The Gift, by Don Tassone

James hated shoveling Mrs. Pater’s driveway. She never paid him. He’d never even seen her. But his mother made him do it.

She’s probably dead in there, James thought, as he trudged down to Mrs. Pater’s house.

He’d finished her driveway and porch when the front door opened slightly.

A box wrapped in colorful paper emerged from behind the door. Bony fingers held it.

“For you,” said a weak voice inside.

James reached out and took the box.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” said the disembodied voice.

I hope she’s okay, James thought, as he carried his gift home.