The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories

by Angel Nichols

  Maybe he was on to something.

  Unintentionally, of course. Ethan couldn’t deduct his way out of an empty room.

  How could they be working with Santa right under my nose? If Mom and Dad were working with Big Red, I’d have to be more careful, and I’d need proof.

  The Fourth Clue

  The next morning I got up at the crack of dawn. It was officially Christmas Eve, the day I’d have to make my case.

  Ethan was still snoring loudly when I crept down the ladder to the floor and snuck into the hallway. I slunk to the master bedroom and listened at the door, smiling as I heard the telltale sounds of sleep. Then, I crept back to my bedroom to retrieve my gear.

  Ethan always slept like a rock, so I didn’t worry about waking him with small noises.

  I found my Mystery Machine pack, which I kept in the closet with all the sleuthing essentials. Rope, flashlight, journal, pocket knife, bottled water, sandwich baggies (for small evidence), a magnifying glass, and a pair of binoculars.

  Looks like everything, I thought to myself as I also retrieved my journal, which had all my trap designs in it.

  I dressed as quietly as possible and left for the attic, so I could work in peace.

  I had only been there a short time before I heard sounds of life, as mumbling tones of conversation and scent of bacon sizzling in a pan wafted through the floorboards.

  My stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything yet, and despite my drive to get my plan into place before midnight, the rumbling in my tummy wouldn’t be silenced.

  I gazed at the pile before me and decided to hide it in one of the dusty boxes of unused Christmas ornaments, taking no chance of anyone seeing what I’d been doing.

  Before I could get all my things hidden away, though, I heard the dreaded sounds of the attic ladder being lowered. Someone was on to me!

  I shoved the rest of the items inside the nearest box and dove behind mother’s hope chest.

  “Will, is that you bumping around up here?” It was Ethan.

  I stayed quiet, knowing he’d blow my cover if he found me.

  There was a pause. “No, Dad, he’s not up here. He probably went over to Jimmy’s house or something.”

  I sighed in relief as the hatch shut behind him.

  “Listen, you little sneak, I know you’re up here. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I want in.”

  I froze. Ethan was still there!

  I stayed behind the hope chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There was no way he was proposing to help me catch Santa Claus.

  “I’m serious, Will. I want to help. I won’t rat you out to Mom and Dad, I promise.”

  I poked my head out from behind the chest.

  Ethan stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. He wasn’t looking around, which meant he was sure I was listening.

  “Alright, what’s your game?” I stood, brushing away cobwebs. “You told me you don’t even believe Santa exists.”

  I continued to address the white webs stuck to my jeans. The attic was nice and quiet, but it had its downsides, namely spiders every two feet. I didn’t mind them so much, but Mom had refused to come up here for years.

  “No game.” Ethan smiled and wacked me on the shoulder. “While I don’t technically believe in Santa, I have a bone to pick with Mom and Dad, and I’ll admit that I’m a little impressed with you, going against their authority and all.”

  I was suspicious, but he seemed genuinely interested.

  “This isn’t some kind of underhanded attempt to get me in trouble, so you can get back into Mom and Dad’s good graces, is it?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  Ethan leaned close and blew hot air in my face, intentionally fogging my glasses. “Not a chance, Bro. If I was going to do something like that, I would’ve told Dad you were up here going through with your little plan.”

  He had a point. I pulled my glasses off and cleaned them on my shirt.

  “Alright then, but you know I can make you suffer if you double-cross me.” I warned.

  I chuckled as I recalled the time he’d refused to drive me to school, making me late for class. When I’d gotten home, I’d written his name on a can of soda, shaken it, and placed it in the freezer. A few minutes later it had exploded.

  When Mom went to investigate, she had found the can with Ethan’s name on it, and he had spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the freezer.

  “I know. You might be into crime solving, but you sure make a great criminal,” he mumbled.

  “Since you’re on board now, I might as well tell you there’s been a development in the case,” I shared.

  “I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “Mom and Dad are working with Santa,” I filled him in. “It occurred to me last night that if Santa were the greatest spy on Earth, with gadgets we can’t even fathom, he still wouldn’t be able to do everything he does, unless he had a network of other people helping him!”

  “Wait, so you think Mom and Dad are spies now?” Ethan’s face twisted as he sought to wrap his mind around my startling revelation.

  “Not in the traditional sense,” I explained. “I think Santa recruits parents to work for him during the holidays, so he has a smaller work load. Work smarter, not harder.”

  “I see… That makes sense, I guess.”

  I grabbed the diagram of the house I’d been working on and laid it out on the floor for Ethan to see. “I want to ask them if it’s true, but I think they’ll deny it unless I have proof – lots of it.”

  “So, what do you want to do?”

  “The best ways to get evidence are eavesdropping and raiding their base of operations,” I pointed out.

  “I don’t like where this is headed.”

  “Since they talk to you more, why don’t you see what you can find out from them, and I’ll snoop around?” I indicated the master bedroom and the walk-in closet, where I was sure the proof would be hidden.

  “Alright, but if you get caught, I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Likewise.”

  The Fifth Clue

  We went to work immediately, leaving the attic as quietly as possible. Mom and Dad were in the dining room, talking over mugs of coffee.

  I nodded to Ethan, “You’re on.”

  “Wish me luck, Dude.” We bumped fists, and he straightened his sweater.

  I grinned as he walked nonchalantly towards the dining room. It felt like old times again.

  As he blocked their view to the hallway, I crawled towards the master bedroom, feeling a surge of adrenaline as I opened the door. Part of me knew this was wrong, but the other part needed to be taken seriously.

  “If I were a vital piece of evidence, where would I hide?” I mused as I headed towards the closet.

  I had noticed months ago that anything Mom bought that wasn’t food went straight to their bedroom, and since the floor of the main area was curiously un-cluttered, I could only assume she had put everything into the closet.

  I opened the walk-in’s door and was confronted with a massive pile of red, green, silver, and gold evidence. Piles of sparkling packages and presents were everywhere. Ribbons and bows lay strewn on the floor.

  While this was intriguing, it wasn’t the kind of evidence I was after. There, tucked in the corner, something caught my eye. Red velvet and white fluff – this was more than I’d hoped for!

  I skirted around the boxes and grabbed the cloth, lifting it into the light. Santa’s own suit, here in their closet!

  My head spun from the discovery. This…this couldn’t be possible! Dad wasn’t working with Santa. He WAS Santa, but how could that be?

  The questions came pouring in, overriding my natural sense of logic. I couldn’t fit the pieces together in a way that made sense.

  I plopped down on the carpet, clutching the suit. There had to be an explanation. There had to be a mistake.

  As I sat there, trying to get my head together, I noticed something sticking out of
one of the suit pockets. I pulled at it, revealing a folded piece of paper.

  At first, I wondered if this could be my Christmas wish list I’d sent to the North Pole three weeks before. As I unfolded it, I realized that it was a scribbled message, which read:

  What has no arms and no head,

  but has hands and a face?

  The rest of the paper was torn.

  For a moment, I was baffled – not by the riddle, but by the fact that there was a riddle in Santa’s suit pocket.

  The riddle itself was too easy. The answer was obviously a clock. It occurred to me that we had a grandfather clock in the living room.

  Maybe there was more to this. I made my way quietly out of the master bedroom and walked slowly towards the living room. With any luck, my parents wouldn’t notice me right away.

  I didn’t have to worry about that for long because, as soon as I set foot in the living room, I realized the sounds of conversation had ceased altogether.

  Curious, I walked to the dining room and peeked in.

  Empty.

  I walked to the living room window and opened the blinds, confirming my suspicion. The car was gone, and I was alone. I had a sudden urge to panic, but then realized this could actually be a good thing, as I muttered to myself, “At least, I don’t have them looking over my shoulder.”

  The grandfather clock began to chime, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  The riddle in my head begged to be answered, so I went to the clock and looked it over – behind it, on top of it, around it. I couldn’t see anything that could be considered a clue.

  Frustrated, I stared at the pendulum as it swung back and forth, the lights of the Christmas tree gleaming off the brass. There it was! A small corner of paper could be seen just past the edge of the round pendulum.

  I swung open the small glass door and stopped the pendulum. Feeling the note taped to its back, I pulled it off and allowed the glass door to shut on its own. This second note read:

  Ho Ho Ho. Very clever!

  You’ll never find me, no not ever!

  Still, if you think you can,

  The next clue is full of Spam!

  Another riddle!

  The notes were obviously written by Santa, hence the cheery phrasing. I was intrigued. Was it possible he knew I was on to him?

  Spam? We didn’t have any.

  I mulled the question over in my mind as I went to the kitchen and opened the cabinets.

  There were canned vegetables and dry goods galore, but no Spam. I checked the fridge and the pantry – no Spam.

  I tapped my foot on the floor, tossing the rhyme around in my head.

  There was one more possibility, but it was a long shot. I ran to the den, where our computer sat on the desk. A few clicks, and I had opened my email and was checking the spam folder. Among the coupons and offers of fast cash, there was a note from Kris Kringle that read:

  Dear William,

  I have to admit I didn’t think you’d get that one. Now you’ve got me on the run. Look inside your school pack for the next clue and your favorite snack!

  This was getting ridiculous. Now he was rummaging through my things?

  I returned to the attic, where I’d left my pack. It was sitting in the middle of the floor, not where I had left it that morning.

  Carefully I picked it up, noticing it was heavier than normal. It had my usual things inside, but right on top were a peanut butter and honey sandwich with a note.

  The fact that Santa knew what my favorite snack was only reinforced my suspicions that he was working with my parents, using them to gain all his inside information!

  I unfolded the note, and read:

  To go anywhere in a land full of snow,

  Can be tedious and awful slow,

  That’s why I have my faithful sled,

  And so do you, it’s in the shed.

  The bright red Sledmaster 3000 had been a gift from three years ago – something I had begged for. It had served me faithfully that year, but on a recklessly fun run down Deadman’s Hill, I’d hit a rock and cracked one of the struts.

  Since then Dad had kept it in the shed, promising he would fix it. He never had.

  “How am I supposed to go anywhere on a broken sled?” I asked the empty house. It would certainly be a challenge.

  I pulled on my puffy blue coat and mittens before walking outside to the shed with my pack. The walkway had been shoveled since last night, which was odd since that was my job.

  I opened the door to find my sled sitting on the shed floor – brand new chrome struts in place.

  “Wow! Dad fixed it!” I cried.

  Tied to the sled were a note and a small green package. The note read:

  Now you’re on the final stretch.

  Open the box and see what’s next.

  Use the rope to pull the sled,

  All the way to Deadman’s head.

  Inside the green package was a blue rope with a loop in one end and a latch on the other.

  “Weird looking rope, but okay.” I shrugged as I attached the latched end to the sled and began pulling.

  Deadman’s Hill was two blocks away, but I’d made the trip many times before.

  I knew a shortcut, but it was dangerous. I’d have to go through Mrs. Povenmire’s back yard, passing through the demon dog’s territory.

  It was risky, but I wanted to end this charade. I had Santa on the run, and he knew it. Now I just had to get there in one piece.

  The Final Clue

  The wind blew circles around me as I stared past the chain links into no-man’s land.

  Mrs. Povenmire had one of the largest houses on the block, and she kept her yard immaculate.

  The snow was both a blessing and a curse. While it made her devil dog easier to see, it also made it impossible to hide from him.

  I could’ve gone around the house, but cutting through the yard would shave off minutes from my route.

  I searched the grounds, but the beast was nowhere in sight. It was now or never.

  I scrambled up the chain link and pulled the sled over. Then, I froze, expecting a hulking mass to burst out of the snow and maul me to death.

  After a few seconds, I realized that nothing was happening. Everything remained silent as the grave.

  I took this as a sign to move and slunk across the field of snow, making as little noise as possible. Three quarters of the way across, I relaxed, until I heard the bone chilling, guttural growl of an animal ready to pounce.

  I turned slowly and nearly wet my pants, as I came face-to-face with a snarling mouth full of teeth.

  Suddenly, an idea came to me. I carefully reached over my shoulder and grabbed my pack.

  The dog growled fiercely, but didn’t make a move.

  I slowly unzipped my pack, reached inside, and pulled out the peanut butter and honey sandwich. Saying a brief prayer, I tossed the sandwich in front of the dog.

  He pricked his pointy ears up in curiosity, bending down to sniff the object at his feet.

  I knew, if I broke into a run, his instincts would kick in and I’d be toast, so I waited to see if my bait worked.

  The beast’s investigation of the object stretched on for what seemed like hours, before it finally grabbed it in its slimy jaws and trotted off in the other direction.

  Relief washed over me as I cautiously continued towards the back of the property. I jumped the fence once more, finally out of danger.

  Several minutes later, I reached the peak of Deadman’s Hill, and there at the very top stood my family.

  Uncertain as to whether this was some kind of trap, I approached slowly, and that’s when I noticed the giant red box.

  “Go ahead, Bro. Open it up.” Ethan grinned, motioning to the package, which stood several inches taller than me.

  I approached and pushed open the top.

  At first nothing happened, but no sooner had I stood up on my toes to peer inside than the box tipped over and out bounded the happiest moment
of my life.

  There, in all his tail-wagging, floppy-eared glory, stood a Great Dane puppy. His collar was bright blue, the same color as the ‘rope’ that had been left for me in the shed.

  “The pound said this one was particularly good at pulling sleds.” Dad said.

  “I don’t understand…” I began, but Ethan cut me off with a motion of his hand. “Don’t strain your brain over it, pal. It was a setup, and you followed the clues like a pro.”

  I spent the rest of the morning with my own dog and my family, sledding up and down Deadman’s Hill, munching on Christmas cookies and drinking hot chocolate from a thermos as understanding set in.

  I now knew that, while the mystery of whether or not Santa was real or imaginary – a spy or figure from history – remained, it didn’t matter in the slightest.

  The best gifts are usually right in front of us, regardless of where they come from. We just have to follow the clues and find them.

  ↓

  Angel Nichols

  Angel Nichols is an accomplished illustrator, author and graphic artist who juggles a busy working schedule with family, friends and her passion for the arts. She has been a hobbyist writer for much of her life, before being asked to author for Annie Acorn’s 2012 Christmas Treasury in which her short story, Christmas in the Mojave, first appeared. Her Christmas Love Exchange is included in Annie Acorn’s 2013 Christmas Treasury and her Jolly Old Saint Spook adds a warm-hearted charm to Annie Acorn’s 2014 Christmas Treasury. She is a member of From Women’s Pens.

  Ms. Nichols is the exclusive cover artist for Annie Acorn Publishing LLC. Her award-winning covers have been seen on the Barnes and Noble’s bestseller list, as well as in Amazon top categories. She has a Bachelor of Arts in Visual Communication and Digital Design from AIU.