Despite the whole of November now being referred to as ‘Black Friday’, on the eve of the real ‘Black Friday’ I am taking this opportunity to turn things around – I am GIVING AWAY instead of buying or selling.
I very much hope that you enjoy my free Christmas short story – let’s buck the trend and turn Black Friday into a SALES FREE day!
A LITTLE TALE OF CHRISTMAS MAGIC
The woman stared at the cardboard box. I was about 30cms square and as light as a feather.
‘Order today and have the magic of Christmas delivered to your door,’ The advert had said. Well, they could all do with a bit if Christmas magic in this modern, harum-scarum life, couldn’t they? But what was it exactly? She shook it gently. Nothing. However, the red and white label on the side clearly proclaimed in large black letters, ‘The Magic of Christmas’. At least it hadn’t cost her a lot.
‘Not more on-line purchases?’ Her husband had spotted her standing uncertainly in the hall and sounded annoyed.
‘I just want it to be the best Christmas ever, Jim, after – you know – what has happened.’ Their granddaughter and son were coming to stay with them for the festive holiday, the first since their daughter-in-law’s death in a car accident.
‘Yes, but money is tight this year after all the lockdowns and furloughs of this wretched pandemic… what’s it supposed to be anyway?’
‘I… I don’t know.’ The woman looked bewildered and defeated.
‘What?’ her husband’s face took on an expression of angry incredulity.
Suddenly, his wife burst into noisy tears as her legs folded under her and she sank down onto the bottom step of the stairs.
‘Oh, Ruth, I’m sorry!’ the man hunkered down in front of her and tentatively slid his arm around her heaving shoulders. ‘You’ve been trying to do far too much, old girl,’ he chided her gently, ‘Come into the sitting room and put your feet up. I’ll put the kettle on.’ Clinging shakily to her husband Ruth rose to her feet. ‘What about asking Debra Rawlins from across the road to join us for Christmas dinner? She’s a jolly good cook and I’m sure that if you ask her, she’d give you a hand… she’s all on her own this Christmas, too, and would probably appreciate the invitation instead of being all alone…’ The harassed couple disappeared into the next room and the door closed softly behind them…
…………………………
At nearly eighty years of age, Mrs Twemlow thought that nothing could surprise her anymore, but watching her next-door-neighbour sneaking up her front path carrying a cardboard box with a large red and white sticker on the side had definitely intrigued her. By the time she had slowly risen from her chair and got to the front door, the woman had vanished, but the box stood on her front step.
“’The Magic of Christmas’. What on earth is this?” she muttered in consternation. Mrs Twemlow tenderly bent her rheumaticky joints and retrieved the box from the floor. Goodness, it was as light as a feather. She shook it gently. Nothing. How odd! The elderly woman didn’t like to open it. One heard such dreadful tales these days. Suppose it was a bomb?
I know, I’ll take it to Dennis at the library. It’s one of his volunteering days. He’ll know what to do with it, she thought. Hastily, the elderly lady prepared to leave the house. The winter sun was shining weakly and a little walk in the fresh air would do her good; the library was only at the end of the next road.
