The Magic of Christmas

Travis’s normal routine of getting up, getting showered, dressed and heading for the betting shop was seriously disrupted. After he had ushered the two Elves and Santa John through the doorway in his bedroom, he left the house and headed for the nearest betting shop intent on a mornings sanity. While he didn’t disbelieve Santa John, he needed to satisfy himself and to find out how the Christmas magic would work when it came to his daily betting routine.

Seeing the shop in the distance he quickened his pace and arrived at the door out of breath and beginning to sweat. He stopped outside, took a deep breath and reached to push open the door and enter the shop. The door wouldn’t budge. Startled he stood back, his mind racing. Without warning it swung open, and a man he knew as a regular customer came out giving Travis a nod of recognition. Travis took his chance. The slow spring on the door prevented it from closing quickly and he made a hurried short dash to go inside before it could close on him.

As he crossed the threshold his world did cartwheels. His head spun, his feet slipped and before he could draw breath, he found himself sitting on the cold damp pavement, back outside where the magic had unceremoniously dumped him. Undeterred he resolved to try again, and gritting his teeth he got back to his feet and waited, closer to the door this time, for someone else to either enter or leave the shop. It wasn’t a long wait, the door was pulled open and Travis, not waiting for the person to completely clear the door barged his way through. This time the magic determined to teach him a harsher lesson. Instead of walking through the door, Travis barged into the man who was leaving; unfortunately, the man’s initial reaction to being knocked flat on his face was to get back to his feet, grab Travis by the collar, and punch him in the nose. This was followed with threats of a prolonged demise if he ever got in his way again, before Travis was unceremoniously picked up by his lapels, and physically thrown back out of the door to sit once more on his backside, this time with a bloody-nose and cold wet rump from a puddle in the middle of the pavement flagstones.

He needed a drink. The day was turning sour on him and it was still only eleven o’clock. He made his way to the The Rose ‘n’ Crown, and waited impatiently outside the doors for it to open at eleven thirty. Hearing the bolts slid back and the key turn in the lock, he warily pushed the door open not knowing what to expect, and was pleasantly surprised when on entering his favourite watering hole he encountered no resistance or hostility from the magic. Being the only patron there he pleasantly asked the barmaid. ‘The usual please Marge,’ he smiled. A smile that soon evaporated as the landlady placed a class of clear lemonade with ice floating on the top, on the bar in front of him. The rim was frosted with sugar and a small cocktail umbrella stood proudly in the middle of the glass held upright by the floating ice.

‘What’s that?’ he queried, horrified at the sight of the drink in front of him.

‘Your usual Trav,’ she replied. ‘Why what’s the matter?’

‘That’s lemonade,’ he said horror-struck. He sat wide-eyed on the verge of tears and abject dejection as Marge looked at him quizzically.

‘Of course it is,’ she replied with a look of concern, ‘what do you think it is? And what happened to your nose, it’s bleeding?’

‘I had an argument with a door,’ he muttered in reply staring at the vile concoction in front of him. ‘Sorry love, the bang on my head must have confused me.’

‘Nasty,’ she said concerned, ‘you need to go and see the quack Trav, a bang to the head can be dangerous.’

‘Yeah,’ he said throwing a couple of pounds on the bar, ‘Keep the change Marge, I need to see more than a quack love, I think I need a week in the loony bin. I’ll see you later,’ feeling utterly dejected he left the lemonade sitting untouched on the bar, and made his way home.

Things didn’t get any better on the way; deciding if he couldn’t drink in a bar or a pub, he would buy a few bottles of beer from the supermarket. Easy enough he reasoned, pick them up off the shelf, put them on the till and hey presto, bought, paid for, ready to drink at home. “What could be simpler,” he thought with a smile spreading across his face.

He selected a trolley with four round wheels, and went to the beer aisle, so far so good. Twelve cans of lager in a nice cardboard box caught his eye. Tentatively, waiting for the hammer blow to descend, he picked the box up and placed it in the trolley. “Easy,” he smirked to himself. In a rush of over confidence, he placed the bottles on the conveyor belt, watched the young girl ring it through the till, placed it back on the trolley and skipped out of the shop, convinced he had beaten the magic.

Taking the box out of the trolley, he hoisted it on his shoulder for ease of carrying and set of at a brisk walk singing “I’m dreaming of a cold lager, to the tune of White Christmas.”

‘Hi Travis,’ Billy, his next door neighbour greeted him as he opened his front garden gate. ‘Bloody hell mate, where did ya get them from? Are they on sale, got any spare, how much ya want for a box?’

A feeling of dread came over Travis as he looked silently at Billy’s quizzical expression. Without a word he dropped the box off his shoulder and placed it on the floor. A small tear formed in his eye, a sob escaped his lips, as he wondered how long he had walked home carrying a box emblazoned with Small, extra light, Condoms, for everyone to see.

Inside the house he went straight to his bedroom and sat moodily staring at the doorway to the Village. Rosie was still on her shopping trip and he was alone. A feeling of total dejection washed through him. His life had been turned upside down and his simple pleasures of a bet now and again, and a pint or two with his mates had been taken from him. What was worse, for the first time in his life he had a job. Not any old job he could walk out on at the drop of a hat, but one with responsibilities so far reaching the very thought terrified him. The last thing he needed was his half wit brother moaning to him, but in the best traditions of Murphy’s law, who rang the doorbell, but his Brother Peter.

‘What this about a job?’ Peter asked him after barging inside, and through to the kitchen where he stood waiting for a cup of tea. ’Rosie said you were a trainee “halogen light bulb”, whatever that is, and when I asked her where you worked, she said, it was in “A Chocolate Hot Air Balloon.” Come on Trav, what’s all the stupid names about?’

‘Peter I can’t tell you, I only wish I could,’ Travis replied dejectedly. ’Lets just say what I do is against “Sherbet Lemon Drops” (The Christmas Magic). Peter I can’t tell you and its a waste of time asking because I can’t even lie about it.’

‘Sherbet Lemon Drops?’ Peter replied, ‘What in the name of all that’s holy are you going on about? This is the same rubbish Rosie was spouting. Geeze Trav, anyone would think you’d joined the S.A.S, come on mate, I’m your brother, if you can’t tell me, who can you tell?’

‘That just it Pete, I can’t tell anyone. When I try all that comes out of my mouth is rubbish that no one understands. Just think of the most stupidest job in the world and that’s probably me.’

‘But why can’t you tell anyone, it doesn’t make any sense?’

‘Nothing makes sense where this job is concerned,’ Travis replied. ’I’ll try once more to answer your questions, you’ll see what I mean. One, What is my job? Answer I am “The Halogen Light-bulb” Two, why can’t I tell you. Answer, because “Fat Gorilla’s are singing” (Christmas Magic), won’t let me; and believe me mate that’s about the best answer you’re gonna get, so for Gods sake just leave it be before we have a fight about it.’

‘OK, but I don’t know why I should,’ Peter replied sounding suitably aggrieved, ‘if you don’t trust me, you don’t trust me. I’ll stay out of it, just as well me mother isn’t here to see this is all I can say.’

‘Peter!’ Travis rounded on him totally exasperated with him and the situation. ‘Believe me mate if I could tell you I would, but I can’t,’ is as far as he got before a flash of inspiration crossed his numbing mind. ‘What do I normally do of a day?’

‘I dunno, have a bet and a few pints, why?’ Peter replied taken aback by Travis’s angry tone.

‘Then come with me for a pint while I put a bet on,’ Travis snapped, ‘tell me I don’t trust you then.’

’The usual for him,’Peter said to the barmaid pointing with his thumb at Travis, ‘and a pint of bitter for me,’ In under thirty seconds a foaming pint of bitter, and a pint of white lemonade, topped with floating ice, a slice of lemon, sugared rim and a paper umbrella usually reserved for cocktails, was placed on the bar in front of Peter. Travis picked up the offensive concoction, held it up to the light and asked sarcastically.

‘You don’t think this is a teeny bit on the pale side for Guinness?’

‘No, it looks OK to me,’ Peter replied after giving the drink a tentative once over look.

‘Yeah,’ Travis sneered, ‘When was the last time you saw a bloody umbrella in a pint of Guinness? Or ice floating on the top of it.’

‘Are you OK Trav?’ Peter replied with a more concerned look on his face, ‘I don’t know what you’re on about mate; you always have an umbrella in your drink, everyone knows that. Trav, this job you say you can’t talk about, it’s not dangerous is it? It sounds as if you’re working with fumes or something, making you see things.’

‘Peter!’ Travis snapped in frustration, ‘I’m not on drugs, I’m not seeing things, I’m not in danger, I just can’t tell you what it is, or why I can’t tell you. Honestly mate if I could tell you I would, but I can’t so will you leave it at that?’

‘I’ll leave it,’ Peter responded sullenly, ‘but I think you don’t trust me, probably scared I’ll pinch it off you.’

‘OK, we’ll do this one more time,’ Travis growled peeling the back off a beer mat. Taking a pen out of his pocket he wrote “Welsh Warrior” on the mat, plucked a Ten pound note out of his pocket and handing both to his brother said ‘Go next door to the bookies, put this tenner on that horse and bring the slip back to me.’

Five minutes later Peter was back and handing Travis the betting slip, he sat down next to him.

‘What was the name of the horse,’ Travis asked him without looking at the slip.

‘Welsh Warrior.’ Peter replied.

‘Read the slip,’ Travis said handing it back to him, ‘Out loud so I can hear it.’

‘Fluffy Rabbit Ears,’ Peter replied looking at the slip. ‘Just like I told you.’

‘I wrote Welsh Warrior down, so why did you bet on Fluffy Rabbit Ears?’ Travis asked patently.

‘Cos you wrote Fluffy Rabbit Ears,’ Peter replied, pushing the beer mat over while wondering what the hell Travis was talking about.

Travis had just about had enough for the day and leaving his brother thinking he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he went home and lay down on his bed, It was there, while he was alone feeling sorry for himself that the Magic of Christmas began to work on him. He knew it was the magic as his dejection dispersed accompanied by the sound of bells chiming somewhere in the distance.

He felt his spirit lifted, and for the first time in two days, a smile crossed his sullen features as the spirit of goodwill engulfed him, and all thoughts of betting shops and public houses left his head. He touched his nose and felt elated when he felt no pain. He looked in the mirror and except for spots of blood on his shirt; there was no sign of his fracas outside the betting shop. No swelling around the eyes, just perfectly healthy pink skin stared back at him on a pleasant smiling face that with a start he recognised as his own.

He was dumbfounded. He liked this feeling washing through him and he liked his new appearance. Gone was the sullen, ashen-faced, near to middle age individual that up to now was Travis McGee. Instead, a happy jovial manifestation looked back at him from the mirror, and the more he looked the more he smiled, and the more he smiled, the more the feelings of euphoria flooding his mind grew.

A little bewildered at the sudden upturn in his mental state, he made his mind up to go through the door to the Village, a new determination growing in him to learn about his new standing in the world. He opened the door, the same cheery fire blazed merrily away and without noting anything else, he strode through the bedroom, through the living room and left his apartment in the Village to look down on a huge vista of scurrying Elves. Sandea came running up to him fixing her hair as she did so, arriving breathless and with a good amount of dirt streaked across her face and arms.

‘Afternoon Santa,’ she smiled ‘Dinner won’t be ready for another four hours yet, can I get you something else to eat?’

‘No thanks Sandea, but thank you for asking,’ Travis replied with a huge smile, ‘just point me in the direction of Santa John and the Chief Elf.’

‘Erm, I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘But I remember Santa John once telling my mother that if he ever wanted the Chief all he had to do was think about it, and he either went to him or the Chief would come to Santa John.’

‘Thanks Sandea,’ Travis replied with a grin that threatened to split his face in two. He thought of the Chief Elf and the magic whisked him through the sprawling complex to appear in a cloud of dust inside the Chief Elf’s office. ‘Hello Chiefy,’ Travis smiled relishing this new way of travel.

‘Oh hello,’ the Chief replied sourly.

‘Cheer up,’ Travis beamed at him. ‘It’s a new day, the sun is shining and all is well with the world.’

‘Ah,’ the Chief smiled back. It was the first smile Travis had seen on the Elf’s face. ‘I see the magic has begun to work on you and about time too. You have been the most disagreeable, obnoxious and the downright laziest Santa I have ever had the pleasure of working with.’

‘I loved you too when we first met,’ Travis replied with a smile, ‘I particularly liked the Christmas tree stuck on your head,’

‘The less said about that incident the better,’ he replied huffily. ‘I take it you are not here to gossip, is there anything I can do for you?’

‘Nothing in particular Chief,’ Travis replied, smiling at the miserable Elf. ‘I thought it such a nice day, I would try and get my bearings around here.’

‘Then I think it best if you went and spoke to Santa John,’ Oswald replied with his usual scowl, or was it a frown? It was hard to read the diminutive Elf’s facial expression, his skin tones constantly fluctuated between the palest of greens to a sickly looking leaf green depending on his mood. ‘He will be able to explain the problems we have with the magic better than me.’

‘What problems,’ Travis asked?

‘As I said Santa John knows more than me.’

Travis found Santa John packing books and odds and sods collected over his 200 years reign as Santa, in an assortment of boxes and packages,

‘Oh just the man,’ John said when Travis had finished materialising out of a cloud of dust. ‘Please Santa, can you give me a little magic to help with this infernal packing?’

‘Done,’ Travis smiled in reply, ‘and talking of magic, Oswald said we had a problem with it.’

‘We do,’ Santa John answered, ‘but I think it best if I explain things over a nice hot chocolate drink, and maybe a slice of home made fruit cake.’

‘Please,’ Travis said as they sat back in Johns apartment eating a wedge of fruit cake that was big enough to feed the 5,000, ‘What’s wrong with the magic, the suspense is killing me?’

‘Put simply,’ John replied spraying fruit cake in all directions as he spoke. ‘We are running out, or more precisely will run out in about ten years time unless we can reverse the situation.’

‘Sorry John, I don’t understand,’ Travis said screwing his face up as he spoke. ‘Why is it running out and what can be done to reverse it, more importantly, why hasn’t something been done before now?’

‘Fifty years ago,’ Santa John explained, ‘children reached between seven or eight years of age before they stopped believing in Santa Claus; last year that age had dropped from between five and a half and six. It seems as soon as they go to infant or pre school, they are laughed at for believing in us, and stop believing altogether; we don’t know what to do about it.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Travis asked.

‘The magic is dependant on the number of kids who not only believe in us, but post a letter off to Santa with a Christmas wish. We are currently running on critical levels of magic, if the age drops below four, the magic will not regenerate, and this place will not only no longer function, but in all probability cease to exist. Mankind will still celebrate Christmas, but only on a commercial level, the season of goodwill to all men will not happen if Christmas disappears. I give us about ten years before we reach critical.’

‘Wow,’ Travis muttered, ‘Why hasn’t something been done before now? Surely someone must have seen this coming and at least tried to fix it.’

‘What can we do?’ John asked. ‘Our hands are tied by the very magic we are trying to protect. We cant tell anyone who we are, the magic stops us, believe me Travis I’ve tried all I can think of to reverse the trend…’

‘And the very magic we depend on stops us from spreading the word about ourselves.’ Travis finished for him.

‘Yes,’ John replied simply, shrugging his shoulders as he did so. ‘Thankfully I will be out of it, and I’m sorry Travis but this burden falls on you to try and resolve. Use the magic Travis. See the efforts we’ve made in the past and see if you can think of something to stop the rot.’

‘Hmmm..,’ Travis mused. ‘I’ll put my mind to it when I get my feet under the table and know a bit more about what I’m supposed to do around here.’

‘Until the beginning of June, not a lot,’ John said with a slow smile. ‘Unless of course, you want to learn how to fly and handle the reindeer; if memory serves me right Travis, you said you had a fear of flying?’

‘It’s not the flying I’m scared of,’ Travis frowned, ‘But falling.’

‘Ha,’ John laughed, ‘you are Santa Claus; you can’t fall because the magic you use to fly, prevents you from falling. Even if the magic ran out while you are in mid-air, the reindeer will bring you to a safe landing. No, what you should learn is how to use the magic to collect and distribute the presents while you’re flying. Otherwise, you will end up giving all the girl’s boy’s toys, and vice versa, or, distributing presents made for France in to Germany. You also have to understand the way the gift list works and what child gets what present. The magic can only do so much, it’s up to you to make sure each child gets the gift they wanted, or have asked for.’

‘Sounds complicated,’ Travis mumbled.

‘Not really,’ John smiled. ‘The Elves, fairies, and sprites do all the hard work. If you listen to them you will do alright, and talking of which, I think it’s time I took you out and introduced you to everyone.’

Klaxons sounded throughout the complex making Travis jump. The lights began to flash and Travis thought he heard the sound of thunder as thousands of feet began running through the village. Before Travis knew it, John used the magic Travis gave him, and with the miracle of it coursing through him, Travis found himself standing on a huge balcony overlooking the vast main hall of the Village. Rosie, with a look of crazed astonishment on her face, materialised next to him. To either side of the new Santa and his wife stood Santa John and the Chief Elf, behind John, a small woman stood with tears in her eyes. Travis knew instinctively she was John’s wife. Below and in front, thousands of tiny Elf faces looked up expectantly while thousands of fairies and sprites flew in circles.

Travis was amazed. Elves, Fairies, and Sprites; all creatures from legend and folklore gathered together in one place to meet him. He was the new Santa Claus, a fabled being from the depths of Humanities history, and thousands of faces looked at him, hundreds of thousands tiny wings beat in a rhythmic dance as they gathered to pay homage to him It was a scene that if it were not happening to him, Travis would have had trouble believing. The thought did cross his mind that what he saw and experienced was nothing more than a figment of his imagination while he was under the influence of an alcohol-induced illusion.

A Fairy no bigger than two inches tall landed on the balcony rail to stand to the right of him, while a translucent Sprite no bigger than the Fairy landed on the rail to his left between him and Santa John.

‘Friends,’ John bellowed, his voice echoing in the confines of the hall as the Elves came to a hushed silence as he spoke. As the silence fell, the flying Fairies and Sprites landed softly among them selecting the shoulders of the diminutive Elves as perches. ‘Today,’ John said in a quieter voice now that silence reigned through the hall, ‘it is with great sorrow that I relinquish my role as Santa, and hand the mantle over to my successor, Santa Travis.’ The applause began to ripple through the crowd to which John held his hands up asking for quiet before it could swell. ‘This moment comes to all Santa’s. It is one of sorrow for all of us as we say goodbye to friends we have made over the last 200 years, but I offer a welcome to Santa Travis, and hope that he will allow us to visit you from time to time. That hope we also extend to you all, to visit us in our retirement home in Florida. You will be most welcome, all of you.’ The applause this time could not be contained as John and his wife began to hug each other.

Travis was rooted to the spot. The sound of the applause grew and was magnified by the thousands of Fairies and Sprites once more taking flight, seeming to dance in the air. Travis could even hear their tiny wings as they began to make an audible hum that grew as loud as the continuing applause. John and his wife parted but continued to hold each others hand as they faced the crowd; she with tears running unashamedly down her face while he raised his free hand and asked for silence once more. Slowly the applause grew fainter and the Fairies and Sprites settled once more on Elven shoulders.

‘I give you Santa Travis,’ John said, taking Travis by surprise and off guard. John stood back and ushered Travis forward as a small ripple of polite applause went through the crowd below. ‘Just say a few words Travis,’ John muttered as he pulled a reluctant Travis forward.

‘It’s obvious,’ Travis began haltingly after a moment of panic induced hesitation, ‘that you hold Santa John in high esteem and with great affection. It is my hope, that I too can gain your affection and trust in the same way he and his lovely wife have done.’ So saying, Travis, stepped back allowing a small ripple of applause to pulsate through the gathering.

The Chief Elf stepped forward and holding his hands up for quiet. ‘Friends,’ he smiled. ‘Today is both a sad day and one for celebration as we lose one Santa and gain another. I declare today and tomorrow a holiday; no work, go and enjoy yourselves as Santa Travis finds his feet here among us.’

‘Get us out of here Travis,’ Santa John said quickly, ‘before we’re swamped by elves, sprites and fairies asking stupid questions.’