe's sake," he heard Helga laughing, "you're gonna crush him!"
"No, we won't," Amanda giggled on, squeezing him into an even tighter vice in spite of Arnold's grunt. "Dad's strong!"
"Yeah," Phil shouted with a triumphant shove at Amanda, trapping her to the side so he could spring his head up, trooper hat dangling half off his face as he panted. "He got with you, didn't he?" he choked, breaking down into a fit of dirty snickers. Helga whapped him over the head with her mitten.
"What's gotten into you guys?" Arnold finally managed to ask, now that neither child was trying to suffocate him.
"We're just happy," Phil told him with a toothy smile, twisting his hat back firmly over his head.
"For you," Amanda chimed, bopping him on the nose. She threw an arm in Helga's direction then, Arnold noting her look of surprise. "And Mama!"
"Isn't it obvious?" Ham asked, falling onto a folded leg on the end of the chair, hand at his knee. His eyes were bluer than the sky today. Arnold had to squint in the intensity of them. "It's insane."
"Insane? What's..." Arnold blinked again, hard, and shook his head, pushing himself into a straighter position. "Okay, hold on. Let's back up a little. Does this have to do with that note you left me? About your grandparents?"
Ham's grin blew up even as his eyes melted into something bittersweet and glad. "We're finally going to know what happened to our grandparents, yeah. Of course that's what this is about. Be serious, Dad."
"What?"
"Speaking of sanity, have you kids completely lost it?" he heard Helga ask, sounding genuinely frightened. He couldn't look at her to confirm this, though; that she wasn't just joking or putting up a front for their kids' sakes. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Ham's face. Rational, quiet, down to earth Ham, sitting there looking like he was holding back tears.
Naturally, it was Phil who came up on the defensive. "No," he blurted, passionate, then invalidated that claim by immediately burrowing himself against Arnold and hugging him tight, which—he—never did... Arnold sucked in a breath as Phil muttered, nose pressed to his collarbone, "We're just... It's crazy cool, all right? Amazing, and about time. No one should grow up without... Especially not you. You're too..." He huffed, and buried his head into his chest.
Amanda smiled and trailed her eyes up to meet Arnold's stunned ones, looking more at peace than he'd ever seen her. Amanda was a lot of things, but tranquil had never really been one of them. Now, though... "You're too great a dad," she finished for Phil, as calm as a breeze on a light summer day. "We love you and we're happy for you. We're finally going to find out what happened."
Arnold's jaw unlatched and sunk to his chest. He had zero idea what to say, and imagined Helga must be having a similar dilemma, because it was silent for a long time then.
Finally, Arnold managed to blink himself out of it enough to cautiously say, "You do realize... your grandparents are all just out of state right now to spend Christmas and New Years at a resort... We saw them yesterday? They're perfectly okay. You can call them if you're miss—"
"That's exactly the point, Dad," Ham interrupted him in earnest. "We can call them. They're oka—" he stopped, tucking his chin into his chest and taking a harsh breath. Arnold was struck speechless again. He knew Ham loved Miles and Stella deeply but this was... He didn't know what this was. Were they playing some kind of Yuletide prank like Grandpa always said? Were they all going to gather together later and have a good, hard laugh at his and Helga's reactions to their brilliant acting?
"Seriously, Dad," Amanda quietly said, turning her face up to look at him again with shiny green eyes so sincere it hurt. "Congratulations."
Arnold was about ready to throw up his arms in frustration when a snowball went zipping past his head. He gasped as another snowball slammed into Phil's back. In a heartbeat Phil was up, on his arms, glaring with teeth clenched over his shoulder as more snowballs came sailing from the sky. Zack was cackling in the distance. Ham was already standing, arms barred together as a shield while Amanda hopped up and went pounding it towards Zack with a shrieking battlecry like she hadn't just been close to tears on her dad's lap. Phil growled and rolled away to grab a handful of snow and toss it to Ham, who easily snatched it from the air and wound up to throw it at Zack while Phil busied himself packing together another.
Everything seemed to slow when it came—the snowball that ended it all. Zack was still cracking up and slinging one after another from the large pyramided stack he'd built up. Amanda was taking cover, slinking her way around the trees to get to Zack's base. Phil was packing snowballs together like a machine and Josh was throwing them with all his might. Arnold was just taking a deep, collecting breath when it appeared, streaking past in his peripheral vision.
A snowball got Helga in the chest. Hard. It splattered, running into her sweater and chilling fast. Her cell dropped, her mug slipped. She screeched at the top of her lungs. Everything stopped.
They all stared at her, mouths open and breath stalled. She stared down at her chest, arms up, face stiff with horror.
Someone's pinkie twitched.
Then that face craned up, and the look that came to her eyes was enough to defrost every branch and speck of dirt within a hundred kilometers.
"Ohhhh-ho-ho," Helga whispered, so close to silent but too fierce to not be felt to the bone, "you chuckleheads are dead." An evil grin ripped into her cheeks, and her feet hit the ground like the first tremble of an earthquake.
The screams and laughter tripled immediately thereafter, and Arnold was graced with a front row seat to the massacre. He picked the mug up from the ground with a sigh. At least she'd had the lid on.
It took two hours of steamy showers, fresh clothes, and heated blankets before the shivering fully ceased. Now they were just relaxing together in the living room, the Yo Ernest! Christmas special muted on the television and Spumoni's cover of Let It Snow playing on the stereo. Helga had wanted him to go all out on the decorations this year since they'd be staying at the house for the holiday, so the room looked like a Hallmark card had thrown up in it (Gerald's words). Garland lined the walls, holly dangled, lights twinkled, and a fire roared from beneath white and silver stockings. It was a perfect balance of ice and warmth, the showy ostentation Helga favored and the homey simplicity he'd grown accustomed to as a kid.
The tree was a group effort, though, and Arnold's personal favorite. He admired it from the couch, enjoying the idyllic moment as Helga, Amanda and Zack sang quietly along to Dino and Phil played checkers with Ham on the coffee table. It was strung with popcorn and pink garland, rainbow lights and homemade ornaments, some classy, some cute, and others just plain ridiculous. His mouth twitched uncontrollably as he looked them over one at a time.
A tiny corked bottle of snow water from his and Helga's first Christmas. A foam football wrapped in garish plaid. A few plastic dinosaurs they'd painted at Dino Land. A flower they'd had preserved from San Lorenzo. A golf ball painted to look like the moon. A pipe from the boarding house that Zack had taken as a memento when they first moved. Several wooden hearts painted an assortment of colors. A spool of thread rolled up with Santa's "naughty list" (with all their names). A lightbulb painted to look like a penguin. A Yahoo bottle cap snowman. Blue cardboard paper snowflakes. A clay pig. A felt jester hat. A beaded turtle. A baby chick. A thanksgiving turkey. An airplane. A kilt. A dreidel. A pocket watch. A buffalo. The Eiffel tower. Several beepers. A green envelope.
A green envelope.
Arnold's smile faltered.
He looked to the kids. Everyone was still singing, circled around the stereo with cocoa and eggnog sloshing. Phil had won for the fourth time and had now joined in on the merry-making, but Ham was still sitting there, glaring at the board. As if he'd sensed something, he looked up and locked eyes. Blinked. Smiled.
Arnold offered a faint, flickering one back, eyebrows tense. He leaned forward to not disturb the singing, keeping his voice low as he asked, only partially-joking, "Do I want to know what's inside the envelope or should I leave it alone?"
Ham raised a trim eyebrow. "I can't answer that for you, Dad. You need to do this yourself."
"Excuse me?"
Ham shook his head. "I know you'll make the right choice." Before Arnold could question him more, he pushed himself up and started out of the room.
"Whoa," Helga burst, grinning over the still-going musical number, "Hammy boy, where do you think you're going? Get your none-kosher keister back over here!"
"None-kosher," Amanda nearly busted an artery laughing. Phil elbowed her to get it together.
"I'm grabbing more cookies because this is the only time of the year I can shove a hundred down my throat without an ounce of guilt," Ham called over the music, a bit stiffly, not even turning on his way out. "I also need to use the bathroom!"
"I wonder if his crap would be considered kosher," Zack pretended to ponder. Amanda underwent complete system malfunction.
While Phil caught her and tried to shake her back to her senses and Helga slapped a grinning Zack around for ruining another special family moment, Arnold stared at the envelope.
Stared, and stared.
Later, after a couple Christmas movies and a light but abundant lunch, he found the envelope being slipped into his hands by Zack. Arnold snapped a look on him, suspicious, only to be startled out of it by an unusually sober blue-eyed expression.
"I've never known you to be a coward, Dad," he said.
The words were like a slap. "I'm not scared," Arnold declared, surprising even himself with his vehemence.
Zack smiled. "Then open it."
Arnold scowled a little, looking from the envelope to Zack. After a tense moment filled with a few more darting glances, he met Zack's eyes again and conceded with a breathy laugh, putting his hands up in surrender, "Okay, fine, you win. I'm scared. I don't know what you guys have planned out for me today but I've grown more than a little concerned by it. You sure I have to open it now?"
Surprisingly, Zack shrugged. "I guess you don't. Whether you do or not doesn't change the outcome."
That... didn't exactly alleviate his concern. He sighed, dropping his hands to his lap. "What does that mean?"
"Well, y'know," he said as if the answer was a given, waving it off. "I just thought you'd like to know now. It'll eat you up inside until Monday otherwise."
"I... see."
He didn't. Zack saw that, and laughed, clapping him on the arm. "Just rip the stupid thing open and get it over with. It's not gonna kill you."
Arnold grinned a little tentatively, running his thumb up under the glue. "You sure?"
Zack's grin warmed. "Positive."
With that assurance, Arnold turned his attention to the envelope. His thumb was right there, at the cusp, ready to rip into the paper and reveal its contents. He smirked at his own reluctance and wasted no more time in tearing it open. Reaching inside, he found a plane ticket. He blinked, and shifted his fingers so he could read the destination.
San Lorenzo
Arnold's eyebrows flew. Up snapped his head, but Zack was prodding Phil in the side now, teasing him for not finishing his lunch. Phil squirmed away and pushed a socked foot into his face to hold him at bay.
"Get back, idiot swine," Phil demanded, brandishing his other foot at him threateningly. Zack chortled and grabbed his ankles, fitting them in one hand so his other could reach for his armpits. Phil squealed and struggled, slapping, punching, shouting for the police. Arnold gaped at them, their childishness spearing him through the chest in a way he'd thought he'd long grown numb to.
"Now, now, kids, settle down," Helga muttered flatly without taking her eyes off the TV.
"But look how scrawny he is," Zack said, delighted, still grabbing at him. "Not near enough butter on his biscuits. Not that he'd eat them anyway. Tell me, baby bro, how do you expect to grow big and bruiting enough to beat me up if you can't even clean half your plate?"
Phil gagged and struggled harder. "Appetite correlates with physical maturation! I'm eleven! I'll eat more when I hit my first growth spurt—and then I'll kill you!" He punctuated this remark with a jab of his heel to the stomach. Zack choked, but he was laughing.
"On Christmas?"
"I'll dismember you and give your body parts as presents."
"Awww," Zack snickered, throwing his arms out to hug him, circumvented by Phil's foot. "There's my little lunatic! I was afraid I'd lost you in the haze of holiday goodness."
"Burn in everlasting hellfire!"
"Ay," Amanda's voice blared out of nowhere, eliciting pained gasps and brief jolts of heart failure from all in the room, "no fighting on Christmas! Save it for the new year when the TV's run out of good movies!"
Everyone gawked at her in horror. Amanda lowered the pink, toy megaphone littered in flower stickers with a pleased smile. "Good," she chirped, swaying happily in her nest of blankets and pillows on the floor. "Keep it like that."
Zack blinked, and opened his mouth.
Phil snapped and grabbed the megaphone from Amanda's grip, shouting loud enough into it to blow Zack's hair back, "Shut up!"
Zack squeaked and slapped his hands over his ears with a deep cringe. Phil stared, stricken, eyes blown wide.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh. That was satisfying."
"For Pete's sake, gimme that," Helga gritted out, snatching the megaphone from Phil's hand and over Amanda's head. "Criminy! If I'd known this thing could set eardrums ablaze I'd have never given it to you!"
Amanda frowned. "But I like it."
"Yeah," Phil said. "Can I have one?"
Arnold and Helga blanched simultaneously. Helga blinked. "No," she said, and stood. "Anyone need a refill on eggnog? Hot chocolate? Milk?"
"Aw, come on," Phil persisted, making puppy dog eyes at Helga as she walked past. "Please?"
Ham groaned from across the room, his cheek supported by his fist on the arm of his chair. "If you ever get a megaphone, I'm moving out."
Phil's eyes drew into slits. "You know, you really aren't kosher," he said, sending Amanda back over the edge, curling up in a shaking ball of hysterics. Ham sighed. Helga smirked and took his empty cup on her way out.
Meanwhile, Zack had a finger stuck in his ear and one eye clenched shut. "What's everyone saying?" he yelled right by Arnold's ear, rattling Arnold enough to wince. Amanda laughed harder. Zack turned to Arnold with a frown. "Seriously, what am I missing?" Phil broke, joining Amanda in laughing so hard his face turned pink, his weight bouncing the couch cushions enough to draw Zack's attention. "What? What?"
Arnold looked down at his hands, the green envelope clutched in one and plane ticket in the other, and pressed his lips into a thin line. He felt Ham's eyes on him this time, but he didn't look. Just stuffed the ticket back in and stuck it in his pocket on his way to following Helga to the kitchen.
"Helga," he was whispering a short time later, with heavy, halting tones and an agitated twisting of his shoulders, "I can't tell if they're acting or not anymore. They're—I mean, Ham's never been an actor. He genuinely seems to believe what he's saying, I can tell. Zack, too, there's a baldness that I've only seen a few times before and it's just—I don't understand it. How likely is it that they'd all succumb to delusions at the same time?"
Helga laughed at him, forcing an entertained smirk to her lips even as she avoided his eyes. Her back was turned to him, arms busy washing out their cups in the sink, head conspicuously down. "Oh, my poor anxiety-ridden darling, I never thought I'd have to tell you to relax. It's Christmas. They could have had this planned for months. It's totally a joke. Or some bigger gift they're building up to. Gotta be."
He shook his head. The uncertainty in her words was plain as day to him. "Helga," he stressed, leaning his palms flat over the island, "they bought me a plane ticket. To San Lorenzo."
Helga shrugged, scrubbing harder. "It is your birthplace. They know how much you love it."
"Yeah. I'm its ambassador. I was there last week."
"Well, exactly. They're being considerate, saving you from having to buy your next ticket. Sweet of them, really."
Arnold took a slow breath past parted lips and drilled his eyes into her back for a long second, then darted them down. "The leave date is October 5th."
The cup slipped from Helga's hand and clattered loudly in the sink. She made no move to pick it up.
Snow started to gently fall outside, gathering in sparkling, white tufts at the windowsill. Arnold's eyes were troubled, grim.
Suddenly, she spun around and looked at him with a cocked head and scrunched, half-bug-eyed expression. "Did they just tell you to fuck off? That sounds like a 'fuck off' if I've ever heard one."
Arnold snorted, a smile cracking into his downturned, shaking face, splintering across into a loving grin. He focused back on her with soft, charmed eyes. "I'm sure they didn't mean to tell me to fuck off, Helga."
Helga's mouth twitched, amused and perhaps a little charmed as well. She'd told him before that she loved the way he said her name; like it was a pet name all by itself. Even he could hear how thick the adoration was in it this time. He rolled his eyes at himself. Was he really gonna stand here mooning over his wife when she was just an arm's length away? Screw that. He stepped around the island and pressed his nose to her ear, letting his hands rest gently on her hips. It was a testament to how comfortable they'd grown with each other that she didn't even twitch.
Helga was thinking. Her hand wandered idly up and down his arm as he nuzzled his mouth into her hair, taking comfort in Helga's abrasive, no-nonsense approach to things. She liked to go on about how he kept her grounded, but she'd always been his anchor. When she was joking, when she was spitting, when she was confident, when she was sarcastic, when she was rolling her eyes with that knowing smirk or feigning saintly innocence or screeching his name with fingers snapping in his face. Even at his most disgusted with her as a kid, he'd liked imagining how she'd react to all the little, stupid things that would take place in his life. She was funny. She was brilliant. She kept him focused now as she hummed and mused aloud, "All right. We've gotta be missing something. Are there any anniversaries coming up that we forgot? Something the kids would deem meaningful in some way?"
Arnold couldn't think of any, but... "Zack mentioned something about Monday."
She looked at him, so he elaborated, "Before I opened the letter, I asked if I had to and he said it'd eat me up inside until Monday if I didn't."
Helga's eyebrows descended. "What's so special about Monday? It's not even New Years."
"I don't know, but they seem to think I should."
Helga harrumphed. "I bet Miles and Stella know. This whole thing has to do with them. It's too bad they're out of town. Maybe we should call."
"Maybe. They haven't said anything more to you about our wedding?"
Helga's entire demeanor did a 360, her head whipping around to give him a direct view of her screwed up facial muscles as she exclaimed, "About that! How is it it's Phil and Amanda giving me the hardest time? Neither of them have ever given a flying donkey doo about love and now all of a sudden they're giving me goofy grins left and right and pattin' me on the head like I'm a dog or something. It's patronizing. Hell, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they meant it to be. They're being little shitwads and I don't like it, I don't like it at all. We've been married for almost eighteen years now—the congratulations are just a little stinkin' belated."
Arnold couldn't help but grin. "No clues?"
"Nah, the only thing I've been picking up on is an ever increasing need for therapy."
Arnold hunched slightly down in snickers and pulled her closer. "That's great."
"Isn't it? Merry Christmas to Bliss. Business is booming and she doesn't even know."
"No. No, you're great. You're wonderful. You're everything I've ever wanted."
Helga's eyes widened. "Whoa. What's gotten into you?"
His grin rapidly diminished as he began to wonder as well. "I'm... not sure."
Her eyes narrowed for the space of second, and then expanded and fluttered as she threw her weight into him. "Aww, was it the way my eyes sparkled when I called our precious little miracles shitwads?"
Arnold didn't deign that with a response, mostly because it was right on the money and that was just... no. "Helga, seriously, things have just been hitting me really hard today. Maybe it's the extra sleep, or the note, or just because it's Christmas, I don't know. But I'd just never realized how many things I'd started taking for granted. I mean, geez, Helga, we're married. We have a family. I... I do have my parents, and you, and our kids made me breakfast. It is a little crazy when you think about it. I couldn't be happier."
Helga was smiling in helpless enchantment as he spoke, but near the end narrowed her eyes again and turned them towards the doorway. "Yeah, I didn't know they could cook. Lazy putz always nagging me for food. Well, now I know."
Arnold turned her face back to him with a fingertip to her cheek, his eyes half-mast and fond. "Missing the point, Helga."
"No, I got it. You've temporarily succumbed to your softer, gayer side so you're experiencing random, uncontrollable spurts of emotion that make you want to buy dozens of roses, candles and bath bombs so you can sit in a steaming clawfoot bathtub overlooking a portrait of me and compose sonnets dedicated to the enthrallingly caring, thoughtful way I left the room to fart. Believe me, Arnold, I get it."
Arnold's pupils had taken residence inside his upper eyelid, possibly permanently. His mouth hung slightly open, posed as if to speak, but so exasperated it couldn't even muster the will to breathe. At long last, his pupils showed themselves once more and he released on the wind of a long sigh, "Helga."
She looked pleased as punch with herself, of course. Her eyelashes batted. "Still think I'm everything you've ever wanted?"
He had to sigh again and pull her closer. "Yes. I forgot exactly why now, but yes."
"Forgot? Well, this just won't do!" Her smile was wicked, but somehow it still caught him off guard when a leg came twining around his knee, collapsing him into her arms so she could octopus herself around him and breathe hotly against his mouth, "Let me jog your memory."
Her mouth smashed into his, tongue lashing out with artful familiarity and twisting with his, sucking him in deep. Arnold's grunt of surprise morphed into a heartfelt groan as he caught himself by an arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer down to him as he slammed his eyes shut.
She was still holding him—rather, cradling him bent at the knees, the brunt of his weight being supported by her passion like he knew she loved, but he also knew it was uncomfortable for her so he didn't wait long to take one striding step forward, giving him the balance he needed to hoist her up and push her roughly into the island, jealously eliminating any air between them. One arm stayed braced beneath her while his other traveled up to grasp her back, then her neck, then up into her hair to the back of her head—only to be obstructed by that... that hat. He growled and tried to pull back so he could see to yank it off, but Helga was a step ahead of him, the hand on his shoulder up like a flash, snatching it off and chucking it to the ground.
Her eyes met his in a split second of understanding, hooded blue to hazy green, and then they were back at it, colliding, somehow even closer than before. Helga was a fire that he easily matched, broke down, tamed for long seconds of tender, licking kisses before she rose back up like a dragon from the mist and consumed him all over again.
They eventually had to break for air, and it was in those damp, heaving moments that he noticed she was wearing her bow. He so rarely got to see it – couldn't wear it to work, too lazy sometimes to put it on when she was at home, only really bothered when she was working on her books and that was always behind locked doors – but of course she put it on for Christmas. Of course it was hiding under her hat, ready and waiting for him to discover it. He smiled in idiotic enamor of it, distantly aware he had lost all control.
Helga's eyes were taking him in almost frantically, fearful, her panting increasing rather than leveling out with his own. "Yeesh," she gasped, "creation's sake. You just get more gorgeous with age. It's not fair."
Her breath was so warm. He gave his teeth a swipe of his tongue. "You're perfect."
She swallowed hard. Her whispering came sudden and swift, his brain struggling to catch it, "I know what you mean about things hitting harder today. I feel it, too. When I was making waffles this morning and saw Amanda grinning at me, I thought I was going to lose it. Criminy, do you have any idea how much I love you?" She was breaking apart, sobbing. No tears were there, but he could feel it.
One corner of his mouth rose higher. "I have some idea," he murmured before he bit her bottom lip, tugging her back into their personal prison. She moaned and happily let him, the key long tossed away.
He had no idea how much time had passed. All he knew was that when a small foreign sound shattered the moment and forced him to pull back, his shirt was gone and every part of Helga's body was burning him. It took him a second to process that he had a life outside of these things, but when he did, his eyes went automatically to the doorway.
He blinked at the sight of Phil there with a hand covering his eyes. He felt Helga still as she saw him, too.
It still took a while for them to react to this realization, obviously, but part of the reason for this was simply because they were waiting for Phil to react, because Phil... usually did. With three acts and a finale of fireworks.
But he was still just standing there, only half of his grimace visible and a hand fisted as he stood in the doorway. Finally, Helga pushed Arnold away and asked skeptically, "Phil?"
"Are you done?" he croaked.
Arnold picked his shirt up and held it in front of himself as Helga stared, flabbergasted. "Were you actually... waiting?"
"I just need a yes."
Helga blinked, then shared a brief look with Arnold. She looked blown away and he knew he did as well. "Yes," they said at the same time.
Phil gratefully lowered his hand, though his eyes remained averted in discomfort. "Anyway..."
The doorbell rang, and Phil's face went practically white with relief. His eyes fell briefly shut before he flew like a shot for the door. "I'll get it," he shouted.
Helga choked, bristled, then went hot-footing it after him with a strangled yell, "Like heck you will, buster!"
Arnold dropped back against the counter on a locked arm, that scary grin he was known too well for stretching across his head as he stared after them. He drew in a breath and let it out as he shook his head. He still had no idea what had gotten into his kids – or himself for that matter – but at least he knew it was restricted to them. Crazy things happened around here all the time. They always blew over. He had no doubt this would just be another confusing misadventure that turned out to be equal parts beautiful and exasperating to think back on.
He didn't know what he'd have done if he'd been in the Sunset Arms today. Heavens knew what the rest of his eccentric but oh so lovable boarding house family would've done if they'd been dragged into this mess.
They were standing in the hallway.
The door was still open.
Their cars were parked outside.
"How in the heck..." Arnold muttered, trailing off into a dumbfounded silence.
Helga was still trapped in Gertie's embrace when he got out there. Grandpa Phil was slapping a hand down on his youngest son's shoulder with a grin so big it looked painful.
And Miles and Stella were beside them, Stella as ever brushing snow off Mile's head from some spill he'd likely had on his way to ringing the doorbell. Their coats were bulging, thick, their hair gray but still as ample as it'd been thirty years ago, faces softened by an ever-growing collection of wrinkles and movements a little more sparing. Looking at them hurt, but his eyes seemed caught. He didn't understand.
"I thought you guys were in Florida," he blurted out.
Miles and Stella's eyes snapped to him so quickly, his heart skipped. It was Grandpa Phil who answered, though, his torso extending proudly towards the sky, "Well, we were going to be, but then we heard the good news! We'd made it halfway across the doggoned country when we heard it – and not gonna lie, it was annoying as heck to have to drive all that way back – but dagnabit, there was no way we could keep going after that! Thank goodness we made it back in time to celebrate!"
Arnold had difficulty tearing his eyes away from Miles and Stella's owl-eyed faces, but he managed it. "Celebrate what?"
"What the heck's going on around here," Helga suddenly yelled, the words bursting out like they'd been trapped in her throat under pressure. Gertie had pulled back by now, but her hands were still tight on Helga's arms, her dentures all in full-view. She was actually bouncing on her heels.
"Ohhh, you two lovebirds are finally gonna tie the knot!"
Grandpa Phil sighed. "They're not actually getting married, Pookie, they're just agreeing to go on dates."
"Nonsense! They—"
"Eighteen years," Helga squealed, eye tick going into overdrive. She took a stumbling, panicked step backward, dislodging Gertie's grip.
Gertie squealed right back and snatched her hands instead, bouncing them along with her. "Oh, I know, Dearie, I know!"
"Grandma?" Amanda's voice came from the doorway, before reaching crescendo in a scream, "They're here! Everyone's here!"
"Kids," Stella laughed as they all came pouring out of the living room, Amanda wasting no time in latching herself to her leg. Ham rushed at Miles and Stella and attacked them in a hug, and Zack clapped Grandpa Phil on the shoulder. The room was filled with laughter and murmurs of excited welcome.
"We were afraid you weren't gonna make it!"
"Like we could miss this!"
"Isn't it absolutely incredible?"
"I can't believe it!"
"And you said it wasn't likely."
"But possible, don't forget, I did say possible!"
"Where's everyone else?"
"Oh, they were just behind us, they should be here any minute."
"This is so exciting!"
"I'm so happy you're here!"
"Merry Christmas, one and all!"
"Ahahaha, merry Christmas, indeed!"
"Group hug!"
Meanwhile, in the midst of all the chaos, Arnold and Helga had backed themselves up into a coat rack, wearing identical expressions of pure terror. Slowly, they shared a look.
"T... Twilight zone?" Helga whispered.
Arnold just stared at her, his throat dry. He had no time to collect his wits, as the next moment they were both yanked into a hug, squished together between the rest of their family.
Stella was on Arnold's side, and despite himself, he found his spine turning to stone. He listed forward, eyes inexplicably attaching themselves to Stella's effervescent face, cast in the shadow of their hug. Their... very warm hug. Family hug. Their warm, family hug.
Outside of the sudden fog in his head, he heard Helga draw in a trembling breath, and somehow he knew she was having a similar realization. Stella's eyes were green. He'd always known it, in some vague, distant part of his brain that cataloged minor details like that, but it was interesting now. He had his mom's eyes. They weren't like his grandpa's at all. They were a little lighter, a little calmer. Tired, but happy all the same. It was like looking in a mirror.
He was broken from his musings by the front door booming open, and the remainder of the boarding house streaming in, hollering, "Congratulations!" and "Merry Christmas!" all around.
"Oy, you started the group hug without us?" Ernie's voice dominated the commotion. "No way! Make room!"
"Where's Arnold?" Suzie's voice asked.
"Hey, Helga, old girl, congrats," Ernie declared, shoving his way effortlessly through their legs with a large grin. "Good on you snatching up a prime catch like our Arnold. Really, with this one's track record, I was worried for a while there but you've really been great, thanks for having us."
Lola's entrance was less easily integrated, her hips nearly sending Miles faceplanting into the rug. Miles caught himself on Ham's shoulder while Helga bumped painfully into Arnold's side. Lola's face was split with a kind, sparkling smile. "Yeah, Helga, it's good to see you," she said softly.
"I see you brought Oskar with ya," Grandpa Phil noted a little sourly as the man himself wedged in between him and Zack. "Small wonder he didn't fall off the hood of the car."
"Ehehehe," Oskar tittered, eyes closed but smile big. "Grandpa, you are so funny. You must stop. Now is not the time for your kidding, we are trying to be happy for Arnold!"
"Kidding," Grandpa muttered dryly to Miles, eyes half-lidded. "Kidding, he says." Miles rolled his eyes and gave his dad's back a hard pat.
"And Mr. Hyunh's here, too," the smaller Phil declared, stretching his neck back to flash a winning smile at him. Mr. Hyunh took one look at him and shuddered, crab-footing rapidly to the opposite end of the hug. Phil threw his head back down and snickered evilly.
"Arnold," Mr. Hyunh yelped, waving over Stella's head. "Arnold, this is—wonderful! You helped me get my family back and now you are—getting yours! It is amazing! I have seen more than one miracle in my life now!"
"Uh—" Arnold was interrupted from speaking by Suzie sliding neatly into the hug between Grandma and Stella, her eyes wide and intent on him.
"Arnold," she exclaimed, "I..." she faltered, before picking back up with a sweet, warm-hearted smile, her eyes looking a little watery, "I am so happy for you."
"Yes," Oskar butted in, "we are all happy for Arnold! Come on! Hip-hip-hooray everyone!"
"Oskar, shut up," Grandpa Phil sniped. "This isn't just about Arnold, it's about Miles and Stella, too!"
"And Eleanor," Gertie happily added.
"Right, and Helga. Thank you, Pookie. Now this is a very big deal for all of them—and for me and Pookie and our great-grandchildren, too, let's not forget about that, on account of the fact we're all actually related—" Ernie sneezed and Oskar snickered, Grandpa Phil continuing aggressively on with a momentary scowl, "so can we please keep that in mind today? This is kind of important! Thank you!"
"Uhhh," Arnold's voice rang out, unusually loud in the silence Grandpa had summoned. All eyes snapped to him. He blinked twice, and smiled nervously. "Would anyone mind telling me what this big deal is supposed to be exactly?"
They all blinked at him.
"No, no, no, Arnold," Ernie exclaimed, waving a speedy arm. "This is the part where you say you always had your family right here, now it's just getting a little bigger, and then we all choke up and have one, big, heartfelt, happy moment together—keep with the program, kid. Don't you watch movies? Really. What'd'ya mean, 'what's the big deal'? Totally ruined the moment. Get a load of this guy."
"Always with the kidding, these Shortmans," Mr. Hyunh exclaimed.
"He's been doing that all day," Zack told them. "He thinks he's hilarious, acting like he doesn't know—Seriously, Pops, give it up. You're not funny. It's okay. You're dry and tasteless but so is bread and people buy tons of that and I'll tell you why—it makes for a good foundation. Without you, we'd just be a bunch of meat and condiments flopping all over the place and that'd just be gross."
"That is true, every fried pickle needs a bun just as every ragtag group of misfits needs a straight man," Grandpa Phil was all too happy to contribute, eyebrows dancing. Zack smirked at him.
"I thought he was short man," Gertie wondered.
"Guys, really," Arnold tried again, breathing laboriously through the cyclone of exasperation currently tearing through him. "I just want to know what's going on."
They all stared, and blinked at him again.
"Unbelievable," Mr. Hyunh declared.
"Mom's been doing it, too," Amanda said. "She's even been glaring at us." Her eyes tried to be wide and sad, but her mouth kept twitching with a smile. She fooled no one.
"That actually has been pretty funny," Phil said.
"I don't think so. She basically lied to us for years," Ham muttered under his breath, pointedly looking in any direction that wasn't Helga's. Arnold felt Helga freeze up.
"Er..."
"Well, enough with the jokes, you crazy whippersnappers," Grandpa Phil insisted through a narrow-eyed smile. "We've got a long afternoon and evening ahead of us! Ice-skating, sledding, a concert down by the pond and dinner at a four star restaurant! It's gonna be a great day!"
"Four star," Oskar exclaimed, distressed. "That sounds expensive! I am not paying for that!"
"You never do. Now come along, everyone! Let's get going! The drive back's a good ten minutes under the speed limit in this weather!" He broke out of the group hug and cast a brief glance at them all before making his way dry-eyed to the door. "Though it would feel like an eternity regardless," he muttered.
"Actually, I kinda want to talk to Mom now before we go," Ham said with an air of hesitance, but before Helga could formulate some kind of stuttered response, Zack slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side.
"Find your happy place and breathe, Bread Junior," he said kindly, grin wide and bright. "We've got a holiday to get back to. There'll be plenty of time for heartfelt conversations later."
"Whoa, whoa, hold it," Helga finally managed to speak up, to shout, eyes bulging as the boarders streamed down the hall, tide pulling her unwillingly along, "wha-what—what in the unholy tap-dancing creation is wrong with everybody? Now I'm serious, I want to know what's going on right this stinking instant, so somebody had better start explaining or else I swear—" All the boarders paused in their chatter to look at her, but Helga still found herself being forced into a backward tumble.
Arnold was similarly handicapped, Stella's arm around his back guiding him forward. His feet were obeying without his mentally scrambling brain's permission. "I'd like to know, too," he finally blurted, a little shaky but they were words at least. "We really aren't joking. We thought you were." Stella's eyes shifted to him, and Arnold faltered. "I mean—we-we thought Zack and—We thought they were pulling a fast one. Not that..."
Ernie was the first to reply, barely slowing in his pursuit of the door, which everyone was cramming their way slowly but surely out of. "You two are too modest for your own good. Or Arnold's modest, I guess, Helga girl's just gotten shy or somethin', I don't even..."
"Oh, you two," Suzie tut-tutted, her smile wide as she shook her head, a hand going to her cheek.
"They are getting the jitters, all nervous, ehe. It's kind of sweet," Oskar commented.
"No, really," Arnold tried again as he found himself thrust out the front door, into the white, his jacket somehow having made its way inexplicably onto his body. The yard was filled with cars, the road was streaked with tire tracks, the trees all bare and swaying under the weight of snow, the sky a pale blue. Stella's laughing from beside him robbed whatever he was planning to say next.
"Oh, Arnold," a voice startled him. A voice he'd heard in songs, in grasping dreams, in tattered memories—His strange thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Miles' eyes. They ran over his face like they were memorizing him, a shining blue, a color he used to stare at through his skylight for so long his vision would stay white for long minutes after he looked away. He could never quite pinpoint why it always felt so significant, not until he looked into his father's eyes again for the first time in nine years. He kept easy pace with them in a light jog. "Hey there, Arnold," he said.
"Dad," he gasped out. At his raise of an eyebrow, he mustered a smile. "You, uh, wouldn't happen to know what's going on?"
Miles burst into a round of kind chuckles. "Oh, Arnold. You really are confused, aren't you?"
Arnold looked at him beseechingly, and his amusement faded back into a gentle, loving look. He took a breath, and then another. "Arnold," he began, but was interrupted by Ernie and Lola jogging up to their side. Or Ernie was jogging, Lola was just walking quickly.
"Phew!" Ernie wiped jokingly at his freezing brow as he reached Arnold's side. "Second time through, like running a marathon. You've got quite the front yard, you know that, Arnie? Got to be at least a good couple of acres on this whole place, doesn't it? Two stories, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, right by a lake. I'm telling ya, it's been over a decade since you got this place and I still can't get over what a steal it was."
"Well," Arnold somehow managed to mutter through the mush in his brain and the hand on his back still pushing him steadfastly along against his will, "apparently the house beside ours is meant to be haunted, but..."
"Oh, haunted," Lola murmured in her soft, dulcet tones. "That's right, it was, wasn't it? Gosh. It's funny how ridiculous people can be, isn't it?"
"Now I wouldn't dismiss it so quick, Lo. You remember that time I told you about the boarding house ghost, and how Gerald still swears—"
"Oh, Gerald was a little boy at the time and he'd just gone to bed. He dreamt it all up and you know it."
"I'm just saying you maybe ought to give these claims a teensy bit more credit. Everybody can't be crazy—"
"I don't know about that—"
Before another word could be exchanged, Arnold found himself being thrust into the old Packard, wedged between the window and a snickering Zack. He watched, helpless, as Stella's hand pushed the door shut and bounded away in the opposite direction, off towards another car with Miles and the still arguing couple in tow. He watched them for as long as he could, until he felt the Packard begin to jerk out of the driveway, and his eyes in turn jerked somehow on instinct to meet Helga's in a little white car that was pulling behind them. She looked as unsettled as he felt.
"I think it's safe to say this is the best Christmas we've had in years," Grandpa Phil declared from the driver's seat. The car jerked forward again, and Arnold was thrust back into reality.
"Grandpa," he exclaimed, whipping his head around to gawk. "Why are you driving?"
Grandpa threw an incredulous look back at him. "Well, it's my car, isn't it? Why wouldn't I be driving?"
Arnold knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to correct that fact. He couldn't seem to do much of anything lately, and the stress of that was building. Grandpa sent him another brief glance, before looking back to the road as the car slid slowly out onto the icy street. Whatever had been jamming his gears must have shaken loose by the motion, because Arnold was relieved to hear himself snap, "You haven't driven since I was nineteen. You're a hundred and eleven years old. You don't even have a license!"
"I'll have you know I am not a day over ninety, and you'd do well to remember that the next time you decide to go shouting out crazy figures like that while there are impressionable minors in the vehicle!"
"Ninety?" Zack simpered through a barely repressed grin. "I thought you were seventy."
Grandpa waved a haphazard hand back in their – very – general direction. "See now, you could learn from this one!"
The grin won and Zack had it aimed on him in a second. Arnold winced without looking. "Yeah, Dad," Zack said, "you should listen to me more often."
Ham groaned from Zack's other side and suddenly elbowed himself forward in the seat, looking past Zack to try and catch Arnold's eye. "Grandpa always drives, Dad, come on. Can you put the weirdness on pause for just a little while? With the rest of the family here now, we're way over capacity."
Arnold sucked in a breath and turned his head slowly to rebuke, but the words died on his tongue when he saw—
Nothing.
No one was there.
Arnold's breath came in quick, heavy pants, misting out into empty air as he blinked, and—
Zack and Ham blinked back at him, one smirking, the other with a mild scowl.
The car's speed increased by a notable degree, and Arnold watched his two sons look forward to see that they had pulled out onto the main highway.
Arnold didn't look at anything else for a long time.
He'd had the thought on the drive over – as he had many times before – that most craziness in the world seemed to start and end with his family. Sometimes he would have the opposing thought, and feel like his household was the only true place of solace and sanity in a world that otherwise consisted of the bitter and deranged.
Very rarely had he had the thought that the entire world was insane.
However.
"Hey, Arnold, congrats," Harvey called from the uppermost window of a building. "And good on you, Helga!"
"Nrg—Hey, buddy! Funny running into you here," Monkeyman called from the stop sign across the street, waving spiritedly. "I-I was just going to find a phone to give you a call! My sincerest congratulations, man!"
"Oh! Hey there! Arnie," Sammy Redmond exclaimed in a rush as the window of his limo rolled down. "I heard the big news! Congrats, kiddo, I can't think of a more worthy guy! Hey, y'know, I just had a million dollar idea. Why don't you let me treat you and your lovely family to dinner tonight?"
"Congratulations, Mr. Shortman," Principal Deon blandly said as he caught him putting on his skates. His hand played idly with the key to his car. "I hear you and your significant other may be taking a trip to Central America soon. How very… nice. For you."
"Hi. You two," Brainy rasped in his deep baritone as he placed a hand on Helga's shoulder to catch their attention, his other hand gripping his daughter's as she slid across the ice. He smiled at them and softly said, "I just, uh. Wanted to say, y'know. Congrats. S'cool."
"Oh—Arnold," Mr. Simmons' voice rang clear across the skating rink, free hand waving enthusiastically while his other held tight to a Styrofoam cup. "My gosh—Arnold! Congratulations! I'm so, so happy for you! What a special, wonderful opportunity!" His husband, Peter, gave a grinning nod of solidarity and added in a cupped holler, "And the same to you, Hell girl! You get'm!"
"Congratulations, you guys," Eugene happily declared before falling on his ass.
"Congrats," Sheena chirped as she bent over to help him up.
"Agh! Arnold! Helga! Hey, all you guys, congrats," Harold bellowed from the other end of the hill.
"Yeah, congratulations," Patty yelled out right after.
"Congrats, you jerks," Sid laughed as he approached them. Lucky materialized seemingly from thin air and tackled them both in a hug.
"I reckon I owe you two a hearty congratulations," Stinky said as he caught up with them later with his armful of kids, Squirmy squirming, Squinty squinting and Shady's eyes shifting from left to right. "Willikers, this sure is excitin.'"
"Hey, Arnold," Bridget said as she caught sight of him in the crowd while the band took a short break, her husband trailing awkwardly along behind her, as always with that peculiar familiarity in his eyes. "It's good to see you out and about. I wanted to offer congratulations to the two of you on behalf of my family. It's about time you got some closure."
"Oh, Arnold," Miss Felter softly addressed when she spotted him in the same restaurant as her and her family, "I heard the good news. I just wanted to give my congratulations to you and your wife."
"Oh, congratulations," Alan said as he overheard, sitting with his family two tables over. "I heard my dad paid for your dinner. Let me get you some dessert."
"Oh, yes! Yes, a round of applause for Arnold," Rhonda declared to the entire establishment with several taps of her fork against her wine glass, never to be outdone. Curly happily joined in on the theatrics by shoving up from the table and beginning to cheer. "And another round for our favorite hellion, Helga G. Pataki! Let's give it up for true love!" Everyone at their table exploded into claps, soon followed by the rest of the room.
"Hey there, congrats, you guys," Aunt Fawn said as she noticed them on her evening stroll. Chris trudged behind her, staring.
"Congratulations, old man," Rex Smythe-Higgins III said with genuine warmth.
"Oh, congratulations, you two," Murray said.
"Hey, congratulations, Helga!"
"Congrats, Arnie!"
"Helga, congrats!"
"Congratulations!"
"Congratulations!"
"Congratulations!"
By the time the night was over, Helga had received no less than sixty-four messages on her phone and sixteen missed calls.
Arnold received two-hundred and thirty-seven.
In the silence of the old house, their footsteps sounded inordinately loud.
The kids slunk off to bed without a fuss. All during the drive home, they'd been dozing, and Arnold was glad, because they had been less than pleased to learn they were going back to their little house in the woods instead of the boarding house currently filled to the brim with family members. He was afraid they were going to complain the whole way back and he couldn't have dealt with that, not on top of all the excuses he'd had to make to his parents and the boarders to even make it into the car. Days like this were the reason Arnold had decided to move all the way out here in the first place.
He was very tired.
He knew Helga was, too. Her footsteps slid even louder against the floorboards than his did. They both felt a bit like ghosts tonight.
Maybe if the day had been just a bit different, they'd have agreed to stay at the Sunset Arms. It had been a wonderful day, far more eventful than Arnold had anticipated this year's Christmas being. They skated for a while, taking turns spinning each other out onto the ice and holding the kids' hands. They'd met up with most of their friends in the park and let their kids play while they caught up with each other, and then started shoving one another down the hill when Helga got sick of talking. The concert had started around five, and they were late, but Zack's girlfriend was behind most of the planning and got them a decent position in the crowd without much trouble. They danced and talked and clapped and soon grew tired, and left for dinner. As promised, Sammy paid them through the night, and everything was great. Just great.
Except it wasn't.
The doorknob made a small click as his hand brushed it, and he stood that way for a moment, staring down at the faint outline of his hand in the dark. He let out a burst of a sigh, and felt more than heard Helga's grunt beside him as her hand ran gently down his back.
He opened the door.
Their room looked exactly as it did this morning, and Arnold felt something inside of him slowly begin to uncoil. Helga's finger came in after him to flick the switch on, and more of the room was revealed. A bed, a fainting couch, a vanity, a desk on the far side of the room with a computer and a lamp. The same as ever. Arnold wasted no time in walking over to the couch and collapsing.
He heard Helga shut the door, and a second later her footsteps trudged over to the bathroom. It clicked open, and another light presented itself in the corner of his eyes. A few minutes later, the water started.
He listened to it for a while in blissful blank-minded peace, before the thoughts invaded.
Something was wrong.
They'd stopped by Gerald's house briefly on the way home since they were in the city. Helga gave them some extra dessert she'd swindled out of the restaurant and subsequently Sammy's bottomless pockets, and Gerald happily presented Arnold the gift he kept forgetting to give him. When Arnold opened the box, he was delighted. It was a hideous blue and yellow plaid shirt that looked like a clown had thrown up on it. It was exactly what Gerald got him every year. Because he was notoriously terrible with gifts, and he thought he was hilarious.
And like he did every year, Arnold promptly threw the shirt at Zack's head, and Zack gave a muffled "Thanks, Dad" through the flannel. That should have been the end of it. Arnold could have come home, walked up the stairs with a slight spring in his step, and gone to bed with some modicum of peace.
But once the garish plaid was disposed of, the box wasn't empty.
That wasn't so unusual. Gerald had a tough time with gifts and he loved his jokes, but he liked to surprise Arnold with occasional bouts of thoughtfulness from time to time. One time he got Arnold a new sweater of a very high quality. Once he got him some expensive audio editing software so he could create his own bumper for Gerald's radio station. Another time he gave him a limited-edition jazz record he'd been searching for forever. On his wedding, he insisted on being the one to pick out his suit and then proceeded to foot half the bill for it. Gerald was an amazing friend.
This time, however, it was a journal.
He could still feel a little stiffness in his muscles from how they'd frozen after he laid eyes on it. It shocked him how badly it hurt. He hadn't seen the original in years, and the last time he had, he'd felt only fondness and a kind of bittersweet remembrance before he and his dad packed it away. It just wasn't important anymore. It had been twenty years. His parents were fine. His parents were happy. He was happy.
But seeing a near-perfect replica of it, in the way it must have looked the day his dad first purchased his, sitting there so lackadaisically in the box…
He remembered now, in the safety of his bedroom, how it had felt to stare at that book and hear his lifelong best friend's voice in his ears, saying, "I wanted to give you something special this year to commemorate the occasion."
He could hear the final, parting, "Congratulations, my man," still battering his eardrums like a bat on fire, and felt like throwing up all over again.
The water shut off, but he didn't hear it. He sat up and hunched over, rubbing his hands roughly over his face, and stayed that way for the better part of five minutes. Helga found him like that, stepping out of the bathroom with her hair freshly washed and the warmest robe she owned on. Wordlessly, she walked over to him and pulled his head up to rest on her stomach so she could stroke his hair.
He breathed harshly against her. "A journal, Helga."
His head bounced a little from her answering sigh. "I know, Darling."
They lapsed into silence. There was nothing more to say, no questions they could ask that would bring any answers, and no use in speculation. There wasn't any possible explanation.
The journal sat abandoned in the trunk of their car. The locket Phoebe had gifted Helga sat beside it.
Soon, with the fingers sliding against his scalp, Arnold's breath evened out. He didn't feel better, though, and from the way Helga's hands twitched from time to time, he knew she didn't, either.
"You remember the story surrounding the lake," Helga asked after a while, her voice reedy with exhaustion.
Arnold grunted.
"How long ago did Fuzzy Slippers tell us… Ten years now? Eleven? I know Zack was five. It was something to do with this girl... The lake used to be very isolated, because it was enchanted. Not many people came across it. If you drank from it with only the best intentions, it would give you a wish. If you drank from it because you wanted something immoral or unnatural, it'd kill you. And this girl was being chased for some reason, I think they… they were going to kill her? Yeah, that's right. And she found the lake, and drank it wishing she couldn't die.
"But that was kind of a bad thing to wish, I guess, but not bad enough, because it didn't kill her. Instead she was just caught in the vale, stuck with the feeling of dying without the ability to. The guys found her that way, but they were distracted with the lake and drank from it, and perished instantly, and she was just… left there, in agony. And she stayed that way forever."
"Not forever," Arnold muttered, wondering what the point of reiterating this story was. Helga was never one for telling ghost stories, especially not ones so... Her fingers gently combing through his hair silenced him.
"Yeah, yeah. She vowed to watch over the lake from then on, to make sure nobody ever drank from it again. Hundreds of years passed, and she became just as much of a myth as the lake itself, and people spoke of her as this sort of banshee, 'cause she was just… always screaming."
There was a reason they didn't talk about this.
"Eventually, someone came across the lake who wasn't either a yutz or a jerk, and the two became friends. He was sick, or something, too sick to leave. She had no choice but to nurse him back to health, or just watch him awkwardly pass on. And he noticed that she wasn't just some monster placed there to guard over the lake, she was screaming and pushing people all the time because she was in pain. And she pushed people away because… she didn't want anyone else to get hurt."
"Helga…"
"Once he was well, he built her a house and started bringing back food for her, even though she didn't need it. He tried to make her as comfortable and happy as he could. He tried to teach her how to be human again, and it worked to an extent. They were happy enough. But he turned out to be a yutz after all, because he decided he was gonna go behind her back and drink from the lake so he could wish her pain away. But because he was attempting to undo another's wish, the lake deemed him selfish, and he died. The girl found him, got pissed, and tried to kill herself. Of course that didn't work, but it got the lake's attention.
"The Lady of the Lake rose up out of the water for the first time in thousands of years and asked why she was trying to undo her wish. You know, I never got this part of the story. Was she a sorceress? A specter? Some kind of water fairy? I know he said she created the lake, but why? I don't know… These folk legends never make any damn sense."
Helga lapsed into silence again, and Arnold wondered again why she'd brought this up.
She took a breath, and whispered gently, "You remember how the story ends?"
Arnold lifted his head up to look at her. She was paler than normal, her hair ruffled and damp against her head, her eyes weary. "Yes. But, Helga—"
She gave a sudden high desperate laugh, and it hurt him to hear it, more than her hands suddenly gripping his shoulders did. "You know, this is a really nice house for what we paid for it! I know the one beside us is supposed to be haunted, but I just found that funny. Even with all the people who moved in and moved right back out over the years, I never actually believed anything supernatural was going on. We got a nice, cheap house by a beautiful lake in the woods because a bunch of people got scared of a few squeaky floorboards and drafty hallways."
He stared at her.
She swallowed.
A couple moments passed, and Arnold stood, leading her by the small of her back over to their bed. "Okay, here's what we're going to do," he began in the voice he used to speak with other public officials or naughty students, the one he knew always set something loose and shaky in Helga at ease. Just as he expected, her spine straightened beneath his hand. "We're going to go to sleep, and in the morning, if today turns out to have been completely genuine and not just some crazy prank or the result of something the kids put in the pancakes, we'll start looking for answers. But right now, we're just going to focus on what a nice day this has otherwise been, and sleep."
Helga nodded seriously and let out a deep, fortifying breath. "Okay. Sounds good."
With that, the two dress in their sleep clothes, curled up close under the various blankets and sheets, and slept.
Arnold choked in his sleep and snapped his eyes open.
The room was freezing. He was on his back, Helga having shuffled to the other side of the bed with most of the blankets. He reached a hand out and felt frantically around for his phone on the side table, heart racing. The screen's light blinded him for a second before the numbers came into focus. 2:27 AM.
The phone fell from trembling hands, landing beside him on the bed with a soft thud while he looked around the dark room like it had answers.
He hadn't had a dream like that since he was ten.
Fuck.
He needed air.
The covers were off of him and his jacket slipping over his arms before his brain could catch up to himself.
For a second, as he was shuffling down the stairs, he almost took a right turn instead of a left, and had to brace himself with a hand on the wall to get over the shock. This wasn't the Sunset Arms. He wasn't ten. He was thirty-nine with a wife and four kids. Fuck.
He slipped quickly out the back door.
If it was freezing inside, the outside was like stepping into the arctic tundra. There was air, though, lots of it, carrying the scent of wood and freshly fallen snow. It burned down his airways, bringing the present moment into stark relief as his eyes focused on the faint gray impressions of water and trees ahead. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust, gulping in deep, grateful breaths before stepping forward. The snow crunched beneath his half-laced boots.
He stopped at the lake's edge, and looked down. The water glittered up at him, beautiful and dark. He stared into it.
Some time passed. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there when the lake and ground around him gained color and brightness. For a second, he thought he was dreaming again, before the crunching behind him alerted him to the other's presence. He stiffened and swiveled on his foot, nearly falling back into the lake before a hand latched onto his arm.
"Whoa," Zack said, blinking at him. Arnold looked down and saw that he was holding a lantern.
"Zack," he said, and was surprised at the deep roughness of his voice. Past puberty. Long past puberty. He clamped his eyes shut tight.
He felt Zack's hand shift on him, and more snow being crushed. Moments later, Zack's voice came from his side, quiet. "What are you doing out here?"
Some instinct rose in him, and he felt more like himself with the thoughts that came after it. He took a breath and looked over at Zack, looked him up and down. He was blank-faced, in sneakers, his jacket not even zipped up. Arnold took his arm back and narrowed his eyes. "How about you? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Zack stared at him, then pointed at something behind them. Arnold looked over and saw a sliver of light in a window, the curtain parted. Zack's window. "I saw you," Zack said. "You shouldn't be outside this late. Bigfoot might get you."
"Why were you awake? Have you slept?"
"Yeah."
Arnold narrowed his eyes further. "In your room?"
Zack's mouth twitched, before blooming into a wry smile. "In the car."
Arnold cursed. "The night before?"
"A little. But—"
"Haven't you been taking your medication? Zack, we went through the trouble of getting those prescribed for you so this would stop. What do you even do all night?"
"Plot the murder of Queen Elizabeth."
Arnold rolled his eyes. "Right. I want you to go back to your room, take your pills, and lay down in your bed for the next eight hours, at least. No phone, no laptop, no lights. Do you understand?"
Some emotion flashed across Zack's eyes, too fast to track. "Only if you quit yelling and come inside. It's almost three AM."
Arnold hadn't realized he was yelling. He nearly did it again, and had to bite his tongue against it. He'd been out here for half an hour. His fingers felt like ice. Still, he took the lantern from Zack and pointed to the house. "This isn't a negotiation, Zachary," he said lowly, channeling Helga as best he could. "Go. Inside."
"What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Zachary—"
"Did something happen?"
"Why can't you ever just listen to me?" He sighed, forcing himself to soften. "I'll come in in a little while and check on you, and if you're still awake, I'll make you a snack and we'll read a book together. I'll put your blanket in the drier, too, for good measure. Okay?"
"Did you have a nightmare?"
For a moment, Arnold couldn't say anything. His muscles felt frozen, and the metal of the lantern was digging painfully into his palm. Zack looked back at him, concerned, unwavering. Wordlessly, Arnold swept an arm out across the lake, and when Zack looked, he calmly said, "I'll throw you in. Don't think I won't just because it's negative thirty."
Zack snorted, amused. "You know, you don't always have to take care of me. I can take care of you, too, sometimes. Somebody has to, and Mom's asleep right now and I'm not, so."
"No."
The answer startled the both of them with its sharpness. Zack looked so off kilter that Arnold felt guilty. He only wanted to help, and he'd snapped at him. He never snapped at him. He sat the lantern down between them and faced the lake again, shoving his hands deep in his pockets with a huff, hot mist curling up against his nose. Yellow light rippled across the water. "I'm sorry."
Zack stepped closer to him. Neither said anything for a few minutes, and then Zack asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
"You shouldn't have to take care of your parent, Zack," Arnold replied, and hated himself for how frail he sounded.
He could feel Zack looking at him. He tried schooling his face, lifting his features into something less hollowed out, less shameful, but he didn't know how successful he was.
He wished he could explain it to Zack. Tell him how much better just thinking about tucking him into bed made him feel, and how out of his mind he felt right then having Zack worried about him. He did want to tell someone about his dream. He wanted to know why an airplane was skittering across the edge of his vision again for the first time in twenty-two years. He wanted to know why Helga's scream was still echoing in his ears even though she was sound asleep. He wanted to know why he'd woken up with the impression of rope burns on his wrists and dirt under his fingernails and hot sweat trickling down his temple. He wanted to call his parents, even if it meant hearing them grumble about the hour and fall back asleep almost as soon as they picked up the phone. Even if it meant just listening to them breathe for the rest of the night.
But there was no way he was telling Zack any of that, because he couldn't explain it if he wanted to. And even if he could, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear Zack's thoughts about it. Not after yesterday.
Zack might have said something else, but Arnold didn't hear it. They watched the shadows flicker across the trees, the water sparkle and bounce in the early wind, the tiny flecks of crystal beginning to gather around them, until Zack's shivering became noticeable. With no more time to spare, Arnold zipped up his jacket for him and escorted him inside. He watched him gulp down a couple pills while the drier worked, and then he wrapped him up in bed, talked quietly with him until his breaths slowed, and went back to his own room where Helga was still deep in the midst of dreams, twitching ever so slightly with her pillow locked under her arms.
It wasn't until he was drifting off again that it occurred to him, the thought fuzzy and indistinct.
The lake should've been frozen.
A/N: This is so weird. Please believe me when I say there is a clear plot to all this. It's all mapped out, half on word doc and half in my head. I'm really nervous about how y'all are gonna take this. I really hope you got at least a laugh. The only reason I started writing this was because I was laughing. Hysterically, and with tears in my eyes, but still.
The next part has the Patakis, the Idleberrys (AKA those crazy people who live peacefully in the freaky-ass haunted house), and a surprising amount of Ham. If you want to know what the rhyme and reason to all this is, please review and let me know. I've been so stressed, hah ahha
BUT EXCITED ANYWAY BECAUSE THE JUNGLE MOVIE IS IN JUST A FEW DAYS AAAAAHHH I STILL HAVEN'T FULLY PROCESSED IT AND I'VE KNOWN ABOUT IT FOR TWO YEARS I'M DYI NGG G
BUT WE DIE TOGETHER AS A FANDOM AND I'M TRYING TO REMEMBER THAT *breathes in deep through fingers* OKAY
SCREAM WITH ME?
REVIEW!