Welcome, welcome, to our latest issue of Defenestration, typically known as the “December Issue” but also known as the “Winter Issue” or “Defenestationmas.” The weather outside is changing, and then changing again, and then changing back into the thing it had originally changed into, confusing everyone and making their noses drip like cartoon faucets. But never fear! Defenestration is here to help keep the world company in these dark and sometime chilly times.

It had not been a good Christmas Eve for the Nyhus family. It started off all wrong when Eric arrived late donning a new girl on his arm, a woman the family had no idea even existed, let alone would be joining them for the evening. Her name was Eden, and while friendly enough, she wore so many fake gold bangles on her arm that it caused a racket while taking communion at First Lutheran that night.

Mr. Stevenson must have had a first name, but, if so, his teachers didn’t know it. “Is that so, Stevenson?” they inquired. “Speak up, Stevenson, so that the whole class can hear you.” Mr. Stevenson’s parents probably knew his first name at one point, but may have forgotten. His friends didn’t know it, for the same reason that unicorns don’t know the capital of North Dakota.

We sat, seven of us, in a room with surgical white walls, and for the first time since arriving I felt discomfited. Being an addict is one thing, but being addicted to… to the thing that each of us present were addicted to, well, it was just plain embarrassing. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all were preferable addictions. The sooner this madness was over with, the better.

“Hi, may I use the restroom?”

Of course. First it’s Can I use the restroom? Blink, blink, blink! then boom, toilet paper mâché all over the goddamn floor because gas station bathroom floors are gross and can’t be stepped on. Pee all over the seats. Paper towel thrown around the room like she had herself a good ol’ paper towel ball fight.

I told her, “I like weird stuff,” and she didn’t immediately leave.

In fact she said, “Mmmmmm,” because her mouth was full of calamari rigatoni, and then, “I like weird stuff, too.”

I leaned toward her and kept my voice down so the other diners wouldn’t hear. “Yeah? Like what?”

Fred opened his apartment door at Shady Maples Retirement Home to a crime scene; someone had fiddled with his knick knacks. All residents at Shady Maples were given one small end table and a smidgen of wall space to display their memories. The halls were filled with old ceramic Christmas villages, poodles made from plaster, and all the precious moments of life carved out of stone. The scent of moth balls and musty yellowed newspaper articles filled the stale morning air.

Jason was a charming and attractive lawyer working at one of the biggest firms in America. He was almost everything a man could wish to be, except for one thing, he was dead. Rick, meanwhile, was a cleaner who was plump, socially awkward and who had just discovered a corpse in the kitchen while mopping the third floor of the office.

The sheet peels off. The spirit dies,
Yet sight persists as through a haze.
In death, we’re left with just our eyes.

A drafty basement. Bitter coffee. 12 steps.
Attendees join four-fingered hands
and bow blue, green, orange, yellow heads,
in surrender and serenity.