Santa's Law

A spooky story for Christmas!

Tiffany hated it whenever her brother Paul teased her, but she was particularly indignant at his mockery of her belief in Father Christmas. He had been taunting her since they woke an hour before on the eve of the big day and she was rapidly losing patience with him.

 She supposed that he thought he was being all grown up when he said that it was all ‘just a stupid fairytale’, but Tiffany knew that Santa Claus was a real life person.

‘Saint Nicholas was born in Asia Minor 1,800 years ago, Paul- that’s a fact,’ Tiffany said haughtily from across the breakfast table.

‘Yes Tiffany, I know the story too, but I’m talking about Santa Claus- you know, big fat man with a beard who rides a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer?’

Paul’s face was redder than usual when he spoke through his half filled mouth and his ill temper worsened when his little sister retorted,

‘They’re the same person- Saint Nicholas travelled the world doing good deeds until he met the elves of giving and forgiveness and became their King at the North Pole.’

Paul looked at Tiffany with contempt and resentment and snorted at her as if she were ridiculous.

‘You’re nine years old Tiffany- it’s about time you grew up!’ he said, accentuating her age to make his point.

The statement of derision prompted an intervention from their father, who temporarily abandoned his cooking then leaned across the breakfast table between the warring siblings and said to his son,

‘I think that’s quite enough Paul. You’re three years older than your sister and you should know better than to bully her,’ then, once Paul had bowed his head in admittance to his oversight, to both,

‘Can you not believe in different things without fighting about it?’

Neither responded to the question; Tiffany span her spoon through her half eaten cornflakes while Paul kept on staring at some unseen space below the table. Their father tried again,

‘Do you think you can accept each other’s belief without arguing?’

‘I think I could,’ Tiffany answered, glancing up doubtfully from her bowl to her brother, then to her father.

Paul’s eyes flashed wide toward her,

‘Well of course you could- Miss goody two shoes- you still believe in once upon a time and happily ever after,’ he said sullenly and then prepared himself for the repercussions of his aggressive tone. His father pulled a grimly disappointed expression as he said to his son,

‘I think it’s time you left the table and thought this over in your room for a while.’

Paul’s head dropped again and his eyes burned with tears of rage and hurt,

‘Do you think that would help you calm down?’ his Dad urged.

Paul didn’t answer. He stood silently from the table and left the room in tearful disgrace.

…………………………

The taunting abated following Paul’s enforced absence from family life, but the burden of injustice had not left his thoughts. It was as the siblings were readying themselves for bed that Paul attempted to revisit the subject.

‘So are you excited about Santa coming?’ Paul had asked with feigned innocence as he reached across his sister for the toothpaste tube.

Tiffany paused in her brushing and spat pink froth into the basin,

‘Please don’t antagonise me Paul,’ she said pleadingly, borrowing the much used adjective from her parents’ vocabulary to emphasise her perspective of his intent.

‘I’m not antagonising you!’ Paul said defensively, ‘I was just asking if you’re excited.’

Tiffany looked at her big brother disbelievingly,

‘You only want to laugh at me because I believe in Santa Claus,’ she told him as if fact.

Paul sighed as he squeezed a measure of paste onto his brush.

‘Okay then- I admit it. I think it’s ridiculous that you still believe in flying reindeer and toy making elves, but only because you’re usually so clever.’

Tiffany was suitably appeased at her brother’s backhanded compliment to desist from involving their parents and instead offered Paul an insight into her thinking.

‘I think it’s important to believe in things we can’t see to keep the magic of Christmas alive.’

‘But isn’t Christmas all about peace and goodwill to all men? Isn’t that magical enough?’ Paul countered- glad to be able to have something like an adult conversation with his little sister.

Tiffany thought about this as she finished brushing and placed her toothbrush back into its holder.

‘Maybe it’s enough for grown ups, but I think we’re pushed into growing up too quickly,’ she answered.

Paul smiled sarcastically, the toothbrush wavering at his mouth,

‘That’s what Mum and Dad say about childhood Tiffany- I don’t think they mean we should always believe in Santa Claus,’ he stated.

‘Well what do they mean then?’ Tiffany retorted, her self-control waning.

‘Maybe they mean not being in a hurry to get jobs and buy cars and houses and stuff- I don’t know Tiff, but if they meant Santa they would probably say the same about the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny wouldn’t they?’ Paul said as rationally as he could manage, still not finding the opportunity to begin brushing.

‘That’s different!’ the girl protested.

‘How? Believing in Santa’s no different to believing in those two if you think about it.’

‘Yes it is- Santa’s real, but the Easter bunny and tooth fairy are made up.’

Paul gave up trying to brush for the time being and turned to his sister to say despairingly,

‘They’re all made up Tiffany- there was a Saint Nicholas who was a Bishop and helped the poor, but the other stories are no more real than the Easter Bunny or the tooth fairy.’

Tears were beginning to well at Tiffany’s eyes, betraying her upset at the demeaning of her innocent fantasising.

‘Santa Claus is real Paul- I know he’s real!’ she insisted.

‘Prove it!’ Paul said in a challenge to her.

‘I will!’ she retaliated.

‘Okay- how?’ Paul asked- the question loaded to lead to the outcome he desired.

And so it was that the children agreed to wait until their parents had retired to bed to sneak downstairs and lay in wait for the visit, or not of Saint Nicholas. They were not the first children to have done so, nor would they be the last, though their story will prove to be more unique than most others.

Once they had tiptoed down the stairs Paul had gone to great pains to show his sister the parcels which were already wrapped below the flamboyantly decorated tree- only for Tiffany to assert,

‘He doesn’t bring all of the gifts Paul- he leaves something special for every child who believes in the spirit of Christmas,’ then as she pointed to the glass topped coffee table, ‘besides- his cookies and milk are still there, which proves he hasn’t been yet.’

Paul was verging on losing his temper with Tiffany, but managed to calm himself with the knowledge that she would be proven wrong soon enough and ushered his sister over to the couch opposite the tree.

Here they would wait until the unsuspecting patron saint of children arrived to leave his offering and vindicate the beliefs of Tiffany or alternatively prove Paul to be correct by his none-attendance. Paul and Tiffany were still sat together, wrapped up warmly beneath their pyjamas and dressing gowns, while hunkered low behind the couch as the clock struck two.

‘What time does Santa usually turn up?’ Paul whispered between a yawn, ‘we’ve been here almost an hour.’

Tiffany chose to ignore her brother’s sardonic tone and answered determinedly,

‘I don’t know Paul, but he’ll be here.’

‘Oh yeah, of course,’ Paul muttered, but then turned his head in tandem with his sister’s as a whooshing sound was heard from the fireplace. Tiffany almost giggled out loud as her brother’s face paled to the footsteps coming from the other side of the couch.

‘Shhh!’ he urged Tiffany, whose reaction threatened to expose them.

Tiffany’s eyes were wide with wonder as she tried to suppress her excitement. Paul looked to her sternly and placed a finger to his lips to usher her to maintain her silence. Then, carefully, he turned onto his side to sneak a peek from the safety of their hiding place. Tiffany looked at him as his eyes took in the sights that she felt assured would be there and she could not help but smile as she watched his mouth drop open in amazement.

Paul ducked down beside her once again; a frown etched deep into his brow as he considered what to tell her.

‘Is he there?’ Tiffany mouthed in question, to which Paul shook his head,

‘I think it’s Dad dressed up,’ he said, unconvincingly.

On hearing this weak claim Tiffany could no longer resist the temptation to see for herself. She twisted around onto her knees and edged her way up to the cusp of the couch to peer beyond. Her heart leapt with delight as she saw the jolly image of Father Christmas with his back turned to her. He was partway through drinking the glass of milk left out for him while crunching the cookie between his teeth. The image was misty and mysterious in the scant light, but the child could see the famed hessian sack in which his gifts were stored, which was laid on the floor by the tree- his huge red clad frame blurred at the edges as he moved in slow deliberate actions.

Santa placed the empty glass back onto the coffee table and moved as if to turn in the children’s direction. Tiffany dropped out of sight and held onto her brothers arm,

‘I told you!’ she declared triumphantly, but Paul was not at all enthusiastic. In fact he looked afraid.

‘I don’t know who that is, but it isn’t Santa Claus,’ he whispered nervously.

‘Of course it is,’ she retorted- mouthing her words more than speaking them aloud.

Paul put one arm around his sisters shoulder and muttered regretfully,

‘I think it’s a robber- we need to wake Dad up.’

Tiffany looked at Paul as if he were mad,

‘It’s not a robber Paul, it’s Santa…’

Paul put a hand over her mouth as he heard movement from behind them. He cowered and bit his lip to stop his breath from escaping  in the hope of remaining undetected long enough for him to raise the alarm, but then he heard the man speak,

‘Hello children,’ the unfamiliar voice said quite loudly, ‘there’s no need to hide- I know you’re there.’

The children froze to stillness beside one another; Tiffany with shame for spying on such a person and Paul with fear of being caught out by a thief and intruder. The siblings looked at one another again and both made decisions to counteract their respective fears,

‘We’re sorry for spying on you,’ said Tiffany

‘Dad! There’s a man in our house!’ yelled Paul simultaneously.

‘Ho ho ho!’ laughed the red suited man and then, as if the house had span around them, the brother and sister found themselves sat upon the couch facing Father Christmas.

Tiffany shrieked with delight and Paul quietened with shock as they came face to face with the picture perfect image of Santa Claus. He stood above the pair in all his jolly glory; his long beard and moustache virtually covering his larger than life flushed face. His ice blue eyes sparkled with the dew of eternal delight as he guffawed loudly.

‘Well what have we here then?’ he said presently, ‘two children who could not agree that I existed I presume?’

He had presumed correctly,

‘Paul didn’t believe in you Santa. I told him you were real, but he didn’t believe me,’ Tiffany babbled apologetically.

Paul looked at his sister with indignant scorn of her betrayal while Santa laughed again at the sight of his disdain,

‘Don’t resent your sister so,’ the yuletide giant kindly advised, ‘she is merely speaking from her heart.’

The twelve-year-old found the courage to meet the man’s eyes and said,

‘I know, but I thought you were a children’s story and I’m not a child anymore… at least not like I used to be.’

Santa nodded his understanding,

‘Of course Paul- all things must grow and seek out greater sources of nourishment to become greater themselves. It is the way of the world and all things that dwell upon it, but you do believe in me now?’ Santa let the question linger for a moment and then added,

‘That is to say; Tiffany was right and you were wrong?’

Paul could not help, but think fond thoughts in the presence of such a person; all of his pretentions to adulthood were reduced to childish innocence and curiosity,

‘Yes- Tiffany was right,’ Paul confirmed happily as his sister leant to and hugged him lovingly.

‘Very good!’ Santa declared and then leant down to them to whisper a secret,

‘Did you know that the pure goodness of a child’s soul is more powerful than anything on earth?’

The question required no answer- it was statement of fact, and Saint Nicholas stood again to say solemnly,

‘It is through this power that I have lived for almost two thousand years and it is this power I need to keep me living eternally.’

Tiffany looked on, still mesmerised, but Paul felt uncomfortable about the sudden shift in Santa Claus’ temperament. His laughter was gone, his body language was less extroverted and… well… he was monologue-ing like a super-villain character from the comic books that Paul read.

‘Every year I find children like you who wished to prove or disprove my existence- it is almost always the same way,’ Santa continued

An instinctual surge of energy broke Paul from the spellbound rapture and he made to stand; pulling Tiffany with him as he went. Santa laughed his ‘ho-ho-ho’ and held out a scarlet clad hand and Paul was thrown back into the seat, unable to move within the power of the magic.

‘Dad! Mum…Dad! Help!’ he yelled, but Tiffany did not react, she simply continued to smile.

Again the jolly laugh, this time followed by a malevolent glare from those hypnotising eyes,

‘There is no point yelling my boy- no one can hear you! The magic within me is more powerful than anything you dare believe in.’

‘Let us go!’ Paul snarled, ‘you’re supposed to be nice!’

‘Nice?’ Santa asked and then laughed aloud, ‘why- because I give gifts to children?’ he continued,

‘And what have you always been told about accepting gifts from strangers, children?’

‘You must always say ‘no’!’ Tiffany chirped enthusiastically.

‘Good girl!’ said Santa, ‘you will be sure to get lots of gifts this year!’

‘What’s wrong with you Tiffany?’ Paul asked his sister; fear and concern shrouding his thoughts.

‘Isn’t it wonderful Paul?’ the happily docile girl replied with her bunched hands tucked dreamily beneath her chin, ‘I’m so glad you believe in Santa now.’

‘What have you done to her?’ Paul demanded to know of Santa.

‘I have done nothing Paul- this is the power of innocence; the power your parents and carers, media and society, advertising and folklore give to me. All who find me come to know the truth, but there is a price to be paid on discovery.’

As he declared his intent Santa Claus gestured with two hands about his body and there appeared about him the wraith-like visions of children. Small grey creatures that flitted like shadows then stopped and stared from crimson eyes, before flitting off on mischievous missions again.  

‘Who are you? Are you the Devil?’ Paul screamed in terror.

‘I am Nicholas of Patara; patron saint to sailors, students, thieves, merchants, archers and children. I have travelled this world countless times and learned of magic and power amongst academics, thieves and merchants alike before my aim became true and I found you!’

Santa’s familiars lurched toward the children as he concluded his tirade; stopping inches from their faces. Tiffany did not see the wraiths and so did not react, but Paul wet himself in fear and began to sob uncontrollably,

‘Mum! Dad! Please help me!’

Saint Nicholas mocked the boy with a gentle laugh,

‘Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho… this is what happens to the bad boys and girls who sneak up on me Paul. These are the sneakers, the thieves, the murdered, the maimed- the wretched unwanted… the badly behaved and unfortunate souls that find me on their way. These are my elves, my slaves!’ he said poetically of the elves who now danced like sinister silhouettes about the stricken boy.

‘Please don’t!’ the boy wept, ‘Tiffany help me!’ he tried to persuade his oblivious sister.

‘There is no help to be had boy- you will be one of my helpers now and your soul will afford me another lifetime and much more besides!’

Paul screamed as Santa reached out to him and pulled the colour from his essence; leaving only a grey memory of the person Paul might have been cursed to serve him forever.

………………………………………………………………

‘Lee! Wake up! Tiffany’s crying and won’t calm down- I think she’s had a nightmare!’

The balding man rolled out of bed in time with the rolling of his eyes toward his wife at the doorway,

‘A nightmare on Christmas Eve? Whatever next eh?’ he mumbled as he haphazardly found his equilibrium.

‘Hurry up- you know she won’t calm down for me!’

‘Okay Sandra! I’ll be there in a sec!’ Lee said as he pulled on his dressing gown and strode purposefully to the door.

In the neighbouring room he found his daughter weeping and shaking uncontrollably on her bed and fully woke in his subsequent concern for her,

‘Hey there baby doll! Come on baby- it was only a bad dream,’ he assured her gently while picking her up into his arms.

He saw that Tiffany’s eyes were petrified wide and that she could not speak for shuddering.

‘It’s all over now Tiff- hey come on girl- Daddy’s here now, tell me what happened and I‘ll help it go away.’

Recognition filtered through the girl’s vacant glare and she flopped into her father’s shoulder; still sobbing inconsolably, but at least more aware now and breathing more regularly as a consequence.

‘What is it baby- please tell us,’ Sandra said from behind Lee; stroking the girls hair at his shoulder as she spoke soothingly.

Tiffany breathed deeply to galvanise her efforts in speaking,

‘It… it… it w….wa…was s…s…Santa c…c…Claus.’

Lee giggled involuntarily in his relief,

‘Santa Claus scared you?’ he said bouncing the girl gently in his arms to comfort her.

‘He t…t…t…took p…p…Paul away. He m…made h…him one of h…his elves.’

Both parents let out an emphatic ‘aw’ on hearing such concern for her big brother and Sandra moved around to face Lee so that they could fully appreciate one another’s proud expressions.

‘Paul’s just fine baby- he’s in his bed sleeping hon,’ Lee assured her.

‘N…no he’s n…not,’ Tiffany wailed in dismay, ‘Santa Claus took him away!’

‘Hey there Tiffany! Come on honey- you have to calm down!’ Sandra said harshly, suddenly disturbed by her daughters outbursts.

‘Come on Tiff- we’ll go and look in on him to make sure he’s okay eh?’ Lee said in compromise and walked the short distance to his son’s room.

‘He’s just in here look Tiff- it was just a bad d…’

Lee paused as the door opened and the crack of light revealed the empty bed beyond.

‘Paul?’ he said confused then pushed the door fully open.

‘Paul?’ he said louder- then realising the bedroom was deserted turned to shout down the stairs,

‘Paul!’

Sandra was at his side by now; assessing the situation without the need to ask questions.

‘Paul!’ she yelled and ran down the staircase with Lee and the distraught Tiffany close behind.

The light was turned on and illuminated the empty room.

‘Try the kitchen!’ Lee suggested as his daughter huddled into him and began to whimper helplessly.

‘I need to put you down Tiff,’ Lee pleaded to his child, but she clung more tightly at the very suggestion.

‘He’s not there!’ Sandra shouted as she came back from the kitchen- her eyes already streaming with tears, then

‘Where is he Tiffany? Tell me where your brother is!’

Tiffany didn’t- couldn’t answer. The sight of the scene of Paul’s disappearance was too much for her mind to accept and she crawled into a psychological shell where Santa and his elves could not harm her.

‘Did you eat the cookie and drink the milk?’ Lee asked Sandra as the empty plate and glass caught his panicked focus.

‘What?’ his wife replied disbelievingly at the nonsensical question her husband had asked of her.

‘The cookie and the milk is gone- we were going to move them in the morning remember?’ he said in clarification.

Realisation came to her eyes as she looked at the crumb filled plate and milk smeared glass,

‘Oh my God!’ she announced.

‘Call the police Sandra- I think someone’s taken Paul.’

Tiffany scrambled frantically at her father’s neck as he turned to look at the blemish on the cream coloured couch. There was a patch of cooling urine soaking darkly into the fabric and Lee understood that, as his daughter was dry, this was his sons. Lee began to weep at the thought of the extent of the torment and trauma visited upon his child and walked outside into the cold Christmas night to scream his son’s name.

Tiffany closed her eyes against reality and when they re-opened she would never dare to believe in Father Christmas again. 

 

Reviews

[Kira]

I thought it was going to be a generic story, but then it took a freaky turn--probably less expected than Paul being abducted by the guy from Saw. I'm glad today's the day after Christmas because I probably would have been afraid to sleep...maybe straining my ears for some malevolent "Ho ho ho"s.
You, sir, have a twisted mind.
Yes, that's a compliment.
-Kira