Letters From the Past [FICTION]

The mail girl slams my mail on my desk with her regular surliness. As I look up, she points her snarl downward to avoid accidental eye contact. I shake my head and pick up the three envelopes that caused so much frustration. The top two are interdepartmental memos that repeat information already relayed in emails. The return address on the envelope belongs to a local correctional facility.

I raise an eyebrow as I open the envelope. A single folded page of cheap paper falls onto my desk. I ponder the vaguely familiar handwriting as I begin to read.

“Norma,

“I know I took it upon myself to tease you every time I could when we were in high school, but nowI need help that only you can offer. If you are willing to forgive me or even just curious, come visit me during visiting hours. Either way, please don’t tell anyone about this letter.

“Yours,

“Amos”

“Wow.” I exhale sharply and place the letter facedown on my desk. “That’s a hard choice.”

“What is?” My cubicle neighbor Minnie peers around the corner of my doorway.

I remember the last line of the letter and gesture toward the piles on my desk, “where to start.”

“You and me both, sister. I always start with the smallest pile.”

“Wise.”

She turns back toward her own cubicle, tossing one final comment over her shoulder. “Just don’t get that desk too clean. That’s when people give you a new pile to shuffle through.”

“Oh, I know,” I force a laugh as I pick up the letter to read it again.

~~~

The conviviality and good will of the holidays leads me to a rash decision. That choice finds me standing in line outside the prison being eyed by a couple of shifty-looking men. Luckily, I dressed like I dress for work and my librarian chic and refusal to make eye contact eventually turns them off.

I continue shuffling forward with my eyes pointed toward the crumbling asphalt under my feet. When I finally reach the door, a gruff guard asks me a series of probing questions and runs a metal detector over me before pointing me toward a female guard. She gently pats me down and then turns me around to look into my eyes.

“First time?”

I nod.

“Don’t worry, honey, the boys act tough, but they are only tough with people who deserve it. They will keep you safe.” She inclines her head toward the gruff guard I had just interacted with.

He offers me the slightest hint of a smile before turning his attention back to the next visitor with his scowl firmly in place.

The female guard taps my arm. “You just go through those doors. That hallway leads right to the visiting room.” She pats me reassuringly on the back and sends me on my way.

The wide hallway features a hard concrete floor painted dark grey and brick walls coated in a thin wash of sickly yellowish green paint. I decide to focus my eyes on the floor. I follow the footsteps of the guard in front of me. When they stop moving, I halt and lift my head. He opens the door and holds it for me as I step inside.

“No touching. Don’t make eye contact with anyone but the guards or the person you are visiting. Let me know if you want to leave at any time.” He intones dully as I step into the room.

After that warning, I find it hard to lift my eyes upward to look for a vaguely familiar face. 

“Norma,” a voice softly pulls me out of my contemplation of my shoes.

I slowly lift my head long enough to glance at the face of the slender man before me. “Amos?”

“Yep. Still Amos.” He grins softly.

The guard at his side gently pulls him toward one of the few small tables dispersed around the large room. “Behave, Amos, or you’ll lose some privileges.”

Amos blushes and sits wordlessly in one of the metal chairs. I try to pull out the one across from him only to realize the chairs are bolted to the table. I sit down, annoyed by the forced proximity.

“Sorry about the seating, Norma, but they don’t trust guys like me. They have their reasons.”

“I’m sure they do.” I clear my throat and take a quick glance around the room

I quickly realize Amos is the least scary person in the room aside from me. Even the woman visiting the man to our left looks like she could take on one of the guards and give him a fair fight. As her argument with her inmate escalates, I begin to worry that I might get to see my hypothesis tested. The guard closest to them makes a soft clucking sound, however, and she settles down.

“So, you said you needed my help?” I ask, returning my attention to Amos.

“I do. Assuming you got my letter at the real estate office.”

“I did…”

He pauses, biting his lip in thought for a moment for before leaning forward to tentatively speak. “So I got a letter from my mom. She can’t take care of her house. I need you to help her sell it and find a new place.”

“Any realtor could do that.”

“But I trust you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Come on, Norma, you are the opposite of bad to the bone. And you always were a favorite of the little old ladies.”

I look at him questioningly.

“Every teacher we had who was close to retirement doted on you. You were so respectful and a bit of a know-it-all.”

“Didn’t you sleep through most of the classes we had together?”

“And yet I still noticed.”

“None of that makes me a better choice than Henry Perkins, who graduated with us and has been working at the real estate office twice as long as me.”

“What? You don’t want a commission?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t believe you answered my question. And you definitely haven’t given me a reason to think this should be top secret.”

“You want the truth?”

“I just said that. At great length.”

He leans in. “Okay, first, my mother told me you work in the real estate office. Second, some people still think I have money hidden in my mother’s house.”

“Do you?”

“No, but that won’t stop a bunch of degenerates from trampling through the house and trying to tear It apart in an effort to find something that doesn’t exist.”

“And how am I supposed to keep that from happening?”

“You’re a realtor. Can’t you think of ways to weed out the treasure hunters.”

I nod my head. “We can skip open houses and I can just suggest private showings to people who are sincerely looking for a home.”

“This is why I needed to talk to you. Will you help her?”

“Give me her address and I will talk to her and let her know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Norma. I could kiss you, but..” He tilts his head toward the guard.

“And I wouldn’t let you.” I grin.

“And that. Thanks again for coming.” He stands up and takes a few steps toward the guard before turning to look at me over his shoulder. “It’s nice to see a friendly face.” 

Amos leans in to whisper to the guard, who nods and pulls a notebook and pen from his pocket. He quickly scribbles something on the first page and then tears out the page and proffers it to me. I tentatively accept and giggle nervously as I realize it is Amos' mother’s address.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, ma’am.” The guard takes Amos’ elbow and leads him away.

I take longer strides exiting the building and quickly reach my car. As I put the car in gear, I decide to go look at the house I might be selling and see what I think.

~~As last submissions of the year go, this one wasn’t too bad, I hope. May the new year be filled with joy and health and delicious treats for all of you…and more fantastic writing…~~

A Day of Celebration and Love [RANT]

Approximately two centuries ago, a young girl awaited the birth of her first child. Due to a census being taken, she and her new husband found themselves traveling hundred of miles away to be included in their ancestral home. As they got to Bethlehem, they began looking for a place to spend the night. All the inns were full. One innkeeper finally offered them the use of his humble stable to rest their weary bodies. Anyone who has ever traveled while pregnant in our gloriously plush automobiles knows how grateful Mary was to have a place to put her feet up and just be still. She didn’t get to rest long because soon our Savior made his entrance into the world. 

Many will argue whether he was born in December or April. They may argue whether he was born in winter or summer. They may argue if he was ever born at all, but most people still celebrate the holidays. Whether you are celebrating the birth of a savior or salvation from oppression or the warmth light brings to the shortest days of the year, I just want to remind you that it isn’t all the lights and carefully wrapped presents and platters of food that bring true joy to this season.

Love is the true light of the holidays, so even if you didn’t get the tech gadget or shiny bauble that you wanted, put on a happy face because someone loves you. Some of you may be asking, “why?” Someone somewhere loves you because:

You are their child.

You are the answer to their prayers.

You smiled at them when they were at their lowest.

You are their sibling.

You share their interests.

You shared your chocolate with them.

You are their parent.

You are their aunt or uncle or god parent.

You always listen when they talk.

Even if you don’t know it, or believe it, you are deeply loved. I believe in a Father in Heaven who sent His son to be our Savior. I believe that He is the reason we celebrate Christmas even though I clearly love a good story about Santa and his reindeer.

An Invitation? [FICTION]

“Ugh.” Dazed and confused, I try to push myself up from the soft surface under me.

My body refuses to cooperate and I sink back down, finding a soft pillow positioned under my head. My extremities tingle as if waking up from long disuse. I rub my hands together, surprised to find indentations in my wrists as if I have been tied up for a long time. A soft blanket slides from me as I struggle to sit up. 

Success doesn’t bring comfort as darkness keeps me from ascertaining my surroundings. With a bracing breath, I stand up. It feels like a million fire ants bite my bare feet. As I tumble to onto another plush surface, I close my eyes.

A scuffing sound from somewhere in front of me, accompanies almost rhythmic jingling. Smells of pine and peppermint wash over me. Underneath that I detect hints of fresh hay.

The tingling subsides enough for me to gain my feet at least. I extend my arms and take tentative steps forward. My fingers connect with a surface after what seems an eternity of shuffling forward. I run my fingertips along a solid wooden surface until I have outlined a door. Finding the knob, I turn it, but it doesn’t budge. As I rattle the door, the shuffling and jingling outside the door increases. 

After a few tries, I give up on the door and begin exploring the wall around it. Soon my groping fingers find a switch. I flip it and throw my hands over my eyes to block out the brilliant beams of an overhead light.

When my eyes finally adjust to the light, I examine my surroundings. I have been transported to any retail store on the day after Halloween. The soft surface on which I awakened proves to be a futon covered in thick quilts, patched from red and green and white triangles to evoke memories of hard, holiday candies. Heavy wooden frames accentuate oil paintings of reindeer. Under each one, a plaque identifies the subject: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. And, of course, Rudolph with his brilliant red nose. 

In another corner, a Christmas tree towers to the ceiling. An angel perches among some branches nearest the top since no room exists for her where tradition dictates she she survey Christmas festivities. Plastic icicles cascade over the branches, gleaming as brightly as the delicate glass ornaments interpreted about them. As I step forward to get a closer look, the sounds on the other side of the door change, growing to a crescendo as the door slowly opens.

I turn to face my kidnapper, struggling to believe what my eyes reveal. “It’s you.”

“Ho ho ho. Yes, my dear girl. Though I had thought you stopped believing in me.” Santa smiles as he wraps his hands around his black suspenders and surveys me with twinkling eyes.

Behind him, nine faces stare back at me from their stalls. The furthest one blinks his red nose on and off as if in greeting.

“I guess my choices are to believe you are real, assume I am dreaming, or find myself a good therapist.”

“Ho ho ho. I have missed your witty letters.”

“Is that why you kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you. My elves are expert toy makers but sometimes they don’t understand diplomacy. I asked them to invite you here so we could talk.” He snaps his fingers and the futon I awakened upon folds into a couch with soft quilts hanging neatly over the back.

“So why did you invite me here?”

“Even after you stopped writing to me, you always left out milk and cookies. I share all the Santa cookies with my elves and yours are their favorite. So last year, one of them copied the recipe from the book you left open. The result was delicious cookies, but they just aren’t the same.” He sighs and adjusts his glasses as he assesses my response to this confession.

“So you brought me here to ask for the recipe?”

“Not exactly. We learned that your husband lost his contracting business and my wife can’t keep up with the cookie needs of so many elves. We were hoping you would consider relocating to the North Pole. Your husbands skills would come in handy and you could ease some of Mrs. Claus’s stress.”

I gasp. “You want us to work at the North Pole?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I will have to discuss it with my husband.”

“Of course. I look forward to hearing your answer. For old time’s sake, write it on a piece of paper with a crayon and send it up the chimney.”

I look around the room in confusion, “Can I return home a different way than I got here?”

“Of course. Dasher, Dancer, and I will take you in the express sleigh.”

The two closest reindeer snort appreciatively and stomp their hooves excitedly. 

“Express sleigh?”

“It’s smaller. Lighter. You’re going to love it.” He offers me his elbow and leads me out into the stable.

I reach out to brush my hands against each reindeer’s square nose. They sniff me interestedly, snorting their assessments to each other as Santa continues to lead me down the aisle. As we reach the heavy door, Santa dons a heavy, fur-lined cloak in his traditional red. Another hangs next to it in woodland green. He holds this out to me. I snuggle into its warm folds, surrounded by the aroma of pine and peppermint. 

“This is my wife’s spare cloak. She wanted to make sure you were warm.”

“I will have to thank her.”

“You will get the chance. She is waiting to see us off.”

Somehow despite how calm I have been since Santa walked into the room, my stomach suddenly feels full of flapping wings at the thought of meeting Mrs. Claus. As we cross the snowy yard between the stable and the house, I breath deeply of the cold air in an effort to calm my nerves. Finally, the snowflakes floating gently around us bring me a sense of peace. I follow Santa around the back of the house where a small silver sleigh awaits. Mrs. Claus stands beside it, dressed in the same red as her husband. She smiles and extends her hands to clasp mine. 

“Dear girl, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Thank you for being so understanding. I explained to our little elf friends that they are never to take anyone anywhere without their permission.”

She keeps a hold of my hands, pulling up the sleeves on the cloak to examine my wrists. “I really am sorry. They are like children in that way. They get so excited to make their parents happy sometimes that they don’t think before they leap.”

I nod as if I understand, mesmerized by the pale blue eyes behind her tiny spectacles.

“I don’t know, dear. If she doesn’t talk, I don’t think we’ll be able to bake up wonderful things to keep those elves working.” She smiles at her husband and then grins at me. “You do sing Christmas carols, at least?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then it might just be okay then. We better get you home, darling. You aren’t used to the cold.” She pats my cheek one last time before clasping my hands again.

As if summoned by her words, jingling approaches from the stables. A tiny elf leads Dasher and Dancer toward us. His eyes widen as he looks up at me before he turns and runs away.

“I assume that was one of my abductors,” I comment as the reindeer come toward me, nuzzling me gently before stepping in front of the sleigh.

“Ready to go, kids,” Santa begins hooking the reindeer to the harnesses.

Mrs. Claus releases my hands. “You have a good trip, dear.”

“I am sure I will.” I look at Dasher and Dancer, who stomp their feet impatiently.

Santa lifts me into the sleigh and then turns to look at his wife. “A kiss for luck?”

As she finishes planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, he hoists her into the seat beside me. “There we go. You will be safe in Mrs. Claus’s capable hands.”

“Ho ho ho!” She laughs at her own soft imitation of his famous phrase and grabs the reins.

At a flick of her wrist, the reindeer begin running. Moments later, we soar into the sky. I look down to see Santa surrounded by dozens of tiny elves. They wave and cheer. Mrs. Claus starts singing Christmas carols and I absentmindedly sing along though my mind is hundreds of miles away with my husband. I wonder how he will respond to our job offer.

~~Some people might think this is autobiographical. Other people might not think my cookies are good enough to bribe elves into laboring diligently 364 days a year to make toys for little children.~~

That Twelfth Day [FICTION]

The twelfth day of Christmas arrived. Someone chose me to shower with gifts for the twelve days of Christmas. I consider it a blessing that they didn’t shower me with birds and lords and ladies, but I wish they had graced me with the knowledge of their name. I gathered from the gifts that they knew me, which meant they were a true friend or a very skilled stalker. I decided to be positive and just enjoy the gifts as they trickled in from day to day.

On the first day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me, a gift card in a pear tree. I arrived late to work after a doctor’s appointment to find a large envelope with my name neatly printed on it. I opened it up to find a card with a glittery tree decorated with golden pears on the front. Inside, I found a gift card to my favorite local restaurant for $50.

Inside, someone had typed, ’Enjoy some time in your favorite place with your favorite person.’

I stood up slowly and peered at the cubicles around me. Everyone continued typing madly and sorting through papers on their desk as if nothing unusual was happening. I tried to subtly ask around, but no one responded in a way that made me feel they knew about my surprise. I decided to call my best friend and invite her to join me for dinner.

“So what’s up?” She asked as we dug into breaded onion petals.

“What do you mean?” I winked at her.

“Has it come to this?” She shook her head and popped another petal into her mouth. “Honey, you know I am engaged, so proposing to me leads to disappointment for you.”

It started with a grin and ended with both of us giggling hysterically. When we finally pulled ourselves together, every other customer in the restaurant was staring at us. Some quickly returned to their meals when silence descended on our table. Others continued to glare at us as we offered sheepish yet amused smiles. The remaining few looked like they wanted to join the laughter or curious about what prompted it. A few moments of silence on our part allowed everyone to return attention to where it should be, the food.

“Now that we have that out of our system, tell me what gives?” She stage whispered.

“I got a gift card for this place and I saw it as a sign to spend some time together.” I stared intently at her face as I made this confession.

“Aw, you’re the sweetest.” She finished off the last onion petal, but didn’t give any indication that she knew about the gift card.

As if summoned, the waitress returned with our meals. I waited for her bring refills and then filled my bestie in on my Secret Santa gift. We spent the rest of dinner pondering who it could be. We agreed it could only be one of ten people. I am notoriously anti-social, so not many people know my favorite restaurant.

“If you ever figure it out, let me know.” She said as we pulled on our coats.

“Of course.” I hugged her and headed home to fall asleep with mysteries in my head.

On the second day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me two puppies in love. The next morning, I expected just a normal day at work, shuffling the papers and books into smaller piles until more magically appeared. Nestled among the clutter, I found a little box, wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon. A small, folded card announced, “Two turtledoves could never show this much love.”

I contemplated saving this gift in the hope of getting fingerprints, but curiosity about the contents pushed that untenable idea aside. I carefully pulled off the paper and opened the box  to reveal a little statue of two terriers smooching.

“Aw!” I sighed.

“That’s cute,” my cube neighbor appeared behind me. “It’s about time you decorated with something besides books.” She laughed and walked away without further comment.

I pondered whether she might be my Secret Santa, but we have never talked about anything but work. She wouldn’t know my favorite food or that I hope to adopt a terrier or two someday.

On the third day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me three French treats. By this point, I admit I expected to be spoiled by some small gift. Secret Santa did not disappoint. A small, pink pastry box awaited my expectant eyes. I recognized the decorative sticker holding the box closed from my favorite bakery, which I only visit on truly special occasions because delicious comfort food costs more than my paycheck can handle. I gently peeled back the sticker to open the lid and reveal three croissants nestled in a wax paper nest. As I lifted the box to inhale their sweet aroma, I found a post-it stuck to the desk under the box:

“Hope I didn’t lay an egg with this treat. Some days you like cannolis better, but they aren’t French.”

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me four calling cards. I pondered the letter-sized envelope on my desk. The giver had typed “calling cards for you” on it. Upon lifting the flap, four tickets to the local theater tumbled onto the desk. I gasped at the realization that they were the hard to acquire, even if you have the money, open-ended tickets that can be used to claim balcony seats for any show. I stared at the tickets, feeling as if I held raw gold in my hands. If I knew who my Secret Santa was, I would have given them a huge hug and begged them to join me for whichever show they would recommend. Anyone who could get their hands on these tickets really knows the theater.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me five golden boxes. That morning, half of the office came over to check on me because I squealed with delight when I saw what awaited. Five golden boxes from one of my favorite chocolatiers greeted me when I pulled out my chair to sit down. “FIVE GOLDEN RINGS” declared a post it note. The boxes proved to be a nice assortment of my favorite varieties. After interrupting everyone’s morning, I shared one of the boxes, but I rushed the other four out to my trunk to enjoy slowly over the next few months.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me six golden eggs. When I first turned the corner into my cubicle, I exclaimed in surprise to see six golden eggs. Could my Secret Santa have showered me with expensive chocolates two days in a row? A closer inspection of my prize revealed six sets of funky tights nested in oversize Easter eggs. Underneath the basket holding my gift, a card contained the following message, “Pleas don’t get goosed in these.”

I barked a laugh. Luckily, deadlines kept my nearest cubicle neighbors from checking on me. I sighed with relief and slipped the eggs into my messenger bag. I certainly didn’t want to explain the gift of fancy pantyhose to my coworkers. This gift increased my hopes that my Secret Santa would reveal themself to be female.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me seven swans. Another day brought another neatly wrapped gift. This time brown paper covered the box and bits of jute and small, cloth poinsettias add color to the drab paper. Inside seven delicate swan ornaments nestled in styrofoam cut to keep them safe. I pulled one out and marveled at the rainbows thrown across my cubicle by the cut crystal.

“Work never looked so magical,” My cubicle neighbor offered on her way by, but she didn’t stop to chat. The holiday party started early and we all wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be interrupted by unfinished tasks calling us back to our desks and away from the pot luck and white elephant gift party.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me eight pieces of dulce de leches cake. I drooled the moment I laid my eyes on the white box from my second favorite bakery. If history proved correct, I could guess what was inside without looking. I was not wrong. The moment I lifted the lid, the sweet aroma of the cake overwhelmed my senses. Even I knew I couldn’t keep that much deliciousness to myself. My coworkers and I had finished the cake before I realized this gift had not come with a cryptic card. As our revisited party wound to an end, I stumbled back to my desk. Still no card. I shrugged. Maybe they would have more to say the next day. Only four more days to surprise me.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me nine reasons to dance to the beat of my own drum. As soon as I lifted the oversized envelope, I knew my CD collection just received another member. I ripped open the paper and examined my new acquisition. Nine tracks to belly dance to, featuring drums. I opened the card to find more words than usual, perhaps a repayment for yesterday’s lapse of exposition.

“I bet you thought I forgot, but I didn’t. I had no appropriate comments about maids and milking. I hope you and your friends enjoyed the cake. I know it is one of your favorites, but I also know you are generous. So this one is just for you unless you want to dance for your coworkers…”

On the tenth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me ten warm fingers. That gift surprised me a little. Secret Santa didn’t bother wrapping it. He just stuck a bow on a pair of gloves and draped them over my keyboard. He also didn’t leave a note. Not that he needed to. Gloves are pretty self-explanatory. Though these were nice gloves, thin and fur-lined, for warmth and comfort. And the tan suede has offered me an air of elegance on every winter day since.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me eleven tracks of music played on a pipe organ. Secret Santa went above and beyond to find the right gift for this day. He or she somehow found a Christmas CD featuring the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square that contains exactly eleven tracks with the famous pipe organ lending its tones to holiday favorites. I started to wonder if they worked for a music store. That would narrow it down. Most of the music stores have closed down. As I open the case, a slip of paper falls out.

“These pipers have integrity.”

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Secret Santa gave to me twelve boxes nested inside each other. When I pulled out the last box, I paused to admire the beautifully wrapped package with its golden ribbons and silver paper. I gently unwrapped the paper, wondering what could fit in such a thin box. With the thoughtfulness and variety displayed by the eleven previous gifts, I couldn’t imagine what I would find. Nestled inside the folds of tissue paper, I found something that stole my breath. As I gasped for air, the picture burned itself into my retinas.

My boss’s face looked up at me from the image with enough blush on her cheeks for three darker toned woman. Spidery eyelashes hung askew from her dark eyes. That wasn’t the most haunting aspect of the picture, however. She had her arms wrapped around her boss’s husband, and he obviously liked it. A picture like that would instantly torpedo the morale of the whole company, destroying what had promised to be a very merry Christmas. Secret Santa proved not to be a saint just by having that photo, but a note poked out from under the photo.

“I know how you love to throw fund raisers. You better raise some money quickly. If I don’t receive $25,000 dollars by the end of the month, this picture goes viral and you will get all the credit.”

I gasped. I realized my mistake as I heard my nosy neighbor’s chair rolling toward me. I quickly closed the box as her cheerful voice penetrated to dance around the new knowledge in my mind.

“Something wrong in here? Did your secret Santa give you tickets somewhere exotic? Maybe where they will reveal themself?” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

I shuddered. “Um. No. Just realized I forgot to order a gift for my mom and now it might not get here in time.”

She frowned and nodded toward the array of boxes scattered around my desk. “So what did you get?”

“Just a letter wishing me a happy holiday.” I forced a smile.

“It wasn’t a poem was it?” She asked as she toed one of the boxes with her shoe.

“No. Thank goodness.” I offered a true smile as we laughed about our shared aversion to poetic gestures.

Our laughter faded out as her phone rang insistently. “Sorry. I forgot I have a meeting. Talk later? Yeah?”

As she rushed off, I pondered my options. Sighing, I realized only one option would result in any chance of a happy holiday for any of us. How could eleven wonderfully thoughtful gifts come from the same person who apparently was apparently willing to ruin at least five lives for $25,000?

~~

“Come in.” My boss responded to my soft knock.

I clutched the slim box tighter in my hand as I turned the knob and stepped inside. I turned to close the door behind me and took a calming breath. She smiled at me as I turned toward her, waiting patiently. She looked completely normal—so unlike the picture.

“Is something wrong?” She finally asked as I failed to find words.

“I ..uh…” I held out the box to her. “Someone sent me this and I don’t think I should decide what to do about it.”

She looked at me curiously but accepted the box. As she pulled off the lid, she started to laugh. Shocked, I stared at her. As her laughter continued to echo through her office, I glanced at the door, wondering if I should seek help or slap the hysterics out of her. She finally stifled the laughter before I decided on a course of action.

“I don’t know who send you this, but they have a terrible sense of humor. Come on.” She grabbed up the box in one hand and offered me the other.

I took it tentatively and allowed her to drag me along in her wake. I tried to pull free as I realized our steps led us to the hallway that only led to her boss’s office.

“Be brave. We’ll have this all worked out soon.” 

“But, I…”

"You can’t lose your job for someone playing a cruel trick on you.”

That reassurance bolstered my courage enough to follow in her wake as she released my hand and marched to her boss’s door.

“Katey, are you decent?” She called out.

I shuddered and reflexively tried to make myself as small as possible as the door flew open. “I’m never decent and neither are you.” The two ladies erupted into a fit of giggles, which abruptly ended as Katey noticed me.

She instantly sobered up, clearing her throat running her hands down the front of her dress. “Can I help you ladies with something?”

My boss stepped forward, to hand over the box. “Someone sent this to her.”

After a glance at the photograph, Katey shook her head and turned to me with a wry grin. “Don’t worry. I know about this picture. I took it at a Halloween party here a couple of years ago.”

“Really?” I squeaked.

“Yes. Really. Whoever sent this to you probably knew that but was relying on your discretion.”

“Yeah. We should reward you for bringing it to us.” My boss added.

“I don’t need anything…” After all, I did get eleven days worth of thoughtful gifts before this one, but I didn’t tell them that.

“Well, we will make sure you have job security then.” Katey laughed.

“I am pretty sure I have that.” I replied.

“Yeah. She works on all the projects everyone else doesn’t want.”

“Well, just let me know if you need anything.” Katey smiled and extended her hand.

Somehow, I had a feeling this implied promise of a favor might have been my true twelfth day of Christmas gift. My Secret Santa had even more secrets than I counted on. I wondered if I would ever find out who he or she was.

~~Whew! That got a little dark toward the end. I hope I salvaged it and kept you in the Christmas spirit. Keep thinking of family and feasts and love and true gifts of love, my friends.~~

The Most Famous of All [FICTION]

Everyone knows my name. I don’t expect to be more well known than the boss, but I would expect to have at least as many admirers as anyone else on the team.

In a story as old as time, we made fun of the little guy because he has a red nose. Before we realized he could help us see on our yearly flight, we were just worried that lightbulb on his face might attract danger. The North Pole may be the happiest place on earth, but that doesn’t mean nothing scary lives here. Predators are everywhere. Everyone knows that even if some of them are in denial.

So you’ve guessed I am not Rudolph. I just have a dark, dull, normal nose. You also have surmised that I joined my friends in excluding him and bullying him. No one regrets that more than me. Rudolph is a great guy and has grown up to be a great friend. I can’t begrudge him his fame for lighting the way, but honestly, his harness helps us to follow him, it doesn’t let him help pull the sleigh.

Do you know how many kids get gifts every Christmas Eve? Over two billion. Even if half of them are too naughty to get anything but coal, that equates to tons of presents. Even Christmas magic can’t make that weigh nothing. 

And what about all those cookies and glasses of milk and cocoa and eggnog? Santa loves to eat. It is part of why he is so sweet, but even he couldn’t devour every crumb in one night. Instead, he packs them up and brings them home to the elves. I hope this doesn’t inspire anyone to stop leaving treats. How do you think the elves get the energy to make all those fantastic toys? Sugar and gratitude.

In light of all this, why would I be knocking on the jolly man’s office with a heavy heart? 

“Come in. Ho ho ho.”

When I don’t come through the door, he comes to open it for me. “Ah, Dasher, come in my friend.”

I lower my head so my antlers don’t scratch the doorway and follow him slowly. 

“What brings you in tonight? Excited for our journey in a couple of weeks?”

“About that. This might be my last year pulling the sleigh.” I stare down at my front hooves and wait for his response.

“Did you have a fight with one of the other reindeer? You can work it out. We’re family.”

“It isn’t that.” I assure him. “I was offered a job.”

“A better job than bringing happiness to every nice child in the world? Ho ho ho!” The last syllable falls short as his eyes meet mine. “Oh. You are serious. So who is trying to poach you?”

I snort at his choice of words. “An animal farm down south needs a mascot and they want to celebrate Christmas all year, so a reindeer is an obvious choice.”

“But what are they offering that you aren’t getting here? Is it the warmer weather?”

“No. I just want to feel appreciated.”

Santa leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his ample stomach. “Dasher, you know we all love you. People just like what is shiny and new. But up here, we all know that every member of our family is as important as all the others. That is why I will help with whatever choice you make.”

“Help how?”

“If you stay, we will work on helping the humans appreciate you more. If you choose to go, we will throw you a party and send an elf down with the special reindeer feed any time you feel the need to fly.”

I stare at him blankly for a minute. “The special Christmas Eve oats?”

“Exactly.”

“And if you want, you can even come home and visit us whenever you want.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” I let out a sigh of relief.

“Really? I wish you luck, Dasher. We do love you here…” He struggles to find the right conclusion to that sentence.

“That’s good because I am staying.” I lean across his desk to nuzzle his beard.

He wraps his arms around me. “Oh ho ho! Thank goodness. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

~~As a mom, I definitely know about not feeling appreciated for all that gets done by these little hands over the holidays. At least I get snuggled from my elf-sized little Christmas enthusiasts. Pray for all the mommas. We are working hard to make Santa’s job easier, so he doesn’t wear out those wonderful reindeer…~~