Oakhaven in December - By Elandri Landman

Written By: Elandri Landman

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the evocative short story "Oakhaven in December," Elandri Landman invites readers into a world of introspection and poignant reflection. As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this narrative weaves a tale of memory and redemption, exploring the quiet moments of realization that shape a lifetime. Set against the backdrop of an execution chamber, the story delves into the complexities of familial bonds, personal regrets, and the longing for escape. Landman's work stands as a testament to the power of storytelling in capturing the human condition.

About the Work

"Oakhaven in December" is a masterful exploration of remembrance and reconciliation. Elandri Landman crafts a narrative that balances on the edge of past and present, illuminating the protagonist's inner conflict and ultimate acceptance. The story's atmospheric imagery and meticulous detail draw readers into Arthur Pendelton's world, where the haunting echoes of past actions meet the quiet resolve of finality. The piece resonates with themes of familial love and personal redemption, leaving a lasting impression of hope and closure.

Oakhaven in December

Original Submission by Elandri Landman

Oakhaven in December

The execution chamber was kept at sixty-eight degrees, but Arthur Pendelton could still feel the phantom draft of the Oakhaven basement clicking against his ankles.

The Warden’s shoes squeaked on the pristine linoleum. It was a precise, administrative sound—a rhythmic skitter-thump that reminded Arthur of the rubber belt on an old basement washing machine. He lay flat on his back, the leather straps holding his wrists securely against the padded gurney. Above him, a fluorescent tube flickered with a quiet, high-pitched hum, like an insect trapped in glass.

"Straps too tight, Pendelton?" the guard asked. His voice was entirely devoid of malice, completely procedural. Kafka would have appreciated him.

"No, sir," Arthur said softly. "They’re fine. Thank you."

A minute and forty seconds remained.

Arthur closed his eyes, and the sterile white room dissolved into the amber glow of a string of multi-coloured Christmas lights.

He remembered the row of windows on the third floor of Oakhaven. On December twenty-fourth, the tenants always put up their trees. From the courtyard, you could look up and see a dozen different lives illuminated in gold, red, and green. Behind one window, the Miller family was wrapping gifts; behind another, old Mr. Henderson was listening to the radio. And down in the basement, beneath the warm, humming apartments, Arthur had sat on the edge of his cot with a half-empty bottle of Popov vodka, watching the second hand on his alarm clock tick toward eight PM.

Eight PM was when the phone would ring. Leo would say Merry Christmas, Dad. Arthur would ask about the band’s weekend gig at the local youth centre. Leo would give brief, self-conscious answers, his voice tight with the uncomfortable obligation his mother had placed on him.

Yet, every time Arthur closed his eyes, he saw Leo’s face—the exact mirror image of his own youth. The same sharp jaw, the same heavy-lidded hazel eyes, and the same quiet habit of looking at the floor when the room got too loud. Leo had taken after his mother in his love for music and his wild, restless thirst for adventure, but Arthur knew the truth. His boy hadn't dodged the genetic tax. Beneath the electric guitar and the bright, fun-loving exterior, Leo carried the same dark, quiet demons—the same instinct to withdraw when the world pressed in too hard.

Arthur knew why Leo wanted that Thailand tour so badly. It wasn't just a teenage fantasy; it was an escape route. His ex-wife was already pressuring Leo to apply to a prestigious conservatory—a life she couldn't afford, pushing him toward a pedigree she had always wanted for herself. Leo was running away from her expectations the only way he knew how: by putting an ocean between them. Like father, like son, Arthur thought quietly. Both of us fleeing the rooms where we feel trapped.

Arthur had wanted so badly to give his son that exit ramp. Not with advice—Arthur had no right to give any—but with a clean escape that belonged entirely to Leo.

"Commencing saline flush," a voice announced from behind the two-way glass.

A sudden, sharp coldness bloomed in the crook of Arthur’s left elbow. It felt remarkably like the draft that used to blow under the heavy steel doors of the Oakhaven storage bay.

He could smell it now—not the isopropyl alcohol on his skin, but the damp, heavy scent of pine needles, wet wool, and the faint, sweet tang of crushed peppermint. He was back in the corridor by the tenant lockers. He remembered the yellow beam of the plow’s halogen headlight cutting through the dim exhaust fumes. He remembered the sudden, sickening thuds as the iron blade struck the storage cage, and the brittle, musical sound of glass shattering as Mrs. Gable’s box of vintage Christmas baubles hit the floor.

She had gone down there to get her little desktop tree. She had gasped his name. Just once. Arthur.

He hadn't answered. He hadn't looked at her face. Overwhelmed by a wave of suffocating, panic-driven cowardice, he had stepped back into the cab, pulled down the heavy steel security shutter, and turned the deadbolt from the outside. He had locked her in the dark, sub-zero garage to buy himself time to think, then walked upstairs to his apartment and sat frozen in the dark for seven hours while the cold did its work.

To the jury, locking that deadbolt was the act of a cold, calculating killer protecting his own skin. To Arthur, it was simply the terrible, logical conclusion of a lifetime spent shutting doors on things he was too weak to face.

"Any final statement?" the Warden asked, holding a small microphone near Arthur’s lips.

Through the thick observation window, Arthur saw Mrs. Gable’s daughter sitting in the front row. Her hands were clenched in her lap. For fifty-eight years, Arthur had spent his life stepping backward, ducking his head, fleeing every room where he was needed.

He turned his head toward the window. He didn't look at the floor. He caught her eyes and held them—offering no excuses, no pleas for mercy, no speech about his alcoholism or his regrets.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said softly. "I should've walked away."

The executioner engaged the primary line. The chemical moved smoothly through the clear tube.

As the heaviness spread up his shoulder, Arthur didn't feel fear. For the first time in his life, he wasn't running.

Behind his eyelids, he saw the worn blue ledger sitting in his nightstand drawer. Fourteen thousand dollars saved dollar by dollar from late-night plumbing calls and winter overtime, labelled in neat blue ink: Leo — Thailand Band Tour.

He hoped Leo would use it. He hoped his son would take the money, play his music under foreign suns, and escape both the conservatory and the shadow they shared in their blood.

Arthur let his head rest back against the leather pillow, finally at peace, as the world faded into a quiet, sun-warmed silence.

END

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious event celebrating literary excellence from around the world. This competition offers writers a platform to showcase their creativity and storytelling prowess across various categories, including poetry, short stories, and essays. It serves as an opportunity for writers like Elandri Landman to share their unique voices and narratives with a global audience, fostering a community of creative expression and appreciation.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Elandri Landman for sharing the compelling short story "Oakhaven in December" with us. Your participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches the tapestry of voices that make this event truly special. We appreciate your contribution and look forward to seeing more of your evocative storytelling in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.