The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

When I was a boy, I was haunted by a ghost, and only on Christmas. Every year, when I went to bed, this old man with a bushy beard and top hat would stare from the apartment across the alley. For a couple years, I told my parents, and they would stare right at him and say they saw nothing. Eventually, I gave up. I didn’t know what or who he was, so I named him “Marley”. Seemed the right name for a Christmas ghost. On my eighteenth Christmas, I snuck into the building next door, and went to Marley’s apartment. The door was locked, but a large brass key jutted from the handle. I turned it, letting the door fall open. I could see Marley silhouetted against the window. He didn’t move. I crept forward. He still did not turn to face me. I was inches from him when I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he finally turned. His eyes were wide, mad, and unblinking, as always. But for the first time, I saw an equally manic grin through his beard. In an instant, he ran for the door, slamming it bef...

This is how Christmas works these days. You have a child and then wait for what seems like months for a chance to meet Santa Claus. If we had any choice, we wouldn’t have queued in the snow and freezing temperatures for hours to see him. The truth is we can’t afford not to. Finally, my wife, Ria, and I are next in line. An elf with a clipboard takes our details and then begins running through a prepared script. “You understand that in donating you first born child to SantaCorp, any and all children you have in the future will be provided with free gifts at Christmastime?” “Yes.” I answer. “You understand that once you enter Santa’s grotto you cannot back out of the deal and the process must be completed?” “Yes.” “You understand that if either of you close your eyes or look away during the procedure the agreement will be void and SantaCorp will not acknowledge your donation?” “Yes.” “Okay. Step through the double doors when you’re ready. He will see you now.” Ria grabs my hand tightly ...

He first suspected that they were going to eat him when he noticed the distinct lack of Yuletide smells. It wasn’t perhaps a conscious thought, at least not one which had been fully realized, but there was a clear growing uneasiness within him. Somehow he just knew. Surely if a family invited you for Christmas dinner, the house would be filled with the wonderful aromas associated with that annual feast; succulent roast turkey, honey glazed vegetables, perhaps the fumes of mulled wine or a brandy covered Christmas pudding, but no, all of these were absent. Yet the table was set. It was a particularly bleak Christmas, and while snow was often welcome at that festive time of the year, the penetrating cold and frost which seemed to sabotage both homes and their residents’ bodies was not. The temperature had plummeted on the 7th, and there had been little sign of any forthcoming reprieve. Families attempted as best they could to reach one another, but for many it was to be a lonely Chr...

The huge sleigh hurtled through the Christmas Eve sky, defying Nature, defying physics…below, Earth’s rotation slowed, so that the ancient magic could take place once again. Eight reindeer flew at a mad gallop, nearly pulling the reins out of their driver’s hands. He didn’t mind. This was his favorite night of the year. Except….Santa frowned. It had happened again, hadn’t it? He could sense someone else on the sleigh. He turned, and, sure enough, behind him, clinging for dear life, was a small boy, grinning maniacally, eyes wide with exhilaration. A tough one, if he was actually  grinning . Santa sighed. Why did some kid  always  want to ride the sleigh? It never turned out well….usually, the hitcher’s brain simply exploded after mere minutes, overwhelmed by the sleigh’s speed and magic. If they  did  survive, they were catatonic, drooling messes, and died soon after landing…. Either way, Santa dumped them in the ocean. An unexplained disappearance was easier o...

An egnimated figure dropped from the fireplace, his eyes sunken, the lids peeling back. Matted hair hung from his decimated frame like reeds on a riverbank. He shuffled slowly to the bedside and surveyed the young boy sleeping in the cot. "AHHHHH!" A young girl stood by the door, watching him loom over her younger brother. She fled, sobbing and screaming. The figure lunged, but its rotten feet gave way, and it lay on the floor, unmoving but very much alive. Yellow plasma leaked from a decaying eye as the boy started to sit up. Santa looked into the room, his expression morose. The reaper stood beside him, and muttered “I told you so.” A black smog obscured his figure, then Santa was left standing alone by the dying fireplace. Santa sighed. He took out a list and crossed off the top wish. I want my daddy back. — Credits to: dev9x