Pen

The Best of Times Short Story Competition


Spring 2018 Results




Dear Santa

Copyright © Joan Parker 2018


Dear Santa,

Of course we must wish for Peace-to-the-World and Good-Will-to-all-Men. Itís the done thing and Iím all for it,

But now we get down to it. You and I know that I have been good all the year: Well most of it. Oh all right, some of it, but I was not bad enough to warrant getting coal in my stocking.

Just leave the Lamborghini on the grass and put the watch, coffee maker, new clothes, diamond-necklace and ring-to-match in my bedroom. Also Tullamore Dew. Might need more than one bottle. Six is a nice round number. Chocolates and perhaps some smoked oysters and good cheese would go nicely with the whiskey and....

What? I might not get anything! I was pretty bad? But...but...you know very well that that little indiscretion was a mistake. How was I to know that he would wake up, look in the mirror, and when he saw the artwork tastefully done on his face he would cry Iíve been possessed jump out the window, fall in the pool which was empty at the time, break an arm, a leg and his jaw and spend last Christmas in hospital sipping brandy Alexanders through a straw. I visited him, doing the right thing and he wouldnít even give me a sip. Held a grudge. So if anyone deserves coal he does for not forgiving his fellow man, or in my case woman. I even took in some of his favourite food from Maccas so he could smell the aromas while I ate it.

Anyway how are you talking to me while Iím writing to you? Magic? Well in that case you could magic me into being good. You canít do that can you? Well so much for your magic. Whatíd you say? Thatís another strike against me and Iím dangerously close to getting nothing!

Well how do you stay so good anyway? Itís not natural. Come on let your beard down a bit. Stay at my place for awhile on Christmas Eve and take your gumboots off and unbutton your coat. I promise to share the whiskey and chocolates with you. You need to relax more.

I finished my letter at this point.

I wonít tell you what Santa said but I can tell you that he stayed. He gave Rudolph and the Mob instructions to finish the nightís deliveries, which I believe did cause some confusion when they lost the list and just put presents willy-nilly down the chimneys as they flew past. Little Tommy down the road was delighted to receive a personal vibrator. He thought it was a new type of space-gun and spent the day shooting people with it. Old Mrs. Crabbe, a teetotaller, got a bottle of the best port. She drank the lot in one sitting and sang the Hallelujah Chorus dressed only in her knickers whilst dancing down the main street waving the bottle in a triumphal display of lifeís restraints cast to one side. I have done something similar myself only it was in a club called The Blue Grotto and...well, you donít need to know the details!

Santaís nose got redder with each liquor chocolate and there was only one bottle of Tullamore Dew left for Christmas day, not that I really felt like drinking anymore. He took his coat right off so I could massage the knots out of his neck, caused by the aggravation given to him by all those greedy little monsters writing their letters and lists and lies. He kicked his gumboots off and loosened his braces.

The reindeers picked him up again just before dawn and tumbled him into the sleigh. Rudolph looked me in the eye whilst muttering under his breath something along the lines of fraud, seduction, deliberate trickery to gain an advantage, see a lawyer whilst switching his red nose on and off at me in what I thought was an insinuating and aggressive manner.

Oh well, As Mae West once said being bad is not always bad or something like that. I just hope Santa sees it that way next year, especially when I show him the photos I took this year!