Miracle and Other Christmas Stories

by Connie Willis

  “Oh, good. I had a hard time finding it. You were right when you said we were the only two people in the world who liked Miracle on 34th Street. Everybody else I know thinks It’s a Wonderful Life is—”

  “You bought me Miracle on 34th Street?” he said, frowning.

  “It’s the original black-and-white version. I hate those colorized things, don’t you? Everyone has gray teeth.”

  “Lauren.” He held the box out to her so she could read the front. “I think your friend’s been fixing things again.”

  She took the box from him. On the cover was a picture of Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed dancing the Charleston.

  “Oh, no! That little rat!” she said. “He must have changed it when he was looking at it. He told me It’s a Wonderful Life was his favorite movie.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” Fred said, shaking his head.

  “Do you suppose he changed all my other Christmas presents?”

  “We’d better check.”

  “If he has …” she said, darting into the kitchen. She dropped to her knees and started rummaging through them.

  “Do you think they look the same?” Fred asked, squatting down beside her.

  “Your present looked the same.” She grabbed a package wrapped in red-and-gold paper and began feeling it. “Evie’s present is okay, I think.”

  “What is it?”

  “A stapler. She’s always losing hers. I put her name on it in Magic Marker.” She handed it to him to feel.

  “It feels like a stapler, all right,” he said.

  “I think we’d better open it and make sure.”

  Fred tore off the paper. “It’s still a stapler,” he said. looking at it. “What a great idea for a Christmas present! Everybody in Documentation’s always losing their staplers. I think PMS steals them to use on their Christmas memos.” He handed it back to her. “Now you’ll have to wrap it again.”

  “That’s okay,” Lauren said. “At least it wasn’t a Yanomamo ornament.”

  “But it might be any minute,” Fred said, straightening up. “There’s no telling what he might take a notion to transform next. I think you’d better call your sister again, and ask her to ask the Maharishi if he knows how to send spirits back to the astral plane, and I’ll go see what I can find out about exorcism.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, following him to the door. “Don’t take the videotape with you. Maybe I can get him to change it back.”

  “Maybe,” Fred said, frowning. “You’re sure he said he was here to give you your heart’s desire?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then why would he change my videotape?” he said thoughtfully. “It’s too bad your sister couldn’t have conjured up a nice, straightforward spirit.”

  “Like Santa Claus,” Lauren said.

  Her sister wasn’t home. Lauren tried her off and on all evening, and when she finally got her, she couldn’t talk. “The Maharishi and I are going to Barbados. They’re having a harmonic divergence there on Christmas Eve, so you need to send my Christmas present to Barbados,” she said, and hung up.

  “I don’t even have her Christmas present bought yet,” Lauren said to the couch, “and it’s all your fault.”

  She went into the kitchen and glared at the tree. “I don’t even dare go shopping because you might turn the couch into a humpbacked whale while I’m gone,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

  She peered cautiously into the living room and then made a careful circuit of the whole apartment, looking for endangered species. There were no signs of any, and no sign of the spirit. She went back into the living room and turned on the TV. Jimmy Stewart was dancing the Charleston with Donna Reed. She picked up the remote and hit the channel button. Now Jimmy Stewart was singing, “Buffalo Gals, Won’t You Come Out Tonight?”

  She hit the automatic channel changer. Jimmy Stewart was on every channel except one. The Ghost of Christmas Present was on that one, telling Scrooge to change his ways. She watched the rest of A Christmas Carol. When it reached the part where the Cratchits were sitting down to their Christmas dinner, she remembered she hadn’t had any supper and went into the kitchen.

  The tree was completely blocking the cupboards, but by mightily pushing several branches aside she was able to get to the refrigerator. The eggnog was gone. So were the Stouffer’s frozen entrées. The only thing in the refrigerator was a half-empty bottle of Evian water.

  She shoved her way out of the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. Fred had told her to call if anything happened, but it was after eleven o’clock, and she had a feeling the eggnog had been gone for some time.

  A Christmas Carol was over, and the opening credits of the next movie were starting. “Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. Starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.”

  She must have fallen asleep. When she woke up, Miracle on 34th Street was on, and the store manager was giving Edmund Gwenn as Macy’s Santa Claus a list of toys he was supposed to push if Macy’s didn’t have what the children asked Santa for.

  “Finally,” Lauren said, watching Edmund Gwenn tear the list into pieces, “something good to watch,” and promptly fell asleep. When she woke up again, John Payne as Fred Gailey was kissing Doris, a.k.a. Maureen O’Hara, and someone was knocking on the door.

  I don’t remember anyone knocking on the door, she thought groggily. Fred told Doris how he’d convinced the State of New York that Edmund Gwenn was Santa Claus, and then they both stared disbelievingly at a cane standing in the corner. “The End” came on the screen.

  The knocking continued.

  “Oh,” Lauren said, and answered the door.

  It was Fred, carrying a McDonald’s sack.

  “What time is it?” Lauren said, blinking at him.

  “Seven o’clock. I brought you an Egg McMuffin and some orange juice.”

  “Oh, you wonderful person!” she said. She grabbed the sack and took it over to the coffee table. “You don’t know what he did.” She reached into the sack and pulled out the sandwich. “He transformed the food in my refrigerator into Evian water.”

  He was looking curiously at her. “Didn’t you go to bed last night? He didn’t come back, did he?”

  “No. I waited for him, and I guess I fell asleep.” She took a huge bite of the sandwich.

  Fred sat down beside her. “What’s that?” He pointed to a pile of dollar bills on the coffee table.

  “I don’t know,” Lauren said.

  Fred picked up the bills. Under them was a handful of change and a piece of pink paper. “‘Returned three boxes Christmas cards for refund,’” Lauren said, reading it. “‘$38.18.’”

  “That’s what’s here,” Fred said, counting the money. “He didn’t turn your Christmas cards into a Douglas fir after all. He took them back and got a refund.”

  “Then that means the tree isn’t in the kitchen!” she said, jumping up and running to look. “No, it doesn’t.”

  She came back and sat down on the couch.

  “But at least you got your money back,” Fred said. And it fits in with what I learned on the Net last night. They think he’s a friendly spirit, probably some sort of manifestation of the seasonal spirit. Apparently these are fairly common, variations of Santa Claus being the most familiar, but there are other ones, too. All benign. They think he’s probably telling the truth about wanting to give you your heart’s desire.”

  “Do they know how to get rid of him?” she asked, and took a bite.

  “No. Apparently no one’s ever wanted to exorcise one.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I got a list of exorcism books to try, though, and this one guy, Clarence, said the most important thing in an exorcism is to know exactly what kind of spirit it is.”

  “How do we do that?” Lauren asked with her mouth full.

  “By their actions,” Fred said. “He said appearance doesn’t mean anything because seasonal spirits are frequently in disguise. He said we need to write down everything the
spirit’s said and done, so I want you to tell me exactly what he did.” He took a pen and a notebook out of his jacket pocket. “Everything from the first time you saw him.”

  “Just a minute.” She finished the last bite of sandwich and took a drink of the orange juice. “Okay. He knocked on the door, and when I answered it, he told me he was here to give me a Christmas present, and I told him I wasn’t interested, and I shut the door and started into the bedroom to hang up my dress and—my dress!” she gasped and went tearing into the bedroom.

  “What’s the matter?” Fred said, following her.

  She flung the closet door open and began pushing clothes madly along the bar. “If he’s transformed this—” She stopped pushing hangers. “I’ll kill him,” she said and lifted out a brownish collection of feathers and dried leaves. “Benign??” she said. “Do you call that benign??”

  Fred gingerly touched a brown feather. “What was it?”

  “A dress,” she said. “My beautiful black, off-the-shoulder, drop-dead dress.”

  “Really?” he said doubtfully. He lifted up some of the brownish leaves. “I think it still is a dress,” he said. “Sort of.”

  She crumpled the leaves and feathers against her and sank down on the bed. “All I wanted was to go to the office party!”

  “Don’t you have anything else you can wear to the office party? What about that pretty red thing you wore last year?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “Scott didn’t even notice it!”

  “And that’s your heart’s desire?” Fred said after a moment. “To have Scott Buckley notice you at the office party?”

  “Yes, and he would have, too! It had sequins on it, and it fit perfectly!” She held out what might have been a sleeve. Greenish-brown lumps dangled from brownish strips of bamboo. “And now he’s ruined it!”

  She flung the dress on the floor and stood up. “I don’t care what this Clarence person says. He is not benign! And he is not trying to get me what I want for Christmas. He is trying to ruin my life!”

  She saw the expression on Fred’s face and stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “None of this is your fault. You’ve been trying to help me.”

  “And I’ve been doing about as well as your spirit,” he said. “Look, there has to be some way to get rid of him. Or at least get the dress back. Clarence said he knew some transformation spells. I’ll go on to work and see what I can find out.”

  He went out into the living room and over to the door.“Maybe you can go back to the store and see if they have another dress like it.” He opened the door.

  “Okay.” Lauren nodded. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. And you have been a lot of help.”

  “Right,” he said glumly, and went out.

  “Where’d you get that dress?” Jimmy Stewart said to Donna Reed.

  Lauren whirled around. The TV was on. Donna Reed was showing Jimmy Stewart her new dress.

  “Where are you?” Lauren demanded, looking at the couch. “I want you to change that dress back right now!”

  “Don’t you like it?” the spirit said from the bedroom. “It’s completely biodegradable.”

  She stomped into the bedroom. He was putting the dress on the hanger and making little “tsk”-ing noises. “You have to be careful with natural fibers,” he said reprovingly.

  “Change it back the way it was. This instant.”

  “It was handmade by the Yanomamo Indians,” he said, smoothing down what might be the skirt. “Do you realize that their natural habitat is being destroyed at the rate of 750 acres a day?”

  “I don’t care. I want my dress back.”

  He carried the dress on its hanger over to the chest. “It’s so interesting. Donna Reed knew right away she was in love with Jimmy Stewart, but he was so busy thinking about college and his new suitcase, he didn’t even know she existed.” He hung up the dress. “He practically had to be hit over the head.”

  “I’ll hit you over the head if you don’t change that dress back this instant, Spirit,” she said, looking around for something hard.

  “Call me Chris,” he said. “Did you know sequins are made from nonrenewable resources?” and disappeared as she swung the lamp.

  “And good riddance,” she shouted to the air.

  They had the dress in a size three. Lauren put herself through the indignity of trying to get into it and then went to work. The receptionist was watching Jimmy Stewart standing on the bridge in the snow and weeping into a Kleenex. She handed Lauren her messages.

  There were two memos from the PMS Committee—they were having a sleigh ride after work, and she was supposed to bring cheese puffs to the office party. There wasn’t a message from Fred.

  “Oh!” the receptionist wailed. “This part is so sad!”

  “I hate It’s a Wonderful Life,” Lauren said, and went up to her desk. “I hate Christmas,” she said to Evie.

  “It’s normal to hate Christmas,” Evie said, looking up from the book she was reading. “This book, it’s called Let’s Forget Christmas, says it’s because everyone has these unrealistic expectations. When they get presents, they—”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Lauren said. She rummaged in her bag and brought out Evie’s present, fingering it quickly to make sure it was still a stapler. It seemed to be. She held it out to Evie. “Merry Christmas.”

  “I don’t have yours wrapped yet,” Evie said. “I don’t even have my wrapping paper bought yet. The book says I’m suffering from an avoidance complex.” She picked up the package. “Do I have to open it now? I know it will be something I love, and you won’t like what I got you half as well, and I’ll feel incredibly guilty and inadequate.”

  “You don’t have to open it now,” Lauren said. “I just thought I’d better give it to you before—” She picked her messages up off her desk and started looking through them. “Before I forgot. There haven’t been any messages from Fred, have there?”

  “Yeah. He was here about fifteen minutes ago looking for you. He said to tell you the Net hadn’t been any help, and he was going to try the library.” She looked sadly at the present. “It’s even wrapped great,” she said gloomily. “I went shopping for a dress for the office party last night, and do you think I could find anything off-the-shoulder or with sequins? I couldn’t even find anything I’d be caught dead in. Did you know the rate of stress-related illnesses at Christmas is seven times higher than the rest of the year?”

  “I can relate to that,” Lauren said.

  “No, you can’t. You didn’t end up buying some awful gray thing with gold chains hanging all over it. At least Scott will notice me. He’ll say, ‘Hi, Evie, are you dressed as Marley’s ghost?’ And there you’ll be, looking fabulous in black sequins—”

  “No, I won’t,” Lauren said.

  “Why? Didn’t they hold it for you?”

  “It was … defective. Did Fred want to talk to me?”

  “I don’t know. He was on his way out. He had to go pick up his Santa Claus suit. Oh, my God.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s Scott Buckley.”

  “Hi,” Scott said to Lauren. “I was wondering if you could go shopping with me tonight.”

  Lauren stared at him, so taken aback she couldn’t speak.

  “When you couldn’t go last night, I decided to cancel my date.”

  “Uh … I …” she said.

  “I thought we could buy the presents and then have some dinner.”

  She nodded.

  “Great,” Scott said. “I’ll come over to your apartment around six-thirty.”

  “No!” Lauren said. “I mean, why don’t we go straight from work?”

  “Good idea. I’ll come up here and get you.” He smiled meltingly and left.

  “I think I’ll kill myself,” Evie said. “Did you know the rate of suicides at Christmas is four times higher than the rest of the year? He is so cute,” she said, looking longingly down the hall after him. “There’s Fred.”

  Lauren looked up. Fre
d was coming toward her desk with a Santa Claus costume and a stack of books. Lauren hurried across to him.

  “This is everything the library had on exorcisms and the occult,” Fred said, transferring half of the books to her arms. “I thought we could both go through them today, and then get together tonight and compare notes.”

  “Oh, I can’t,” Lauren said. “I promised Scott I’d help him pick out the presents for the office party tonight. I’m sorry. I could tell him I can’t.”

  “Your heart’s desire? Are you kidding?” He started awkwardly piling the books back on his load. “You go shopping. I’ll go through the books and let you know if I come up with anything.”

  “Are you sure?” she said guiltily. “I mean, you shouldn’t have to do all the work.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” he said. He started to walk away and then stopped. “You didn’t tell the spirit Scott was your heart’s desire, did you?”

  “Of course not. Why?”

  “I was just wondering … nothing. Never mind.” He walked off down the hall. Lauren went back to her desk.

  “Did you know the rate of depression at Christmas is sixteen times higher than the rest of the year?” Evie said. She handed Lauren a package.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s from your Secret Santa.”

  Lauren opened it. It was a large book entitled It’s a Wonderful Life: The Photo Album. On the cover, Jimmy Stewart was looking depressed.

  “I figure it’ll take a half hour or so to pick out the presents,” Scott said, leading her past two inflatable palm trees into The Upscale Oasis. “And then we can have some supper and get acquainted.” He lay down on a massage couch. “What do you think about this?”

  “How many presents do we have to buy?” Lauren asked, looking around the store. There were a lot of inflatable palm trees, and a jukebox, and several life-size cardboard cutouts of Malcolm Forbes and Leona Helmsley. Against the far wall were two high-rise aquariums and a bank of televisions with neon-outlined screens.

  “Seventy-two.” He got up off the massage couch, handed her the list of employees and went over to a display of brown boxes tied with twine. “What about these? They’re handmade Yanomamo Christmas ornaments.”