Holiday Advent Story 16

The town of West Homestead had fallen on tough times. Most folks were unemployed since the plant closed. There was a rough economy that was striking down the hopes of better days. With the plant closing it caused several local business’ to falter and some to shut their doors.  West Homestead was on the verge of the worst year since the rabbit plague of ‘63.

Little Nigel Walker had hoped for better days. Not for himself, but for his family. Like many children Nigel was acutely aware of Christmas. He was also aware of the complete lack of lights, decorations, and a general feeling of joy.

One night, on the Christmas Star, Nigel Walker mad a wish. It was a simple wish. He only asked for one thing. “Please, let my town know joy this Christmas. They need happiness so much. They deserve to smile, at least for a little while.”

Nigel’s wish was heard. It is important to note that sometimes the universe sends you exactly what you asked for. Occasionally it sends you what you need. On very very rare occasions, it sends Doctor Gildor MacSmokinghole the Mad Elf of Christmas.

He arrived at the cusp of dawn, tapping loudly on Nigel’s bedroom window. When Nigel finally woke and opened the window to find Gildor standing on the sill in his bright red, soot stained, slightly burnt red holiday outfit. Gildor was roughly a foot tall and tended to bounce in place when talking or listening. Those who knew him well found this disconcerting based on the alarming frequency that Gildor carried nitroglycerin.

“Are you Nigel?” asked Gildor. He didn’t wait for a response. “Excellent.”

Gildor grabbed Nigel by the wrist and led him through the window to a large wagon out back. The wagon was burnt in places and smoking slightly. It was pulled by a lazy looking polar bear. “That’s Jim,” said Gildor indicating the bear. “Jim, this is Nigel.”

Jim the bear snorted. Nigel thought it might have been a greeting.

Gildor climbed into the wagon and reached out to help Nigel join him. Nigel stared up at the strange little man. He’d been warned about getting into a strangers car or van. He was unclear if he’d ever been told about a strangers bear pulled wagon.

“Quickly boy,” said Gildor. “We have precious little time.”

Nigel climbed into the wagon.

“I’ve set up on the outskirts of town,” said Gildor. “I figured you’d want to see the show.”

“What show?” asked Nigel.

“We got your request. It came in a bit late and I had to do a rush job, but we got everything you need for joy at Christmas.” Gildor cackled. “Sorry about that. It happens.”

“My request?”

“Yeah you asked for joy for the town.”

“My prayer?” asked Nigel.

“Keep up kid,” said Gildor. “Of course, your prayer. We don’t show up unless asked for.”

They crested the ridge at the edge of town. Set along the hillside were several wagons similar to the one they rode in. They were all brightly colored, slightly burnt, and covered in tarps.

“How are you going to give the town joy?” asked Nigel.

“We got everything you need for a spectacular Christmas,” said Gildor. “Ain’t that right Jingles?”

Another elf jogged up. They carried a clip board, and one of their eyes kept blinking. “Yes sir,” said Jingles giving a slight salute with the broken clipboard they was holding. “We’re just waiting on your orders.”

“Excellent,” said Gildor. He jumped out of the wagon and jogged up the hill to a small booth behind thick glass windows. “Come on Nigel, safety first.”

Nigel followed Gildor up to the booth. The control booth was small and cramped. A control board filled with dials, switches, and read out screens. In the center of it all was a six inch round button. It read, “Seriously, Do NOT push unless you really mean it.”

Gildor sat in a small swivel chair built for his size and pointed to a larger stool that Nigel could sit on. Gildor checked the dials and read outs. He flipped a switch and tapped some sliders. Finally he gently twisted a dial while watching the gauge above it.

When he was finished he leaned back while rubbing his hands and giggling. “Perfect. We just need one last thing. JINGLES, coco.”

Jingles hurried into the booth carrying a small tray with two steaming cups of coco. Each cup was topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. Gildor took one and Jingles handed the other to Nigel. He sipped the coco. It was warm and delicious.

Gildor set down his cup, a mustache of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles clinging to his upper lip. He turned his chair to Nigel. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said Nigel.

Gildor and Jingles yelled in unison, “PUSH THE BUTTON!!!”

Nigel stared at them.

Gildor pointed at the red button. “Kid.”

“It says do not push and not is all in big letters.”

Gildor leaned forward. “That’s true. However, it does add unless you mean it. When you made your wish, did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

Gildor nodded towards the button. “Then push it.”

Nigel smiled and reached out his hand.

Gildor and Jingles threw their hands in the air. “PUSH THE BUTTON!!!”

Nigel pushed down on the large, shiny, candy-like, red button.

Gildor rub his hands together and giggled.

The tarps sprung from the wagons flipping like window shades. They revealed huge cannons, brightly colored, and studded with silver bells.

Gildor began to laugh.

Loud music began to play. A booming orchestral piece filled the air. At the crescendo of the music, the first cannon fired.

The cannons launched huge bundles into the air. Each bundle slammed into the town. On impact they exploded hurling bundles of colorful streamers over the houses. Candy canes launched into the air, fell to earth on small festive parachutes, and hung themselves from gutters, fences, and any other surface with an edge.

A row of cannons on the east side fired full sized, Christmas trees strung with lights that slammed into the ground in a straight line up the middle of the town’s main street. The rattle of Gatling guns as they pelted each tree with ornaments.

A series of small catapults began launching packages, presents, and parcels at the city. Some landed on the lawns of various homes. Others fell through the chimneys. A few dropped to the ground near the trees.

Finally, the cannons silenced as the music began to wind down.

A loud warning claxon sounded.

Gildor cackled; his arms waving above his head.

Off in the distance, a missile rose on the back of a large truck. Its point aiming higher and higher into the sky. Then the music stopped and the missile fired straight up. Red and white colored smoke trailed behind the rocket. As the rocket flew higher a section broke off and the thrusters fired again. The rocket flew up into the sky becoming no more than a speck in the sky. Then it turned around. The rocket started to fall towards the town. A whistling noise began to grow louder and louder.

“Don’t worry,” said Jingles. “We’re quite safe in the bunker. The glass is detonation proof.”

“What about the people in the town?” asked Nigel.

“Eh,” said Jingles shrugging her shoulders.

The whistling grew louder and louder. Jingles gathered up a stack of colored papers. They divided the stack and handed half to Nigel. “They’re for throwing. When the mission is successful you throw the papers in the air. That’s how you know it was a good mission.”

The end of the rocket was just a hundred yards above the town. There was a deafening whomp noise as the rocket detonated. Hundreds of feet of tinsel in silvers, gold, green, red, and blue rained down on the town. It covered every surface and glittered in the rising sun.

Jingles tossed her papers in the air while giving off a cry of joy. Nigel looked at the papers in his hands and threw them up in the air too.

Gildor slowly stopped laughing. First falling back to a laugh and then a giggle. Finally he let out a satisfied sigh and took a drink from his coco.

Jingles walked to Nigel with a clipboard. “Is that what you’re looking for in the wish?”

Nigel stared out the window at the town. It was covered from one end to the other in decorations, lights, trees, and presents. There were even a couple of house with decorations for Hanukkah and Kwanza. “Yeah…I think so.”

“Great.” Jingles offered the clipboard and a pen to Nigel. “I’ll need you to sign here, here, and here. Then initial here and here.”

Nigel did as he was told.

Gildor jumped off his chair. “Excellent. Let me get you home.”

Later that morning everyone exited their house to find the decorations left behind from the night before. While it may not have been the happiest the town has ever been. There was a great amount of joy for all.

end
Christmas Canon
I already know, but this was to good an idea.

Holiday Advent Story 15

Malcolm was excited to be home from school for Christmas break. It was nice to spend time with his brother and sister. He loved school, but they didn’t use some of the technology he was used to from growing up with his family.

Malcolm had always been unusual and there were things that had happened around him that couldn’t be explained. That was until just before his eleventh birthday when the owl with the letter showed up. Malcolm’s whole world changed after that.

He was sixteen now and had learned some amazing things over the years. Still, it was nice to come home and play computer games and watch movies with his siblings. They had spent all morning playing one of his favorite online games and now they were walking to the shop for some lunch.

“I don’t know why you were playing a ranger,” said Bethany. “I’d expect you’d be more at home as a mage class.”

“It’s not like that,” said Malcolm. “We don’t learn to hurl lightning bolts. At least I haven’t.”

“It might be sixth year,” said Bertram turning to cut through the park.

“Mom said we shouldn’t go through the park,” said Malcolm.

“She’s just being Mom,” said Bethany.

“There’ve been a couple of disappearances,” said Bertram. “She thinks we’ll get nicked if we go off the roads.”

“Besides,” said Bethany, “we have a mighty wizard with us. He can obviously protect us from all mere moogle threats.”

Malcolm was about to correct her but decided to let it go. He slumped his shoulders and turned into the park with his siblings.

The park was quiet. Normally there would be skaters at the pond and kids launching themselves down the hill on sleds. However, it had been unseasonably warm this year. Malcolm had only needed a jacket when they left the home. It was only 15c out, nice autumn weather.

They were just passing the pond and a large corpse of trees when Bertram began talking about the new dungeon they could run after lunch. That’s when the cold wind blew in.

All of the siblings pulled their coats in closer. Malcolm felt something…odd. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His fingers twitched to take the wand from his inside jacket pocket. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it other than habit. He’d felt silly carrying it away from school and now he was quite glad he had it with him.

Bethany yelped. Malcolm and Bertram turned to look at what had startled her. A dark cloaked figure emerged from the trees. It floated off the ground with an ethereal appearance. As if it were submerged in water.

“What is that?” asked Bethany.

“Dementor,” said Malcolm yanking his wand out. “Get behind me.”

“Can you stop it?” asked Bertram.

“There’s a spell we’re learning,” said Malcolm. “I haven’t been able to cast it yet.” Malcolm cried the words for the spell. Nothing.

A second and third Dementor joined the first.

“I feel so sad,” said Bethany. “So cold.” Bethany slumped to her knees.

“I can…I can’t feel,” stammered Bertram before falling over.

Malcolm took a deep breath and tried to remember what Professor Longbottom had told him. He pushed darkness from his mind. Tried to picture something that made him happy. Something that brought him real joy. He tried to think of his friends at school, the wondrous animals and amazing plants he was surrounded with every day. Flying on a broomstick. With each new thought he tried the spell again. Each time it failed.

He could feel the monsters closing in and felt despair wash over him. He looked at his siblings and thought of the last few days. Being with them, talking, and going for walks. His mind drifted to the game they had been playing. Thinking of the game, the fun, all of the time they’d spent he clutched his wand and tried one last time.

“Expecto Patronus!”

Bright light burst from the tip of Malcolm’s wand. It gathered in front of him and formed a massive warrior. No, a paladin. The Paladin glowed with a bright light. He was covered plate armor with a grand tabard bearing his heraldry. Only his head was unprotected. He turned to look at Malcolm with a sharp grin and gave a sly wink. He then turned to face the Dementors.

He drew his sword, let out a scream, and charged while yelling, “Leeerooooooooy Jenkins!”

The Dementors turned to flee. The patronus caught them and sliced into each with its sword. He dispatched the first two quickly as they attempted to flee. The third was caught against a tree as the patronus stabbed the monster, pinning it to the tree.

After the Dementors dissolved before his eyes Malcolm watched as his patronus turned and gave a sharp salute before fading away itself. Knowing that the young boy and his siblings were safe but with a look that said he would be ready to come again; if needed.

end

The Christmas Spell
*Note* Some elements of this story belong to J.K. Rowling or Blizzard Interactive and are used here as a way of paying tribute.

Holiday Advent Story 14

The freak blizzard that hit the city had closed everything. Even still the plane had landed; the last one to touch down. It had been dangerous to land. The pilot of the small twin engine hadn’t cared. He knew what he was carrying.

The package was in Andy’s hands now. The streets had been closed. It had gotten so bad some of the plows had gotten stuck. He had to get the package there. He hiked two blocks to a sporting goods store a friend of his owned. He’d called his Vince at home and told him what he’d needed. Vince told him what he needed to do to enter the store. It involved a code and a key in fake rock,

Andy dashed through the store and grabbed what he needed; a set of cross country skis and a heavy camping backpack. The truck might not be able to get through the road but Andy should be able to ski it. As he walked out the door he grabbed a pair of goggles to protect his eyes form the snow and the cold.

He had three blocks to go. I might as well be miles but he had to try. The snow pelted him; slamming him to and fro as he went. He pushed on.

Andy had skied in the past, though he preferred more of the downhill variety. He’d gone cross country once, back in the day with Vince. It was harder than he’d liked.

It was still harder than he’d like but now he had a reason to do it. He focused on that reason. He just had two blocks to go.

The city was quiet. The snow had forced everyone inside and away from the storm. Not that they could have gone anywhere, the cars were indistinguishable from small hills buried under the snow the way they were.

Andy kept going. One block. He could just make out the lights through the storm. Snow pelted Andy’s goggles. He felt his fingers numb, but his destination got closer and closer as he went.

Almost there…just a little bit closer.

Andy finally arrived. The door slid open. Andy stomped his way in. Snow falling off of him and clumping on the carpet of the lobby. A nurse ran up to Andy, Claire, they’d worked together before.

Andy pulled the backpack off and tore into it as quickly as he could. He pulled the cooler from inside. Claire crossed herself and offered a quick thank you to the lord. She took the cooler with the kidney in it and ran back towards the operating theater.

Andy slumped down in the waiting room. He’d made it. Now, with a bit of luck, little Maggie Jones might just make it.

end

Waiting for the Man with the Bag

Holiday Advent Story 13

Toby Jones: six years old. Missing since Tuesday. Current location: a warehouse on the East side. Locked in a closet.

Mickey, Jones, Mac, and Carver sat in the next room playing cards. Mickey glanced at the closet where the occasional sob could be heard. Toby was crying again.

Carver hurled an ashtray at the door. “Shut up or so help me god I’ll come back in there.” Carver had entered the room twice since they’d gotten back with Toby. The screams still echoed in the back of Mickey’s thoughts.

“I swear,” said Mac. “I can’t wait for the brat’s old man to pay up so we can be done here.”

“I don’t understand what’s taking so long,” said Jones. “You think he’s gotten one of them negotiators?”

“Nah,” said Carver. “It’s the old man. His plan was to wait a couple of days before contacting the family for money. Get them good and desperate. Then ask for cash.”

“Mister Mason would not appreciate being called the old man,” said Mac.

“Is that what he told you his name was?” asked a voice from the shadows. “Mister Mason. Stone work, sounds hard. I can see him finding that appropriate.”

A…person walked out of the shadows. He was wearing green and red from head to toe. A pointy hat rested on his head with a jingle bell hanging from the tip. Mostly though the men around the table noticed that he was only about a foot tall.

“Gentlemen, my name is Shawn,” said Shawn. “I’m here to offer you a choice.”

Carver stood quickly and grabbed a pistol from the table. He aimed the weapon at the Shawn and pulled the trigger. A spray of silver tinsel sprung from the end. Carver grabbed a knife from the table and hurled it at Shawn.

Shawn watched as the blade whipped straight for him. Then at the last second Shawn stepped to one side. He then reached out one hand and poked the knife. He then used his other hand to keep the knife spinning. Shawn spun in a circle. He kept the knife spinning around him. When he finished rotating the knife flew away from him and slammed into the wall just to one side of carver’s head.

Carver stood and grabbed the knife from the wall.

“Please,” said Shawn. “I can keep this up all night. However, time is short and I have a message to deliver. Then you can go back to your cards.”

Carver was moving around the table, knife in hand.

“CARVER,” yelled Mac.

Carver stopped and turned on Mac.

“Hear him out,” said Mac. “I think he came from Mister Mason.”

“Is he right?” asked Carver. “You work with Mason?”

“To the first question,” said Shawn. “He is right. I came from Mason. To the second, I don’t work for him. He was given a choice that I now also give to you.”

“What choice?” asked Mickey.

“In three hours it will be midnight and Christmas day,” said Shawn. “You can give me Toby now, and he will go home and enjoy Christmas with his family. Or you can keep him and in three hours Toby will be taken from you.”

“What’s in it for us?” asked Jones.

“Traditionally, a good deed is its own reward,” said Shawn. “In this case however, you will gain the bonus of not eating through a straw and having to relearn how to walk.”

“There’s a third option,” said Carver tightening the grip on his knife.

“Shut up Francis,” said Shawn. “You’re not that scary.”

“Who’s going to do this violence to us?” asked Jones. “You.”

“No,” said Shawn. “I’m merely the herald for this evening.”

Mickey looked at the gun with tinsel coming out the end. “We just give you the kid and everything is okay?”

Shawn looked at Mickey. “Absolutely.” Shawn brushed his hands together. “It looks like you have a choice to make. Call my name between now and midnight if you wish to return Toby to his family. After that, I’m afraid there will be nothing I can do for you. Remember gentlemen, He is coming.”

Shawn turned and walked into the shadows and was gone.

Carver ran off after him screaming obscenities. They listened to him tear around the warehouse looking for Shawn for several minutes while the rest of them talked.

Mac called Mister Mason. There was no answer. They couldn’t know what happened between him and Shawn or if anything had.

After a while Carver calmed down enough to come back and talk. Three of the men spoke at length. Mickey sat to one side and listened as the men discussed the pros and cons of what they should do. Carver was for violence from the start. He was angry at being called Francis. Jones just wanted his cut and figured it was due any time now. Mac hung to his loyalty for Mister Mason. Mickey nodded in agreement with the team.

However, once things had calmed down Mickey took a moment to sneak into the room with Toby. He knelt down next to the sleeping boy and whispered, “Shawn?”

Shawn stepped out of the shadows. “Hello Mickey.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if we can do it but I’d like to help you sneak Toby out of here. I don’t trust what Carver will do even if we get the money.”

“I understand,” said Shawn. “I’ll get Toby out of here. That’s what I do. You should stay in this room though. When he comes for them in a couple of minutes, it won’t be pretty.”

“Okay.”

“Listen, before I go. I understand that times are tough and you’re scared right now. For your family, your sister especially. There are better ways than this Mickey. There are always better ways.”

Shawn took Toby’s hand and the tow vanished in a cloud of sparkling dust.

A few minutes later Mickey heard the sound of sleigh bells. Something clattered on the rooftop of the warehouse. It grew quiet for a long time. Then he heard Jones yelp. Mac cried for help. Then Carver screamed. That scream still haunts Mickey in the back of his mind. It just lasted so very long.

end
Santa Clause is Coming to Town

Holiday Advent Story 12

Abigail howled at the night. The small baby had been sick for three weeks. She had cried all day, every day, with little rest. Her silence came in fits and bursts as she slept in small moments during the day.

The mother had taken Abagail to the doctor at a local family clinic. He had found little wrong with Abagail. She ran a slight fever. He assured the mother that it would amount to a sleepless night or two then she would shake it off.

The mother had called back to the clinic to see if she could see a different doctor. They told her the doctor was quite good and his opinion was correct.

The mother was worried. She wanted to go to a different doctor but she couldn’t afford one. The clinic was free and they seemed to not care. She’d lost her job six months ago when her office closed. She’d been unable to find more work. It was hard.

She needed a job that had allowances for day care. Her mother could watch Abagail some of the time, but she was getting on in years and the baby was beginning to be too much for her mother.

She had decided to take Abagail to a different clinic. There was one across town. It required two bus transfers to reach. She apologized to the people around her as Abagail cried.  She tried to hush her baby as people glared. A few made rude comments.

She reached the clinic and sat in the waiting room. It was cold and felt of sick. The nurse at the desk handed her a clipboard full of forms without saying a word. The waiting room was full of people; twenty maybe twenty-five.

It was so full it took nearly four hours before they could see her. She was finally allowed to see a doctor and explain what was wrong. They pulled up her Abagail’s name in their system. They told her there was a diagnosis. That she was being fussy. She tried to explain she’d seen that doctor two weeks ago. He’d said it would only last a couple of days.

On the ride home she held her baby. She apologized to the people around her. She tried not to cry again.

“Excuse me,” said a well-dressed young man.

“I’m sorry,” said the mother. “She’s not feeling well. I’ll try and keep her quiet.”

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“She has a slight fever,” said the mother. “It should pass in a day or two.”

“Are you sure?” asked the young man. “It seems like it may be more than that.”

“That’s what the clinic says.”

The young man knelt down in front of her and pulled a small business card from his pocket. “Bring her by Saint Harold’s tomorrow,” said the young man handing the mother the card. “Ask for me.”

“I can’t afford…”

“I didn’t ask if you could afford it.

The bus stopped and the young man stepped off into the night.

That night the mother sat beside Abagail’s crib and rocked it gently. For short moments Abagail would calm but they were short lived.

The next morning, with bags under her eyes and her body weighed down with exhaustion the mother boarded another bus to travel to Saint Harold’s. It wasn’t as far as the clinic but it still took many hours. As with the previous day she apologized to those around her as Abagail cried.

The hospital lobby was warm and inviting. There were six people waiting to be seen. She walked to the desk and the nurse cooed at Abagail. They talked to her; asked her what she needed. She offered the card and told them of the young man.

The nurse took the card pulled out a clipboard and took her to an exam room. They stayed and helped her fill out the paperwork while she held Abagail to try and clam her.

When they were done the young man entered. He was wearing a lab coat and doctors scrubs. He talked to the mother and heard her story. He asked questions about Abagail. After a while he asked if he could examine her. The mother handed her to the young man who checked Abagail. He spent a long time looking at her, checking her temperature, looking in her eyes, ears, and nose. He checked everything anyone could think of.

When he was done he called for a nurse. He wrote a note and sent the nurse away with it.

He explained that Abagail had an ear infection. The nurse was bringing a prescription for the mother. He talked about Abagail and explained what the mother needed to do.

After he spoke for a long time he asked if the mother had any questions.

“I can’t afford a prescription,” said the mother.

“I didn’t ask if you could.”

The nurse returned and handed the mother a small paper bag.

The mother took Abagail home. She apologized to the people around her. She tried to comfort her baby,

That night she opened the bag and followed the instructions the doctor had given her. She laid Abagail in bed and sat beside her crib rocking it gently. After a time Abagail grew quiet and slept. She stayed that way through the night and into the morning.

end
Silent Night

Holiday Advent Story 11

Once a year, around this time, when I’m alone on a dark night. Sitting at home watching a dark night sail past my window. I focus on the lights, decorations, and the presents that surround my tree. When I’m thinking back over the year and remember the things I’ve done and people in my life. I make large mug of hot chocolate, sit under a blanket on my comfy couch and I remember a boy.

A young man really. His story is one told to me as a way of warning. I tell it now to you.

The young man in question had a Grandmother who he rarely spoke to. On his birthday she would call and they would speak for a small amount of time; minutes at best. At the holidays when they would find themselves in each other’s company they would exchange pleasantries. Other than that, they rarely spoke.

For the young man it was never his intention to not speak with his Grandmother. He loved her dearly, and hoped she knew that. On occasion he would think of calling her and talking. In the end he never did. Years past them both by and they rarely spoke.

One day, when he was gathered with friends and family, someone asked him if he ever called, visited, or spoke to her at a family functions. The young man responded that he had considered it but he never did. When asked why he only replied, “I would, but I don’t know what we would talk about.”

He left the room after that and went to sit elsewhere in the house. After he had gone, one of his family spoke, “I once asked her the same question,” they said. “She gave the exact same answer.”

One year the young man brought a girl with him to Christmas. His Grandmother on meeting the girl spoke with the young man. A few days after Christmas, she called him again and asked how the young lady had been doing. After he answered the two spoke for nearly three hours. They spoke of his school, her retirement, health, books, and much more.

The relationship ended, as young relationships often do. The young man and his Grandmother rarely spoke. They returned to their old pattern. The young man would occasionally think of the phone and his Grandmother, but he never called her.

Sometime after that the Grandmother went away, Grandmother’s often do. The young man had been unable to talk to her. It was after this one cold Christmas season that he thought back on the time when he had a girlfriend and what it had meant to talk to his grandmother about her. The things they talked about then, when they could relate to one another.

He wondered why it had taken the existence of another person to let him talk to his Grandmother about things such as school, retirement, and books.

He mourned her. He mourned the relationship he might have had if he had simply put aside the idea that they had nothing to talk about and simply call her to ask what she’d had for lunch and see where the conversation went.

I remember this story to remind me of the relationships in my life so that I will try and make a better effort to connect to the ones I love. I know the young man in the story has lost something and I hope one day that he will be okay with what he lost. Of course, I may never know if he did. In truth I’m not sure I want to. Learning the truth may reveal a disappointment. It may not.

Until I figure it out, I’ll sit here, wrapped in my blanket, with my large mug of hot chocolate, and I shall remember them and hope it makes me a better man.

Thank you Dorothy, you are missed.

end
Hot Chocolate

Holiday Advent Story 10

It would have been easy to mistake them for three old men standing in a field of snow. In some ways you would have been right. Between the three of them they had lived over one thousand years and though they had never counted their ages it was often accepted that the Wise was the oldest.

Each of them stood a staff’s distance away from one another. Their banners planted at the edges of the field bore their totems. The banner of the Wise showed an owl in flight, the White’s bore an eagle, the Headmaster’s held a phoenix. Why were they all birds in flight? If you asked any of them they would tell you some version of, “the mind must take flight to achieve its greatest purpose.” In reality, they just liked the birds and it could have easily been an eye, a pentagram, or some luggage as it was with other wizards.

“The rules are set,” said the Headmaster.

“As they have always been,” said the Wise.

“Since we were boys,” said the White.

“Then I suppose,” said the Headmaster, “we should begin.”

The other two flew backwards as a geyser of snow burst from the ground. The Wise reached out and with a quick motion moved a mound of snow to break his fall. The White waved his hand in a circle and the falling flakes of snow whirled around him, slowing his descent and righting him before setting him on the ground.

“Good shot,” said the White. “Let me try.” He stepped forward and pushed his hands towards the Headmaster. The snow between them began to flow and move like water. It pushed towards the Headmaster forming small ripples then waves. Then the snow rose up in a tidal wave shape and smashed towards the Headmaster.

The Headmaster reached out towards his banner and with a physical effort pulled himself to the flag and out of the crashing snow wave.

A large boulder of snow whipped past the White barely missing him. The White turned and saw the Wise standing next to a huge catapult. The Wise waved one hand and a new boulder rolled up to the catapult and loaded itself into the basket. With his other hand he was directing the snow to build itself into more war machines.

“I thought we agreed no weapons,” called the White.

“We said we could only use snow,” said the Wise. “The catapults are made of snow.”

As another boulder was about to fire a horde of snowmen armed with clubs and swords made of ice rolled into the two arguing wizards.

The Wise stepped back and motioned his hands towards the ground. Icicle spikes launched from the snow and impaled the marching snowmen. 

With a twist of his wrist the Headmaster’s snow man army formed ranks and raised their shields blocking many of the icicles. Waving his other hand he made the soldiers in the back draw back on bow strings and fire a hail of frozen arrows over the soldiers in front ant the Wise.

The White slammed his hands on the ground and sent a ripple out across the field of snow. As the ripple grew from a tremor to a full earthquake the other wizards launched themselves into the air. The Wise riding an eddy of air and the Headmaster having formed platform from the snow around him and flying it upwards.

The ground below exploded into a giant ice golem. The beast stood sixty feet high. It roared so loud it shook snow and ice off nearby trees. The creature turned towards the Wise and lurched forward. The White moved with the beast; each step one took so did the other.

Wise dropped to the ground and raised his hands as if pulling up on a garage door. The ground exploded and a giant wall of snow rose to the sky. “You shall not pass,” called the Wise.

“Very funny,” yelled the White.

The great beast raised its hands and brought them down on the wall. It held, but only just.

The Headmaster held out his hand and his wand, left to the side at the beginning of the battle, rose to him. Holding it like a conductor’s wand he pulled the moisture from the air and whipped it into a mass of shapes. At first it was a small and flighty like a swarm of bees. As the spell went on the shapes grew to the size of hail, then golf balls, and finally snowballs. The giant swarm of snowballs hurtled towards the other two wizards.

The giant golem waved its arm to knock back the vicious assault and tore a swath through the giant mass. The Wise whistled and caused the wall shift around to block the assault.

As the three mighty spells slammed into one another the mountains shook, the sky brightened, and the clouds parted. The golems arm shattered, the snowballs exploded into fluff, and the wall detonated. The three wizards were cast to the ground. Each using some measure of their abilities to cushion their falls.

They lay there.

After a long moment a voice was heard. “That was an excellent snow fight,” said the Wise.

“I agree,” said the Headmaster.

“Shall we go for coco and a bit of pipe weed,” asked the White.

“Yes,” said the Headmaster.

“That would be nice,” said the Wise.

All three men stood and with waves of their hands their banners packed themselves in small bundles and floated to the owning wizard.

Their afternoon of play finished, the three wizards went to have a nice rest before a blazing fire.

end

Wizards in Winter