The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories

by Angel Nichols

  It was two nights before Christmas Eve, and all that morning Mom had pranced around the kitchen to the “Holiday Tunes FM” radio. Jingle Bells got stuck in my head three times before it was all said and done. It was hard, but I got through it.

  Now one-thirty in the morning had rolled around, and I was still wide awake, the lyrics to several Christmas tunes playing over and over in my head.

  As a crack ace Private Eye, my senses were always tuned to the unknown. The light bulb in my head flickered to the current tune. Something was afoot.

  As the song replayed for the sixty-thousandth time, my sleuthing skills kicked in, and the dots connected.

  I’d always been a fan of the classics – the Hardy Boys, the Mystery Twins, even Nancy Drew when the occasion called for it. Now that I was almost nine, I was a regular Dick Tracy.

  For example, four months ago I had discovered that my brother Ethan was secretly practicing to be a gymnast, instead of going to baseball games every Monday. His uniform had the exact same mustard stains on it every time he put it in the washroom.

  I had found that highly suspicious since Ethan is a mayo guy. You know that old saying, some people are mustard people, some people are mayo people, and some people have more important things to worry about – like what’s in a hotdog.

  Condiments aside, there was a new puzzle brewing in my head. This man, Santa Claus, who was he really?

  Some accounts peg him as a saint, bringing joy to foreign kids with the aid of a donkey. Some think he’s some kind of jolly red genie, granting wishes for hippopotami and light blue convertibles. Mother says he was a real man named Nicholas who lived in the dark ages with dinosaurs and such, and yet, no one has ever seen him in person!

  The stories themselves didn’t match up, but there was a common thread between them. Santa can be in all places at the same time, he knows when kids are sleeping and when they’re awake, he keeps a lot of lists, and he does all these things with one-of-a-kind gadgets.

  Suddenly it hit me like the aftermath of Taco Tuesday, so that I nearly dropped my flashlight as I bolted upright. “Eureka!”

  My cry woke the sleeping behemoth on the bottom bunk. I cringed as I heard Ethan’s thick skull hit the bottom of my bed, muttering naughty words under his breath.

  “What the… Will, is that you? For Pete’s sake, go to bed!”

  “I’m already in bed, Butter Brain, and I’ve just had the epiphany of a lifetime. Santa’s a spy!”

  I could hardly contain my excitement. I’d solved the greatest mystery of all time. As any mystery fan knows, though, in every great story there’s a wet blanket in the room, just waiting to rain on the hero’s parade.

  “This is exactly why I need my own room. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I work with cheerleaders,” Ethan growled, rolling over in his bunk. “Go to sleep.”

  He could be a wet blanket all he wanted, but I knew better. Like I said, the game was afoot.

  The next morning arrived too soon.

  After my discovery, I had had even more trouble getting to sleep. In my dreams, my faithful dog Mister E and I had gathered clues all night, questioning suspects with the use of glaring lights and the threat of withholding a treat if they didn’t cooperate.

  One of them, who looked suspiciously like Ethan, finally spilled the beans, leading us to a warehouse at the North Pole. We were about to catch the spook red-gloved when my alarm clock had gone off.

  I groaned and fumbled for my glasses, focusing on the glowing green numbers.

  “Seven-thirty! I’m gonna be late for school!” I dashed like a mad rabbit down the ladder, hitting the cold floor barefoot.

  I ran to the closet, grabbed the first outfit I saw, and began unbuttoning my pajamas. That’s when I heard it – the obnoxious sound that follows a prank – laughter.

  “It’s not a school day, is it?” I slapped my forehead. How had I not seen this coming?

  “Some genius you are. Of course, it isn’t a school day. I was hoping you’d get out to the bus stop before you realized it, though.” Ethan sat up, wearing a smug grin from ear to ear. “That’s for waking me up at two in the morning.”

  “I suppose your Neanderthal brain couldn’t handle what a huge deduction I made last night.” I scoffed, tossing my school clothes back on the closet floor where they belonged.

  “What, that Santa isn’t rea…”

  “Mornin’ guys, ready for caroling?” My father’s cheery voice broke through the door.

  We both groaned.

  Door to door Christmas caroling was Dad’s ‘thing’ to do during the holidays. He thought it was fun, but for Ethan and me, it was a form of torture. Any other day, I would’ve been grateful for his interruption, but this was an investigation!

  “What?” I pressed my brother, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Santa isn’t what? FBI? CIA? Come on, I need to narrow it down!”

  Ethan pulled me off him with a skeptical frown. “I need to talk to Mom about cutting your sugar intake.”

  “Fine, be that way. I’ll find out on my own.”

  “You do that,” he replied. “In the meantime, what’s your plan for getting out of ‘Dad duty’ this year?”

  I rubbed my temples. “Not now, I have more important things to worry about, like what kind of trap to set in the chimney.”

  “Alright, but you know as well as I do what happens when we get three houses down.”

  I froze.

  The fourth house on our block might’ve looked innocent enough to the unsuspecting average Joe, but we Mills brothers knew better. It was Ysolda Povenmire’s house, the wicked witch of the suburbs.

  Every week before a major holiday she would post ‘NO TRESSPASSING’ signs on every square inch of her yard and then chain her devil dog to the front porch. These obvious signals screamed, “Leave me alone!”

  Even so, every Christmas week Dad insisted on getting as close as possible to her front door and outsinging the rabid barking, until Mrs. P threw out a stone cold fruit cake.

  Dad claims it’s her way of thanking us. I say it’s only a matter of time before her aim improves.

  “I hear she got another dog.” Ethan casually tossed his covers aside and stretched.

  I knew he was playing me, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working.

  “I sort of have a time crunch to consider,” I pointed out. “If I’m going to prove my theory, it has to be before Christmas. Otherwise, it’s a whole year before I can try again.”

  “Will, I hate to burst your little freakish bubble, but Mrs. P and her fruit cake of doom are real. This Santa spy thing was just a dream, probably brought on by your watching too many cartoons and eating pizza before bed.”

  “It was one slice, and you can never watch too many cartoons,” I insisted. “What makes you think I could come up with something like this based on a dream?”

  “Easter.”

  I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks flush. “I have no idea what you’re…”

  “You thought the Easter Bunny was gathering information about people by planting tracking devices in all the eggs.” Ethan chuckled.

  “It was a perfectly good theory!”

  “Which is why you smashed four dozen of them at the church Easter egg hunt looking for microchips,” my brother reminded me.

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Which is why we’re banned from attending Easter egg hunts there – ever again.”

  “Fine. Alright. It was a bad lead,” I admitted. “Although, I still think a rabbit hiding colored chicken eggs for people to find is highly suspicious, but that’s not the point. The point is I have a real feeling about this one. How else can you explain all the strange things Santa’s able to do?”

  “You mean like getting into houses that don’t even have chimneys?” Ethan chuckled again.

  “That’s kid stuff,” I scoffed. “Obviously, he picks the locks. I’m talking about real stuff, like being known in ever
y country by a different name. How about being able to fly over international air space without questions? Having a sled that’s fast enough to get to every house on the planet within a single night? That’s classic spy stuff!”

  By his silence, I could tell my brother was stunned by my intellectual evaluation. He knew that, this time, I was on to the big one.

  “I’m beginning to think there’s something really wrong with you.” Ethan shook his head and started dressing.

  Stupid teenagers. They turn fifteen and think they know everything.

  My brother bent to tie his shoe. “Seriously, though, what’s the plan?”

  “Not that you care, but I was thinking a simple spring and net trap in the chimney, along with some…” I wasn’t allowed to finish.

  “Not that, Dummy, the singing! How do we get out of the singing?”

  I rolled my eyes. “We could always tell Dad that we don’t want to go.”

  “Yeah, because that’ll work. Get serious.” Ethan finished pulling on his hunter green sweatshirt.

  I smirked. “You could tell him you have a date, but he’d never believe it.”

  I ducked the comic book as it flew over my head. It was worth it.

  The Second Clue

  Later that afternoon, I found myself ankle deep in a snowdrift, singing at the top of my lungs. Ethan stood beside me, a miserable scowl on his face. I tried not to laugh when he squeaked out the high bits.

  Mrs. Povenmire’s house was next, and my father squared his shoulders as he approached the yard with the intensity of man navigating a minefield.

  As usual, there were signs posted from front to back and a massive black animal chained to the front column.

  As bright as the snow was, I still could see nothing of the dog’s face save a snarling mouth full of bloodstained teeth. At least, I figured they were bloodstained. Ethan and I had theorized for years that she fed it a steady diet of children and kittens, with maybe a baby angel thrown in once in a while for variety.

  “Dad, uh, I really should go back home. I have a lot of work to do.” I managed a half-convincing smile.

  “Work? For what?”

  “There’s a…social studies test I have to prepare for.” I thought I’d hit on a good one. “It’s a lot of international theory and stuff – all very important.”

  “Social studies. I see.” Dad didn’t look like he did. “Exactly how gullible do you think I am?”

  Ethan chuckled behind me as we traipsed up the path, and the demon dog began his rant of anger – howling, barking, and lunging. I had often questioned the stability of the chain, but it hadn’t failed us yet.

  The obligatory first verse was sung, followed by the equally obligatory fruit cake that landed only inches from my father’s left foot.

  “Her aim’s getting better,” Ethan muttered.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “I think she was going for his head though.”

  “Alright, that’s enough out of the two of you,” Dad intervened. “What would we do without our annual doorstop every Christmas Eve?”

  He handed the cherry laden brick to me as we headed home. Little red and green bits were scattered throughout the offensive pastry like fruit flavored confetti…or shrapnel, and that gave me an idea.

  “Heads up!” The warning came a second too late.

  POW! The snowball hit me so hard, I was sure it had broken the sound barrier on its way to my face. “Ow!”

  “Don’t be such a wuss.” My brother scooped up another pile of snow, packing it into a tight ball.

  “I’m not a wuss. That hurt. If Mom and Dad would get me a dog, I wouldn’t have to put up with this anymore.”

  “You’ve been asking for a mutt since kindergarten, what makes you think they’re ever going to get one?” Ethan asked.

  I brushed snow from my jacket and stood up, expecting to hear some response from Dad. Looking around, though, I realized he’d already made his way inside. I hated to admit it, but my brother was right.

  Six years I’d been begging my parents for a dog. At first, I was set on a Great Dane, but at this point, I’d take anything with four legs and a bark. Life as a child genius is lonely at best.

  Most of my school friends are more into math club than solving mysteries, and the others are usually too busy making fun of me. That left Ethan.

  He used to be cool, but after he got into high school things changed. Mystery solving and high-tech gadgets weren’t as interesting as girls and muscles to him anymore.

  “Technically, if I continue to ask for the next ten years, the odds swing in my favor.” I calculated.

  “Sure, bro, whatever you say.”

  Back inside the house, I gazed up the flu of the fireplace. I’d have to set the trap after my parents had gone to bed, or I’d risk setting it on fire or getting caught.

  Still, I needed a backup plan. What if Santa decided to enter the house a different way, or…

  “Hey, hon, what are you looking at?”

  I jumped as Mom interrupted my schemes.

  “Oh, uh…nothing. I thought maybe we had chimney sweeps again.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping my mother didn’t remember the grate we’d put across the top of the flu to keep birds and other pests out.

  “I hope not. Those things kept me up most nights last year.” Mom walked away, and I sighed in relief.

  Wait a minute – the grate! I slapped my forehead. Of course! Santa would have to get in a different way.

  That cinched it. I’d have to trap all the doors instead.

  The Third Clue

  That night I waited patiently. It hadn’t been easy, but I’d found everything I needed for the traps. They hadn’t been that difficult to make either, and now that the lights were out and everything was set, all I had to do was wait.

  SNAP! I practically jumped out of my skin. There it was, the sound of victory!

  Unfortunately, it was quickly followed by some other sounds, which I’m not allowed to repeat.

  “William Jasper Mills, you get down here this instant!” Mother was nothing if not persuasive.

  I slinked down the steps, feeling my victory dissolve into despair at the sight of my father caught in my trap.

  “Explain yourself, young man. Right now!” My mother was dressed surprisingly well for having been in bed, her red dress shimmering in the light from the Christmas tree.

  Dad sat on the ground in his grey suit, struggling to get his ankle out of the spring trap.

  Their attire was puzzling, until it hit me. They were going to a Christmas party.

  “What, this old thing? It’s nothing, just something I was experimenting with for catching…thieves.”

  “He’s trying to catch someone, that’s for sure,” Ethan stated.

  I glared at my brother who was leaning against the frame of our bedroom doorway, looking smug as usual.

  “You knew about this?” Dad asked.

  It was my turn to smirk as Ethan straightened, crossing his arms defensively. “No, of course not. Okay, well, maybe he said something about it. I didn’t think he’d actually build a trap.”

  “William, why are you building traps?” Mother rubbed her temples. “Is this… Oh, no! This isn’t like the Easter thing, is it?”

  I had known on Easter Sunday, as I stood covered in egg, that it would be a long time before I lived that particular event down. I hadn’t realized it would be used against me for the rest of my life.

  “No!” I made my position clear. “Look, this might be hard to believe, but I think Santa Claus might be an international spy! If he comes to the house, I want to see if I can…”

  “Stop right there, young man, that’s enough.” Dad had finally untangled himself from the fishing wire and was straightening his coat. “This is ridiculous, and you ought to know better. Go to bed. Your mother and I will be back later, and you both had better be asleep when we return.”

  “Why do I have to be in bed, it’s only nine!” Ethan threw his hands in the ai
r, as if it was his God given right to be up past the stroke of midnight.

  “You’re just as responsible for this as your brother is. You should have said something earlier,” Dad maintained.

  Under normal circumstances, I might have enjoyed watching Ethan get chewed out, but I knew what else was coming.

  “William, you listen to me.” Dad now drew my attention. “You are not allowed to continue this nonsense. Do you understand me? You’re both grounded.”

  “But it’s just for tomorrow! I won’t get another chance ‘til next year!”

  I wished they could understand how important this was to me, but just like everything else, it seemed to go over their heads.

  “Enough! Go to bed, both of you.” Dad used the tone of voice that let us know this conversation was over.

  They left, and I went to bed as told. Ethan, on the other hand, decided it wasn’t enough that my plans had been foiled.

  “This is your fault,” he made his position clear. “I was supposed to watch a movie with Mark and Jesse tonight!”

  “Well, maybe this wouldn’t have happened if you’d kept your big mouth shut. I had to test the traps somehow.”

  “Do you really think you’re going to trap Santa? You do understand that he’s not actually real, right? You get that Mom and Dad actually do all the work?”

  “Of course, he’s real Ethan. Who do you think puts the presents under the tree after everybody else is asleep? Mom and Dad are just as surprised as we are.”

  Ethan sighed, “Some days I wish I still thought that.”

  I could tell he was defeated.

  My logic was obvious and undeniable, and satisfied that I’d won the argument, I went to bed.

  I wasn’t in the habit of disobeying my parents. After all, who wants to get put on the Naughty List this close to Christmas?

  This was different though. This time, I’d be able to get answers from the big man himself. I just had to play it cool until tomorrow night.

  Still, something Ethan said was bothering me.

  “Mom and Dad do all the work,” he had stated.