Yesterday I posted two stories I had entered for a writing contest. Today I’m going to share a few more entries. The contest was Christmas themed stories that were 500 words or less. Today’s selections include a crime story, a science fiction, a Biblical fantasy, and a zombie story.

I’m Dressing Up Like Santa When I Get Out on Parole

George Clayborne sucked in his gut and slid another foot down the chimney. When he swung his feet, they hit the back of the fireplace but nothing in front. That was good. It meant he was almost at the bottom. He pressed his hands against the side of the chimney and pushed. George slid down another six inches.

This had seemed like a good idea when he had been in the lockup. He’d missed last Christmas, his sentence being eighteen months. He hadn’t counted on the extra pounds he’d added due to the starchy prison food.

When he was a kid, George had heard a story about a guy who had gotten stuck in a chimney playing Santa. The guy had gone down the wrong chimney by mistake. He was supposed to have gone down the chimney next door. The family was on a two week vacation in the Bahamas. They didn’t get back until the second week of January. By that time, the guy in the chimney was getting ripe. George was beginning to fear the same fate was awaiting him.

George twisted his body a little and was able to touch the ground with one foot. Good, that was good. He should be able to get out of the chimney now. He’d come down the chimney so he wouldn’t have to deal with the alarm system. He would go out the back door when he was done filling his sack. His truck was in the alley. He would be well away from here by the time the cops responded to the alarm when he opened the door.

Suddenly two hands gripped his ankles and pulled down. George’s tailbone hit the fireplace grate with a painful impact, but he didn’t have a chance to react. The hands continued pulling. George hit his head as his body moved across the hearth and hit it again as he left the hearth and impacted the tile floor in front of the fireplace.

A face with a full white beard glared down at him. An angry face that was almost as red as the hat perched on its head.

“A parole violation? Really, George? So soon after you got out. Your blocking the chimney has made me late. I’m afraid you’re going on the naughty list for this.”

If the face said anything else, George didn’t hear it. He had blacked out.

When George came to, a police officer was putting cuffs on his wrist.

“Wha…what’s going on?” he asked, still groggy from the impacts his skull had experienced. A second cop was standing on the other side of him. A third was standing by the chimney. His face was the one George had seen when he was pulled out of the chimney.

“Police brutality,” George squawked. “That cop by the chimney assaulted me.”

“There’s no one by the chimney, sir. Now come along quietly.”

The third cop picked up a sack, laid a finger alongside his nose, gave George a nod and a wink, and disappeared up the chimney.

 

Christmas on Casandra IV

Simon Barstow checked his chronometer. He had set it for Earth time, Central Time Zone in the US. He still had half an hour before midnight on Earth. Sharon would be getting ready to leave for the midnight mass. If Simon couldn’t join her in person, he intended to join her in spirit. He continued to trudge uphill. This planet’s equivalent of trees were beginning to thin out, and the snow was thicker.

From back in the tress, something whickered. Simon turned around. A group of animals emerged into the far end of the clearing. Simon was downwind of them, so they would most likely leave him alone. The beasts had shaggy coats, six legs, and horns spreading out from their heads. They were dangerous as long as they weren’t provoked or cornered. They weren’t reindeer, but the resemblance was strong.

The drifted back into the trees. Simon stared at where they had been until he heard the horns knocking mass off a tree. He continued on his way.

Cassandra was a double star system. The stars were widely spaced enough that Cassandra A had formed a stable solar system. Astronomers were still debating whether Cassandra B had formed at the same time and place as A, or if B had been captured when it passed by.

Simon was a geologist and didn’t really care how the system formed. He only cared that B would be rising over the crest of the slope he was climbing.

The snow was thicker here near the crest. Simon forced his way through a particularly deep drift. His lungs burned from the cold, thin air. The stars were brilliant. Cassandra IV had two small moons. Both were on the other side of the planet tonight.

As he reached the summit, a meteor burned through the atmosphere. They were rare in this system. The gravitational influence of Cassandra B tended to pull them into unstable orbits.

That star was visible above the far horizon. It was the brightest object in the sky due to its nearness. Its brilliance illuminated the snow covered plain below him.

Simon checked his chronometer again.

Midnight, Christmas Eve back home on Earth. The midnight mass would be starting.

Simon wished he were there with Sharon to worship with her. But he was here, exploring an alien world. That didn’t mean he couldn’t worship, though, or celebrate the season. He began to sing “Silent Night”.

 

On the Road to Egypt

Raguel finished sharpening his sword and placed it in his sheath. The couple would be coming over the hill within the next minute. They would see an elderly man leaning on a staff and resting from the midday sun in the shade of a rock outcropping beside the road. They would be tempted to rest with him, but he couldn’t allow that. As refreshing as the shade would be, for them to stop would be fatal.

The man and the woman crested the hill and proceeded towards him. The man was leading a donkey upon which as seated a woman holding a small child, no more than two years old. They had been traveling fast, having fled at night. Raguel knew they were exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. He also knew they were pursued, something the couple didn’t know.

The border of Egypt was less than a day’s journey from where he sat. They had to keep going until they crossed it. Only then would they be safe.

The man greeted Raguel as they approached.

“Shalom,” he said. “How are you, sir?”

Raguel returned his greeting.

“I am well, I’m just resting my old bones here in the shade.”

“Do you have any water you could spare us?” the man asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Raguel said. “But there is an oasis a dozen stadia in the direction you are heading. There are date palms for shade, and the water is cool and clear. I drank my fill there not long ago.”

“I didn’t realize there was an oasis on this part of the road.”

“It’s a small one, but I found it quite refreshing.” Raguel knew there hadn’t been an oasis until he had called it up. It would be gone as soon as the family continued their journey and left it behind them.

The man looked like he would stop rather than going forward.

“Joseph,” said the woman. “Let’s keep going. We can rest there.”

“Are you sure?” Joseph asked.

“I am.”

Joseph turned to Raguel. “Thank you for telling us about the oasis. Good journey to you.”

“And to you as well,” said Raguel.

They started moving again. As the donkey passed him, the child, a boy, opened his eyes and smiled at Raguel. Raguel bowed his head in reverence until they had passed.

Within minutes of the family passing out of sight, two soldiers rode over the hill. They were pursuing the family. Raguel was ready for them.

As they drew near, Raguel stepped out of the shade into the middle of the road.

“Out of the way, old man,” said the one in front.

Raguel didn’t move.

The soldier drew his sword.

“Move, or I’ll cut you down!”

Raguel, Archangel of Justice, dropped his disguise and let his full majesty be seen.

The horses reared in panic, throwing their riders. Drawing his sword, Raguel fell upon Herod’s soldiers, while behind him Mary, Joseph, and Jesus safely continued on to Egypt.

 

Christmas Eve of the Living Dead

Father Barnes opened the doors to the cathedral. He had to remove the boards keeping them closed first. He hadn’t performed a Christmas mass for several years, not since the pestilence swept through the countryside. He’d lit the candles, there being no electricity, and prepared the elements.

The sun was setting. It wouldn’t be long now. That was if the open doors attracted any attention. Sooner or later they would. He decided he didn’t want to wait, so he stood at the top of the steps and began to sing.

He started with “Silent Night.”  It was appropriate. The night was still, without even a breeze stirring. Father Barnes had a strong baritone voice. It carried across the plaza and echoed off the walls of the remaining buildings.

When he finished “Silent Night” he moved smoothly into “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. Father Barnes had just sung “beneath thy deep and dreamless sleep” when he saw the first figures moving out of the darkness and into the light. Only one or two at first, but their numbers began to grow. They moved slowly, some with a shuffling gait, others with more normal movement.

For a moment he faltered, the song dying on his lips. Was this a mistake? He had felt led to proceed with this plan tonight, that it was God’s will. Had he been wrong? No, I must have faith, Father Barnes said to himself.

He picked up the hymn where he had left off, singing more strongly than before. The first of them reached the top of the steps, a man of middle age. Father Barnes stepped aside to let him pass into the cathedral.  He looked straight ahead as he mounted the steps, but as he passed Father Barnes, he said what sounded like “Thank you.”

Most of the rest didn’t say anything as they entered. None made any movement that could be considered hostile. One or two tried to smile, with varying degrees of success.

Finally the last of them entered the cathedral. There were fewer than Father Barnes had expected, but still, the cathedral was two-thirds full. These would be enough. He was called to minister to whomever.

He walked to the front and stood beside the altar. Father Barnes was reminded of a story he had read in a long ago history class, how one Christmas Eve the fighting had stopped and the soldiers on both sides has shared Christmas carols and cigarettes and enjoyed a game of soccer. He felt as though something similar was happening. Certainly a Christmas miracle.

The zombies were all seated quietly, waiting for him to proceed. Father Barnes began the mass.