Christmas Story

Jenna Sayers
December 12, 2012
Period One
Death by a Magical Transport Device and its Mythical Animal Operators
Similar to all other past Christmas Eve’s tonight was freshly blanketed by a heaping comforter of snow. Not only was it piled high on the ground as the midnight hours approached, but it was also still heavily falling in a whimsical turbine of white powder through the air. When the clock struck eleven and the Christmas party had come to a close, the children were crawling into bed as their parents wished sweet magical dreams into their heads. Mom and dad kissed them good night.
Grandmas breathe smelt of eggnog and not the good kind as they said goodbye. When she and grandpa went to leave and walk out into the blistering cold, grandpa turned back to the house to grab his brown fur gloves. Grandma walked on to their house down the block.
She stumbled and stammered into a field, blinded by frost covered glasses and an ambush of snow. She was hit from behind, and fell down on her face; most sadly destined to never awake.
Grandpa who had also been drinking stammered home and passed out in the kitchen.
The search began early on Christmas morning, when grandma was missing from both family homes. The children, their parents, and grandpa too, scoured for miles without knowing what to do. They soon came across the field, where previously grandma had too.
The parents shielded their kid’s eyes and grandpa fell to his knees at the sight of two feet peaking out from the snow. The marks in the snow leading up to her body were two parallel lines, as if from a sleigh. And if that was not enough proof to the onlookers, the scene was also coated in hoof prints, nine sets to be exact.
The evidence was incriminating. She had hoof prints on her forehead, and Claus marks on her back, but only the children and grandpa believed and admitted the obvious.
“She had drank to much eggnog, and wandered out into the snow. As the weather was freezing, I turned back to grab my gloves. She continued on in the blinding snow, and must have ended up in this field. With the prints surrounding the scene, and the marks leading up to her as tracks in the snow. There is only one logical explanation, and that is grandma got run over by a reindeer.”
When grandpa tried to explain his pieced together plot of the night’s tragedy, the cops and investigator gathered around only to make fun and mock as grandpa turned his back and walked away.
Later that Christmas day grandpa sat in his recliner drinking a cold beer admiring the presents belonging to his dear, which would never be opened. The family sauntering around the house all dressed in black, did not sing merry carols or eat sugary Christmas snacks. They sat around and spoke of how well grandpa was doing, despite his crazy recollection of the evening previous happening.
The day’s festivities were bland and it didn’t seem like Christmas without grandma. They mostly sat around wondering what to do with the presents send them back or open them up. In attempt to move on and enjoy the holiday, the table was set and food was prepared.
There was a full swan in the center, surrounding by sides of many scents. Fig pudding and mashed potatoes filled the air, but not the empty space of where grandma’s presence would be.
At the beginning of dinner we said grace, and grandpa went on to tell how the first Christmas they spent together, grandma dropped an entire fruit cake down the well. Many chuckles lifted the spirit of the room, and grandpa continued on with stories. Mom fetched from the kitchen drawer two brightly colored candles that we used to joke, matched grandma’s hair. They were blue and silver, with speckles of gray just like the wig grandma ears for Christmas day.
After dinner grandpa decided to leave and spend the rest of the evening alone, and the kids decided to walk him home. They helped him gather up his stuff, this time including his gloves, and walked out and started down the snow covered road.
As they went to turn down his home road, they saw a strange figure in the drive way. Grandpa made attempt to pick up pace, but his chilled old bones could not keep up with the two little children who sprinted ahead.
They reached the driveway and outright exclaimed with a confused tone in their voice, “Santa Clause?”
“Hello little ones, how do you do this fine Christmas night?” The jolly old man harped out.
“You are real.” They both said, disregarding his question.
“Why of course I am.” He said with a joy filled laugh. “Where is your grandpa,” he asked squinting off into the distance.
“Over here I am, what do you want?” Grandpa said, emerging from the blinding snow fall.
“I had come to offer my sincere apologies and condolences about your wife. Last night we got caught in the storm and as we tried for emergency landing…well you know the rest.” He said as the red joyous color faded from his face and he hung his head in shame.
“With all of my assumptions coming true, the only last thing that she would have wanted, is for me and the kids to bask in forgiveness, and that is what I am going to do.”
“Thank you sir, I wish my apologies could be given repetitively, but neither of us want to continue with this on our mind.”
“Thank you, this shall be behind us forever, just continue on with keeping the world joyful and our deal will be ensured.”
“Thank you again sir, Merry Christmas and goodnight.” Santa said still with no color of his face. There was deep regret in his eyes, only to be solved by the continuation of bringing joy to people around the world through his Christmas visits.
As for grandpa, he built a memorial for grandma in the field where she lay buried. On the memorial headstone it reads, ‘To Those Who Believe.’ And it remained there forever, visited each Christmas by Santa Clause himself, along with his nine little helpers.