1123 Candy Cane Lane (Cherry Falls)

“Well then!” I proclaim and hand him a candy cane. He continues squirming. So much for extra leg time at the gym tomorrow. “Here you go, and I’ll check my list! My elves love making XBoxes!” He leaps off and I breathe out in relief as he runs back to his mother, who is giving me a death stare.

I feel like I’m settling into the role when suddenly O’Malley takes off. Dashing away from the fest, leaping over the road blockers set up and sniffing his way into the forest. It took everything in me not to dump the little girl wishing for a pony in my lap to the ground so I could catch him. I waited till she was done and took off running.

“O’Malley!” I shout over and over as I leap over the road blockers and dash into the woods. The forest is dark, dead leaves crunching under my black boots as I run, puffing in the cold air. I had to stop at least three times in five minutes because of my fake beard getting tangled in low, thin tree branches.

“God dammit, Santa! Would a shave kill you every once in a while?” I grumble.

As I stood untangling white strands of beard from a branch, I look up and gasp in horror.

“O’Malley!” I shout as I frantically twist the cheap white twine in my fingers. “LEAVE MRS. CLAUS ALONE!”

The birds of the forest scatter into the air with the gunshot of my shout, but O’Malley went on like nothing was amiss…

2

Two - Holly

“O’Malley! NO!” I hear him before I see him. The biggest Santa imaginable barreling through mountains of fake snow in pursuit of a golden retriever in antlers. He was incredibly graceful despite his size, leaping over the road blocks and disappearing into the nearby woods. The children waiting in line to sit on Santa’s lap looked back and forth at each other in confusion. The teenage elf turned up the radio playing smooth holiday jazz and pulling her phone out of her pocket.

I walk to one of the vendors in the food and drink tent for a large hot chocolate, extra marshmallows please. Trixie, my faithful beagle and begrudging Mrs. Claus had been trying to wiggle out of her tutu since we first left the house. I became a little too lax with the leash as I sipped my fresh cocoa, and suddenly Trixie was off and barking.

I nearly spit out my cocoa as I hand the cup back to the vendor and take off after her.

OUCH!

I trip over a rotting tree stump, falling face first into the cold dirt. The earth is littered with pine needles which sting like hell, and dead leaves that crunch as I face plant in them. At least I hope it was the leaves and not my ankles. I stood up, brushed the nettles and dirt off my puffer vest, and took a few deep breaths. The sky was dark, no Christmas lights to guide me the nearer I get to the wooded tree line. I shut my eyes and listen. The wind carries the sound of faint panting, I followed it closely, carefully. I kept my eyes peeled for Trixie while still watching the ground, avoiding tree stumps or logs trying to stop me on my way.

The panting becomes louder, too loud. It couldn’t be just Trixie. Oh no, what if some wild animal found her before I did? I’d never forgive myse—

“GET OFF OF HER!” Turns out I was right, Trixie wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t a wild animal like I feared, though maybe that would be better. A golden retriever in reindeer antlers was on top of Trixie, smiling as he vigorously humped her.

“YOU ARE A REINDEER!” I scolded the golden retriever to no avail. “SHE IS MRS. CLAUS YOU ARE NOT SANTA!” He went on thrusting as if nothing was wrong. “TRIXIE WHY AREN’T YOU TRYING TO GET OUT FROM UNDER HIM? YOU AREN’T SPAYED YET YOU KNOW THAT!” But Trixie stayed right under him.

“O’Malley! That’s enough for one night. You haven’t even bought the poor pup dinner!” I recognized that voice. It was the same powerful voice that came from the ginormous Santa. And suddenly there he was. He must’ve been six-and-a-half feet tall, with piercing blue eyes and a wiry, knotted fake beard littered with twigs and nettles.

Without a word to me, he went and wrestled the golden retriever off Trixie. I ran to hook her leash around my wrist before that other dog could make another move.

“Are they gonna make puppies?” Santa and I turned in the direction of the voice in sync. A small boy with freckles and taped glasses stood there, giggling.

“Isn’t your mom worried about you? How did you get here?” I asked. But Santa seemed quite amused himself.