Philip and the Miserable Christmas

by John Paulits

  Philip and the Miserable Christmas

  by

  John Paulits

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © December 8, 2015, John Paulits

  Cover Art Copyright © 2015, Charlotte Holley

  Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

  Lockhart, TX

  www.gypsyshadow.com

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-1-61950-283-3

  Published in the United States of America

  First eBook Edition: December 10, 2015

  Dedication

  For: The Mighty Stodko Clan, one and all;

  not forgetting Heather, of course.

  Chapter One

  Philip stared at the Christmas tree standing near the living room window of his house, already lit in the middle of the gloomy day. Red bulbs, green, blue, yellow bulbs reflected off the shiny silver balls his father had hung on the tree. At the top of the tree, a baby blue ball dangled from a branch. His mother had glued and glittered his name and birthdate on the ball and hung it up on his first Christmas and every Christmas afterward. In another four days, on Wednesday, presents would appear under the tree. His mother insisted the presents not show up until after Philip went to bed on Christmas Eve. Philip didn’t mind. The pleasant shock of coming downstairs Christmas morning and seeing what had appeared under the tree overnight never grew old. His mother’s voice caught Philip’s attention. She leaned against the dining room wall, her cell phone pressed to her ear, a grim look on her face.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else you can do with him, Joanne?”

  Philip knew Joanne was Aunt Joanne, his mother’s cousin. They didn’t see one another very often, but she did give him a present every Christmas. Him could only be Francis, Philip’s seven-year-old cousin. Philip hoped it wasn’t him, but who else could it be? He saw Francis, who was really his second cousin, his father explained once, only a couple times a year, but even one visit from Francis was too much to take; way too much. Second cousins must be twice as much trouble as regular cousins, Philip guessed. Francis was a real . . . His mother spoke again.

  “How long? Until Christmas?” His mother’s voice squeaked at the word Christmas.

  “I know, I know you’ll bring his presents, but . . . but . . . yes, spending Christmas day together would be nice, but . . .”

  Mr. Felton, Philip’s dad, entered the room and stood listening alongside Philip.

  “Dad, they’re talking about Francis. Aunt Joanne’s going to dump him here for Christmas!”

  Philip’s father waved a hand at him. “Shhh. Let me hear.”

  “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Felton. She looked toward her husband and Philip and rolled her eyes. “I understand. No, of course. It’ll be fine. Okay, then, I’ll talk to you later.” She ended the call and lowered her phone.

  “We have to take care of Francis for a while,” she said.

  “Mom . . .”

  “Honey . . .”

  Mrs. Felton raised her hand. “Joanne and Cliff have to go away.”

  “Over Christmas?” Mr. Felton asked.

  “A wedding in Idaho. They’ll be back Christmas day to pick him up. Joanne said it was unavoidable. Cliff’s family. Cliff will leave his car at the airport, and they’ll come here as soon as they land,” Mrs. Felton explained.

  Philip panicked. “We don’t have to wait to open the presents, do we?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see. They’re bringing Francis’s presents with them.”

  “You sure they don’t just want a quiet Christmas morning alone?” asked Philip’s father.

  “They’re flying across the country on Christmas morning,” Philip’s mother said, her eyes narrowing.

  “When are they bringing him here?” asked Mr. Felton.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  Mr. Felton frowned. “Can’t they leave him with a friend nearer where they live, so he can go to school on Monday?”

  “He can’t go to school. He’s suspended until the new year.”

  “Suspended! He’s seven years old. What did he do?”

  “Joanne wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Of course, I asked.”

  Philip, listening carefully, calculated. He’d be at school on Monday, at least, so that eliminated Francis for most of one day. Then only two days until Christmas, and Francis would be gone. An opinion Philip rarely held flashed through his mind. Thank goodness for that one day of school.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get it,” Philip said. “It’s probably Emery.” Emery had been Philip’s best friend since second grade. They’d been classmates for three years in a row and lived on the same block of the same street. Philip welcomed him.

  Emery noticed Philip’s parents talking together, both at the same time. “What’s up?” he asked, nodding toward the dining room. Mrs. Felton’s arms waved through the air.

  “Francis is coming.”

  “Who’s Francis?”

  “Oh, I’m glad you boys are here,” said Mrs. Felton. “Hi, Emery. Did you tell Emery we’re having a guest?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You boys will have to entertain him.”

  “Entertain who?” asked Emery.

  “Francis,” said Philip.

  “Who’s Francis?”

  “You boys’ll have a lot of fun together,” Mrs. Felton promised.

  “He’s a crazy nut,” said Philip.

  “Philip, stop that. He may be a little high strung, but he’s very likable.”

  “Who’s a crazy nut?” Emery asked.

  “Francis,” Philip cried.

  “Who’s Francis?” Emery insisted, flapping his arms in frustration.

  “Take Emery up to your room,” Mrs. Felton suggested. “I need to talk to your father.”

  “Come with me, Emery, and I’ll tell you who Francis is.”

  The last thing the boys heard was Philip’s mother saying, “I can’t help it if she’s my cousin. You can’t pick your family, and your family’s no picnic, either.”

  Chapter Two

  “We have to secure my room,” said Philip as he led Emery into his bedroom.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Francis is crazy. He breaks things for fun.”

  “For fun? Can’t you lock your room? And who’s Francis for the tenth time?”

  Philip pointed. “No keyhole. No key. No nothing. Anybody can walk right in. And Francis is my cousin. A real pain.”

  “Can’t your Mom tell him to stay out?”

  “Ha!” Philip roared. “You tell him to stay out, he goes in. You tell him to go in, he stays out.”

  “So tell him to go in.”

  Philip stared at Emery for a m
oment. “No, he’ll go in anyway. He wants my stuff. Last time he visited me he pulled the heads off my best two Star Wars action figures and chucked them out the window. Han Solo had to save the Princess without his head. Here, help me.” Philip walked to his three-shelf bookcase and began to tug it away from the wall.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Come help me turn this around.”

  “Turn it around? You mean put the books against the wall?”

  “Yes.”

  “How come?”

  “Last time he was here, he read two of my old books. Every time he finished a page he ripped it out, crumpled it up, and threw it out the window. He did it to three of my comic books, too. He’s a breaker and a ripper and a crazy boy.”

  “What’s his thing about throwing stuff out of the window?”

  “He’s a nut is his thing.”

  Taking little steps, he and Emery pulled and twisted the bookcase to get it turned around. Suddenly, the top shelf of books poured out of the bookcase onto the floor.

  “What’d you do?” Philip asked impatiently.

  “I didn’t do anything. You tilted it. Wait.” Emery got on his knees and moved the books to the side. “Now it doesn’t weigh so much. Turn it.”

  The two boys swung the book case toward the wall.

  “Wait,” said Emery. “Pull this side out a little. Now, put the books back in, and we’ll push it to the wall.”

  “There,” said Philip when they finished. “Francis’ll probably just throw the bookcase down and look for what he wants.”

  “Keep him busy.”

  “Keep him busy? I’ll keep me busy protecting my stuff.”

  “Hide everything. You won’t need it. You’ll get a lot of new stuff on Christmas.”

  The boys scoured the room, and breakable thing they found, they put away in the closet or in one of Philip’s drawers.

  “How about your computer?” Emery asked.

  Philip glanced at his desk where his computer sat.

  “He can’t use it. It’s got a password.” Philip surveyed his room, satisfied. “Okay, good. Nothing he can break; nothing he can steal.”

  “He steals, too?”

  “After he left last time, I couldn’t find the ball me and you found at the schoolyard. Remember we found a ball?”

  “I found it. You took it.”

  “I didn’t take it. We did odds and evens, and I won.”

  “Why’d we even have to do odds and evens if I found the ball?”

  “I found it, too. I was there.”

  “Yeah, but I found it—found it and picked it up.”

  “I saw it same time as you, but you were closer.”

  “Yeah, well, see what happened? Nobody got the ball.”

  “Francis got it.”

  “When’s he coming?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’m glad I’ll be in school for a day when he’s here.”

  “How come he’s not in school?”

  “Ha! My mom said he got suspended.”

  “Suspended? How old is he?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven! Wow! What, like second grade? What’d he do?”

  “His mom wouldn’t tell my mom.”

  “Probably bit somebody. Remember Allen in our second grade, always biting people? Check and see if Francis has pointy teeth when he gets here.”

  “He only has baby teeth. Last time he did, anyway.”

  “He probably stole them from a baby.”

  “Emery, babies don’t have teeth.”

  “You know why?”

  “No, why?”

  “’Cause Francis stole them.”

  “Emery, don’t be stupid.”

  “I hate to tell you, but maybe you won’t have school.”

  “What are you talking about? Vacation’s not till Tuesday.”

  “Don’t you know why Mr. Ware gave us our Christmas assignment yesterday?”

  “So we could do it over this weekend before Christmas?”

  “Nope. We’re supposed to do it over Christmas, but there’s going to be a big snowstorm tomorrow night, so maybe no school on Monday.”

  Philip frowned, as his world turned upside down. First, he was glad he had school on Monday. Now, he felt sorry he might have no school on Monday because of a snowstorm. Everything was backwards.

  Emery explained, “He wanted to make sure we had work to do over vacation. Two pages. What Does Christmas Mean to Me? Hah! So easy. It means no school, presents, candy, and sleeping more.”

  “I don’t think that’s the answer he’s looking for. He wants mushy stuff about being nice to everybody all the time. He didn’t read to us about Scrooge and the ghosts for nothing.”

  “Well, you have Francis to be nice to. Who do I have?”

  “Me. You can be nice to me. I’ll never be able to be nice to Francis. You’ve got to help me. I know my mother’s going to say she’s busy with Becky, and I’ve got to entertain Francis. You better help me.” Becky was Philip’s baby sister.

  “I’m not bringing around anything he can break or steal.”

  “If it snows, maybe we can take him out and bury him in the snow.”

  “Or make him take off his jacket so he catches a cold and has to stay in bed.”

  “At least Aunt Joanne and Uncle Cliff are coming to get him Christmas day.”

  “So he’s a real menace?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I can see why you don’t want Francis’s presence in your house. Neither would I.”

  “I don’t care about his presents. I don’t want him in the house.”

  Emery frowned. “I just said that.”

  “No, you didn’t. You said I don’t want his presents in the house. His presents will be under the tree, no matter.”

  “He’s going to be under the tree? What’s he going to do under the tree? Sleep there?”

  “Who?”

  “Francis, for Pete’s sake.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You said Francis’s presence will be under the tree. I said, why will he be there?”

  “Under the tree?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t say he would be there. I said his presents will be under the tree.”

  Emery’s voice rose. “His presence is him. If his presence is under the tree, he’s under the tree.”

  “Emery, he’s sleeping in the guest room. Why in the world would he be under the tree?”

  “Because you said he would. You said his presence is under the tree. You know you did.”

  “How could . . . his presence is under the tree? If he only gets one present, then his present is there. You can’t say his presents is there. It doesn’t make any sense. Mr. Ware would have a heart attack.”

  “Gets one present . . .? Ohhhh, you mean . . .” Emery considered. “You mean his presents will be under the tree, but you don’t want his presence in the house.”

  Philip shouted, “I don’t care where his presents are. Under the tree, behind the tree, in the tree. Who cares? Stop, will you? You always confuse things. This is already going to be the most miserable Christmas ever. Don’t go and make it even worse.”

  Emery shrugged and the boys changed the subject.

  Chapter Three

  Philip woke on Sunday morning with his face turned toward his bedroom window. He cracked open one eye and saw snow. Big, flakes drifted slowly by, gently falling. He kicked the covers away and rolled out of bed. He pressed his forehead against the window glass and looked down. Not too bad so far. The grass had turned white from the snow, but the street only looked wet and shiny.

  His parents took turns cooking breakfast on Saturday and Sunday, but today his father sat spooning cereal into his mouth. Philip fixed his own bowl and eyed his parents. He could tell they were in the middle of a disagreement—probably about Francis.

  His mother handed him a small glass of orange juice and said, “Your cousin’ll be here early.”

 
; Philip put his spoon back into the cereal bowl. “Before tonight?”

  “They’re on their way here now.”

  “Now! How come?” Philip asked.

  Philip’s father interrupted. “They can’t wait to get rid of him.”

  “That is not the reason,” Philip’s mother said. “They’re dropping him off and going to the airport early so the snow doesn’t cause them a problem.”

  “Nope,” said Mr. Felton. “We wouldn’t want them to have a problem.”

  The kitchen stayed quiet while Philip finished his breakfast. He put his cereal bowl in the sink. He didn’t want to break the silence, but he had to know.

  “When will Francis be here exactly?”

  His mother looked at the kitchen clock on the wall. “Any time now.”

  “Okay if I invite Emery over?”

  “Good idea,” Mrs. Felton agreed. “The two of you can play with Francis.”

  Philip didn’t know how much playing he and Emery would do with Francis, but at least it would be two against one. He made his phone call to Emery and took him straight up to his room when he arrived.

  “It’s supposed to snow all the way till tomorrow,” Emery reported. “Probably won’t be any school. I told you. It’s Christmas vacation already! Woo hoo!”

  Philip moaned.

  “Hey, vacation’s a good thing,” said Emery.

  Philip moaned louder.

  “What?” Emery asked.

  “You know what. Francis. I’ll be here alone with him the whole time. You better come over every day and help me. He’s dangerous.”

  “I don’t know. His presence is kind of scary”

  “Emery! Stop with the presents. I need you to help me.”

  “I want to see his teeth first.”

  “Emery! What do his teeth have to do with anything?”

  “Allen, remember. He bit me in second grade. It hurt. I remember.”

  “Francis isn’t going to bite you.”