A Christmas Story

The snowflakes fall softly to the ground as a light wind blows. The silhouette of Santa’s sleigh led by Rudolf and the reindeer get caught in the moonlight. It glides gently through the air, over the sleepy housing scheme of Easterhouse, down, down, down it goes, landing with a soft shuffling and a final clunk on the house of a young Christopher Craig.

‘EASY, RUDOLF,’ shouts Santa as he stabilizes the sleigh.

‘WOAH,’ Eugene shouts as the little elf jumps off and claps the reindeer — giving each one a carrot.

Both Santa and Eugene gather some gifts, placing them in Santa’s sack. Eugene takes out his magical rope, letting it tie itself around Santa’s plump waist. Santa begins descending the chimney, carefully lowered by Eugene.

‘Oof, Oof,’ Santa grunts as he bangs about the hard brick of the chimney

‘Are you okay, Santa?’ Asks Eugene, whispering down to him.

‘Oof, oof. Yes, Eugene, I’m fine.’

As Santa bangs extra hard into the chimney, he kicks a loose brick and it falls into the fireplace with a loud thump.

‘What was that?’ Shouts Eugene as he panics a little.

‘Aw bloody bugger,’ curses Santa.

‘Is everything okay?’ Eugene asks again.

‘All is well my little friend. Keep going.’

Christopher is lying in his bed — a child sleeping lightly in a tense anticipation of Christmas Eve and the presents that await him in the morning. He is wakened by a loud thump from the living room. Being somewhat excited by the prospect of Christmas, he swings his legs out of the bed and quickly, runs downstairs. He stands there staring at the fireplace as panting, scuffling, and shuffling sounds echo down through the darkness.

‘Ooof, Ooof.

Christopher walks calmly over to the tree, looking at some gifts his mum and dad left.

‘If presents are already there, then who is that?’ He mutters staring briefly at the fireplace.

He bends down and unwraps an odd-shaped gift, gripping it in his hand, he heads towards the sound.

‘Oof, aff,’ says Santa squeezing out over the hearth. He stands up, brushing the soot off his bright red uniform with his right hand while holding a beautifully wrapped gift in his left.

‘Oh. Hello, little boy,’ Santa says, the wobble in his voice betraying his sudden fear and surprise at being caught.

‘Aye, hello there,’ says Christopher, a pistol held steady in his hand.

Eugene Elf slides down the magical rope with the grace and ease of a trapeze artist and rolls out over the hearth, standing up right next to Santa, almost with a ta-da.

‘Oh!’ Says Eugene.

‘Oh indeed,’ says Christopher, eyeing them both suspiciously. ‘What’s the fuckin drill here?’

‘Well… I’m Santa, and this is Eugene,’ he says pointing to the elf, standing there dressed in a bright green suit with red and white stripey socks; completely untouched by the soot from the chimney.

‘Did you dress in the fuckin dark, mate?’ Christopher says, looking the elf up and down. ‘You look more like a goblin.’

Eugene just stands there staring, unsure where to look or what to say. Santa checks his notepad.

‘That’s not very appropriate, Christopher,’ says Santa trying to muster up some authority. ‘Put the gun down and go back to your bed.’

‘What? Listen, mate, a’l tell ye what’s not appropriate. A fat man in a fucking red suit wearing a silly hat sliding down chimneys, closely followed by a goblin bearing gifts for small children, at,’ he says staring briefly at the clock, ‘At half-past two in the morning.’

‘Well… em… I’m Santa.’

‘And I’m an elf,’ says Eugene meekly, nodding to the little bells on his shoes, giving them a little jingle in demonstration.

‘Right. Okay. What’s that?’ Asks Christopher waving the gun in the direction of Santa’s hand.

‘It’s a gift, for you — for being such a good boy.’

‘For being a good boy,’ Nods Eugene, shuffling a little, Unsure where to direct his eyes.

‘Open it!’ Says Christopher.

‘Oh, you can’t open it until morning,’ says Santa slowly shaking his head.

‘Uh, uh,’ Eugene says as he tries to hide the fear in his eyes.

‘OPEN THE FUKIN PRESENT, YA FAT CUNT!’ Christopher says, cocking his pistol.

Santa’s shaking hands tear at the gold and white wrapping paper. He stares at Christopher a moment, smiling a little, then reveals a little glass snow globe.

‘A snow globe?’ Christopher says, shaking his head. ‘Really? A fukin snow globe?’

BANG BANG.

The shots ring out in the snow-dampened quiet of Christmas night. The reindeer stir a little on the roof. A flock of sleeping birds suddenly wake up and fly off in search of safety.

Santa and Eugene’s lifeless bodies lie on the floor, their dead eyes stare at the ceiling as blood pools around each of their shattered skulls.

The living room door opens.

Christopher’s mum walks over to him taking the plastic gun from his hand and places the snow globe on top of the mantlepiece. She throws the toy and the two cuddly teddys back under the tree.

‘What did I tell you about opening your presents?’ She says lifting the small boy, his legs wrapping around her waist. ‘At least you’ve still to see your big present in the morning.’ She smiles at Christopher lovingly before carrying him back upstairs.