No Coal for Bobby

No More Coal for Bobby

For one long and painful year, Bobby had waited. He had schemed and plotted, his honor stained and his pride damaged. He’d had twelve agonizingly long months to stew. A normal child would have moved on, forgotten the indiscretion, but not Bobby. He would never forget.

It was Christmas Eve, and Bobby was busy. He’d been using his father’s power tools to construct a catapult in the garage, but his parents didn’t approve. In fact, after he used the catapult to launch the family cat through the upstairs window, Bobby had been sent to his room, his parents furious. His only consolation was that tomorrow was Christmas. If only Bobby had known.

When Bobby had ran downstairs to open his stocking, not caring whether his parents were out of bed or even conscious, the sight awaiting him would scar him forever.

His stocking was full of coal. On that fateful Christmas morning, Bobby McGuiness swore and oath: that loathsome elf, Santa Claus, would not survive another Christmas. There would be no more coal for Bobby.

Now it was time. Once again it was Christmas Eve, and his parents were asleep. Bobby had been using his father’s tools again, but he was much more discreet this time. He’d been working from the moment he was released from his hellish school. Working on the trap that would allow him to trap, humiliate, and eventually kill Santa Claus. Bobby fully enjoyed the inevitable comparison to the popular Grinch. He too, would steal Christmas. But there would be no happy dawn for the children of this world. His heart would stay two sizes too small.

The trap was elaborate, exactingly planned. A small switch in the chimney would close the flue as Santa passed, quietly and slowly, as to not arouse suspicion. Bobby would watch from a small hiding place behind the couch. Bobby had prepared a pit and net by the table with the cookies, and as a backup, a dropping cage near the Christmas tree. Bobby himself carried a number of homemade weapons, designed for the torture and killing of the fat man. Bobby checked his watch. It was almost ten. Santa would come very soon.

Bobby sat behind the couch, envisioning his revenge, and the gloriousness of a world without Santa. Unfortunately, he was only a boy of six, and soon began to grow sleepy. He fought sleep as hard as he could, holding his eyes open, sitting bolt upright, everything he could think of. At last though, he could fight it no longer, and began to slip downwards onto the floorboards and to sleep…

Then there was a creak on the floorboards. Bobby stiffened, then relaxed, not moving, listening. Someone was moving across the room. The figure paused in the middle of the room, and shifted something he was holding. The floorboards gave away his next, deliberate movements. The figure was moving toward the tree. Bobby waited expectantly for the sound of the cage dropping, but it never came. Bobby cursed his hurried workmanship as the invisible figure moved some objects around the tree. At last it began to move toward the cookies and milk. Bobby prayed to the God he didn’t believe in that the trap would work. He held his breath…

There was a whoosh, then a thump, then the whizzing of rope as the net fell. Bobby leaped from behind the couch and ran toward the hole he had cleverly concealed beneath the rug. He rapidly approached the hole and net, his heart thumping. There was a sudden tap at the base of his neck, and then darkness.

He awoke in his bed. It was still dark. Light shone in through the single window in his bedroom He looked around, and suddenly realized that there was someone in the room. Santa! He thought desperately, and struggled. He realized he was bound. The figure let out a chuckle, a very Santa-like ho, ho, ho.

“So you’re awake then,” Santa said. “It was very naughty of you to try to capture me Bobby,” Bobby spat in his general direction.

“I had no intentions of capturing you, you fat bastard! I was going to kill you after I’d tortured and humiliated you as compensation for my pain!” Bobby snarled. Santa didn’t move. His shape and features were concealed by the shadows, but Bobby sensed anger from him.

“What pain are you talking about Bobby?” Santa asked, quietly. Bobby was incensed.

“Don’t play dumb with me fat man! I received nothing but coal in my stocking last Christmas! You humiliated me!” Bobby shouted, furious. Santa stepped into the light coming through the window.

“First, I’m not fat. This is muscle,” It was. The man was 6’2” or so and built like a football player. “I’m not the Jolly Santa you think you know . Second, you launched your cat through a window. Generally that puts you on the bad list,” The large man crossed his muscular arms across his chest and stepped back into the shadows.

“Whoever made you God Santa?” Bobby asked through clenched teeth. He sighed reluctantly. “How did you avoid my traps? You make toys!” Santa chuckled again, the same ho, ho, ho resounding in his bedroom.

“I’m Santa fucking Claus Bobby. You aren’t the first person to try to catch me and certainly not the best, or the last. You don’t get to run an organization like mine without having impressive credentials,” Something glowed in the darkness. “Unfortunately, I have to go now,” He gestured through the light at Bobby’s bonds. “Those will be gone in the morning. I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again,” Bobby struggled as the man walked to the door and opened it. He paused, turned and winked at Bobby. “Oh, by the way Bobby, Merry Christmas!”

Bobby McGuiness awoke, the bonds gone, on Christmas morning. He had failed to capture Santa, and instead had been captured himself. It was an embarrassing episode, but it was Christmas after all, and he had trouble being unhappy. He padded downstairs and into the living room. All evidence of his traps was gone. All for the best, he thought. His parents would not understand. Expectantly, he opened his stocking. He froze, staring at the contents.

It was full of coal. Bobby ran outside and threw himself to his knees in the snow, shaking his tiny fist in the air.

“Next year, Santa Claus!” He screamed, “Next year!”