Flashback Friday--Pismawallops PTA Xmas Part II

 Flashback Friday is a monthly meme that takes place on the last Friday of the month.
The idea is to give a little more love to a post you’ve published on your blog before.  Maybe you just love it, maybe it’s appropriate for now, or maybe it just didn’t get the attention it deserved when you first published it.

Thanks to Michael d’Agostino, who started it all, there is a solution – join Flashback Friday! And thanks to Jemima Pett, who has kept it going--visit her blog to add your name to the list!

Just join in whenever you like, repost one of your own blog posts, including any copyright notices on text or media, on the last Friday of the month.

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I posted the first half of this story a couple of weeks ago because I was using parts of it in the new Pismawallops PTA mystery.  You can check that out if you don't remember or didn't read it, because this is part two, and needs the first half to make sense. In a quick summary, Kitty and JJ have been setting up the PTA holiday bazaar, and someone or something keeps messing up the display of hot pads and scrubbies. Just before time to open, Kitty finds out just what it was, and proposes a most unlikely person to adopt the cat: Arne Hancock, the somewhat fussy art teacher whose table the kitten has been disturbing.

Pismawallops Christmas, Part II

I put my hands on my hips and glared at Kitty. The kitty in her arms poked its furry little face toward me and mewed.

“How on earth do you intend to persuade Arne Hancock to adopt that creature?”

“It’s a kitten, JJ, not a ‘creature.’ And I have about three minutes to come up with the answer to that,” she added.

“While we tidy his table,” I pointed out. “I think it will go a lot better if he doesn’t see what the kitten did to his rainbows.” I left her trying to hold the cat in one arm while she moved potholders around with her free hand. Trotting across the gym, I flipped the switch that started the music, then scurried back the other way to open the door. Three PTA parents stood outside with trays and platters of baked goods.

I took the goodies, directed the one donor who was willing to stay to help Kitty, and tried to match the desserts with Patty Reilly’s signs. Fortunately, Patty came in before I could make too much of a mess of things, and I went back to directing people and coping with emergencies.

I spotted Arne at the door, and, a quick glance showing me that Kitty and her helper weren’t done with the table, set myself to delay him a minute or two.

“Oh, Arne. Glad to see you.” I clutched his arm, turning him so his back was to the scurry around his table. “Do you have the pricing tags for the art table?”

He looked at me, confused by the question, as well he might be. “I’m in charge of the crafts table, Ms. MacGregor, not the art.” He looked at my hand on his arm, and I got the message. I let him go.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that since you’re the art teacher… ” My words trailed off as he turned and saw what Kitty and Amy were doing.

“Why are they messing up my display?”

“Um, they’re just straightening up a bit. There was, ah, a bit of an accident.”

“Again?” His lips narrowed. “I fail to see why my table should be the one cast into disarray by every clumsy lout,” he began, then stopped. “I’m sorry. I suppose one of you bumped it while trying to do too much. No harm done,” he said without conviction as he hurried away to see to his goods.

I watched Kitty turn her back and trot off as he approached, the kitten now snuggled inside her gaudy Santa snowman sweater. I cut across the room at an angle to intercept her.

“I don’t know why Arne is so fussed about his perfect arrangement of potholders,” I murmured when I caught her. “The shoppers will reduce it to chaos in minutes in any case.”

She laughed. “And he’ll spend the whole time trying to restore it to order.”

“What are you going to do with the furball there?” I asked. “Even if Arne does adopt it, you have to do something with it for the day.”

“I’m not sure. I only know I have to keep her out of sight, because if Kat and Sarah see her, I’ll have another mouth to feed at my house.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’m allergic.”

Kitty didn’t believe me, but I was gone before she could challenge that, off to calm another crisis. I called back over my shoulder, “take it to the teachers’ room and give it some milk!” I’d have to get along without my partner for a while.

The bazaar had opened while I was running around, and shoppers were swarming over the tables, especially the treats. I checked to make sure Amy was at the cashier’s table, and had everything she needed, then went to get the lids for the cups of coffee and hot cider we were selling.

After that, I spent my day dashing from table to table, giving people a break where needed, fetching whatever had been forgotten, and trying to keep a smile pasted on my face so I wouldn’t scare off the customers. Patty slipped me a broken cookie or two, and my coffee cup stayed filled, or I wouldn’t have made it.

Eventually, Arne Hancock waved me over. “I need a break,” he announced. “The crowd is getting rather large and loud and I must go somewhere quiet for a time.”

How on earth did this guy survive teaching high school kids? I hid my smile, and told him I could give him ten minutes.

“I’m going to the teachers’ room,” he said, and was off before I remembered.

Kitty had left the kitten sleeping in a box in the teachers’ room. I hoped Furball would keep quiet.

***
Arne didn’t return. I needed to leave the table and take care of business, like finding a bathroom to offload the four cups of coffee I’d drunk. Where was he?

I finally got someone over to take my place with the potholders, and found Kitty. “We need to find Arne. He went off to take his break and never came back.”

“Where’d he… oh, no!” Kitty said.

“Oh, yes. If that cat got out and made a mess in the teachers’ room, we will never hear the end of it.” We raced down the breezeway between the gym and the main school building, dreading what we might find. Opening the door of the teachers’ room, we came to a dead halt.

Arne sat on the floor, surrounded by wads of crumpled paper. As we watched, he tossed one to the kitten, who pounced on it and batted it back to him. The stressed-out art teacher had a blissful smile on his face as he reached out to stroke the soft kitten-fur.

When at last he noticed us, he looked up, unperturbed. “You’ll have to get on without me over there. Someone abandoned this poor animal, and I need to take care of her.” He frowned. “It’s not yours, is it?”

“No,” Kitty managed to answer. “I found her in the gym.”

“Excellent. Then I shall take her home and see that she is cared for properly.”

We closed the door before we turned to high five each other.

Mission accomplished: two fewer lonely creatures.

###

 ©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2018

 As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated.

Middle Grade Fiction: When Santa Fell to Earth

Title: When Santa Fell to Earth

Author: Cornelia Funke. Trans. Oliver Latsch

Publisher: Scholastic ebook, 2011. 90 pages. Original by Dressler, 1994 (in German).

Source: Library digital resources


Publisher's Summary:
What would happen if Santa fell to Earth? Christmas through the eyes of Cornelia Funke: quirky, funny, ultimately heartwarming, and packaged in a collectible format. A new holiday classic! Scared by a storm, Twinklestar, the least reliable reindeer, bolts--causing Santa and his sleigh to crash-land. And though Santa has dropped into a friendly neighborhood, he's not safe: Jeremiah Goblynch, the ruthless new leader of the Council of Yuleland, is determind to put an end to children's wishes and turn the holiday season into his own personal moneymaking scheme. As the last REAL St. Nick around, only Santa stands between Goblynch and his grinchlike plan. With the help and hope of kids Charlotte and Ben, Santa must face Goblynch and his Nutcracker goons to save Christmas!
 

My Review: 
This was a delightful short read! I loved the glimpses of a magical world of Santas, as well as the mild adventure story. There is a grave peril to Santa and thus to Christmas as we (well, of a select set of first-world countries, but that's a different discussion) know it. But the peril is never too frightening or too disillusioning for the very young, making this a good family read-aloud for the holidays.

At only about 90 pages, it doesn't take long to read. I enjoyed it enough to sit down and read straight through in one go, and I liked the balance in the end of giving the children what they needed, and being Santa, who maintains a certain distance and has important things to go do (well, after Christmas that important thing is to sleep on a tropical beach for a while, but hey, he works hard in the weeks leading up to the holiday!).

And after reading this, I will never eat another chocolate Santa (easy vow: I like high-quality chocolate, and they usually aren't!).

My Recommendation:
Read it aloud to the family next Christmas. Taken in small doses, you might be able to make it last the week before Christmas, or at least the time after school lets out. It offers just enough to be kind of fun for the grown-ups, too, though this really is a book for the kids up to about age 9 or 10. It won't disillusion the ones who still believe in the big guy, either.

FTC Disclosure: I checked When Santa Fell to Earth out of my library, and received nothing from the writer or publisher for my honest review.  The opinions expressed are my own and those of no one else.  I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising." 

Friday Flash: A Pismawallops PTA Christmas, Part II

Last week our intrepid heroine and her side-kick found a kitten ravaging the tables of the PTA holiday bazaar. This week, they deal with finding the cat a home, against all the odds. I ran a bit over, at 1050 words.



A Pismawallops PTA Christmas, Part II

I put my hands on my hips and glared at Kitty. The kitty in her arms poked its furry little face toward me and mewed.

“How on earth do you intend to persuade Arne Hancock to adopt that creature?”

“It’s a kitten, JJ, not a ‘creature.’ And I have about three minutes to come up with the answer to that,” she added.

“While we tidy his table,” I pointed out. “I think it will go a lot better if he doesn’t see what the kitten did to his rainbows.” I left her trying to hold the cat in one arm while she moved potholders around with her free hand. Trotting across the gym, I flipped the switch that started the music, then scurried back the other way to open the door. Three PTA parents stood outside with trays and platters of baked goods.

I took the goodies, directed the one donor who was willing to stay to help Kitty, and tried to match the desserts with Patty Reilly’s signs. Fortunately, Patty came in before I could make too much of a mess of things, and I went back to directing people and coping with emergencies.

I spotted Arne at the door, and, a quick glance showing me that Kitty and her helper weren’t done with the table, set myself to delay him a minute or two.

“Oh, Arne. Glad to see you.” I clutched his arm, turning him so his back was to the scurry around his table. “Do you have the pricing tags for the art table?”

He looked at me, confused by the question, as well he might be. “I’m in charge of the crafts table, Ms. MacGregor, not the art.” He looked at my hand on his arm, and I got the message. I let him go.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that since you’re the art teacher… ” My words trailed off as he turned and saw what Kitty and Amy were doing.

“Why are they messing up my display?”

“Um, they’re just straightening up a bit. There was, ah, a bit of an accident.”

“Again?” His lips narrowed. “I fail to see why my table should be the one cast into disarray by every clumsy lout,” he began, then stopped. “I’m sorry. I suppose one of you bumped it while trying to do too much. No harm done,” he said without conviction as he hurried away to see to his goods.

I watched Kitty turn her back and trot off as he approached, the kitten now snuggled inside her gaudy Santa snowman sweater. I cut across the room at an angle to intercept her.

“I don’t know why Arne is so fussed about his perfect arrangement of potholders,” I murmured when I caught her. “The shoppers will reduce it to chaos in minutes in any case.”

She laughed. “And he’ll spend the whole time trying to restore it to order.”

“What are you going to do with the furball there?” I asked. “Even if Arne does adopt it, you have to do something with it for the day.”

“I’m not sure. I only know I have to keep her out of sight, because if Kat and Sarah see her, I’ll have another mouth to feed at my house.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’m allergic.”

Kitty didn’t believe me, but I was gone before she could challenge that, off to calm another crisis. I called back over my shoulder, “take it to the teachers’ room and give it some milk!” I’d have to get along without my partner for a while.

The bazaar had opened while I was running around, and shoppers were swarming over the tables, especially the treats. I checked to make sure Amy was at the cashier’s table, and had everything she needed, then went to get the lids for the cups of coffee and hot cider we were selling.

After that, I spent my day dashing from table to table, giving people a break where needed, fetching whatever had been forgotten, and trying to keep a smile pasted on my face so I wouldn’t scare off the customers. Patty slipped me a broken cookie or two, and my coffee cup stayed filled, or I wouldn’t have made it.

Eventually, Arne Hancock waved me over. “I need a break,” he announced. “The crowd is getting rather large and loud and I must go somewhere quiet for a time.”

How on earth did this guy survive teaching high school kids? I hid my smile, and told him I could give him ten minutes.

“I’m going to the teachers’ room,” he said, and was off before I remembered.

Kitty had left the kitten sleeping in a box in the teachers’ room. I hoped Furball would keep quiet.

***
Arne didn’t return. I needed to leave the table and take care of business, like finding a bathroom to offload the four cups of coffee I’d drunk. Where was he?

I finally got someone over to take my place with the potholders, and found Kitty. “We need to find Arne. He went off to take his break and never came back.”

“Where’d he… oh, no!” Kitty said.

“Oh, yes. If that cat got out and made a mess in the teachers’ room, we will never hear the end of it.” We raced down the breezeway between the gym and the main school building, dreading what we might find. Opening the door of the teachers’ room, we came to a dead halt.

Arne sat on the floor, surrounded by wads of crumpled paper. As we watched, he tossed one to the kitten, who pounced on it and batted it back to him. The stressed-out art teacher had a blissful smile on his face as he reached out to stroke the soft kitten-fur.

When at last he noticed us, he looked up, unperturbed. “You’ll have to get on without me over there. Someone abandoned this poor animal, and I need to take care of her.” He frowned. “It’s not yours, is it?”

“No,” Kitty managed to answer. “I found her in the gym.”

“Excellent. Then I shall take her home and see that she is cared for properly.”

We closed the door before we turned to grin at each other.

Two lonely creatures had found each other.

 ***

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2017
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Enjoyed the story? Take a look at the Pismawallops PTA mysteries.

 

What do you serve when all you have in the freezer is an ice-cold corpse?

JJ MacGregor thinks it’s hard enough to hold the Pismawallops PTA together when a new mom starts tossing out insults.  She discovers it’s even harder when the woman shows up dead where the ice cream bars should have been.

 Formal dances, final exams, and dead bodies. School’s almost out at Pismawallops High!

JJ thought starting the day without coffee was a disaster, but now there's a dead musician behind the Pismawallops High School gym. His trombone is missing, and something about the scene is off key. JJ and Police Chief Ron Karlson are determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, but will they be able to work harmoniously or will discord ruin the investigation? With the music teacher as the prime suspect, JJ could be left to conduct the band, and then Graduation might truly end in a death by trombone, or at least the murder of Pomp and Circumstance!

Deja Vu All Over Again

I so much appreciated last week's Deja Vu post, that I decided to republish a Christmas Story from last year.

It can be hard to get into the holiday spirit when you're all alone in a space ship, but Xavier Xanthum, Space Explorer, is determined to try.

Xavier Xanthum’s Xmas

Xavier Xanthum switched off his book with a sigh and stared at the window.  He was in deep hyperspace, so the window was black.  Whatever was out there, space travelers had long ago decided they didn’t wan to see it.  When he was in hyperspace, then, the window served as a vid-screen.  Xavier called out, “Larry, give me a snowy village scene.”  He turned away while the computer worked on the problem, and found the disembodied eyeballs that were Larry’s physical manifestation watching him.

“You are troubled, Xavier?”  Larry’s voice came from the speaker on the wall, not from the eyes.  It took some getting used to, but Xavier and Larry had been together a long time.

“Larry, how long until we make landfall?”

“Approximately four weeks.”

“And how long since we celebrated Christmas?”

“What?”  Larry was taken aback, not an easy thing to do to a computer.  He recovered almost at once, however, and said, “You were on Gobulan D on December 25th four galactic years past.  It is an Earth-colonized planet, so they presumably celebrate Earth holidays.”

“Huh.”  Xavier couldn’t recall, but four years was a long time in space.  “What’s the date now?”

“Stardate 27358.49.”

Xavier made a rude noise.  “What’s the Earth date?”

“That is a meaningless concept.  You are approximately 40,000 light years from earth.”  Hyperspace really was an amazing thing. 

“Count the days from the last time we were on Earth.”  He reconsidered.  It had been decades since he’d been on Earth.  “Or from that holiday on—where did you say?”

“Gobulan D.”

“Count the ship’s days on an Earth calendar.”  He waited a moment, then demanded impatiently, “well?”

“By that meaningless reckoning,” Larry said with disapproval in his allegedly synthetic voice, “this would be December 24th.  Do you wish to know the year?”  For a computer, Larry could be very sarcastic.

 Xavier ignored the sarcasm.  “December 24th?  Then we,” he announced, “are celebrating Christmas tomorrow.”

“Very well, Captain.”  Larry really could be sarcastic. “In what way do you wish to celebrate this event?”

“In the traditional manner!” Xavier said.  “You figure it out!”

“Very well.”

And then Larry refused to say anything more.  Xavier, for his part, went to work on creating decorations.  He had no access to pine boughs or holly in the ordinary way, but Larry, when asked if the replicator could generate a Christmas tree, gave a curt “of course.  Santa will bring it after you go to bed.”

Xavier thought that was unnecessarily sarcastic, but he forgave Larry.  The computer didn’t like it when Xavier got irrational.  It made Larry nervous.  He played around with the lights to give the single living-working space on his ship a Christmas feel.

The basic flaw in his holiday plans, Xavier realized, was the whole gift-giving thing.  He’d been reading what the computer library called “classics of earth childhood,” and Christmas definitely involved the exchanging of gifts.  Well, he would just have to give Larry a gift, since there wasn’t anyone else.

That left him with the dual challenge of finding a gift for a sentient computer, and doing it in secret when Larry knew every item on the ship and saw everything.

And who would give Xavier a present?  He tried not to think about that.  He even re-read the first chapter of Little Women to remind himself that it was better to give than receive.  He wished there might be some starving immigrants he could give his breakfast to.  He knew it was all silly anyway.  Just something to pass the time.

Even so, Xavier felt a little excited when he woke the next morning.  He had found a sock and attached it to the sticky-tab nearest the air duct (as the nearest substitute he could think of for a chimney).

When he rolled out of bed—Xavier kept the g-field just strong enough that he didn’t have to strap in at night—and exchanged his sleep-suit for a work jumpsuit, he saw a small, weedy-looking fir tree next to the driving panel.

Instead of pushing the button to fold the bed back into the wall, Xavier took a closer look at the tree.  Two small, colored balls hung from branches too limp to support them.

“Larry?” Xavier called softly.  “Did you do this?”

The eyeballs appeared next to him.  “I studied 20th-Earth-Century holiday vids, and this seemed to be the most popular look.  It is something called a ‘Charlie Brown Christmas tree.’  And it was easy to replicate, using the program for—” Larry broke off, and finished lamely, “well, you could eat it if you wanted.”

“It’s lovely, Larry,” Xavier said not quite truthfully.  “And a tree needs a present.”  He pulled a small box from where he’d hidden it in his covers.  He thrust the box at the eyeballs, which got a little brighter.

“Thank you, Xavier.  Would you open it for me?”

Larry had no hands, since he didn’t really exist outside the computer.  Even the eyeballs were a projection, or possibly a hallucination.  Xavier opened the package, feeling a small surge of pleasure even though he’d filled and wrapped it.  “More memory for you!”

“I thank you,” Larry said.  Xavier could tell he was pleased.  He’d meant the memory plates as back-up, but Larry would make good use of the added capacity.

“I’ll install it right after breakfast.”

“I regret that I could not. . . .” Larry began, but Xavier was looking at the stocking he’d hung.  It was wriggling.  Xavier shoved off across the pod and lifted the sock, which definitely bulged and squirmed, from the sticky-pad.

“What in space?”  Man and computer spoke together, as a small, furry head popped out of the sock, uttering a plaintive mew.

“Where did it come from?”  Xavier asked.  You couldn’t make a kitten from the replicator.

“I have no idea,” Larry said.

“A stowaway?  For all these weeks?  And why come out now, to hide in my stocking?”  He cuddled the soft animal as he spoke, and it licked his hand.

“Larry, a bowl of milk, warm.”  The bowl appeared in the food slot, and Xavier held bowl and cat as the animal lapped the milk with enthusiasm.  He scanned the night’s instrument records, as his hand absently stroked the soft fur.  Only one anomaly appeared, far too close to them for a brief period and then gone, and that was too absurd to credit.

###

©Rebecca M. Douglass

Flash Fiction 200-word challenge: The conclusion

For the last 5 weeks I've been having fun with the Chuck Wendig 200-word challenge, wherein each writer adds 200 words to a story started by someone else.  This is my 5th and final story.  The project has been both entertaining and educational (in particular, while it is easy to add complications in 200 words, I was unable to conclude this in under 220, and that was with some serious paring down!).  I haven't managed to track all my stories (they're in the side-bar throughout late November and December), but I chose to finish with a holiday tale of a desperate rescue of Santa Claus.

For the record, my original story ("Millions of Cats") is finished here.

A Gifted Wizard

Part 1 by  Andrew Linder - Part 2 by  Caitlin McColl 
Part 3 by - Hana Frank  - Part 4 by Mozette

1.
Mary loved Christmas because it was the comfiest holiday. Sitting on the floor before a modest pile of gilded presents, surrounded by family, sipping hot cocoa—hot cocoa!—she was experiencing true, Christmas bliss. She pet the cat beside her as it nuzzled her knee. Her brother handed her a perfectly wrapped gift. She reached for it, but he yanked it away, laughing. She laughed too. This happened every year. “Mom!” she said, directing her voice toward the kitchen, “Danny’s being a jerk!”

But she snatched the present from him anyway and pulled at the ribbon. 
Then the front door burst open and a gaunt, bearded man in ripped jeans and no shirt stumbled in. He had a large, pointy hat on his head. He glanced around at the startled faces, settling on Mary’s. She knew him, and stuttered, “U-u-uncle Martin?”

He nodded. “There’s magic afoot, niece…You’re a wizard, Mary”. Seeing her confusion, he pointed at the cat. “Look, the cat can talk now.”

She looked down at Bubbles. Bubbles looked up. “Hey,” Bubbles said.

Mary stared. “Hey.”

Uncle Martin pulled a folded up hat, like his own, from his back pocket. “Here! Take this wizard hat and follow me.”

2.
Mary jumped up and with a glance over her shoulder at the confused faces of her family, she followed her uncle out into the crisp fall air. She wondered how he could be wandering around without a shirt when she was wearing a long sleeved sweater. Maybe wizards generated internal heat? "Wait! Hold up!" She jogged to catch up to him. "You can't just throw a crumpled pointy hat from a cheap Halloween costume at someone, make the cat talk, then leave again! I have questions. Lots of them!"

"I'm sure you do," Martin said nodding with brief glance at Mary as he kept walking.

"Like, did everyone else just hear Bubbles talk back then? Or do they think you're crazy for bursting in like that. They probably think I'm crazy now too!"

"No, they can't, just you can. ‘Cuz you're a-"

"You're a wizard Harry!" Mary said in her best mock-Hagrid voice. "I'm not friggin’ Harry Potter, Uncle. I’m a thirty three-year-old nursing student from Portland, not some kid in a story book with a magic wand!” She grabbed Martin’s arm and turned him to face her. “Seriously, Uncle. What’s going on?”

"There's a problem. And we need you." 



3.
"Me?" Mary let go of his arm. "Look, whatever this is about, I'd love to help. Really. But shouldn't you get a more experienced wizard?" 
Martin didn't answer. His eyes were lifted to the sky.  
"Uncle?"


The faint sound of jingling bells made her turn and look up. Huge clouds parted to reveal a team of reindeer pulling a red sled. The animals drifted down, landing beside Mary with the grace of ballet dancers.


The head reindeer nodded at her then jerked its head at the sled. "Hey Marty. We've gotta go. Like right now dude." 


"Mary." Her uncle's voice was a plea. She stood frozen, staring at the reindeer, her fingers crushing the paper wizard hat. 
"The great Wizard Claus needs our help." Martin shook his head. "Something went wrong and now he can't get back into Real Time." 


"Tell her about it on the way dude." This from one of the reindeer at the back.


"Yes. Yes of course." Martin held her arm, gently steered her towards the sled steps. "We've only got an hour left Mary." 


Well, she decided, talking reindeer and a sled were way cooler than the magic cars Harry Potter flew in.

4.
Uncle Martin didn’t wait for her to sit down as he grabbed the reins and snapped them gently, urging the eight reindeer to take flight as gently as they had landed; pushing her back into her seat.

“So, what’s the big emergency you need me for?” she heard herself ask as he steered the team up into the sky and above the cloud cover.  The sun shone blindingly bright and made the cloud tops look like meringues fresh and ready for the oven.

“Well, like Comet said, Santa is stuck in there, he’s lost his way.” He muttered, “And right now, he’s holed up in a psych ward.  He knows who he is, but the doctors are trying to make him not believe…” he looked over at her briefly, “… and you know what will happen if he stops believing in who he is, don’t you?”

Her gut turned cool, “Oh, god… Christmas will disappear forever for all the children around the world.” Her eyes wandered to the reindeer and over the gorgeous sleigh as tears pricked her eyes, “Okay, what do I have to do?”

His eyes glimmered, “Good, you’re with me on this.”


My contribution:
“We’ll break him out,” Marty continued.  “No time for anything else.”

“But I d-don’t kn-know anything about being a wi-wi-wizard.”  She could hardly say that word even if her teeth hadn’t been chattering with the cold wind.

“Yer the decoy, darlin’ girl.”  Comet again.  “Leave the wizardin’ to Marty.”

Of course, it wasn’t quite like that.  Uncle Marty taught her a few spells, though she knew they’d never work.  At the hospital, Mary jumped out and ran in to go distract the employees.  But no one was at the front desk, and a sound of laughter suggested they were partying in a back room.  She kept moving down the long, sterile hall, skidding to a halt before a door labeled “Nicholas.”

She didn’t even pause to knock.  She shouted the unlocking spell at the door, and it flew open, revealing a fat man in a red suit.

“They took my boots, blast them,” he said.  “But these slippers will do.”  The slippers had bunnies on them.

“Come on, then.”  An explosion interrupted her, and the bars on the window blew to bits.  She got Santa shoved through just as the sleigh pulled up underneath, and followed him out, landing in a heap in the back seat as the old man took the reins. 

“Dash away all!” came the shout, and the sleigh showed what it could really do.

Flash Fiction Friday: Halitor at Midwinter

Because writing is way more fun than editing, or cleaning house, or shopping for Christmas presents, here's one last holiday story before I turn to focus on my family for a week or so.  Have a safe and pleasant holiday!

Halitor at Midwinter

Halitor the Hero stared gloomily into his fire and sighed.  He remembered how it had been this time last year.  He’d been warm, for one thing.  Snow had been falling then, just as it did now, but he’d been in Alcedor Castle, with Melly and the king and all the court, enough people and enough fires to make even a drafty old castle warm.

Now it was Midwinter’s Eve, the time of year when everyone gathered with family and friends and celebrated the return of the sun—or celebrated to ensure the sun would return.  Some said the parties determined how the year would come out.

Halitor really hoped that wasn’t true.  If it was, he was probably ruining the year for scores of people.  And he was supposed to be a Hero, making their lives better!  He poked the fire, added another stick, and huddled closer.  His horse moved in to enjoy the warmth, too.

“Come on in, Nightwind,” Halitor told the animal.  “Maybe if I make your life a little better tonight it will keep the bad luck away.  If I’d been smart, I’d have given up my quest and gone back to the castle for Midwinter.”  The horse snorted.  He knew as well as Halitor that they had traveled much too far to return for the holiday.  And, the young Hero reminded himself, along the way he had managed to do some good.  He’d rescued a family from ogres, and arrived at an isolated farm in time to help put out a fire that threatened house and barn.  He steered his thoughts away from some less heroic events.

Now he was in the sparsely populated lands in the farthest mountains of Kargor, and apparently a lot higher than he’d meant to be.  He looked into his saddlebags, extracting a bag of beans and spices, and poured a handful into the pot of water coming to a boil over his fire.  He’d had no luck hunting, not for days.  Animals had more sense than to be out in this weather.  His Midwinter feast would be another pot of watery bean soup.

He’d known worse.  And the shallow cave that Nightwind had found offered more shelter than they’d had for days.  Halitor smiled in spite of himself.  He was cold and wet and hungry, but he was a Hero, by heaven he was!  In the morning, if the storm had blown itself out, he’d ride on and find that village he’d heard of, the one with the wyvern problem.  That settled, he ate his dinner, wrapped himself in his blanket, and went to sleep.

It wasn’t yet light when something nudged him awake.  A foot.  An experienced Hero like Halitor knew that it was never good when someone woke you up with a toe.  That kind was always an enemy.

In this case, the enemy was a boy about nine years old.  Halitor looked from the pale and very young face to the bare foot that had kicked him.  A bare foot?  In this blizzard?  He started to sit up.

“Just you stay put, mister.”  The voice was as tough as a treble could be.  Halitor would have ignored the command, but the boy looked scared, which meant that he might do something foolish.  It also meant that he could use a little encouragement.  Halitor knew all too well how it felt to be over his head.

“Right.  I’m your prisoner, then.  Would you like some breakfast?”  Halitor didn’t know what time it was, but when you were a little kid and barefoot in the snow, it was a safe bet that it was mealtime.  “If you let me sit up I’ll fix us something.”

The boy hesitated.  He edged a bit closer to the fire, and made up his mind.  “Very well.  But don’t do anything foolish.”  Halitor sat up very carefully, happy to see that for once his captor wasn’t pointing his own sword at him.  The boy had only a sharp stick.  And behind him there were three more children, each younger than the previous. 

“Da always said no one but a bandit would be out in the woods on Longnight,” the second child said. 

“We are,” pointed out the third child.  The fourth just stood there shivering, a finger in his mouth.

“Getting storm-caught can happen to anyone,” Halitor said with the sort of cheer he saved for desperate situations.  He no longer worried he was in danger.  But as a Hero, he had to find a way to save these waifs from the storm.  “Sit up to the fire.”  He handed the second child—the only girl—his blanket. “Wrap up together, all of you.”  After a second look, he took off his cloak and gave that to her as well, then built the fire back up.

Only when the food was ready did the oldest lower his stick and sit in with the others.  “Don’t forget, you’re my prisoner,” he told Halitor.

“I won’t,” the Hero promised.  “See?  I’m doing your bidding, making you something to eat.”  When the child’s mouth was full, Halitor asked, “How did you all come to be wandering from home on Longnight, and in such a storm?”

Stick scowled and wouldn’t answer, but Girl spoke up.  “We got no home.  Not no more.  Wyverns come and wrecked it.”

“Your parents?”  Halitor didn’t want to ask. 

“Dunno,” Girl said.  “They wasn’t to home, and we had to run and then we got lost.”

Halitor kept feeding the children, even though he was nearly out of food, and kept them talking until daylight, and until he had a pretty good idea where their village might be.  When at last they were warm and well-fed, he stood up.  Instantly Stick was on the alert again. 

“Let’s get going,” Halitor said, ignoring the bristling child.  “We need to get you back to your village before Midwinter is over!”

He loaded the children onto Nightwind, wrapped the blanket around them, and led off through the snow, trying to ignore his own cold feet.

“Mister?”  It was the littlest child, finally without the finger in the mouth.  “Are you the Longnight Spirit?  The one who brings gifts to little boys and girls?” 

Halitor shrugged to himself.  A Hero was what he needed to be.

“I guess I am.”

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You know what goes here!