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Into The Christmasverse

Todd was a young fox, stuck in that state between childhood and being a young adult. Living in a bedroom community an hour away from a major city he was bored most of the time, as befitting one of his age.

It was approaching Christmas, and that did not help. Todd had pretty much given up on the holiday. He knew that there was no Santa Claus, and no escape from the insipid Christmas music that even the more progressive radio stations played from the first of December until New Year’s.

Brotherly love, the spirit of giving, family, faith and hope … it was all humbug to him, to borrow a phase. So instead of attending one of the many seasonal activities, Todd was perusing one of his favourite pastimes – shoplifting.

He considered himself a master at the art, based solely on the fact that he had not yet been caught, as many of his schoolmates had by his age. He had perfected the lunch pail flip but had to give that method up when he became too old to look cool carrying a themed lunchbox. His preferred method now was the ripped coat lining, wherein contraband was stuffed under his coat’s lining through a barely noticeable rip in the seam. By pushing the objects he had pilfered into the back of his coat he could pass even a thorough search. It was perfect for this time of year when everyone was wearing a layered coat due to the cold weather.

Annie, the badger that owned the Second-hand shop that bore her name, where he was currently pretending to browse through old Christmas decorations, was certainly suspicious, but after stopping him a half-dozen times without finding anything she had pretty much given up on the random searches.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye that she was busy with a customer at the cash Todd abandoned the Christmas trinkets and turned to the objects of his desire - the shelf where Annie kept the adult fiction. Along with stacks of old Hustler magazines, there well-worn paperbacks that smelled a little funky with provocative cover art that fell just short of X-rated and titles like ‘Skunk Me, Daddy’, ‘Fifty Shades of Gray Fox’, ‘Taboo Teacher’ and ‘The Story of Oh God I’m Cumming!’.

Keeping an eye out for Annie, Todd selected two and slipped them into the lining of his corduroy coat.

Todd had been stealing such books for a year now, not for himself, but to read to his older male friends. Using exaggerated voices for each character, Todd would reenact the sex scenes to howls of laughter, at first. The boys were several years older than him and all claimed to know about the things being done in the books, but he could see how their eyes glazed over and their tongues hung out of their maws while they gripped their crotches at the good parts and he suspected that his ability to procure and perform the X-rated stories was the only reason that they let him hang around.

He was reaching for a large, illustrated volume with a foreign name when he saw the snow globe. It was large and ornate with a red and gold base and it looked expensive, totally out of place in Annie’s shop. Someone had left it on a stack of old soft-core Vixen magazines, and he would have to move it to get at the good stuff. He picked it up, taking the picture book in his other paw. He was intending to put the snow globe with the decorations on the other side of the aisle right away, but he paused to examine it instead.

It was large, larger than the average cheap imported snow globe you usually found in Annie’s. Instead of a village or a snowman the inside looked like some sort of starscape, although how they accomplished the 3D effect escaped him. The globe seemed to be real glass, or crystal perhaps, and the base looked to be solid, painted brass, at least it was heavy enough to be something like that.

Annie had a ‘you broke it, you bought it’ policy, and Todd was afraid that he would never be able to pay off something like this with his allowance, so he gingerly began to return it to where he had found it.

“Gottcha! Ya dirty little thief!” Someone screamed from behind him.

Todd’s head spun around. Annie had snuck up on him through the narrow aisles and popped out right beside him, catching him red-pawed with the adult’s only book in one paw and the snow globe in the other.

Todd froze, his brain spinning at high revolutions. A much cooler kit might have just put the book back and passed the globe to Annie and said, ‘sorry, I was just putting this back in its place’, but Todd was not that kit. All he could think of was how cool he would seem to his older friends if he got away with the illustrated sex guide with the funny title. Annie did not know his name, and his family lived on the other side of town where upper-middle-class creatures did not associate with badgers that sold cheap porn, especially used porn. If he could get clear of her, he could make a run for it.

Thinking that she would want to protect the valuable Christmas trinket more than a dog-eared copy of an ancient sex manual, Todd went to toss the snow globe into the air between them, but he could not get a good grip on it with her pulling on his collar the way she was. Dropping the book, he took the globe in both paws, turning it over so that it would sail up clearly between them. All he had to do was turn it a bit and then …

There was a burst of multi-coloured light and an explosion of sparks. When it had cleared Annie found herself holding nothing but a couple of old adult paperbacks with corduroy lint stuck to them.

“Violent Vixens from Venus”, she read. “Who reads this shit anyway?”

* * * * * * * *

Todd was momentarily blinded by what must have been a short in Annie’s jerry-rigged lighting system. As his eyes cleared, he was surprised to find that the shop looked a lot less cluttered, and a lot cleaner.

He soon realized that it was not the dingy interior of Annie’s at all, but some sort of old-timey home, with a few logs glowing in the fireplace, a large front window made up of many small, frost-coated panes, and a real Christmas tree decorated with wooden figurines, strings of popcorn and paper angels.

“Oh man, Annie’s doped me.” Todd mumbled. Then he saw that he still held the ornate snow globe in his paws.

“Hi there!”

“Gyaggh!” Todd cried, throwing his arms in the air as the snow globe went flying. A large paw shot out and caught it deftly.

Todd stood perfectly still. Only his eyes moved as they swivelled to take in the creature that had snatched the snow globe from the air.

It was a coyote. A tall, thin, tawny coyote in a brown cowboy hat and a white robe. Two large white wings were growing out of his shoulders.

“Wh- … who? … where? … wh- … what are? …” Todd’s mouth kept moving even though his tongue had stopped working.

The coyote reached out and pinched Todd’s muzzle shut.

“Shhhh! I’ll answer all of you questions in a minute, but first we have to let this part play out.”

Todd heard a banging coming from outside, as if something were on the roof. A moment later he heard footsteps from the room above, and the sound of a window opening. The sound of steps moved into the hallway before turning into the creak of stairs.

The stairway was to one side of them, but they were out of view of anyone standing on the upper landing. Despite that, Todd kept very still … breaking and entering was way worse than shoplifting, even he knew that. It wouldn’t matter that he was still a minor, you could get sent up to Juvie for shit like that.

He needn’t have worried though, because suddenly something happened to draw the homeowner’s attention; the appearance of a little, rotund polar bear draped in red furs. He had a large bag over his shoulder, with dolls, tin instruments and other toys sticking out of it.

Todd watched in fascination as the little bearded bear with rosy cheeks placed toys and wrapped presents under the tree. Above them on the landing he could hear the homeowner shifting his weight, but whoever it was up there never said a word.

When the bear was done, he went back to the fireplace and put one digit of its paw against its nose … then suddenly, it was gone, sucked up the chimney! A moment later Todd heard a whistle, then the sound of hooves and bells and someone calling, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

The sound of footsteps retreated up the stairs, followed by the sound of a door closing, and after a short interval, snores.

The coyote let out a breath and sighed. “We can speak now.” He said, examining the snow globe. “No doubt you have questions.”

Todd turned wide eyes to the canine. “Am I high?”

“A very common question these days.” The coyote reflected. “But no, you are not high. You are in the Christmasverse.”

“The what now?”

“The Christmasverse. The realm of Christmas stories. You have just experienced ‘A Visit from Saint Nicholas’, more commonly known as ‘The Night Before Christmas’, or ‘A Visit from Saint Nick’. Most people find themselves here on their first visit to the Christmasverse. It really is a classic, after all.”

“I am high.”

The coyote shook his head. “No, you are not, I assure you.”

“Then, how did I get here?”

The coyote placed the snow globe back in Todd’s paws. “You manipulated the magic snow globe. Artefacts with the power to transport one into Christmas stories permeate the Christmasverse. Sometimes it’s a magic hat, or an enchanted letter to Santa, but mostly it’s snow globes.”

The coyote stood there smiling, its cowboy hat tilted slightly back, like some friendly hick from Oklahoma or somewhere Todd had only heard of in old movies.

“And you are…?” Todd began.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. I’m your Christmas angel.” The coyote said, sweeping off its hat and taking a deep bow.

“You’re Gabriel?” Todd asked as a vague memory from Sunday School rose in his head.

“What? Oh no, no, no, no, no!” The coyote said, waving his paws in front of him. “Gabriel was the first Christmas angel, from the nativity, the story that got this whole place started. He’s been promoted since then, and he’s much to important to be showing up for just any Christmas story; too busy practising his trumpet for the end of days, you see. No, angels are assigned on a rotational basis to guide visitors to the Christmasverse; we get a few every year. You can call me Gideon; I was on call when you turned the snow globe on its base.”

“I didn’t turn anything! That old witch scared … startled me … into doing it. I was just …”

“A witch?” Gideon lowered his head to his paw and furrowed his brows. “Now let me think, which Christmas story has a witch in it? There was that movie … or maybe … you’re not Italian, are you?”

“No. Why is what happened before I came here important?”

“So that we can see which Christmas story you belong in, of course. The Christmasverse has many stories, all of them, in fact, that pertain to Christmas. We just need to figure out which one you belong in.”

Todd was even more confused. “What exactly is this Christmasverse thing?” he asked.

“Oh, well, that is hard to explain.” The coyote began. “The Christmasverse is a multiverse.”

“Like Marvel and DC?”

“Uhm, sort of. You see, the Christmasverse contains every Christmas story and Christmas tradition that ever existed, anywhere on your planet, but it doesn’t end there. Other stories that merely touch on Christmas but where it is not the main focus are part of the larger Christmas Megaverse. That’s where crime dramas and family comedies where Christmas is just a plot device exist. There are also metaverses where you can find corrupted Christmas tales, horror stories featuring evil Santa Clauses and such. All are part of the Omniverse, where every story ever from every plane of existence exists simultaneously.”

“And you can travel to these places?”

“Within limitations.” Gideon assured Todd. “While all the multiverses are connected, each stands apart from the others … mostly; there is some crossover … sometimes.”

“Like when Batman fought the Incredible Hulk?”

“I’m, ah, not familiar with that one.” Gideon confessed. “But, yeah, sure. It’s nothing for you to worry about … probably.”

“Huh. So, what kind of story might I be in?”

“That is usually dictated by your situation and actions just prior to finding the magical artefact.” Gideon explained. “What were you doing? Doubting the existence of Santa? Hating the Christmas Spirit? Starving and poor, perhaps, with nothing but an old coat with a ripped lining to keep you warm?”

Rather than explaining to an official of heaven what he had been up to when the snow globe went off, assuming that he was not hallucinating that was, Todd changed the subject.

“Never mind that.” He said. “Why would anyone even get involved in a Christmas story?”

Gideon shrugged. “Personal growth, redemption, correcting bad traits, finding humanity in yourself, to reconnect with family, any number of classic reasons.”

“But not this one?” Todd asked, indicating the Victorian Christmas setting around them.

“No, this story is just to get you in the mood. Normally you would play a major character in the story you need to be part of, like Scrooge, or the Grinch or that kid on the train. We used to throw people right into the story they needed to be part of, but it’s proved to too much of a shock for the generations raised on smart phones and tablets, so now we ease them in with a minor part this little pointless poem. In your story you will not only have a main role, but you may even be a different sex or species, if it’s required for the story.”

Todd looked down at himself to check for breasts but only saw that his paws were thinner with longer digits than normal. Reaching up, he felt around his head. His fur seemed shorter and his ears were definitely bigger. His snout seems to have shrunk also, with more prominent whiskers. He looked around for a mirror but there was none to be found.

“What the hell am I?” He demanded of the coyote.

“A mouse.” Gideon replied. “That’s why we had to be quiet while Saint Nick was visiting, you know, ‘not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse’ and all that?”

Todd looked Gideon over. “I don’t recall a coyote in a dress in that story.” He said doubtfully.

“Oh, I’m invisible. People in these stories can’t see Christmas Angels unless we want them too … and it’s a robe, not a dress.”

Todd remembered the old black-and-white Christmas movies that his parents used to make him and his sisters sit through every December.

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled. “That makes sense … as much sense as any of this crazy shit does. So,” he continued, looking around, “how do we get to the story I’m supposed to be in?”

Gideon pointed to the snow globe in Todd’s paws. “Think about your situation and what your Christmas issues are, then twist the base of the snow globe. It will take you to the coordinates of the story you belong in. Once your problem has been solved it will disappear and you will be taken back to where you came from.”

Todd didn’t feel like reappearing in Annie's store, especially if she had already called the cops. “So, what if I think about something else, like just getting the fu- … just getting out of here?”

“Ohhh, that can be extremely dangerous.” Gideon cautioned. “You can’t go home until you’ve had your revelation. By using the globe without a definite destination you could pop up anywhere in the Christmasverse. You never know what story you may end up in or what role you will be playing … and not every character survives in these stories, in case you didn’t notice.”

But Todd had stopped listening to the coyote. Recalling a line from another movie that usually came on TV each December he muttered “there’s no place like home” and gave the base of the snow globe a twist.

There was a burst of light and Gideon found himself alone in the decorated nineteenth century living room.

“Aw, for … his sake.”

* * * * * * * *

Todd found himself in some sort of small barn. It was very crowded. In one corner there was a woman holding a newborn while her husband, he presumed, look on smiling. Beside her there were three Camels in silk robes holding gifts. On Todd’s side of the barn there were donkeys, sheep and other species all dressed in simple clothes. Most, including him, were holding staffs with hooked ends.

“It’s called a Shepherd’s crock.” A familiar voice whispered in his ear.

Todd turned to see Gideon, still dressed in his flowing white robes, standing beside him.

“You do recognize the Nativity story, don’t you?” Gideon asked.

“Uh, sure.” Todd shrugged. “My parents used to make me go to church and Sunday school and all that …” he almost said ‘crap’, but refrained, given whose presence he was supposedly in.

“Ah, yes.” Gideon said, nodding. “The greatest Christmas story of them all ... but not your story, I think.”

“Why not?”

“People come to this story to reestablish their belief in the origins of Christmas by witnessing the actual event, usually after a crisis of faith. Had one of those lately?”

“No.” Todd admitted. “I never really thought about it, faith, I mean.”

He expected the angel to start a long, boring lecture on the importance of faith, but Gideon was distracted by a glowing figure that had formed over the mother and baby.

“Oh, look!” Gideon said, pointing to the figure. “There’s Gabriel now! Come to bless baby Jesus in the presence of the wise, the wealthy and the lowly alike. He only comes out for this particular story because he doesn’t want any other angel portraying him, you know.”

Todd noted that Gabriel, who appeared to be a ram, was also dressed in flowing robes, although the parts of him that were exposed looked very muscular. The Pastor that occasionally taught his Sunday School classes had showed them several examples of angels in classical art and noted that they were beings of perfect form. That got Todd thinking.

“Say, what’s under those robes?” he asked, grasping the hem of Gideon’s outfit and lifting it.

Gideon slapped his paw away. “No peeping.” He chastised the young fox with a frown, then his expression softened. “It’s nothing, really … literally. Having been created before the Earth and all its creatures, and with no need for procreation, we are actually sexless. I just appear to you as male because that how you, like most people, envision angels. A bit misogynistic,” Gideon continued, “if you ask me, but hardly anyone ever does.”

“Looks like the show’s over.” Todd observed as the other shepherds began to leave the barn. “Guess I’ll have to try again.” He said, twisting the snow globe again.

There was another flash of multi-coloured light, and he was gone.

Gideon shook his head.

“I really wish he would stop doing that.”

* * * * * * * *

Todd found himself in a small workshop, surrounded by little creatures, bearded woodchucks wearing identical red outfits. He looked down and saw that he was wearing one too, although he was still a fox, and much taller than his companions. He looked around again and noted the tools, pots of paint and piles of toys in the corner.

“Oh, I know this one.” He said to no one in particular.

“Yes, the origin of Santa Claus.” Gideon said from behind him, making Todd jump.

“Do you have to keep sneaking up on me like that?”

“Do you have to keep disappearing on me, forcing me to search the Christmasverse for you each time you decide to change stories?”

“Okay, yeah, I guess that was a little rude.” Todd admitted. “But you’d just try to make me stay in them, wouldn’t you?”

Gideon let out an exasperated sigh. “Not if it’s not your story.” He said. “Remember, you’re bouncing from one story to another with no plan or objective. Bad things can happen. I’m meant to be your guide, to take you to the proper story and offer bits of sage advise that eventually lead you to your revelation, your epiphany, the moment of realization so you can go home and be a better person.”

“You don’t think that the origin of Santa might be for me? Maybe I’m meant to be a generous guy that brings joy to others?”

Gideon stared hard at Todd until the fox lowered his eyes.

“Okay, maybe not. But this could be a good gig. Santa gets to live forever, doesn’t he? And isn’t there a missus Clause in there somewhere? A cute little vixen perhaps?”

“You should look outside.” Gideon said in a very serious tone.

Curious, Todd moved to the front window and looked out. A dozen wolves in grey uniforms were coming down the narrow, cobbled street, focused on the shop he was inside of.

“What do those soldiers want?” He asked nervously.

“Toy making is illegal in this kingdom.” Gideon reminded him of the story line. “they are coming to arrest you.”

Todd bit his lip. “But I get out, right?”

“Eventually.” Gideon conceded. “But these stories play out in real time, so you’ll have to cool your heels in jail until then.”

“How long will that take? A couple of days?”

Gideon pulled a dog-eared script out of his robes and flipped through it. “Hmmm … about twenty years, in this version of the story. That’s where you learn how to carve toys … when you’re not being tortured as a heretic.”

“Tell the ground pigs I said bye”

Gideon was momentarily blinded.

“This is getting old, fast.”

* * * * * * * *

Gideon caught up to Todd in the bedroom of a dreary mansion. Clanking and moaning could be heard coming through the bolted door.

“Let me guess.” Todd said. “A Christmas Carol, and I’m Scrooge.”

“Yes, and you are about to meet your first ghost, that of your partner, Jacob Marley.”

“Ghosts? Oh, hell no!”

“Wait!” Gideon cried, reaching out, but he was too late.

“Da- … darn it!” He said. “I can’t help feeling that we were close on that one. Oh well.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared just as a pale figure wrapped in chains floated through the door.

“Hello?” The ghost said tentatively, seeing no one in the room. “Ebeneezer? Anyone?”

* * * * * * * *

Todd was standing in a paddock, watching a furry green fellow in a makeshift Santa suit going from house to house with sacks that were empty when he entered the homes but full when he reappeared when Gideon found him again.

“The Grinch.” Gideon commented.

“Yes, but I’m not the main character this time around.” Todd observed, noting that he was in a pen and standing on his paws like a feral creature. “Hey, maybe I’m Max. I do seem a little … different.”

“You should get out of this story immediately.” Gideon said, with a nervous note in his voice.

“Can I at least stick around until they serve the Roast Beast?”

“Todd, you are the Roast Beast; or will be come morning.”

Todd looked down as the moon appeared though the clouds. He was some kind of feral creature, one with eight pairs of legs. There was a blue prize ribbon tied around his neck.

“Everyone gets a drumstick.” Gideon said with a shrug.

“Gyaggh!” Todd fumbled at the snow globe with paws that were more like hooves. Eventually he managed to tuck it under his chin and turn the base between bony knees.

“See you in the next …”

Gideon shook his head. “Yeah, right.” And then he disappeared also.

* * * * * * * *

They showed up almost simultaneously in a small workshop filled with leather, tools and foot molds. A number of small, hairless canine characters were busy making shoes.

“Who are these little guys?” Todd asked. “And why are they all naked?”

“It’s the ‘elves and the shoemaker’ story.” Gideon told him. Then he coughed discretely. “And you’re one of them.”

Todd looked down and saw that he was naked too.

“Gyaggh! Don’t look! You perv.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “The details of your earth-bound form have no interest for me. Besides, I’ve seen better.”

“It’s this elf form.” Todd complained as he dropped the clog he had been working on to cross his paws over his crotch. “It makes everything … smaller. How long do I have to stay like this?”

“Until the Shoemaker and his wife decide to give the elves a gift of clothing, which sets them free.”

Todd frowned. “Isn’t that how they free the house elves in that wizarding book series? That’s plagiarism, isn’t it?”

“Like most traditional Christmas stories, this one is in the public domain.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I should, you know, twist the globe.”

“Yes, you should.” Gideon agreed, looking at Todd. Several moments passed. “Is there a problem?” The angel asked.

“It’s just … I need both paws to turn the base of the snow globe …” Todd said.

Gideon kept looking at the young fox, raising one eyebrow inquisitively.

“I can’t … do it while you’re watching.”

“Oh, for his sake.” Gideon said shaking his head as he turned away to stare at the wall. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Todd quickly took up the snow globe and twisted it hard.

Several of the elves looked up. Being semi-magical creatures they had seen the flash of light out of the corners of their eyes.

“What was that?” One of them asked after resting the sandal it was shaping on its thighs.

“Tourists.” The head elf grumbled. “Let’s get back to work. We need to do ten pairs each tonight for the greedy old bastard.”

“Can we at least put some more coal on the fire? I’m freezing my butt off?”

* * * * * * * *

Todd and Gideon found themselves standing near some railroad tracks under a lone streetlamp.

“Have you given any thought to your story?” Gideon asked as snow began to fall lightly.

Todd's’ mind flashed to the scene in the Second-hand Shop and the dirty novels he had stuffed in his coat before Annie nabbed him.

“No.” He said. “I have no idea what brought me here.”

“Maybe you belong in the cynical Santa Story.” Gideon suggested. “You do seem to be drawn to some of the classic variations of it.”

“What’s the Cynical Santa Story.” Todd asked as a dim light appeared in the distance, closely followed by the wail of a distant train.

“It’s also known as the Bad Santa story. A person masquerades as Santa Claus to fool a group of children, usually to get their help in some nefarious scheme. But the innocence of the children’s belief and some divine intervention make them see the error of their ways and they have a revelation, resulting in their reform and the true spirit of Christmas entering their hearts. They then abandon their plot and fulfil the wishes of the children, reinforcing their belief that the miscreant was actually Santa all along.”

“You mean … they’re criminals?” Todd asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Thieves, robbers, conmen.” Gideon replied. “Out for their own profit, certainly.”

“Wha- … what could go wrong in a story like that?” Todd wondered. “They get their rela- … rebel- …”

“Revelation.” Gideon prompted.

“Yeah, that thing. They get that and give everything back, or away, and everyone loves them, right?”

“Well.” Gideon said after a pause. “Sometimes, quite often actually, they get arrested and go to jail. They still owe a debt to society, after all.”

The train was slowing as it approached, blowing steam from its joints and smoke from its stack as the whistle blew long, lonely notes in the night.

“The Polar Express?” Todd guessed.

“Yes.” Gideon confirmed.

“The book or the movie version?”

Gideon pointed to the roof of the first car, where Todd saw a hobo camping out with a tin can suspended over a fire that was still burning despite the wind and the speed of the train.

“He’s not in the book.” Gideon said. “So, this must be the movie version.”

“Gyaggh! Let’s beat it before Steven Tyler sings.”

“I’m with you on that one.”

* * * * * * * *

“WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THIS RACKET?”

“IT’S THE MIRACLE OF THE CHRISTMAS BELLS.”

“CAN’T YOU SHUT THOSE DAMNED THINGS UP?”

“NO! THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF THE STORY. THE BELLS RING ON CHRISTMAS MORNING NO MATTER WHAT.”

“LET’S GET OUT OF HERE.”

“WHAT?”

“I SAID .. OH FUCK IT …”

* * * * * * * *

“Hey, this looks like that Scrooge story.” Todd said, looking around at the dimly lit alley they found themselves in.

“Same era.” Gideon confirmed, adjusting his robes.

Todd looked down. There was a tray suspended around his neck. The tray held a number of small boxes with a flame logo on them and a number of loose matches.

“What story am I in now?”

“The Little Match Girl.” Gideon answered. “But most people that need this story come as observers, not as the Match Girl herself.

“You mean I’m …” Todd asked, pulling on the loose blouse he was wearing and looking inside with curiosity.

Gideon slapped his paw away from the thin material.

“Now who’s the perv?” he asked.

“So, what’s wrong with being the Match Girl?” Todd asked, reluctantly dropping his paws.

“Her cruel abusive father won’t let her come home until she sells all her matches.” Gideon told him. “But it’s Christmas eve and the weather is unusually cold and fierce so everyone is at home where it’s warm, celebrating. She tries to keep warm by lighting the matches one by one and each time she does she sees a vision of warmth, food, or love. Finally, she lights up all the remaining matches at once just to keep the visions alive … and then she freezes to death.”

“Freezes to death! Chr- … I mean, da- … gosh! That’s a pretty sad story for Christmas, isn’t it?”

“A Christmas angel does come down to bring her soul to heaven.” Gideon said.

“Still, she’s dead. Couldn’t she have been adopted by some kindly childless couple or been saved by an old rich guy with pure intentions?”

“I don’t write ‘em, kid.” Gideon glared, pushing the cowboy hat back on his head. “I just guide you through ‘em … through the proper one, once you make up your mind to go to it.”

“Geeze, sensitive or what? Anyway, let’s go.”

* * * * * * * *

“CAN’T YOU SHUT THAT KID UP?”

“NO. HE HAS TO PLAY HIS DRUM AS A GIFT TO THE CHRIST CHILD BECAUSE HE DOESN’T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO OFFER.”

“WHATEVER. I’M OUTTA HERE.”

* * * * * * * *

“I feel old.” Todd said.

“You are old.” Gideon observed.

“What story is this?”

“Hmm .. let me see. Victorian setting, roaring fire, cricket chirping on the hearth, brooding old man … oh, I know. This is ‘Cricket on the Hearth’ – another Christmas story by Charles Dickens. He published one a year for a while there. Some were better than others.”

“What’s the plot of this one?

“John, who you seem to be, thinks that his much younger wife Dot is cheating on him but the man he suspects is actually Edward, the long-lost son of their toy maker friend Caleb, and brother to the blind Bertha. Edward came back from the wars disguised as an old man to marry the sweet May, Dot’s childhood friend, before Caleb’s boss, the mean, old miser Tackleton can. Tackleton suspects something, so he tells John that his wife is cheating on him with the old stranger and John sits by the fire planning to kill them both. The Cricket that lives on their fireplace is actually a fairy sent to watch over the loving couple, and it reveals the truth to John, that his younger wife loves him and that the old stranger is really her childhood friend, Edward, come back to marry May. Dot is playing along with Edward’s subterfuge because she is afraid that John, who is a bit slow on the uptake, might give the ploy away. He confronts them and, the plot exposed, Edward removes his disguise and marries May with Caleb’s blessing. Tackleton is mad at first, but he relents and gives the young couple loads of Christmas gifts and everyone lives happily ever after, except Bertha, who never marries because she is blind and that was considered to be hereditary in Victorian times.”

“What?” Todd said, shaking his head. “Why even write a story like that?”

“It was a big hit in eighteen forty-five.”

“Still, what’s the point?”

Gideon shrugged. “I never really got it either. Not many people come to this story for their revelation.”

“I’m not sticking around for Jimmy Cricket to tell me not to murder my wife.”

“Agreed.”

* * * * * * * *

They were standing in a field with snow up to their knees. Todd quickly noted that his legs were very deer-like. Feeling his head he found that he had a shorter, wider snout, pointy ears and antlers. The snow around them was lit up with a red glow that appeared to be coming from his nose.

Todd looked around to see if there was an elf with dental tools or a cute doe nearby, but other than Gideon, he was alone.

“So, what do I don now?” He asked the coyote in the cowboy hat and robes. “Find myself?”

Gideon was about to answer when a shot rang out. A tuft of snow nearby flew up. Todd threw himself to the ground, looking around wildly. Several hundred meters away, a camouflaged figure with a rifle was moving through the trees.

“Gyaggh! What the hell is going on?” He screamed at Gideon, who was still standing and looking toward the hunter in the trees, two digits pressed to the side of his head as if he was receiving a message.

“We have a crossover.” Gideon said, surprise and fear in his voice. “Your Rudolf story has crossed over into the Vietnam Warverse, into ‘The Deer Hunter’, to be exact. If you get shot in this story you can never go back home!”

“What? How the hell did we get into a Vietnam War movie?” Todd asked, keeping his head low. “Does it have anything to do with Christmas?”

“Not per say, but one of the stars once told the press that it was the perfect holiday movie and that idea sort of stuck.”

“Where’s my snow globe?” Todd said, panic rising in his voice. “I dropped my snow globe!”

“He’s coming closer.” Gideon warned. “Maybe you better …”

“Found it!”

* * * * * * * *

They found themselves back in the manger in Bethlehem, although the shepherds and Wise men had yet to arrive.

“Why are back in the Nativity story?” Todd asked.

“Many other stories use the Nativity as a background.” Gideon answered. “This one focuses on the donkey Joseph and Mary rode in on.”

Todd looked down and saw that his feet had turned into little hooves and sighed.

“Aren’t there other Christmas Megaverses I could be in?” He asked. “More fun ones? ‘Die Hard’ or ‘Lethal Weapon’ could be cool.”

“Lots of people die in those ones.” Gideon pointed out.

“There must be other holiday-themed universes.”

“Well,” Gideon mused, scratching his chin. “There is a Hanukkahverse, but you’re not eligible for it.”

“Too bad, eight days of presents, I hear.”

“And the Holocaust.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Just be thankful you’re not trapped in the Thanksgivaverse.” Gideon said with a shudder. “It’s always the same story all the time; pilgrims, turkeys, people wishing they were home … Or even worse, the Groundhog Dayverse.”

Todd shook his head. “Let’s move on then.”

“Agreed.”

* * * * * * * *

The smell was the first thing Todd noticed. It was musky, with a trace of sweat and stale beer … like his uncle Mel.

He looked around. They were in a crowded room with a dozen tables and a row of stools along a long wooden counter. Most of the people were male, wearing suits, neckties and hats that were popular a century ago. Behind the counter a tough-looking bulldog was pouring drinks and pulling pints of beer.

“Hey! Is this a bar?”

“Yes.” Gideon answered, and Todd noticed that the angel was dressed differently, in an overcoat with a regular shirt, a bow tie and trousers. Several other bar patrons were eyeing him suspiciously.

“They can see you!”

“Yes.” Gideon said with a frown. “In this story the Christmas angel can be seen by the townsfolk for a time.”

Todd looked around. “Are we allowed to have a drink?”

Gideon shrugged. “You’re an adult in this one so, sure, fill your boots.”

The frowning bartender was standing across the counter from them. “What’ll you have?”

Todd named the only bar drink he was familiar with. “A martini?”

“A Martini!”

“Uh … a bourbon, maybe?”

The bartender looked to Gideon and raised his eyebrows.

Gideon sighed and consulted script page he had pulled out of his coat.

“I was just thinking about a flaming rum punch, but it’s not nearly cold enough for that.” He said, trying to sound cheerful but failing. “I know! A mulled wine … heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves ... and be lively about it!”

The bartender looked like he was about to punch all of Gideon’s teeth out, but an old bum staggered into the bar and distracted him.

“You have a line here.” Gideon said, holding the script up in front of Todd’s nose.

Todd looked at the page, saw the stage instruction ‘old hobo wanders in, Nick the bartender sprays him with seltzer. George Bailey jumps up in recognition and shouts: ‘Mister Gower?’

It sounded vaguely familiar to Todd.

“What Story is this?”

“The ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ story.” Gideon informed him. “We’re about to get thrown out in the snow, but not before I tell Nick that ringing the cash register has given an angel its wings. Then, while we’re brushing the snow from our clothes Nick starts working the cash drawer and laughing about how he is handing out wings.”

“Is he?”

“No!” Gideon scowled. “It doesn’t work that way outside of the stories. Angels were created long before the Earth or the creatures that live on it were, and we’ve always had wings. And do you know how many bells go off all over Earth on any given day? Millions and billions of them! At that rate Heven would be overcrowded in no time. And don’t go thinking that you people get to become angels, oh no … you people …”

Todd put a paw on Gideon's shoulder to quiet him. “I think that you better keep your voice down.” He said, his eyes darting around the room.

Gideon looked around. The room had gone quiet. All the customers were staring at him with their mouths open, except the bartender, Nick, who was rolling up his sleeves and reaching for a sawed-off baseball bat.

“Will getting thrown out hurt?” Todd asked.

“Yep.”

“Fuck that.” Todd pulled the snow globe out from under his coat and gave it a twist.

* * * * * * * *

They were in a desert on the edge of a small city with buildings made of straw and clay. A familiar manger stood in the distance. Rich camels and poor shepherds were heading toward it.

“Jesu- … I mean … damn … this one again?”

“Again.” Gideon admitted. “But just as background for another story.”

Todd sighed. “What is it this time?”

“’The Christmas Rose’.” Gideon informed him.

“Never heard of it.”

“A poor shepherd girl, the ewe crying on the ground over there I assume, is sad because she wants to give a gift to the baby Jesus but has nothing. An angel, no, not Gabrial, turns her tears into white roses and she gives one to the baby as a symbol of love and new beginnings. Interestingly, the Christmas rose is actually a flowering perennial evergreen of the Genus Helleborus that blooms in the winter and is not a rose at all. It wasn’t associated with the Nativity story until after the Church moved Christmas from March to December. The story was promoted by horticulturists in order to sell more plants during the winter.”

“Boring.” Todd declared. “Besides, isn’t it essentially the same story as the Little Drummer Boy?”

“Many of the stories in the Christmasverse bear similarities,” Gideon informed him, “but at least this one does not have the irritating drum music. If you continue to cycle through the Christmasverse you are bound to be in many that follow a dozen or so main themes.”

“Let’s see if we can’t find something new.” Todd said, and he gave the base of the snow globe a mighty twist.

* * * * * * * *

Music filled the air. Todd found himself surrounded by children in nightgowns and mice carrying swords. He himself was dressed in some sort of shiny red uniform with black boots and a tall fur hat. He was fighting a rat that was wearing a crown in time to the music.

He lunged with his sword. The rat leapt back into a pirouette. Todd raised his sword and performed a mid-air split that ended with his nuts crushed on the dance floor.

“Gyaggh!” He cried, and went to cradle his balls before he remembered he had a sword in his paw. He saw Gideon nearby.

“What the hell …?” was all that he got out before he had to leap up and defend himself from the rat again.

“The Nutcracker.” Gideon said, smiling ironically as Todd tried to dance with one paw on his crotch. “The original Russian ballet version.”

“God, this hurts. Isn’t there somewhere else we haven’t been to before that we can go to?”

Gideon held up his paws helplessly. “There’s the ‘Bad Santa’ story, but you said that you didn’t want to go there.”

“Not if I have to be a criminal.” Todd gasped as he parried another attack. “These aren’t real swords, are they?”

“Real enough to do serious damage if you don’t stick to the choreography.”

Todd saw the magic snow globe sitting on a nearby table. With a dance move that would not be invented until ‘Footloose’, he slid past the rat and grabbed it. Then he turned to Gideon.

“See you in the next sto- …”

With no principal character, the ballet scene faded around him. Gideon was left standing alone in a grey mist. He shook his head sadly.

Suddenly, a voice from nowhere and everywhere at once rang out.

“What is wrong Gideon?”

Gideon looked up, even though he knew there was no real ‘up’ up here.

“I’m not getting through to him. I feel like such a failure. I still have no idea which story he belongs in.”

“I do.” The disembodied voice said. “It’s the one he refuses to go to.”

“But I have to follow the rules, free will and all that.” Gideon said, holding his paws out in frustration. “I can’t force him to go there.”

“I can.”

“Well, sure, you can do anything … but would you? Would you intervene to help me?”

“No, to help him.” The voice said with a soft chuckle. “Leave it to me.”

* * * * * * * *

Although time did not really seem to exist in this realm that Gideon had called the Christmasverse, it seemed that it took much longer for Todd to find himself in the next story after leaving the Nutcracker.

For the longest time he found himself walking in a fog. When it finally cleared, he found himself in the back alleys of a run-down neighbourhood, much like the one where Annie’s was. He looked down and saw that he was his teen fox self again, wearing his own clothes and the ripped corduroy coat. He wandered aimlessly, half expecting to be returned to the scene of his crimes and wondering if running in the opposite direction would be of any use.

Probably not, he told himself, and wondered where Gideon was; wasn’t the angel supposed to guide him through the story?

He saw someone up ahead, leaning against a darkened lamppost, smoking a cigarette.

Swallowing hard he forced his feet to keep moving.

It was a big guy, with a beard and glasses, but he could not tell much other than that. The fellow’s dark suit was indistinguishable in the shadows.

Just as he thought that he should better just cross the street and walk on by the streetlight came on above the figure. Todd could see now that it was a large polar bear in a Santa Claus suit. From the look on it’s face and the half-smoked cigarette between its digits Todd knew what he was confronted with … a Bad Santa.

He stopped, confused. If this was the ‘Bad Santa’ story, then why wasn’t he playing the central role? Was he not the one that had perfected the art of shoplifting? The criminal genius that was probably ruining Annie’s holiday, and that of anyone who was expecting to get a porn novel from her shop for Christmas? He didn’t understand.

“What’s yer problem, kid?” The bear asked as he raised a black-gloved fist to take another drag from his cigarette.

“Where are we?” Todd asked in a soft voice,

“Why, we’re in the Christmasverse.” The bear in the Santa suit answered. “Where did ya think we were?”

“You know that you’re in the Christmasverse?”

“Yep. Come here every year around this time. ‘Cause of my bad habits, I guess.”

“Bad habits?”

“Yeah, ya know, stealin’, smokein’, drinkin’ … “ the bear looked Todd over. “… raping young boys.”

Todd swallowed again and took a step backwards.

The bear tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “Sorry … sorry … just fuckin’ with ya.” He rubbed the tears of laughter from his eyes. “I’m bad, but not that bad. Sheesh … that story would never play on the Disney Channel.”

Todd thought back to all the Bad Santa stories he had seen. They usually involved a younger character that helped the fake Santa find the true meaning of Christmas.

“So,” he ventured, “I guess I’m here to help you see the error of your ways.”

The bear shook his head and flicked his cigarette across the street. “Naw, I already got my revelation, kid. I already donated the money I stole to an orphanage after buying special gifts for the neighbourhood kids that helped hide me when they thought I was the real Santa. I’m just waiting for the cops to come get me and take me back to jail for another year.”

“So, why am I here then?”

The bear in red shook his head. I don’t know kid … but … sometimes, just sometimes mind ya, the cynical Santa needs to set some young punk on the right path before the story ends. That match yer situation, kid?”

Todd thought about his thievery and the crowd he was hanging with. “Noooo, don’t think so.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” The bear said as he tapped another cigarette from a pack he had pulled out of his red suit. “You wouldn’t believe the crap some o’ the punks they saddle me with think they can get away with. Stealin’ to impress other punks, getting pressured into doing more serious shit … lyin’…” The bear added as he locked eyes on Todd over the glow of a match that looked just like the ones he had been selling as the match girl. “Foolin’ themselves, that’s all they’s doin’, really, but, if that don’t apply to ya.” The bear turned away as if he had lost interest in Todd.

Todd licked his lips anxiously. “Just for the sake of argument,” he said, “let’s say that I might have … made a few mistakes … I mean, who hasn’t? Right?”

“The bear looked own on him again. “Sure, kid. Who hasn’t.”

“Anyways … I was wondering … what kind of sage advice might you give a guy like that? Believe in Santa? Keep Christmas in your heart? It’s better to give than receive?”

The bear laughed again. “Naw, kid.” He said when he was done. “I’m still cynical enough to know ya won’t listen to that crap, but …” and then the bear turned to face Todd and leaned down so that his sour breath hit the young fox full force, ‘just … don’t be dick, okay?”

Todd frowned. “That’s it? Don’t be a dick?”

The bear spread his paws as if he was lecturing an idiot. “Yeah, don’t be a dick. Stop stealing, for one thing.”

Todd swallowed hard again. “You know about that?”

“You don’t get sent to the Christmasvesre for polishing the ol’ North Pole in yer room at night, if you get my drift, and you’re easy to read. Anyways, you keep it up and ya’ll get caught and sent to Juvie. There are kids there bigger and tougher than ya there that will do bad things. Ya’ll either come out broken, or worse, mean. Broken can be fixed, sometimes, but mean sets in deep. Mean always comes to a bad end, like Jacob Marley, ya dig?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Todd said, thinking of some of the older guys that let him read his porn in their hangout. Some of them had been to Juvie a few times, and the schemes he had overheard them discussing could land them some serious jail time once they turned eighteen. And he recalled how, when they talked about recruiting kids to be runners or lookouts, their eyes always slid over to him. “How will I know when I’m being a dick?”

“Yer not so far gone that ya can’t tell when someone’s being a dick are ya?” He saw Todd shake his head. “Didn’t think so, otherwise ya wouldn’t have been gives the chance to change yer ways here in the Christmasverse. So, whenever yer in a new situation, just stop and ask yerself, ‘Am I being a dick? If someone did this to me would I call them a dick?’ and ya can’t go wrong. Alone with a girl that’s had too many party drugs? Ask yerself if it’s a dick move to touch her while she’s passed out. Some girl likes you enough to send you a pic of herself with her top off? Ask yerself if posting it on yer social medias is the kind a thing only a dick would do. Teasing some little kid into doing something stupid or dangerous? Ask if he’s gonna think yer dick when he gets arrested or ends up in the hospital. Understand?”

“Yeah.” Tod said, rubbing the back of his head. “I guess so.”

“So,” the bear said, stubbing out his cigarette on the lamppost, “we good? Ya going to stop being a dick? Start hangin’ out with kids your own age, and stop trying to impress people?”

“Do I have to give up on the porn?” Todd asked after some reflection.

“Jeez, kid.” The bear laughed. “Ya know that reading that stuff will rot yer brain, don’t ya?”

“I was thinking more along the line of writing some.”

The bear shrugged. “Whatever turns yer crank, kid. I’m Bad Santa, not Saint friggin’ Nick, who am I to judge?”

Todd nodded, then he had a sudden thought and began to feel about his coat and pockets frantically.

“I don’t have the snow globe!” He cried.

“Don’t worry about it.” The bear said as a beam of sparking dots of light began to reach down towards them from out of the darkness. “Ya don’t need that to go home.”

Todd’s feet left the pavement. “Will I see you, or the angel again?” He called out as he rose into he sky.

“Not if yer lucky, Kid.” The bear said, waving as Todd disappeared into the blackness. “Not if you’re lucky.”

The Santa chuckled again and shook his head. Out of the shadows of an alley behind him Gideon appeared.

“Thanks, Gabriel, I owe you one.”

“No problem, Gideon. The big guy asked, and it’s a relief to be in a different story for a change. I mean, the Nativity is great and all, but I think I may be allergic to frankincense. You think the kid bought it?”

“We’ll see.” Gideon said with a smile. “But I for one cannot wait to get back to showing cynical housewives the magic of Christmas through their kids terrible music recitals.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” Gabriel said as he transformed back into his normal form of a white ram in a flowing robe. “Got to practice.” He said, holding up a golden trumpet. “End of days and all that.”

Gideon waved as the scene around them dissolved and Gabriel spread his wings in preparation to depart. “Have a Merry Christmas.” Gabriel exclaimed as he flew out of sight.

“Merry Christmas!” Gideon called, then he stood for a while, looking up with a smile to where he had lost sight of the senior angel before turning away before adding, “and God bless us, everyone”.

Story and Characters, while somewhat based on a myriad of classic Christmas tales, are by Dikran O.

Credit is due, in particular, to:

Clement Clarke Moore

Charles Dikens

Theodor “Dr. Suess’ Geisel

Chris Van Allsburg

Jesus

Hans Christian Andersen

The Brothers Grimm

Robert L. May

Selma Lagerlöf

Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Katherine Kennicott Davis

Philip Van Doren Stern

Russel Janney

… and many others.

* * * * * * * *

Time passed.

The blackness began to brighten.

Out of the gloom a figure appeared, growing larger and more distinct as it approached. It resolved into the image of a large polar bear in a red and black Santa suit, smoking a cigarette.

“Whatta ya waiting for? Some kind of after credit scene? Yeesh. Who ya think I work for? Stan Lee? Click the little ‘X’ in the top corner, go back to yer home page, go look at some of the furry porn on yer watch list. After all …,” he said with a cynical smile and a wink as he lit up a new cigarette from the butt of the first, “no one ever got sent to the Christmasverse for polishing the ol’ North pole, if you get my drift.”