The Moonlit Road - The Missing Cookies

Written by Craig Dominey

Back when I was just a baby, my folks started a Christmas tradition that might sound familiar to many of you out there. On Christmas Eve, they'd leave a plate of cookies by the fireplace for Santa, and a small pile of hay for his reindeer. "Santa's going to be hungry after such a long journey," Mom used to say to my older brother. Of course, at that time I was too young to remember her doing this. But my brother told me later on that, when he'd wake up on Christmas morning, there'd be nothing left on that plate but crumbs. So that was sure-fire proof that Santa had indeed visited our home that night.

When I got to be around five years old, my family moved into a new home just south of Nashville, Tennessee. Well, it wasn't really "new" - it was an historic Victorian house that had fallen into disrepair. I remember it being kind of spooky looking, with bordered up widows, creaky floors, yellowing wallpaper peeling off the walls and a strong musty smell - as if they hadn't let fresh air in the place in years. It was what you would generously call a "fixer upper" - and it was the perfect project for my industrious Father.

Snowman

What my Dad liked best about the place was its large, rolling front yard. Now, you know how in every neighborhood there seems to be one family that goes hog wild with the Christmas lights during the holidays? Well, that was my family. My Dad strung hundreds of twinkling lights around the yard, bought huge plastic snowmen, elves, candy canes and a manger scene. He even rigged a giant, lifelike Santa's sleigh on our roof, flashing brightly for the whole world to see. And every December night, a long line of cars would drive by our home, some folks coming from miles away just to see our display.

Now for some neighbors, such a holiday tourist attraction would quickly become a nuisance. But our neighbors seemed quite happy about our festive spirit. They told us that the strange old woman who lived in the house before us never seemed to celebrate Christmas, or any other holiday. She had lived in the house for years - long before our neighborhood was built around her. She was rarely seen, and her house stood dark and silent, with its curtains tightly drawn. The neighborhood kids believed she was a witch, and whispered ghastly tales about her at Halloween. And when she suddenly passed away, the house remained a gloomy and empty ghost on the street.

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