DECEMBER 2023 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO M. ROBERT GIBSON!

[M. Robert Gibson]

The Final Interrogation of Fingers McNastie

"So, Fingers, still refusing to talk, eh? We know it was you stole them Christmas presents from the orphanage."

"I'm not sayin' nuffink, rozzer."

"Last chance, Fingers. We've called in an expert who'll read you like a book."

"Wot? Some sort of psychic or summfink?"

"Something like that. He knows if you've been bad or good. He'll find out who's naughty and nice."

"Wot? You mean you've called in..."

"Exactly. And he's coming to town."

 

[AnRoinnUltra]

Back in five ...millennia

O'Connor's office overlooked the factory.

'Keep out of sight on Christmas Eve, or he’ll have ya doing something that'll take all night.'

The advice echoed in my mind.

Grab tools and sneak into the service shaft, that way you have an excuse for being down there, I thought.

Someone else must’ve had the same idea.

'Jesus, a loincloth! …how long have you been hiding out?’

‘bout two thousand years -say nothing, I’m on the doss.’

 

[paranoid marvin]

They're Going To Find Out...

"Greetings, citizen."

"The Snow Patrol! What do you want with me?"

"We've had reports you don't believe in Father Christmas."

"So what?"

"Who do you think delivers the presents? Who scoffs the mince pies left under the tree?"

"Err..."

"Don't believe in Father C and you automatically go on the naughty list. You must be crazy!"

"That's no crime!"

"You've not heard of the Sanity (subsection C) Laws? Take him away, boys."

 

[mosaix]

Tools of the Trade

“I want Monday off, Clarence,” said Mystero.

“Christmas day? No chance. It took me weeks to get that booking!”

Clarence’s desk organiser overbalanced scattering pens, pencils and paper clips.

“And you can stop that. Blackmail won’t work.”

The ‘phone rang. Irritated, Clarence grabbed it.

“What? ... Cancelling! At short notice! You’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”

He turned back, grimacing. “You’re in luck.”

Mystero smirked to himself. Worked better than I imagined, he thought.

 

[Daysman]

The Forgotten Feast of the Penitent Scribe

In celebration, Archibald Crow ate a fish supper at the Hooded Bear.

He then took his ale into the smoke-filled ”snug” where, buoyed by raucous laughter, the fearless Anabel Shearer filled the evening with scurrilous tales of her employer, their local eldritch landowner.

The festival ended, by tradition, at midnight.

Archibald and the others tumbled into the streets, in search of their beds, all recollection of the day excised.

Such was their mercurial Mage's holiday…

 

[JS Wiig]

Winter Festival

Snow fell in soft blankets over thatch roofs of the isolated equatorial village. It was December 21st, and an annual tradition the humid heat gave way to cold and ice for one day.

Animal skin coats and mittens and wood sleds came out to the joy of laughing children. Gifts were exchanged and everyone’s face held a smile. Next day the snow would be gone. Anchuar wondered if any other Amazonian tribes experienced such magic.

 

[Elckerlyc]

Not-a-Christmas Carol

It had been accidental. A twist in causality, surely. Would he, Phanta Cause, even know how to travel to a parallel universe? But there he was, merrily dispensing gifts before, belatedly, realising something was off.
By that time, many, many people had received weird, mind-blowing presents.
Grandfather Christmas grumpily intervened. Presents were retrieved and memories collectively wiped. Phanta was sent home. Probably.
What remained was just a story about a Christmas you cannot remember.

 

[Bren G]

Miracle on Main Street

Clara shook the snow globe and entered the portal that appeared, landing in a suburban street. An Amazon delivery van skidded to avoid her.

She glowered. “Really?”

“Well, it pays,” said Santa Claus.

“Come home now.”

“It’s over. They’ll come for me.”

“Can you then? Just one more time?”

Santa wrinkled his nose, conjuring magical snowflakes. Clara thrust her phone in them.

Her Bitcoin balance now bursting, she paid Santa’s gambling debts.

Christmas was saved!

 

[Starbeast]

Mr Talbot Visits Santa Town’s Return Department​

“Number 383,750.”

“Good evening, I’d like to return a Santa’s Wish Request. My daughter doesn’t want to be a Princess Pony anymore.”

“May I see your receipt, please?”

“My dog ate it. No. That’s a lie. I ate it.”

“You ate your receipt?”

“Then my dog.”

“.....?”

“He was a wiseguy.”

“I remember you. You’re a werewolf.”

“Yeah. I’m getting hungry too.”

“Uh…we can work this out. Hey, Sprinkles! We’ve got another 86 return.”

 

[emrosenagel]

Green Christmas

Lucy sat at the window, staring out at the winter wonderland with a sour face; it would be their first Christmas in Michigan, and she wasn't too pleased with the snow.

"It's too cold. This isn't Christmasy at all."

"You know," her mother said. "Whenever I missed Cuba as a girl, abuela would cast a spell — zap! Suddenly, there were mango trees and palms. Y gallinas!"

"Magic isn't real."

"Oh yeah? Take a look outside."

 

[The Judge]

See You Later, Alligator...​

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Alicia decided she’d had enough when the office telephone bit her – its caiman heritage surfacing in error.​

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“I’m taking a holiday,” she announced.​

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“Make it snappy!” said the Director of Crocodilia Furnishings. “We're swamped with the gharial lampshades.”​

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Pressed for time, Alicia merely stipulated the croc-computer send her somewhere warm, without animal-infused contrivances, and no crocodiles.​

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Which is how she found herself vacationing – never leaving her room – at the tropical, primeval, Alligator Island…​

 

[Ursa major]

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Paradise?​

“Have a nice holiday?” said Tim, as Bob entered the office.​

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“It was perfect.”​

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“Unlikely.”​

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“You’re telling me,” said Bob.”​

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“So it was awful.”​

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“It was perfect. Literally. No transport delays, no issues with the village, the food, the staff, the other guests, the weather…. Name anything and it would've been just right.”​

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“Weird.”​

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“It really creeped me out.”​

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“So it wasn’t perfect, then,” said Tim.​

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“Thank heavens for that, its only saving grace.”​

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[Phyrebrat]

The Wassail

Carolers surrounded the chocolate-box cottage, faces beatific with piety. Song rolled through the bosky valley.
‘Hail, thou ever blesséd morn!’
‘Sing along, sweetie!’ Thomas’ mum said, smile slipping; Thomas was at that annoying teenage stage; truculent without reason, sullen.

But, worst of all, silent.

Mum, with a fixed grin: ‘Sing, Thomas — Hail redemption’s…’
Within the cottage, the Wassail spun: shadowy limbs and…heads.

‘If you don’t si—‘

Too late, for Thomas had already been taken.

 

[Ursa major]

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This Challenge is now closed, and the poll is now open at the link below:

POLL -- December 2023 75-Word Challenge -- READ FIRST POST!​

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