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WHAT AM I?: Nephilim WHAT AM I?: Nephilim
A teen boy gets killed, but trades his soul for another chance. He changes. A girl notices the new boy with silver eyes.
The Christmas Train

The Christmas Train

A Story by E. Paris
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Christmas joy comes to small coal mining town.

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“Whooo-Whooo” the train whistle blew loudly as it pulled through the mountain pass behind my house. It was Christmas Eve and I had anticipated the sound all year long. My toes curled under my warm blankets in excitement for what would take place. I waited and listened closely as the chug-a-chug-chug of the engine slowed down, coming to a stop at tiny train station. I could only imagine the conductor crying out a very jolly “Merry Christmas!” His belly bouncing with laughter, as children across the town  ran to their windows searching for him through the steam and fog that settled in the night.

We imagined his beard of snow white, softer than a lamb, his suit as whimsical and magical as the pictures we’ve seen books, a gleam in his eyes that sparkled more than the richest of diamonds.

At Christmas, many children think of Santa with his eight tiny reindeer and his sleigh full of gifts, his journey around the world in one night delivering the hopes and dreams of children.

 But in our town, he was our Santa. Although none of the children had ever ventured to go and see him. No, that I’m afraid was forbidden. Each year as the whistle blew parents from all over town would don their coats and gloves, boots and hats and go to meet this mystery man. He had gifts for all the children, toys and games, mittens and scarves, books and music. If it wasn’t for him, Christmas wouldn’t happen in this small town.

I heard the screeching of the brakes and I jumped from bed. Running to my parents room I cried “He’s here, He’s here.”

 

 

The train had arrived to the small coal miner town, where Christmas would not happen if it weren’t for the generous man we all called Santa. Every year he came to our town in a shiny black and red engine, festively decorated with holly, and Christmas wreaths and filled with toys and gifts for the children.

 

I ran to my parent’s bedroom, excited more than ever, Christmas had come. Hopping on their bed to wake them up I cried, “He’s here, he’s here!” They yawned and stretched, pretending they were too tired to go anywhere. “Let’s go!” I yelled, and ran back to my bedroom window to watch the magic unfold.

 

My breath formed ice crystals on the window and a light snow fell outside. It will be a white Christmas this year, I thought as I watch parents move from their houses making their way to the train. There was a rule that I despised and that was no children could leave and go meet him, but I wanted to. He had always made my Christmas, one year I got a wooden yo-yo and some other things, but the thing I remembered was that the yo-yo brought me hours of entertainment until I lost it.

 

This year though, I had devised a plan, I would leave to go meet the man, this Santa Claus. I watched from my perch as my parents left and then ran to my closet pulled my boots over teddy bear footed pajama’s and grabbed my coat, I was going on a mission. My flashlight sat on my tall oak dresser; I reached for it and ran down the hall to the stairs.

 

Once outside my home, I crept to the back to watch the scene unfold, boxes were being handed to parents, and several “Ho, Ho, Ho’s” could be heard from the conductor. I ran took my sled and slid down the hill making a quick decent. From there I watched for parents and snuck behind houses and fences, the town was sparse, and I didn’t have much more to hide behind as I made my way to the train station.

 

I made my way closer and closer, until I could see him more clearly and closely. I hid until all the parents had gone, and then I walked around the station and watched him as he made his way back into the engine. “Santa” I called to get his attention. He turned back to look at me, his eyes following me top to bottom. Stepping down from the engine he came toward me, big black boots clunked as he walked toward me. “What is a youngster like you doing out here in the cold, shouldn’t you be in bed?” He asked.

“I wanted to see you,” I said to him.

“Ah, well you have, now run along, Christmas is almost here and your parents will be waiting. But first tell me you name.”

“Johnny.”

“Johnny, what a lovely name. Now I must be going, I’m Santa you know, I have more presents to deliver. But since you’re here,” He dug around in his pockets until he found something, “I thought you might like this Johnny.” Pulling a wooden yo-yo out of his pocket he handed it to me. I stared in disbelief; it was just like the one I had lost. My mitten-clothed hand grasped the yo-yo tight.

“Thank you Santa,” I smiled and called as he made his way to the engine.

“Merry Christmas Johnny.”

“Merry Christmas Santa.” I ran back home as fast as my feet would carry me, clutching the yo-yo and treasuring it.

 

That Christmas was wonderful, the conductor we called Santa, was an old man who gave gifts in the spirit of Christmas. I know now that the true meaning of Christmas isn’t Santa or gifts. It is about the birth of Christ, and now I teach my children that. And each year on Christmas Eve, after celebrating the birth of our savior, we wait in anticipation for the Christmas Train to arrive, to bring Christmas to our small coal-mining town. 


© 2010 E. Paris



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Reviews

What a beautiful christmas story. I truly enjoyed the read.
A magically wonderful work! I love it.

Posted 7 Years Ago


this absolutely fills the heart with a sense of christmas in july,
i love holiday poems no matter what time of year it is,
this stort captures a soft holiday glee that is a wonderful
reading experience.

Posted 7 Years Ago



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Added on May 12, 2010
Last Updated on May 12, 2010
Tags: Christmas, train, santa, yo-yo, jesus

Author

E. Paris
E. Paris

Lancaster , PA



About
I love writing but haven't had much time to do so in the last few years. But now that I'm done with college, I hope to get back into it and maybe finish a novel. I think that God has gifted me with th.. more..

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