Becoming Santa

By Kate Bonham

As children, we all wanted him to be real.
We put out milk and cookies, and carrots for his reindeer. 
But then we grew up and reality settled in. 

But...what if we were right to believe? What if Father Christmas is real? 

Meet the man behind the legend. 

Klaas is a Guardian sent from Heaven to watch over children and protect them from harm. 
Only he's lost his faith to do his job. Can a beautiful half-human, half-sprite and a dying girl be the kick in the butt he needs? 

*Becoming Santa is a standalone Christmas Origin story and is recommended for 16 years and older. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate Bonham
• Release date: Dec 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386118794

Kate Bonham

Amazon Bestselling Author Kate grew up in Western Sydney, Australia, hoping to one day have a pet dragon and castle to roam around in. Then the Khaleesi stole her life and she was forced to reinvent herself.  It was around the age of 15 when she really thought she could make it as a writer, and after course after course on different writing styles, she finally gulped down her fear and pursued independent publishing.  When she's not writing, she's spending time with her boyfriend and their zoo of pets that include snakes, tarantula, lizards, turtle, axolotl and 2 noisy cockatiels.  Her writing genres are Paranormal & Dark Romance.  Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorKateBonham Twitter: @kbonhamauthor Instagram: @kbonhamauthor Website: https://authorkatebonham.net

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Acknowledgement

Thank you to my mum, Elaine, for giving me the childhood I had.

A huge thank you to Robyn Corcoran and Belinda Donaldson for always believing in me, and for at the last minute reading my books to make sure I don’t stuff something up. You two ladies are legends.

Chapter One

France, 1784

The stench of death assaulted my senses as I moved through the city’s hovels, or as the poor called them homes. Two men in dark coats and long beaked masks moved past me, I felt the misery follow them as they scuttled away, trying to escape the poverty and the diseased. They were doctors here to inspect the ill during one of the worst plagues I’d seen on Earth. The entire city of Paris was infected.

Thousands would die.

And I hadn’t any idea how to stop it.

As an Angel, I couldn’t be infected, and yet I felt as if I needed to be able to. I knew so many who could help, who could heal but it wasn’t their place. This disease needed to happen. It was all a part of His plan.

I’d lost my faith in him a while ago, since the Fall. How could so many choose to fall rather than allow him to be their ruler. Since he’d placed me on Earth with my role, I’d been so far removed from them that I assumed they’d forgotten I was here. If only He would come here and see this devastation, I doubted even the almighty himself would allow this to continue.

Yet, I was the only Angel on Earth and I hadn’t the power to do what I needed to do. Instead, I had to sit back and watch this poverty, disease and foul odor spread throughout the continent, listening to the heartfelt prayers asking for help.

It was enough to send me crazy, and yet I was still here, sane as ever.

The prayer I’d heard above all others though was close by. I could feel her helplessness, her pain and her sadness. It was tearing me apart from the inside. Most prayers were selflish, asking to be spared and if they were, they’d be God-fearing, church-attending Christians for the rest of their life. And if any were spared, they never attended church or moved on with a better life.

For centuries, I’d laid low, watching as the humans destroyed each other for petty little arguments. I’d been disgusted when I was tasked to come to Earth to watch over the children, make sure they had a good life and went on to become something. God had given me a task, and as a dutiful servant, I accepted.

That was before the fall, though, and ever since I’d been here. Watching, Guarding — at a distance. That is, until now. The prayer was so full of sorrow that I felt compelled to come here and see for myself who this woman was and why her prayer could be heard above all others.

I pushed the door open and moved inside. The hovel was a mess, the smell was just awful, to the point no healthy person would step inside. As I moved through the tiny space, I saw a woman laying on a bed, covered in ratty clothes and newspapers. She was dark, and dirty, her face was marked with the dark black ink from the newspapers pressing against her skin as she sweat out her fever, and her skin was puckered with bloody and mucus-filled sores, her breath raspy as she struggled to breathe.

Who are...you? she asked, her breathing fastened, but she couldn’t move to get away, although her fear was palpable. She was helpless, and yet I felt nothing but compassion for this woman. I bent down so she could see into my eyes, a calming aspect of my kind were our eyes.

Please, rest, I said in a soothing voice. My name is Klaas. I have heard your prayer and I am here to ease your soul.

Her bloodshot eyes widened in fear. I’d been so removed from humankind that I should have known they would have given up on their faith. To pray was one thing but to believe someone would hear you was quite another. Once upon a time, humans worshipped us and thought us saviors, but that appeared to be long gone.

And in such dire situations as what was going on outside, I had no reason to berate them for such a belief. I couldn’t believe the stretch, or the severity of this plague and I was older than most of the beings alive today.

Calm, I said. Let me show you something, but please, do not be alarmed. I am not here to harm you.

I moved away into a clear space in the hovel and unleashed my wings. They stretched out and filled the entire room we were in, touching the roof and the floor at the same time.

An-angel.

Her eyes were taking in my wings, and her mouth was agape.

Yes, I replied, putting them away. I am a Guardian, sent to hear your prayer and hear your last wish.

She relaxed a little, but I could see she was still wary of me.

I will die...soon, she said, sadly. I could see a pink-tinged tear fall down her dirty cheek.

Yes, I said. I can feel you are close to your demise. What is there I can do to help you before you go?

Nothing, she replied. I am not afraid to die, I am afraid for my boy. He’s so young and does not know of the responsibilities of an adult. We have no money and I fear he will become lost to the streets when I pass. Please, can you help him? Find him a home, take him from this place.

Where is he? I asked.

She lifted her hand, slowly and shakily, pointing to a door just off to the side of the hovel. It was closed and boarded up with towels and blankets. My heart broke. She’d tried everything to keep him safe from her.

Please...I beg...save him. I am all he has and once I go...he will be alone.

I took her hand in mine, careful to not press onto her sores and cause her more pain. She was in fear as I pushed her hair back, away from her eyes and face.

But, sir, she began, tears running more freely down her face now. I cannot get you sick.

You won’t, I told her. I cannot catch human illnesses.

She relaxed as I held onto her hand, knowing she was close to her end. Her heart was at peace knowing her boy would be taken care of. That had been what she’d been holding on for so long for.

Only a mother’s love could be so strong to live through the pain wracking her body.

Tell me, I said, trying to take her mind off it. What is your son’s name?

Jacques, she said, with a small smile. After his father. He passed not so long ago.

I’m sorry, I told her. A young boy always needs a father, but I can see you have done what you can to help him.

Please, make sure he is taken care of.

She closed her eyes before I could answer, and her hand went limp in mine. I could feel her essence leaving her body and I knew she had been claimed by this dreaded illness. I placed her hand on her chest carefully and placed a kiss on her forehead before I stood and moved to the boy’s door.

I knocked but there was no response. I started to peel the