To the Reader: Here it is the ninth of January, with the last of Christmas’s trash barely hauled away, and there’s precious little magic left in stories about Santa Claus. So I had the choice to run this Part III out to its end, today, or to lop it in half and run it in two installments. If I did the former, however, who the hell would read it … at close to 3,000 words? On the other hand, I would be racing the calendar if I chose the latter. By the time folks got to the end of Part IV, January would be closing out, taxes would be on their mind, and they would be booing Santa, like a freaking villain!

Santa deserves better. So, after a lot of thought, I opted for posting part III by itself ... with this kicker: the member bucks I saved by only using the one Prose Treasure Chest and one Lucky Leprechaun Certificate, instead of two—the extra $12.90—I would toss into the promotion.

Oh, what the hell! I decided I would pull out all the stops for Part III and post it so high that the poor guy or gal in the number two slot will get dizzy just looking up at it! 

And to you, the reader, we’ll just call this a late Christmas gift from Santa Claus. 

Now, Santa may be losing his memory, but he’s not naive. He knows that some few money-grabbers will open the gift, play with it for a minute or two, then kick it to the wall. You’ll still write your thankyou note to Santa, even gush about how great the gift was … ’cause Mama Tom makes you. But that’s you. It’s the way you approach all difficult things. Off of FanStory, you skim along the surface of life in just the same non-commital manner.

You know if it's you I'm talking about. (I'm surprised you even got this far.) You also know that the dues you pay for enjoying the community of our elite group are supposed to be to help your brothers and sisters improve their craft. And you are supposed to be elated that they are helping you with yours.

Well, Santa … who’s been a member of FanStory almost as long as FanStory has existed … slipped in a little something somewhere within that gift. The true Fanstorian will know it because it just doesn’t belong there. It’s an extra digit on Barbie Doll’s hand. Or, it’s Roy Rogers wearing a bonnet on his head. It just doesn’t belong! And Santa put it there, HO-HO. It’s a gift within a gift. The money-grabbers will never get to it. But to the true Fanstorian ... You’re welcome!

And now on with the story. …

~          ~          ~

They all sat, silent in their individual thoughts, content being with each other, cradling hot cups of cocoa in their hands, with the bed of coals in the fireplace pulsing red and orange heat into the room.

Ajdin was the first to speak.

“It is magic, you know. Once you opened your door, a year ago—though you were understandably cautious and suspicious—and we entered … José, Gustav, and myself—that was when the magic began.” He smiled over at Nicholas and Anya. “The two of you have been under the spell of the magic for so long that you may not be aware of its joyous hold on you. But I tell you, the boys and I felt it immediately, and in spite of their roughhousing, they feel it now. And … once a year, on Christmas eve, it's that same magic you spread throughout the world.”

He paused to smile, lovingly, at his boys, then turned back to Nicholas. “Do you remember the last stop you made a year and one day ago, Santa?” He lingered on the name Santa as reverently as he had earlier lingered on Papá.

“The last …? Well,” said Nicholas, “there were so-soooh-oh-ho-ho, so many …”

But at that moment everyone saw Santa’s face reddening.

“It was a modest adobe house," said Ajdin, “in the city of Zamora, in the state of Michoacán, in Mexico.”

Nicholas turned in his seat to Ajdin with an inquiring smile. “It was your house?”

“For years, I had suspected that our house was your last stop, Santa—it was somehow part of a master plan, that even you were not aware of. Your arrival was always just before dawn. Yet, in all the years we’d lived there, I had never disrupted your magic by tiptoeing out of my room and catching you in mid-delivery—that is … until last Christmas eve.”

“Yes! José and Gustav,” Santa broke in, suddenly, clasping his hands in glee, “… and you, Ajdin … yes, I remember reading your names, now, from my list just before I went in. It was my last stop! I had just checked them off and—”

“Oh, we watched it all, Santa … out-of-sight beside our house, huddled together in our blankets since 2 A.M., waiting. And while you were inside, the boys and I scrambled over to the sleigh and we hid ourselves under all the discarded bags. Soon you returned, tossed the final empty bag atop the others, and we were off for the ride of our lifetime.

“We spent all of Christmas day in the stable with the reindeer. And—as I think you’ll remember—it was the evening of Christmas day, a year and a day ago, that we knocked on your door.”

Upon these words, Nicholas turned back to Anya and smiled. “Santa can be a foolish old man three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year, Mama.” Then turning back to Ajdin, he extended both chubby hands to him. “Welcome home, Son.”

Ajdin took Santa’s hands in his own and kissed the backs of them, his eyes brimming.

The boys, caught up in the excitement, leaped to their feet and began cheering and jumping up and down, the tips of their moustachios rising and falling with each jump.

Ajdin grinned. “Look at them! As I said, there is a special magic in your home.”

“In our home, now,” Santa corrected. “In our home …”

“There is a special magic in our home, Papá and Mamá,” Ajdin repeated, and again his eyes filled. “The boys are proof of the magic. José there, for example … Would it surprise you to know that the one bouncing about like a rubber ball was the mayor of the city of Zamora for two, four-year terms, beginning 1871? His campaign gave his age at fifty-three, but he was more than double that, at a hundred and ten.” He smiled massaging his hands. “Yes, we never forget our children’s births. José here,” he said, smiling broadly, “was born on August 10th, 1761.”

“Yes! Yes! And how could he not—oh-ho-ho—not have been the mayor, what with all that, ah-ha!—enthusiasm? I might have to check my records—the world is so full of children now—but I know it would be right there, ho-ho-ho my boy! Your father has to be proud of you!”

“Indeed, I am. It was he who brought water piping and plumbing—a marvel at the time, though crude, of course by today’s standards—to the city. That was a hundred and fifty years ago. His statue still stands in the plaza, in front of the library.”

“It doesn’t surprise me at all, ho-ho-ha-ha, there was a—I remember now—there was a star by his name on last year’s list. There was one, ho-ho-ho, by Gustav’s name as well. Both of you had been such good boys!”

“Ah, yes, Gustav.” Ajdin stopped suddenly. “Boys, go sit by Santa’s knees before you fall and hurt yourselves.” As they did so, he continued, “Gustav, here, my eldest—would you believe that bubbly mischief-maker, Gustav, had been lead proctor, in 1705, and within the unheard of span of two years, the Dean of the University of Leipzig, in Germany, where he was known for his discipline and firmness? Feared, but respected by all—students and faculty alike?” He clasped his hands and rested his chin on their knuckles as he tilted his head. “No father was ever more proud of his son. Dean of the oldest, most respected university in Germany at the unheard-of young age of forty-three—according to the university’s reckoning. Of course, the secret that both Gustav and I hoarded was that he was born a hundred and eighty years earlier, in 1527.

“Oh, yes," said Nicholas, nodding … "I’d have to go way, waaay back, but ho-ho-ha-ha—have no doubt about it that Gustav, here, would be in my ledgers as well. And you were with them both, Ajdin? You were right there with them in their moments of great achievement?”

“But of course … I was their father!”

“Bless your hearts …” Santa’s voice quivered to a stop in mid-sentence, while he removed his fogged glasses, revealing eyes that were overflowing. “… bless all our hearts, for we are all together as we should be.”

~          ~          ~

And now, dear reader, this might seem to be the perfect place to end this tale, especially to the miserly, Scroogish reader who felt enough time has been invested … or to the romantics among you who feel that one should always judge where a story should end by the warm and fluttery feeling in the pit of one’s stomach. But if you will allow the passage of one more sentence you’ll clearly see why it cannot end here. ...

~          ~          ~

Out of the love-imbued silence that followed Santa’s last words, a soft, almost-purring sound filled the warm void, and turning to its source, Ajdin witnessed how the full weight of Anya’s body had languished into the softness of her cushiony mate and was snoring softly. Then, glancing to the floor at Santa’s feet Adjin smiled at the sight of his own sons, snuggled together and sound asleep.

“Ah-ha-OH-HO-HO,” laughed Santa. “This means it is midnight, signaling the approach of Christmas Eve.” And he cocked his head at his son. “And yet you appear wide awake!”

Ajdin turned his puzzled eyes to Nicholas. “What is this … a spell? Just moments ago, the boys were chattering like chipmunks and Mamá was smiling at them and at you. Look …” He pointed. “She’s still clutching a half-eaten cookie in her hand!”

“Yes, yes, Oh-HO-HO-HO-HO! Every year it’s the same. Exactly twenty-four hours before my journey begins, my Anya falls into the deepest slumber, and Ho-Ho, in that same moment I am filled with incredible energy!” He took a deep breath and smiled. “I feel it now!”

“And so do I, Santa!" Ajdin resounded, throwing his hands up. "I want to shout for the sheer joy of it, and—and I want to laugh and to ha-ha-ha bounce about like my boys have been doing ever since we ha-ha arrived here.” He ended with a fit of giggling, that for a moment he was unable to contain.

“Ah-HO-HO, don’t worry, Ajdin. Yes, it’s a spell, I think, though yours and mine are—at least, mine used to be—different from theirs.” He stopped and patiently waited for Peter Cottontail, fidgeting on the crackling embers in the fireplace, to finish his game of jacks with the Katzenjammer Kids. “And the funny thing is,” Santa continued, holding up a pontifical forefinger, “that, always—always—after I returned from delivering all the joy and presents to the world’s children, and my Anya greeted me at the door with a pitcher of Cocoa and my slippers … she always avowed—and this is what's so strange about it!—she always avowed that she had never fallen asleep ... that she was awake and with me the entire time before I left on my journey. And you will see ... José and Gustav will also deny that they fell asleep."

“You’re saying, then, the moment they fall asleep they start dreaming they are awake?”

“That has to be it!”

“Then, am I now asleep and dreaming you are telling me this?”

But reader … there was no laughter in Santa’s voice when he said, “I think you know the answer to that.” He stared at Ajdin a long moment and then he yawned so wide that Ajdin could see two gold fillings. “You see … Santa doesn’t like to lie, but I was fibbing when I told you, a moment ago, that I felt that surge of energy in me.”

“What do you mean?”

 “I mean, Santa's actually struggling right now to stay awake!”

“But you can’t, Papá ha-ha-ha!” And he threw his hand over his mouth. “I’m not ready! I—I wouldn’t know the first thing about—”

Santa’s eyes blinked a few times heavily and he started making tasting movements with his mouth. He shook his head. “It’s overrated, my boy. Just keep the reindeer well-fed and healthy. They are the genius in the mission after all.” He yawned and his eyes were even slower in opening after each blink. “It’ll take a few more years of Mama's cookin’ for you to fit snugly into Santa’s suit. Until then, we’ll have to pad it a little. But HO-HO-HO we need to work right away on your laugh. The children have their expectations, you see, and they cannot be disappointed. Your pitch will need to be lowered.” Anya’s body shifted slightly as Santa cradled his massive lower belly in his two hands. “Let it begin HO-HO-HO from down here, deep and resonant. Try it, Ajdin ….” 

Ajdin squared his shoulders and rested his hand at the base of his small mound of belly. “OH … HO … HO …”

“It needs to erupt from the diaphragm. Try it again, but while you're doing it, imagine you're watching the smiles on the faces of the children as they tear the paper away from their packages.”

“Yes … I think I have it, Santa, OH-HO-HO,” and his whole body seemed to vibrate with inner joy.

And it was at that very moment, Dear Reader, that the reins of Santaship were transferred from Nicholas to Ajdin. But follow this closely: Nicholas—who, even now was letting out a long and contented sigh, snuggled so close to his Anya that his beard covered the two of them like a blanket—even now, as he closed his eyes, and softly began snoring—Nicholas, himself, would swear, later,  that he hadn't fallen asleep at that moment. 

When Ajdin brought it to his attention on Christmas morning, Santa protested, “I was right there with you. Why else would the elves have turned over mountain upon mountain of wrapped presents to an apparent stranger, a skinny one at that? And the reindeer?! Especially the primadonna of the bunch, Prancer, who is so sensitive ... why, she wouldn’t have budged an inch at the command of a jolly imposter.”

“No, Son,” Anya would add upon Ajdin’s arrival back home, her face upturned to Nicholas and smiling, “and as for myself, I had so much work to do before midnight. While Nicholas was out introducing you all around, I was spending the entire evening bent over my sewing machine attaching all the necessary inflatable padding to Santa’s suit.”

When Ajdinclaus returned that first glorious Christmas morning, he whispered a “job well-done” into the ear of each of his reindeer, gave every one of them a pat on the rump, and then one heavy foot after the other trudged through the snow, carrying his happy but weary body to the door of his cottage. Anya beamed there, her tray of cookies in her hands. Nicholas stood beside her, flushed with pride. Their grandsons, who had probably been warned not to be boisterous, bounced up and down behind the couple, but could suddenly not control their enthusiasm and burst between them, almost toppling the tray of cookies.

“Papá, come inside and see what Ajdinclaus brought me for Christmas,” Gustav shouted. José was right at his heels, and both boys wrapped their arms so tightly around Ajdinclaus that one of his inflated padding bags popped.

“Oh, whoops, OH-HO-HO, and what did Ajdinclaus bring you, little man?” he asked José. 

“Ajdinclaus … he brought—he brought me an-an-an electric train!”

“Well, he brought me a computer!” Gustav, not to be outdone, broke in.

“Ajdinclaus brought me a treadmill,” said Nicholas, “and a paid-up membership to Weight Watchers. My Anya has been telling me I should shed a few pounds.”

“Oh-HO-HO! And how about you, Anya? I’m sure you’ve been a good girl.”

“You would think so, Son. Ajdinclaus brought me one of those newfangled refrigerators with a door you can touch and see what’s inside without even opening it.”

“It sounds like everyone had the Christmas of their dreams,” said Ajdinclaus. He took a step toward the door, and Anya and Nicholas let him slip between them, while they gently removed a reluctant José and Gustav, hanging onto each of his arms. “And now,” he continued, “before I can enjoy hearing about all the ins and outs of your gifts, Ajdinclaus needs to take … a long winter’s nap. Merry Christmas to all … and to all a—”

“Good night!” everyone said, in unison, and all erupted in joyous laughter.

The End