Christmas on Strings

The fiction section needs something in it! This is a story I wrote as part of a Christmas Competition, in which I only had one weekend to come up with something.
Whilst it could have been placed in the short stories section, it is quite lengthy and sectioned, so I thought it would be more appropriate here.
The story follows a puppeteer, who, disillusioned with Christmas, decides to take vengeance upon it. Can Ivan the puppeteer be stopped by anyone? Can he be stopped by Edward, the boy, Cassandra the orphan, or Blitzen the Reindeer in his wicked ways? Or is Christmas doomed to be on the end of the psychopath's strings?




‘Twas the night before Christmas, and reels of silver string lay in untidy heaps across the ancient oak table. Glue containers lay arranged in rows at the back, stood to attention behind glittering needles and pins, shining in the light of dim oil lamps. Here and there, red and green strips of fabric were scattered, uneven and rejected from the final product.

Ivan had found the experience of acquiring these materials loathsome. There had been nothing more demeaning and detestable than pushing through faceless hordes of shoppers, whose blank eyes roved across windows filled with chocolate boxes, electronics and other waste. He had long chosen to separate himself from these materialist creatures, jostling and crowding without remorse, all at once propelled towards the goal they called ‘Christmas’. But yesterday’s plans had inspired him to come to the city in spite of all the glamour, all the glitter and all the vanity. For finally he felt that he could put an end to all this madness. This annual tradition of feigning smiling faces and happy contented families, when in the darkness brooding sins and fears all conspired together to bring each year to a new low. For he knew how low the twenty-fifth of December could descend, he’d been there; he’d seen it all.

However, there was one similarity between Ivan, and the cheerful rosy child who sets out their stocking on Christmas Eve, filled with glee for the day to come. Despite all his grim ideas, Ivan had an unwavering faith in the existence of Saint Nicholas, or Father Christmas. He felt quite assured within himself that this character, often described as a construct of the innocent mind, was in fact composed of atoms and flesh, and that pulled by his reindeer, he travelled through time and space, in order to fill each child’s stocking in one long night.
It was this certain knowledge, which had provoked Ivan’s distorted mind into gear, driving forward ambitions of darkness and revenge against this heathen day. Perhaps he would never have reached such a depth of evil, had his father not acted as he had done, twenty years ago, when he was eight and vulnerable; perhaps he would have failed to complete his horrendous plans, had the knowledge of witchcraft which he was to invoke never found him. But the wheels of fate had embarked on a journey, which would move Ivan and his despicable plan forward onto the realms of reality without diversion. All he needed now was a little more glue.


**********************************************

A cheerful, rosy child skipped joyfully up to his mother, who was ironing something red, and elongated.
“Here you are, dear,” she said warmly, peeling the stocking off the ironing board and placing it into the child’s hands. “Go and hang it up by the fireplace, where Santa can find it. And don’t forget to leave a carrot for Rudolph!”
“What about the other reindeer?” the boy asked, evidently concerned.
“Oh Edward, I’m sure Rudolph can share with his friends. The carrot’s in the vegetable tray at the top of the fridge”. Edward took the stocking, found the carrot, and then used a large antique vase to base the stocking at the top of the marbled mantelpiece, which framed the fireplace like an elegant picture. The lounge was large, and dominated by the seven foot green Christmas tree opposite the window, where the family’s presents had already been laid down. A small nativity scene was propped up by the expensive stereo system. Edward lived an exceedingly comfortable life as an eleven-year-old boy, with a large house, loving parents, and constant compliments for his round face and blonde curly hair. And he was in no doubt that this was going to the best Christmas yet.
Stepping back to marvel at the empty stocking (though for not very much longer), he smiled and left the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He could already anticipate the jingling of Christmas bells, as the sleigh landed upon the rooftop. It was only half past seven, but Edward was too excited to pursue any usual activity, so he decided to have an early night. After all, if he slept, Christmas could only arrive sooner.

But Edward’s intelligent plan was thwarted halfway through witching hour. A clatter from the lounge awoke him, and immediately he came to his senses. There was only one explanation – Santa was here! He hurriedly placed his slippers on (on the wrong feet) and crept down the staircase, gripping the banister tightly in his excitement. With all the care he could muster, he nudged the door to the lounge open, and peered in.
But there was no man with a broad face, laughing with a fluid belly. There was no shining red or white jacket, or clack buckled belt, and certainly no ‘Ho ho ho’. Only a small, sprightly girl knelt on the floor, trying to cluster together the broken remains of the antique vase that had been holding up the stocking. Her hair was dark and rather tangled, and upon looking up all the signs of fear and guilt shivered across her face.
“What are you doing in my house,” Edward whispered, “who are you?” The girl glanced involuntarily towards the open window, glanced at the presents under the tree and then hung her head. To Edward, she seemed about thirteen or fourteen years of age.
“…It’s cold, I was lonely, I have hardly anything,” she finally said, her voice shaking and tears begin to cloud her vision, “I saw all your presents, and your Christmas tree, and I just wanted a present or two, just to make it feel like Christmas”.
“You were stealing?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She cried, raising her voice a little, though not enough to wake the parents, “But I don’t have anything, and you have everything! It’s not fair, not on Christmas day!” Edward felt a pang of pity for the girl, who now rocked steadily on the hearthrug. He went towards the Christmas tree, and shuffled through some of the presents, quickly finding one in red metallic paper with his name inscribed on it. He extended it to the girl.
“Merry Christmas,” he said wryly, trying to smile despite the shock of the situation. She beamed, wiped a tear from her eye and took it. Then she glanced at the empty stocking. “We both have to go, your parents will come down soon”, she said, suddenly panicking again.
“What do you mean?” Edward questioned.
“What, you don’t know – about Christmas, about the truth around Father Christmas?”
Edward raised his eyebrows.
“Do go on,” he replied.

***************************************************

Ivan drew together the two straight pieces of rosewood, and took the smaller container of glue, attaching then perpendicularly. Holding the cross horizontally, he tested its weight, moving his long pale fingers expertly, as a puppeteer. He didn’t smile, but only twitched one corner of his moth to suggest any sort of satisfaction. Taking one of the silvery steel strings from the oak surface, he twisted it up and around one of the wooden pieces, tying it expertly and stroking it with admiration at his own handiwork. He repeated the process for three other strings, and then finally produced from beneath the table a small stuffed reindeer. He stared at it, considering its worth in some way, and then looked over to the other brown reindeer marionettes that he had made previously, suspended on wooden hooks at the other side of the cellar in which he worked. The one he held only had one difference from the previous reindeer; on the end of the creature’s muzzle was a small scarlet nose, identifying it as the leader of the herd.
Securing each of its limbs to the four strings, he again tested the new puppet’s weight, and then carefully placed the entire thing back onto the table. From within his black jacket he turned out a small glass phial, in which a violet, glowing liquid was contained. A few drops of this viscose liquid were scattered upon the red-nosed reindeer, and then Ivan raised himself from his seat and placed the marionette on one of the wooden hooks, alongside the others.
Striding back towards his seat, he stopped to glance in front of the gothic Victorian mirror standing, in storage, at one side of the cellar. His complexion was pale, as though he had not seen enough sunlight, his cheeks were gaunt and his black hair was unkempt. One of his eyes was scarred and partially blinded, the other shone like silver crystal. Shadows lined both eyes, for his project had kept him occupied throughout the last twenty-four hours. He turned indifferently from the mirror, and looked to one corner of his worktable. There was sat his final puppet in waiting. He had a broad face, a black buckled belt, a red and white uniform, cheerful face and a great white beard. Ivan finally smiled, a twisted smile, filled with rage and grim satisfaction.

******************************************************

“It’s happened again!” One of the elves cried, rushing through Saint Nicholas’s office to where the large man sat. Santa sighed and looked troubled.
“I suppose Rudolph has fallen under this spell as well,” he said sadly, and the elf could only nod miserably in reply. Santa left his office, the elf following, and took the escalator that passed all the toy workshops, confectionaries, and finished up at the stables, located at the top of the great building. Pushing wide the heavy door, Santa gazed up to where he had predicted Rudolph would now be. And most tragically, he was correct.
Rudolph was levitating in mid-air, almost as though in suspended animation, his eyes blank and stony, legs arched as though supported by invisible strings. The other reindeer were in similar states behind him.
“…Perhaps you should count them sir,” the elf said miserably, “who knows, perhaps that’s not all of them there”. But Santa, in his shock and sadness, had turned from the animals and could not bring himself to look back up at them.
“It is of no matter anymore,” he said sadly, “My sleigh cannot be pulled with all of these reindeer out of action, I only hope this state won’t be permanent for the poor creatures”.
“The elves in charge of husbandry have tried all they can to solve the crisis,” the elf squeaked, as some of those elves appeared from the hay bales and nodded earnestly, “but nothing can be done. There is some witchcraft at work here”. Santa looked up at the clock.
“This has all happened on witching hour, after all,” he added, “I fear you may be right. In any case, there is no way that all the presents can be delivered this Christmas. We shall have to put some plans into place to deliver these presents by another method, before the year is out”.
“What do you propose?” The elf asked, taking a notebook from the counter by the stable door,
“Firstly, we shall have to mobilise some mechanical, human vehicles, in order to transport these gifts across the continents. For the continents outside Europe, we shall have to” – He stopped, and stared out towards some fixed point, then he suddenly seemed possessed. The elf stepped back in horror as Father Christmas’s arms moved upwards in an arc, as he levitated smoothly up next to the reindeer, as though being moved by some invisible agent.
“We need help, we need help!” Santa’s personal elf cried, as the elves in charge of the stables were in uproar. “Get me the head elf, Sylvester; get me William the elf, and Watson!”
“It’s no good,” shouted an elf, hurrying through the stable doors. This was Sylvester. “There’s nothing we can do, Watson’s just completed a difficult case of his own, and William’s in a panic. We need to cut whatever this power source is that’s controlling them all, and we can’t sweep the globe searching for it, there’s no time or way…”

So it was that a great congregation of elves, watched as the controlled Saint Nick became animated once more, and swept like some ghost towards the sleigh, out of control.
“What do you think is going to happen?” One of the younger elves whispered to old Sylvester.
“Somebody is interfering with the tradition of Christmas for their own gain,” muttered Sylvester ominously, clutching at his beard, “and it can only end in disaster, so far as I can see”.

The story continues....


**************************************************
With great agility and elegance Ivan manipulated all the marionettes upon their hooks. Beside him on a small dusted shelf maps lay unravelled, with compasses skewered into them so that he could identify the position of the sleigh. Each time he turned the direction of all the marionettes, positioned with the reindeer in couples at the front, and Santa at the back in a mock-up sleigh, he would strike a line with his pen along one of the maps.
Frequently and swiftly he would halt all the puppets, then manipulate the Father Christmas doll, as if causing some sort of imperceptible damage with it. The doll would either make a motion as though striking a match, seem to pick invisible objects up, or kick at the air. Not a glimmer of a smile crossed Ivan’s face as he did this; instead, all features matched that of an artist’s faultless and unstoppable concentration. Which was necessary, in order to cause as much destruction as possible in one evening, even for a genius such as himself. But he had made one great error already, for only eight reindeer hung from the hooks in his cellar.

**********************************************

The sleigh flew through the clouded skies, where snow was beginning to form. All of its members were blank and under control; all its members, save for one.
Blitzen was only a reindeer, so he could not entirely understand the situation. However it had happened, all his companions were under some spell, yet he had been forgotten. But, outnumbered, he could only watch, as the sleigh would magically pull up at a house, and Santa, possessed, caused major damage to the household. Sometimes he would set the building alight, other times he would pick up items and toss them out elsewhere. Sometimes he would simply cause physical damage by kicking windows, Christmas trees, and furniture. Some sorcery was powering the evil obliteration on this Christmas Eve, and Blitzen, tied to the sleigh with his possessed friends, knew he would have to act soon to stop this madness. But he had no plan, no inkling as to how to save the night before Christmas.

***********************************************

“Santa’s not real?” Edward asked, in disbelief.
“No, I caught my brother with the Christmas presents a few years back,” the girl explained. Edward now knew her name as Cassie.
“Wait, I thought you said that parents delivered Christmas presents?” he asked. Cassie fell silent for a moment or two.
“…Both my parents died before I really knew them” she replied, “so now my older brother looks after me. But he doesn’t care about me, he’s out at work most of the time, I hardly ever see him. We can barely afford to live in the little flat we have”.
Edward looked sadly at her. He felt uncomfortable at how easy his life was, compared to hers. He noticed that she was idly passing the wooden train between her hands, the present of his that she’d unwrapped.
“Aren’t you happy with that?” he asked, pointing at the locomotive.
“I am, I am! I love it, because I got it as a gift”. She smiled broadly and held the train tighter to her chest. She then jumped up and skipped towards the Christmas tree.
“That’s a lovely shrub,” she remarked, looking up at it, “Hey, why don’t you have an angel at the top of it like everyone else?”

Edward was about to answer, when suddenly the light sound of jingling bells echoed down the chimney, and something heavily landed above their heads.
“It’s Santa, it’s Santa!” Edward shouted joyfully. Cassie looked sceptical, but tense. Somebody was climbing down the chimney, and sure enough after a few seconds a large bearded man appeared, with a black buckled belt and a red and white uniform.
“Santa, it’s you! You exi-” But Edward suddenly realised all was not well. The man’s eyes were blank and glassy, and there was no smile upon his face.
“Santa?” Father Christmas’s arms seemed to rise of their own accord, and suddenly he flung himself around, smashing the stereo and ricocheting off the walls.
“We have to do something! It’s as if he’s possessed!” Shouted Cassie, ducking under a chair. Edward was immobilised with fear, as the puppet veered towards him. Cassie intervened just in time, forcing the man sideways before he reached Edward.
“Let’s lock him in that cupboard there,” she exclaimed to Edward. Before the dummy-man could respond, the two forced him into the cupboard and hurriedly barricaded the door with a heavy sofa. Despite some banging, Santa was utterly trapped.




************************************

Something was amiss. Regardless of Ivan’s best efforts, the Santa puppet appeared to have hit a physical barrier of some sort, for however he attempted to manoeuvre it, it was motionless. But the wheels of fortune were on Ivan’s side this whitened night (snow was beginning to fall). According to his maps, Santa was not many miles away from Ivan’s dark abode. Consulting the map with care, Ivan pinpointed the exact house where the broken human puppet was. He then used some sorcerer’s incense to temporarily immobilise the marionettes, removed them all from their hooks, picked up his black coat and left the cellar. His car awaited him out on the deserted drive.
Whatever had gone wrong, he would merely have to rectify himself.

*****************************************

“I can’t believe your parents haven’t woken up yet,” said Cassie remarked. They were both sat on the sofa, blocking Santa’s escape.
“Should we get them up, or ring the police?” Edward asked.
“I don’t know, how will they react when they see me?” Cassie inquired.
“I dunno, personally I think they’ll be more interested in the crazy Santa” he said. They giggled, and then a long silence ensued, in which both children considered their options. But minutes passed by, and before either could decide what to do, a dark car parked on the curb outside their house.
“Who’s that?” Asked Cassie, getting of the sofa to stare out of the window, as someone stepped out of the car.
“I don’t know; what do they look like?”
“It’s a man, he’s tall and pale with sooty hair. One of his eyes is all scarred…”

*********************************************
Ivan unlocked the door with a self-made skeleton key and stepped quickly and quietly into the house, still holding in one hand the marionettes. He immediately strode up the stairs, pinpointed the location of those sleeping on the upper floor, and barricaded the room using a chair. This was the parents’ bedroom. Pacing back down the long flight of carpeted steps, he saw a young girl at the stairway’s foot, staring upwards with a train in her arms.
“What do want, little girl?” He snarled, leering down at her, “You haven’t seen Santa anywhere, have you?” The girl jumped in fright, and retreated to the lounge, half-closing the door as she ran.
He followed quickly, and reopened the door, striding through triumphantly. The girl was in there, as well as a younger boy, who was sat on a sofa blocking a cupboard door.
”Would I be right in assuming that my property is in that cupboard?” he asked loudly, in the rather malevolent hope of awaking the trapped parents. The children looked on with fear, but didn’t speak. The girl went to sit close to the boy on the sofa, wide-eyed and concerned. Ivan tossed all the marionettes aside except for the Santa figure. Placing more drops of violet liquid onto the puppet in order to reawaken it, he unsheathed a long sword with his free hand and then moved to the other side of the room. The children scrambled off the sofa, afraid of his blade, and backed away by the fireplace. Effortlessly he pushed the sofa away from the door and freed Santa, delicately manoeuvring the crossed wooden dowels in an artful dance. The human figure became animated and leapt out of the cupboard, now advancing on the two children.
“Would you see this?!” Ivan shouted joyfully, “Look children, I have Christmas on strings! Watch how he moves, so easily, so controlled, and it’s all in my power!”

*****************************************

As Santa lunged at them, Edward pulled Cassie and himself out of the being’s way.
“Edward, we have to ring the police!” Cassie whispered to him hurriedly. “Where’s the phone?”
“In the hallway,” he murmured back, breathily heavily in fear.
“What’s all this?!” Ivan shouted, laughing. “Childish conspiracies? May I hear?” His hand swooped, and the human Santa followed his movements, almost crashing into the two children. Edward knew he had to distract the madman.
“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” He cried tearfully, as Cassie snuck out of the lounge.
“Why – do – I – hate - Christmas?” Ivan replied slowly. “It’s all a lie! All the materialistic obsession, all the covered arguments, all the surface smiles with inner misery and hatred pouring through! All the pathetic dreary weather, the plastic trees, pathetic childish fantasies. It’s all lies, Christmas just hides all the scum of the earth for a day, it’s all lies!” Again Santa almost crashed into Edward, who dived yet again out of his way.
“That’s not true!” Edward shouted back, as his parents upstairs awoke and began to try and open their barricaded door. “Christmas is all about love, all about being there for one another!” Suddenly Ivan flushed, and grew livid with rage.
“BEING THERE?!” He screamed maniacally. “My father wasn’t there, he killed himself on Christmas Day, and I was the first to find out! Now he’s gone for good, and left me to deal with this stinking day alone every year! How do you find that?!”
Edward suddenly stared at him eye to eye.
“My Grandmother died on Christmas Eve, but she’s still there for me,” he replied resolutely, “We don’t have an angel at the top of our tree, because her angel sits there for us instead. She’ll never have gone for good. ”
Ivan froze for a moment, suddenly tense. He then yelled a nonsensical exclamation, and once again flung Santa at Edward.
At the same time there was a clattering through the hall, and a reindeer burst through the lounge door, protecting Edward. Blitzen had managed to tear himself out of his harness, and was now ready to intervene against the psychopath.

Ivan looked over at the reindeer marionettes on the floor to count them, and swore loudly.
“Nine reindeer, not eight!” He grumbled to himself. He leapt towards the animal himself and slashed at Blitzen with his sword. The reindeer pranced out of harm’s way, then turned back and galloped at Ivan. Before he could once again swing the sword, Blitzen used his antlers to slice apart the strings of the Santa marionette. Ivan managed to hit Blitzen’s hind leg as he passed, and the beast staggered away to Edward.
Victorious, the puppeteer advanced towards Blitzen and Edward, bloodied sword held aloft, ready to fall.
But then from, behind, a loud, booming voice sounded behind him.

“Ivan, you’ve been an incredibly naughty child! Drop that sword at once!” Ivan spun around in disbelief, and Santa removed the weapon from his hand in a flash. The Father of Christmas was no longer under the puppeteer’s control, now that the marionette was broken.
Police sirens became audible outside, as two more cars were parked in front of the house. Cassie ran back in with the phone in one hand and hugged Edward, and the parents who she had just freed sprinted over to him as well. Santa smiled, and Ivan was stood, frozen to the spot in the horror of it all. The two policeman who came into the lounge a little while after were shocked to find two children, a pale stranger, a reindeer and Father Christmas, who was now cutting apart the strings that controlled the other reindeer with the sword. One of the policemen, who was Cassie’s brother, ran up to her.
“Cassie, what are you doing here? Are you alright??”
“Do you really care? You don’t normally have time for me…” Cassie sobbed, embracing her brother and guardian.
“Of course I care! I’m sorry I’m not around as much as I’d dream to be, Cass, but I really do care”.
Father Christmas had now checked over Blitzen, who was hurt, but not critically. He turned to the two policemen.
“I understand this is an important case,” He said to them, “But I hope you can understand, there are a lot of presents to deliver, and I’ve not got all that much time! May I be excused?”
The unknown policeman nodded dumbly, and Santa Claus beamed.
“Ho ho ho! Wait until my elves hear of all this. And thank you Cassie, thank you Edward, you’ll be top of my list of good children this year,” he said, taking Edwards stocking, and finding another, inscribing ‘Cassie’ upon it. She beamed, and placed her hand in her brother’s.

*******************************************

The news on Christmas day reported several break-ins and attacks over Christmas Eve, though no one had been hurt, an arrest had been made, and there was not one mention of Father Christmas. Apparently all had been intelligent enough to keep the secret – secret.

In Edward’s home, the broken vase had been cleared away, and the stockings were all full. Snow flurried outside the French windows, and in the fireplace there crackled warm and bright flames. Around the dinner table sat a great number of people - Edward’s extended family, as well as a couple of guests; Cassie and her brother. They laughed, and smiled, and enjoyed the wonderful day. Father Christmas had left each person a small stuffed reindeer, remnants of the broken marionettes and an eventful evening, and all manner of useful toys, as well as a note stating that Blitzen was making a good recovery and the elves were holding even greater Christmas celebrations than usual. For both Edward and Cassie, this was without doubt the best Christmas ever.

******************************************************
Ivan sat silently in his prison cell, staring at the floor. All the events of his life flashed in sequence before his mind’s eye, each trauma, each misery, from the time he had been lost alone in the wilderness, to the day his father had left his side for good.
From outside the cell he heard a choir start to sing. They resonated the song “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” in harmonies that carried through the falling snow, and to his cell. Ivan rose from his bed and moved towards the small cell window, staring, bewitched, through the pane at the cluster of singers out on the roadside. By the choir stood several parents and children, many hand in hand, watching with enchantment at the beauty of the tune before them. He saw a small child, almost a younger image of himself, staring up at his father with love and affection. The father smiled at his son and squeezed the boy’s hand endearingly.
The words “To save our soul from Satan’s power when we had gone astray” resonated from the choir, and Ivan looked up towards the Heavens. A smile broke from his face, radiating through all his darkened years, as the bells of the local church chimed with tidings of comfort and joy.

Wow I love this story.
I'll give you some criticism later because I don't have time to review it right now.

Very nice story

wowewow cool story

Nice one Anne. This is really good. Especially for just one weekend worth of work. How did you rank in the compotition by the way?

Wow, this was a great story. You really have a knack for this!

Wow, thank you for all your comments! I appreciate that there's rather a lot to read there =P And I may add some more fiction to the subforum soon...

Ah yes, the competition, I got first place in my year, but as yet the overall winner hasn't been decided. But I got a book voucher, so I'm content =P

Thanks again for the comments, much appreciated!
Pirate

At least you won first place.