A Holiday Explained
J. Steven York
Published by Tsunami Ridge Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 J. Steven York
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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A HOLIDAY EXPLAINED
By
J. Steven York
The skeleton danced around the darkened living room, stacking carefully wrapped presents and stuffing carefully hung stockings. The pointy red cap, trimmed with fur two shades whiter than the grinning skull, was the only clue that these were the bones of Santa Claus.
Meanwhile, on the snow-covered roof, the rest of Santa slouched over the peak, a quivering wrinkled mass of red felt and white whiskers, looking for all the world like a bowl full of jelly. From a deep fold within the mass, blue eyes twinkled with restless intelligence.
"So, that's how a jolly fat man gets down all those 8 inch chimney flues," said a high, sweet voice that came from behind the chimney.
A large, chocolate-brown rabbit stepped from his hiding place and padded across the snowy roof, skirting around Santa's saucer that hovered silently, a few inches above the snow.
"Trade secrets," said Santa, his voice bubbling out of the mass like bubbles out of boiling gravy. "So, you found me out at last, Easter Bunny."
"And this," the rabbit nodded toward the saucer, "antigravity, time flux adjustment, fifth generation stealth technology. State-of-the-art. I figured that reindeer crap had to be part of the skillful campaign of misinformation. You're good at that, SC. I guess that's why you're number one. I don't suppose you'd have anything to do with all the bad press on cholesterol in eggs or the effects of refined sugar."
The only response was a thick liquid "Ho, ho, ho."
The Bunny stepped forward, little paws clenched. "I've had it with you, fatso. I'm tired of the lies and the dirty tricks and the P. R. machine that makes Disney's look like squat. I'm tired of running an also-ran holiday while you get your decorations up at the mall just before Halloween."
The Bunny scowled. "You have any idea how difficult it is to run a holiday on bran muffins and celery sticks?"
Louder now, "Ho, ho, ho!"
He glanced down the steep, icy slope of the roof. "I think it's time you told me your secrets, fat man — — all your secrets. The toy manufacturing scam, the carol kickbacks, the tinsel tax, the subliminal messages that let you tell the kids what to ask for at Christmas, and especially eggnog! How the hell did your holiday get eggnog?"
The blue eyes twinkled malevolently. "And how do you intend to get me to do that, little bunny?"
The rabbit kicked the Santa blob, and watched it ripple. "Seems like I have you right where I want you, Mr. Spineless. One good push, and you'll be over the side. You'll hit the driveway and pop like an overripe cantaloupe."
The blue eyes glanced down the pitch of the roof, and the twinkle dimmed for a moment. "I see your point. I'll talk."
The Bunny chuckled. "I knew you would. Let's start with the skeleton trick. How does it work?"
"Ho, ho, ho," said the Santa blob. "It isn't a trick. You don't open the body to get to the bones, you phase shift the bones to make them immaterial, and let them out. Let me show you how it works."
The bunny's long ears twitched at a clopping sound, like reindeer hooves on slate shingles.
Or the footsteps made by bony feet!
He whirled, too late, as the ghostly skeleton hand reached bloodlessly through his stomach, wrapped fingers around his spine, and pulled.
And that is the story of how the chocolate Easter bunny became hollow.
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Email Steve at J-Steven-York@sff.net, or follow him on Facebook (J Steven York) or Twitter (@JStevenYork)
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