Maruno
Lead Dev of Pokémon Essentials
- 5,008
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- 17
- Years
- Seen May 3, 2024
This story won first place in the Winter Writing Competition 2013. The prompt was "Christmas".
This is the first thing I've written in quite some time. I'm definitely rusty, and I wouldn't say I was brilliant even back when I was writing more. I'm very pleased it did as well as it did. Enjoy!
The Spirit of Christmas
By Maruno
In the candlelit living room of his old, small cottage, Jonathan sat and contemplated the scene in front of him. Tinsel was strung up along the wooden beams in the ceiling, and around the doorframe leading to the kitchen, punctuated occasionally by giant snowflakes and icicle ornaments. A holly wreath was pinned to the wall above the television, filled with deep red berries and a faint smell of the cold outdoors. Flashing lights outlined the large window which looked out upon the snow-covered lawn. A sprig of mistletoe hung beneath the archway leading to the entrance hall.
The main feature of the room was undoubtedly the tree. It was the perfect Christmas tree, strung with lights and baubles and tinsel so expertly that any department store seasonal decorator would eat their red hat in jealousy. The star perched on the tip positively gleamed in the flickering light. Below the branches, boxes of various sizes were wrapped in colourful paper and tied up with ribbons, ceaselessly tempting anyone who dared to glance at them.
Jonathan didn't like it. None of this had been here yesterday.
He drummed his fingers on the side of his favourite armchair, frowning in thought, before picking up a remote control and turning on the news.
"-ike these greeted hundreds of households across the country this morning," spoke a grim-sounding voice, while pictures of idyllic seasonally-decorated homes paraded across the screen. "But these expertly decorated homes all have one thing in common: no one knows who decorated them."
The slideshow was replaced by a family of three being interviewed. "We weren't going to put the decorations up until the weekend," said the father. "When I got up this morning, I found this. I thought it might have been some kind of practical joke, but then I heard that the same thing's happened to other people too. I don't know what's going on."
Jonathan turned his attention back to his room, eyeing it even more suspiciously than before. He stood up, walked over to the tree and nudged one of the presents with his foot. It felt empty.
"...in the studio now by Professor..." the television was saying, but Jonathan wasn't listening to it. Instead, he was poking and prodding at the decorations, as if to see how they would react. The baubles made a deep thudding sound, as if tapping on a window. The tinsel crinkled like newspaper. The tree's pine needles were as hard and inflexible as metal. This scene certainly looked the epitome of Christmas, but it didn't feel like it.
"...appears to be no pattern or common feature to this hoax," the professor was saying. "Reported cases are in urban and rural areas alike, all across the country."
"This was clearly a large-scale hoax," interrupted the news reporter. "There must have been dozens of groups of people all working together."
"Yes, certainly," the professor replied. "These people likely met on a social media website, much like..."
Jonathan had seen enough of the living room now to decide he wasn't having any of it. This was his house, and these weren't his decorations. There was no place for them here.
He proceeded to pull them all down. Tackling the metallic tree with its hundreds of sharp needles was the toughest part, but in the end he managed to trample it down by stomping on it with a welcome mat, before heaving it outside to the street next to the rest of the decorations.
The task complete, he headed straight for the kitchen to put the kettle on, and then examined the various scratches on his hands and arms caused by the tree. None were that serious, but the cold outdoors made them sting quite sharply. He made a cup of tea, took it and a biscuit into the living room, and nearly dropped them both in shock.
It was all back. All of it. The twinkling lights, the glittering ornaments, the ominous presence of the tree. It was all perfect, as though he had never touched any of it.
Jonathan stomped over to the window and looked outside, only to find an empty spot where he had dumped the decorations just five minutes earlier. He spun back round and glared incredulously at the room. And, in some strange and unnerving way, he could almost imagine that it was staring back at him.
He looked down at his hands. Tea had splashed over them, but the multitude of scratches were still there. He had taken everything down and thrown them outside. He had mangled the tree into a more manageable shape, and yet now it wasn't showing any signs of it.
The thought dawned on him that this couldn't have been done by people. There just hadn't been time for them to redecorate, and he hadn't heard any movement while he was brewing up. A chill ran down his spine, and at that moment he saw a movement.
At least, he thought something had moved, in the corner of his eye. When he snapped his head round to look at it, there was nothing there. He cautiously walked over to the archway leading to the hall and glanced through, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he straightened up again, something brushed past his face and fell to the floor. Jonathan jerked backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet as they scrabbled for distance.
When he looked again, he saw a red pointy hat with a white furry trim and bobble on the end, just lying on the ground. He looked up, but the archway just had tinsel around it like before, with the sprig of mistletoe in the centre. There was nowhere up there for a hat to hide, and he would have noticed if it had been up there before. Where had it come from? What was...?
Jonathan paused, and realised what his frantic imagination was thinking. He forced himself to take deep breaths, before chuckling nervously. The hat had tried to attack him. What a bizarre thought. He laughed more wholeheartedly. Hats don't attack people; they're hats.
Which was why he yelped in terror and jumped even further away as three green, furry tentacles protruded from the hat, and it began to drag itself across the floor towards him. Jonathan froze as he watched it creep nearer, its tinsel tentacles flicking in the air as though they could smell their target. He had to move. He had to escape. His legs felt like concrete. He thumped his thigh, once then twice, and his legs were legs again. He darted around the hat and sprinted to the front door and outside. The door slammed shut behind him.
It was suddenly cold again, but there was no time to worry about that. Jonathan glanced around feverishly, before settling his gaze upon a road across the street. Pete lived there. Jonathan had to go somewhere, and his car keys were still inside. He ran over and started hammering at the door.
"All right! All right!" came a shout from inside. The door opened.
"Pete!" Jonathan exclaimed in a slightly strangled voice, pointing back at his house. "The decorations! There's a hat and... it's..." He trailed off as he finally looked at his friend. "Hat..."
"Hmm?" Pete raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Well, yes, of course I'm wearing a hat! It's Christmas, after all. Best day of the year. Come in, come in!"
Jonathan took a step backwards. "Um," he said. "No, sorry. I've got a... a thing. I should be-"
"Nonsense!" Pete marched over and thrust an arm around Jonathan's shoulders. "You've got time for a quick brandy, at least. Come on in."
Jonathan was marched inside, despite his feeble protests. As the door shut behind him, he felt a gentle weight on his head. He barely had time to flinch before a wave of peacefulness washed over him, melting away his fear and anxiety. He could feel his mind going hazy, as his body started moving on its own. The last thing he remembered was a craving for mince pies.
It was the season once again when, across the world, billions of people would get into the Christmas spirit. Only this time, as a result of centuries of accruing traditions and excitement and advertising from an ever-increasing number of people, things were different. This time, the Christmas spirit was going to get into them. And it wasn't going to let go.
This is the first thing I've written in quite some time. I'm definitely rusty, and I wouldn't say I was brilliant even back when I was writing more. I'm very pleased it did as well as it did. Enjoy!
The Spirit of Christmas
By Maruno
In the candlelit living room of his old, small cottage, Jonathan sat and contemplated the scene in front of him. Tinsel was strung up along the wooden beams in the ceiling, and around the doorframe leading to the kitchen, punctuated occasionally by giant snowflakes and icicle ornaments. A holly wreath was pinned to the wall above the television, filled with deep red berries and a faint smell of the cold outdoors. Flashing lights outlined the large window which looked out upon the snow-covered lawn. A sprig of mistletoe hung beneath the archway leading to the entrance hall.
The main feature of the room was undoubtedly the tree. It was the perfect Christmas tree, strung with lights and baubles and tinsel so expertly that any department store seasonal decorator would eat their red hat in jealousy. The star perched on the tip positively gleamed in the flickering light. Below the branches, boxes of various sizes were wrapped in colourful paper and tied up with ribbons, ceaselessly tempting anyone who dared to glance at them.
Jonathan didn't like it. None of this had been here yesterday.
He drummed his fingers on the side of his favourite armchair, frowning in thought, before picking up a remote control and turning on the news.
"-ike these greeted hundreds of households across the country this morning," spoke a grim-sounding voice, while pictures of idyllic seasonally-decorated homes paraded across the screen. "But these expertly decorated homes all have one thing in common: no one knows who decorated them."
The slideshow was replaced by a family of three being interviewed. "We weren't going to put the decorations up until the weekend," said the father. "When I got up this morning, I found this. I thought it might have been some kind of practical joke, but then I heard that the same thing's happened to other people too. I don't know what's going on."
Jonathan turned his attention back to his room, eyeing it even more suspiciously than before. He stood up, walked over to the tree and nudged one of the presents with his foot. It felt empty.
"...in the studio now by Professor..." the television was saying, but Jonathan wasn't listening to it. Instead, he was poking and prodding at the decorations, as if to see how they would react. The baubles made a deep thudding sound, as if tapping on a window. The tinsel crinkled like newspaper. The tree's pine needles were as hard and inflexible as metal. This scene certainly looked the epitome of Christmas, but it didn't feel like it.
"...appears to be no pattern or common feature to this hoax," the professor was saying. "Reported cases are in urban and rural areas alike, all across the country."
"This was clearly a large-scale hoax," interrupted the news reporter. "There must have been dozens of groups of people all working together."
"Yes, certainly," the professor replied. "These people likely met on a social media website, much like..."
Jonathan had seen enough of the living room now to decide he wasn't having any of it. This was his house, and these weren't his decorations. There was no place for them here.
He proceeded to pull them all down. Tackling the metallic tree with its hundreds of sharp needles was the toughest part, but in the end he managed to trample it down by stomping on it with a welcome mat, before heaving it outside to the street next to the rest of the decorations.
The task complete, he headed straight for the kitchen to put the kettle on, and then examined the various scratches on his hands and arms caused by the tree. None were that serious, but the cold outdoors made them sting quite sharply. He made a cup of tea, took it and a biscuit into the living room, and nearly dropped them both in shock.
It was all back. All of it. The twinkling lights, the glittering ornaments, the ominous presence of the tree. It was all perfect, as though he had never touched any of it.
Jonathan stomped over to the window and looked outside, only to find an empty spot where he had dumped the decorations just five minutes earlier. He spun back round and glared incredulously at the room. And, in some strange and unnerving way, he could almost imagine that it was staring back at him.
He looked down at his hands. Tea had splashed over them, but the multitude of scratches were still there. He had taken everything down and thrown them outside. He had mangled the tree into a more manageable shape, and yet now it wasn't showing any signs of it.
The thought dawned on him that this couldn't have been done by people. There just hadn't been time for them to redecorate, and he hadn't heard any movement while he was brewing up. A chill ran down his spine, and at that moment he saw a movement.
At least, he thought something had moved, in the corner of his eye. When he snapped his head round to look at it, there was nothing there. He cautiously walked over to the archway leading to the hall and glanced through, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he straightened up again, something brushed past his face and fell to the floor. Jonathan jerked backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet as they scrabbled for distance.
When he looked again, he saw a red pointy hat with a white furry trim and bobble on the end, just lying on the ground. He looked up, but the archway just had tinsel around it like before, with the sprig of mistletoe in the centre. There was nowhere up there for a hat to hide, and he would have noticed if it had been up there before. Where had it come from? What was...?
Jonathan paused, and realised what his frantic imagination was thinking. He forced himself to take deep breaths, before chuckling nervously. The hat had tried to attack him. What a bizarre thought. He laughed more wholeheartedly. Hats don't attack people; they're hats.
Which was why he yelped in terror and jumped even further away as three green, furry tentacles protruded from the hat, and it began to drag itself across the floor towards him. Jonathan froze as he watched it creep nearer, its tinsel tentacles flicking in the air as though they could smell their target. He had to move. He had to escape. His legs felt like concrete. He thumped his thigh, once then twice, and his legs were legs again. He darted around the hat and sprinted to the front door and outside. The door slammed shut behind him.
It was suddenly cold again, but there was no time to worry about that. Jonathan glanced around feverishly, before settling his gaze upon a road across the street. Pete lived there. Jonathan had to go somewhere, and his car keys were still inside. He ran over and started hammering at the door.
"All right! All right!" came a shout from inside. The door opened.
"Pete!" Jonathan exclaimed in a slightly strangled voice, pointing back at his house. "The decorations! There's a hat and... it's..." He trailed off as he finally looked at his friend. "Hat..."
"Hmm?" Pete raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Well, yes, of course I'm wearing a hat! It's Christmas, after all. Best day of the year. Come in, come in!"
Jonathan took a step backwards. "Um," he said. "No, sorry. I've got a... a thing. I should be-"
"Nonsense!" Pete marched over and thrust an arm around Jonathan's shoulders. "You've got time for a quick brandy, at least. Come on in."
Jonathan was marched inside, despite his feeble protests. As the door shut behind him, he felt a gentle weight on his head. He barely had time to flinch before a wave of peacefulness washed over him, melting away his fear and anxiety. He could feel his mind going hazy, as his body started moving on its own. The last thing he remembered was a craving for mince pies.
It was the season once again when, across the world, billions of people would get into the Christmas spirit. Only this time, as a result of centuries of accruing traditions and excitement and advertising from an ever-increasing number of people, things were different. This time, the Christmas spirit was going to get into them. And it wasn't going to let go.