Awkward Advent

By Amy B. Reineri

Started by writing an annual “origin of Santa” story, this collection brings together alternative universes populated with elves, zombies, aliens, insects and Santas ranging from jolly to horribly undead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy B. Reineri
• Release date: Jan 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9780989948715

Amy B. Reineri

Amy B. Reineri is an architect living in SE Virginia with her husband Dave and two independent cats. Works range from short stories to novels and musicals, fiction to non-fiction. Inspired by S-F, Fantasy, Horror, The Twilight Zone (it is always a trap) and classic House of Mystery.

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24 Short Stories inspired by Winter, Christmas and Doomsday Predictions.

Started by writing an annual origin of Santa story, this collection brings together alternative universes populated with elves, zombies, aliens, insects and Santas ranging from jolly to horribly undead.

To Dave Reineri, my heart and soul

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my friends who encouraged my earliest on-line posts of some of these stories. And many kudos to my editors for helping me look smarter than I am: Nicole Ordway and Dave Reineri.

Birds of a Feather

The townspeople were at the door again. Back a few years ago, these attempts to try to control her behavior by the folks in town who considered themselves normal would have intimidated her. But as Claudette looked at the piles of toys that filled virtually every inch of her home, she felt closer to them than she did to those control freaks on the porch.

The only positive impact those visits from the townspeople did have was to persuade her that she needed help. Not the kind of help they expected, but to find more people like herself. As she worked her way through the cramped maze to the kitchen, she joined her friends at the table. Sandra handed her another doll and she began to paint a face on it. Beside her, Andrew was carefully attaching the hair and Ben and Susan were dressing and packing them, then finding space.

Theirs was the more difficult part of the work – they had slowly filled all their houses with their handiwork, first the items they had made on their own, later with their combined labors. Their different skill sets and preferences had made them all better toymakers. Working in silence, they occasionally smiled at one another or commented on a particularly nice piece of craftsmanship, but the main focus was the toys. Toys were beautiful things and the world needed more beauty.

At least food was not a problem. Karen and Jessica loved to cook and they provided a continuous buffet of delicious meals 24 hours a day, which was good, because none of them slept much.

Claude watched the townspeople leaving the house. There was a notice on the door, but he knew the two women who stopped by there were not due for another two hours. He knew this like he knew every other fact about every other person and piece of real estate in town. Like a cat he crept along the rooftops, watching everything that transpired, overhearing every conversation on the streets. And, like a cat, it was his curiosity that made him want to know more and want to do some things most people in town would not approve of – if they knew about it. But Claude was a careful man. He could go into any building, see what he wanted to see, learn what he wanted to learn and leave without anyone being any the wiser. He just wanted to know things, not take things. He simply had no tolerance for secrets or things unseen.

This house was bothering him. He saw the women bring food – enough food for an entire family – and then leave with empty baskets. Other times they brought in the packages that were frequently left on the front porch. He had heard that a shut-in lived at the house, but there were no signs of them at the windows or at the door. He sensed that there could be more people in there, but why? Why were the windows blacked out and covered? Why didn’t he hear any noise when he listened at the doors, sometimes for hours? He twitched with agitation even thinking about the mystery lying behind the door to that house.

But the door was too exposed. He needed another route in. Those windows were not only blacked but also locked. He had no desire to create noise or debris by breaking glass. Leaving evidence of his visitation was not something he was willing to do. Slowly, he opened his sack and removed his hook and line. This house was going to require slightly more effort to explore. He was going to have to squeeze down that maddeningly narrow chimney to get the answers he needed. Silent as a cat, he leapt 30 feet down to the path beside the house he watched from and, in the gloom of the coming night, he glided over to the house of secrets.

They were working on horses now. It was a nice to change from time to time. Suddenly Sandra put her work down and sighed. Everyone stopped. This was very unusual for Sandra and Claudette wondered if she was unwell. Sandra looked at each of them in turn. You know, we can’t keep doing this forever.

Ben looked alarmed. What do you mean? What is happening? Who is trying to stop us?

No, that is not what I mean. We just need to have a place to put the toys.

This is a nice place here. Sometimes Susan had trouble understanding spatial problems.

The house is lovely, but it is also full. Even if we close the walkways and pack most of the rooms to the ceiling, sooner or later there will not be any space left.

You are just trying to frighten us, why are you doing that?

I am not trying to upset anyone, it is just that we need to make plans.

Well, then what do you expect us to do?

We can’t afford more houses.

There has to be a place to put all the toys. They can’t just be left outside to be ruined.

I just wish we could put them in people’s houses when we needed to. They are toys, who doesn’t want toys in their house?

There was an odd noise from the front passage and they all jumped to their feet in alarm. There, standing just a few feet away was a man covered in ashes. The same thought occurred to them at once: Don’t touch any of the toys!

He looked a little taken aback by that response. Ok, no problem. Not touching the toys! He shook his head and smiled as he took in the cramped workspace, the piles of partially completed toys on the table, the food on the counter and the small group of people who cared more about toys than their own safety. Do you mind if I have a cookie, they look delicious!

The group looked at each other for answers. Sure, help yourself, Claudette finally managed. The visitor strolled over to the counter and delicately picked one out without smudging the others. You might want some milk with that as well, she gestured to the refrigerator. Surprised by her thoughtfulness, he picked up a glass and moved to the refrigerator, lifting out a surprisingly clean handkerchief to open the door and pour the milk before returning to the spot they first noticed him.

Now, he smiled, What was this you were saying about getting into houses?

And so they formed a partnership. The toymakers and the man who knew who deserved toys and how to deliver them without debate or discussion. Within a few months, Claude and Claudette became close and were married. Within a few decades, outsiders had forgotten their given names and called them the Clauses instead. And it is rumored that others came to join them in that little town up north and they all still spend their days, their evenings and even their nights making toys and listening to secrets.

By Any Other Name

The songs were no longer powerful enough. In order to keep the forces of evil at bay, they had to be sung day and night as the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer and colder. Once upon a time, their numbers had been many and they could keep the songs going, a thousand voices strong, for all the many weeks it took to keep the world safe in this dangerous time of year.

Mabe sat at the edge of the plateau, looking outward as the angry wind beat against her. Jana came to collect her. It was their turn to sing the songs, the tunes that would hold back the night. But when they reached the fire, she could tell they were early: Bast and Lancette had several more songs to go. But Jana gestured for her to follow her into one of the tents. She had collected her in order to tell her something.

Sitting on the floor of the tent, Mabe’s heart felt a chill as she wondered what Jana needed to share. She dreaded learning that another singer would not join them this year or that someone else had left the path.

Jana started tenuously: Priestess, I have done something without your authorization.

Mabe was surprised; Jana had always been very obedient to the order. What have you done, Jana?

Jana looked at her, uncertain. It is the singing of the songs that is important, the maintaining of the tunes, is it not, priestess?

Yes, the words we put in them only to remind us of how many times they are to be sung.

Jana seemed reassured: And it does not matter who sings the tunes, does it, priestess?

Mabe found that question a little unsettling. Certainly in the old days everyone in the community had joined in, but once the old ways fell out of favor there were only the priestesses left to sing. You are right, Jana, others can sing the songs. Tell me, have you found others to help us in our work?

Jana was sweating a little, though the tent was cold. She struggled to find