The echo of Natalia’s footsteps was drowned out by a loud, out-of-tune rendition of Slade, being performed by a group of drunk squaddies outside the pub across the street.

They held each other and swayed, letting their pint glasses spill. Natalia quickened her pace to get past them, but they noticed her anyway and made crude comments. What a turn on.

The cold was started to get to her now; her beret had an open weave and she could feel the wind on her hair, and was starting to wish she was wearing boots.

The town’s sad, minimal Christmas lights had been up for weeks now. She had seen them on this walk home from work every night, and had expected them to have a particular poignancy on Christmas Eve, but they looked exactly the same.

“Natalia!” One of the drunk lads from outside the pub was crossing the street to speak to her, “I didn’t recognise you. It’s been years! How are you?”

“Yeah, OK,” she replied, crossing her arms to stay warm, “Happy Christmas.”

“We’re going to the kebab shop if you want to come and catch up. Apparently they’re handing out free mince pies.”

Natalia couldn’t help but grimace, “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Come on, you know you love it.”

She accidentally smiled and he grabbed her gloved hand to drag her across the road towards his mates, who were draining their pint glasses and choosing a new song to sing.

I’ve never been a fan of Christmas, with everyone stressing about which relatives to spend the day with, and wondering what to buy for everyone they know plus their cat. From October onwards, you find Christmas trinkets everywhere, and the standard greeting seems to be “Are you looking forward to Christmas?” I want to reply, “I never look forward to Christmas. I have no family, so I spend it alone in my flat.” But I smile and nod, and try to change the subject.

Most people take time off over Christmas. I prefer to be at work. I love my job, and even more so since Andrew started in the office. He’s tall, with jet black hair, and a gorgeous smile. I am secretly hoping he’s going to be in work over the Christmas period too.

Christmas Eve arrives. The office shuts at twelve today so I have a quiet morning to tidy up any loose ends. Then back to my flat for a couple of days of solitude.

The door opens and, to my surprise, I see Andrew dressed as Santa. He strides straight towards me and says “Happy Christmas, Sophie!” I stand up, and before I know what is happening, he holds a piece of mistletoe above my head and leans forward to kiss me gently on the lips. He senses my lack of resistance and gives me a hug as he invites me to dinner.

Maybe it’s time I started to enjoy Christmas after all.

“Santa’s been!”
Sophie pulled her eyes open. “Lovely sweetheart.”
“Really Mummy, he left his footprint.”
Caleb dashed back downstairs ahead of her, she gasped in horror at the sooty imprint of a boot in the hearth. Someone had been in the house. Moving to a rural village after losing Mark was meant to be a fresh start. Perhaps her friends were right; it was too isolated, she was a victim waiting to happen. Paranoia flooded her; Christmas Eve was ripe for break-ins. She checked the room; nothing seemed to be missing and Caleb and Zoë were playing happily in the hallway, buzzing with excitement over Santa’s proven existence. She stared at the footprint, contemplating the wisdom of phoning the police.
Her heart leapt as soot fell from the chimneybreast. She reached the safety of the door before stealing a furtive glance backwards. Cascades of rubble landed in the hearth seconds ahead of the crumpled form of a man.
“Brendan!” Sophie contained her hysterics.
“I wanted to do this properly –well, not the chimney bit – but leave surprise gifts. You know; be Santa for my grieving sister and kids.”
“Couldn’t you use the door?” Laughter was choking her.
“Caleb disturbed me. I panicked. I had nowhere else to hide.”
Sophie wrapped her arms round her brother’s neck and kissed the smudge on his nose.
“I won’t tell, if you don’t. But maybe I should sweep that chimney. Santa’s union will get me on Health and Safety.”

Christmas Charisma

Bone-cold weather made Frank’s breathing rattle. The café across from the subway beckoned through the falling snow. Maud would order hot chocolate if she were living. Frank slipped inside stomping his feet. “It’s starting to sleet,” the owner said. “Coffee?” Frank’s fingers shook as he held the mug to his lips. “Traveling for Christmas?” “No.” The year since his wife died had been brutal. Christmas would be worse. Despondently, Frank looked out the window. He saw a cat shivering under a bush. “That cat’s freezing,” he said. “A stray,” the owner said. “The widow across the alley feeds it sometimes.” Frank remembered seeing the old woman once or twice. Leaving, he scooped up the cat. It burrowed into his elbow. Frank crossed the alley and knocked on the door. A white- haired woman answered. “Yours?” “Oh no, no” the woman said. “It’s an orphan.” She studied Frank’s face. “I’ve tried to catch it, but it won’t let me. How did you manage?” “It was freezing.” The woman clucked. “Charisma.” “Beg your pardon?” “Charisma. You’ve got charisma.” Her eyes twinkled. “Christmas charisma.” “You want the cat?” “I can’t afford a cat. You keep her. She likes you.” “I, I, don’t ….” “Oh go on. Can’t you see she’s taken to you?” “I , I…” “I’ve been calling her ‘Maudie,’” the woman said. Frank was speechless. “Tie a ribbon around her neck. For Christmas.” Frank backed away. Maud kept wrappings and ribbons in a basket. He could find it.

“I’m not moving that. Weighs a ton!” Terence sat down on a delicate red satin bow and folded his arms. “He’s got to be kidding. What about the Industrial Relations Act? He’s living in the dark ages. I could sue him for the number of times I’ve put my back out over the last two hundred years. Hasn’t he heard of automation? He could at least get a fork lift truck.” “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Terry!” Geoffrey scratched the tip of a pointed ear, the bells on his tunic tinkling under the brown foreman’s overall. “I warned him not to take on you lot when you got made redundant. Seven dwarves? Remind me. Are you Grumpy, Dozy or Lazy? If it was up to me you’d all get your cards tomorrow. Why don’t you … Oh. Good morning, St. Nicholas.” “Geoffrey. Ah, Terence. I’m pleased to announce you have been selected as my personal assistant this year. Congratulations. I’ll see you on Christmas Eve, six pm sharp.”

“How much more is there?” Terence heaved another parcel from the dwindling pile in the sleigh. “Nearly done.” St. Nicholas beckoned. “There’s something I want you to see.” Terence trudged across the roof and peered through the skylight. He recognised the heavy parcel from the warehouse. A little girl was waving her arms in delight at the bright red mobility scooter inside. “What were you saying?” asked St. Nicholas. “Nothing.” Terence found he was smiling. “Merry Christmas!”

Multi-coloured lights chased each other around the artificial Christmas tree. After a slight pause, they began flashing in alternating colours; blue, green, red and back to blue.

Christmas was Daniel’s favourite time of year. He loved the excitement and expectation, the fuss and preparation. The only down side was the expense.

When he was young, his family had made their own decorations, paper strips looped together and wrapped around a real tree. Daniel smiled as he remembered those halcyon days. Christmas was about being together as a family, sharing, having fun and looking after each other.

Now, the festive season seemed more about the commercial aspect – shops displaying Christmas items from October and kids demanding the most expensive toys.

Daniel watched the dancing lights again. Things had certainly changed, he mused.

Moving towards the brightly wrapped presents piled under the tree, he shook his head. Gone were the days of home made decorations and simple gifts that meant so much more than today’s overpriced, mass marketed goods. Children today, including his own, expected far too much, putting their parents under unbelievable pressure to overspend.

Trouble is, kids today have no sense of true value, Daniel thought ruefully.

Sighing, he opened the large holdall and began stuffing the presents in until the bag was full to bursting.

Taking one last look at the colourful, flashing lights, Daniel quickly headed towards the broken window.

He couldn’t wait to see what his kids were getting this year.

THE GEESE ARE GETTING FAT

Brenda watched the geese waddle across the farmyard enjoying their last day of a well fed life. The boss would start filling Christmas orders tomorrow.
She turned to the open wardrobe door and gathered the dress that hung there into her hands. Its satin bodice was sewn with sequins and the net skirts flared from a cinched in waist. She sighed. Surely Will would ask her to marry him when he saw her in this sparkling dress? Red was her colour.
There were only seven days till Christmas. Had she done enough? Twice weekly trips to the gym and starvation rations had turned her country figure into a svelte picture of sophistication.
She glanced at the wedding photograph of the boss and his bride, Rachel. City slim and glamorous she smiled into the camera. Brenda gathered her cleaning things before going down to join her for coffee.
In November, when the dress arrived after a shopping trip, everything in Rachel’s wardrobe fitted her perfectly but today, she was most often seen in trackie bottoms and sweat shirt.
‘I’ve brought some millionaire’s shortbread this morning,’ Brenda said.
‘Anyone would think you were fattening me up like one of the geese,’ Rachel protested. ‘There’s no point in taking that red dress with me when we go to Mum and Dad’s for Christmas. I must diet when we get back.’
Brenda smiled and toyed with the farmhouse keys in her apron pocket. She’d done enough.

‘Guilty as charged!’ the words rang out cold and harsh.

‘You will no longer be included in the Night before Christmas poem’.

A sea of whispers and gasps washed around the courtroom. Comments of “no they couldn’t possibly…” and “surely that’s too far” could be heard from every direction. I couldn’t believe this was happening, what had I done to deserve this? So I’d had a little brandy, Santa does it all the time.

‘I’m sorry mate’ I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. Barnaby was shaking his head, but I didn’t want his sympathy. Although, I couldn’t help thinking, a whisky wouldn’t go amiss.

How could they do this to me? It was an outrage, a conspiracy…a downright miscarriage of justice, that’s what it was.

‘Uncle Rudolph is that really what happened?’ his nephew stared up at him while munching on a chocolate Santa.

‘Absolutely, all because they couldn’t find something to rhyme with Rudolph, THAT was the real reason’.

Rudolph sat back in his large armchair and poured himself another drink.

‘Can’t you find a better Christmas story than that?’ said his sister as she hung stockings above the fire.

‘You tell the same one every year’.

‘When they change the poem, I’ll stop telling the story’ he replied petulantly and with that he lifted from his chair and set off for a busy nights work.

Nicolas, cold and hungry, arrived home at four-thirty on Christmas Morning. A steady snowfall had ensured a white Christmas; the first the village had seen in thirty years.

“It’s only me!” he called. “It’s been snowing all night; at least three inches by my reckoning.”

“I know. Wonderful isn’t it?” came the reply.

“I guess so. But the village gets bigger every year and I’m not getting any younger. Tonight was tough.”

“So? Find someone to take your place!”

“And let them get the rewards?”

“You do too much!”

“But I get so much pleasure. I love to imagine the kid’s faces as they peer into their stockings and sacks. Oh, If only I could live forever.”

Nicolas joined his wife by the fire. Life was good. The plan was good. Since moving to the village, the year after the last white Christmas, he would pack all that was required into a large sack before setting off after dark on Christmas Eve.

“You’re a saint,” said the wife.

“I do my best, and – I work hard at it.”

For an hour, the happy couple ate mince pies and drank coffee liqueur. A knock at the door broke the reverie.

“Nicolas Scrooge,” said the constable. “I arrest you for breaking and entering, stealing toys and mince pies.”

“How – why”

“The snow, sir. Your footprints are everywhere.”

“Bah…”

“Humbug?”

“Hmm.”

Words: 250

Origins

Nicholas stared anxiously at the schooner’s wrecked left wheel.

“Can the horses pull us out?” Peter asked.

“Probably not.” He looked toward the sky, heavy with the threat of snow, and his gaze shifted toward Peter’s sisters, Pamela and Bea, seated by the fire. Nicholas, himself a wanderer, had found all three roaming the northern plains after their parents died and became their guardian, a responsibility that weighed heavily on him.

Nearby the creatures that appeared the night before created a zigzag of grazing trails in their quest for the choicest grass.

“Didn’t the Sami teach you survival?”

Nicholas frowned at the youngster’s question. “Not how to fix a broken iron wheel in a runoff trench.”

Snow started to fall; flakes held steadfast to Nicholas’s beard. He reached into the wagon. Could he use his skis as runners? No; it could worsen the damage. He pitched them into the snow.

A hiss snapped through the air. The prairie schooner bucked, transformed into a sled, a gleaming pair of runners replacing the wheels.

One of the creatures spoke: “Does that solve your problem?” The eight lifted skyward, flew toward them and settled back to earth.

“We’ll stay with you,” one said.

“We like you,” said another.

Rooted to their places, Nicholas and Peter gaped. Bea giggled wildly and Pamela clapped her hands, their sense of wonder restored against the prairie’s harsh emptiness.

Nicholas knelt and traced his hand along the silver lines. Brilliant as a new jewel, as a gift.