“The Christmas Visitor”

’Twas the night before Christmas when he arrived.

He approached the house in the normal way; just the way you’d expect. It was a sprawling brick structure with a great, gabled roof and four massive dormers, all in complementing shades of browns and tans. It sat back from the street slightly, but he could see that it was just one in a sea of identical facades. Every house had perfectly manicured lawns, and their holiday decorations were all tasteful; there wasn’t a blow-up elf, a plastic penguin, a Nativity scene, or even a single colored light in sight. No, these homes were each decorated almost identically, with evergreen garland and strings of white twinkling lights surrounding the porch. Every porch light glimmered, casting a glittering sheen on the dusting of snow covering every surface. The street lights matched the glow of the porch lights, and he had to smirk at the sight. Neighborhoods like this were built to be a show of wealth.

He left his vehicle and approached the house through the front door, pulling his jolly red coat tighter around himself. He thought about how one would expect him to enter through the chimney, and chuckled. That was impossible, even before remembering that these fancy new homes had exclusively electric fireplaces, and that the chimneys here were purely for aesthetic purposes; fully closed off from the elements and not actually functioning as a chimney should. He spent silent seconds working some magic on the lock, and then he was in. 

He closed the door behind himself and paused for a moment, letting the heat from a nearby vent thaw out his chilled bones—of course, his ride didn’t have heat. The snow on his black boots melted quickly, all over the door mat, leaving a sludgy mess under his feet. While he waited for the feeling to re-enter his hands, he took in the sight before him. He’d entered into a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase that trailed the rounded wall up to the second floor, which was probably home to a library, office, theatre, and game room. Its railings were lavish wrought-iron and looped in a swirling pattern that would make him dizzy if he studied it too long. Through an archway opposite the stairs, he could see it: the family room. Christmas Headquarters.

The tree was enormous, towering at at least twelve feet high. Of course, it was artificial, but from his vantage point he could count at least ten candles and wax warmers around the room to give the illusion of a real tree, at least in fragrance. A five pointed gold star was perched at its top with strings of white lights, sparkling gold ribbons, and obnoxious white and gold ornaments twirling down around it, covering almost every inch of branches until the tree itself was barely visible under all the decorum. Underneath it, and perfectly arranged, were dozens of gifts for the coming morning’s festivities. Beside the tree, the mantle’s decor was even more evergreen garland and white lights behind heavy gold hangers that held the oversized stockings that were still, of course, empty. He saw the edges of photo frames jutting from behind the garland, but paid them no mind, for he had little time to waste.

He approached the mantle tentatively, taking every step slowly to be sure that he didn’t disturb their slumber; that would ruin everything. As he got closer, he saw the gilded plate that was covered in at least a dozen cookies, each one larger than his hand. There was chunky chocolate chip and gooey oatmeal raisin, cinnamon-and-sugar-dusted snickerdoodle and his favorite: white chocolate macadamia nut. He picked up the cookie, taking a few small bites before putting it back on the plate. A crumb caught in his throat and he almost coughed before remembering his surroundings. He snatched up the crystal chalice that stood beside the plate and gulped down the milk. It worked flawlessly, both quenching his thirst and clearing his throat of remaining cookie pieces.

After taking in the gaudy magnificence of this Christmas display one more time, he turned and made his way down the hallway, which was dark save for the glow of a tiny night light midway down its length. He paused at the first open door he came to, peering cautiously around its frame and noting that this was the Primary Bedroom. The focal point of the room was the mahogany king-sized bed, overloaded with layer upon layer of cool sheets, cozy fleece blankets, and thick feather down. The parents’ heads rested cozily on a pile of at least ten pillows of varying shapes and sizes. The mother let out a sudden, loud snore that startled the holiday visitor, but she turned her head and returned to gentle slumber quickly. He waited, making sure that her breath remained even and slow with sleep, before proceeding down the hall to the next open doorway: a child’s bedroom.

The room was painted blue, with both bedding and curtains covered in cartoon images of a favored superhero. Model airplanes, hung from the ceiling with fishing wire, gradually swooped down over a small play table littered with action figures. This room wasn’t as tidy as the rest of the house, but the reason for that was curled on its side on the bottom half of a bunk bed. The boy was no more than four years old, and had loose blonde curls that framed a chubby, cherubic face.

He entered the room, and sat at the middle of the boy’s bed. The movement was enough to wake the boy, who blinked his eyes slowly until they focused on the visitor. He let out an audible gasp, and the man placed his white gloved finger to his lips. The boy knew him, of course. The signature suit gave away his identity plainly enough, as did the hat. Every child in the world knew that hat. 

“Santa” the boy whispered, barely a breath.

The man winked, extending one hand out to the boy while making a “come along” gesture with the other. The boy’s excitement was palpable: not only was he meeting The Man Himself, but he was being invited to follow him to Christmas Central down the hallway. He enthusiastically took the man’s hand while springing out of bed. The man tiptoed, and the child followed suit, still grasping the man’s hand for dear life.

They passed through the family room and the child’s eyes grew wide and expectant, ready to be the first to view the spoils of the year’s good behavior. They darkened only slightly, more out of confusion than any fear or nervousness, when he noticed that there was nothing new under the tree—he had, of course, been counting for a month. But, that had to mean that he was going to help with the gifts. He knew, after all, that he could trust this man; his parents had taken him to sit in the man’s lap every year since he’d been born, and he could see the pictures peeking out from behind the garland on the mantle to prove it. This man wasn’t a stranger, it was…him.

The man quietly opened the front door, pressing his finger to his lips once more to be sure that the child remained quiet. The child nodded up at him happily.

His grasp on the child’s hand tightened as they made their way over the snow covered lawn and up to the back door of the Ford Econoline that had once been white but was so covered in dents and scratches that it was more a grayish silver. The child started to pull away—this wasn’t a sleigh—but the man was faster and much stronger. The child was in the back of the van with the doors slammed shut before he could even think to cry out.

The man crawled into the driver’s seat and pulled off the hat and costume beard as the child began to cry.

The End