The Christmas Star Of Willowbrook

The house was unusually quiet that evening.

Outside, the snow had settled into soft mounds along the garden fence, and the sky glowed a pale silver as night crept slowly over Willowbrook. Inside, the Martin family gathered in the living room, the fire crackling gently and the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner.

Ella sat cross-legged on the rug, her thoughts still drifting back to the little flicker she thought she’d seen in the sky earlier that day. The melody she’d sung by the bridge lingered in her head like a half-remembered dream.

Grandpa Tom sat in his favourite armchair, polishing something small and shiny with the edge of his sleeve.

“What’s that?” Ella asked.

Grandpa looked up, surprised, then smiled. “I suppose it’s time I showed you.”

He held out a small, battered harmonica. Its metal sides were scratched and dull, but when he turned it over, Ella noticed a tiny star etched into one corner.

“This,” Grandpa said softly, “has been with me every Christmas since I was a boy.”

Ella leaned closer. “Does it have something to do with the Christmas Star?”

Grandpa nodded. “More than you might think.”

He leaned back, gazing into the fire as if the flames were flickering pictures from long ago.

“When I was your age,” he began, “Willowbrook had a tradition. On the night before Christmas Eve, the whole town gathered in the square. No decorations, no lights—just voices. Everyone sang together, and the Christmas Star would appear brighter than ever.”

“Why did they stop?” Ella asked.

Grandpa sighed. “Life got busy. People stopped listening. Songs were forgotten.”

He lifted the harmonica and played a single, soft note. It trembled in the air, warm and gentle.

Ella felt something shift inside her.

“Do you remember the song?” she asked.

Grandpa smiled sadly. “I remember bits and pieces. But not all of it.”

Ella thought of her own melody. Of the shimmer in the sky.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “the star doesn’t need the old song.”

Grandpa looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Maybe it just needs a true one.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Grandpa began to hum, low, steady, familiar in a way Ella couldn’t quite explain.

She joined him, softly at first, then clearer, letting her voice carry the feeling she’d been holding inside all day.