The Other Father Christmas

THE OTHER FATHER CHRISTMAS

Ben lay in bed, waiting. All he had to do was be patient and stay awake. The Santa traps had been armed. His Father would be expecting them, of course, but his eyes wouldn’t be used to the dark. And the false beard would restrict his view. And he will have been at the whisky. Ben was very good at setting traps. He did it all the time. They were all over the place.
He didn’t like Christmas much. Every one that he could remember (which wasn’t many, but they were all he had to go on) were the same. Apart from his Father, who went completely over the top, everyone else in the house just got more and more stressed out as the Shopping Days to Christmas took their toll.
When the big day finally came, instead of having a nice lie in, he had to get up at the crack of dawn, to open presents from his parents that were nearly right and pretend that he was absolutely overjoyed with them. Last year he had got almost the telescope he had asked for. This year he would probably get almost the games console he had written down (they still made him write “Dear Santa” lists). Then Mum, who spent most of the day in the kitchen would shout a lot at Dad, who was in the living room. At some point various Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents would turn up and he would have to feign his delight when opening presents that weren’t even almost right. They were mostly at least two years too young for him, and occasionally for the wrong gender.
Eventually they would all sit down to Christmas dinner that would be two hours late, due to some disaster usually blamed on the Turkey. Ben thought this was quite unfair; it wasn’t the Turkey’s fault that it (a) was still frozen or (b) would not physically fit into the oven, or (c) was cooked with its giblets still inside it in the plastic bag. This was, of course, accompanied by more shouting from the kitchen. After dinner, everyone would fall asleep watching a black and white film about Christmas where everyone stayed awake and nobody shouted the kitchen. Why did they do it every single year? And why did they pretend that they enjoyed it?
Eventually the madness would be over and as soon as possible, he would cash-convert his presents into stuff that he actually wanted.
He must have dozed for a moment, but the creak of a floorboard by the door woke him instantly. There he was, a dark shape silhouetted against the light from under the door. He stepped forward right on to one of the lines of duct tape. They were sticky side up, of course. The stagger forward was perfect, one foot planting squarely on the edge of the empty biscuit tin, levering the attached wooden mallet into the kneecap with a very satisfying “bock”. Then he fell over his sack. It was all too easy.
‘Aaah! Aaah! Aaah! Ohmygod! Ohmygod!’
Ben stopped shaking with laughter and turned on the lamp. That did not sound like his Father.
‘Who are you?’ Whoever he was, he had a Santa outfit on and he was staggering around the room holding his knee.
‘Are you some kind of maniac? It’s supposed to be the season of goodwill!’
‘You’re a burglar, aren’t you.’
He stopped hopping about quite as much and pointed to himself with both hands. ‘Do I look like a burglar? Are you blind?’
‘No, and I’m not stupid. Father Christmas doesn’t exist and neither does the season of goodwill, and there are traps everywhere so I wouldn’t come any nearer if I were you.’
‘I’m not going to move a muscle.’
‘And anyway, you’re too thin, and you’ve got the wrong colour beard.’
‘I’ve dyed it to make me look younger and I’ve been on a diet.’
‘Okay. DAAAAAAAAD!!!!’
‘Shhhhhhhh!’
‘DAAAAAAAAD!!!!’
‘Will you stop doing that? He won’t be able to see me, anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m magic.’
‘You’re not a burglar, you’re a nutter! DAAAAAAAAD!!!!’ There was the sound of Ben’s Dad coming up the stairs. The door opened and the light went on. He was already in costume. In fact he had been in his outfit before Ben went to bed. He took Christmas very seriously, did Bens Dad. And Halloween, and Easter. He loved to dress up. It was very embarrassing.
‘Ben! What’s the matter? It’s half past twelve and you’re supposed to be asl………’
Two strides inside the room and then he hit the second line of duct tape. The stagger forward was again perfect and the leading foot trod on the fishing line which was tied to the sim card, which dislodged the bowling ball from the third shelf of the bookcase, which landed with pinpoint accuracy on aforesaid foot.
‘Aaah! Aaah! Aaah! Ohjeezus! Ohjeezus!’
The other Father Christmas – that is to say the one that wasn’t Ben’s Father – roared with laughter, deep and booming. It wasn’t the Ho! Ho! Ho! from those adverts or a dancing plastic toy powered by a couple of AA batteries. This was Ho! Ho! Ho! 50 watts a channel, full bass, full volume.
‘Oh, I bet that hurt, nearly as much as my knee.’ Both were now standing – sorry, one was hopping – next to each other, and both were talking at the same time.

‘Are you some kind of maniac? It’s supposed to be the season of goodwill!’
‘Well said. My thoughts exactly, I told you he wouldn’t be able to see me.’

‘Ben, can’t you ever stop this, even at Christmas! Sooner or later someone is going to get really hurt. Remember what happened to Uncle Geoff.’
‘He can’t hear me either, look, naa! naa! naa! naa! naa!’

Bens lay there open mouthed. His Dad made as dignified an exit as he could, trailing duct tape and slamming the door. There was a short silence.
‘What happened to Uncle Geoff?’
‘Never mind that, he really couldn’t see you, could he?’
‘No and neither should you. You must be immune. To the magic, that is.’
‘Oh yes, of course, the magic. Why didn’t I think of that? This is ridiculous. I must be dreaming.’
‘Yes! Yes, that’s right. You’re perfectly right. It’s all a dream. Now why don’t you go back to the land of nod and I’ll be on my way.’
‘Okay, I’m shutting my eyes right now.’
‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Thirty seconds later Ben opened one eye.
‘Are you still here?’
‘No.’
Ben sat up. ‘What do you mean no! If you weren’t here, you wouldn’t answer, would you.’
I’m just a figment of your imagination, remember? So I’m not here now and I wasn’t here in the first place. So, night, night, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
Ben ignored him. ‘Okay. Let’s look at this logically. If I’m not dreaming, then I must be awake. If I’m awake, then you must be real.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Shut up. I’m trying to think. No one else can see you. No one else can hear you. And it’s Christmas. All right, supposing you are Him, where’s your sleigh? If you’re Father Christmas, you have to have a sleigh.’
There was an awkward pause. ‘It’s err…..down there.’
Ben got up out of bed and went to the window. In the middle of the front garden was…….something. A second-hand sleigh salesman might have called it a “classic of its kind”. An estate agent who sold sleighs as a side line might use the term “full of character, but in need of some repair”. To Ben and everyone else on the planet it looked like a very old cart with no wheels. Standing in front of it – no, doddering in front of it - was a creature that looked even older than the cart/sleigh, munching on the lawn.
‘Are you sure that thing can move?’
‘I know it doesn’t look much, but it gets me from A to B.’
‘I meant the reindeer. Is that actually a reindeer? It looks like something out of a donkey sanctuary with antlers.’
‘Shhhh, don’t talk about Brian like that. He might hear you. He would be very hurt.’
‘Brian? Brian!! What kind of a name for a reindeer is that? “Brian the reindeer”?’
‘Oh, so all of a sudden we’re an expert in reindeer names, are we? Anyway, he likes to be called “Stud” by his friends.’
‘Stud!!’
‘Well yes, he had quite a reputation with the lady reindeer in his younger days. He’s Rudolph’s Father, you know. And Dasher’s. And Dancer’s. And Prancer’s, probably Vixen’s, almost certainly Comet’s and definitely Cupid’s. There was a bit of a scandal about Donner and Blitzen, but I’m fairly sure that they’re his as well……’
‘No wonder he looks knackered. So, where are the rest of the family tonight?’
‘They’re out pulling The Sleigh.’
‘Hang on, so what’s that down there, then?’
‘This is the… err…..Other Sleigh. I’m the…err…Other Father Christmas.’
‘Other Sleigh! Other Father Christmas! How many of you are there? Until tonight, the only Father Christmases I believed in were the ones in the shopping centre who smell of cigarettes and beer.’
‘Can I sit down…..safely anywhere?’
‘Oh, yes. Take a large step to the right. Now move three paces forward. Now turn and walk straight over to the chair…..no! Not that one, that one.’
He sat down very carefully. Nothing bad happened, but it was probably a close call.
‘I’ll try to explain. You know the…er…usual Father Christmas, the one that dishes out the presents to all the kids who’ve been good all year? Well, I sort of …remove things from the kids who have been…er complete bastards. It’s a cosmic balance sort of thing.’
‘You mean that you break into peoples houses in the middle of the night and steal things. I was right first time, you are a burglar.’
‘I don’t steal. I remove things.’
‘What sort of things do you take?’
‘Well, it depends on where they are on the list. There’s a sort of scale. At the bottom end it would be stuff that might be a little bit of an inconvenience to be without, like one piece of a jigsaw puzzle, or a favourite DVD – I always leave the empty cases, of course.’
‘Nice touch, really annoying that.’
‘At the top end, you’re going to lose something that will really hurt, like, your entire school uniform.’
‘That doesn’t sound too terrible.’
‘Really? Wait till your parents and your teachers find out. For the worst cases, I can also do cyber removal.’
‘You can do what?’
‘I’ve been fully trained in the latest technology. I can completely erase hard drives and their backups. I can remove all saved games, all homework, all projects, all photos, all videos and all music files. All gone. Anything saved online? Gone! Social networking? Gone, gone, gone!!
Ben looked panic stricken at his computer. ‘You haven’t?.......’
‘No, no don’t worry, your laptop is safe from me….this year.’
What happens to all the stuff?’
‘Charity shops.’
‘What?’
‘Those carrier bags full of all kind of things that you see outside charity shops every morning. You never see anyone actually leaving them there, do you? Well that’s me. 10,000 of them 364 days of the year. It’s a nightmare, I can tell you.’
‘Oh. Do you ever give anything to anyone like the real…..I mean the other Father Christmas?’
‘It’s not really allowed, but I sometimes leave stuff around for the adults. It’s a little side line of mine. Do you remember last year, when your Mother found that earring in the back of your Dads car?’
‘Wow, was that you? Brilliant! They were arguing about that for weeks! Did you leave the knickers under the sofa that night my Brother and Sharon were babysitting……’
‘No, I don’t think that was anyth………..’
‘……….and Mum and Dad came home early and……’
‘NO! no, no, definitely not guilty.’
‘Shame. Funny, though. Mum was really upset, but Dad kept smiling when she wasn’t looking.’ There was a bit of an awkward silence. The Other Father Christmas looked at him closely.
‘Are you sure you’re not tired yet?’
‘No. So if you’re here, you must have come to take something. What was it going to be?’
‘Well, unfortunately for you it would have to be something very important’
‘Why? I haven’t been that bad.’

‘No? Look at the list.’ He pulled a tattered scroll out from his tunic and handed it to Ben. It had hundreds…no, thousands…no millions of names on it. The more Ben looked at it, the more names seemed to appear. And they seemed to move about in 3D. It was like trying to focus on one bird in a flock of Starlings. There was no way that many names could fit onto that piece of paper, but there they were.
‘I….can’t see my name anywhere.’
He snatched back the scroll and scanned it. ‘You’re not looking properly. You have to concentrate. Look, here we are. Ben Savage. Age ten. It says here that since last Christmas, your little contraptions…..’
‘Traps.’
‘…Traps, have been responsible for twenty seventeen miscellaneous bruises, two suspected fractures, five cases of whiplash, four mild concussions and one case of severely bruised testicles….was that Uncle Geoff?’
‘Yes, that was the “Knee Capper Mark Four”. I had the mallet set too high on that one. You walked into the “Mark Five”.’
‘Thank God for that. What about you’re Father?’
‘Oh, that was the “Toe Crusher Mark Three”.’
‘Lovely. Anyway, down to business. What treasures have you got amongst all this junk?’
‘Actually, I don’t have anything that I would miss that much.’
‘What about……’ He rotated his forefinger theatrically in front of him, pointing all over the room, then the finger suddenly zoomed down to an object on the table right next to him. ‘….this nice little mobile phone!! I believe that you got it for your Birthday?’
‘No!.....I mean no. Never use it. Look, if you must take something, I do have a collection of “Spelling Made Easy with Spencer the Talking Sea Lion” DVDs that Aunt Gertrude got me. I would be so devastated if they went.’
‘Somehow I don’t think so. That phone that you never use has, amongst others, a certain Jades number on it? And her photo? Such a pretty little thing….’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I told you, I’m magic.’
‘You really know how to hit below the belt!’
‘So do you.’ He looked from Ben to the mobile phone and then at Ben again. ‘Are you sure that you are not just a little sleepy? I know I am.’ And he stretched back in the chair and let out a long yawn.
‘For the last time, I’m not tired. Why do you keep asking that?’ Ben reached over, picked up the phone and a knowing smile crept over his face. ‘You knew all along that it was the phone that you were after and you knew exactly where was. You could have taken any time you liked, but you didn’t.’ He waved the phone in front of him. ‘You can’t just take it, can you? What do they tell kids this time every year? “Go to sleep or Santa won’t come.” Well that’s not exactly true, is it? You can turn up, but neither of you can actually do anything until we’re asleep! That’s why you’ve been hanging around!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? Well I’m staying awake. All night.’
‘He raised his hands as if to surrender. ‘Okay, okay, you win. You’re right, it’s a stupid rule I know, as I am invisible to just about every human on the planet, but there it is. You have to be asleep. It’s all in the contract. I can’t use a Taser; I can’t use a tranquiliser gun. Fortunately for you I can’t even use a cricket bat! You have to be properly asleep!’
‘There’s no need to shout, and anyway you want to watch your blood pressure getting all upset like that. Dad has to watch his blood pressure.’
‘Really? I can’t think why.’ He lowered his hands ‘It’s just not fair. He gets most of the budget, the big house, the elves, the workshops, the lot. I hear He’s just had a Jacuzzi fitted. He gets all the press, just swanning around the place dishing out presents. I work my fingers to the bone and do I get one “Dear Santa” letter? No. All I get is a cave and a kitchenette, with poor old Brian and about five billion Penguins for company.’
‘Come on, there aren’t that many Penguins on the planet.’
‘There is when I bring home a fish and chip supper.’
‘Anyway, they don’t live at the North Pole. I read it somewhere.’
‘For your information, clever clogs, I’m based in Antarctica. We’re poles apart, me and Him. That was a Father Christmas type joke.’

‘Very funny. Anyway, I think Penguins are cute.’
‘They might look cute at the Zoo, but try living with them. Do you have any idea what Penguin poo smells like? And they never shut up. Twenty-four seven – eurghhhhh! eurghhhhh! eurghhhhh!’
Ben smiled, and then he sniggered, and then he laughed uncontrollably. He had not believed in Father Christmas until tonight and now there was one in his room imitating Penguins and flapping his arms like a chicken. It was ridiculous. It was hilarious. It was also infectious; the Other Father Christmas started to chuckle then it turned into his booming Ho! Ho! Ho!s
When he could speak, all Ben could blurt out was: ‘How do they sound again?’
‘Eurghhhhh! eurghhhhh! eurghhhhh!’ Now as well as flapping his arms, He was blowing raspberries to represent the Penguin poo. They both laughed until the tears were streaming down their faces.
Their laughter was just subsiding when they heard a scratching sound coming from the window. It was Brian, floating outside with the sleigh, looking anxious. The Other Father Christmas looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Oh! I’m late! Very late! Look Ben, I’d love to stay longer but I’ve got another 36 million house calls to make before dawn.’ He rubbed his knee. ‘It’s been great fun…sort of, but I’m sure I’ll see you next year, eh.’
‘Wait a minute! You can’t leave now! Maybe we could do a deal or something.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve got to rush, Ben. Goodbye…Oh, and a merry Christmas to you.’ He turned toward the window and his outline seemed to become fainter as he moved. Ben jumped out of bed and tried to tap him on the shoulder, but by then, there was nothing to tap, just a shape that was rapidly fading. And then he was gone.
Ben spoke to the room. ‘Are you still there? You give up really easily! Okay, take anything you want except the phone.’ There was just silence. He looked at the window. There was no Brian and no sleigh.
Ben opened the window and yelled. ‘ALL RIGHT, I’M GOING TO SLEEP. YOU CAN HAVE THE PHONE!’
Nothing, except a far away police siren and a dog barking. He tried one last time and yelled at the top of his voice.
‘FATHER CHRISTMAS!!’
Several other dogs started barking and a neighbour looked out to see what all the noise was, but otherwise still nothing.
Then there was a faint jingling. Ching ching ching, ching ching ching. It got louder. CHING CHING CHING CHING CHING CHING. The window darkened as something moved in front of it. Ben went back to look. Outside was The Sleigh. Not just the sleigh, but The Sleigh. This was a gleaming state-of-the-art, royal carriage meets stretched limo, top of the range, last word in luxury. Floating in front of it were nine racehorses with antlers, sleek and muscular. The children of Brian. CHING CHING CHING CHING CHING.
Then there was a noise behind him. Ben turned and saw a shape forming.
CHING CHING CHING CHING CHING.This shape was fatter and had the right colour beard.
‘Did someone call? Oh my, you’re up late! Have you been good this year young fellah?’ CHING CHING CHING CHING CHING. ‘You don’t seem to be on my list, and anyway, you should be asleep, Ho! Ho! Ho!’
‘Sorry, I was actually calling the other…’ At which point, the bedroom door opened and light streamed in. Ben hadn’t heard his Dad coming up the stairs because of all the ching ching chinging. And then another shape began to form, thinner this time lying on the floor. So now there were three of them. And they were all talking at once.

‘Oh, it’s you. What are you doing down there? How are all those Penguins?’
‘Lovely to see you, too. They’re still pooing.’
‘Ben, did I just hear you call out of the window? It’s two o’clock in the morning! Christmas or not, I’ve just about had enough of this…….’

Bens Dad pushed the door fully open. This was unfortunate, as it triggered the “Skull Tapper Mark Six”. Another “bock”, only this time much higher up. He made no noise at all, stood there for a couple of seconds, then slowly turned and walked out of the room, closing the door as he went. Then they heard him fall down the stairs.
Father Christmas (the fat one with the Jacuzzi), stared at the closed door. He put down his sack and turned to them.
‘Did you see that! Did you see that! Ho, Ho, Ho! Right in the back of the head! Ho, Ho, Ho! And then he…Ho, Ho….’
He was laughing so much that he could hardly stand up, as he staggered around he found the third line of duct tape and went down with such force that it brought into action the “Nose Bleeder Mark Two”, the “Rib Tickler Mark Six” and the “Deadlegger Mark 7”. The ching ching chinging stopped.
‘…..Ho. Hohh! Hohh! Hohh! Ohh! Ohh! Ohh! Aaah! Aaah! Are you some kind of maniac? It’s supposed to be the season of goodwill!’ He started to fade. As he disappeared, his voice became echoed. ‘Bloody kids! I hate ‘em!’
The remaining Father Christmas (the thin one who filled his sack rather than emptying it) stood up, shaking with laughter (he had deliberately rematerialized away from the door, lying in a crouched position, protecting his head with one hand and his private parts with the other). Eventually he was able to speak.
‘Is that all of them?’
‘I thought you were late.’
‘I am, but I can catch up later. Is that all of them?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t move any nearer the window. Or the wardrobe….and don’t touch any of those books. You came back. Are you still after my phone?’
‘Not exactly. Anyway, you’ve taken the SIM card out. Don’t ask how I know, I’m magic, remember. Actually, I got to thinking about these traps of yours. How many types are there?’
‘Oh, there are thousands! You can make them out of almost anything.’
There was a bit of a pause. He looked at the floor. Then he said hopefully:
‘I err…don’t suppose you could show me how to set up a few, could you? I thought I might try out a couple…..tonight?’
Ben wasn’t ready for this. How could he explain? It wasn’t just about putting a bucket of water over a door or roller skate on the landing. A decent trap is much more than that. A decent trap is a work of art, a thing of beauty, worth much more than the sum of the base materials that it is conjured up from. It was also a thing of science. Stride length, height and weight had to be considered and factored in with projected trajectories of the components and/or the victim; variables had to be taken into account. To teach these skills would take a lot of time, too much time for one night, even a magical one. There was an alternative, however.
‘No, you would probably end up killing somebody. You’ll have to take me with you. I can teach you as I work.’
‘I have to do all this alone, it’s in the rules.’
‘I can set a trap as fast as it takes for you to nick someone’s sock. And it would be a lot more fun.’
‘Ben, changing things like that could upset the balance of the universe. I just couldn’t risk it.’
‘If we set traps, you’ve punished them, right? So you won’t need to take anything, will you? So you won’t have to spend all of next year dumping stuff outside charity shops at the crack of dawn. You could have a lie in, go on holiday, get away from those penguins…..and you can change the rules. You can change anything you like. You’re magic, remember.’
He thought about it long and hard. For about a nanosecond. ‘OK, you’re in. Grab your coat and some shoes and I’ll get Brian to bring the sleigh up to the window……………….’
‘I’ll need a lot of duct tape…….’