Frosty Wind Made Moan

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Before Toby could say anything, the old man calling himself 'Father Christmas' stepped forward, into the fireplace. Toby wasn't about to let the old man go and burn himself. He clung to the sleeve of the man's dress, but found he could not stop him, the old man dragging Toby along with him into the flames. The fire exploded around them both, flames rising so high, they reached the top of the old man's fur-edged hat.

But they didn't burn.

Instead, the flames whirled and whooshed around them, circling them and spinning around and around until Toby began to feel sick, his head swimming. He closed his eyes, gripping his stomach and started to fall to his knees, stopped only by a hand that grabbed a hold of the hood of his sweater.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the roof almost ten feet beneath him. He had sneaked onto the roof, once, and had become berated by Mum for doing something the 'Council' wouldn't like. He recognised the roof. But he didn't recognise the chimney stack that he and the old man stood upon. That chimney stack was not something that the roof had before, because none of the flats had fires.

The old man's arm wrapped around Toby's waist, holding tight, and then the old man jumped down to the roof, landing as light as though he had only stepped from a pavement's kerb. Once on the roof, the old man set Toby down and shook his head. Toby could only stare around him, feeling the chill wind of Christmas night biting through his clothes.

"That was a fool thing to do." The old man turned, waving a hand towards the chimney stack. "The door is over there. You'll find it unlocked."

The chimney stack began to grind and twist, bricks folding into other bricks, the chimney tops squeezing down. Before long, the chimney stack had disappeared, as though it were never there. Toby looked towards the door to the stairs from the roof and saw that it was, indeed, open, light streaming out of a thin crack.

"No. No! Wait a minute!" As much as he wanted to go back to the flat and wake up from this dream, he wanted to keep experiencing it, too. It was the most real dream he'd ever had. "You're not Santa Claus. Santa is supposed to be fat and jolly and dressed in red, not green. And he leaves presents, not coal. Unless you've been naughty. Have I been too naughty? Am I being punished?"

"I never said I was Sinterklaas." The old man narrowed his eyes and looked down his long, hooked nose. It looked as though his long, grey moustache grew from inside his nostrils. "Why should you be punished with coal? It brings heat and warmth and light. It holds life dear on the coldest of nights. Coal is a gift. With coal, you make fire. With fire, you can cook. No, you are not being punished. Not by me."

"But you said you were 'Father Christmas'." Toby circled the old man, picking at the dress and letting it go as though it would bite him. "That's Santa! But Santa doesn't wear a dress. He wears a bright red jacket and red trousers and shiny black boots. And he's jolly and happy, not sad, like you."

The old man smoothed down his straggly beard and then did the same with his dress. The two sacks sat against his back, held up by nothing. Toby didn't know why he thought the old man was sad, he only got that feeling from looking at him. Those eyes, the ones that looked like they had the entire, starry sky in them, and nothing at all, made Toby think the old man was sad.

"Sinterklaas is a very different creature." The old man straightened up to his full, very tall height and threw open his arms. "Santa is the eternal aspect of a Saint, Nicholas, who gave poor children gifts. I am the eternal aspect of the mid-Winter itself. A time for celebration for we are half-way to the birth of Spring and life renewing. I have known many names and I have changed as people's perceptions have changed, as has Sinterklaas, but I am not he. I am quite different."