Siobhan lounged on the sofa, wrapped in a chunky knitted throw which she had bought for herself as an early Christmas present. Love Actually played on the television and although she was gazing at the screen, her eyes were glazed over. She’d seen it a million times anyway; she could quote the script in swathing chunks, and knew exactly what was going on even if her brain wasn’t committed to absorbing the images which played on the screen. Continue reading “1. It’s Over”
Maisy took a stealthy look over her shoulder before ripping the gumdrop doorknob from the gingerbread house and popping it into her mouth.
“I think we did a good job with that house, Maisy! Your gran will be well impressed tomorrow.”
Maisy chewed as fast as she possibly could, taking care to keep her gaze towards the ground to avoid being caught out, but her pesky tongue got in the way of her teeth and she bit down on it painfully. Continue reading “2. The Sugar Crush”
The cretins have locked me in again. I can only assume it is down to the cold, white fluff which is falling from the sky. It may be chilly, but it’s awfully pretty to look at and rather fun to frolic in. I suppose it will have to suffice that I watch it through the window, since I have been unjustifiably incarcerated. Continue reading “3. Incarcerated”
Red credits, accompanied by ominous 80s synths, floated on the television screen and lit up the faces of Carl and Dave. They basked in the glow for a short while, processing the last scenes of the season finale of their favourite Netflix original.
“I can’t wait another year,” Carl said morosely, shaking his head.
Dave shrugged and shook his head. “We could just watch the first two seasons over and over again until next year.”
“Yeah, ‘cos that won’t get old.”
The multicoloured fairy lights, which had been strung haphazardly around the artificial Christmas tree, began to blink. Carl and Dave turned in unison toward them. Continue reading “4. A Message”
Bears are capable of sniffing out food up to twenty miles away from them, and Goldibear was no exception. He’d noticed the distinctive whiff of squirty cream dance towards him on the icy winter breeze and, with nowhere else to go, decided to follow it. It had led him down a dark alleyway, over a garden gate, and up to the kitchen door of the Locke family’s house. Continue reading “5. Goldibear and the Three Lockes”
“Go make us a cuppa, will you?”
Fiona pretended she didn’t hear her boyfriend, but inside she seethed. It was funny when he asked the first couple of times, but the further she passed her due date and the bigger she grew, the more that harmless little joke grated on her. Continue reading “6. Special Delivery”
The Prime Minister listened to her advisors with an air of interest, but she knew their words wouldn’t change her mind. She was angry, and nobody could ever change her mind about decisions she made when she was angry.
“Please, Prime Minister, we implore you to reconsider.”
The Prime Minister rose from her seat and smoothed down her skirt. “Are the press ready?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I suppose there’s no time to reconsider, is there?”
“But the people need celebrations like Christmas. It gives them hope.” Continue reading “7. A Cancellation”
The Coach and Horses was always quiet on Christmas eve. Save for a few three-decade-old Christmas decorations hung from the ceiling and the occasional play of White Christmas on the dukebox, festive cheer was scarce. And that’s exactly how the regulars liked it. Continue reading “8. A Festive Tipple”
Dani slammed the front door behind her, took one step forwards, then careened back into the door with a thump. She cackled, then dropped to her bum on the floor. She rived off her boots, wriggled out of her coat, then crawled on hands and knees to the kitchen.
She dragged herself back to her feet with the support of the dining table and chairs, then wobbled to the fridge, gripping onto the kitchen counter the whole way. She yanked open the fridge door and frowned at the paltry nourishment it had on offer. There was a half-empty tin of beans which had been festering for at least a fortnight, endless jars of and bottles of chutneys and jams and sauces, and very little else. Continue reading “9. Oh, Christmas Tree”
Alex sucked at the blood on his finger and winced, not so much at the pain, but at his own stupidity. It started with an invite amongst his closest friends, and now his mother’s best crystal glassware had been smashed by drunken louts he didn’t even know.
He was in for it when his parents returned from their holiday. He could try and tell them that the broken glass was just a little accident, but he knew the sick stained curtains and tiny dick graffiti on the floral wallpaper would raise a few suspicions. Continue reading “10. The Party”