Have Yourself an Idiosyncratic Little Christmas.

Finally: the 2005 Xmas Edition is available. Blame the self-destruction of 1997-grade PC-clone technology, or the hustly-bustle of the past few weeks. Regardless, it was worth the wait; here you will find most excellent contributions. Thanks to all for submitting.

Enjoy!

He was already on the roof by the time he noticed the woman. She was standing down on the sidewalk, behind the yard's small chain-link fence, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"Ho ho ho!" he cried. "I am your popular Santa Claus figure!"

She was backing away as he readjusted his beard.

"I am dressed in red, and carrying a sack, as is appropriate!"

She had started running, stumbling occasionally as she fled down the small icy road. Her hat had fallen off, but she didn't seem to mind.

"A holiday greeting to you then!" he yelled. She was gone. He turned his attention back to the narrow chimney. Peering down, he saw that it was both dark and cold. No danger of a fire this time. He gently lowered the bag down through the opening, then slithered after it, head-first. It was a tight squeeze, but with some effort he was able to contract his body and slide down.

The coloured lights of the christmas tree illuminated the living room with a soft glow. Gingerly depositing the red velvet bag on the sofa, he worked the rest of his long, tentacled body out of the fireplace. The sack had begun to squirm and yelp. He ignored it, attracted instead by an answering yap from behind the tree. He saw the animal carrier, brand new, wrapped in a big red bow. He began to drool. This was the best idea ever, he thought, oozing deliberately across the floor.

Contributed by Matt Wiggin
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My toes are cold, my fingers are too – he wasn’t much of a host.
My kingdom for a cab or two, to happen by this post!

The last I recall, a beer was passed, it came to me from the right.
Another from the left next time, it may have been a lite!
I tried to be a pleasant guest, stay friendly with the crowd…
But I do recall a troubling voice – who is that speaking so loud?

Something about our generous host, and the ladies he likes to meet.
Something too about pleasures in life – his interest in feet.
It seems to be, his hair is fake, kept on with glue and paste.
He wears a lady’s gurdle, to cinch up tight his waist.

Next the voice asked of the crowd, “Do you know what he does for work?”
The same voice answered in a gurgley slur, “They pay him to be a jerk!”

Then as I walked towards the loo, to relieve some festive stress
I heard the voice tell another guest, “You better clean up this mess!”
To my chagrin, and that of all, strewn over the floor around,
Was the sloppy glop, some slovenly guest, was unable to keep down.

I hiccupped, giggled, then hiccupped twice, and offered to lend a hand.
(I have a stomach of solid steel - I toured once with a band)

It could have been the smell of puke, or the shouting all around
But as I tried to clean it up… clean the puke up from the ground.
I noticed angry faces pointed at me, fingers wagging.
I noticed too, my brain had begun some serious mental sagging.

And down my front, and on my shoes, I saw the biggest sign
Dried up chunky bits of cake, I had eaten around 9.

Our charming host, the one I accidentally embarrassed,
Took me out to have a chat, we went out to the terrace.
“You can make this easy” he raged , “or you can make this hard”
“You can leave here quietly, or I can throw you in the yard.

So here I am, left cold and blurry, waiting for a car.
Well maybe a walk will do me good, it isn’t very far.
The festive lights will lead me home, along this path I’ve made.
And tomorrow I will head back out and return the host’s lampshade.

Contributed by Jennifer Hammond
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"Where's Joe?" said Bill as he walked into the office. "It's January third, time to take down Main Street's Christmas decorations". Bill's question was met with shrugs. "Well, I can't take them down alone".

At lunchtime Joe had not arrived. Bill walked home to eat with his wife Susan, but she wasn't home, and she hadn't left a note.

Bill returned to the office. Still no Joe. It was time to check in. He telephoned, but got the machine. He decided to walk over.

Bill knocked on Joe's door. No answer. He discovered it wasn't locked. Bill felt like an intruder, but Joe might need help.

He crept into the foyer. Joe stood not four feet away, with a ratty bathrobe wrapped tightly around his torso, frozen in Bill's gaze. Joe had the oddest look of surprise and fear on his face, and within seconds Bill knew why.

"Joe, honey? Where' s that glass of water I asked for?" called Susan.

Shocked, Bill turned around and walked out. The Christmas decorations did not get taken down that day.

Joe didn't come in to work the rest of that week. Every night when Bill came home, more and more of Susan's things had disappeared. Bill hadn't seen Susan since that day in Joe's house.

"I'm not taking those damn Christmas decorations down", he muttered.

Joe returned to work. The weeks passed by. Not speaking, the two did only tasks they could accomplish separately. As of today, the decorations are still up.

Contributed by Heather Hewer
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The boat tips, then steadies.

A ripple stills itself. Could there be fish? Here?

I look to the shore, invisible in the fog.

Phineas had two chances.

One came after the tamping iron shot through his brain. That time, he could have ducked. Could have prevented the whole fabric of space from unraveling. By ducking.

I blame the living. And sometimes the dead.

The lake is calm. Sun will set soon. I ate early today.

If I capitalize the next word, WILL you listen?

Phineas had one more chance in life. PT Barnum had a safe world available to a freak like Phineas. A freak with a hole in his head. Barnum knew hokum and he knew real. But he didn’t know how real hokum could be. Powerful myths were snuffed out by the chicanery of his so-called Circus of Life. Phineas could have been the star attraction.

West, nothing. (Beat… Beat… Pause)

East, more fog. (Look… Smile… Breathe in…)

I miss Dryden. I miss the snow. I miss the crap Holiday Season decorations that the town would put up on the lamp posts. I miss Santa and mom and Mayor Humbert and the day-olds at Tim’s.

I bet they don’t miss me.

My time has come. And, yet, nothing. Calm lake, steady boat. Nothing.

Who don’t I blame? (You.)

Phineas’s second chance ended the day he left for Argentina. To shoe horses.

My chance has come and gone.

I miss Dryden.

The boat tips, then steadies. (Beat… Beat… Pause…)

Contributed by Sam Hancock