Things That Go Bump in the Night...

by Gail Balentine

It was cold and late and the snow was three feet deep. Nobody had been able to make it for my Christmas Eve party and there was no way that I would get to my daughter’s house for Christmas morning. Bah, humbug.

            I’d just headed toward the front door to turn off the outside lights when I heard a sound, muffled and undecipherable, but definitely a sound that didn’t belong. Perfect, a Christmas break-in? Well, he’ll get a present he’s not expecting from me! My baseball bat was in the closet. I got it and headed toward the living room.

All the lights were out except for the tree so I figured I’d startle whoever was there when I switched on the overheads. The room lit up only to find - nobody. It’s not a big room, not too many places to hide. I looked behind furniture and the tree. It was then that I realized the noise was coming from the fireplace. A critter of some kind stuck maybe?

            I tiptoed over to the chimney, feeling more than a little foolish, still all dressed up but now with a bat accessory. I bent over and that’s when I saw it, a foot – or rather a black boot – hanging down. Then there was a large puff of black soot that blew right in my face as a voice yelled clearly: “Oh no … help …ouch!”

            Coughing and sputtering, I reached out only to grab a handful of fur. When I could see, there was someone’s very round, very red velvet-covered backside trying to wiggle out onto my hearth. I was so stunned I forgot to be afraid and helped tug him out, the result of which was me pancaked on the floor beneath no less than what appeared to be jolly old St. Nick himself!

            “What the …” I pushed to get him off me and, with more agility than I thought he’d have, he jumped up and then gallantly helped me up. Before we could speak, a huge thud brought a bag crashing down onto the now scattered logs Santa had landed on, and toys spilled everywhere.

            There I was almost eye-to-eye – he’s not a tall man – with Santa Claus. He was grinning, eyes crinkling at the edges, cheeks black with soot, the what used-to-be-white fur of his suit now black. I couldn’t help it, I started laughing and so did he.

            “Well, that was some entrance Martha, wasn’t it?”

            Hearing my first name was instantly sobering. “How do you know my name and who … who are you really?” In a flash I’d decided he was a thief with a sick sense of humor. I looked for my bat.

            “Why of course I know your name, I used to go to your house when you were a child. I was sad the year Mary Ellen Polanski told you I didn’t exist and you believed her. I don’t go when children don’t believe in me.”

            I gasped. How could he possibly know about Mary Ellen? “You really are Santa Claus?!”

            “Yes, my dear, and I’m running late. I was stuck in your chimney for a while. By the way, it needs cleaning. And speaking of that …”  He looked down at his suit. It was a mess.

            We went to the back hallway and I helped him out of his coat. His red long johns were fine, no soot. I directed him toward the bathroom and proceeded to brush his coat and hat vigorously out the back door. The soot came off easily and I admired how soft and warm the suit was. The thought came to me that if I told anyone I had cleaned Santa Claus’ suit on Christmas Eve, they would shuffle me off somewhere with speed. I laughed again and it felt good.

            When he came back, he looked like all the Hallmark pictures I had ever seen of him – snowy white hair and beard, rosy cheeks, glasses low on his nose, and a belly that jiggled – reminding me that I now had a jiggle or two, myself. He quickly dressed and we went back into the living room.

            “May I ask you a question?” I said.

            His right eye quirked up. “You want to know why I’m here tonight – when none of your guests could get here and you don’t think you can go to your daughter’s house tomorrow?” He rummaged in his sack as he waited for me to answer him.

            “Well, yes, that’s exactly what I was wondering.”

            “Here it is!” He pulled out of the sack a beautiful, genuine Tiny Tears doll dressed in a pink and white dress with white shoes. It was identical to the one I had found under our Christmas tree so many years ago.

            “Oh!” was all I could manage to say.

            “I seem to remember a doll like this and a play bassinet way back when - do you?” My eyes filled as I nodded. “Well, just because I don’t come every year doesn’t mean I don’t check on my ‘older children’ now and again. And you’ve had a tough year.” He reached out and patted me on the shoulder gently. “A ruined party and Christmas without Sarah is not the way to end it off. I thought you could give the doll to your granddaughter and since she’s seven, like you were when I gave you yours, the two of you will enjoy playing with this one together.”

            I reached out, touched the box and could have easily been transported back to my childhood except for his voice urging me on.

            “Now, you need to hurry and get dressed for the trip. We have stops to make but we should get to Sarah’s house just as they wake up. I’ll leave you at the end of the walk and you can ring the bell.”

            “But … how?” Then I thought of his sleigh and reindeer and pinched myself. Since it hurt and I didn’t wake up, I ran upstairs, dressed warmly, and came back down to find him eating the cookies I still left out each Christmas. I put on my coat, grabbed the shopping bag full of presents for my family and the precious Tiny Tears doll, and then stopped short as he headed toward the front door.

            “Aren’t we going up the chimney?” I asked. I was getting into the spirit of the thing now.

            “Martha,” he looked at me over his glasses and said in a very patronizing voice, “Do be realistic. If I couldn’t fit coming down the chimney, how am I going to fit going up?” He shook his head.

            We went out front and he summoned the reindeer. Rudolph’s nose cast a red glow on the snow on my front lawn as Santa and I hopped into the warm, snuggly sled.

            “When they ask how I got there in the middle of a snowstorm, what am I to say?”
            “The truth. Tell them Santa stopped by your house, picked you up, and brought you there. Smile each time they ask and don’t change a word of your story. They will eventually stop asking how and instead start talking about the year grandma came for Christmas by sleigh.” I knew he was right.

            Santa looked at me and said, “Do you want to say it this time?”

            Bells jingled as we leapt into the air and I called out:

“Ho, Ho, Ho and a Merry Christmas!”