New Year's Eve 1999: Holidazed, #6

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NEW YEAR’S EVE 1999

Holidazed – Book 6

Copyright © 2022 Gregg Sapp

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ISBN (EPUB Version): 162253557

ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-557-6

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Editor: Robb Grindstaff

Cover Artist: Kabir Shah

Interior Designer: Lane Diamond

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

At the end of this novel of approximately 52,648 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) THE CHRISTMAS DONUT REVOLUTION by Gregg Sapp, one of the earlier installments in this Holidazed series of holiday satires, and; 2) SLADE by Robb Grindstaff, a critically acclaimed satire novel about an unlikely celebrity with a self-help book who becomes a reluctant spiritual guru to the Hollywood elite, spawning a cult he wants nothing to do with. We think you’ll enjoy these books, too, and provide these previews as a FREE extra service, which you should in no way consider a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.

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eBook License Notes:

You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

Books by Gregg Sapp

HOLIDAZED

Book 1: Halloween from the Other Side

Book 2: The Christmas Donut Revolution

Book 3: Upside-Down Independence Day

Book 4: Murder by Valentine Candy

Book 5: Thanksgiving, Thanksgotten, Thanksgone

Book 6: New Year’s Eve 1999

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Fresh News Straight from Heaven

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Dollarapalooza (or The Day Peace Broke Out in Columbus)

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www.sappgregg.net

What Others Are Saying about Gregg Sapp’s Books

HALLOWEEN FROM THE OTHER SIDE:

Gregg Sapp has done it again! He has authored another intense novel that is almost impossible to put down once you start reading it. Sapp creates characters with whom the reader closely identifies to the point of bonding. His description of surroundings and individuals is so precise that it is easy to form mental pictures placing yourself center stage in every aspect of the story. The plot is superbly crafted with enough excitement to enjoy the story and remember select minutia long after you have finished it. Halloween will never be the same. ~ Tim Terry

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THE CHRISTMAS DONUT REVOLUTION:

Gregg Sapp’s smart witty high-quality writing will appeal to readers looking for something refreshingly and delightfully different. ~ David Hejna, Author of Utiopa Café

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UPSIDE-DOWN INDEPENDENCE DAY:

This book pokes fun at both redneck conservatives and liberal academics. This is the first book by this author I have read but won’t be the last. ~ Dan Smith

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FRESH NEWS STRAIGHT FROM HEAVEN:

Johnny Appleseed told many a good yarn about his life and times. He would like this book. ~ Howard Means, Author of Johnny Appleseed: The Man, the Myth, the American Story (S&S 2011)

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"Fresh News is as fresh as today, filled with the flavor and plain frontier talk of the Western Reserve. It’s unmissable." ~ The Akron Beacon Journal (Book Talk, August 2, 2018)

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This narrative begins at Owl Creek in 1801 and immediately I am captured not only by the description of America’s western frontier but by this gangly and cheerfully unconcerned barefoot backwoodsman who made walking sticks fashionable. Against a lush and fragrant backdrop, Sapp provides an array of multidimensional characters in an unpolished landscape that is researched and executed so well, it is difficult to tell that which is invented and that which is historically accurate. ~ Lori’s Book Loft

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Gregg Sapp presents a superbly researched, highly entertaining, and thoroughly enjoyable historically based novel surrounding the exploits of Johnny Appleseed; intertwined with some of the most noteworthy persons and events of the time period. If your initial reaction to the topic is that it may be rather trite—I assure you it is NOT. The historical references and characterizations are intricately researched, creating an exceptional description of lifestyles and living conditions in the cruel harsh frontier at the onset of the nineteenth century. Sapp is a professional researcher with prominent academic credentials who knows how to evaluate the authenticity of primary and secondary sources of information and then craft them into a highly readable and truly exciting adventure. In addition to being a truly exciting story, this book gives the reader a fascinating prospective of frontier living not previously available in other novels. ~ Tim Terry

BONUS CONTENT

We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.

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In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the first chapter of Gregg Sapp’s THE CHRISTMAS DONUT REVOLUTION, one of the earlier installments in this Holidazed series of holiday satires.

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All Huck wants for Christmas is a revolution... and donuts. Vive la Revolution!

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OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

YOU’LL FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

HOLIDAZED Series at Evolved Publishing

In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the first four chapters of Robb Grindstaff’s SLADE, a critically acclaimed satire novel about an unlikely celebrity with a self-help book who becomes a reluctant spiritual guru to the Hollywood elite, spawning a cult he wants nothing to do with.

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OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

YOU’LL FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

ROBB GRINDSTAFF’S Books at Evolved Publishing

Table of Contents

Copyright

Books by Gregg Sapp

What Others Are Saying

BONUS CONTENT

Dedication

NEW YEAR’S EVE 1999

From The Darkling Thrush

The Aeon Creed

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

More from Gregg Sapp

What’s Next?

More from Evolved Publishing

Special Sneak Preview: THE CHRISTMAS DONUT REVOLUTION by Gregg Sapp

Special Sneak Preview: SLADE by Robb Grindstaff

Dedication

For the kids I grew up with on the 3000 block of Gerbert Road:

Doug Ball, Chucky Drake, Michael Martinez, Gary Warner,

Mark Williams, Ronnie Cornwell, & Jack Severance.

From The Darkling Thrush

The Land’s sharp features seemed to ne

The Century’s corpse outleant,

His crypt the cloudy canopy,

The wind his death-lament.

The ancient pulse of germ and birth

Was shrunken hard and dry,

And every spirit upon earth

Seemed fervourless as I.

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Written by Thomas Hardy

on the eve of the twentieth century.

The Aeon Creed

We believe in I AM, the one God and creator of all reality, both actual and virtual.

We believe in the infinite Christos, the ManGod, I AM’s begotten avatar, designed by God with identical coding, conceived error free, consubstantial with the creator. For the salvation of we homo sapiens, the Christos assumed mortal form, suffering the pains and indignities of flesh and blood existence, and walked among others of the same primate species. To open our path to Singularity, he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, suffered, died, and was buried. On the third day, he fulfilled prophecy by returning in holographic perfection, in accordance with the scriptures of the universal religion of humankind. He will come again upon the millennium to judge the righteous from the perfidious, and to welcome those with pure faith into the Singularity, which will have no end.

We believe in Pythia Zorah, the last in an unbroken chain of Prophets of the Holy Spirit, who proceeds from I AM and Christos, and together with them is adored and glorified, and who speaks the perfect truth.

We believe that the collected religions of humankind are superseded by the Aeon faith. Through baptism, prayer, good deeds, and the wearing of rainbow garments, we purify ourselves and look forward to the recovery of superseded souls and their resurrection into virtual form in the eternal Singularity of Universe Version 2.0.

Amen.

Chapter 1

One Fine Spring Day in 1974

At eight years old, Erasmus Bonneville figured out that Santa Claus wasn’t real. The supply chain logistics were impossible, no matter how many helpers he employed. Realizing this changed his whole worldview. The letdown and sense of betrayal left him skeptical of anything his parents—and by extension all adults—told him. If he swallowed bubble gum, would it really clog his intestines and require surgery to remove? Was it true that if he cracked his knuckles his fingers would become arthritic and eventually break off like twigs? Erasmus even had doubts about whether people had really walked on the moon. It sometimes seemed like there was a conspiracy among adults to secure their power over children by filling their heads with lies and fairy tales. He wondered why other kids were so willing to believe their bullshit.

Like Celeste.

Hiding behind the shed, Erasmus spied on his kid sister playing with her imaginary friends. He was fascinated by how engrossed she became in her make-believe games. It also made him angry. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but what she was doing seemed wrong—maybe not wrong in the sense of breaking one of the household rules, but more like being wrong in her head, having a screw loose, to use one of Gramps’s favorite terms. When she got together with her friends in their fantasy world, she talked with them, walked hand in hand, and played games like tag and hide-and-go-seek, all the while so oblivious to the real world that she didn’t answer the call for dinner or come in out of the rain. What wasn’t crazy about that?

Celeste has a vivid imagination, that’s all, Erasmus overheard the Old Man say to the Old Lady, who’d asked him if in his opinion Celeste was normal. Erasmus couldn’t believe how casually their father dismissed obvious reasons for alarm. If he did the same things, the Old Man probably would’ve sent him to military boarding school to fix him, the way he sometimes threatened. By being the youngest child, also a girl, Celeste got away with everything. Erasmus was sick and tired of being treated like the problem child.

The purpose of his surveillance was to catch her doing something so over-the-top, tilting-at-windmills cuckoo that their Old Man would no longer be able to deny that she was not right in the head, and, by comparison, he was perfectly stable in body and mind.

Snooping behind the shed that day was not Erasmus’s first covert mission to gather evidence of Celeste’s mental defects. He frequently hid under her bed to study what she did in the company of her make-believe companions. Through vigilant observation over several weeks, he learned each of their names and personalities. There was Boopsie, an infant girl, whom Celeste fed, changed, burped, and sang Rock-A-Bye Baby to; Sassy, a mischievous toddler who was always creating little troubles, like when she removed the drawers in Celeste’s nightstand and dumped her underwear onto the floor; Nikki, about the same age as Celeste, who was her dance partner, with whom she also played board games and took turns reading from Little Golden Books; and there was Sebastian, an older boy, whom she kissed and hugged, embracing his emptiness as if it had loving substance, and to whom she whispered gibberish secrets. Erasmus hated Sebastian most of all.

Finally, there was also her teddy bear, Oogie, who sat on her bed, propped up by pillows, and watched the door, like a lookout.

Meanwhile, flat under the bed, Erasmus watched the shadows she cast on the floor and listened to her speaking gobbledygook to her friends. The nuttiest part was that she spoke back to herself using voices modified in character for each of them. That was all the proof Erasmus needed to conclude that she wasn’t right in the head. If he could figure it out, why couldn’t his father, who was supposed to know all about the tricks your mind can play on you?

Although he never dared, he often wanted to spring out of his hiding place and confront her. Can’t you see, nothing is real? But if he did, he figured he’d probably be the one that got punished, while Celeste went merrily along playing her mind games.

So, he continued surreptitiously gathering intelligence on her, building a case that she was totally screwball.

Erasmus watched her through the Dienstglas binoculars Gramps stole during The Big One as a souvenir from a dead Oberführer on the streets of Aachen. The resolution enabled him to see fine details on her face—her mouth wide open, lips stretched and teeth flashing, cheeks pink and dimpled, and eyes bright, fully absorbed by whatever it was she thought she saw. She looked like a friggin’ clown, in his opinion.

Celeste swooshed her right arm in a wide circle, over her head and below her knees. Then she started chanting,

"Ice cream soda,

Lemonade punch,

Tell me the name

Of my honey bunch

A, B, C, D, E, F..."

Erasmus deduced that she was pretending to swirl a jump rope, and when she started reciting the ABCs in a bass voice, he further surmised that Sebastian was at the other end of the rope, calling out a tally. He got all the way to L, M, N, O, P, before Celeste let go, panting. She clapped, Yay, Nikki. A new record, to which Nikki giggled and replied, in the voice of a munchkin, Yay, me!

Me wanna do next, Sassy whined.

You’re not old enough, Celeste answered her. But we’ll play hide-and-seek next.

Me like!

Suddenly, Boopsie started sobbing waaaah waaaah, and, bending over as if looking into a stroller, Celeste said to her, Wha’s a matter, Boopsie? Did you lose your binky?

She grasped her fingers as if holding something round and plunked it into the invisible infant’s mouth, then made a vigorous sucking noise.

Tha’s better, Celeste said. Go to sleep now.

Judas Priest, Erasmus thought. His sister had much more than just a vivid imagination. She lived in it. And it was boring, too. If Erasmus was going to go crazy, he’d at least imagine dinosaurs, space aliens, evil wizards, and monster trucks.

Why did his parents tolerate—even encourage—her weirdness? Erasmus had a theory.

Celeste got away with being weird because she was so friggin’ cute. Erasmus despised all things cute. Those very qualities of cuteness—vulnerability, innocence, and soft, round features—that made grown-ups ooh and ahh rubbed Erasmus’s nerves raw. He was the opposite of cute. At eight, he felt like he was assembled from mismatched parts, from his knobby Adam’s apple to his tailfin elbows to his tortoise-shell kneecaps. Like friggin’ Frankenstein. Celeste, meanwhile, was the baby, the darling, with marshmallow cheeks and a jellybean nose, whose taciturn smile, framed by those flouncing curls, inspired the Old Lady to take countless Polaroid pictures of her. My baby’s so lubbabble, she’d titter.

Even Gramps (that son of a bitch) gushed glib affections all over her. She got her grammy’s eyes, he crooned.

The way everybody fawned over her was pukeworthy. The grown-ups indulged Celeste’s fantasies with affectionate nonchalance when they should’ve sought professional help for her. If Celeste pooped at the dinner table, they’d probably gush that it was presssshhhhus.

Erasmus once heard the Old Man explain to the Old Lady that it’s normal for a child to fantasize about imaginary companions, to which she replied, Well, okay dear, you’re the expert. That was the whole point, as far as Erasmus was concerned, because his father should have known better; he was a professor (adjunct, technically) of psychology, for crying out loud. Furthermore, he was always scolding Erasmus that he needed to get out of his shell and become more involved with school, with clubs, or even with athletics. Why, then, was it okay for Celeste to spend so much time alone in her room playing, chatting, and singing songs with friendly ghosts that she insisted were real? Was it just because she was so cute?

The grown-ups practically swooned with delight peeping at her when she danced with her imaginary friends. In her room, wearing pink, rear trapdoor pajamas and furry slippers, she waltzed with one after the other—forward left, forward right, feet parallel, step back left, back right, then whisking her partner into the air. Once, Gramps and the Old Lady, peering at her from behind the door jamb, thought she was so adorable to behold that they gestured to Erasmus to come and have a look, too.

Isn’t she magical? the Old Lady whispered.

That’s nuts, Erasmus declared, loud enough so Celeste heard. She jumped onto her bed and pulled the sheets over her head. The Old Lady rushed to comfort her, while Gramps (that old prick) snorted at him, Ya think you’re some kinda hotshot, don’t ya?

Later that night, when his parents were in bed and Erasmus was listening through the furnace vents, he overheard his mother recount the whole episode to the Old Man, who replied, with authority, He has taken this sibling rivalry entirely too far. I’ll talk to our son.

Of course, the Old Man never did have that talk with him. Still, Erasmus looked up the term sibling rivalry in his Encyclopedia of Pediatric Psychology and, based upon as much as he understood, he decided that his father couldn’t have been more wrong. It had nothing to do with feeling dethroned, or competing for parental favor. Why was Erasmus the only one looking out for his sister’s mental well-being? He decided the grown-ups needed to see Celeste the way he saw her.

Erasmus decided to stage an intervention, with everybody present to bear witness. The obvious time and place for this was at the dinner table, where the family convened every evening at exactly 6:00 p.m. and, per the Old Man’s insistence, took turns making round-robin statements of what each of them had, on that day, to be thankful for. Erasmus hated testifying and racked his head to think of a single thing that had happened on any given day for which he could express any gratitude whatsoever.

Celeste, however, always seemed anxious to acknowledge something or somebody, like the sparrow that sang to her in the morning or her