A new Flash Fiction Challenge. At our literary group website, Wordsmith Studio, the Fiction Group has started a project called “December Fiction Fest.” There will be a writing prompt each Friday with a short story about it due the next Wednesday. Come join the fun. This one is a few days late and a little longer than requested, but it just kind of wrote itself today. I’ll try to follow the guidelines better next time.
The old house squatted precariously on the river’s edge surrounded by the snowdrifts that closed the one lane road leading to the highway. Liam slipped in and out of the shadows as he crossed the back yard. He had been worried about being seen, but it looked as though everyone was gone or asleep. No lights showed in any of the visible windows and the only tracks in the snow were his. His little feet and light weight didn’t leave much of an impression in the snow, but he attempted to hide even that small evidence of his trail by leaping as far as possible across the open areas.
The whir of wings over his head warned him just in time as the huge barn owl swooped downward. The tiny elf forgot about hiding his tracks and ran for his life. He leapt under the holly bushes that edged the back deck and scuttled through the lattice that surrounded it. Huddled down beside one of the foundation bricks to catch his breath, Liam considered his plans. Getting inside the house from here should be simple. As dilapidated as it looked, there were bound to be plenty of gaps he could squeeze between to get into the walls. He squirmed under one of the floor joists and climbed up the inside of the foundation. Exploring along the crumbling old bricks, he finally found an open space that let him crawl through into a small pantry.
He peered under the edge of the door for any sign of life. Nothing moved. Taking a deep breath, he scooted on his belly into the kitchen. He crawled along the edge of the cabinets to the swinging door that led into the dining room and slipped quickly through to freeze against the wall for a moment before making a dash to hide beneath the table. Darting between the chair legs, he ran toward the next room.
A wide archway led into the parlor. There, on the far side of the room, stood the tall fir tree. It was covered with tiny white lights and hung with tinsel. Brightly colored balls and stars hung from the branches. He spied the perfect spot and crossed to the trunk of the tree. Scrambling upwards, he finally reached his chosen hiding place and settled down to wait. He had a perfect view of the fireplace and, with a slight turn of his head, he could see the star studded sky through the window behind him where the full moon reflected off the frozen river. It was early yet. He would probably have a long wait. He was very tired from the long cold journey. The heat from the banked fire felt good. He stretched out along a sturdy branch and soon dozed off.
He woke with a start when the front door opened with a blast of cold wind that almost knocked him off his perch. He clung to the strand of tinsel rope that had saved him and teetered back into position. Peeking around the edge of a brightly painted wooden reindeer, he watched a tall dark haired man push the door shut with his heel and move across the room with a stack of brightly wrapped presents. Once the packages were arranged under the tree, the man went back outside.
Liam’s brows drew down and his mouth tightened in confusion. This was unexpected. He peeked out the window and saw the man leading a pair of horses hitched to an old wagon toward the barn.
“No, this can’t be right. Where are the reindeer? And he’s supposed to be short and white haired. But he brought presents. What’s going on here?”
The back door opened and closed and the man came back through the dining room.
“George, is that you?” a woman’s voice called from above.
“It’s me. I’ll be right up. Is Sally asleep?”
“Yes, did you make it into town before the church closed?” she asked as she tiptoed halfway down the stairs.
“I did. It sure was nice of them to put her name on the tree. There’s a basket of food too. I put it on the kitchen table. Without their generosity, we wouldn’t be having much Christmas this year. I just hate needing to take charity.”
“Dear George. It isn’t your fault that big hail storm took out most of the corn crop and the basket wasn’t really necessary. The garden did good. We have plenty of food.”
“I know, I told them that. Told them to give the food to someone in town who couldn’t raise their own. But the pastor said the basket includes things we can’t grow. I looked. There’s coffee, tea, spices, salt, flour, dates, peppermints, oranges, stuff like that. I guess he’s right.”
“Tea? Real tea? Lord it’s been a while since I had a real cup of tea. And coffee? George, I know you’ve been missing your morning caffeine fix.” The guilty expression on the man’s face made her pause. “It’s OK, hon. Next year’s crop will be great and we’ll be the ones filling the baskets again.”
Liam’s body slumped against the tree. These people weren’t expecting Santa. They had gone elsewhere to provide Christmas cheer for their little girl. This whole trip was a waste. Just like last year. That time, he had waited all night in that big brick town house with the cat sniffing around his hiding place, for nothing. No sleigh pulled by reindeer. No Santa to fill the stockings. Once the kids were in bed, their parents had done that and put their presents under the tree.
Forced to return home to the derision of his family, he had pondered it for over a month and finally decided it must be because that family had plenty of money to buy their own stuff. He needed to find a poor family. Someone who had nothing of their own. Then Santa would come flying in to the rescue and Liam could ask the legendary elf for a job. He had been so sure this would be the year.
He couldn’t go back home. They’d all laugh at him again. Call him foolish to believe that an elf could possibly do all the things Santa Claus was supposed to be able to do. But he knew the legends had to be true. He would find a way to prove it. He would not give up. He’d have his dream career as a toy maker for Santa Claus in spite of any difficulty he had to overcome. He squared his shoulders and leaned back against the trunk of the tree to wait for the people to go to sleep.
He’d need to gather supplies if he was going to go in search of Santa’s Workshop. He had passed a fine, brightly lit, brick house just down the road. He’d visit there on his way back to the highway and stock up. They wouldn’t miss a couple of slices of bread. They’d be sure to have plenty of nice thick napkins too. He’d use one to make himself a blanket roll and head North tomorrow.
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