With Lights Upon the Pines - Penter Painter's Holiday Haunts

As Christmas day draws ever closer the employees of Aspen Paint & Supply, the oldest paint and hardware store in Arnold's Landing, decide to get into the decorating spirit.

This story is written to be part of

Cole Noble

’s collaborative writing and worldbuilding project, Penter Painter’s Holiday Haunts.

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As a rule, he didn’t believe ghost stories or the spooky gossip of small towns.

As a rule, he didn’t believe in the supernatural at all.

David was a pragmatist at the end of the day. Sure he liked to fantasize about all those weird and spooky things. It’d be a bit odd for a nerd who spent his youth playing Dungeons & Dragons and Warhammer and diving headlong into fantastical tales of other worlds not to enjoy the stories that came from that sort of gossip. But just because he enjoyed the stories didn’t mean he believed them. At the end of the day, all the rumors were just flights of fancy brought about by grief or superstition or overactive imaginations.

“Did you hear about old man Seville’s treasure room?” Rob asked mockingly.

Rob McHenry was a young man who hadn’t even reached his twenties, a local who’d taken on part time work with Penter Painters, the only local paint contractor of any note in the small town. David had seen the kid around town, and he couldn’t honestly say he liked the McHenry boy very much. He was arrogant, jaded, and often came off as rude.

Just like me when I was his age, the older man thought.

“No, I haven’t,” David mumbled as he scanned through the basket full of sundries sitting in front of Rob and his supervisor for the day, the other David, David Craddock. Like Rob, Craddock was considerably younger than the 45 year old manager of Aspen Paint & Supply. Unlike Rob, Craddock was a college dropout of nearly thirty that David actually kind of liked having around, even if he was a bit sour sometimes. He couldn’t blame his younger name sharer, though. Much like himself, David Craddock had tried to make life in a major city work for him and it just didn’t happen. Now he’d returned home to suffer the indignity of moving back in with his folks while he worked to get back on his feet.

That was one of the bigger differences between them. For David, Arnold’s Landing wasn’t his home. That was to say, he wasn’t a local. He originally lived on the West Coast, moving from a Southern California suburb in his late thirties to find someplace quieter and more affordable for he and his wife. That was eight years ago, and he always felt that he lucked out in a big way when he found out that the historic town of Arnold’s Landing did, in fact, have a paint store and that the owner, Phillip Arneson, was in need of a manager to help him ease his day to day workload.

The old man jumped at the chance to hire David when he called. The old man was impressed by his credentials, particularly the fact that he’d successfully managed to turn two failing stores into pretty successful local hotspots in areas with big name competition. He was even happier when he discovered David’s talent for creating happy customers who wanted to come back. As a small business, Aspen wasn’t the cheapest place to buy in the area. Sherwin Williams and Home Depot both had a presence in nearby Salem, but the staff at Aspen - David included - were all quite good at keeping their customers happy through knowledge and good service.

Well, usually. The middle-aged manager found his patience wearing thin the more he looked at Rob’s smirk and listened to him mock his would-be handler. One of these days, someone’s going to smack the shit out of this kid, David silently said, and I hope I’m there to see it.

David shot his younger counterpart a look that said, “How do you deal with him?” From the look in Craddock’s eyes, he surmised that the answer was, not well.

“Right. So that’s four rolls of twelve inch masking paper, two rolls of inch-and-a-half blue painter’s tape, six two inch scrapers, two four inch scrapers, a five gallon bucket of Royale Prime interior satin finish in Sherwin Williams’ Pure White SW7005, and two extension cords. Total’s $548.66. We charging this to the account?”

Craddock nodded, then gave David the job number for the invoice. It was a well practiced routine for the middle-aged manager, one he’d been handling for about fifteen years now. Once everything was paid up, he boxed up their sundries and sent the two men on his way before waving down the next in line, Chuck Penter himself.

“Morning David,” Chuck said warmly as he sipped on a steaming cup of coffee.

“Hey, Chuck,” David replied with a polite smile. “Keeping busy this season.”

“Yeah, the decision to start doing the decorating thing’s been a big help,” Chuck said. “Speaking of, James should be stopping by soon to get you guys all set up, too. Ought to make Phil really happy having the lights up again. By the way, there any specifics you want me to pass along to him before he gets here?”

“Nah, I can let him know myself. I’m here all day anyway,” David said.

Chuck grinned and nodded. “Well, as long as you’re sure. So! Got my order ready?”

“I got it right here.”

David stacked up the paint buckets and rolled them out to Chuck’s van. Once they were loaded up, both men clapped their hands in a firm handshake and wished each other a Merry Christmas before Chuck headed back to his shop. David, meanwhile, turned to look at the Aspen building with hands placed firmly inside his deep coat pockets.

The shop was a tall, narrow, triangular building with a steep sloping roof that reached all the way to the ground. Its front facing was floor to ceiling windows that allowed him to peer into each of the building’s two stories, both of which housed a myriad of paint and hardware supplies. White smoke curled from a skinny tin chimney with a conical cap on the building’s left side, one of the hints that it used to be a house, and the Aspen Paint & Supply sign hung above the door, printed in white script against a bright red backing.

That sign was the single most striking splash of color on this very gray, very cold day. Thick clouds had gathered overhead across the morning and David sighed when he started to see fluttering flakes of white drift down from them. His breath immediately fogged in the cold air.

“Great,” he breathed as he watched the snow slowly begin to gather on the roof. They wouldn’t be selling anymore paint today, that was for sure.

“Damned weather reports always getting it wrong,” came the coarse voice of an older man from around the left side of the shop.

David headed in that direction, anxious to move again now that the cold was starting to bite at his toes and fingers. Admittedly, he kind of liked the cold. He’d lived in the mountains as a kid and developed a taste for cool weather and winter snows in that time. But those were inland Southern California mountains, and as such their snowy days tended to lack the biting chill that came from the humidity that constantly lingered in Arnold’s Landing thanks to it bordering the Atlantic.

Before he even reached the corner, David already saw who the voice belonged to. Phillip Arneson, the owner of Aspen Paint & Supply. Phillip was an older man who was nearing elderly status. He was dark eyed, tall, skinny, and would look gaunt if not for his full and bushy gray beard. A long aquiline nose extended out above that beard and would’ve made him look like an old wizard if he’d been wearing a robe instead of his padded windbreaker, jeans, and work boots. His hair was even less colorful. White as the snow that fell around them, he kept it cropped short, combed back, and liked to pomade it so thickly that it almost looked like a helmet fitted to his head. It was a far cry from the length of thick chocolate brown hair David always kept tied in a low ponytail.

Phillip cradled a white cardboard box in his arms, the kind that was supposed to be used for filing, though David had never known anyone other than his late father to actually use them for that purpose. Everyone he knew just used them to hold random junk, and Phillip was no different. In this case, the box held about half a dozen strings of Christmas lights.

“David! There you are!” Phillip beamed as he saw David approaching. “Good timing, you can help me put these up!”

David looked down at the box and cocked an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Phillip chastised. “Where’s your Christmas spirit, son?”

Admittedly, David didn’t have much of it. He loved the holiday a lot more as a kid, but since he and his wife suffered from fertility complications, he hadn’t been able to share in that with any children of his own. Still, he wasn’t about to tell Phillip that. The old man adored the Christmas season and he didn’t have the heart to Scrooge it all up for him. Besides, that wasn’t really the reason why he gave his boss that look.

“Actually, it’s more the fact that I already worked out a deal with Chuck to send someone to help us decorate,” he said. “Told me about ten minutes ago that James is already on his way.”

“Well that’s real good of you to have done, but ‘on his way’ isn’t the same as ‘here now,’ and we need to get these up before the snow gets to be too much,” Phillip countered. “Come on, I’ve got the ladders around back.”

David probably should’ve protested. Hell, two or three years ago, he would’ve. He’d learned better since then, though. Once Phillip set his mind to seeing something done, he was going to see it done. So he followed the old man around to the back, tucked the two A-frame ladders under his arms, then followed him around to the front. They set the ladders up on the walkway in front of the building, though two of the feet on Phillips’ were standing in the dirt just past where the walkway ended.

“Phil, you sure about setting that ladder there?” David asked. The ground in that spot wasn’t terribly uneven, but there was slight slant to it that made the ladder wobble a little.

“It’ll be fine,” Phillip said dismissively as he unwound a bundle of lights and started hooking them to the roof about three inches above the ground.

David followed suit on the right side of the building. Christmas decorating was an annual tradition at Aspen Paint & Supply, as was decorating for every other American holiday. Pumpkins and fake spider webs and skeletons for Halloween. Colorful fall tinsel and wreaths for Thanksgiving. Flags and eagles for Independence Day. If Phillip could decorate for it, then he would, and in anticipation of that he made sure to set up a series of nails half inserted along the roof years ago, all to make the process a little easier each time.

Up the roof they went, and up the tall ladders as well. After just a couple minutes they were already to the halfway point, where the second story started. Thanks to the height of the original house, the second story was higher than normal, starting at twelve feet instead of the usual eight or ten. Phillip was fully focused on looping his length of lights around the nail for that spot on the left side of the house, but as he worked David heard a quiet metallic chime.

“Oh, damn it,” Phillip grumbled.

David looked away from his lights at him. He was leaning chest down against the ladder and had his string of lights hanging loose in his left hand. At the same time, he fiddled with something else in his right hand, though David couldn’t see what it was.

“Need some help, Phil?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine. Just one of these damn nails fell out,” Phillip said as he turned sideways on the ladder.

“Hold on, Phil, your ladder’s wobbling a little. Let me just-”

“Don’t you worry about me,” Phillip insisted as he started to lean out and reach for the roof. “I’ve done this plenty of times before!”

But Phillip never finished that last sentence. Thanks to the wobble of the ladder and the dampness from the snow, the old owner of Aspen Paint & Supply slipped and lost his footing. With a sudden yelp he fell from the ladder.

“Phil!” David shouted, already starting to climb down to check on the groaning older man. Unfortunately, he moved a bit too fast himself.

He didn’t know how hard he fell or how long he’d been out, just that when he opened his eyes he had a throbbing headache and the red haired, blue-eyed visage of James was filling his vision.

“Christ, David,” James huffed. “You had me scared for a second there.”

David groaned and looked around groggily. He saw the A-frame ladder standing above him, the string of lights half hung along the roof, and felt the icy dirt under his fingers as he shifted and sat up. “James?” he groaned. “Shit, feel like someone just cracked me in the head with a two-by-four.”

“I’ll bet. Looks like you fell off your ladder,” James said, looking up at the half hung lights. “What the hell were you thinking? Didn’t Chuck tell you I was coming?”

“Yeah, but Phil…” David blinked, then his eyes went wide. “Oh shit, Phil! Is he alright?”

Much to David’s surprise, James looked genuinely taken aback. “What’re you talking about?” the red-head asked.

“I was helping him put up the lights,” David said frantically, scrambling and stumbling as he tried to get back to his feet. “He fell of his ladder and then I slipped off mine when I was trying to get to him.”

“Jesus, David,” James said, the nerves in his voice plain to hear. “How hard did you hit your head?”

David looked up at James incredulously. “James if this is your idea of a joke it’s not fucking funny,” he hissed, slipping once more in the dirt and landing butt first with a grunt. He decided to stop and catch his breath before trying again, but continued. “I was helping Phil put up the lights. He wanted them done before the snow got too bad, but he must’ve knocked one of the nails out from the roof or something because he was fiddling with it when he slipped and fell into the dirt.”

James looked genuinely freaked out, wearing an expression that mixed worry and confusion. “David, you’re the one who fell in the dirt. You’re the only one even out here, other’n me.”

What? David stared up at him in pure disbelief, but then he looked to his right, where the concrete walkway went around to the back of the building. Where his A-frame and string of lights should’ve been. Where neither of those things was.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” James said. Hoisting David up to his feet, James guided him back into the warm shop. The painter lead him back into his office and helped him ease into his desk chair. “Just sit tight for a bit, alright? I’ll pour you some coffee so we can help warm you up, then I’ll call up Dr. Kelley, see if she can’t swing by to check up on you.”

David nodded slightly. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, James,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a pained groan that turned into a long and tired sigh.

James stepped out of the office then. David could hear him pouring the coffee as he stared at the back wall of the office. All the typical stuff you’d expect of a small business were there - local awards, business licenses, OSHA safety postings, monthly schedules, and so on. But nestled among those were two things that stood out to David. The first was a piece of paperwork printed on cream colored legal paper with a blue border and an embossed golden seal representing the State of Massachusetts. It was a Transfer of Ownership form, listing himself as the current owner and operator of Aspen Paint & Supply in Arnold’s Landing, MA.

The second, posted above that, was a framed black and white picture of a pleasant looking bearded man with an aquiline nose, dark eyes, and hair pomaded so thickly that it looked like a helmet. Beneath it was a placard:

In Loving Memory of
Phillip Richmond Arneson
12/14/1951-2/19/2023
May His Laughter Bring Joy to the Angels

As a rule, David didn’t believe ghost stories or the spooky gossip of small towns.

As a rule, he didn’t believe in the supernatural at all.

All things had an explanation, he always thought, even if he didn’t personally know what they were. But for the life of him, he’d never been able to explain what he experienced before James found him sprawled in the dirt in front of Aspen Paint & Supply on December 14th, 2023…

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