Santa's Monkey

Santa’s Monkey.


This was Joshua’s sixth Christmas Eve, and he was determined to witness Santa’s appearance for the first time. He had always fallen asleep on previous occasions, and missed Santa placing his stocking at the foot of his bed. Joshua had started to think that Santa didn’t exist because he had never seen him. His father had reassured him that he was real, and his father never lied. Staying up wouldn’t be a problem this year either. He had it all planned out.

After his parents had tucked him in and closed the door behind them, Joshua had jumped up and made a make-shift hideout. Using a cricket bat at one end and a tennis racket at the other, he had managed to prop up his duvet, giving him just enough room to sit up and read his comics under torch light. He had sneaked a three litre bottle of coke, four packets of cheesy Wotsits and a king-sized Mars bar from the kitchen, and stashed them under his bed. He wasn’t going to miss Santa this year; he would have a midnight feast, read all his comics, and as soon as he heard a stair creak or the doorknob turn, he would kill the light, knock away the racket and bat, and with one eye open, would pretend to be asleep.

By eleven-thirty (an hour that was impossibly late to Joshua) he had consumed most of his supplies; his bladder screamed at him and his eyes ached from reading under torch light. He was about to creep out and head down the landing to the bathroom when he heard someone ascending the staircase. He hastily turned off the torch, demolished his hideout and shut his eyes. Sure enough, the door slowly opened and a large figure made its way into his room. Joshua’s heart thumped away and the excitement was nearly enough to cause him to have an accident. As the door opened further, the figure caught the light that shone in from the landing and revealed a huge white beard, a large rotund tummy and a sack slung over one shoulder. Joshua just couldn’t believe what he was seeing through his squinted, half-open eye.

He waited until Santa had left his room, and with his heart still racing and his bladder urging him to sprint to the bathroom, Joshua opened his bedroom door. He listened for a moment before tiptoeing towards the end of the landing.

As he passed his parent’s room, he heard his mother giggling, and an audible, deep, booming, “Ho, ho, ho!” echoed out from inside. He stood outside shaking with excitement, and the chill in the air gave him goose-bumps.

“Oh, stop it Santa!” he heard his mother cry.

Joshua knelt down on one knee and peered in through the keyhole. He gasped at the sight.

Santa was performing a funny dance, hopping from one foot to the other, and his mother was sitting up in bed laughing. To Joshua’s astonishment, Santa then hopped onto the bed and started tickling his mother with the end of his beard. “Oh, you naughty man!” his mother giggled. Joshua wondered where his father was; he was most likely still watching the box, he thought. He was sure his father wouldn’t like what Santa was doing. Santa said that after he had emptied his sacks for her, he was going to give her lots of other presents too, some of which Joshua hadn’t heard of before. He thought his mother must’ve been good this year, because Santa said he was sure going to give it to her- whatever “it” was. Santa bounced off the bed and disappeared out of sight. Joshua gasped, jumped up and ran to the bathroom, where he relived himself and then cautiously head back to his cosy, warm bed. His mother was still laughing as he passed her room.

Once Joshua had closed his bedroom door, he felt at some of the presents in his stocking and guessed what most of them were. Happy, he eventually fell asleep, the image of Santa at the foot of his mother’s bed the last thing to dance through his mind.

***

In the morning, after all the presents had been opened, the Christmas turkey devoured, and all the festive games argued and contested, Joshua sat crossed legged in front of the T.V with his father, playing Rally 2005 on the games consol he had asked for. His father had set it up for him whilst his mother cleared away and washed up in the kitchen.

“Yes! My fastest yet!” Joshua cried, as he crossed the finish-line in his Ford Focus.

The T.V screen was split into two sections, Joshua in the top half, his father in the bottom, where he was still struggling to control his Subaru Impreza.

Whilst his father grappled with the controls, Joshua looked up at him. “Dad?” he asked.

“Yes Josh,” his father answered, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“Santa is real,” Joshua said. “I saw him last night.”

“Of course he is,” his father answered, momentarily looking away from the screen.

His mother was now peering around the kitchen door, her head cocked to one side as she smiled in. His father looked over his shoulder and winked back at her before returning his full attention to the game.

“Dad?” Joshua asked again.

His father now had his tongue out, and he touched the tip to his top lip in total concentration. “Yes?” he said.

“Now that he has emptied his sacks for me,” Joshua began, “when will I get to stroke Santa’s big snake and spank his pet monkey?”

Only metres from the finish-line, his father crashed the Impreza into the trees, just at the same moment he heard his mother drop a glass in the kitchen.