*Vote and comment!*
❄ 2
Years ago, there was a time when I actually looked forward to Christmas.
When I was little, Christmas was something that was greatly sacred. I loved everything- the cookies, the music, the jolly goodness.
I guess you can say I was just a normal citizen of Tinseltown-absolutely smitten with Christmas.
I remember sitting near the frozen window on my dad’s lap, singing to jingle bells and having cookie contests with him.
I remember the snow angels, the snowman’s and the snow fights that always ended with wet underwear; regardless though, what made Christmas truly Christmas was my dad.
He worked as the manager of the only hardware store in the town so he was always busy, despite that though, my dad was the kind of person who would storm through the house at two in the morning yelling Christmas music to make me wakeup and watch the snowfall.
For the longest time, I believed that I loved Christmas because of all the cookies and seasonal hype.
It wasn’t until he died that I realized what I had truly loved amidst Christmas.
Gone were the early morning sessions sitting by the fire, dunking gingerbread in hot chocolate. Gone were the days spent in a fort of sheets and pillows with candy canes.
Everything was gone.
Season after season, the fire still burned bright and the same cookies were still made, but the one thing that wasn’t able to be brought back was the one thing that made Christmas- well, Christmas.
The cookies no longer tasted the way they used to, the snowman’s and snow angel’s no longer looked the same way and everything I’ve ever felt about Christmas never felt the same after that day.
Nobody could ever replicate the way my dad made Christmas with his hot chocolate and cookies.
Not until now at least.
The second the smell of bitter sweet cocoa and sugared whip cream awaken my senses, there’s no way I can ignore.
It smelled perfect-it smelled like Christmas in a bottle-the same way my dad used to make it.
My eyes snap open.
I stare up at the ceiling, golden light flicker across the white wall. Delicate streams of gold, red and green line the ceiling, paintings of angels and Christmas scenery depicted onto the ceiling.
I blink.
This was most definitely not my room because my room had faded glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, not Michelangelo’s replicated paintings of angels and the Christmas story.
The throbbing sensation in my head hasn’t disappeared and if I strained my eyes hard enough, I could just make sense of my surroundings.
I look to my left-only able to do the simple action of turning my neck because everything else hurt to much. A massive fire crackles in the fireplace, the smell of musky oak wafting richly into the air.
Looking to the right, there’s an empty rocking chair near my side and a large double glass door leading to what looked like a balcony.
Sitting up gingerly, I wince at the soreness of my body.
What did I do? Fall into a hole? Get ran over by Santa Clause?
I laugh to myself, the last thought too humorous to even imagine.
As I stare at the heavy snow falling, the golden Christmas light reflecting off the glass pane, a single snow globe catches my eye.
Reaching for the snow globe, I bring it up to my face, staring deeply into the globe.
For some absurd and crazy reason, it looked like the things were moving in the snow globe.
My eyes skim the elaborate buildings in the snow globe until i read the sign Tinseltown vet.
Everything stops- the time, my breathing, everything.
Rotating the snow globe in my hands, I study the small town in the snow globe, unable to wrap around my head the fact that the things were most certainly moving.
The neighborhood I had walked through millions of time is sculpted perfectly-every crevice and imperfection replicated to perfection.
I twist the snow globe again in my hands, my mouth dropping open. Why would anyone have a snow globe of Tinseltown?
Uncle Bib’s popcorn, Nellie’s Candy Shop, George’s Christmas forest- they were all in the snow globe.
When I look closer, I can’t even believe what I see. The snow globe drops from my fingers, landing onto the bed with a small rattle as my mouth drops open.
Shaking my head, I grab the snow globe again, looking into it again.
…There were people in the snow globe.
Not just people but people I’ve known my entire life.
There was Mrs. Merry making more fruitcake in her home and George trimming the Christmas trees-
“Oh my stars and bars,” I whisper in disbelief, lowering the snow globe.
How was this even possible to have a town replicated so perfectly in a snow globe? How could you replicate people to place in the snow globe?
I look around me again, searching for anything remotely familiar.
But I found nothing.
Did people in Tinseltown even have houses this big? The room was huge-about the size of half my house to be exact.
Setting the snow globe down gently, I kick off the soft duvet covers and stand up.
I look down to star at my red, fuzzy pajama set, wondering when I changed into them.
I scratch my head.
How did I even get here?
Grabbing onto the handle of the large oak door, I swing it open, a blast of cold air slamming into me.
My toes curl and Goosebumps arise on my skin, making me realize that maybe walking barefoot wasn’t a good thing.
I pad down the hallway, staying to the left where the wall was. On the right side, a railing curved down to the stairs.
Sounds of chatter and hustle meet my ears as I try to sneak through as quietly as possible.
I wasn’t on the first floor- that much I could guess from the stairs.
Large crystalline chandeliers hang above me on the ceiling, boughs of holly draped around them.
Garland is wrapped onto the railing of the staircase and a small white Christmas tree is nestled into the corner, glowing different colors every changing second.
What was this all? The gingerbread Christmas house?
As I begin to descend the stairs, curious as to what could be down stairs, I hear people talking.
They round the stairs before I even have enough time to turn around and run for my life.
My eyes meet glacial blue eyes and midnight hair for a brief second before he lunges at me.
I don’t even have time to scream.
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side and placing a hand over my mouth.
“Are you trying to get me killed? Why didn’t you just stay upstairs?” he hisses at me.
His muscles contract as he pulls me up the stairs, his eyes darting around the area in nervousness.
“Sir,” I hear someone behind me say.
“Lee, look out for me. if you hear someone coming up the stairs. Stop them,” the boy commands, quickly spinning us back into the room I was in.
“But-“ Lee begins.
The boy shuts the door firmly behind him, heaving a sigh of relief.
He leans against the door, holding me firmly against his chest.
His hands were freezing-in fact, I’m pretty sure his body temperature was abnormally cold.
I slam my elbow in his hard stomach.
“Ow!” he yelps, releasing me quickly.
Spinning around to face him, I grab the closest thing to me- a pillow.
“Y-You stay away from me,” I threaten, trying to sound menacing. I hold the pillow between us, increasing the distance.
The boy just sighs, shoving a hand through his messy hair.
“Out of all the girls in the world, I run into you,” he mutters to himself.
I blanche, both offended and confused. “What do you mean?”
He takes a step towards me and I quickly raise the pillow.
He holds up both of his hands, amusement in his eyes.
“Look, I know this may be hard but just hear me out,” he begins, gently.
I glare at him. “Why am I here?”
He drops his hands, a weary look on his face. “Will you please just listen?”
“You kidnapped me, didn’t you!” I accuse.
His head snaps up to glare back at me. “You’re the one who threw the snowball.”
Snowball?
When did i-
The pillow drops from my fingertips, landing onto the floor.
Oh sweet mother of buttercups.
Everything comes flooding back- the creeper trying to get through my chimney, the snowball, the collision…everything.
“Y-You Creeper!’ I hiss, leaping away. “You were trying to go through my chimney!’
“I can explain,” the boy says, opening his arms for me.
I grab the pillow again, lunging at him.
Slamming the pillow down on him, he yelps loudly.
I retaliate quickly, ceaselessly pounding him with my pillow.
“You stupid, moronic creeper that made me have a concussion,” I ground out, driving in every word with a slam to his body with my pillow.
I feel a sharp tug on the pillow and a loud rip before I am literally thrown into the air.
He quickly pins me onto the bed as pillow feathers drift all around us.
“Please, just shut up and listen. I can explain everything,” he says, his icy eyes boring into mine.
I nod slowly.
“I am going to get up now. Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns me, gently getting off of me to sit on the edge of the bed.
I sit up carefully, smoothing down my shirt.
“I’m listening,” I say, having to clear the blush on my cheeks.
He nervously runs a hand through his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well um-how do I say this?-“ he murmurs.
I try to not smile at his nervousness.
“Well for starters, my name’s Clyde,” he begins.
“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” I interrupt, intrigued.
“Only if your Bonnie,” he chuckles, his eyes meeting mine.
Oh dear goodness, he was attractive.
“Close, but no cigar. My name’s Noel,” I manage to say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Last name?”
I fidget uncomfortably. “Yule.”
Yes, my name was a double whammy Christmas name.
Clyde stares at me for a few moments, pressing his lips together to try and not laugh but it’s useless. Seconds later, he bursts out laughing.
I frown, trying not to smile. “Yeah whatever what’s your last name?”
“Clause.” He says truthfully.
“Clause as in Santa Clause?” I ask sarcastically.
Clyde looks away, the nerves kicking back in. “Noel, there’s something you need to know. I’m-“ he stops short, cursing loudly.
“Nope. I can’t do it,” he mutters to himself.
I throw him a weird look. “Do what?”
Clyde leaps to his feet, indecision on his handsome face.
“Screw it all, I’m going to say it,” he mutters to himself.
Did this boy always talk to himself out loud?
Clyde takes a step towards me, crouching in front of me, looking stuck.
“Clyde-“ I begin, the snow globe catching my eyes again. Well, if he couldn’t form his questions, I would ask mine. I pick up the snow globe, prepared to ask him how he got a snow globe that replicated my town so perfectly and how there are people moving in it.
“-I’m Santa Clause and you’re in the North Pole right now,” he rushes out, his azure blue eyes piercing mine.
I exhale.