In Time For Christmas, I thought I'd post my newest Short Story
Santa’s Wizardly
Christmas
I came from salt water
and will return there one day, dreaming of past lives as the oceans move in
their mysterious ways. Other lives, other worlds away.
Thomas woke up shaking his head. The
same nightmare, of a place he no longer was and never will be. Ever, ever
again.
Thomas Andrews, no longer the Grand
Magix of Magixes of Cramadran, got out of his warm bed. Alone in his house on
this cold Earth. He washed his face staring at his tears splattering in the faucet.
A shrill scream and several growls
rent the air just outside his home.
In his mind, he saw the young lad
from two doors down, Dayne, in trouble. The neighbor’s Dobermans, they’ve
gotten loose. He shuddered at the thought of venturing outside.
I
once commanded a kingdom with legions of trained soldiers at my fingers? How
did I become a scared old man? It was so hard to be outside. But, the
child is in danger, I have the power to save him.
He breathed deep, shoved his fears
aside and grabbed his five-foot cane he’d carved for defense. I shouldn’t be doing this. Flinging his
front door open, Thomas tore down the street as fast as his elderly legs could
propel him.
The two black dogs were about to
attack the child, barking viciously. Blood streamed from under the lads torn
pant leg.
One lunged towards Thomas as he twirled
his shaft mesmerizingly with a cheerleader’s agility. Thomas yelled a war cry and
struck the canine three times before it knew what hit it. The dog fell to the
ground. Thomas hammered the end of his shaft in the middle of the beast’s
skull. A crack resounded. The other, wanting to defend its mate, ran towards the
elder. Thomas let out a roar that would have graced most lions of Africa with
humility.
The animal sensing its master beat
a hasty retreat. Thomas slumped to one knee gasping for air. Man, I gotta remember I’m nearly two hundred
years old, not a young nobleman anymore.
“The dog he bit me! But that was
amazing! How did you do that?”
“Army training from the days of my upbringing.
It takes a lot out of me though. I haven’t much energy these days,” Thomas
gasped.
“Army Training? I’ve seen those
kind of moves on TV. You’re some kind of Kung Fu dude or, or a wizard.”
“You are most astute and observant,
young Dayne of the Smiths.”
“How do you know my name?”
“There is much I know about you,
being a wizard as you say. I can fix your leg, but not here in public view.”
Dayne agreed. He knew the old man
lived alone on their street and kept to himself. A harmless recluse, his dad called him.
The old man smiled reading his mind.
“Now let me see your leg.” Thomas said as
Dayne sat on his carpet.
Sparks flew as he clapped his hands
together three times. Dayne watched as he held them to either side of his leg. Sparkles
transferred between his palms. Instantly the pain stopped. Blood ceased flowing,
skin began to heal over. “You must never tell anyone I used Reiki on you.”
“That isn’t Reiki. I saw it on a
movie once. The Karate Kid.”
“Okay, call it magic. I am or was a
wizard once. But you must never tell anyone. It has happened to me before. There
are many that fear the unknown. If you did I would have to leave this town.”
Dayne nodded in agreement.
“Now, the magic. Watch.”
Dayne stared in disbelief as the
ripped threads of his pant leg wove themselves back into each other.
“Wow! How?”
“A little of what I once was. But I
am weak. I will need much sleep to recuperate.” The man staggered to his couch
and closed his eyes.
Dayne opened the front door, “Thank
you, mister.” Wow! I’ve a wizard living
next door to me. Just like the Potters. Cool. So freaking cool.
As he walked home he saw the fat
balding man from across the street yelling into a cellphone to the police about
his dead dog.
Dayne walked up and lied, “I saw it
happen. Your dog ran across the street, got hit by a car.”
Dayne returned the next day to visit the old man.
“So if you’re really a wizard
what can you do?”
“Well, wizardly things of course.”
“Are you kidding me? So do you,
like, transform lead into gold, make ugly frogs into princes or blast holes
through time and space?”
“I wish. Look, forget I said
anything.” Familiar lines of sadness crossed his face. “That’s what got me here,
being cocky and boastful. I once was powerful beyond belief. I lived in a large
castle on the seashore. My sworn enemy was Hanus the merciless, a Grand Magix
Inquisitor of Cramadran.”
“The what? Sounds like a character
from one of the old Saturday morning TV shows.”
Thomas held up a finger. “You’re
interrupting me. If I still had the power I’ll zip your lips shut and turn you
into an aardvark. Could spend the rest of your life licking up ants.”
Dayne sat quietly.
“I knew Hanus was trying some sort of spell to
best me. Only I didn’t think he’d place one in my washroom. When I sat down on
my toilet seat it triggered a dimensional spell and next thing I knew I was
here.”
“Caught
with your pants down.” Dayne smiled.
“Literally.
Magic is very weak on this planet, I’ve no way of generating the kind of energy
I need to open a dimensional portal.”
“You
are kidding me, aren’t you?”
He
looked sadly down. “I wish. I’ve been here for nearly two hundred years and
will live at least another hundred more. With the billions of dimensional time
shifts, there’s no way of returning home, and even if I did, everyone I knew
would be gone.”
“Well,
that really sucks,” Dayne smiled.
The old pendulum clock chimed five
times. “I’ve gotta go. Would you like to come over tomorrow? Have dinner, meet
my parents? We’re going to have a Harry Potter movie night.”
“A movie of a pot of hairs? Even I know on this world that doesn’t grow in
clay. Potted or not.”
“No, it’s about a world where
magicians exist along with humans.”
Thomas scratched his grey hair. “I
have no one or nothing in this world. I believe you are indeed sincere. I shall
go with you young Dayne of the Smiths.”
“Okay, no wonder you haven’t many
friends. It’s Dayne Smith. We shorten everything here. I can help you fit in
better.”
“A young escort into the workings
of your planet. Agreed.”
The next night, Dayne walked him
home after the movies.
“My mom is so controlling. She always tells me
what to do.”
“Your mother loves you and is
protective, it is what mothers do.”
“I can look after myself.”
“You think so. I was also a cocky
youth. Now look at me. Only a housebound
old man afraid to go outside.”
They stopped at his front door and
Thomas bowed waving his hand. “I thank you, my noble knight of protection.”
“You are a most weird man, Thomas
of Cramadonut.”
“No, of Cramadran. Oh, it doesn’t
really matter. I’ll never be there again. Just call me Thomas.”
“You know with that grey hair you’d
make a good Santa Claus. My dad works in the mall and says they are looking for
someone.”
“A saint of good will that helps
others?” He thought a moment. “I have been here far too long alone. I agree, I
shall do your bidding.”
“Goody. I’ll let Dad know.”
“I have begun to like your company,
young Dayne of the... Smith, Dayne Smith.” He laughed deeply for the first time
in many years.
Dayne watched Thomas, decked in the
jolly man’s outfit, sitting on the plush red chair in the mall. Oh man, I’ve my own Harry P. living next to
me. Only he’s so lonely.
Dayne had come over most afternoons
to listen to the tales of his former home-world. Of the men he battled and
slayed. Of the woman he loved and would never hold again, elegant Elouise with
long tresses of crimson curly hair.
A line of kids had waited to tell
him their wishes. Thomas stared at the older woman in her mid-forties. Her red
hair hung loose over her shoulders. In obvious pain she leaned on her cane. Her
daughter Heather sat crying on his lap, her only wish was to have her ailing
mother, Anne, healthy.
He stared at her mom, their eyes
locked. Her pupils widened, as did his. “Bring her to me. I shall try to grant
you your wish, young lady. Tell the others my time today is done. I will talk
to Anne alone.”
The two went behind the ice castle
decorations. ”You cannot help me,” Anne said. “I haven’t told my daughter, but I am dying of
cancer.”
“I know, I see its claws digging
through you.” Her eyes, her smile, so reminded him of Elouise.
The two children played just
outside.
Thomas breathed deep. “For this is
to work you must believe in what I am about to do. Trust me, if you wish to
live a longer life with your daughter.”
Anne looked hard into his eyes. “There
is a greater saint than Santa inside you. I don’t know why, but I trust you,
deeply.”
“Good. Now, set aside the cane.”
Thomas clapped his hands together
three times. A blue glow issued from between his palms.
“What?”
“Just trust. I call it a deep form
of Reiki. This will hurt briefly. The demon will not take lightly to being
pulled from its host.” He thrust his hands on either side of her body. “Gotcha.”
Anne cried in pain.
Thomas pulled a hideous serpentine
beast with hungry jaws from her. It twisted in his grasp, spitting. Thomas
sneered at the vile demon. “Destroyer of life, I commit thee to hell.”
A crack resonated as he grabbed it
by the throat and twisted. The creature exploded into blue mist.
“MOM! Mom, you okay?” Heather and
Dayne ran to them. Anne flexed her body and stood up straight. “It’s gone, I
mean I’m …. Good. I’m so very good.”
She hugged her daughter.
Anne put her arm around Thomas and
held him up as he trembled, fighting to stay conscious. “Help me with him.”
“Mom, how is this possible? You
can’t even lift me?”
“I don’t know darling, but we must
get Mr. Claus home. He needs to rest after working a miracle.”
They pulled Thomas, struggling to
stay conscious, to her car. Sparks danced in her eyes as she held his hand
while driving. His hand warm, the connection of knowing of what could be.
After driving for a while she
ventured, “Are you single? I don’t even know your name.”
“Thomas. And yes.”
Anne lay Thomas down on his couch. “You
two go outside and play. I think I will stay and look after my hero.” She stroked
his forehead. The touch ringing familiarity inside, tissues longing to be together,
and dreams of a Christmas future.
On the floor of the shopping mall a
cane lay. Unneeded. Victim to the magic
of Christmas past.
“Thank you.” Anne leaned over and
placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, “this is for Christmas present.”
Sincerely
Frank Talaber
My webpage
http://twosoulmates.wixsite.com/frankt-author-blog
Frank Talaber’s
Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful
Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom
Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues).
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining)
and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller
(Bridges Of Madison County).
Or as is often
said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.
My novels on Amazon are at: https://www.amazon.com/Frank-Talaber/e/B00UC407R0
T\https://about.me/ftalaber
Twitter: @FrankTalaber
.jpg)
