My Goals for 2026
Smooches and think Tink! Happy New Year!
Alice used to be the curious girl who chased the White Rabbit down to Wonderland, but that was a distant story ever since Peter Pan brought her to Neverland. She lived in Neverland now, gliding through the skies, swaying from trees, and laughing with the lost boys. She was fearless, independent, and completely at ease here, where rules were few and adventures endless. She had left Wonderland and England behind, and for the first time, she felt fully alive.
She remembered the last time she had tried to return to Wonderland and how the White Queen had barred her from entering, being afraid Alice’s world’s fear and sorrow would taint their magic. The rejection had stung back then, but in Neverland, none of that mattered. This was now her home, and she could finally be free.
Peter was always there; mischievous, wild, untamed, fiery-red hair catching the starlight, a grin full of secrets. Over the months, their playful teasing, daring quests, and shared triumphs had grown into something more; something neither of them dared to name until one quiet night.
They perched on a high branch of an ancient tree, the moon's silver light spilling over the forest. The wind tugged at their hair, and the stars stretched endlessly above them.
Peter glanced at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. Alice smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her eyes.
Without thinking, she leaned closer, and their lips slowly and tentatively met. Peter thought Wendy Darling once called this action a kiss or a thimble. He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, he liked it. It felt incredible. Peter’s kiss was warm, uncertain, and hungry. Alice responded instantly, tilting into him, letting him know he was wanted—loved for the first time. The sky seemed to hold its breath as the kiss lingered, soft and electric, like stepping into a memory she hadn’t realized she had been waiting for.
When they pulled back just enough to breathe, Peter rested his forehead against hers.
He asked breathlessly, "Was that a..."
"A kiss," Alice nodded, giggling, "A real kiss."
“If we keep going, I won’t stop,” he murmured.
“I’m not asking you to,” she said, eyes bright with daring.
A few nights later, in the quiet shadow of the same ancient tree, the second kiss came: hotter, deeper, impossible to resist. Peter pressed close, hands firm at her waist, all the restraint of his eternal boyhood cracking under the weight of feverish desire. Alice met him fully, knowingly; every movement a choice, every breath a promise.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispered.
“I do,” she said, kissing him again, entirely alive, intimately hers.
The wind tore around them, clouds swirling, Neverland itself alive with the power of what they shared. Peter groaned softly, caught between restraint and abandon, and Alice felt the thrill, the danger, and the certainty of loving someone who refused to grow up yet could hold her completely.
When they finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, Peter rested his forehead against hers again.
“Stay,” he whispered, not a command for once, but a plea.
“I’m staying,” Alice said, steady, fierce, fearless.
In that moment, between stars, clouds, and the reckless eternity of Neverland, Alice realized she had never been rejected or lost. She had only been waiting for Peter; for magic, for a love that could exist absolutely in the whimsical world she already called home.
©Lena Holdman, all rights reserved 2025
Author Notes: This story is a work of fan fiction. The characters were originally created by J.M. Barrie and Lewis Carroll. While I was messing around with ChatGPT (typing in random, silly prompts about my favorite characters), this story idea popped into my head. I've always shipped Peter and Alice, and in my mind's eye, I saw a kissing scene between them. I'm also considering this story to be a sequel to my story called 'Alice, Locked Out' that I wrote during the 2020 Covid lockdown (https://lena-writer.blogspot.com/2020/04/alice-locked-out-metaphorical-alice-and.html). Don't worry, AI won't ever write for me. These are my words, what I see in my mind. ChatGPT only helped me map out the plot of this story, then I wrote and typed out the story. ChatGPT and DreamUp AI generated the pictures.
Smooches and think Tink!
The Story of Teddy
Leanna and Adam Hoods, an unorthodox married couple from Salem, Massachusetts, had a six-year-old daughter named Alice. When Alice began seeing an imaginary friend outside her window in December of 2023, they didn’t worry, of course. Imaginary friends were a normal part of childhood, and Alice had always been creative, quirky, and brilliant. Her parents themselves lived a nonconformist, artistic life.
Leanna was a talented painter and children’s book illustrator, with short purple hair, a helix piercing, two surgically modified pointed elf ears, and bright green eyes. Adam was an amazing musician, with spiky brown hair, a brown goatee, gray eyes, a pierced left ear, and a tattoo sleeve winding down his left arm. He worked full-time as a music teacher at a performing arts school and spent his nights as a part-time guitarist and lead singer in a Billy Idol cover band. Together, they valued individuality and self-expression far more than social norms, and because of that, they always encouraged Alice to be herself—no matter what.
The world was full of wonder through Alice’s young, emerald eyes. She loved playing outside; flowers, leaves, or snowflakes were almost always tangled in her curly brunette hair. She often made believe she could befriend the trees and wild animals in the wooded stretch of their backyard, so Alice having a friend only she could see didn’t seem strange at all.
But little did they know, this “imaginary friend” was real.
Even though her parents weren’t concerned, the way Alice described her new imaginary friend was unsettling in a quiet, eerie way. She said he was a seven-year-old boy who appeared outside her window. He wore a long white shroud, his pale skin white as powder. His hair was ebony black, and his eyes were as dark as night, heavy shadows pooled beneath them, as though he never slept—like a child who was always tired—no matter how much rest he was meant to get.
Leanna remarked, “It sounds like he’s a little scary.”
Alice simply replied, “No, Mommy, I think he’s lonely. It was cold outside, but I opened my window anyway, and we talked. He’s so nice. It seems like he’s just looking for a friend. His name is Teddy.”
Her kind heart didn’t realize his appearance was unsettling. She only saw a boy who needed a buddy to talk to. Her kindness was limitless. During her Christmas break that December, she began volunteering with her parents at St. Peter’s Sanctuary, a group home for adults with disabilities. Along with art and music, her parents loved helping others and making people smile.
Some residents at the home received visits from their family members during Christmastime, but most weren’t so lucky. Many were wards of the state, so the Hoods’ carefree presence was comforting and brought light into their lives. Residents and staff would gather together in the common area. While Leanna gave drawing lessons, Adam softly played Christmas songs on the piano.
Young Alice would wander from table to table, helping residents with their drawings if they asked, but more importantly, she treated them with respect. She spoke with them, listened to them, and truly saw them. Some residents shared stories from their past, while others simply talked about whatever was on their minds that day. In fact, the staff at the group home later admitted they had believed certain residents were nonverbal until the Hoods arrived.
Alice volunteered at the group home during the day and played and spoke with Teddy during the night. Leanna even heard her giggling and talking to him at bedtime, but she never stopped or scolded her, because Alice always slept soundly.
To make sure Alice wasn’t giving herself a chill at night, Leanna asked her one day, “Do you leave your window open all night to talk to him?”
“No, Mommy, I thought he would get sick if he stayed in the cold, so I invited him inside.”
“But how does he come inside,” asked Adam with a chuckle, “Does he just climb in your window?”
“Oh, Daddy, you’re so silly! He doesn’t climb through my window. He can walk through walls and buildings. Isn’t that cool? Maybe he’s a wizard like Harry Potter!”
Leanna and Adam just grinned at each other.
Two days before Christmas Eve, Alice asked, “Can I make a present for Teddy for Christmas, too?”
Unlike some children, she liked giving more than receiving. The year before, while Adam was setting up their handmade nativity scene, Alice had asked, “Why doesn’t Jesus ever get birthday gifts on Christmas? Even if He might’ve been born in spring or fall, Christmas is when we celebrate His birth, right?”
They didn’t go to church because they didn’t believe in organized religion, but they did believe in God, Jesus, and the Bible. Alice loved and respected God, Jesus, Mother Mary, and all the angels, for she believed they were watching over everyone.
Leanna thought her tenderhearted daughter had a point and said, “You’re right, sweetie. It is His birthday. Why don’t we all make Him gifts? You can open them for Him on Christmas morning and leave them next to our nativity scene.”
Alice nodded happily. They all decided that giving Jesus birthday presents would become one of their new Christmas traditions. That year, they gave Him a brightly painted cross and two beautifully decorated bottles of frankincense.
Now, she wanted to give something to her “imaginary friend” as well. Her parents thought it was sweet and told her she could, if she wanted to.
It was Christmas Eve again. Along with leaving out cookies and milk for Santa and carrots for the reindeer on the table, there were also three wrapped gifts for Jesus—three handmade angel statues—and one wrapped gift for Teddy beneath the tree: a framed drawing of him by Alice.
Her parents didn’t hear her talking to Teddy that night, but they did hear her softly humming Christmas songs in her room.
The next morning, they gathered around their Christmas tree, adorned with twinkling lights, homemade trinkets, pine cones from outside, gold pentacle and cross ornaments, and a gold star on top. They cheerfully opened presents, the living room floor quickly covered with colorful wrapping paper, boxes, and bows. Alice opened the gifts for Jesus and excitedly exclaimed, “Happy birthday!”
As Adam prepared three mugs of hot chocolate with candy canes in the kitchen, Leanna asked Alice about the humming she’d heard the night before.
“Well, I didn’t want to stay up and talk because I knew Santa was coming,” Alice explained. “I told Teddy we needed to go to sleep. He wanted to snuggle with me in bed, but he always has trouble falling asleep, so I hummed to him until he shut his eyes.”
Leanna asked, “Did he fall asleep?”
“I don’t know,” Alice admitted, “but he got up earlier this morning to open his present from me.”
Carefully carrying the tray of mugs of hot chocolate into the living room, Adam asked with a smile, “He couldn’t wait for us to wake up, huh?”
“He would’ve waited, Daddy,” she said matter-of-factly, “but you two can’t see him.”
“True,” Adam agreed.
“And,” she continued, stirring her candy cane in her hot chocolate, “he told me he had a surprise for me under the tree. He asked me to open the surprise after opening Jesus’ gifts.
After taking a sip of her hot chocolate, she quickly walked over to where Teddy’s gift from her had been. The gift was gone, and in its place sat a much larger present. Wrapped in black paper, it showed a happy ghost wearing a Santa Claus hat. On the tag, written in a child’s handwriting, were the words: To Alice, from Teddy.
She eagerly tore it open and let out a joyful gasp. Inside was a huge art set. A violet wooden box held two sketchpads, a full set of colored pencils, crayons, oil pastels, watercolors, ten paintbrushes, eight erasers, and a pencil sharpener.
Alice was beyond ecstatic. She hopped in place, then ran to the nearest window. Waving excitedly, she exclaimed, “Thank you so much, Teddy! Merry Christmas!”
Her parents didn’t see him, of course, but he was waving back at her with the happiest grin. Leanna assumed Adam had secretly bought the extra gift for Alice, and Adam assumed Leanna had bought it. It wasn’t until much later that they realized neither of them had.
Because Alice had been talking about Teddy to everyone, they figured a well-meaning family member must have been behind the mysterious gift. They never questioned it. Alice was happy, and that was all that mattered.
“Look, Mommy, I can be an artist like you!”
After that Christmas Day, Alice could only sense Teddy watching over her throughout the new year. She worried when she didn’t see him, but he wouldn’t appear again until December 2024. When he finally did, Alice was overjoyed. Teddy quickly became another cherished Christmas tradition for the Hoods family.
The then seven-year-old Alice asked Teddy on Christmas Eve, just before falling asleep, “Will we always be best friends?”
“I promise, Alice,” he replied with a smile, “Forever. It’s nice to have a friend like you. I’m always with you, even when you can’t see me, so don’t worry.”
She smiled, “You’re the best.” Then, with a satisfied sigh, she drifted off to sleep.
“I won’t ever lose you,” he whispered, tucking her in and watching over her as she slept.
By December 2025, Alice was eight years old, and she was still seeing and talking to Teddy. She had learned the pattern by then. Throughout the year, she could sometimes only sense his presence, but when December arrived, he would visit her again.
Some people thought she was getting too old to have an imaginary friend, but her parents continued to encourage it. Teddy brought Alice so much joy, and he was never harmful to her well-being in any way.
Alice and her parents waited in the group home’s lobby to sign the visitor log. While they waited, Alice wandered around, studying the Christmas decorations. Then her eyes landed on a very old-looking photograph hanging on the wall.
It was a black-and-white picture of a large group of unsmiling children. Alice frowned. The group home didn’t take children, and in the three years she had volunteered there with her parents, she had never seen that photograph before.
She stepped closer, about to study the children more carefully, when the group home’s salt-and-pepper-haired director, Megan, walked into the lobby, holding the visitor log on a clipboard.
“Hi, I’m sorry about the wait,” Megan said as she handed the clipboard to Leanna. “The residents are a bit cranky at the moment. I was just making sure they’re up for visitors today.”
“It’s fine,” Leanna said with a smile, signing her name.
Without thinking, Alice pointed to the photograph and asked, “Who are those children, Miss Megan?”
“Oh,” Megan said, glancing at the picture, “I found it buried in storage. Before this place was a group home for adults, it was an orphanage and a school. Some of the residents say they lived here back then, so I thought it would be nice to hang it up. I’m just not sure who’s in the picture.”
When Alice heard the word orphanage, a memory surfaced. She remembered how, when she was six, Teddy had told her he wished he had a loving mommy and daddy like hers. Had he lived in a place like this once? What was it like to grow up in a group home—or an orphanage? Which of the residents had lived here as children when it was still a school?
Alice’s mind swirled with questions, but her thoughts were interrupted when Adam handed her the clipboard.
“Hurry up and sign in, Kiddo,” he said cheerfully, “so we can turn those cranky frowns upside down!”
“Okay, Daddy,” Alice replied.
After she signed in and walked into the common area, the old photograph of the children lingered in the back of her mind, but she decided the questions could wait.
Later that night, she told Teddy all about her day at the group home. They lay on a blanket pallet she had made on her bedroom floor.
“People were definitely cranky today,” Alice giggled, “but as soon as they started drawing, and Daddy began playing Run Rudolph Run loudly on the piano, they were all smiles. I think he forgot he wasn’t at one of his gigs, but at least he made their day.”
Teddy inquisitively asked, “Did you see something strange today? I saw you staring at something in the lobby.”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, “I was looking at an old picture of children. Did you know the group home used to be an orphanage and a school?”
“I know.”
He seemed to flinch at the mention of the place, which made her curious.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always,” he smiled.
“Do you live at a place like St. Peter’s Sanctuary?”
“Not anymore.”
“I guess the place wasn’t very nice.”
“The headmistress only pretended to care,” he told her quietly, “I was…hurt. Now, I’m in a better place.”
“That’s good,” Alice said, “Are the people kinder where you live now?”
“Very much. I finally feel loved and safe, but a part of me still wishes for a mommy and daddy, and maybe a sibling or two.”
There was a trace of sadness in Teddy’s eyes when he spoke about family, and Alice wanted to make him feel better.
“Well, I always wanted a brother,” she said enthusiastically, “Maybe I can be your pretend sister. And since you might be younger than me, I’ll be your older sister.”
“Okay,” he grinned.
They both giggled, excited by the idea. Then Alice began to yawn, rubbing her eyes.
“I’m getting sleepy,” she said, her eyes slowly closing. “I guess it’s bedtime. I love you, Brother.”
“I love you too, Sister,” Teddy replied with a smile, snuggling up beside her.
As Alice drifted off to sleep, the wheels in Teddy’s mind spun at turbo speed. Without realizing it, Alice had uncovered a few puzzle pieces of the truth about him, though she wasn’t able to put them together just yet. He knew she would need the truth someday—but not now. Teddy didn’t want to frighten her.
Five years had passed, and Alice was now thirteen. Some things had changed, but most things hadn’t. She still saw and talked to Teddy, but now, she kept it a secret.
She knew she would be seen as crazy if she told people she still saw an invisible boy, even with her parents’ individualistic beliefs. Though she never admitted it out loud, for a while she feared that she truly was insane. She researched mental illnesses, searching for answers, but something in her heart told her that her bond with Teddy was too real, too strong, to be only an illusion.
Eventually, her fears subsided—but she continued to hide him.
Over the years, she still left a gift out for Teddy every Christmas, assuring everyone it was simply a fun tradition to remember her childhood. She claimed a family member must be secretly leaving gifts for her now, which, of course, was a lie.
She dyed her brunette hair black with a white streak. She told people it was to look Gothic, but in truth, it was in honor of Teddy.
Teddy wasn’t hurt by the secrecy. He understood. He knew that if she didn’t pretend he was just a figment of her childhood imagination, grown-ups would question her—or worse, try to take her away from him.
In recent years, Alice had begun to notice that as she grew older, Teddy never did. He was still seven years old, and because of that, she became more protective and nurturing toward him. His agelessness stirred thoughts of the paranormal, but she never asked him about it. Instead, she began reading books about the supernatural in secret.
By this time, Alice was in middle school, and unlike most teens, she absolutely loved school—especially art class. She was becoming quite the gifted sketch artist. She drew and journaled about everything in her life: her family, Teddy, and her art teacher, Mr. Joz.
He was her favorite teacher, and she nursed a harmless little schoolgirl crush on him. In Alice’s eyes, he was tall, strong, and kind; a top-notch artist, photographer, and mentor all rolled into one. He had bright red hair, hazel eyes that seemed to glow in the sunlight, and a K-pop-idol kind of smile—dazzling and gentle. She often sketched him as a prince, because every time she did, a little flutter of joy danced in her stomach.
Alice kept two sketchpads. The green one went everywhere with her and was shown to everyone. The red one was private and usually stayed in her bedroom.
One cold December day, a week before Christmas break, she was running late after sleeping through her alarm. Leanna and Adam were in bed, recovering from the flu, and neither had the strength to wake her. The school bus would arrive in half an hour.
She darted around her room, gulping down a bowl of cereal, getting dressed, and gathering her schoolbooks. In her rush, she accidentally grabbed both sketchpads and stuffed them into her bookbag with the rest of her books.
When she arrived at school, Alice still didn’t realize she had both sketchpads. Even when she pulled out the green one for art class during second period, she had no idea. She walked into the classroom with the sketchpad in her hand and her bookbag slung over her shoulder. Normally, she left her bag in her locker, but that morning, she felt so disheveled and out of sorts from rushing that she carried it from class to class.
Smiling shyly at Mr. Joz, she carefully tore her homework assignment from the sketchpad and handed it to him. The class had been asked to draw or paint a fictitious family participating in a traditional Christmas activity in an unusual setting, with special attention to background details.
Alice sketched a smiling couple with Teddy decorating a Christmas tree inside a dark, stone mausoleum. She didn’t know why she’d chosen such a haunting setting for Teddy, but somehow, it felt right.
She was about to sit down when she noticed two identical, obviously AI-generated pictures lying atop the assignments on Mr. Joz’s desk: a generic, airbrushed-looking blond family dancing around a red, white, and blue Christmas tree on a beach.
Without thinking, she asked, “Why do you have those bad AI pictures from Reddit?”
Mr. Joz was looking down at them when the bell rang for class to start. The pictures had been turned in by Jeffrey and Rick Slade, podgy identical twins with platinum hair who were infamous for bullying other students and cheating on assignments. Instead of simply scolding the boys and sending them to the principal’s office, Mr. Joz saw an opportunity for a lesson.
“Good eye, Alice,” he said, flashing that dazzling smile as he held the two pictures up for the class, “Everyone, please take your seats. We need to talk about something. Miss Alice noticed that these images were AI-generated. Mr. Jeffrey and Mr. Rick will likely insist they aren’t.”
“We do,” the Slade twins said in unison.
Mr. Joz handed the pictures to the first student in the front row and continued, “Since AI-generated images became more popular in 2025, they’ve grown harder to spot, but they still have imperfections if you look closely. Pass these around and tell me what characteristics of AI-generated art you notice.”
A boy near the window raised his hand. “The hands look weird. Like… the fingers don’t bend right.”
“Good,” Mr. Joz nodded, leaning against his desk, “Hands are a big clue.”
Alice lifted her hand, hesitating before speaking. “Their faces look kind of…too perfect. Like dolls.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Real people usually have little flaws.”
Another student squinted at the picture. “The background’s blurry. I can’t tell where the trees end and the sand starts.”
“Nice catch.”
Alice glanced down again. “And the words on the ornaments don’t make sense. They’re not real letters.”
A few kids laughed softly.
“Text is still hard for AI,” Mr. Joz said. “What else?”
“They look copied,” someone else added. “Like the same smile on everyone.”
Mr. Joz smiled. “Repetition. Very good.”
Alice spoke once more, a little more confident this time. “The skin looks airbrushed. Like it’s not real.”
Mr. Joz nodded approvingly. “That’s another giveaway. When art looks polished but lifeless, it’s worth asking questions.”
Student after student had identified all of the imperfections.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Jeffrey said.
“Yeah,” Rick added quickly. “Artists mess up hands all the time.”
Mr. Joz raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“And the faces are supposed to look perfect,” Jeffrey went on, “It’s our style.”
“Yeah, airbrushed is a style,” Rick echoed.
Alice shifted in her seat as Rick pointed at the picture. “Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s fake.”
“And the background’s blurry because it’s supposed to be,” Jeffrey said. “It’s called depth.”
They crossed their arms at the same time, smug.
“We didn’t use AI,” they said together.
Mr. Joz folded his arms. “Jeffrey. Rick.”
The twins stiffened.
“You’ve both insisted this work is yours,” he said calmly. “But you couldn’t explain the mistakes, the repetition, or the unreadable text. An artist who creates something can always explain it.”
Rick started to speak. “We—”
Mr. Joz raised a hand, stopping him. “That’s enough.”
The room was silent.
“Everyone else,” he said, turning to the class, “thank you for helping determine whether these images were AI-generated. You may put your materials away. You’ve shown me what I needed to see that you all have been paying attention in my class. You won’t be taking today’s scheduled final. You all pass.”
A ripple of surprised whispers moved through the room.
Mr. Joz looked back at the twins. “Jeffrey. Rick. However, you two will still be taking today’s final.”
Jeffrey’s face flushed. “Seriously? That’s totally unfair!”
“Yes,” Mr. Joz replied evenly. “This is the last chance to show me what you can do and what you truly know.”
He placed the exam papers on their desks.
The twins slumped into their chairs as the rest of the class watched in silence.
“Art rewards honesty,” Mr. Joz added quietly. “Especially when it matters most.”
Mr. Joz then surprised the rest of the class with an animated Christmas movie as the twins sat seething over their exam. Their anger burned squarely toward Alice.
Jeffrey sat behind Alice, her bookbag unzipped and hanging from the back of her chair. She had already slipped her green sketchpad back inside. Without her noticing, Jeffrey reached in and took it. As his hand brushed the bottom of the bag, he spotted the red sketchpad marked Private. He grinned wickedly at his brother and took that too. The twins were going to make Alice pay for embarrassing them.
It wasn’t until after fourth period, with lunchtime approaching, that she realized her sketchpad was missing. She stopped at her locker, preparing to use her free fifth period to study for her history final. As she unpacked the books she didn’t need, it dawned on her that the green sketchpad wasn’t there. Panic prickled as she began frantically rummaging through her bag.
With an evil smile, Jeffrey crept up behind her. “Looking for this?”
She spun around, and the sight hit her like a blow. The twins had destroyed the sketchpad—pages torn out, scorched with a lighter, spat on, and violently scribbled through. She clenched her fists, tears spilling from her eyes before she could stop them.
Shakily, she yelled, ‘Are you happy now? Does this make you feel better about yourselves?”
“Oh, yeah,” snickered Jeffrey, “A lot.”
“Give it back to me!”
It made us feel even better when we found this,” Rick said with a smile, holding up the red sketchpad.
She was beyond mortified. Her heart practically stopped as it hit her—she had packed both sketchpads by mistake. They hadn’t destroyed it, but they held her secrets in their hands—and that was far more terrifying.
She shouted, “That’s mine!” She tried to jump on Rick before he could open it, but it was too late.
Rick flips a page and snorts.“Wow. You drew Mr. Joz like a prince?”
Jeffrey grins. “Gross. You like him, don’t you?”
Rick reads aloud, badly imitating her writing. “He smiles like the sun. I wish I could stay in art class forever.”
She cried out desperately, “You have no right to read that!”
Ooooh,” Jeffrey mocks, “Someone’s got a crush.”
Alice tried to run and grabbed it from them, but they began to toss it to each other, keeping it out of her reach.
Rick’s smile slowly faded as he continued to read and look through the pages. ”This one looks creepy. Who’s Teddy?”
Jeffrey continued reading, “He’s always been there. He never ages. What kind of freaky imaginary-friend stuff is this?”
Rick snickers again. “You know, people stop believing that stuff in kindergarten, right?”
They had no idea how deeply this one stung. No one ever listened to the twins anyway, but Alice knew they’d try to blackmail her. Worse, she feared she’d put Teddy in danger somehow. The helplessness crushed her.
Then, for a moment, the hallway felt colder. From the corner of her eye, she saw Teddy step through the closed double doors. He normally didn’t visit her at school, but he could see she needed help. He knocked both sketchpads out of the boys’ hands, sending them skidding across the floor to Alice’s feet. She quickly scooped them up. The boys just thought they lost their grip on the sketchpads.
Then, Jeffrey laughed, already winding up another insult, when he suddenly yelped.
“What—?” He hopped backward, clutching his shin.
Rick snorted. “Quit messing around.”
Jeffrey shot him a glare. “I didn’t—”
Another sharp yelp. Rick slammed into a locker, the metal clang echoing down the hall.
A few students glanced over. Someone laughed.
Alice pressed her lips together; A tiny spark of amusement flickered in her chest despite herself.
Behind the twins, Teddy stood calmly. He lifted his foot and kicked again, neat and precise.
Rick’s voice rose, edging toward panic. “Jeffrey, stop it!”
Jeffrey snapped at him, “I’m not touching you!” His legs jerked like they had minds of their own.
Laughter rippled through the hallway. To everyone else, it looked like the twins were fooling around, same as always.
Alice grinned. Jeffrey was yanked backward.
His shoes scraped loudly across the floor as he flailed. “Hey—HEY—stop!”
A teacher peeked out, sighed. “Take it somewhere else,” she said, already closing the door.
Alice’s smile faded slightly.
Teddy’s grip tightened, invisible fingers hooked in Jeffrey’s collar as he dragged him down the hall. Rick stumbled after them, trying to grab his brother, only to cry out as his legs buckled again.
“Something’s wrong,” Rick gasped. “Something’s—”
Teddy kicked him, sending him sprawling.
A few kids laughed harder.
Alice’s stomach twisted. The satisfaction drained away and was replaced by a knot of concern.
“Okay, Teddy,” she thought, “that’s enough.”
Teddy stopped near the end of the hall. He leaned close to the twins and whispered something Alice couldn’t hear.
Both boys went rigid.
The laughter died, but people didn’t notice their faces; pale and wide-eyed with genuine terror.
Teddy released them. The twins crumpled to the floor. They then quickly stood up and ran off.
Alice hugged her sketchpads to her chest as Teddy walked over to her.
She lowered her voice so no one else would hear and whispered, “What did you say to them, Teddy?”
He smiled gently. “Nothing scary,” he said. “I just made sure they understood they should leave you alone, and they should not repeat what they read or saw.’
Alice let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “You didn’t have to do that…but thank you. You really are the best.”
He smiled proudly.
Then, the lunch bell rang. Alice looked down at the ruined green sketchpad in her arms, and the tears finally broke loose. The hallway had emptied, and she sobbed without restraint. She knew it was only a sketchpad, but her art mattered. It was hers, and it had been violated. She also felt humiliated by what the twins read and saw.
Teddy wrapped his arms gently around her waist, saying nothing, letting her cry for as long as she needed. After a moment, he tilted his head, listening, then smiled softly. “I think someone’s coming,’ he said. “You should go eat something. Do you want me to take the sketchpads to your house?”
“Just take the red one,” Alice said tearfully. “Put it in my room, please. I’ll throw away the green one.”
Teddy frowned a little. “Are you sure? Maybe we could fix the green one.”
She tried to smile through her tears. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks, Teddy. You really are a great friend.”
He grinned back at her. “Anything for my pretend sister.”
Tucking the red sketchpad into the hood of his shroud, he slipped back outside.
After Teddy left, Alice drifted to a nearby trash can. She stood there with the ruined sketchpad clutched in her hands. She knew it was beyond repair, yet she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away. The tears came again—and that was when someone gently tapped her on the shoulder. It was Mr. Joz.
Mr. Joz cleared his throat softly. “Mind if I join you for a second?”
Alice wiped at her face with her sleeve, embarrassed. “I—I’m fine.”
He glanced at the sketchpad in her hands, then at the trash can, then back at her. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve taught art for a long time. I can spot talent from across a room.”
She sniffed. “The Slade twins ruined my sketchpad.”
“They ruined paper,” he corrected gently. “Not talent.”
Alice gave a weak, shaky laugh.
“And for the record,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “those twins? Total jerks. Professional-grade. Olympic-level.”
This actually made her smile.
“They cheat, they bully, and they confuse copying with creating,” he went on. “Artists like that burn bright for about five minutes. Artists like you? You keep going.”
Alice looked down at the torn, scorched pages. “It still hurts.”
“Of course it does,” he said softly, “You put your heart in there, but holding onto it won’t protect what you love. It’ll just keep reminding you of the worst moment.”
She hesitated.
“Letting go doesn’t mean it didn’t matter,” Mr. Joz said, “It means you’re making room for something better. A new sketchpad. New drawings. Stronger ones.”
Alice took a breath. Then another.
Slowly, she leaned forward and dropped the ruined sketchpad into the trash.
It landed with a soft thud.
Mr. Joz smiled. “There you go.”
She wiped her eyes again, this time steadier. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Now go eat lunch. Artists need fuel for those creative juices to flow.”
As Mr. Joz turned to walk away, Alice’s gaze drifted to his hands. He was carrying a thin manila envelope, its edges worn soft with age. A few black-and-white photographs had slipped partway out, their corners curled and creased. She caught a glimpse of faces frozen in another time; children standing too stiffly; a building looming behind them.
Something about the pictures made her chest tighten.
“Those are old,” she blurted before she could stop herself.
Mr. Joz paused. He glanced down at the envelope, then back at her, surprised, not annoyed, just thoughtful.
“They are,” he said after a moment. “Very old.”
Alice hesitated. “Are they…from the school?”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not exactly.”
He slid the photographs back into the envelope, careful, almost reverent. “I was planning to put these away.”
“Oh,” Alice said quickly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“That’s alright,” he said gently, “Artists notice things. It’s kind of our curse. They’re actually my great-great-great-grandfather’s. They’re photos of an old orphanage and school named St. Peter’s Sanctuary.”
He had her full attention now.
He continued, “My family told me it closed a long time ago, but apparently, it reopened in the nineties.”
“It did,” she said gently.
He paused. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Alice said, “It’s now a group home for adults with disabilities. My mom gives art lessons, my dad plays music, and all three of us sit and talk with the residents. We go daily during Christmas break.”
His expression softened even more. “Art lessons and music?”
“They love it,” Alice said, smiling, “Some paint, some just like holding pencils and watching, and some just want company.”
Mr. Joz looked down at the envelope in his hands, his thumb brushing the worn edge. “My family always spoke about that place like it was gone because of the dark history.”
Alice frowned slightly. “Dark history?”
Mr. Joz hesitated.
“That’s…a long story,” he said carefully, “And probably not one I should get into in a school hallway.”
That only made her more curious. “What kind of story?”
He let out a slow breath. “The disturbing kind.”
Alice’s stomach fluttered—the same strange feeling she sometimes got when Teddy was near.
“I was actually interviewed about it recently,” he continued, lowering his voice, “by a true crime YouTuber, Petrina Shadows. She covers forgotten, old crimes.”
Alice’s eyes widened. “You mean online?”
He nodded. “She put the video up a few weeks ago. I’m not in it, but I gave her some of the information. If you want to understand what really happened there, you could watch it.”
Something cold brushed the back of Alice’s neck.
“And…what did happen?” she asked quietly.
Mr. Joz didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced down at the envelope in his hands again. Then, after a moment’s thought, he held it out to her.
“Even though these belonged to my great-great-great-grandfather,” he said, “I don’t think my family really cares about them. I don’t know why, but something tells me you should have them.”
Alice stared at the envelope. “Me? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She took it, her fingers brushing the brittle paper. The photographs inside felt heavier than they should have.
“What I will tell you, though,” he added softly, “is that my great-great-great--grandfather knew those children at the orphanage well, especially one boy.”
Alice’s heart skipped. She thought of Teddy, how he always avoided telling her how he’d been “hurt” at an orphanage. It hadn’t occurred to her until now that he might have lived at St. Peter’s Sanctuary long ago…and that he’d been more than just hurt.
Right before Mr. Joz walked away, he gave her a small, unreadable smile. “Sometimes the past waits for the right person to notice it, Alice. See you later. Now, go eat before it’s too late.”
As Alice walked toward the cafeteria, she flipped through the old photographs. The first two were unsettling but distant; strangers from another time. Then, she reached the third photo. She froze. Her breath caught, her thoughts scattering. Staring back at her from the faded black-and-white image was Teddy, dressed in a little suit and bow tie. She knew now that Teddy’s mystery was tied to St. Peter’s Sanctuary, and that somehow, the YouTuber, Petrina Shadows, held the key.
For the rest of the day, she managed to focus on her finals, though Teddy lingered in the back of her mind. When she got home, she checked on her sick parents first. Then, she hurried to her room. She dropped her bookbag onto the floor and sat at her desk. Smiling faintly at the red sketchpad, she opened her laptop and slipped in her earbuds. It was time to learn the truth.
She went to YouTube and typed Petrina Shadows into the search bar. The video appeared within seconds: Murder at Salem’s St. Peter’s Sanctuary Orphanage. Alice’s heart sank at the word murder, but she braced herself and clicked play.
The screen filled with Petrina Shadows: a woman with long black hair and deep brown eyes, dressed in a flowing, long-sleeved gown that looked almost old-fashioned, as if she’d stepped out of another era. She spoke in a voice that was low and mysterious, almost hypnotic, each word carefully chosen. Vintage Crimes, the name of her channel, appeared beneath her like a signature, elegant and ominous.
Petrina’s voice slid through Alice’s earbuds, smooth and deliberate.
“Welcome to Vintage Crimes, where the sins of the past come to light,” she began, “Today, we’re talking about St. Peter’s Sanctuary in Salem, Massachusetts. If you recognize the name, it’s because the building still stands. These days, it operates as a group home for adults with disabilities—a place of care, compassion, and community.”
There was a faint, almost ironic pause.
“But in the 1950’s, it was something very different.”
Old photographs faded onto the screen: brick walls, iron gates, and children lined up too neatly.
“At that time, St. Peter’s Sanctuary functioned as both an orphanage and a school. Like many institutions of its era, it hid its worst truths behind locked doors and strict discipline.”
The screen darkened slightly.
“One of the children housed there was a boy named Theodore ‘Teddy’ Snug.”
Alice gasped.
“Teddy was born on December 25th, 1945; a Christmas baby,” Petrina went on, her voice softened, just a touch, “His mother, Wendi Snug, was unmarried and unwilling to keep him. Ten days after he was born, she left him at St. Peter’s Sanctuary—and never returned.”
“Records describe Teddy as quiet, artistic, and well-behaved; A child who tried very hard not to be noticed.”
The photo changed to a small boy in a suit and bow tie.
Petrina’s voice continued, calm and precise, but Alice felt each word land like a bruise.
“Records also show that Teddy Snug suffered from what today would be called childhood chronic sleep deprivation,” Petrina said, “He couldn’t sleep, and if he did manage to doze off, it’d be only a few minutes.”
Alice’s fingers tightened around her earbuds.
“Night after night, Teddy lay awake in his bed, wrapped in white sheets, quietly reading by what little light he could manage. He wasn’t disruptive. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t leave his bed.”
Alice swallowed hard. She could see him so clearly.
“But even that wasn’t enough.”
Alice’s vision blurred, and she hastily wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“Staff reports describe Teddy as ‘distant’ and ‘sluggish’ during the day,” Petrina continued, “He would stare off into space. He struggled to focus. This behavior—behavior we now recognize as exhaustion—infuriated the headmistress, Kathy Pippin.”
Alice felt her chest ache.
“Teddy’s inability to sleep drove Pippin to obsession,” Petrina said, “A child who would not rest. A child who would not behave the way she demanded.”
Alice shook her head slowly, more tears slipping down her cheeks. “You weren’t doing anything wrong,” she whispered to the empty room.
Petrina’s voice lowered, almost reverent.
“For punishment,” she said, “Teddy was starved for days at a time.”
Alice’s breath hitched.
“He was denied meals for behaviors we now know were symptoms of exhaustion. He was also forbidden from celebrating Christmas or his own birthday.”
Alice pressed her fist against her mouth, tears spilling freely now. “You were born on Christmas,” she whispered, “They took everything from you.”
The screen shifted to another photograph; children standing too close together, their faces solemn.
“But even in places like St. Peter’s Sanctuary,” Petrina continued, “kindness still found cracks in the walls.”
Alice leaned closer to the screen.
“Teddy wasn’t completely alone,” Petrina said, “Records and personal accounts mention two children who remained close to him.”
Alice’s heart began to race.
“A six-year-old girl named Alice Bell,” Petrina said, “and a nine-year-old boy named Peter Zaitz.”
Alice let out a broken sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“We…we have the same name,” she whispered aloud, stunned, “And I was six when I first saw Teddy.”
Her hands trembled.
“The three children were inseparable,” Petrina went on, “They shared books, quiet conversations, and small acts of comfort when no one was watching.”
The video cut to a darker still image.
“There was also one adult who tried to protect them,” Petrina said, “A man named Todd Joz, the boyfriend of headmistress Kathy Pippin.”
Alice’s pulse thundered in her ears.
“Todd Joz was known to intervene when punishments went too far. Former staff claimed he was especially protective of Teddy.”
Alice’s thoughts snapped instantly to Mr. Joz: To his kindness, his unreadable smile, the photos.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
“According to Todd Joz’s great-great-great-grandson, Scott Joz,” she said, “whom I recently interviewed, Todd was a photographer.”
Alice’s breath caught at the name.
“He took photographs of the children for the local newspaper,” Petrina continued, “hoping the images would help them get adopted. He believed that if people could see the children—really see them—they might care.”
The screen showed one of the old photos Alice had already seen: children standing stiffly, eyes wary, but clean and carefully posed.
“Scott Joz told me that Todd fell out of love with Kathy Pippin the moment he witnessed her cruelty,” Petrina said, “but he didn’t leave.”
Alice frowned, hugging the red sketchpad close for a moment.
“He stayed,” Petrina went on, “because he was afraid of what would happen to the children if he wasn’t there.”
There was a soft pause.
“When Kathy wasn’t watching, Todd taught the children how to draw. He gave them pencils and paper—a way to escape into their minds,” Petrina said, her voice softened, “And he secretly brought food to Teddy; bread, fruit, anything he could hide.”
Alice’s vision blurred completely now.
“He knew Teddy was being starved,” Petrina said quietly, “And he did what he could to keep the boy alive.”
Alice pressed her hand to her chest, tears dripping onto her sleeve. “He tried,” she whispered, “He really tried.”
“On December 24, 1952,” Petrina said, almost whispering, “Kathy’s obsession with Teddy’s sleeplessness turned fatal.”
Alice clapped a hand over her mouth as a sob slipped free. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t pause the video. She couldn’t. She owed him that much.
“The headmistress bought a bottle of Miltown tablets,” Petrina said sadly, “Strong sedatives by the standards of the time. She covered the bottle in Christmas paper and told Teddy it was a gift.”
There was another deliberate pause.
“She told him he could finally celebrate Christmas and his birthday.”
Alice’s breath hitched.
“She said the early present would help him sleep.”
“Teddy was happy,” Petrina said softly, “Happy to receive a gift, happy to believe that, for once, she was helping him.”
A quiet pause followed.
“After years of punishment, hunger, and being told he was wrong simply for being unable to sleep, Teddy trusted her.”
Alice squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“He thought,” Petrina continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “that someone had finally seen him.”
Alice let out a broken sound and curled forward in her chair, hugging herself. The idea of Teddy being happy—of trusting her, of believing he was finally allowed to celebrate hurt worse than anything else she’d heard so far.
“You thought she was helping you,” Alice whispered, her voice trembling, “You were just a little boy.”
Petrina’s voice remained steady, but it softened around the edges.
“Kathy then told him to take eight pills that night,” she said, “It was an unusually large amount, even by the standards of the 1950s.”
Alice’s hands trembled in her lap.
“It may have seemed like a lot,” Petrina continued, “but Teddy was just a child. He didn’t know. He trusted the adult standing in front of him. He trusted that this was what you did when someone finally tried to help. He swallowed them because he was told to; He wanted to be good, and he wanted to finally sleep all night.”
Alice shook her head slowly, tears blurring the screen. “Oh, Teddy…”
“Kathy Pippin left him alone afterward,” Petrina said, her tone cooling, “Records indicate there was no attempt to monitor him. No attempt to help when it became clear something was wrong.”
Petrina’s voice lowered even further.
“The effects didn’t happen all at once,” she said. “At first, Teddy would have felt heavy. He became dizzy, everything growing slower around him.”
Alice hugged herself tightly.
“The sedatives dulled his body before they dulled his fear,” Petrina continued, “His breathing became shallow. His muscles stopped responding the way they should have. He likely grew confused, not understanding why sleep felt different this time. He didn’t cry out. There is no record of him calling for help.”
Alice squeezed her eyes shut.
“The pills overwhelmed his small body,” Petrina said softly, “His heart slowed. His breathing weakened, and sometime during the night of December 24th, 1952…Teddy Snug died alone in his bed.”
Silence lingered for a moment.
“No doctor was called in time,” Petrina added, “No ambulance. No attempt at rescue.”
Alice’s chest felt like it was caving in. “You just wanted to sleep,” she whispered, “That’s all you wanted.”
Petrina’s face returned to the screen. “Teddy was only seven years old.”
Petrina took a slow breath before continuing.
“It was Christmas morning when Teddy was found,” she said quietly.
Alice’s throat tightened.
“Six-year-old Alice Bell and nine-year-old Peter Zaitz were the ones who discovered him. They had gone looking for Teddy, excited in the way only children are on Christmas Day.”
Alice’s hands curled into her sleeves.
“They found him still in his bed. The room was quiet. Too quiet.”
There was yet another pause: Respectful and heavy.
The screen shifted to a faded photograph of the building’s entrance.
“What happened next was never meant to leave those walls,” Petrina said, “According to family accounts, Kathy Pippin confessed to Todd.”
Anger burned within Alice.
Petrina’s voice hardened just slightly. “She told him she had given Teddy the pills. She said she killed him because he ‘wouldn’t sleep.’ She begged Todd not to tell anyone.”
Alice shook her head in disbelief, tears slipping down her face. “How could she—”
“But Todd didn’t protect her,” Petrina said, “He protected the truth.”
Alice felt a strange, fierce relief cut through her grief.
“He went to the police,” Petrina continued, “He told them everything.”
Petrina exhaled softly before continuing.
“Kathy Pippin was arrested,” she said. “This time, the truth didn’t disappear. She was tried and convicted, and sentenced to life in prison.”
Alice felt a small, fragile sense of relief crack through the grief.
“St. Peter’s Sanctuary shut down soon after,” Petrina went on, “The building was abandoned, and the children were adopted or moved to another orphanage. Decades later, in 1997, the building reopened—not as a place of punishment, but as a caring group home for adults with disabilities.”
Alice thought of St. Peter’s Sanctuary now—the happiness and comfort. The residents were never mistreated.
“Todd Joz got justice for Teddy,” Petrina said quietly, “But according to his family, he never forgave himself. He carried guilt for the rest of his life—for not doing more, for not getting the children out sooner.”
Alice’s chest tightened. “You did what you could,” she whispered, “You stayed.”
Petrina’s tone softened one last time. “Alice Bell and Peter Zaitz were adopted two days after Teddy’s death. Despite being given new lives, both of their lives were tragic, but that’s another story.”
The words landed gently—and painfully.
Petrina looked straight into the camera, her expression solemn.
“Let’s hope Teddy found peace,” she said softly, “and the happiness he was denied in life.”
She paused.
“This Christmas, I invite you to wish Teddy Snug a Merry Christmas and a happy birthday. Let’s show him that he was never forgotten.”
The screen darkened slightly.
“If you found this story important, please click Like and subscribe to Vintage Crimes. It helps these forgotten stories be heard.”
Her voice lowered.
“And until next time…remember: the sins of the past can be buried,” she said, eyes steady, “but they always have a way of coming to light—if you look closely enough.”
The screen faded to black.
The video came to an end. Alice bowed her head, tears dripping silently onto the desk, darkening the wood beneath her. She shook, but she made no sound. The room felt too still, too aware.
“Teddy never had a childhood,” she thought, “No birthday candles. No Christmas mornings, just rules, hunger, and exhaustion.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, not sure if Teddy could hear her or not.
Her grief slowly tangled with something else: confusion and questions that wouldn’t settle.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She lifted her head, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Teddy had always been gentle and playful. He joked. He teased. He protected her. He never spoke about pain unless she asked, and even then, he’d brushed it aside.
Was he afraid she’d look at him differently?
Or worse…
“Are you…stuck,” she murmured, “Are you a lost spirit? Just wandering?”
The thought made her chest tighten. She didn’t like imagining Teddy alone—waiting, unfinished, trapped between moments the way he’d been trapped between nights without sleep.
She glanced toward the doorway, half-expecting to see him there.
The air did feel cooler.
Alice straightened slowly, resolve flickering beneath the sadness. “If you didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to scare me,” she said softly, “I get it.”
She inhaled, steadying herself.
“But if you stayed because you’re waiting for something,” she added, her voice firming, “then I’ll help you. I promise.”
The room remained quiet.
For the first time since the video ended, the silence didn’t feel empty; it felt like it was listening.
Then Alice scrolled down and opened the source materials linked in the video’s description.
She hadn’t expected to doubt Petrina, not really, but she needed to see it for herself. She needed proof that Teddy’s story wasn’t just a haunting narrative wrapped in soft music and shadows.
Newspaper clippings loaded first.
CHILD DIES AT ST. PETER’S SANCTUARY
HEADMISTRESS ARRESTEDAlice gasped.
The dates and names matched. Teddy Snug, Kathy Pippin, December 1952.
She clicked through court records next, scanning typed pages, yellowed by time, the language cold and official with words like overdose, neglect, and premeditation. There was no mention of Christmas or of a frightened little boy believing he was finally being helped.
Photos followed. Black-and-white images of the orphanage gates, rows of children posed stiffly for the camera. And then—here he was: Teddy. Younger than she remembered somehow, but unmistakably him. The same eyes. The same solemn expression. The same feeling that tugged at her chest.
“It’s all real,” she whispered.
Her hands shook as she clicked Print.
The printer hummed to life, spitting out page after page—articles, photographs, scanned documents. She gathered them carefully, as if they were fragile, like they might crumble if she held them too tightly. When the printer finally stopped, Alice sat back down, staring at the small stack in front of her.
Alice pressed the papers flat on her desk and swallowed hard. Whatever Teddy was…ghost, lost soul, or something else…his story mattered.
Now, she carried it too.
Alice was going to tell Teddy that she knew the truth. He usually came at seven. The clock on her wall seemed to crawl, each minute stretching thin and heavy. To keep from staring at it, she forced herself to stay busy.
She ate dinner, though she barely tasted it. Every bite felt automatic, like her body was eating without asking her permission. Afterward, she made tea for her parents, careful not to clink the mugs too loudly as she carried them to their room. They thanked her softly, their voices tired, unaware of the storm sitting in her chest.
Back in her room, she opened her math notebook and studied for her final. Numbers blurred together. She solved problems twice, three times, checking her work more than necessary. Her pencil tapped nervously against the paper whenever her thoughts drifted back to a boy in a suit and bow tie, smiling from an old photograph.
She wrapped a few Christmas gifts next, folding the paper neatly, smoothing the tape until the seams were perfect. Red and green scraps piled up in the trash, bright and cheerful in a way that felt unfair.
Finally, there was nothing left to do.
Alice washed her hands, dried them, and glanced at the clock again.
6:58.
Her heart thudded.
She sat on her bed, the red sketchpad resting beside her, the printed articles stacked neatly on her desk. Everything was ready. Everything she wanted to say pressed against her ribs, aching to be let out.
7:00.
There was a gentle tap at her window.
Alice jumped, her heart leaping into her throat, but a small smile followed almost immediately. She knew that sound.
A moment later, Teddy passed straight through the brick wall as if it weren’t there at all, stepping quietly into her bedroom. His feet didn’t make a sound on the floor. He looked just as he always did—pale, dressed in a white shroud, calm, familiar—but tonight there was something fragile about him, like a memory that knew it was being remembered.
“You’re right on time,” Alice said softly.
Teddy smiled back and asked, “Did those boys leave you alone?”
She nodded.
“Good,” he said, suddenly sounding slightly nervous, “Alice, we need to talk…I have to tell you something, and I hope—”
“What is it, Teddy Snug?” She didn’t know why she said his full name off the bat.
For the first time since she had ever known him, he froze. The air in the room seemed to be still, like even the dust was holding its breath.
“How do you know my last name?”
Alice swallowed. Her hands trembled in her lap, but she didn’t look away. “I watched a video,” she said, her voice breaking, “about St. Peter’s Sanctuary…About the boy who—About you.”
Teddy turned his gaze toward the floor. The faint glow around him dimmed, just a little.
He softly asked, “Did your art teacher, Scott Joz, tell you about the video?”
“Yes,” she said, “he did.”
“Todd Joz told me he would,” Teddy said with a small smile, “sooner or later.”
This comment confused Alice, but she had more questions, so she let it go for a moment.
Tears welled in her eyes again. “Why didn’t you tell me? You said you got hurt. Teddy…you were murdered.”
He flinched, not from the word itself, but from the weight of it finally being spoken aloud.
“I was afraid if you knew,” he admitted, tears finally coming down his pale cheek, “you’d be scared of me.”
Alice shook her head fiercely, tears slipping down her face. “Never! I care about you. You’re my best friend—my little brother. I don’t care if you’re a ghost. I’ll even help you to cross over.”
Teddy looked puzzled. “Cross over?”
Alice nodded, wiping at her eyes. “If that’s what you want. If you’re stuck…if you’re tired…I’ll—”
“That’s what I have to tell you,” he said tearfully, “I know you’ve been thinking I’m a ghost. I’ve seen your drawings…but I’m not.”
Alice blinked. “You’re…not?”
Teddy shook his head slowly.
Her heart thudded. “What do you mean?”
To show her, he arched his back, and two large, feathered wings unfurled from him. They emerged slowly, as if the room itself was making space—ivory feathers catching the lamplight, soft and luminous, brushing the walls without a sound. They were far too big for his small frame, folding awkwardly behind him like something he hadn’t quite learned how to carry.
Alice was in shock and awe. “You’re an angel?”
He nodded, worry flickering across his face.
Perplexed, she asked, “Why did you hide that from me? You know that I love angels.”
Teddy hesitated, his wings folding closer to his back. “I tried to visit someone with my wings out once,” he said softly.
Alice tilted her head. “Who?”
“Alice Bell,” he said, “after she got adopted.”
“You found her?”
He nodded. “I was happy for her. She had a real bed. A family. I thought…maybe she’d be glad to see me too.”
His voice wobbled. “But her new family talked about angels like they were punishments. Like if you were bad, God would send one to watch you or hurt you.”
Alice’s heart shattered for him.
“So when she saw me,” Teddy continued, staring at the floor, “she started crying. She thought I was a vengeful angel. She kept saying she was sorry and begging me to go away.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks again. “I tried to tell her it was just me—Teddy—Her friend—but she covered her ears.”
He swallowed. “She told me to leave. And…I did. When I met you, I hid my wings, so you wouldn’t be afraid.”
“That wasn’t your fault, and I wouldn’t have been scared.”
Teddy started crying, and Alice hugged him tightly.
He looked up at her then, eyes searching. “Are you going to tell me to go away?”
Alice shook her head, voice thick. “I never will.”
His wings folded around them both, feathers brushing her shoulders like a blanket.
“I waited a long time to hear that,” Teddy whispered.
Alice closed her eyes and held him closer. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”
The room was still again. Teddy’s wings had folded back in, feathers resting softly behind him. His eyes were red from crying.
Alice hesitated, then reached for something from her desk.
“There’s… something I need to show you,” she said gently.
Teddy looked up. “What is it?”
She pulled out a printed photograph, the paper slightly curled at the edges. “I found this when I was going through the records. I wasn’t sure if I should show you, but…” She took a breath. “I think you deserve to see it.”
She held the photo out.
Teddy stared at it, not touching it at first.
He asked quietly, though something in his voice suggested he already knew, “Who is that?”
“That’s your mom,” Alice said, “Wendi Snug.”
Wendi Snug looked like a black-haired, drained, and glassy-eyed Marilyn Monroe.
Slowly, carefully, Teddy stepped closer and took the photo between his fingers, like it might vanish if he held it too tightly. He studied it for a long moment.
“That’s really her?”
Alice nodded. “It’s the only one I could find.”
He didn’t cry this time. His face stayed very still.
“She looks…tired,” Teddy said at last.
“I think she was,” Alice replied softly.
He traced the edge of the photo with his thumb. “I don’t remember her face,” he admitted, “I don’t remember her voice either, but it’s nice to know she was real.”
Alice swallowed. “I’m sorry she didn’t stay.”
Teddy shook his head slowly. “I forgave her a long time ago,” he said, “I don’t think she knew how to love me, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t worth loving.”
Alice felt her chest ache. “You were. You are.”
He looked up at her then, holding the photo close to his chest. “Thank you for showing me,” he said, “I think…I think that’s enough.”
Alice smiled. “You can keep it. If you want.”
Teddy nodded. “I’d like that.”
He tucked the photograph carefully into the folds of his shroud, right over his heart.
For the first time, Alice saw something settle inside him—like a question that had finally been answered.
Alice asked softly, “So… how can an angel be on Earth with me?”
Teddy took a small breath, like he’d been holding it in for years. “Well, I’m just visiting. Heaven is my home,” he said gently, “That’s where I belong. I see Mr. Todd and Peter there.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “We talk, play, and laugh.”
Her heart leaped. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”
“I’m not,” Teddy said, “Heaven’s good. It feels safe. No one yells. No one gets hurt.”
He paused, then looked at her. “That’s where I live.”
Curiosity made Alice ask, “What happened to Alice Bell?”
“She’s alive,” Teddy replied happily, “She got to grow up.”
Alice’s heart twisted. “If Heaven is your home, then why do you keep coming back?”
“It’s God’s gift,” he said, his voice dropped, careful and honest, “because I never got Christmas or my birthday. They were always taken away from me.”
Her eyes burned again, and she looked down, pressing her lips together.
“So God told me,” Teddy continued, “that I could visit the land of the living every December.”
A shy, almost embarrassed smile touched his face. “He said I deserved at least that much. One month where I could walk around, talk to people…and be seen.”
Alice went still. “That’s why I see you during Christmastime.”
He nodded. “That’s when I’m allowed to stay here. When the world feels quieter and kinder; When lights glow in the dark, and people remember how to be gentle.”
His gaze settled on her. “That’s when I found you.”
She let out a shaky laugh through her tears. “I always thought it was a coincidence.”
“It wasn’t,” Teddy said, “December is the only time I get to stay.”
Alice pulled him into another hug, careful and fierce all at once. “Then I’m really glad I met you,” she whispered.
Teddy’s wings curved around them, feathers drifting like slow-falling snow.
“Me too.”
Alice never stopped seeing Teddy, and she never stopped leaving gifts out for him. She never stopped caring. When Alice grew up and had children of her own, she told them that Teddy was their guardian angel. Every December, as a family, they made gifts for Jesus and Teddy. The kids were more excited for Teddy than for Santa Claus. Alice even wrote and illustrated a book series called ‘Teddy, The Christmas Angel.’ He was always seen; he was always loved. Alice’s heart felt happy, knowing that year after year, generation after generation, the story of Teddy would be told—and that he would never be alone again.
©Lena Holdman, all rights reserved, 2025
Author Notes: I worked hard on this one! I'm proud of it. Being seen for who you truly are and being fearlessly unique are the main themes in this, which are important to me. I absolutely love the character of Teddy. Adam is one of my first original characters, whom I love too. Adam is in my book that I'm writing, and he's more magical in my book, but for this story, I just made him my ideal husband, a background character. I'm sure he doesn't mind, lol. Both Leanna and Alice are supposed to represent me (my adult side and my child side). Also, I'm dedicating this story to my cousin, Tammy, one of my biggest fans. 🤗💖😘 I love you 3000, Cuz! I hope y'all enjoy the story. Merry Christmas!
Smooches and think Tink!
My Goals for 2026 Work on finishing my novel (finally tell the world my original character, Adam's story) Read more than 5 books C...
