A Christmas Encounter

Christmas... with a twist.

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Christopher sighed and hung up the phone. There was no time during the year that he loathed more than December. He had requested that his telephone number be unlisted, but an error on the phone company’s part cause it to not only be listed, but listed in bold. Not that an unlisted number would have stopped the calls from coming, anyway. He was still listed for company purposes, so the calls would have just gone to the office regardless. They still did. Such was the curse his parents placed on him by naming him Christopher Cringle.

Glancing at the clock, he learned that it was only 10:54. He had tried to go to be early, as if he would sleep. It was two weeks before Christmas and he needed to ride it out. He would be taking a much need vacation to Florida the day after, and like a child he had been marking the days off of his calendar. It was that thought that finally allowed him to drift off to sleep. It was the loud thud that woke him several hours later.

Christopher sat straight up in bed and blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He thought he had heard something. Well, he thought he thought he heard something. It was nearly 2:00 am, so he really couldn’t be sure. Perhaps he had been dreaming. When there was no further sound, he reasoned that he had in fact been dreaming and shifted back under the covers. No sooner had he closed his eyes again when he was overcome with the overwhelming sense that he was being watched. Opening his eyes again, he stared into what seemed to be an enormous face, with expressive blue eyes, a bulbous nose, and a thick, white beard.

“Hello, Christopher.”

Christopher screamed and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Tangled in the sheets, he fell to the floor painfully. When able to free himself, he switched on the light to reveal his intruder. It took him a moment to process what he saw. The man was no jolly little elf. He easily stood taller than six feet, and every feature about him was proportionally large. The beard, neatly trimmed, obscured the lower portion of his face and chin, but there was no mistaking his identity. The black leather boots were well worn, as were the knees and thighs of the red, velveteen trousers he wore. The black leather belt too was worn, though its golden buckle shined brightly in the light of the bedside lamp. His matching red coat was equally worn at the elbows, and the right shoulder showed several repairs. All was neatly trimmed in white fur, including the stocking cap atop his head. Christopher stood frozen in awe at first, before his common sense returned.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” he demanded to know. The gentleman before him let out a bellowing laugh.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Santa Claus isn’t real. You, you’re, this is a joke, right? Let me guess, you’ve got your ‘elves’ cleaning out my house downstairs while you distract me.”

Again the giant of a man in red laughed. “No, no, nothing of the sort. I’m here to help you fulfill your destiny!” 
         

Skepticism was one of Christopher’s strong suits, and he wasn’t buying the old man's story. “Right. Destiny. Let me guess, because my name is Chris Cringle, I’m supposed to be Santa Claus and bring toys to boys and girls all over the world. I’ve seen this movie before. A few times.”

“My dear boy, this is no movie, nor is this a dream. I can assure you, what’s happening is very, very real.”

“I think you should leave before I call the police,” Christopher demanded, fear welling within him now. How this man, this clearly delusional man, got into his house remained a mystery. All Christopher wanted was for him to leave.

“You can call them, certainly, but we’ll be long gone by the time they arrive.”

“You’re going to kidnap me?” Christopher asked, now grabbing the lamp and holding it in front of him in defense. The light that shone through the top of the shade lit up the old man’s face like a spotlight. Almost involuntarily, Christopher’s body relaxed. The face he saw was jolly, indeed, and showed no sign of animosity or threat. In fact, his rosy cheeks showed nothing more that the effects of windblown exposure.

“No, I’m not going to kidnap you. You are free to refuse,” he began before grinning. “But no Cringle has ever refused.”

The wink he gave certainly peaked Christopher’s curiosity, and without thought he placed the lamp back down on the nightstand. “What’s happening here?”

“Christopher Cringle, it’s time for you to learn your role in the mystical tale of Santa Claus.” With those words, the old man reached out his hand. Christopher grinned.

He thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. He was dreaming, he was certain of it. It had to be a dream, so where was the harm? “What the hell,” he quipped, and took his companion’s hand in his. In a flash, they no longer occupied the confines of Christopher’s modest bedroom. Instead, they stood on a balcony, overlooking an enormous expanse of barns and stables. And reindeer. Thousands of them. And hundreds of identical sleighs. Christopher didn't even notice the cold.

“What is the place?” Christopher asked in wonder.

Claus laughed heartily, his booming voice echoing outward for all to hear. The reindeer looked up in acknowledgement, and it was then that Christopher took notice of the throngs of elves tending to the animals and the sleighs. It was then that he noticed the others – men, dressed in red, milling about, giving out orders, and smiling. Christopher’s jaw dropped. Turning for the first time he learned just where he had been standing – on a balcony, of course, but the balcony of a great castle made of white stone, adorned with a red shield gilded in gold, bearing a large letter C in Olde English script. He had no words.

“Mr. Cringle,” Claus said as he placed his arm around Christopher’s shoulders. “Never believe the legend, for the truth is far more fantastic.”

© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.