The final section of "Santa Claws" is here! I want to personally thank all my faithful readers for sticking through to the end of this novella, which is part four of five in the "Holiday Pentalogy." I hope you laughed, philosophized, reflected, and grew teary-eyed as you read the tale. I know I did as I wrote it!
Of course, careful readers of this epilogue may notice Santa's rather cryptic message to Jonathan; this sets up the final story! I have foreshadowed the plot of this last novella, as well as its ending, throughout the four stories over the past 13 years. So feel free to reread the holiday stories to catch on to what I'm planning to do!
Once again, I must laud the ineffably talented Derek Nochefranca for creating three stellar images for "Santa Claws." I'm hoping to work with him again in the future!
Lastly, if you have become a recent fan of my writing, fear not; my writing career is just beginning (Lord willing). Keep an eye out for some poetry, snippets from a new novel...and a novella about dragons.
Epilogue
Christmas
The
unenviable newscasters delivered a confusing mass of information on Christmas
morning. Some focused on the events that
occurred around midnight: cries in the night, sudden claw-marks, and a fat man
moving in a quick blur of red. Others
decided to relay more uplifting details: unexpected gifts left in homes all
over the world containing bandages, gauze, and anti-bacterial ointment; sleigh
bells heard in the early hours before sunrise; and children waking to find
presents they had requested up to five years ago. The only thing the newscasters could agree on
was that no one had the faintest idea as to what had happened, or as to what
any of it meant. Most importantly,
perhaps, was the fact that not a single death was linked to the “Great
Christmas Incident.” Any child or person injured in the confusion was able to
make a full recovery.
What
took place in the Legcheese household that morning might be considered the very
definition of a full recovery. Shameka
and her husband were engaging in the most intense jitterbug session on the
planet as “Thriller” blared in the background.
Bat and Cat were playing Hungry Hungry Hippos, but Cat kept winning
because she insisted on eating the hippos.
Witch was flying in circles around the family room, throwing red and
green mushrooms into the air to accentuate the festive spirit. Frankenstein’s monster was sitting in a
corner, wearing a Dracula costume; he had admitted, much to his embarrassment,
that his creator (how he admired the selfish fool) had never thoroughly
explained the holidays to him, and thus he had presumed all holidays to mirror
Halloween. Jonathan and Awana were
sitting beside the Christmas tree, playing with toy ponies.
“The
honeyed ham is almost done!” Shameka declared, busting a move. “Will you go and check on it for me, Johnny?”
“I
would prefer not to,” the boy replied.
The blue pony in his hand had just discovered that he was adopted. It was a sensitive time.
“Wise
words, young Jonathan,” Frankenstein’s monster said admirably. “You have spoken neutrally, and none can
fault you for rudeness or indifference.
It is as if Bartleby, the Scrivener has materialized in the flesh.” The
creature burst into laughter, puzzling everyone.
Jonathan
rose to his feet with a groan. “Fine,
mother! I’ll check on the ham. But I
expect a rather weighty allowance after this.
Especially considering an actual turkey came running out of that
oven a month ago.”
“That
was a one-time event,” Shameka assured him.
“I don’t cook anything below one hundred-fifty degrees anymore.”
Jonathan went in to the kitchen,
bemoaning how sick he was of running around and doing errands for people and
animals on the holidays. He was not in
the best mood after opening his presents.
Having contributed to saving Christmas, and probably the world, he had
expected a massive sculpture of Ms. Unicorn leaping across the frosty dunes of
the North Pole. At the very least,
he had hoped that Santa would somehow undo the heinous crime of shattering his
beloved. If that proved to be an
unfulfilled request, he had planned on collecting her fragments upon returning
home—but the floor had been spotless! Pummeling his parents with an endless
series of questions had proven a fruitless endeavor. They claimed they were unsure of what had
happened to the pieces of the toy unicorn.
Everyone else seemed to be having the
greatest morning ever. Witch was
mightily pleased with the new pet hawk that Shameka bought her; the creature
was perched on her shoulder, launching streams of poop down its owner’s
back. The old hag gifted Frankenstein’s
monster with a thick tome entitled, “Everyday English for Dummies;” he had only
read the first page before confessing that his head ached. Bat knocked Shameka’s socks off with a
brand-spanking-new Battleship board; he had heard that her last board was ruined
in an unfortunate caviar accident. Mr.
Legcheese blessed Bat with the most adorable little foot-mittens you’ve ever
seen! (Bat almost looked grateful.) Cat
gave Mr. Legcheese a new apron with a selfie of her face emblazoned across its
center. The man had broken down crying,
declaring that it was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever beheld, that
it might be better suited to the Smithsonian, and that he was not confident of
his worthiness to don something of such unmatched magnificence. Frankenstein’s monster gave Cat a scratching
post. He was indeed intelligent, but
creativity was not one of his strong points.
Jonathan surprised Awana with earrings
that were also snow globes. No, these
were not miniature snow globes; these were the size of soccer balls and
contained figurines of the nine reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh. She was wearing them now, and while they did
look incredible, it was a shame that her neck wasn’t strong enough to support
them and her head. To Jonathan’s
dismay, Awana didn’t give him a gift at all, and had remained enigmatic about
that very fact all morning. Therefore,
the only real “surprise gift” Jonathan had opened was from St. Nick
himself. It was an empty black notebook
and a pencil overlaid with white paint, already sharpened. Also inside the box was a note, far too
brief: “I see you when you’re sleeping; I know when you’re awake. I’ve granted you a gift for good; may you
write for goodness’ sake. Writing is a
blessing; its power none can see. Now
write in your own ending; make it a victory.
Life and death are in your hand.
Love, St. Nick.”
The ham looked perfect, which
successfully increased Jonathan’s mood by roughly twenty-five percent. He shut the oven door and informed Shameka
that dinner was ready. When he turned to
leave the kitchen, Awana walked straight into him and almost knocked him out
cold. Of course, this was not her
intention; the snow globes, each thirty pounds, forced her to stare at her feet
and made navigation impossible.
“Hey there, Johnny boy,” she breathed,
swaying. Unfortunately, swaying of any
nature put too much weight on one side, and her head smashed into the nearest
tray of gingerbread muffins.
“Are you flipping kidding me?”
shrieked Mr. Legcheese. He proceeded to
throw a fit that lasted thirty minutes.
“Hey, Awana,” said Jonathan,
blushing. He lifted her head out of the
tray and brushed crumbs off her face.
“Thank you for flying all the way to the North Pole for me. And sorry about the snow globes. I didn’t mean to give you an early onset of
scoliosis.”
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Awana’s eyes lit
up. “That was such a thoughtful apology!
And I accept it wholeheartedly. Anyway,
this is a good way to strengthen my neck muscles! I’ve been meaning to work
out.”
He traced her face with his finger and
smiled. “Good. Hey, you look like you have something on your
mind. What’s going on?”
She toed the ground nervously. “Um...I was just wondering...what did Rudolph
say to you that stopped you from trying to kill Santa?”
Jonathan nodded, not surprised by the
question. He dipped a spoon into some
nearby figgy pudding (Awana had whipped it up an hour earlier) and shoveled it
into his mouth. “After Dale let him
inside, Rudy explained something to me.
He said the potion that Apo made must have been some sort of anti-mercy
tonic. The more Santa breathed it in,
the less merciful he became. Instead of
giving kids a second chance, he harmed almost all of them for the slightest
evil deed that they had done over the year.
And Rudy pointed out that if I killed Santa, I wouldn’t be giving him
a second chance. In fact, I was acting
exactly the way Santa was acting...and even worse if I actually went through
with killing him.” He wiped away a couple of tears that rose to his eyes. “I don‘t want to be like that anymore,
Awana. I don’t want to be
merciless. We’re only fifteen years old;
let’s enjoy the few years we have left before we have to face the difficulties
of adulthood. We have a little innocence
left, right?”
Awana chuckled and took one of his
hands. “You’re really growing, Johnny
boy. And you know what? Christmas is all
about mercy. ‘God so loved the world,
that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but
have eternal life.’ That’s why He sent Jesus to be born in the first place!
That’s why we’re celebrating this day! People should receive punishment,
because no one is truly good; but God shows mercy to many. Jesus was born for the sake of mercy, lived
for the sake of mercy, died for the sake of mercy, and rose again for the sake
of mercy. So we should be merciful to
others.”
“You’re the wisest female human I have
ever met,” Jonathan decided. “Thank you
for sharing that. It looks like I have a
lot to consider.”
Awana tried to hop, but failed due to
the absurd weight of her upper quadrant.
“Johnny boy...come with me!”
“What?”
“Just--come on!”
She led him to the hallway and stopped
right at the end. Then she made an
unusual gesture. At first, Jonathan
thought she was having a seizure...but then he realized she was trying to draw
his attention to something. Taped to the
ceiling, and hanging upside down, was a present with green wrapping paper.
“What the snowflake?” he asked.
“It’s your present!” she exclaimed,
bristling with excitement. “Open it,
Johnny boy!”
He cocked his head to the side. “Should I like...take it off the ceiling or
something?”
“No.
Just open it!”
He removed the top of the present and
laughed. Down from the ceiling, and
surrounded by the inner walls of the box, was some mistletoe.
“Do you like it?!” she asked hopefully.
He looked at her with tenderness and lifted
her chin with one hand. “What do you
want, Awana? Do you want the moon? Just say the word, and I’ll throw a lasso
around it and pull it down.”
“Why in Dale’s tiny beard would you do
that?” Awana asked, reeling back in horror.
“Do you want to kill us all? That’s not my Johnny boy.”
“No, it’s a quote from It’s a
Wonderful Life. I just thought....”
“Oh, I know what you thought! Just shut
your Johnny mouth and kiss me!”
They
kissed. It was a sweet, long-delayed
kiss beneath the mistletoe as the applause of their companions, the catchy
thrum of “Monster Mash,” and the unrestrained cursing of Mr. Legcheese played
in the background. When they were
finished, Jonathan looked into Awana’s eyes, and the most relieved smiles
stretched across their faces.
“I told you I’d get that kiss before
the end of the year,” she teased.
“Huh? When did you say that?”
“Two books ago.” She pushed him
playfully. “Don’t you read, you silly
goose?”
Jonathan smirked and turned his eyes to
the glowing Christmas tree, the delicious food, the overflowing presents, and
his friends and family. His heart was
full as he declared, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
“But the sun has only freshly crested
the eastern hills,” Frankenstein’s monster remarked.
“No one cares, Frankie,” said Bat.
E N D
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