Saving Christmas

By Chris Hewitt

On Christmas Eve, Santa is refusing to deliver to the town of Windmore.
Helped by a reluctant Santa impersonator and a wisecracking reindeer, Sophia is stepping up to save Christmas.
What could go wrong?
Mr Davis, ex-children’s magician and hater of Christmas, has discovered his magic stretches beyond pulling rabbits from hats.
Tonight, he will make sure Windmore never has a Christmas again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Hewitt
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370208272

Book preview

Saving Christmas

Chris Hewitt

Chris Hewitt lives in Manchester, England.

He is the creator and writer of a spoof blog, which has featured in the national press and has over one million readers.

Saving Christmas is his first children’s novel.

Also by the author:

The Book of Doom

Saving Christmas

Copyright 2016 Chris Hewitt

Smashwords Edition

First published 2016

This edition published 2018

Chris Hewitt has asserted his right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Front cover designed by Chris Hewitt

Copyright 2016 Chris Hewitt

Front cover font Hitchcock Copyright Matt Terich

For Bella

Table of Contents

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1

Windmore’s church clock announced three pm with three dull clangs echoing across the town square. Shivering outdoor market traders, confined to their stalls for most of the day, welcomed the news.

Last minute Christmas Eve shoppers shuffled past, nit picking, man handling, and haggling over their stock. The sellers blew on their hands and stamped their feet to try to escape the cold; in an hour’s time, they could pack up and go home.

Sophia Owen narrowed her deep brown eyes and concentrated. Stalking her prey, she had her target in her sights and launched a snowball so precise, if it ever became an Olympic sport, she’d win gold.

Yogesh yelped in shock as her ball hit his ear. He frantically tried to adjust his glasses and bobble hat, but his friends seized their opportunity to attack an unarmed enemy and bombarded him with iced missiles.

What had begun as a simple, innocent snowball fight had escalated into a full-blown battle; every ten-year-old child was a soldier of a war, where friendships were formed and swiftly broken in the name of wounding by snow. They needed eyes in the back of their heads to know where the next ball was coming from.

Their battleground was in front of the giant Christmas tree, almost eclipsing the town hall. Fairy lights blinked, baubles bounced in the breeze, and a star swayed on top.

At the foot of the tree sat the town’s shining symbol of the festive season; nine life-sized fibre glass reindeers pulling a discoloured yellow model sleigh, with a weathered plastic Santa Claus.

A snowball exploded against the back of Sophia’s head, showering her in fine white mist. Droplets of snow penetrated her scarf ring, freezing the back of her neck.

She scanned the melee for the culprit, and saw friends charging and chasing, pushing and yelling whilst bombing each other, making it hard to decide who to strike back against.

His face obscured by a scarf, James became her next unsuspecting target. He’d dug in behind the fibre glass sleigh, using the Santa Claus model as cover to sniper children.

Amongst the laughter and screams of friends, Sophia circled around the reindeer. She crept towards him as he lobbed snowballs, too busy to notice her approach.

Her frozen fingers scooped a handful of snow, smoothing it between sodden gloves. He was four reindeers away, easily within range.

She felt giddy; butterflies didn’t so much flutter but raved in her stomach. Cautiously half rising to get a better aim, she wound her arm back so far, she feared her shoulder would dislocate.

Three...two...

A police car burst from a side street into the square as though fired from a cannon. Roof lights blazing, it revved and fought for traction through the snow like a rally car. It slid to a halt side-on, kicking a wave of snow into the air.

Confused, Sophia dropped her ball and joined James and her friends bunched in a group, twenty metres from the stationary vehicle. Stall owners and shoppers formed a crowd around them, drawn to the flashing blue lights.

The driver turned off the motor, and the roof lights stopped. Sophia saw Sergeant Coleman squashed into his seat. He opened the car door and unfolded himself, legs first and then arms.

Six feet eight inches of grizzled policeman stood before them dressed in a fluorescent jacket too short in the arms and black pants exposing his stripped socks at the ankles.

He brandished a megaphone and jogged long strides around his car to the other side for cover. The car’s suspension wheezed as he lay across the bonnet, elbows resting in front of him.

This is the police, he said, amplified through the megaphone as if addressing a gang of bank robbers. You are surrounded. Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up.

Yogesh raised his mittened hands in surrender, but Sophia dragged them back down.

What are you doing? she said.

You heard him, said Yogesh. We’re surrounded.

There are six other ways out of the square, she said. He’s blocking one.

If I get arrested, my dad will go mad.

We can’t be arrested for having a snowball fight, Yogesh.

James stepped forward and shouted: You’ll never take us alive, copper!

A few spectators laughed; from the back, someone clapped. An old lady with a trolley jeered the sergeant; it didn’t take long for the crowd to follow and the square was alive with boos and cat calling directed at him.

Coleman turned his megaphone on the crowd. Don’t encourage them, he warned.