The local writer’s group had a Christmas story contest recently. There was a five hundred word limit and no restrictions on how many times you could enter. I entered a dozen stories. One of my won 2nd place. I’m including it and another entry below. I’m including the original version of the winning story. It’s a little longer than 500 words, but I like it better than the shorter one I submitted. One of the judges said it made her cry. (Mission accomplished!)

The second story here is just a bad joke. I’m including it because it is still 2020, and you haven’t suffered enough yet.

Trimming the Tree

Evelyn hung the glass ball on the Christmas tree and looked at the chair in the reflection on its surface. The chair was empty. She sighed. He wasn’t coming. If he were, he would surely have been arrived by now. It was almost midnight. They had always trimmed the tree on Christmas Eve. It was their tradition.

She took another ball from the box on the table and hung it as the clock on the mantle began to strike twelve. This time the chair in the reflection was occupied.

Evelyn spun so fast she almost lost her balance.

“Lawrence! You made it.”

The young man sitting in the chair smiled. It was a sad smile.

“Have I ever disappointed you by not spending Christmas Eve with you, Mom?”

A confused look passed across Evelyn’s face for a moment.

“No, not that I can recall,” she said.

Lawrence stood up from the chair. He was lanky young man, dressed in wool trousers, an Oxford shirt, and a sweater vest. A shock of unruly black hair hung down over his forehead.

“How are you, Mom?”

“I’m fine, dear.”

Evelyn opened her arms. “C’mere. You aren’t too big to give your mother a hug, are you?”

If she saw Lawrence’s hesitation, she didn’t show it. “Sure.”

Lawrence took her in his arms gently, as though she were fragile and he might break her.

Evelyn shivered as she broke their embrace.

“Brrr. There’s a draft in here.”

She put another log on the fire.

Lawrence didn’t say anything.

“Well, aren’t you going to help me? You can’t have any eggnog or cookies unless you help, you know. That’s the rule.”

Evelyn moved back to the tree and selected another ball from the box.

“I baked the cookies this afternoon. Snickerdoodles. Your favorite.”

“Of course I’ll help, Mom.”

Lawrence stepped up to the table and selected an ornament from a box beside the balls. It was a Santa dressed as a cowboy on a horse. He hung it on a high branch, one his mother couldn’t reach. For the next little while they worked silently together until there was only one ornament and the angel left.

Evelyn handed the ornament to Lawrence. It was golden retriever wearing a Santa hat.

“Here. This is your favorite ornament. You said it looked like Dusty.”

“You go ahead and hang it, Mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Evelyn smiled. “All right, if you’ll put the angel on the top.”

She put the dog on a lower branch while Lawrence placed the angel at the top.  Another puzzled look crossed her face.

“Whatever happened to that dog?” she asked.

“He’s doing fine.”

“Oh, you took him with you.”

Lawrence started to correct her and stopped. “Yes, Mom, he’s with me.”

They ate cookies and drank eggnog and talked.

At last Lawrence stood up.

“Do you really have to go?” Evelyn asked. “It’s almost Christmas morning.”

She waved at the window, where the sky was beginning to turn pink.

“Yes, I do. My time is up.”

“At least let me give you your present.”

Evelyn took a package from beneath the tree. The wrapping was rubbed thin, with several small tears and the tape was yellow and cracked with age.

“Thank you,” he said and took the package.

“Goodbye, Mom. Merry Christmas. See you next year.”

Evelyn wiped a tear from her eye. When she looked up, the room was empty, the present sitting on the table. She put it under the tree for next year.

 

From Your Action News Reporter

This is your action news reporter, with all the news that is news, on the scene in the Neighborhood. There seems to have been some disturbance here.

Pardon me, sir. Did you see what happened?

Yeah, I did.

I was standin’ out on my porch just admiring the Grizzwold’s Christmas lights when I saw sumthin’ up on the Stevens’ house. It was a big guy waking on the ridge, a-headin’ for the chimney. He had this big sack on his back, and his cheeks and nose wuz red. I figgured he’d been hitting the eggnog, ya know what I mean?

Just as he was about to crawl down the chimney, the guy across the street, Rogers his name his, came out with a twelve gauge an’ took aim, screamin’ about always being watched.

I hollered over at Grizzwold, I said, “Don’t look, Clark!”

It was too late. Rogers let go with both barrels just as the guy went down the chimney.

Are you saying Mr. Rogers shot Santa Claus?

Naw, he only Nick’d him.

-With apologies to Ray Stevens, Chevy Chase, and Fred Rogers, KW