Believer

Foreword: I do not, nor have I ever believed in Santa Claus. As a Christian, I hold my firm belief that Christmas is about Jesus' birth, and nothing else. That being said, this is just a little bit of fiction I had the idea of writing. Feel free to critique and review :)

My story opens on a scene so cliché that you will probably roll your eyes. A Christmas tree with branches so full of ornaments, it's a wonder that it hasn't fallen yet. The proverbial stockings hung on the proverbial mantle. A hot fire crackling in the hearth. And of course, a plate of cookies with a glass of milk placed prominently in the middle of the room on a small table. Christmas again...

There had originally been five cookies. Then Father ate one, Mother ate one, and I was also allowed to have one. Father said Santa was very fat, so only two cookies left for him would be more than enough.

At the most intelligent age of ten, I was on the very brink of non-belief when it came to that ancient and supposedly "jolly" man who sneaks into people's homes on Christmas Eve and allegedly leaves presents for everyone in the household. And so here I was, teetering above the abyss on a cliff of indecision. Do I believe? Or do I dare write him off as "unreal"?

Every year since I was five, when I first really understood the story of Santa Claus, I laid traps and took measures to catch him like no other child has ever done. My cousin Andrew swore that there was "no such thing as Santa Claus", and I had believed him for a short time. But then Father told me that Andrew's name was a usual on Santa's "Naughty List", and I began believing again.

At six, my mother allowed me to leave baby powder on the stone hearth; if the powder had been disturbed in the morning, I would know that someone had been there. At seven I had tied Christmas bells all around the bottom of the tree. Mother thought I was just adding decorations, but I knew that if I heard the bells during the night, then I would have time to run down to catch the fat man in the red suit as he laid gifts underneath the tree. On my eighth Christmas, we stayed at my grandmother's. I was sleeping in the guest room near her living room, so when everyone else went to bed, I took my pillow and blanket and laid down in the doorway where I could see the Christmas tree. Unfortunately, I fell asleep before midnight and never got a chance to see anything... or anyone.

Last Christmas, I left a note asking Santa to please let me know if he really did exist. Of course, I didn't get an answer. And yet, every Christmas morning there were always gifts beneath the tree, where there hadn't been any the night before.

I had asked Mother one year how Santa could possibly get down the chimney if we had a fire in the hearth, or what would happen if a home didn't have a fireplace at all. Her only answer was that Santa knew where the spare key was. I have my doubts about that as well.

And so, five years after my quest began, here I sat. My parents had mentioned the night before about sitting me down for a special "talk" after dinner. Scared that they had found out about my "chewed gum" collection, I threw the whole thing out. As it turns out, they only wanted to let me know that I was big enough to stay up 'til twelve this year, if I still wanted to try to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus. I calmly accepted, but inside I was reeling. Even though I was so close to non-belief, I still wanted just one more chance to prove that Santa was real.

The clock was ticking so very slowly. Eleven forty-one. Eleven forty-two. Eleven forty-three. My head drooped so low that I knew I was in danger of nodding off. Standing up, I stretched as tall as I could make myself, then did three laps around the living room before sitting down again. It didn't help much.

I began to stare at the plate with two cookies in it, imagining if maybe I could sneak one without it mattering much. I thought about the years before, when we hadn't left any cookies out at all, and I wondered that if Santa really did exist, if he'd been upset.

Suddenly, I could hear a soft shuffling sound. Instantly alert, I sat up, and identified that the sound was coming from the chimney. The fire in the hearth had faded out except for a few coals. Deciding that it was too good to be true, I stepped over to the fire to see if I could figure out what the noise was.

I had no sooner leaned down to peer up the chimney than I was bowled over by an enormous bundle of--- something. Containing my scream, I pushed the "something" off of me. Sitting up, I came nose to nose with a scrawny red-headed boy, no older than my cousin Jake, who was about twenty.

Of course, my jaw-dropped. But he was just as stunned as I was. Taking in the situation, both of us flat on our butts, I noticed that he was wearing red t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a white pair of Nikes. No coat or anything. Coming to the conclusion that the universe had just went insane, I stood up and brushed myself off.

"Can I ask who you are and what you're doing in my living room?" I asked as quietly as I could. The last thing I needed was my parents to wake up.

"I-- I-- Well I was just--" he stuttered. He stood up slowly, with a strange look on his face; a mixture of aggravation and regret. I folded my arms and waited patiently, and when he could see that I wasn't going anywhere, he set his jaw and answered. "My name is NiKlaus. You would know me as Santa Claus". And you are up way past your bedtime, Anna."

My jaw dropped again. "First of all, you are NOT Santa Claus. Second of all, how do you know my name?" I demanded.

A smirk then came over his face. "I know you're name, because you're on my "Nice List". And yes, I am Santa Claus. See for yourself." He gestured to the "something" that had fallen on me, and for the first time I got a good look at it. A large black bag lay on the floor with two or three items protruding from the top. With shock, I realized the items where presents.

"Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way," NiKlaus began. Returning my full attention to him, I waited cautiously for what he would say. "You've found me out, you've won. I wasn't as careful as I usually am because I had assumed you'd given up. I didn't appreciate all the traps you pulled on me the past few years, either, by the way." His face turned stern. "I almost let your name go to the "Naughty List" just for that." I dropped my eyes, too shocked to be indignant.

"So now," he continued, "you're going to go upstairs, go to sleep, and forget all about all of this. Understand?"

Not to be outdone, I lifted my head and looked him in the eyes. "On one condition," I said, my chin stuck out.

"What?" he said suspiciously.

"I'll go to bed, and never tell anyone about any of this, never leave anymore traps for you, and I'll be as nice as pie all year long if you'll just answer a question for me," I said.

"And what would that be," he asked.

"If you're Santa Claus, why are you so young? And why are you wearing that," I asked, pointing at his outfit.

"For one thing," he said disdainfully, "that would be two questions. This outfit is because the regular suit is very itchy-"

"But don't you get cold?" I asked before he could go on. "You don't have a coat on or anything!"

"I don't get cold," he said matter-of-factly. "Now stop asking more questions!"

"Fine, just tell me why you're so young," I said hatefully.

"I am Santa Claus," he said as if the answer was obvious. "If I'm going to have to do this job forever, why should I be old? Why shouldn't I be young?"

Nodding my agreement at his point, I took a step back, unsure what to do next. "You're stubborn," he noted. "Just as well, I'll take care of this myself." And with a clap of his hands, I felt myself fall backwards, immediately falling into the dark arms of sleep...

My eyes popped open. Sitting straight up on the couch, I replayed the events of the dream in my head, rolling my eyes at myself for the craziness of it all. NiKlaus? What kind of name is that? And Nike shoes? I shook my head and glanced at the clock. Twelve twenty. I instantly grew angry at myself for falling asleep.

I noticed that the fire was still going strong, unlike my dream. Looking at the tree, I saw a pile of presents underneath. Perfect. My parents knew I would fall asleep, no doubt waiting until I nodded off before putting out the presents. I would have to let them know that they weren't fooling me.

Rising from the couch, I resigned myself to my disappointment and my newly-firm non-belief, and headed out to the hall. Remembering the cookies, I quickly decided that maybe the whole ordeal wasn't a total loss, and turned around.

As I approached the cookie plate, my heart did a funny flip-flop. Only one cookie lay on the plate. Just as I was about to mentally accuse my father, I saw a small note lying next to the plate. Picking it up, I unfolded it and read:
Thanks for the cookies, Anna. Don't forget your promise about the traps!"
~N

In total shock, I read the note three or four more times. When I was finally able to move, I quickly tossed the note into the fire, ridding myself of the unbelievable evidence. Turning back to the tree, I stared at the mound of presents that waited for me... And I grinned.

With a new hop in my step, I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs, no longer worried about the truth behind an age-old mystery...

...I guess that makes me a believer...