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The Story:
It was only a faint glow in the distance, a single ray of light that peeked around the trees. He wasn’t sure if the darkness around him was more because it was nighttime or more because of his wound, but he assumed the light was his one chance for survival.
Stumbling across the ground, he bounced from tree to tree until he collapsed in the snow. It should feel cold. It should feel wet. But it didn’t. It felt wonderful, even peaceful, so he shut his eyes and embraced a well deserved sleep on his snowy pillow.
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“Hurry and get that table set, my dear. It’ll be any minute now.”
“Yes, Aunt Molly.”
A young girl set many places on a long dinner table. There were already countless covered serving trays lining it.
“George, get the music going.”
“Right away, sugar! Boys!”
Five men began playing bluegrass instruments, taking turns on solos, and they were all masters. The room was filled with people dancing and clapping along.
After a few more minutes, Molly looked at the time on the grandfather clock. She walked over to the door and stood with her hands folded. The music stopped, and everyone stood still, watching the door with smiles on their faces.
There was a knock.
Molly took a deep breath.
“Come in,” she called.
The door lazily opened, revealing a man with a beard and bloody clothes. She gave him all the time he needed to react to what he saw.
“Mom?”
“Hello, Paul,” Molly said.
“How can you be here? Where… I saw this lantern through the trees.”
He pointed to a glowing lantern mounted beside the door.
“But then… Oh! I have a wound! Mother, I need…”
Molly shushed him. She gently lifted up his shirt, showing him that he was unharmed.
“But… How?”
He surveyed the room, recognizing the faces of relatives and friends he had once known but had lost years ago. Uncle George, young Susan, his mother. They were all there.
“Mom, am I…”
“Yes, dear. We all are.”
Several of the children ran around the table, lifting the silver tray covers to reveal every wonderful food imaginable.
“Welcome to the feast, dear.”
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