This story was contributed by RodneyVSmith
Ka-chunk!
That was the universally recognized sound of a shotgun loading, and it was enough to make the man dressed in an ill-fitting Santa Claus outfit, freeze in his tracks.
"Who the hell are you?" Rebecca asked in her best Clint Eastwood expression. She was behind the business end of a shotgun and had it aimed directly at the intruder coming through her window, so the gruff voice had felt appropriate, especially since she was terrified out of her mind. She had cocked the shotgun as she aimed and now felt like a total badass.
All of a sudden Rebecca really, really needed to pee.
The definitely-fake-Santa still had one leg out the window and was awkwardly balanced, almost to the point of falling over. He teetered uncertainly and looked up at Rebecca for the first time, his fake Santa-beard swaying and then ultimately falling to the ground. The face underneath the hat was way too young, the features too chiselled and perfect to be anywhere in the vicinity of a Santa Claus suit. The dark stubble on his face framed lips that, in any other circumstance, would have been immensely kissable.
"Please don't shoot!" he pleaded.
"Don't move!" Rebecca snarled, startled beyond belief, and why the hell was her heart thumping away in her chest like that? It had to be fear, right? After all, this man was breaking into her house! In the middle of the night! Rebecca shook it off, whatever it was and steeled herself.
"Make one move, and I'll shoot," she said, but her heart really wasn't into it anymore. Weren't burglars supposed to be all mean-looking and criminal types, whatever that meant? They weren't supposed to look like they had just stepped off the cover of a magazine. And they definitely weren't supposed to be wearing Santa Claus outfits! Rebecca found herself wondering what the man looked like under the Santa outfit.
"I'm about to fall over!" Fake-Santa warned, wobbling even more uncertainly, his hands wavering in the air as he fought for balance.
"Fall over, and I shoot!"
"Shoot me and you're definitely going on the naughty list—" Fake Santa said, except the last word was cut off as he lost the fight with gravity.
Fake Santa fell over.
It was like watching a tree fall, except it was a tree with slowly moving and then rapidly flailing arms. He collapsed next to the half-decorated actual tree in the room. The tree that was way too tall for the room.
The last foot of the tree was bent against the ceiling since Rebecca's dad had first insisted that the tree wasn't too big, and then when he had been proven wrong, he had refused to cut off any part of the tree. She and her dad had spent half the day looking for the damned thing, and the "adventure" that had started off so jauntily had just gotten more frustrating as they had driven from one lot to the next looking for the perfect one to cut down. By the time they had settled on a pre-cut tree and manhandled it onto the top of the car, Rebecca had been threatened with being grounded for Christmas although she was eighteen, just for suggesting that they put up the fake tree instead. But no: this tree was a symbol of stubborn honour for her dad, and they were getting a real tree so they could have a proper Christmas, dammit.
Rebecca had fallen asleep on the couch while decorating it to be ready for Christmas morning. She had no idea where her dad was.
That symbol of honour trembled as Fake Santa collapsed against it before hitting the floor. Then with a sense of inevitability and a big middle-finger for not having a ceiling high enough to contain it, the tree wobbled and fell over onto the Fake Santa. The cheap ornamental balls from Ikea shook loose and bounced all over the room, just to drive home the point.
Rebecca stared at the mess that her living room had just become, not sure what to do.
That was when she noticed the reindeer outside her balcony.
Rebecca blinked once, then when the apparition was still there, she blinked again, then again.
"Are you alive under there?" She finally ventured, not taking her eyes off the impossible and possibly drug-induced hallucination outside. She considered getting her cellphone and taking a photo just to see if her phone also hallucinated, but couldn't remember where she had put her phone down.
"Mostly?" Fake Santa called out from under the tree. "Why is this tree so big?" He asked.
"It's a symbol," Rebecca said, then, "Did you drug me?"
"Drug you?" Fake Santa asked incredulously. "When would I have had time to drug you? I came in, you threatened to shoot me, and then your oversized tree fell on me!"
"Then why are there reindeer hovering outside my seventh-floor balcony?" Rebecca hissed at him. She counted the reindeer and then counted again, but her hallucination was at least consistent. "Eight! There are eight reindeer! Eight flying reindeer!"
And one enormous sleigh, but she was not going to let her mind even go there. First, she had to deal with the reindeer, which were definitely not supposed to be defying gravity like that.
The tree shook and then shifted slowly, Fake Santa peered out at her, and she was struck again by how damned attractive he was. It was a nice distraction from the insanity outside her window. Rebecca found herself blushing and forced herself to exhale slowly.
"I'm coming out. Please don't shoot me, okay?"
She aimed the shotgun at him but wasn't feeling it anymore.
What the hell was wrong with her?
Rebecca took two steps back, just in case he wanted to rush her or something equally stupid. He might be cute beyond distraction, but he was still breaking into her house in the middle of the night—
On Christmas Eve. With eight flying reindeer. Did she mention the eight flying reindeer? Okay, good!
She nodded in agreement, trying hard not to think about the reindeer. She settled on trying not to think about taking that coat off of Fake Santa—
Fake Santa emerged from under the tree, pushing it gently aside and then standing up in a cascade of Ikea ornaments and pine needles; one of the decorations bounced away under the couch, bouncing for way longer than it should have. Even the ridiculous Santa costume wasn't enough to hide the fact that the man standing in front of her was gorgeous.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Kevin."
He was at least six foot two and stood confidently. She could tell he knew how gorgeous he was, but it wasn't obnoxious, it was just part of him and the Santa suit with its luxurious red fur and those black designer boots, only helped showcase that confidence. If there was a magazine called Santa Monthly that had a centrefold, it would have been Kevin, and she would have had him plastered all across her room so she could dream of his blue eyes and perfect face—
"If you're not gonna shoot me, can I go?" he asked then, and Rebecca shook herself out of her daydream.
"Are you Santa Claus?" Rebecca finally dared to ask.
"Nah," Kevin said, and Rebecca suddenly felt disappointed. Kevin continued: "I'm just his cousin. Twice removed, actually."
"You expect me to believe that?"
Kevin jerked a thumb over his shoulder and raised a perfect eyebrow. "If the flying reindeer don't convince you, then I don't know what will."
Rebecca slowly lowered the shotgun, and Kevin smiled encouragingly.
"It's a family business type of operation. I deliver to Eastern Canada. My uncles and other cousins cover the rest of the continent. It's the only way to do it in one night."
"So what the hell are you doing in my house? I don't even believe in Santa Claus."
"Yeah, I already know that. But you were kinda cute, so I wanted to give you my number. See if we could hook up later after my shift is done."
"Are you freaking kidding me?"
"Oh, come on. I saw you checking me out. And you can't tell me the reindeer don't impress you."
"Do you know how screwed up that is?" Rebecca asked incredulously. "Haven't you heard of a thing called boundaries?"
"I break into people's houses one night a year to leave presents. With magic." That was obviously not having the effect he had expected. Kevin rolled his eyes. "Look, you're obviously not into it. I'm so out of here, but you're definitely going on the naughty list for sure now."
"Excuse me?"
Kevin smirked in a way that Rebecca just wanted to punch. How the hell had she even thought this guy was cute anyway?
"I know girls like you. You're just playing hard to get, but you know you— wait, don't shoot!"
Before she had even had time to think, the shotgun was raised, the stock against her shoulder. She pulled the trigger.
There was no boom. The shotgun didn't buck against her shoulder like she had been expecting it to, and there was no ringing in her ears from not wearing ear protection.
Kevin waggled his fingers at her.
"Magic, remember? You can't shoot a Kringle."
Rebecca pulled the trigger again, definitely wanting to commit some form of murder now, but still, there was no boom. Then there was Kevin, gently taking the shotgun from her hands, and for some reason, she was letting him.
"Look, we got off on the wrong foot," he said, looking into her eyes, a smile on his lips. "If we can move past the part where I broke into your house, I'm sure I can forgive you for trying to blow my head off. Tell you what: how about you and I meet later..." Rebecca found herself looking up at Kevin's gorgeous face, getting lost on those deep blue eyes, and nodded eagerly. Kevin moved a little closer, seductively and lowered his voice almost to a whisper.
"...somewhere that isn't your house in the middle of the night..."
A rush of heat ran through Rebecca as she thought about how alone they were. She could smell Kevin now, a sweet and intoxicating mixture of something she couldn't name but wanted so much to drown in. Kevin was still talking, whispering to her.
"...and we can start over properly?"
Rebecca looked up at him, fighting the urge to grab him and kiss those lips like she so wanted to.
"Starting over sounds good," she breathed. "We could do that?"
"Good," Kevin murmured, and when had he gotten so close to her? She was almost pressed into the corner of the Ikea bookshelf and the wall, but couldn't remember moving back that much. In any case, his face was now so close, and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch those lips, kiss them—
Kevin seemed to sense what she wanted and smiled that cocky smile of his. He winked as he pulled away from her.
"I have deliveries to make, lots of boys and girls to make happy tonight, but I'll be seeing you... Rebecca."
He winked as he said her name, and then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he jumped out the window and was gone. There was only a gentle ching-ching-ching-ching from the silver bells on the reindeer as they flew off into the night.
A blink... and the tree was back where it had been, still bent against the ceiling as if it hadn't been hit by a falling Kevin Kringle only moments before. All of the decorations were in place, even the ones she hadn't got around to putting on yet. Under the tree was a single present, a label sticking up with her name on it.
Magic.
Well, either that or a very detailed hallucination.
With a glance outside the window where Kevin was no doubt making his deliveries, she picked up the present. There were little dancing Santas on the paper.
Inside was a box of condoms with a note that made her giggle and blush despite herself.
"For a Christmas Booty Call with Kev - you'll notice they're extra, extra large-sized condoms, Rebecca."
Rebecca was aware of the front door to the apartment opening behind her, her dad finally coming back from wherever he had gone too. It had probably involved lots of alcohol, and he was probably just going to pass out, but she found that she didn't mind as much. Not now.
"Merry Christmas, sweetie," he slurred from behind her.
Rebecca held the present to her chest and smiled mischievously.
It was going to be a very merry Christmas indeed.
Rodney V. Smith lives in Toronto and totally does not haunt the Wattpad HQ on his days off. He might be the Wattys award writer of The Canefield Killer but he's been known to lie ( just not about the Wattys). He thinks he's funnier than he really is. Read more from Rodney here .