A Little Christmas Flash Fiction
Merry Christmas! This seemed like the right time to share these two pieces (originally published in the flash fiction anthology, Christmas in Love, in December of 2016. The first is a feel-good story with spiritual and religious overtones. The second is more focused on humor and contains some sexual innuendos. But don’t worry—it’s not Santa who’s being naughty!
Entertaining Unawares
Thomas Calvin was feeling every one of his forty-five years as he pulled himself through his front door. Christmas shopping should be left to the young and energetic.
“Tom, are you OK?” asked Maria, who had been his wife for twenty years, though she always managed somehow to look much younger than she was.
“Nothing three hours of relaxing at home won’t cure,” he replied. He worked up a smile for her benefit and managed to dodge her attempts to help with the shopping bags.
“Some of them are for you, after all,” he told her. “I don’t want you to be tempted to peak.”
She smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “All right, but just don’t throw your back out! It’s hardly worth it just to keep my presents secret. You know I’m just going to peak when you’re not around, anyway.
“Oh,” she added, trying to sound casual, “by the way, Andy brought a guest for dinner tonight.”
There was only one person their son was likely to invite over, and the very thought of this particular guest made Tom shudder.
He supposed Gabe really wasn’t a bad kid—not completely, anyway. He wasn’t evil. He wasn’t a serial killed or even a drug dealer. He was, however, hands-down the most annoying person Tom knew.
An eighteen-year-old senior, Gabe wasn’t exactly a good role model for Tom’s sixteen-year-old son. Gabe always smelled like cigarettes, had manners that suggested he had been raised in a cave somewhere, and made a big deal about having no college plans whatsoever because he would be pursuing a music career, a possibility that Tom thought existed mostly in Gabe’s head. Even worse, the kid had a certain amount of charisma, and Andy was fascinated by him. Tom’s biggest fear was that Andy would start acting like Gabe.
Dinner was an ordeal, to say the least. Tom, already exhausted from work and shopping, needed a quiet evening. What he got instead was Gabe shredding his nerves into little screaming pieces.
Gabe managed to monopolize the conversation, which neither Maria nor Andy seemed to mind. Tom figured in Maria’s case maternal instinct was to blame. With Andy, Tom feared it was hero worship, and that worried him.
Tom longed to find some way to interrupt Gabe’s egocentric monologue, but he didn’t want to risk embarrassing Andy, so he did his best to endure the constant flow of delusional prattle about Gabe’s music.
By the end of dinner, Tom’s stomach was so tied in knots he began to worry about ulcers. He wanted to make Gabe shut up by any means necessary. He would never really strangle Gabe, of course, but he got a brief moment of pleasure out of daydreaming about it.
“I’d like to hear you play some time,” said Maria. Tom hoped she was just being polite.
Andy had offered to help clear the table. Gabe, as always, had not. However, he did catch the reference to his music and looked around the room critically.
“This isn’t the right kind of venue for electric guitar.” Tom breathed a sigh of relief.
“I have my acoustic guitar in the car, though,” the musician wannabe added. Tom’s blood pressure shot up like a geyser.
“Go get it, man,” said Andy. “It’d be cool if you played for us.”
Tom thought it would be about as cool as Death Valley in the summer, but again the desire to avoid embarrassing Andy restrained him from saying what he really thought. Gabe, who normally moved lazily, was out the door to get his guitar as fast as if had just been offered a chance to audition for the head of a record label.
During dessert they were “treated” to Gabe’s “performance.” Tom thought calling it music was an offense to musicians everywhere. Raucous and lacking in any kind of melody, Gabe’s guitar playing was not helped by his off-key lyrics, laden with sexual innuendos and thinly veiled drug references. Even Maria looked as if she was having a hard time coming up with a polite response, though she did applaud a little. Andy applauded so enthusiastically that Tom wondered whether the kid had any musical taste at all.
Gabe smiled broadly. “See, that’s why I don’t need to worry about college.”
“Yeah,” Andy said and nodded. “College is a big waste of time if you have talent.”
Something in Tom broke loose at that moment, something primal and savage. Maria, who knew him well enough to see from his facial expression that something was wrong, managed to get him out of the room and into the kitchen before he said anything he’d regret.
“Tom, I know what you’re thinking—” Maria began, using her most calming voice.
“You mean my thoughts about how that juvenile delinquent is corrupting our son?” Tom asked. His whisper had the intensity of a shout.
“There’s something—”
“How his parents could have raised him this way I’ll never know,” Tom said, cutting her off. “I know he’s eighteen now, but still—”
“His parents are dead,” said Maria abruptly. That got Tom’s attention.
“They died last year,” she continued.
“Foster parents?” asked Tom slowly.
“An aunt looked after him for a few months until he turned eighteen. I gather it wasn’t exactly a great experience for either one of them, and now they hardly speak. Since Gabe is eighteen, he can live on his own, and he inherited his parents’ assets, so he has a house and some money, but Tom, he has no real emotional support.
“How do you know all this?” asked Tom, struggling to figure out how he felt about Gabe now.
“I overheard a conversation he was having with his school counselor. I asked him about it later, and his response made it clear he was embarrassed I knew, so I tried to respect his feelings and not say anything, but…well, you just need to know now.”
“He’s still not a good influence on Andy,” Tom pointed out.
“I have faith we can talk Andy out of whatever he’s picked up from Gabe. Tom, Gabe needs—”
“I know exactly what Gabe needs,” said Tom, sounding a bit more ominous than he intended. Though he sympathized with Gabe’s situation, he had to put Andy’s needs first. He turned and hurried out of the kitchen before Maria could stop him.
“Gabe, can I see you outside?” asked Tom, gesturing toward the front door. Behind him Maria was tapping on his shoulder. He ignored her.
“Dad—” began Andy, looking worried.
“This will just take a minute,” said Tom, pointing to the front door again. Gabe, looking nervous for the first time Tom had ever seen, got up and followed him outside.
“What’s up, man?” asked Gabe, looking down at the ground.
Tom had mentally prepared a speech, offering sympathy for the death of Gabe’s parents but explaining why Gabe needed to get his act together—tough love all the way. Somehow, though, with Gabe, still a frail looking adolescent despite his eighteen years, standing in front of him and seeming more uncomfortable by the second, Tom couldn’t get the words out. He’d never been so conflicted in his whole life.
“Yeah? What do you want?” Gabe asked, some of his cockiness returning. Just for a moment, Tom wanted to slap him.
“Gabe…I know about…I mean—”
“Just spit it out,” suggested Gabe, but not quite as abruptly as he usually would have.
“Gabe…would you like to come over for Christmas dinner?” asked Tom, surprising himself almost as much as he surprised Gabe.
Tom, not normally impulsive, had suddenly decided he might want to try some emotional support before doing the tough love thing. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he had second thoughts, but it was too late.
Then Tom blinked, sure his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. Gabe appeared to be glowing!
“Very good, Thomas Calvin!” The voice was coming out of Gabe’s mouth but didn’t sound anything like him.
“You figured out on your own exactly what Gabe needs,” the voice continued. “Oh, and sorry for the music. I can do better—but he can’t.” The glow became a flash, and Tom could swear he saw the shadow of wings. Then the illusion was gone, and it was just Gabe standing in front of him.
“Cool, man,” said Gabe, still looking a little surprised. “I’ll be here. Anything else?”
Tom shook his head, and Gabe ambled back into the house.
Tom could swear he heard a distant trumpet blast.
Gabe. Gabriel. Now it made sense.
He was reminded of Hebrews 13:12: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”
Gabe wasn’t exactly a stranger—just strange—but otherwise the verse did fit.
Tom smiled broadly as he walked back into the house.
It was going to be a good Christmas.
Naughty or Nice
Mrs. Claus looked as worried as she had been at any time in the last two thousand years or so. It was about to be Christmas Eve, and Santa was too ill to go out in the sleigh.
“He is not dying,” one of the elven healers assured her, “yet we cannot immediately cure this strange malady.”
“I’ve always said the commercialization of Christmas was making me ill,” whispered Santa. “It was inevitable that one day it really would.” He was sweating, and his skin was as white as his beard. No one could have described him as jolly.
“What are we to do?” asked Mrs. Claus. “What will happen if you can’t make your rounds?”
Of course, Santa didn’t really make physical rounds. He traveled through the realms of dream and imagination, through song and story and a feeling in the heart—but he still needed to have strength to travel that way, and he was almost too weak to raise his head.
The problem was that not just anyone could drive the sleigh, let alone travel through thoughts. In fact, Santa was the only denizen of the North Pole who could do either.
Unfortunately, Santa’s journey, nonphysical though it was, helped keep the Christmas spirit alive. There was the risk that feelings of peace on earth and good will toward men would diminish if he faltered.
“I may have a solution,” said one of the elves. “We are, as you know, kin to the Norse Alfar, who have some contact with the Celtic faeries, who in recent years have struck up a conversation with the Greek nymphs, difficult though that was—”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” interrupted Mrs. Claus, “but time is short. A long tale may undo us.”
The elf looked embarrassed. “I have gotten word to the the dwellers of Olympus, and one of their number is willing to perform Santa’s work.”
“Olympus?” whispered Santa, scarcely able to believe his ears. “The old gods cannot interact with humans anymore.”
The elf fidgeted. “There is a loophole, Santa. An old god can commune with humanity—if he functions as you or someone else who can still interact with mortals. I believe the former god in question sees this as an opportunity to atone for his past misdeeds.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Claus, biting her lip. She couldn’t help visualizing Dionysus drunkenly swerving the sleigh all over the place, or perhaps Hermes playing tricks along the way.
“I hope I did not presume too much,” said the elf, “but as you say, time is short. The Olympian is here now.”
Santa almost managed to sit up. “What?”
“Is not love an important part of the spirit of Christmas?” asked a male teenage voice.
Santa and Mrs. Claus looked up in horror to see Eros, AKA Cupid, standing in the doorway wearing a bright red toga. Mrs. Claus’s heart beat a little faster.
“That…outfit will never do,” Santa managed to say. The elf who had recruited Eros looked as if he wished the earth would swallow him.
“As you wish,” said Eros, removing the toga in one fluid motion. Underneath he had something that looked a bit like the ancient Greek equivalent of a bright red Speedo. Mrs. Claus’s heart beat even faster.
“That’s even worse,” insisted Santa. “You can’t look like something out of a pin-up calendar.”
Eros sighed and transformed himself into an exact replica of Santa. “If you insist, I can appear in any form I wish.”
“That’s better,” said Santa, still sounding nervous. “Do you know what you need to do?”
“I live on Olympus, not under a rock,” said Eros. “We watch what happens on earth with a great deal of interest. I know what you do forwards and backwards.”
Santa and Mrs. Claus quizzed him for a few minutes. Reluctantly, they had to admit he knew what to do.
Looking as if he would rather die, Santa gave the most reluctant blessing imaginable, and Eros was off.
By the time Christmas morning dawned and Eros returned, Santa’s cheeks were red again—but from rage, not from jolliness.
“Where is that little rascal?” demanded Santa, the Saint Nicholas part of him coming to the surface.
“Here I am,” said Eros happily. He was back to his own form, shirtless but still wearing Santa’s pants, though they looked a bit askew.
“Am I to understand,” began Santa, lips quivering, “that you…that you had sexual relations with numerous women tonight?”
“That depends,” said Eros. “Would you consider 55,372 numerous?”
Mrs. Claus had to grip one of the bed posts to keep from falling over.
“That’s outrageous!” shouted Santa, sounding almost his old self in terms of energy, if not disposition.
“I gave them what they wanted for Christmas,” said Eros in an innocent tone. “Isn’t that really the job?”
“How could you think that?” asked Santa angrily. Mrs. Claus began to worry about his blood pressure.
Now Eros looked puzzled. “Isn’t stuffing stockings a euphemism for—”
“It most certainly is not!” snapped Santa.
“But isn’t unwrapping a package—”
“Just stop! You have disgraced the uniform!”
“To be fair, I wasn’t wearing it most of the time,” Eros pointed out.
“Oh,” Eros added as Santa foamed at the mouth. “I took care of some of the bookkeeping for you. Had to change a few women from the nice list to the naughty list. Those were the ones I needed the switches for—”
“Out!” screamed Santa. “Get out!”
Eros looked even more puzzled. “I was very careful. I didn’t give that particular present to married women—though some wanted it—and no one truly in love asked. I can tell—”
“GET OUT!”
Eros took the hint. Wings fluttered fast as a hummingbird’s, and he was gone.
“How will we ever be able to repair the damage?” moaned Santa.
“Shall I summon Krampus?” asked one of the older elves.
“No need,” said Santa, making a visible effort to calm down. “This evil will catch up with Eros without our doing a thing.”
If you’re in the mood for another feel-good story like “Entertaining Unawares,” remember that all subscribers are entitled to a free copy of Angel Feather. Just fill out the form here. If you’d like to preview it first, click here.
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A couple of great little stories I enjoyed very much. Punchy endings that were quite satisfying.