Naughty or Nice Read online

  NAUGHTY

  OR

  NICE

  10 unique tales to get you through the holidays.

  With stories by:

  J.R. Rain

  Danielle Younge-Ullman

  Toni LoTempio

  Helen Smith

  Heather Massey

  J. W. Becton

  Christiana Miller

  Liz Schulte

  Rose Pressey

  Barbra Annino

  The proceeds from this book benefit the Kids Need to Read foundation. You can learn more about the organization at http://www.kidsneedtoread.org/.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Santa Call, by J.R. Rain

  Disco Angels, by Danielle Younge-Ullman

  One Stormy Christmas, by Toni LoTempio

  Fortune Cat’s Visit, by Heather Massey

  Real Elves, by Helen Smith

  Carol, by J.W. Becton

  Krampus Klaus, by Christiana Miller

  Dark Christmas, by Liz Schulte

  Santa Stole My Ghoulfriend, by Rose Pressey

  The Perfect Gift, by Barbra Annino

  The Sant a Call

  THE SANTA CALL

  A Christmas Story

  by

  J.R. RAIN

  Dedication

  To Santa, wherever you are.

  “Kris, from ‘Up North,’ you’re on the air with Stephen Bright, the Love Doctor.”

  “Um, hello?”

  “Yes, hello, Kris. What can we do for you today?”

  “Well, I guess I’m having a bit of a love problem.”

  “Of course you are, Kris. That’s why you called the Love Doctor. But let’s keep this moving along, okay? There’re lots of unhappy folks during this holiday season, and the lines are full—”

  “Well, it’s about my wife.”

  “Ah, the wifey. Always a minefield, Kris. Always a minefield. How can I help you?”

  “Well, it appears she left me.”

  “Ouch! Okay, now we’re getting somewhere! Why did she leave you, Kris?”

  “The note said something about me not giving her enough attention.”

  “Is this true, Kris?”

  “Yes, I suppose so—but you have to understand that I’m a very busy man.”

  “Aren’t we all, Kris, aren’t we all. Now, how can I help you?”

  “I’m not really sure. I just need someone to talk to.”

  “Someone to talk to, I see. As in a friend?”

  “Yes, a friend.”

  “Then hang up and find a friend’s shoulder to cry on, Kris, instead of wasting my time! Okay, let’s move on to our next caller—someone who might actually have a question for the Love Doctor. I went to Cornell, people. Cornell! I’m not your friend, people. Get that straight. I’m a licensed psychologist. I have answers. Real answers. Okay, okay. I’m calm. Rick in Pasadena, you’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love—”

  “It’s still me, Love Doctor. You know, Kris from Up North.”

  “What? Vern! Vern! Where’s that blasted station manager when you need him? There he is! Vern, don’t hide from me, dammit. How the hell did Kris skip from line three to line twenty-five?”

  “Leave Vern alone, Love Surgeon. You’ve always been a bully your whole life. Time to ease up. Time to relax. Hey, it’s Christmas, after all. Mostly, it’s not nice to hang up on an old man.”

  “I didn’t hang up on you, Kris old boy. Our conversation was over, just like it is now—Eddie, you’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love Doctor ... Eddie, you there?”

  “Still me, Love Doctor.”

  “Kris? Ugh! Vern, break to a commercial!”

  “Sorry, Stephen. The switchboard and control panel have gone nuts. All phone lines are down except for this one call you’re on. I’m sorry to say that for the time being we’re not only stuck on the air but we’re stuck with this one call.”

  “Good Lord, this isn’t happening.”

  “Oh, but it is, Love Doctor. Now, can we talk about my problem?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Don’t sound so distraught, Love Doctor. Yes, I’m still here, and I still have my problem, and now you have a problem, too. Maybe we both can help each other out in the end.”

  “Fine. You win, Kris. This is your big chance. Spill your guts.”

  “Where should I begin, Love Doctor?”

  “From the beginning, Kris.”

  “Yes, okay, from the beginning. Well, I was born in a magical forest far in the north, where I was raised by both animals and fairies alike. It would be many years before I would lay eyes on another human—”

  “Kris, hold on a sec. Maybe not that far back. On second thought, what the hell were you just talking about?”

  “That I’d grown up in a magical forest. Oh, I forgot to mention that my parents were killed in a ferocious winter storm—”

  “Kris?”

  “Yes, Love Doctor?”

  “Please tell me you’re an old frat buddy pulling my leg.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Vern! Break to a commercial!”

  “Sorry, Stephen, nothing’s working except your mic and this single phone line. We’re trying our best to fix—”

  “See that you do, dammit! And, meanwhile, get Rachel Ocean in here for a weather update—”

  “Haven’t you heard, Stephen?”

  “Heard what?”

  “It’s snowing in Los Angeles. Rachel Ocean and dozens of other meteorologists are on the scene.”

  “Snow? In LA?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “This isn’t happening. Not to me. Is there any chance I’m dreaming or drunk?”

  “Not this time, Stephen.”

  “Lord, I can’t buy a break. Okay, Kris. It looks like it’s just you and me. Lord help me. Where are you calling from, anyway?”

  “Los Angeles, but I’m from a land called The Ice at the End of the World, or more commonly, the North Pole.”

  “The North Pole?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in Santa Claus?”

  “Yes, you got it.”

  “As in Kris ... Kringle?”

  “You got it, Love Doctor, although my true name is, in fact, Sinterklaas.”

  “Good God, help me.”

  “Of course, I hadn’t planned on revealing myself on-air, as I prefer to keep a low profile, but I’m a desperate man. You’re my last hope, Love Doctor.”

  “Someone shoot me now. Vern, what’s going on with these phone lines?”

  “Still down, Stephen.”

  “This is a bloody nightmare. Okay, Kris or Sinterklaas or whatever the hell your name is, you were saying something about me being your last hope.”

  “Well, not to put too much pressure on you, Love Doctor, but you’re also Christmas’s last hope, too.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Mrs. Claus was the glue that held everything together, you see.”

  “I don’t see. The glue? The glue to what? And did you just say Mrs. Claus?”

  “Yes.”

  “This isn’t happening.”

  “Oh, but it is. And, yes, she’s the glue to my whole operation. To all of Christmas, actually. Sure, I was the face of the company, so to speak, but Damme de Winter truly ran the show. Now, with her gone, the elves won’t listen to me and everything is behind schedule—and Christmas is just around the corner. Heck, there’s even talk of an elf revolt.”
>
  “An elf revolt?”

  “Yes. Total anarchy.”

  “So what in God’s name do you want me to do, Kris?”

  “Help me figure out how to win back the heart of my one true love.”

  “You want my best advice, Kris?”

  “Yes, Love Doctor. It’s why I called you. I’m proud to see that you developed into a truly a gifted counselor—that is, when you’re not being, pardon my Icelandic, an ass.”

  “Icelandic? God help me. My advice to you, Kris is this: Hang up and get some serious psychological help.”

  “As much as that might be the case, I don’t have time for that.”

  “Let me guess: because Christmas hangs in the balance?”

  “Yes, you got it, Love Surgeon.”

  “I thought you’d say that. So why did Mrs. Claus leave you?”

  “Because I’m a horrible husband, that’s why.”

  “I can’t believe I’m about to ask this ... but why are you a horrible husband?”

  “I’m glad you asked, Love Surgeon. See? I knew you had it in you. You might be all blustery on the surface, but I know you have a heart of gold underneath.”

  “Kris ...”

  “Right, right. Well, it all began two weeks ago when I attended the annual Immortality and Faerie Convention in Iceland. It’s a lot of fun and a great opportunity to catch up with old friends—and to get drunk off your gizzard.”

  “Santa gets drunk?”

  “Drunk on love.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, when I returned home from the convention, Mrs. Claus was quite gone.”

  “Gone? Why did she leave you?”

  “Apparently I had, well, forgotten to bring her, you see.”

  “Holy cow, Kris. How could you forget to bring your wife?”

  “My bad. I could’ve sworn she was with me. I swear this. Why, I even thought we’d had a pleasant conversation during the sleigh-ride over Greenland. But it wasn’t until late Sunday afternoon, with the convention nearly over and me suffering my usual hangover—an abundance of love always does that to me—that I realized she wasn’t with me. I dashed home only to discover she’d packed up and left—to where, I know not. However, knowing her penchant for California beaches, I came down here on a fool’s hunt for my beloved wife. Oh, I love Damme de Winter with all my heart, Love Surgeon, and I am lost without her. Christmas is lost without her! Please, Love Doctor, tell me what should I do!”

  “Do you tell your wife you love her?”

  “Every day, I swear this. Well, every day that I’m not in the workshops.”

  “With the elves?”

  “Yes, the elves.”

  “And how often are you in the workshop?”

  “Well, every day—oh, Lord, I’m a miserable husband!”

  “No you’re not, Kris. You’re a typical husband. But that’s not good enough. You need to be a great husband. You need to let her know that she’s your top priority, Kris.”

  “Good point, Love Surgeon! Yes, I’ll admit that I’ve been putting work first. It’s heck keeping up with all these new gizmos out there. Our Xbox division alone is working overtime.”

  “We’re sticking with Santa charade, huh? Okay, fine. Kris, try putting her first, as often as you can. Treasure her and everything she brings to your relationship. And, for the love of God, don’t leave her behind next time.”

  “You’re a good man, Love Doctor. I’m especially proud of—”

  “What’s that, Vern? We’ve now got two lines working? Hell yeah! Good-bye, Kris, and good riddance—you flippin’ nutcase! Put her through, Vern.”

  “She’s through now, Stephen.”

  “Oh, thank God! You’re on the air with Stephen Bright the Love Doctor.”

  “I’m on the air?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you are.”

  “Is this the Love Doctor?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you’re talking to the one and only Love Doctor.”

  “Good! How dare you speak to my husband that way, you ungrateful little man!”

  “Let me guess ... Mrs. Claus?”

  “You bet your arse it’s Mrs. Claus. Never, never have I heard such disrespect for my dear husband. How dare you hang up on him, you mean little man! To think my loving, hard-working husband actually admired you—”

  “Go easy on him, Damme. Believe it or not, he spoke words of wisdom. Words I needed to hear again.”

  “Sinterklaas!”

  “Yes, the one and only.”

  “But I thought he hung up on you!”

  “Oh, he could never hang up on me, my love. And I’m glad you found your way through their, ho-ho, downed phone lines.”

  “Did you have something to do with that?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “You sly devil.”

  “Only sometimes, love. Damme?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “I know you do, you stinker.”

  “I promise to make it up to you.”

  “Oh, I know you will.”

  “I was a fool for taking you for granted. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course, my sugar bear.”

  “That’s my girl! Ho-ho! Now, would you care to accompany me to dinner tonight?”

  “Ooh, I would love that!”

  “I know of a little restaurant deep in the Hollywood hills, by a magical oak tree. There’s an old elf there who makes the world’s greatest corn chowder.”

  “Sounds delightful! But how will I find you, dear?”

  “That’s easy, Damme. Just look to the left of the moon and wish with all your heart—”

  “Or I could just call you on your cell.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Let’s hang up here, honey buns. I think we’ve given these people enough of a show. Besides, we have Christmas to save.”

  “As always you are most correct. Oh, and Love Doctor, I want to thank you again for all your help.”

  “You’re, um, welcome, Kris.”

  Click. Click.

  “Are they gone, Vern?”

  “Yes, Stephen.”

  “Did she just call him honey buns?”

  “Yes she did, Stephen.”

  “I need alcohol, and lots of it. This is Stephen Bright the Love Doctor, and I’m out.”

  * * *

  The security guard’s eyes snapped open. He unlaced his fingers from behind his head and sat forward, momentarily disoriented.

  He blinked once or twice until he remembered he was at work. He had dreamed, of all things, that Santa Claus had called his favorite radio show.

  Chuckling quietly to himself, the old guard got up from his desk and began making his rounds. His first stop was at the office building’s front door. And there, as he gazed through the smoky glass, he saw something he would not soon forget.

  He had lived in Los Angeles all his adult life, and never had he seen snow. Until now.

  It was everywhere. Covering cars and sidewalks and streets.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time in the Pacific Northwest. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.

  Disco Angels

  DISCO ANGELS

  A Story of Love, Loss, and Hope

  by

  Danielle Younge-Ullman

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my family, M in particular.

  I stand at the bottom of the drive, feet anchored in the fresh snow, gazing up at my parents’ post-and-beam house. Golden light spills from the many windows, more gold comes from the many indoor and outdoor lights. My mother never met a sparkly color scheme she didn’t love, and her holiday color is gold. Inside, I already know, there are golden lights and ornaments on the tree, golden reindeer with golden tea lights topping their
antlers, golden angels of every size, everywhere.

  It’s Christmas Eve again.

  Every year it seems to come around faster.

  Every year I’m not ready.

  I’m not ready for Meli either, but I turn to look over my shoulder and see her minivan about to make the turn into the drive. I hustle out of the way, then stand at the side of the driveway with the headlights blinding me and wave, trying to decide whether to scoot inside, or wait for them to get out of the car.

  Even parking can be a passive-aggressive activity for Meli.

  “No matter what, I’m in for some kind of drama from her.” I mutter as if there were someone next to me to hear it. “Better to take the hit now.”

  No one responds, but I stay. And remind myself that the talking-to-oneself leads people to thinking I’m crazy and therefore needs to be kept to a minimum for the evening.

  Though … I do get a response sometimes.

  Brad gets out first, slides open the doors and releases the three kids, all of whom are soon around my legs, hugging me, telling me about the tooth they lost, the bug they found, the toy they broke, the picture they made, the book they read, the stickers they’re wearing on their arms, the candies Grandma is about to give them ….

  And then, like a storm coming and going, they’re off, running toward the front door with Brad in their wake. They are delightful and delicious and they make me ache.

  I turn back to Meli, who is at the back of the open minivan, tears welling in her green eyes, holding a massive tray of cupcakes.

  “Don’t try to help me or anything,” she says to Brad’s retreating back.

  “Want me to get him?” I say.

  “That’s not the point, Sarah,” she says.

  The point is actually that Meli would rather fall on her face and be able to say it was because no one helped her.

  “Oh … Mom’s not going to be happy,” I say with a frown at the cupcakes. “She said very specifically we weren’t supposed to bring anything.”

  “You did,” she says, eyes going to the two bottles of champagne in my hand.

  “No food. Anyway, this is a hostess gift.”