‘Tis the Season
Troll the Ancient Yuletide Carol!
The Letter of the Reverend Dr. William Johnson Roberts
Dear Dr. Susan P. Vinga,
I am resting comfortably at home, along with my cats, Top and Duke. I have not written anything of substance yet, but I have been doing some notetaking and writing the occasional paragraph. I hope to be writing daily, as soon as possible. You were right; it seems therapeutic.
The widow Mrs. Mercy Jade Adams, my new housekeeper, has moved into rooms on the bottom floor of the mansion. She is, roughly, my age. She professes to enjoy her new duties, and she gets along well with Top, who generally detests anyone who is not me. Mercy and I don’t interact much, as I spend most of my time recovering. That being said, the atmosphere of the house feels a bit warmer with another person living here.
I will now attempt, as you have directed in your email, to write an account of everything that happened to me on the 20-21st of December, 2023. The events about which I am writing occurred in Mackenson County, Texas, my “home county.” Specifically, they occurred somewhere inside the private sanctuary of the Chapel Hill estate on the occasion of the Winter Solstice (Yule, or the first day of Christmas). My letter begins in the next paragraph. I have decided to write it as though I am addressing you and a third party.
My name is William Johnson Roberts. I was born on June 25, 1968, in Mackenson County, Texas. I was born and raised in the Del Roberts Community, an unincorporated area that once consisted of about 200 souls. I don’t know what the population is like nowadays, as I’ve not been “home” in many years. Honestly, I tend to think of Oklahoma as my home.
For the last 30 years, I have lived in the town of Squire Hill, Oklahoma, about 70 miles northwest of the Potato Hills Mountain Range. I dwell in an exquisite Queen Anne style mansion that I purchased and then had restored to its former glory. Here, I live alone save for the company of my two companions, cats. Their names are Top (Siamese) and Duke (tabby). I think I have already mentioned them (and now I have an additional guest since Mercy arrived). I suppose, technically, that I no longer live alone. There are four of us under one roof.
As you know, Dr. Vinga, I grew up in Mackenson County, in the Del Roberts Community. The Del Roberts Community was once the site of a large manor, called the Roberts Manor. It was one of the wonders of the county, quite a place to see. The last I heard there were still some buildings on what used to be the Roberts land. The manor house, however, no longer stands. It burned in the late 1980s.
In the years before the mansion burned, I was doing well. My parents had been well-to-do, so I didn’t have to worry about a job. I attended and graduated from the Mackenson Institute with a master’s degree in theology and, later, a doctorate (Th.D.). I then became a Chaplain in the U.S. Armed Forces but I decided not to pursue the army as a career. Later still, an old Mackenson classmate invited me to preach in Oklahoma. His church was looking for a pastor, and I began to fill the pulpit regularly. Eventually, I would move to Squire Hill so I could be closer to the church. This I did for many years, happy and unmindful of my old dwelling places.
While I was working at the church in Squire Hill, I decided to purchase the old Queen Anne style home and have it remodeled and restored. When the work was accomplished, I and the boys (cats) moved in and proceeded to turn it into a proper home. In hindsight, I made a wise decision to purchase the house, because my health was about to collapse.
In 2016 I found myself partially physically disabled as the result of what I call, in my writings, apoplexy. Apoplexy is an obsolete term for what is called a cerebrovascular accident. In layman’s terms, we call it a “stroke.” For some reason (because of my use of it in writing, I think), the word apoplexy has become “stuck” in my brain. This is true for a few other “old-fashioned” terms as well. For instance, I am wont to use the word parasol in place of umbrella. The refrigerator has become the icebox, and glasses have become “spectacles.”
The disabilities that I suffer to this day include weakness and pain on the left side of my body. This weakness deviates in its severity. On some days it’s not bad; on other days it’s very painful. Occasionally the pain requires me to use a walking cane. In addition to physical pain, I also have some persistent aphasia and forgetfulness.
When I was having a stroke, I hallucinated. I imagined that I saw books of all sorts floating along the top of the ceiling, moving from left to right. The books looked quite old. Many seemed to be ancient and bound in leather. I used the word “tome” to describe them. I haven’t seen the books for years now, but I do still hallucinate.
Along with my physical deficits, a military psychiatrist (you) diagnosed some mental deficiencies. I was told that I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), rapid cycling Bipolar Disorder, and “elements of psychosis.” Unfortunately, these mental defects necessitated my retirement from work and society. I had formerly been the pastor of the small church I mentioned, and the continuing aphasia prohibited me from speaking. Later I came to understand, with the help of the doctor (V.), that some members of the church are probably the reason I have PTSD. I have no reason to doubt that assessment, for some of them were savage wolves and vile serpents, and probably remain so until this day.
The worst part of my condition (for which I am successfully being treated) is sleep paralysis. It is a condition during which you cannot move, as you transition from the state of sleep to the state of being awake (hypnagogia). During this paralysis (for me, anyway), you may see phantoms, ghosts, shadow people, or other dreadful apparitions. Things proceeding forth out of mirrors are also frequently seen, as well as figures standing in the room or, worse, at one’s bedside. Fortunately, sleep paralysis only lasts a few minutes—but those minutes take a toll on one’s soul. I went through my entire house with sheets and covered all the mirrors. My life was sorely affected by this; even my daily affairs seemed to take on an oneiric quality.
© 2023-2025 Ren Adama
