This story was first included with Christmas cards to family and friends and then published for Written Tales Chapbooks in 2022. A chimney becomes a portal to fantasy in this Christmas adventure. Enjoy!
By Jon Moray
It was at the end of October when Grant fell victim to company budget cuts and was laid off from his job as an electrician. He came home and broke the sobering news to his wife with a heavy heart and flowing tears.
She stroked his hair and reassured him everything would be alright.
“I worked so hard so we could finally take our first family, wintry white, Christmas trip. You know, the Christmas for our son that I never had as a kid? How are we going to tell him we won‘t be able to make it?”
Grant and his wife Judy had made travel plans to ditch the Florida warmth for the Tennessee mountains during the holidays so their son could experience snow for the first time.
“He will understand. As long as we are together is all that counts,” she said, softly.
Grant struggled with a fog of low self worth through Thanksgiving at the in-laws house and that uneasy feeling of economic uncertainty lasted into the Christmas season. Modest decorations were put up around their humble three-bedroom ranch home. Grant robotically helped his elderly neighbors with their yuletide adornments as he does every year, but with far less enthusiasm this time.
Christmas Eve had arrived and his idleness overwhelmed him enough not wanting to take part in any festivities. His wife and son were baking cookies in the kitchen, while he reclined on the sofa, reflecting on heartbreaking setbacks from the past until he spiraled into a nap.
“Dad, look at the fireplace. It looks like snow,” called out his son.
Grant quickly shook off disorientation, squinted at the fireplace and saw what looked like snowflakes showering down from the chimney.
“Snow? In Central Florida?” he muttered, ran towards the front door, and went outside to find a clear sky, full of stars, and not a trace of any white precipitation.
“Grant!” screamed his wife. “Jimmy is climbing up the chimney. Grant rushed inside toward the fireplace, looked up inside, and was met with snow pelting his face. His son was no where to be found.
“Where did the rope come from?” Judy stammered.
“I don’t know but we have to go after him.”
Grant was the first to scale the rope ladder up to the chimney parapet, followed by his wife.
Grant’s arms hung over the parapet as he gawked in awe at the sight. Instead of the neighbor’s rooftops, his eyes were treated to a wintry snowcape that mimicked many a Season’s Greetings card. Ice crystals fell carelessly to the ground and covered the earth as far as he could see. He scanned the snow littered evergreens with half-toned, periwinkle shaded mountains providing a picturesque backdrop.
“Honey, you are never going to believe this. You just have to see for yourself.“ He spied an off-white twinkling light in the distance, and climbed out to investigate. He gingerly stepped over the parapet and to his surprise his feet were met with solid ground. He extended his hands out to help his wife. The air was cold, but comfortable, even in their Florida sweater winter attire.
After volleys of passionate exchanges debating their sanity, Judy redirected the focus back to their son. They followed Jimmy’s shoe prints that disturbed the virgin snow, as the twinkling light grew brighter and appeared to be coming from a village. As they neared, they saw a gleaming star that out shown the moon at top of a tall Christmas evergreen tree towering over steep, sloped buildings. The tree was covered with blinking, colorful, vintage, glass reflector ornaments of all shapes and sizes that seemed to light and rotate at set intervals.
As they closed in on the village, they saw Jimmy at the top of a hill positioning himself for a ride on a sled, while other kids were all to eager to give him a push.
“Ready or not, here I come,” Jimmy shouted, as he whisked off.
Grant mimicked his son’s twists and turns with body swaying of his own and also matched his youthful laughter. Judy sensed his enthusiasm and playfully nudged him to give it a try. Her bouncing eyebrows was enough for him to take her up on the offer. Jimmy brought the sled to a stop as Grant rushed toward him.
“Could this be real? How is this possible?” Grant asked anxiously.
“Why question, Dad? Let’s enjoy our time together,” Jimmy said, with sparkling eyes. Grant smiled and quickly dragged the sled up the hill. He mounted the cherry, red sled, belly down, massaged the wooden, longhorn handles, and pushed off. He followed Jimmy‘s path, full of merriment with each turn until it came to a unwelcome stop. He remained on the sled, lost in glee, until a snowball to his back broke his euphoric trance.
“Let’s build that snowman we’ve always talked about, Dad” called Jimmy.
“You bet. Let me show you how to start off,” he said, as he knelt down and scooped up a handful of snow to form a ball. Jimmy matched his dad’s approach and began rolling another snowball to make the upper torso. His wife joined the party by announcing she would construct the head. They playfully finished rolling, lifting, and constructing the snowman that when completed, stood about five feet tall.
“It’s missing the face and arms,” Jimmy said, head atilt.
“I can help with that,” a man’s booming voice announced, theatrically.
It was Santa, bearing snowman features in the form of a carrot, several buttons and two thin tree limbs. “Mind if I provide the trimmings?”
“Yes, Santa. How is all this happening?” Grant asked, with arms spanning the winter wonderland.
“Why question? Enjoy, my good man,” Santa replied, with a broad smile flanked by rosy cheeks. Santa rationed out items, donated his mitts for the cause, curled up his bicycle mustache and headed toward the village. They finished the trimmings and surveyed their handiwork.
“Not exactly Frosty, but not bad for the first family snowman,” Grant observed, with arms around his family.
They walked hand-in-hand toward the village with Grant nestled between singing ‘White Christmas’ as they approached the town festooned with multicolored lights running along red, ribbon wrapped poles along the path.
Gradually, they heard the unforgettable voice of Nat King Cole crooning ‘The Christmas Song’ that streamed out of a brass bugle, mounted under the eave of a dark, cedar-sided building. The song reminded Grant that as a kid, he would think that every tune he heard on the radio was actually done live by the artist at the radio station.
They continued on, passing a bakery that featured an assortment of cakes, treats and various arrays of other guilty pleasures tempting folks in the ice glazed window display. They then strolled by a toy shop with a brick façade, with vintage toys from wind-up robots to silver zeppelins hanging from the ceiling visible in the garland lined storefront. The shops were lit inside but it seemed as if everyone was outside enjoying the winter weather generously provided by Mother Nature.
They ventured along, following a roundabout toward an arched entry to a Gothic styled church where many people gathered outside. As they crept closer, a trio of carolers dressed in Victorian garb began singing ‘Hark, The Herald Angels Sing.’ The carol was Grant’s favorite, evident of his smile that mimicked a crescent moon. They thoroughly enjoyed the serenade while they spied several kids on their backs making angels in the snow.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Judy, girlishly.
Grant and Jimmy quickly nodded and the family collectively dove to the white terrain. They frantically waved their arms, dusting up snow until they were distracted by Santa, navigating his sleigh and gliding down a hill between the Christmas tree and the church. He was toting screaming children with hands up as if on a roller coaster ride. Santa stopped just short of the towering decorated conifer and helped each child off of the ride. Santa turned his attention toward Grant’s family and motioned them over.
“How would you like to take a ride on my sleigh?”
“We would love to,” Jimmy answered, as he climbed up and sat beside Saint Nick, while Grant and his wife sat on the bench behind them.
Santa pulled the reins and the sleigh was off. Kids and carolers waved as they traveled around the village. Santa circled around the tree one last time and traversed back toward the chimney. Laughs and giggles filled the air as they made their approach.
“Thank you, Santa,” sang Judy and Jimmy, as they hopped off the sleigh.
“Thank you, Santa for a wonderful Christmas gift. My son will cherish this for the rest of his life,” Grant proclaimed, with awestruck wonder.
“I have no doubt. What about you, Grant?”
“What about me?”
Santa laughed under his breath, amused, but not surprised by his answer.
‘You mean…?
“Grant, you’ve had a tough life. From being abandoned, to bouncing around orphanages, to roadblocks in your adult life including losing your job recently. You never told anyone about your early misfortunes, but I knew. Through it all you never let others down. You always managed to consider others. That’s a wonderful quality.”
“You mean this was all for me?”
“Santa and this winter wonderland is not just for kids. The spirit of Christmas lies in all of us, young and old.”
Grant beamed, teary eyed, as Santa gave him gentle pat on his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas, Grant.”
Moray Writes 