Christmas Eve
By
Jason DuFour
·
2 minute read
Once upon a Christmas Eve, begins this tale you may not believe.
By the fire, I start to doze in my armchair, cat on lap, napping without care.
While innocence slumber in their beds, prospects of toys dancing in their heads.
A calming quiet that only a fresh thick snowfall can obtain, disturbed by purring feline with no complain.
Suddenly! A noise, a noise that should not have been. An end, to quiet snow and rhythmic purr.
BOOM-shhhhhhip — THUMP!
Half asleep, not sure what to think. Did I hear what I heard, or was it a dream that occurred?
The cat, wide eyed, stares at the door, I get up from my seat and pick him up off the floor.
Creep to the door, through the window I peak, I scan the surroundings but - I don’t know what I seek.
I look at the cat and I scratch his little head, “did you hear it too or was it I that startled you?”
With the snows continued quiet and the fire dying out, I turn to my stairs to head off to bed without doubt.
But my course was disrupted by 3 successive sounds that had me halt.
Thump-thump-thump
With a low growl the cat wants free from my grasp, so down he goes and is gone with a dash.
Tip toe back to the door and peek through its glass, once again I scan the surroundings and behold! At last!
I see something. Three small figures I spy in the snow. What are they doing, bouncing to and fro?
One lone little street lamp lighting the scene, and from what I can see those three appear rather mean.
With long boney fingers and long pointed nose, large pointed ears and shoes with pointed toes.
Horrid little creatures that are about to my waist. Bald wrinkled head with reflective eyes, like a cats, on their face!
Slightly hunched with toothy grins, cloven hooves and coats of buckskins.
From a snow pile they retrieve a fourth creature of a much larger size. It shakes its head and opens its lids to reveal large opalescent eyes.
Tons of tiny white tendrils hang like a beard from its face. These creatures are unknown, like something from outer space.
The little ones are now looking about but the big one stares, unblinking, my way. My heart is racing, I don’t dare to move, so I pray.
It seemed like an eternity as it stood there and stared but couldn’t be more than a minute. Until a little one caught its attention, it’s mannerism appeared urgent like they had a time limit.
So they gathered together and pointed up to my roof. They floated up hauling the big one and leaving no proof.
I heard a muffled scuffle from on top of my house. All still sleeping, not a peep from kids, cat, nor spouse.
The quiet returned, I finally dare move from the door. I spy something float from the fireplace so I pick it up from the floor.
A note, hastily written and barely legible. But as I read it, I knew it was credible.
“We know that you saw but not a word you will breathe, unless of course you want your loved ones to grieve.”
It was signed “Cy’nik the Cinta’klous”
I just stood there awhile, my jaw hanging low. I’ve determined that, until my death, no one would know.
So I write this poem while this nights events are still fresh in my mind. In the attic it will stay till I’m gone in hopes someone will find.
~J. Frost
The 24th day of December in the year 1919
~Bödwhíst