‘Thank goodness you ate all the carrots, Rudolph and guided me around Earth. We’ve just made the final delivery, and all before the signs of that thick fog reforming.
What a night it’s been! Not as many mince pies or glasses of brandy as previous years, but at least Mrs Demurrer left out some of her homemade Christmas cookies for me again. She never fails to bake cookies for me and leave some carrots for you all despite claiming to loathe Christmas and baking.
However, those cookies tasted slightly different this year, but Mrs Demurrer never fails us, does she? Did your carrots taste the same as they usually do? No, you won’t find her on the naughty list.
Never seen a full moon quite like this one. It looks a bit mysterious like it should be shining on Halloween, not on Christmas night. But it’s always our sign that we’re on the correct route to the North Pole.
That way, boys, towards the moon, and we’ll soon be home.’
***
December 25th, 2025. 05:17
Christmas would never be the same for millions of people on Earth.
Empty stockings hang over fireplaces and at the end of beds. Floors showed fallen pine needles and broken baubles rather than gifts underneath millions of Christmas trees.
Nobody would find out that the strange moon that followed Santa’s sleigh the previous year was the type many claimed to see when they departed this world.
Looking out of her kitchen window, Mrs Demurrer switched on the kettle and looked out at the strange full moon fading away as thick fog formed around it. Chuckling to herself, she picked up the plate the Christmas cookies had been placed on the previous night and slid them into the kitchen bin. She knew this was the last Christmas she’d have to bake Christmas cookies.
December 2, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes the littlest Christmas goat. Who does the goat belong to? What is happening? Go where the prompt leads!
Have You Seen The Christmas Goat? – by Hugh W. Roberts
Many have admired the Littlest Christmas Goat. It shines as bright as the Northern Star on a dark, freezing December night.
Its sparkling eyes and inviting, warm interior help thaw out cold fingers and chilled bones. The surrounding Christmas illuminations fill the air with festivities, laughter and happy memories of Christmases’ past.
Legend says – ‘see the Littlest Christmas Goat on Christmas Eve, and all your Christmas wishes come true.’
True? Yes, but only the elf-like landlady of the Littest Christmas Goat alehouse knows the honest answer. In her world, all Christmas wishes come with a price. Your life.
***
Image credit: Charli Mills
Written for the 99-word flash fiction challenge hosted by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch. Click here to join in.
***
Enjoyed this piece of flash fiction? Then you’ll love Glimpses
Glimpses
28 short stories and pieces of flash fiction take the reader on a rollercoaster of twists and turns.
It always snowed at Christmas, and it was one thing Fiona detested.
A white Christmas was one of the remaining bits of magic the festive season had over her. This Christmas, she needed to get rid of it once and for all.
Witnessing the arrival of the angels every Christmas Eve had helped keep the magic alive. But last year the angels seemed different; different to how they had always appeared to Fiona. Last year, the first Christmas Fiona hadn’t believed in the magic, the angels had refused to show their faces to her.
“You’re too old to be hanging up Christmas stockings,” Fiona yelled at her daughters as they approached the fireplace. “And you can lay the table and cook tomorrow’s dinner if you want to celebrate. Christmas Day is now going to be like any other day. The magic of Christmas no longer exists.”
At the stroke of midnight that night, Fiona made her way out of the house. Would the angels show their face this year?
It wasn’t long before the warm globes of light appeared. The angels had come back and made their way to the only part of the garden where virgin snow lay. It hadn’t snowed for two days, yet the footprints Fiona had made in that part of the garden were no longer visible.
“You’re not real! Why don’t you show me your faces anymore? There’s no such thing as the magic of Christmas,” she shrieked, as all but one of the angels touched the undisturbed snow and melted into it. As the winter air chilled Fiona’s bones, the last angel turned around and beckoned her towards it.
Doing all she could to stop herself moving towards the creature, its ugly face made Fiona want to scream, but nothing but a silent screech came out of her mouth. She tried thinking about the magic of Christmas in the hope the creature would go away, but her body refused to stop moving. By the time she reached it, its terrifying face had melted away.
Fiona’s heart raced. Had they gone?
A noise from behind her forced her to turn around and look back at the house. Now, before her, the whole garden was full of untrodden, virgin, snow, yet it had not snowed.
As she made the first hesitant steps towards the house, Fiona’s journey abruptly stopped. From underneath the snow, a hand appeared and grabbed her ankle. Her screams went unheard as the warm hand pulled her into the world of non-believers.
Fiona’s last sight of the magical world she had once believed in was that of a stout figure, dressed in red with a long white beard, standing on the roof of the house.
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas,” laughed the figure, as the final remains of Fiona melted into the virgin snow.
Hugh's Views & News 